Shakespeare's First Folio (part 3 of 12)

Shakespeare's First Folio (part 3 of 12)

2.Lor. My Lord, the roynish Clown, at whom so oft, Your Grace was wont to laugh is also missing, Hisperia the Princesse Gentlewoman Confesses that she secretly ore-heard Your daughter and her Cosen much commend The parts and graces of the Wrastler That did but lately foile the synowie Charles, And she beleeues where euer they are gone That youth is surely in their companie

Duk. Send to his brother, fetch that gallant hither, If he be absent, bring his Brother to me, Ile make him finde him: do this sodainly; And let not search and inquisition quaile, To bring againe these foolish runawaies.

Exeunt.

Scena Tertia.

Enter Orlando and Adam.

Orl. Who's there? Ad. What my yong Master, oh my gentle master, Oh my sweet master, O you memorie Of old Sir Rowland; why, what make you here? Why are you vertuous? Why do people loue you? And wherefore are you gentle, strong, and valiant? Why would you be so fond to ouercome The bonnie priser of the humorous Duke? Your praise is come too swiftly home before you. Know you not Master, to seeme kinde of men, Their graces serue them but as enemies, No more doe yours: your vertues gentle Master Are sanctified and holy traitors to you: Oh what a world is this, when what is comely Enuenoms him that beares it? Why, what's the matter? Ad. O vnhappie youth, Come not within these doores: within this roofe The enemie of all your graces liues Your brother, no, no brother, yet the sonne (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 meanes, To burne the lodging where you vse to lye, And you within it: if he faile of that He will haue other meanes to cut you off; I ouerheard him: and his practises: This is no place, this house is but a butcherie; Abhorre it, feare it, doe not enter it

Ad. Why whether Adam would'st thou haue me go? Ad. No matter whether, so you come not here

Orl. What, would'st thou haue me go & beg my food, Or with a base and boistrous Sword enforce A theeuish liuing on the common rode? This I must do, or know not what to do: Yet this I will not do, do how I can, I rather will subiect me to the malice Of a diuerted blood, and bloudie brother

Ad. But do not so: I haue fiue hundred Crownes, The thriftie hire I saued vnder your Father, Which I did store to be my foster Nurse, When seruice should in my old limbs lie lame, And vnregarded age in corners throwne, Take that, and he that doth the Rauens feede, Yea prouidently caters for the Sparrow, Be comfort to my age: here is the gold, All this I giue you, let me be your seruant, Though I looke old, yet I am strong and lustie; For in my youth I neuer did apply Hot, and rebellious liquors in my bloud, Nor did not with vnbashfull forehead woe, The meanes of weaknesse and debilitie, Therefore my age is as a lustie winter, Frostie, but kindely; let me goe with you, Ile doe the seruice of a yonger man In all your businesse and necessities

Orl. Oh good old man, how well in thee appeares The constant seruice of the antique world, When seruice sweate for dutie, not for meede: Thou art not for the fashion of these times, Where none will sweate, but for promotion, And hauing that do choake their seruice vp, Euen with the hauing, it is not so with thee: But poore old man, thou prun'st a rotten tree, That cannot so much as a blossome yeelde, In lieu of all thy paines and husbandrie, But come thy waies, weele goe along together, And ere we haue thy youthfull wages spent, Weele light vpon some setled low content

Ad. Master goe on, and I will follow thee To the last gaspe with truth and loyaltie, From seauentie yeeres, till now almost fourescore Here liued I, but now liue here no more At seauenteene yeeres, many their fortunes seeke But at fourescore, it is too late a weeke, Yet fortune cannot recompence me better Then to die well, and not my Masters debter.

Exeunt.

Scena Quarta.

Enter Rosaline for Ganimed, Celia for Aliena, and Clowne, alias Touchstone.

Ros. O Iupiter, how merry are my spirits? Clo. I care not for my spirits, if my legges were not wearie

Ros. I could finde in my heart to disgrace my mans apparell, and to cry like a woman: but I must comfort the weaker vessell, as doublet and hose ought to show it selfe coragious to petty-coate; therefore courage, good Aliena

Cel. I pray you beare with me, I cannot goe no further

Clo. For my part, I had rather beare with you, then beare you: yet I should beare no crosse if I did beare you, for I thinke you haue no money in your purse

Ros. Well, this is the Forrest of Arden

Clo. I, now am I in Arden, the more foole I, when I was at home I was in a better place, but Trauellers must be content. Enter Corin and Siluius.

Ros. I, be so good Touchstone: Look you, who comes here, a yong man and an old in solemne talke

Cor. That is the way to make her scorne you still

Sil. Oh Corin, that thou knew'st how I do loue her

Cor. I partly guesse: for I haue lou'd ere now

Sil. No Corin, being old, thou canst not guesse, Though in thy youth thou wast as true a louer As euer sigh'd vpon a midnight pillow: But if thy loue were euer like to mine, As sure I thinke did neuer man loue so: How many actions most ridiculous, Hast thou beene drawne to by thy fantasie? Cor. Into a thousand that I haue forgotten

Sil. Oh thou didst then neuer loue so hartily, If thou remembrest not the slightest folly, That euer loue did make thee run into, Thou hast not lou'd. Or if thou hast not sat as I doe now, Wearing thy hearer in thy Mistris praise, Thou hast not lou'd. Or if thou hast not broke from companie, Abruptly as my passion now makes me, Thou hast not lou'd. O Phebe, Phebe, Phebe. Enter.

Ros. Alas poore Shepheard searching of they would, I haue by hard aduenture found mine owne

Clo. And I mine: I remember when I was in loue, I broke my sword vpon a stone, and bid him take that for comming a night to Iane Smile, and I remember the kissing of her batler, and the Cowes dugs that her prettie chopt hands had milk'd; and I remember the wooing of a peascod instead of her, from whom I tooke two cods, and giuing her them againe, said with weeping teares, weare these for my sake: wee that are true Louers, runne into strange capers; but as all is mortall in nature, so is all nature in loue, mortall in folly

Ros. Thou speak'st wiser then thou art ware of

Clo. Nay, I shall nere be ware of mine owne wit, till I breake my shins against it

Ros. Ioue, Ioue, this Shepherds passion, Is much vpon my fashion

Clo. And mine, but it growes something stale with mee

Cel. I pray you, one of you question yon'd man, If he for gold will giue vs any foode, I faint almost to death

Clo. Holla; you Clowne

Ros. Peace foole, he's not thy kinsman

Cor. Who cals? Clo. Your betters Sir

Cor. Else are they very wretched

Ros. Peace I say; good euen to your friend

Cor. And to you gentle Sir, and to you all

Ros. I prethee Shepheard, if that loue or gold Can in this desert place buy entertainment, Bring vs where we may rest our selues, and feed: Here's a yong maid with trauaile much oppressed, And faints for succour

Cor. Faire Sir, I pittie her, And wish for her sake more then for mine owne, My fortunes were more able to releeue her: But I am shepheard to another man, And do not sheere the Fleeces that I graze: My master is of churlish disposition, And little wreakes to finde the way to heauen By doing deeds of hospitalitie. Besides his Coate, his Flockes, and bounds of feede Are now on sale, and at our sheep-coat 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

Ros. What is he that shall buy his flocke and pasture? Cor. That yong Swaine that you saw heere but erewhile, That little cares for buying any thing

Ros. I pray thee, if it stand with honestie, Buy thou the Cottage, pasture, and the flocke, And thou shalt haue to pay for it of vs

Cel. And we will mend thy wages: I like this place, and willingly could Waste my time in it

Cor. Assuredly the thing is to be sold: Go with me, if you like vpon report, The soile, the profit, and this kinde of life, I will your very faithfull Feeder be, And buy it with your Gold right sodainly.

Exeunt.

Scena Quinta.

Enter, Amyens, Iaques, & others.

Song.

Vnder the greene wood tree, who loues to lye with mee, And turne his merrie Note, vnto the sweet Birds throte: Come hither, come hither, come hither: Heere shall he see no enemie, But Winter and rough Weather

Iaq. More, more, I pre'thee more

Amy. It will make you melancholly Monsieur Iaques Iaq. I thanke it: More, I prethee more, I can sucke melancholly out of a song, As a Weazel suckes egges: More, I pre'thee more

Amy. My voice is ragged, I know I cannot please you

Iaq. I do not desire you to please me, I do desire you to sing: Come, more, another stanzo: Cal you 'em stanzo's? Amy. What you wil Monsieur Iaques

Iaq. Nay, I care not for their names, they owe mee nothing. Wil you sing? Amy. More at your request, then to please my selfe

Iaq. Well then, if euer I thanke any man, Ile thanke you: but that they cal complement is like th' encounter of two dog-Apes. And when a man thankes me hartily, me thinkes I haue giuen him a penie, and he renders me the beggerly thankes. Come sing; and you that wil not hold your tongues

Amy. Wel, Ile end the song. Sirs, couer the while, the Duke wil drinke vnder this tree; he hath bin all this day to looke you

Iaq. And I haue bin all this day to auoid him: He is too disputeable for my companie: I thinke of as many matters as he, but I giue Heauen thankes, and make no boast of them. Come, warble, come.

Song. Altogether heere.

Who doth ambition shunne, and loues to liue i'th Sunne: Seeking the food he eates, and pleas'd with what he gets: Come hither, come hither, come hither, Heere shall he see. &c

Iaq. Ile giue you a verse to this note, That I made yesterday in despight of my Inuention

Amy. And Ile sing it

Amy. Thus it goes. If it do come to passe, that any man turne Asse: Leauing his wealth and ease, A stubborne will to please, Ducdame, ducdame, ducdame: Heere shall he see, grosse fooles as he, And if he will come to me

Amy. What's that Ducdame? Iaq. 'Tis a Greeke inuocation, to call fools into a circle. Ile go sleepe if I can: if I cannot, Ile raile against all the first borne of Egypt

Amy. And Ile go seeke the Duke, His banket is prepar'd.

Exeunt.

Scena Sexta.

Enter Orlando, & Adam

Adam. Deere Master, I can go no further: O I die for food. Heere lie I downe, And measure out my graue. Farwel kinde master

Orl. Why how now Adam? No greater heart in thee: Liue a little, comfort a little, cheere thy selfe a little. If this vncouth Forrest yeeld any thing sauage, I wil either be food for it, or bring it for foode to thee: Thy conceite is neerer death, then thy powers. For my sake be comfortable, hold death a while At the armes end: I wil heere be with thee presently, And if I bring thee not something to eate, I wil giue thee leaue to die: but if thou diest Before I come, thou art a mocker of my labor. Wel said, thou look'st cheerely, And Ile be with thee quickly: yet thou liest In the bleake aire. Come, I wil beare thee To some shelter, and thou shalt not die For lacke of a dinner, If there liue any thing in this Desert. Cheerely good Adam.

Exeunt.

Scena Septima.

Enter Duke Sen. & Lord, like Out-lawes.

Du.Sen. I thinke he be transform'd into a beast, For I can no where finde him, like a man

1.Lord. My Lord, he is but euen now gone hence, Heere was he merry, hearing of a Song

Du.Sen. If he compact of iarres, grow Musicall, We shall haue shortly discord in the Spheares: Go seeke him, tell him I would speake with him. Enter Iaques.

1.Lord. He saues my labor by his owne approach

Du.Sen. Why how now Monsieur, what a life is this That your poore friends must woe your companie, What, you looke merrily

Iaq. A Foole, a foole: I met a foole i'th Forrest, A motley Foole (a miserable world:) As I do liue by foode, I met a foole, Who laid him downe, and bask'd him in the Sun, And rail'd on Lady Fortune in good termes, In good set termes, and yet a motley foole. Good morrow foole (quoth I:) no Sir, quoth he, Call me not foole, till heauen hath sent me fortune, And then he drew a diall from his poake, And looking on it, with lacke-lustre eye, Sayes, very wisely, it is ten a clocke: Thus we may see (quoth he) how the world wagges: 'Tis but an houre agoe, since it was nine, And after one houre more, 'twill be eleuen, And so from houre to houre, we ripe, and ripe, And then from houre to houre, we rot, and rot, And thereby hangs a tale. When I did heare The motley Foole, thus morall on the time, My Lungs began to crow like Chanticleere, That Fooles should be so deepe contemplatiue: And I did laugh, sans intermission An houre by his diall. Oh noble foole, A worthy foole: Motley's the onely weare

Du.Sen. What foole is this? Iaq. O worthie Foole: One that hath bin a Courtier And sayes, if Ladies be but yong, and faire, They haue the gift to know it: and in his braine, Which is as drie as the remainder bisket After a voyage: He hath strange places cram'd With obseruation, the which he vents In mangled formes. O that I were a foole, I am ambitious for a motley coat

Du.Sen. Thou shalt haue one

Iaq. It is my onely suite, Prouided that you weed your better iudgements Of all opinion that growes ranke in them, That I am wise. I must haue liberty Withall, as large a Charter as the winde, To blow on whom I please, for so fooles haue: And they that are most gauled with my folly, They most must laugh: And why sir must they so? The why is plaine, as way to Parish Church: Hee, that a Foole doth very wisely hit, Doth very foolishly, although he smart Seeme senselesse of the bob. If not, The Wise-mans folly is anathomiz'd Euen by the squandring glances of the foole. Inuest me in my motley: Giue me leaue To speake my minde, and I will through and through Cleanse the foule bodie of th' infected world, If they will patiently receiue my medicine

Du.Sen. Fie on thee. I can tell what thou wouldst do

Iaq. What, for a Counter, would I do, but good? Du.Sen. Most mischeeuous foule sin, in chiding sin: For thou thy selfe hast bene a Libertine, As sensuall as the brutish sting it selfe, And all th' imbossed sores, and headed euils, That thou with license of free foot hast caught, Would'st thou disgorge into the generall world

Iaq. Why who cries out on pride, That can therein taxe any priuate party: Doth it not flow as hugely as the Sea, Till that the wearie verie meanes do ebbe. What woman in the Citie do I name, When that I say the City woman beares The cost of Princes on vnworthy shoulders? Who can come in, and say that I meane her, When such a one as shee, such is her neighbor? Or what is he of basest function, That sayes his brauerie is not on my cost, Thinking that I meane him, but therein suites 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 himselfe: if he be free, Why then my taxing like a wild-goose flies Vnclaim'd of any man. But who come here? Enter Orlando.

Orl. Forbeare, and eate no more

Iaq. Why I haue eate none yet

Orl. Nor shalt not, till necessity be seru'd

Iaq. Of what kinde should this Cocke come of? Du.Sen. Art thou thus bolden'd man by thy distres? Or else a rude despiser of good manners, That in ciuility thou seem'st so emptie? Orl. You touch'd my veine at first, the thorny point Of bare distresse, hath tane from me the shew Of smooth ciuility: yet am I in-land bred, And know some nourture: But forbeare, I say, He dies that touches any of this fruite, Till I, and my affaires are answered

Iaq. And you will not be answer'd with reason, I must dye

Du.Sen. What would you haue? Your gentlenesse shall force, more then your force Moue vs to gentlenesse

Orl. I almost die for food, and let me haue it

Du.Sen. Sit downe and feed, & welcom to our table Orl. Speake you so gently? Pardon me I pray you, I thought that all things had bin sauage heere, And therefore put I on the countenance Of sterne command'ment. But what ere you are That in this desert inaccessible, Vnder the shade of melancholly boughes, Loose, and neglect the creeping houres of time: If euer you haue look'd on better dayes: If euer beene where bels haue knoll'd to Church: If euer sate at any good mans feast: If euer from your eye-lids wip'd a teare, And know what 'tis to pittie, and be pittied: Let gentlenesse my strong enforcement be, In the which hope, I blush, and hide my Sword

Du.Sen. True is it, that we haue seene better dayes, And haue with holy bell bin knowld to Church, And sat at good mens feasts, and wip'd our eies Of drops, that sacred pity hath engendred: And therefore sit you downe in gentlenesse, And take vpon command, what helpe we haue That to your wanting may be ministred

Orl. Then but forbeare your food a little while: Whiles (like a Doe) I go to finde my Fawne, And giue it food. There is an old poore man, Who after me, hath many a weary steppe Limpt in pure loue: till he be first suffic'd, Opprest with two weake euils, age, and hunger, I will not touch a bit

Duke Sen. Go finde him out, And we will nothing waste till you returne

Orl. I thanke ye, and be blest for your good comfort

Du.Sen. Thou seest, we are not all alone vnhappie: This wide and vniuersall Theater Presents more wofull Pageants then the Sceane Wherein we play in

Ia. All the world's a stage, And all the men and women, meerely Players; They haue their Exits and their Entrances, And one man in his time playes many parts, His Acts being seuen ages. At first the Infant, Mewling, and puking in the Nurses armes: Then, the whining Schoole-boy with his Satchell And shining morning face, creeping like snaile Vnwillingly to schoole. And then the Louer, Sighing like Furnace, with a wofull ballad Made to his Mistresse eye-brow. Then, a Soldier, Full of strange oaths, and bearded like the Pard, Ielous in honor, sodaine, and quicke in quarrell, Seeking the bubble Reputation Euen in the Canons mouth: And then, the Iustice In faire round belly, with good Capon lin'd, With eyes seuere, and beard of formall cut, Full of wise sawes, and moderne instances, And so he playes his part. The sixt age shifts Into the leane and slipper'd Pantaloone, With spectacles on nose, and pouch on side, His youthfull hose well sau'd, a world too wide, For his shrunke shanke, and his bigge manly voice, Turning againe toward childish trebble pipes, And whistles in his sound. Last Scene of all, That ends this strange euentfull historie, Is second childishnesse, and meere obliuion, Sans teeth, sans eyes, sans taste, sans euery thing. Enter Orlando with Adam.

Du.Sen. Welcome: set downe your venerable burthen, and let him feede

Orl. I thanke you most for him

Ad. So had you neede, I scarce can speake to thanke you for my selfe

Du.Sen. Welcome, fall too: I wil not trouble you, As yet to question you about your fortunes: Giue vs some Musicke, and good Cozen, sing.

Song.

Blow, blow, thou winter winde, Thou art not so vnkinde, as mans ingratitude Thy tooth is not so keene, because thou art not seene, although thy breath be rude. Heigh ho, sing heigh ho, vnto the greene holly, Most frendship, is fayning; most Louing, meere folly: The heigh ho, the holly, This Life is most iolly. Freize, freize, thou bitter skie that dost not bight so nigh as benefitts forgot: Though thou the waters warpe, thy sting is not so sharpe, as freind remembred not. Heigh ho, sing, &c

Duke Sen. If that you were the good Sir Rowlands son, As you haue whisper'd faithfully you were, And as mine eye doth his effigies witnesse, Most truly limn'd, and liuing in your face, Be truly welcome hither: I am the Duke That lou'd your Father, the residue of your fortune, Go to my Caue, and tell mee. Good old man, Thou art right welcome, as thy masters is: Support him by the arme: giue me your hand, And let me all your fortunes vnderstand.

Exeunt.

Actus Tertius. Scena Prima.

Enter Duke, Lords, & Oliuer.

Du. Not see him since? Sir, sir, that cannot be: But were I not the better part made mercie, I should not seeke an absent argument Of my reuenge, thou present: but looke to it, Finde out thy brother wheresoere he is, Seeke him with Candle: bring him dead, or liuing Within this tweluemonth, or turne thou no more To seeke a liuing in our Territorie. 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 thinke against thee

Ol. Oh that your Highnesse knew my heart in this: I neuer lou'd my brother in my life

Duke. More villaine thou. Well push him out of dores And let my officers of such a nature Make an extent vpon his house and Lands: Do this expediently, and turne him going.

Exeunt.

Scena Secunda.

Enter Orlando.

Orl. Hang there my verse, in witnesse of my loue, And thou thrice crowned Queene of night suruey With thy chaste eye, from thy pale spheare aboue Thy Huntresse name, that my full life doth sway. O Rosalind, these Trees shall be my Bookes, And in their barkes my thoughts Ile charracter, That euerie eye, which in this Forrest lookes, Shall see thy vertue witnest euery where. Run, run Orlando, carue on euery Tree, The faire, the chaste, and vnexpressiue shee.

Exit

Enter Corin & Clowne.

Co. And how like you this shepherds life Mr Touchstone? Clow. Truely Shepheard, in respect of it selfe, it is a good life; but in respect that it is a shepheards life, it is naught. In respect that it is solitary, I like it verie well: but in respect that it is priuate, it is a very vild life. Now in respect it is in the fields, it pleaseth mee well: but in respect it is not in the Court, it is tedious. As it is a spare life (looke you) it fits my humor well: but as there is no more plentie in it, it goes much against my stomacke. Has't any Philosophie in thee shepheard? Cor. No more, but that I know the more one sickens, the worse at ease he is: and that hee that wants money, meanes, and content, is without three good frends. That the propertie of raine is to wet, and fire to burne: That good pasture makes fat sheepe: and that a great cause of the night, is lacke of the Sunne: That hee that hath learned no wit by Nature, nor Art, may complaine of good breeding, or comes of a very dull kindred

Clo. Such a one is a naturall Philosopher: Was't euer in Court, Shepheard? Cor. No truly

Clo. Then thou art damn'd

Cor. Nay, I hope

Clo. Truly thou art damn'd, like an ill roasted Egge, all on one side

Cor. For not being at Court? your reason

Clo. Why, if thou neuer was't at Court, thou neuer saw'st good manners: if thou neuer saw'st good maners, then thy manners must be wicked, and wickednes is sin, and sinne is damnation: Thou art in a parlous state shepheard

Cor. Not a whit Touchstone, those that are good maners at the Court, are as ridiculous in the Countrey, as the behauiour of the Countrie is most mockeable at the Court. You told me, you salute not at the Court, but you kisse your hands; that courtesie would be vncleanlie if Courtiers were shepheards

Clo. Instance, briefly: come, instance

Cor. Why we are still handling our Ewes, and their Fels you know are greasie

Clo. Why do not your Courtiers hands sweate? and is not the grease of a Mutton, as wholesome as the sweat of a man? Shallow, shallow: A better instance I say: Come

Cor. Besides, our hands are hard

Clo. Your lips wil feele them the sooner. Shallow agen: a more sounder instance, come

Cor. And they are often tarr'd ouer, with the surgery of our sheepe: and would you haue vs kisse Tarre? The Courtiers hands are perfum'd with Ciuet

Clo. Most shallow man: Thou wormes meate in respect of a good peece of flesh indeed: learne of the wise and perpend: Ciuet is of a baser birth then Tarre, the verie vncleanly fluxe of a Cat. Mend the instance Shepheard

Cor. You haue too Courtly a wit, for me, Ile rest

Clo. Wilt thou rest damn'd? God helpe thee shallow man: God make incision in thee, thou art raw

Cor. Sir, I am a true Labourer, I earne that I eate: get that I weare; owe no man hate, enuie no mans happinesse: glad of other mens good content with my harme: and the greatest of my pride, is to see my Ewes graze, & my Lambes sucke

Clo. That is another simple sinne in you, to bring the Ewes and the Rammes together, and to offer to get your liuing, by the copulation of Cattle, to be bawd to a Belweather, and to betray a shee-Lambe of a tweluemonth to a crooked-pated olde Cuckoldly Ramme, out of all reasonable match. If thou bee'st not damn'd for this, the diuell himselfe will haue no shepherds, I cannot see else how thou shouldst scape

Cor. Heere comes yong Mr Ganimed, my new Mistrisses Brother. Enter Rosalind

Ros. From the east to westerne Inde, no iewel is like Rosalinde, Hir worth being mounted on the winde, through all the world beares Rosalinde. All the pictures fairest Linde, are but blacke to Rosalinde: Let no face bee kept in mind, but the faire of Rosalinde

Clo. Ile rime you so, eight yeares together; dinners, and suppers, and sleeping hours excepted: it is the right Butter-womens ranke to Market

Ros. Out Foole

Clo. For a taste. If a Hart doe lacke a Hinde, Let him seeke out Rosalinde: If the Cat will after kinde, so be sure will Rosalinde: Wintred garments must be linde, so must slender Rosalinde: They that reap must sheafe and binde, then to cart with Rosalinde. Sweetest nut, hath sowrest rinde, such a nut is Rosalinde. He that sweetest rose will finde, must finde Loues pricke, & Rosalinde. This is the verie false gallop of Verses, why doe you infect your selfe with them? Ros. Peace you dull foole, I found them on a tree

Clo. Truely the tree yeelds bad fruite

Ros. Ile graffe it with you, and then I shall graffe it with a Medler: then it will be the earliest fruit i'th country: for you'l be rotten ere you bee halfe ripe, and that's the right vertue of the Medler

Clo. You haue said: but whether wisely or no, let the Forrest iudge. Enter Celia with a writing.

Ros. Peace, here comes my sister reading, stand aside

Cel. Why should this Desert bee, for it is vnpeopled? Noe: Tonges Ile hang on euerie tree, that shall ciuill sayings shoe. Some, how briefe the Life of man runs his erring pilgrimage, That the stretching of a span, buckles in his summe of age. Some of violated vowes, twixt the soules of friend, and friend: But vpon the fairest bowes, or at euerie sentence end; Will I Rosalinda write, teaching all that reade, to know The quintessence of euerie sprite, heauen would in little show. Therefore heauen Nature charg'd, that one bodie should be fill'd With all Graces wide enlarg'd, nature presently distill'd Helens cheeke, but not his heart, Cleopatra's Maiestie: Attalanta's better part, sad Lucrecia's Modestie. Thus Rosalinde of manie parts, by Heauenly Synode was deuis'd, Of manie faces, eyes, and hearts, to haue the touches deerest pris'd. Heauen would that shee these gifts should haue, and I to liue and die her slaue

Ros. O most gentle Iupiter, what tedious homilie of Loue haue you wearied your parishioners withall, and neuer cri'de, haue patience good people

Cel. How now backe friends: Shepheard, go off a little: go with him sirrah

Clo. Come Shepheard, let vs make an honorable retreit, though not with bagge and baggage, yet with scrip and scrippage. Enter.

Cel. Didst thou heare these verses? Ros. O yes, I heard them all, and more too, for some of them had in them more feete then the Verses would beare

Cel. That's no matter: the feet might beare y verses

Ros. I, but the feet were lame, and could not beare themselues without the verse, and therefore stood lamely in the verse

Cel. But didst thou heare without wondering, how thy name should be hang'd and carued vpon these trees? Ros. I was seuen of the nine daies out of the wonder, before you came: for looke heere what I found on a Palme tree; I was neuer so berim'd since Pythagoras time that I was an Irish Rat, which I can hardly remember

Cel. Tro you, who hath done this? Ros. Is it a man? Cel. And a chaine that you once wore about his neck: change you colour? Ros. I pre'thee who? Cel. O Lord, Lord, it is a hard matter for friends to meete; but Mountaines may bee remoou'd with Earthquakes, and so encounter

Ros. Nay, but who is it? Cel. Is it possible? Ros. Nay, I pre'thee now, with most petitionary vehemence, tell me who it is

Cel. O wonderfull, wonderfull, and most wonderfull wonderfull, and yet againe wonderful, and after that out of all hooping

Ros. Good my complection, dost thou think though I am caparison'd like a man, I haue a doublet and hose in my disposition? One inch of delay more, is a South-sea of discouerie. I pre'thee tell me, who is it quickely, and speake apace: I would thou couldst stammer, that thou might'st powre this conceal'd man out of thy mouth, as Wine comes out of a narrow-mouth'd bottle: either too much at once, or none at all. I pre'thee take the Corke out of thy mouth, that I may drinke thy tydings

Cel. So you may put a man in your belly

Ros. Is he of Gods making? What manner of man? Is his head worth a hat? Or his chin worth a beard? Cel. Nay, he hath but a little beard

Ros. Why God will send more, if the man will bee thankful: let me stay the growth of his beard, if thou delay me not the knowledge of his chin

Cel. It is yong Orlando, that tript vp the Wrastlers heeles, and your heart, both in an instant

Ros. Nay, but the diuell take mocking: speake sadde brow, and true maid

Cel. I'faith (Coz) tis he

Ros. Orlando? Cel. Orlando

Ros. Alas the day, what shall I do with my doublet & hose? What did he when thou saw'st him? What sayde he? How look'd he? Wherein went he? What makes hee heere? Did he aske for me? Where remaines he? How parted he with thee? And when shalt thou see him againe? Answer me in one word

Cel. You must borrow me Gargantuas mouth first: 'tis a Word too great for any mouth of this Ages size, to say I and no, to these particulars, is more then to answer in a Catechisme

Ros. But doth he know that I am in this Forrest, and in mans apparrell? Looks he as freshly, as he did the day he Wrastled? Cel. It is as easie to count Atomies as to resolue the propositions of a Louer: but take a taste of my finding him, and rellish it with good obseruance. I found him vnder a tree like a drop'd Acorne

Ros. It may wel be cal'd Ioues tree, when it droppes forth fruite

Cel. Giue me audience, good Madam

Ros. Proceed

Cel. There lay hee stretch'd along like a Wounded knight

Ros. Though it be pittie to see such a sight, it well becomes the ground

Cel. Cry holla, to the tongue, I prethee: it curuettes vnseasonably. He was furnish'd like a Hunter

Ros. O ominous, he comes to kill my Hart

Cel. I would sing my song without a burthen, thou bring'st me out of tune

Ros. Do you not know I am a woman, when I thinke, I must speake: sweet, say on. Enter Orlando & Iaques.

Cel. You bring me out. Soft, comes he not heere? Ros. 'Tis he, slinke by, and note him

Iaq. I thanke you for your company, but good faith I had as liefe haue beene my selfe alone

Orl. And so had I: but yet for fashion sake I thanke you too, for your societie

Iaq. God buy you, let's meet as little as we can

Orl. I do desire we may be better strangers

Iaq. I pray you marre no more trees with Writing Loue-songs in their barkes

Orl. I pray you marre no moe of my verses with reading them ill-fauouredly

Iaq. Rosalinde is your loues name? Orl. Yes, Iust

Iaq. I do not like her name

Orl. There was no thought of pleasing you when she was christen'd

Iaq. What stature is she of? Orl. Iust as high as my heart

Iaq. You are ful of prety answers: haue you not bin acquainted with goldsmiths wiues, & cond the[m] out of rings Orl. Not so: but I answer you right painted cloath, from whence you haue studied your questions

Iaq. You haue a nimble wit; I thinke 'twas made of Attalanta's heeles. Will you sitte downe with me, and wee two, will raile against our Mistris the world, and all our miserie

Orl. I wil chide no breather in the world but my selfe against whom I know most faults

Iaq. The worst fault you haue, is to be in loue

Orl. 'Tis a fault I will not change, for your best vertue: I am wearie of you

Iaq. By my troth, I was seeking for a Foole, when I found you

Orl. He is drown'd in the brooke, looke but in, and you shall see him

Iaq. There I shal see mine owne figure

Orl. Which I take to be either a foole, or a Cipher

Iaq. Ile tarrie no longer with you, farewell good signior Loue

Orl. I am glad of your departure: Adieu good Monsieur Melancholly

Ros. I wil speake to him like a sawcie Lacky, and vnder that habit play the knaue with him, do you hear Forrester

Orl. Verie wel, what would you? Ros. I pray you, what i'st a clocke? Orl. You should aske me what time o' day: there's no clocke in the Forrest

Ros. Then there is no true Louer in the Forrest, else sighing euerie minute, and groaning euerie houre wold detect the lazie foot of time, as wel as a clocke

Orl. And why not the swift foote of time? Had not that bin as proper? Ros. By no meanes sir; Time trauels in diuers paces, with diuers persons: Ile tel you who Time ambles withall, who Time trots withal, who Time gallops withal, and who he stands stil withall

Orl. I prethee, who doth he trot withal? Ros. Marry he trots hard with a yong maid, between the contract of her marriage, and the day it is solemnizd: if the interim be but a sennight, Times pace is so hard, that it seemes the length of seuen yeare

Orl. Who ambles Time withal? Ros. With a Priest that lacks Latine, and a rich man that hath not the Gowt: for the one sleepes easily because he cannot study, and the other liues merrily, because he feeles no paine: the one lacking the burthen of leane and wasteful Learning; the other knowing no burthen of heauie tedious penurie. These Time ambles withal

Orl. Who doth he gallop withal? Ros. With a theefe to the gallowes: for though hee go as softly as foot can fall, he thinkes himselfe too soon there

Orl. Who staies it stil withal? Ros. With Lawiers in the vacation: for they sleepe betweene Terme and Terme, and then they perceiue not how time moues

Orl. Where dwel you prettie youth? Ros. With this Shepheardesse my sister: heere in the skirts of the Forrest, like fringe vpon a petticoat

Orl. Are you natiue of this place? Ros. As the Conie that you see dwell where shee is kindled

Orl. Your accent is something finer, then you could purchase in so remoued a dwelling

Ros. I haue bin told so of many: but indeed, an olde religious Vnckle of mine taught me to speake, who was in his youth an inland man, one that knew Courtship too well: for there he fel in loue. I haue heard him read many Lectors against it, and I thanke God, I am not a Woman to be touch'd with so many giddie offences as hee hath generally tax'd their whole sex withal

Orl. Can you remember any of the principall euils, that he laid to the charge of women? Ros. There were none principal, they were all like one another, as halfepence are, euerie one fault seeming monstrous, til his fellow-fault came to match it

Orl. I prethee recount some of them

Ros. No: I wil not cast away my physick, but on those that are sicke. There is a man haunts the Forrest, that abuses our yong plants with caruing Rosalinde on their barkes; hangs Oades vpon Hauthornes, and Elegies on brambles; all (forsooth) defying the name of Rosalinde. If I could meet that Fancie-monger, I would giue him some good counsel, for he seemes to haue the Quotidian of Loue vpon him

Orl. I am he that is so Loue-shak'd, I pray you tel me your remedie

Ros. There is none of my Vnckles markes vpon you: he taught me how to know a man in loue: in which cage of rushes, I am sure you art not prisoner

Orl. What were his markes? Ros. A leane cheeke, which you haue not: a blew eie and sunken, which you haue not: an vnquestionable spirit, which you haue not: a beard neglected, which you haue not: (but I pardon you for that, for simply your hauing in beard, is a yonger brothers reuennew) then your hose should be vngarter'd, your bonnet vnbanded, your sleeue vnbutton'd, your shoo vnti'de, and euerie thing about you, demonstrating a carelesse desolation: but you are no such man; you are rather point deuice in your accoustrements, as louing your selfe, then seeming the Louer of any other

Orl. Faire youth, I would I could make thee beleeue I Loue

Ros. Me beleeue it? You may assoone make her that you Loue beleeue it, which I warrant she is apter to do, then to confesse she do's: that is one of the points, in the which women stil giue the lie to their consciences. But in good sooth, are you he that hangs the verses on the Trees, wherein Rosalind is so admired? Orl. I sweare to thee youth, by the white hand of Rosalind, I am that he, that vnfortunate he

Ros. But are you so much in loue, as your rimes speak? Orl. Neither rime nor reason can expresse how much

Ros. Loue is meerely a madnesse, and I tel you, deserues as wel a darke house, and a whip, as madmen do: and the reason why they are not so punish'd and cured, is that the Lunacie is so ordinarie, that the whippers are in loue too: yet I professe curing it by counsel

Orl. Did you euer cure any so? Ros. Yes one, and in this manner. Hee was to imagine me his Loue, his Mistris: and I set him euerie day to woe me. At which time would I, being but a moonish youth, greeue, be effeminate, changeable, longing, and liking, proud, fantastical, apish, shallow, inconstant, ful of teares, full of smiles; for euerie passion something, and for no passion truly any thing, as boyes and women are for the most part, cattle of this colour: would now like him, now loath him: then entertaine him, then forswear him: now weepe for him, then spit at him; that I draue my Sutor from his mad humor of loue, to a liuing humor of madnes, w was to forsweare the ful stream of y world, and to liue in a nooke meerly Monastick: and thus I cur'd him, and this way wil I take vpon mee to wash your Liuer as cleane as a sound sheepes heart, that there shal not be one spot of Loue in't

Orl. I would not be cured, youth

Ros. I would cure you, if you would but call me Rosalind, and come euerie day to my Coat, and woe me

Orlan. Now by the faith of my loue, I will; Tel me where it is

Ros. Go with me to it, and Ile shew it you: and by the way, you shal tell me, where in the Forrest you liue: Wil you go? Orl. With all my heart, good youth

Ros. Nay, you must call mee Rosalind: Come sister, will you go?

Exeunt.

Scoena Tertia.

Enter Clowne, Audrey, & Iaques.

Clo. Come apace good Audrey, I wil fetch vp your Goates, Audrey: and how Audrey am I the man yet? Doth my simple feature content you? Aud. Your features, Lord warrant vs: what features? Clo. I am heere with thee, and thy Goats, as the most capricious Poet honest Ouid was among the Gothes

Iaq. O knowledge ill inhabited, worse then Ioue in a thatch'd house

Clo. When a mans verses cannot be vnderstood, nor a mans good wit seconded with the forward childe, vnderstanding: it strikes a man more dead then a great reckoning in a little roome: truly, I would the Gods hadde made thee poeticall

Aud. I do not know what Poetical is: is it honest in deed and word: is it a true thing? Clo. No trulie: for the truest poetrie is the most faining, and Louers are giuen to Poetrie: and what they sweare in Poetrie, may be said as Louers, they do feigne

Aud. Do you wish then that the Gods had made me Poeticall? Clow. I do truly: for thou swear'st to me thou art honest: Now if thou wert a Poet, I might haue some hope thou didst feigne

Aud. Would you not haue me honest? Clo. No truly, vnlesse thou wert hard fauour'd: for honestie coupled to beautie, is to haue Honie a sawce to Sugar

Iaq. A materiall foole

Aud. Well, I am not faire, and therefore I pray the Gods make me honest

Clo. Truly, and to cast away honestie vppon a foule slut, were to put good meate into an vncleane dish

Aud. I am not a slut, though I thanke the Goddes I am foule

Clo. Well, praised be the Gods, for thy foulnesse; sluttishnesse may come heereafter. But be it, as it may bee, I wil marrie thee: and to that end, I haue bin with Sir Oliuer Mar-text, the Vicar of the next village, who hath promis'd to meete me in this place of the Forrest, and to couple vs

Iaq. I would faine see this meeting

Aud. Wel, the Gods giue vs ioy

Clo. Amen. A man may if he were of a fearful heart, stagger in this attempt: for heere wee haue no Temple but the wood, no assembly but horne-beasts. But what though? Courage. As hornes are odious, they are necessarie. It is said, many a man knowes no end of his goods; right: Many a man has good Hornes, and knows no end of them. Well, that is the dowrie of his wife, 'tis none of his owne getting; hornes, euen so poore men alone: No, no, the noblest Deere hath them as huge as the Rascall: Is the single man therefore blessed? No, as a wall'd Towne is more worthier then a village, so is the forehead of a married man, more honourable then the bare brow of a Batcheller: and by how much defence is better then no skill, by so much is a horne more precious then to want. Enter Sir Oliuer Mar-text.

Heere comes Sir Oliuer: Sir Oliuer Mar-text you are wel met. Will you dispatch vs heere vnder this tree, or shal we go with you to your Chappell? Ol. Is there none heere to giue the woman? Clo. I wil not take her on guift of any man

Ol. Truly she must be giuen, or the marriage is not lawfull

Iaq. Proceed, proceede: Ile giue her

Clo. Good euen good Mr what ye cal't: how do you Sir, you are verie well met: goddild you for your last companie, I am verie glad to see you, euen a toy in hand heere Sir: Nay, pray be couer'd

Iaq. Wil you be married, Motley? Clo. As the Oxe hath his bow sir, the horse his curb, and the Falcon her bels, so man hath his desires, and as Pigeons bill, so wedlocke would be nibling

Iaq. And wil you (being a man of your breeding) be married vnder a bush like a begger? Get you to church, and haue a good Priest that can tel you what marriage is, this fellow wil but ioyne you together, as they ioyne Wainscot, then one of you wil proue a shrunke pannell, and like greene timber, warpe, warpe

Clo. I am not in the minde, but I were better to bee married of him then of another, for he is not like to marrie me wel: and not being wel married, it wil be a good excuse for me heereafter, to leaue my wife

Iaq. Goe thou with mee, And let me counsel thee

Ol. Come sweete Audrey, We must be married, or we must liue in baudrey: Farewel good Mr Oliuer: Not O sweet Oliuer, O braue Oliuer leaue me not behind thee: But winde away, bee gone I say, I wil not to wedding with thee

Ol. 'Tis no matter; Ne're a fantastical knaue of them all shal flout me out of my calling.

Exeunt.

Scoena Quarta.

Enter Rosalind & Celia.

Ros. Neuer talke to me, I wil weepe

Cel. Do I prethee, but yet haue the grace to consider, that teares do not become a man

Ros. But haue I not cause to weepe? Cel. As good cause as one would desire, Therefore weepe

Ros. His very haire Is of the dissembling colour

Cel. Something browner then Iudasses: Marrie his kisses are Iudasses owne children

Ros. I'faith his haire is of a good colour

Cel. An excellent colour: Your Chessenut was euer the onely colour: Ros. And his kissing is as ful of sanctitie, As the touch of holy bread

Cel. Hee hath bought a paire of cast lips of Diana: a Nun of winters sisterhood kisses not more religiouslie, the very yce of chastity is in them

Rosa. But why did hee sweare hee would come this morning, and comes not? Cel. Nay certainly there is no truth in him

Ros. Doe you thinke so? Cel. Yes, I thinke he is not a picke purse, nor a horse-stealer, but for his verity in loue, I doe thinke him as concaue as a couered goblet, or a Worme-eaten nut

Ros. Not true in loue? Cel. Yes, when he is in, but I thinke he is not in

Ros. You haue heard him sweare downright he was

Cel. Was, is not is: besides, the oath of Louer is no stronger then the word of a Tapster, they are both the confirmer of false reckonings, he attends here in the forrest on the Duke your father

Ros. I met the Duke yesterday, and had much question with him: he askt me of what parentage I was; I told him of as good as he, so he laugh'd and let mee goe. But what talke wee of Fathers, when there is such a man as Orlando? Cel. O that's a braue man, hee writes braue verses, speakes braue words, sweares braue oathes, and breakes them brauely, quite trauers athwart the heart of his louer, as a puisny Tilter, y spurs his horse but on one side, breakes his staffe like a noble goose; but all's braue that youth mounts, and folly guides: who comes heere? Enter Corin.

Corin. Mistresse and Master, you haue oft enquired After the Shepheard that complain'd of loue, Who you saw sitting by me on the Turph, Praising the proud disdainfull Shepherdesse That was his Mistresse

Cel. Well: and what of him? Cor. If you will see a pageant truely plaid Betweene the pale complexion of true Loue, And the red glowe of scorne and prowd disdaine, Goe hence a little, and I shall conduct you If you will marke it

Ros. O come, let vs remoue, The sight of Louers feedeth those in loue: Bring vs to this sight, and you shall say Ile proue a busie actor in their play.

Exeunt.

Scena Quinta.

Enter Siluius and Phebe.

Sil. Sweet Phebe doe not scorne me, do not Phebe Say that you loue me not, but say not so In bitternesse; the common executioner Whose heart th' accustom'd sight of death makes hard Falls not the axe vpon the humbled neck, But first begs pardon: will you sterner be Then he that dies and liues by bloody drops? Enter Rosalind, Celia, and Corin.

Phe. I would not be thy executioner, I flye thee, for I would not iniure thee: Thou tellst me there is murder in mine eye, 'Tis pretty sure, and very probable, That eyes that are the frailst, and softest things, Who shut their coward gates on atomyes, Should be called tyrants, butchers, murtherers. Now I doe frowne on thee with all my heart, And if mine eyes can wound, now let them kill thee: Now counterfeit to swound, why now fall downe, Or if thou canst not, oh for shame, for shame, Lye not, to say mine eyes are murtherers: Now shew the wound mine eye hath made in thee, Scratch thee but with a pin, and there remaines Some scarre of it: Leane vpon a rush The Cicatrice and capable impressure Thy palme some moment keepes: but now mine eyes Which I haue darted at thee, hurt thee not, Nor I am sure there is no force in eyes That can doe hurt

Sil. O deere Phebe, If euer (as that euer may be neere) You meet in some fresh cheeke the power of fancie, Then shall you know the wounds inuisible That Loues keene arrows make

Phe. But till that time Come not thou neere me: and when that time comes, Afflict me with thy mockes, pitty me not, As till that time I shall not pitty thee

Ros. And why I pray you? who might be your mother That you insult, exult, and all at once Ouer the wretched? what though you haue no beauty As by my faith, I see no more in you Then without Candle may goe darke to bed: Must you be therefore prowd and pittilesse? Why what meanes this? why do you looke on me? I see no more in you then in the ordinary Of Natures sale-worke? 'ods my little life, I thinke she meanes to tangle my eies too: No faith proud Mistresse, hope not after it, 'Tis not your inkie browes, your blacke silke haire, Your bugle eye-balls, nor your cheeke of creame That can entame my spirits to your worship: You foolish Shepheard, wherefore do you follow her Like foggy South, puffing with winde and raine, You are a thousand times a properer man Then she a woman. 'Tis such fooles as you That makes the world full of ill-fauourd children: 'Tis not her glasse, but you that flatters her, And out of you she sees her selfe more proper Then any of her lineaments can show her: But Mistris, know your selfe, downe on your knees And thanke heauen, fasting, for a good mans loue; For I must tell you friendly in your eare, Sell when you can, you are not for all markets: Cry the man mercy, loue him, take his offer, Foule is most foule, being foule to be a scoffer. So take her to thee Shepheard, fareyouwell

Phe. Sweet youth, I pray you chide a yere together, I had rather here you chide, then this man wooe

Ros. Hees falne in loue with your foulnesse, & shee'll Fall in loue with my anger. If it be so, as fast As she answeres thee with frowning lookes, ile sauce Her with bitter words: why looke you so vpon me? Phe. For no ill will I beare you

Ros. I pray you do not fall in loue with mee, For I am falser then vowes made in wine: Besides, I like you not: if you will know my house, 'Tis at the tufft of Oliues, here hard by: Will you goe Sister? Shepheard ply her hard: Come Sister: Shepheardesse, looke on him better And be not proud, though all the world could see, None could be so abus'd in sight as hee. Come, to our flocke, Enter.

Phe. Dead Shepheard, now I find thy saw of might, Who euer lov'd, that lou'd not at first sight? Sil. Sweet Phebe

Phe. Hah: what saist thou Siluius? Sil. Sweet Phebe pitty me

Phe. Why I am sorry for thee gentle Siluius

Sil. Where euer sorrow is, reliefe would be: If you doe sorrow at my griefe in loue, By giuing loue your sorrow, and my griefe Were both extermin'd

Phe. Thou hast my loue, is not that neighbourly? Sil. I would haue you

Phe. Why that were couetousnesse: Siluius; the time was, that I hated thee; And yet it is not, that I beare thee loue, But since that thou canst talke of loue so well, Thy company, which erst was irkesome to me I will endure; and Ile employ thee too: But doe not looke for further recompence Then thine owne gladnesse, that thou art employd

Sil. So holy, and so perfect is my loue, And I in such a pouerty of grace, That I shall thinke it a most plenteous crop To gleane the broken eares after the man That the maine haruest reapes: loose now and then A scattred smile, and that Ile liue vpon

Phe. Knowst thou the youth that spoke to mee yerewhile? Sil. Not very well, but I haue met him oft, And he hath bought the Cottage and the bounds That the old Carlot once was Master of

Phe. Thinke not I loue him, though I ask for him, 'Tis but a peeuish boy, yet he talkes well, But what care I for words? yet words do well When he that speakes them pleases those that heare: It is a pretty youth, not very prettie, But sure hee's proud, and yet his pride becomes him; Hee'll make a proper man: the best thing in him Is his complexion: and faster then his tongue Did make offence, his eye did heale it vp: He is not very tall, yet for his yeeres hee's tall: His leg is but so so, and yet 'tis well: There was a pretty rednesse in his lip, A little riper, and more lustie red Then that mixt in his cheeke: 'twas iust the difference Betwixt the constant red, and mingled Damaske. There be some women Siluius, had they markt him In parcells as I did, would haue gone neere To fall in loue with him: but for my part I loue him not, nor hate him not: and yet Haue more cause to hate him then to loue him, For what had he to doe to chide at me? He said mine eyes were black, and my haire blacke, And now I am remembred, scorn'd at me: I maruell why I answer'd not againe, But that's all one: omittance is no quittance: Ile write to him a very tanting Letter, And thou shalt beare it, wilt thou Siluius? Sil. Phebe, with all my heart

Phe. Ile write it strait: The matter's in my head, and in my heart, I will be bitter with him, and passing short; Goe with me Siluius.

Exeunt.

Actus Quartus. Scena Prima.

Enter Rosalind, and Celia, and Iaques.

Iaq. I prethee, pretty youth, let me better acquainted with thee

Ros They say you are a melancholly fellow

Iaq. I am so: I doe loue it better then laughing

Ros. Those that are in extremity of either, are abhominable fellowes, and betray themselues to euery moderne censure, worse then drunkards

Iaq. Why, 'tis good to be sad and say nothing

Ros. Why then 'tis good to be a poste

Iaq. I haue neither the Schollers melancholy, which is emulation: nor the Musitians, which is fantasticall; nor the Courtiers, which is proud: nor the Souldiers, which is ambitious: nor the Lawiers, which is politick: nor the Ladies, which is nice: nor the Louers, which is all these: but it is a melancholy of mine owne, compounded of many simples, extracted from many obiects, and indeed the sundrie contemplation of my trauells, in which by often rumination, wraps me in a most humorous sadnesse

Ros. A Traueller: by my faith you haue great reason to be sad: I feare you haue sold your owne Lands, to see other mens; then to haue seene much, and to haue nothing, is to haue rich eyes and poore hands

Iaq. Yes, I haue gain'd my experience. Enter Orlando.

Ros. And your experience makes you sad: I had rather haue a foole to make me merrie, then experience to make me sad, and to trauaile for it too

Orl. Good day, and happinesse, deere Rosalind

Iaq. Nay then God buy you, and you talke in blanke verse

Ros. Farewell Mounsieur Trauellor: looke you lispe, and weare strange suites; disable all the benefits of your owne Countrie: be out of loue with your natiuitie, and almost chide God for making you that countenance you are; or I will scarce thinke you haue swam in a Gundello. Why how now Orlando, where haue you bin all this while? you a louer? and you serue me such another tricke, neuer come in my sight more

Orl. My faire Rosalind, I come within an houre of my promise

Ros. Breake an houres promise in loue? hee that will diuide a minute into a thousand parts, and breake but a part of the thousand part of a minute in the affairs of loue, it may be said of him that Cupid hath clapt him oth' shoulder, but Ile warrant him heart hole

Orl. Pardon me deere Rosalind

Ros. Nay, and you be so tardie, come no more in my sight, I had as liefe be woo'd of a Snaile

Orl. Of a Snaile? Ros. I, of a Snaile: for though he comes slowly, hee carries his house on his head; a better ioyncture I thinke then you make a woman: besides, he brings his destinie with him

Orl. What's that? Ros. Why hornes: w such as you are faine to be beholding to your wiues for: but he comes armed in his fortune, and preuents the slander of his wife

Orl. Vertue is no horne-maker: and my Rosalind is vertuous

Ros. And I am your Rosalind

Cel. It pleases him to call you so: but he hath a Rosalind of a better leere then you

Ros. Come, wooe me, wooe mee: for now I am in a holy-day humor, and like enough to consent: What would you say to me now, and I were your verie, verie Rosalind? Orl. I would kisse before I spoke

Ros. Nay, you were better speake first, and when you were grauel'd, for lacke of matter, you might take occasion to kisse: verie good Orators when they are out, they will spit, and for louers, lacking (God warne vs) matter, the cleanliest shift is to kisse

Orl. How if the kisse be denide? Ros. Then she puts you to entreatie, and there begins new matter

Orl. Who could be out, being before his beloued Mistris? Ros. Marrie that should you if I were your Mistris, or I should thinke my honestie ranker then my wit

Orl. What, of my suite? Ros. Not out of your apparrell, and yet out of your suite: Am not I your Rosalind? Orl. I take some ioy to say you are, because I would be talking of her

Ros. Well, in her person, I say I will not haue you

Orl. Then in mine owne person, I die

Ros. No faith, die by Attorney: the poore world is almost six thousand yeeres old, and in all this time there was not anie man died in his owne person (videlicet) in a loue cause: Troilous had his braines dash'd out with a Grecian club, yet he did what hee could to die before, and he is one of the patternes of loue. Leander, he would haue liu'd manie a faire yeere though Hero had turn'd Nun; if it had not bin for a hot Midsomer-night, for (good youth) he went but forth to wash him in the Hellespont, and being taken with the crampe, was droun'd, and the foolish Chronoclers of that age, found it was Hero of Cestos. But these are all lies, men haue died from time to time, and wormes haue eaten them, but not for loue

Orl. I would not haue my right Rosalind of this mind, for I protest her frowne might kill me

Ros. By this hand, it will not kill a flie: but come, now I will be your Rosalind in a more comming-on disposition: and aske me what you will, I will grant it

Orl. Then loue me Rosalind

Ros. Yes faith will I, fridaies and saterdaies, and all

Orl. And wilt thou haue me? Ros. I, and twentie such

Orl. What saiest thou? Ros. Are you not good? Orl. I hope so

Rosalind. Why then, can one desire too much of a good thing: Come sister, you shall be the Priest, and marrie vs: giue me your hand Orlando: What doe you say sister? Orl. Pray thee marrie vs

Cel. I cannot say the words

Ros. You must begin, will you Orlando

Cel. Goe too: wil you Orlando, haue to wife this Rosalind? Orl. I will

Ros. I, but when? Orl. Why now, as fast as she can marrie vs

Ros. Then you must say, I take thee Rosalind for wife

Orl. I take thee Rosalind for wife

Ros. I might aske you for your Commission, But I doe take thee Orlando for my husband: there's a girle goes before the Priest, and certainely a Womans thought runs before her actions

Orl. So do all thoughts, they are wing'd

Ros. Now tell me how long you would haue her, after you haue possest her? Orl. For euer, and a day

Ros. Say a day, without the euer: no, no Orlando, men are Aprill when they woe, December when they wed: Maides are May when they are maides, but the sky changes when they are wiues: I will bee more iealous of thee, then a Barbary cocke-pidgeon ouer his hen, more clamorous then a Parrat against raine, more new-fangled then an ape, more giddy in my desires, then a monkey: I will weepe for nothing, like Diana in the Fountaine, & I wil do that when you are dispos'd to be merry: I will laugh like a Hyen, and that when thou art inclin'd to sleepe

Orl. But will my Rosalind doe so? Ros. By my life, she will doe as I doe

Orl. O but she is wise

Ros. Or else shee could not haue the wit to doe this: the wiser, the waywarder: make the doores vpon a womans wit, and it will out at the casement: shut that, and 'twill out at the key-hole: stop that, 'twill flie with the smoake out at the chimney

Orl. A man that had a wife with such a wit, he might say, wit whether wil't? Ros. Nay, you might keepe that checke for it, till you met your wiues wit going to your neighbours bed

Orl. And what wit could wit haue, to excuse that? Rosa. Marry to say, she came to seeke you there: you shall neuer take her without her answer, vnlesse you take her without her tongue: o that woman that cannot make her fault her husbands occasion, let her neuer nurse her childe her selfe, for she will breed it like a foole

Orl. For these two houres Rosalinde, I wil leaue thee

Ros. Alas, deere loue, I cannot lacke thee two houres

Orl. I must attend the Duke at dinner, by two a clock I will be with thee againe

Ros. I, goe your waies, goe your waies: I knew what you would proue, my friends told mee as much, and I thought no lesse: that flattering tongue of yours wonne me: 'tis but one cast away, and so come death: two o' clocke is your howre

Orl. I, sweet Rosalind

Ros. By my troth, and in good earnest, and so God mend mee, and by all pretty oathes that are not dangerous, if you breake one iot of your promise, or come one minute behinde your houre, I will thinke you the most patheticall breake-promise, and the most hollow louer, and the most vnworthy of her you call Rosalinde, that may bee chosen out of the grosse band of the vnfaithfull: therefore beware my censure, and keep your promise

Orl. With no lesse religion, then if thou wert indeed my Rosalind: so adieu

Ros. Well, Time is the olde Iustice that examines all such offenders, and let time try: adieu. Enter.

Cel. You haue simply misus'd our sexe in your loue-prate: we must haue your doublet and hose pluckt ouer your head, and shew the world what the bird hath done to her owne neast

Ros. O coz, coz, coz: my pretty little coz, that thou didst know how many fathome deepe I am in loue: but it cannot bee sounded: my affection hath an vnknowne bottome, like the Bay of Portugall

Cel. Or rather bottomlesse, that as fast as you poure affection in, it runs out

Ros. No, that same wicked Bastard of Venus, that was begot of thought, conceiu'd of spleene, and borne of madnesse, that blinde rascally boy, that abuses euery ones eyes, because his owne are out, let him bee iudge, how deepe I am in loue: ile tell thee Aliena, I cannot be out of the sight of Orlando: Ile goe finde a shadow, and sigh till he come

Cel. And Ile sleepe.

Exeunt.

Scena Secunda.

Enter Iaques and Lords, Forresters.

Iaq. Which is he that killed the Deare? Lord. Sir, it was I

Iaq. Let's present him to the Duke like a Romane Conquerour, and it would doe well to set the Deares horns vpon his head, for a branch of victory; haue you no song Forrester for this purpose? Lord. Yes Sir

Iaq. Sing it: 'tis no matter how it bee in tune, so it make noyse enough.

Musicke, Song.

What shall he haue that kild the Deare? His Leather skin, and hornes to weare: Then sing him home, the rest shall beare this burthen; Take thou no scorne to weare the horne, It was a crest ere thou wast borne, Thy fathers father wore it, And thy father bore it, The horne, the horne, the lusty horne, Is not a thing to laugh to scorne.

Exeunt.

Scoena Tertia.

Enter Rosalind and Celia.

Ros. How say you now, is it not past two a clock? And heere much Orlando

Cel. I warrant you, with pure loue, & troubled brain, Enter Siluius.

He hath t'ane his bow and arrowes, and is gone forth To sleepe: looke who comes heere

Sil. My errand is to you, faire youth, My gentle Phebe, did bid me giue you this: I know not the contents, but as I guesse By the sterne brow, and waspish action Which she did vse, as she was writing of it, It beares an angry tenure; pardon me, I am but as a guiltlesse messenger

Ros. Patience her selfe would startle at this letter, And play the swaggerer, beare this, beare all: Shee saies I am not faire, that I lacke manners, She calls me proud, and that she could not loue me Were man as rare as Phenix: 'od's my will, Her loue is not the Hare that I doe hunt, Why writes she so to me? well Shepheard, well, This is a Letter of your owne deuice

Sil. No, I protest, I know not the contents, Phebe did write it

Ros. Come, come, you are a foole, And turn'd into the extremity of loue. I saw her hand, she has a leatherne hand, A freestone coloured hand: I verily did thinke That her old gloues were on, but twas her hands: She has a huswiues hand, but that's no matter: I say she neuer did inuent this letter, This is a mans inuention, and his hand

Sil. Sure it is hers

Ros. Why, tis a boysterous and a cruell stile, A stile for challengers: why, she defies me, Like Turke to Christian: womens gentle braine Could not drop forth such giant rude inuention, Such Ethiop words, blacker in their effect Then in their countenance: will you heare the letter? Sil. So please you, for I neuer heard it yet: Yet heard too much of Phebes crueltie

Ros. She Phebes me: marke how the tyrant writes.

Read.

Art thou god, to Shepherd turn'd? That a maidens heart hath burn'd. Can a woman raile thus? Sil. Call you this railing? Ros.

Read.

Why, thy godhead laid a part, War'st thou with a womans heart? Did you euer heare such railing? Whiles the eye of man did wooe me, That could do no vengeance to me. Meaning me a beast. If the scorne of your bright eine Haue power to raise such loue in mine, Alacke, in me, what strange effect Would they worke in milde aspect? Whiles you chid me, I did loue, How then might your praiers moue? He that brings this loue to thee, Little knowes this Loue in me: And by him seale vp thy minde, Whether that thy youth and kinde Will the faithfull offer take Of me, and all that I can make, Or else by him my loue denie, And then Ile studie how to die

Sil. Call you this chiding? Cel. Alas poore Shepheard

Ros. Doe you pitty him? No, he deserues no pitty: wilt thou loue such a woman? what to make thee an instrument, and play false straines vpon thee? not to be endur'd. Well, goe your way to her; (for I see Loue hath made thee a tame snake) and say this to her; That if she loue me, I charge her to loue thee: if she will not, I will neuer haue her, vnlesse thou intreat for her: if you bee a true louer hence, and not a word; for here comes more company.

Exit. Sil.

Enter Oliuer.

Oliu. Good morrow, faire ones: pray you, (if you | know) Where in the Purlews of this Forrest, stands A sheep-coat, fenc'd about with Oliue-trees

Cel. West of this place, down in the neighbor bottom The ranke of Oziers, by the murmuring streame Left on your right hand, brings you to the place: But at this howre, the house doth keepe it selfe, There's none within

Oli. If that an eye may profit by a tongue, Then should I know you by description, Such garments, and such yeeres: the boy is faire, Of femall fauour, and bestowes himselfe Like a ripe sister: the woman low And browner then her brother: are not you The owner of the house I did enquire for? Cel. It is no boast, being ask'd, to say we are

Oli. Orlando doth commend him to you both, And to that youth hee calls his Rosalind, He sends this bloudy napkin; are you he? Ros. I am: what must we vnderstand by this? Oli. 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

Cel. I pray you tell it

Oli. When last the yong Orlando parted from you, He left a promise to returne againe Within an houre, and pacing through the Forrest, Chewing the food of sweet and bitter fancie, Loe what befell: he threw his eye aside, And marke what obiect did present it selfe Vnder an old Oake, whose bows were moss'd with age And high top, bald with drie antiquitie: A wretched ragged man, ore-growne with haire Lay sleeping on his back; about his necke A greene and guilded snake had wreath'd it selfe, Who with her head, nimble in threats approach'd The opening of his mouth: but sodainly Seeing Orlando, it vnlink'd it selfe, And with indented glides, did slip away Into a bush, vnder which bushes shade A Lyonnesse, with vdders all drawne drie, Lay cowching head on ground, with catlike watch When that the sleeping man should stirre; for 'tis The royall disposition of that beast To prey on nothing, that doth seeme as dead: This seene, Orlando did approach the man, And found it was his brother, his elder brother

Cel. O I haue heard him speake of that same brother, And he did render him the most vnnaturall That liu'd amongst men

Oli. And well he might so doe, For well I know he was vnnaturall

Ros. But to Orlando: did he leaue him there Food to the suck'd and hungry Lyonnesse? Oli. Twice did he turne his backe, and purpos'd so: But kindnesse, nobler euer then reuenge, And Nature stronger then his iust occasion, Made him giue battell to the Lyonnesse: Who quickly fell before him, in which hurtling From miserable slumber I awaked

Cel. Are you his brother? Ros. Was't you he rescu'd? Cel. Was't you that did so oft contriue to kill him? Oli. 'Twas I: but 'tis not I: I doe not shame To tell you what I was, since my conuersion So sweetly tastes, being the thing I am

Ros. But for the bloody napkin? Oli. By and by: When from the first to last betwixt vs two, Teares our recountments had most kindely bath'd, As how I came into that Desert place. In briefe, he led me to the gentle Duke, Who gaue me fresh aray, and entertainment, Committing me vnto my brothers loue, Who led me instantly vnto his Caue, There stript himselfe, and heere vpon his arme The Lyonnesse had torne some flesh away, Which all this while had bled; and now he fainted, And cride in fainting vpon Rosalinde. Briefe, I recouer'd him, bound vp 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 giue this napkin Died in this bloud, vnto the Shepheard youth, That he in sport doth call his Rosalind

Cel. Why how now Ganimed, sweet Ganimed

Oli. Many will swoon when they do look on bloud

Cel. There is more in it; Cosen Ganimed

Oli. Looke, he recouers

Ros. I would I were at home

Cel. Wee'll lead you thither: I pray you will you take him by the arme

Oli. Be of good cheere youth: you a man? You lacke a mans heart

Ros. I doe so, I confesse it: Ah, sirra, a body would thinke this was well counterfeited, I pray you tell your brother how well I counterfeited: heigh-ho

Oli. This was not counterfeit, there is too great testimony in your complexion, that it was a passion of earnest

Ros. Counterfeit, I assure you

Oli. Well then, take a good heart, and counterfeit to be a man

Ros. So I doe: but yfaith, I should haue beene a woman by right

Cel. Come, you looke paler and paler: pray you draw homewards: good sir, goe with vs

Oli. That will I: for I must beare answere backe How you excuse my brother, Rosalind

Ros. I shall deuise something: but I pray you commend my counterfeiting to him: will you goe?

Exeunt.

Actus Quintus. Scena Prima.

Enter Clowne and Awdrie.

Clow. We shall finde a time Awdrie, patience gentle Awdrie

Awd. Faith the Priest was good enough, for all the olde gentlemans saying

Clow. A most wicked Sir Oliuer, Awdrie, a most vile Mar-text. But Awdrie, there is a youth heere in the Forrest layes claime to you

Awd. I, I know who 'tis: he hath no interest in mee in the world: here comes the man you meane. Enter William.

Clo. It is meat and drinke to me to see a Clowne, by my troth, we that haue good wits, haue much to answer for: we shall be flouting: we cannot hold

Will. Good eu'n Audrey

Aud. God ye good eu'n William

Will. And good eu'n to you Sir

Clo. Good eu'n gentle friend. Couer thy head, couer thy head: Nay prethee bee couer'd. How olde are you Friend? Will. Fiue and twentie Sir

Clo. A ripe age: Is thy name William? Will. William, sir

Clo. A faire name. Was't borne i'th Forrest heere? Will. I sir, I thanke God

Clo. Thanke God: A good answer: Art rich? Will. 'Faith sir, so, so

Cle. So, so, is good, very good, very excellent good: and yet it is not, it is but so, so: Art thou wise? Will. I sir, I haue a prettie wit

Clo. Why, thou saist well. I do now remember a saying: The Foole doth thinke he is wise, but the wiseman knowes himselfe to be a Foole. The Heathen Philosopher, when he had a desire to eate a Grape, would open his lips when he put it into his mouth, meaning thereby, that Grapes were made to eate, and lippes to open. You do loue this maid? Will. I do sir

Clo. Giue me your hand: Art thou Learned? Will. No sir

Clo. Then learne this of me, To haue, is to haue. For it is a figure in Rhetoricke, that drink being powr'd out of a cup into a glasse, by filling the one, doth empty the other. For all your Writers do consent, that ipse is hee: now you are not ipse, for I am he

Will. Which he sir? Clo. He sir, that must marrie this woman: Therefore you Clowne, abandon: which is in the vulgar, leaue the societie: which in the boorish, is companie, of this female: which in the common, is woman: which together, is, abandon the society of this Female, or Clowne thou perishest: or to thy better vnderstanding, dyest; or (to wit) I kill thee, make thee away, translate thy life into death, thy libertie into bondage: I will deale in poyson with thee, or in bastinado, or in steele: I will bandy with thee in faction, I will ore-run thee with policie: I will kill thee a hundred and fifty wayes, therefore tremble and depart

Aud. Do good William

Will. God rest you merry sir.

Exit

Enter Corin.

Cor. Our Master and Mistresse seekes you: come away, away

Clo. Trip Audry, trip Audry, I attend, I attend.

Exeunt.

Scoena Secunda.

Enter Orlando & Oliuer.

Orl. Is't possible, that on so little acquaintance you should like her? that, but seeing, you should loue her? And louing woo? and wooing, she should graunt? And will you perseuer to enioy her? Ol. Neither call the giddinesse of it in question; the pouertie of her, the small acquaintance, my sodaine woing, nor sodaine consenting: but say with mee, I loue Aliena: say with her, that she loues mee; consent with both, that we may enioy each other: it shall be to your good: for my fathers house, and all the reuennew, that was old Sir Rowlands will I estate vpon you, and heere liue and die a Shepherd. Enter Rosalind.

Orl. You haue my consent. Let your Wedding be to morrow: thither will I Inuite the Duke, and all's contented followers: Go you, and prepare Aliena; for looke you, Heere comes my Rosalinde

Ros. God saue you brother

Ol. And you faire sister

Ros. Oh my deere Orlando, how it greeues me to see thee weare thy heart in a scarfe

Orl. It is my arme

Ros. I thought thy heart had beene wounded with the clawes of a Lion

Orl. Wounded it is, but with the eyes of a Lady

Ros. Did your brother tell you how I counterfeyted to sound, when he shew'd me your handkercher? Orl. I, and greater wonders then that

Ros. O, I know where you are: nay, tis true: there was neuer any thing so sodaine, but the sight of two Rammes, and Cesars Thrasonicall bragge of I came, saw, and ouercome. For your brother, and my sister, no sooner met, but they look'd: no sooner look'd, but they lou'd; no sooner lou'd, but they sigh'd: no sooner sigh'd but they ask'd one another the reason: no sooner knew the reason, but they sought the remedie: and in these degrees, haue they made a paire of staires to marriage, which they will climbe incontinent, or else bee incontinent before marriage; they are in the verie wrath of loue, and they will together. Clubbes cannot part them

Orl. They shall be married to morrow: and I will bid the Duke to the Nuptiall. But O, how bitter a thing it is, to looke into happines through another mans eies: by so much the more shall I to morrow be at the height of heart heauinesse, by how much I shal thinke my brother happie, in hauing what he wishes for

Ros. Why then to morrow, I cannot serue your turne for Rosalind? Orl. I can liue no longer by thinking

Ros. I will wearie you then no longer with idle talking. Know of me then (for now I speake to some purpose) that I know you are a Gentleman of good conceit: I speake not this, that you should beare a good opinion of my knowledge: insomuch (I say) I know you are: neither do I labor for a greater esteeme then may in some little measure draw a beleefe from you, to do your selfe good, and not to grace me. Beleeue then, if you please, that I can do strange things: I haue since I was three yeare old conuerst with a Magitian, most profound in his Art, and yet not damnable. If you do loue Rosalinde so neere the hart, as your gesture cries it out: when your brother marries Aliena, shall you marrie her. I know into what straights of Fortune she is driuen, and it is not impossible to me, if it appeare not inconuenient to you, to set her before your eyes to morrow, humane as she is, and without any danger

Orl. Speak'st thou in sober meanings? Ros. By my life I do, which I tender deerly, though I say I am a Magitian: Therefore put you in your best aray, bid your friends: for if you will be married to morrow, you shall: and to Rosalind if you will. Enter Siluius & Phebe.

Looke, here comes a Louer of mine, and a louer of hers

Phe. Youth, you haue done me much vngentlenesse, To shew the letter that I writ to you

Ros. I care not if I haue: it is my studie To seeme despightfull and vngentle to you: you are there followed by a faithful shepheard, Looke vpon him, loue him: he worships you

Phe. Good shepheard, tell this youth what 'tis to loue Sil. It is to be all made of sighes and teares, And so am I for Phebe

Phe. And I for Ganimed

Orl. And I for Rosalind

Ros. And I for no woman

Sil. It is to be all made of faith and seruice, And so am I for Phebe

Phe. And I for Ganimed

Orl. And I for Rosalind

Ros. And I for no woman

Sil. It is to be all made of fantasie, All made of passion, and all made of wishes, All adoration, dutie, and obseruance, All humblenesse, all patience, and impatience, All puritie, all triall, all obseruance: And so am I for Phebe

Phe. And so am I for Ganimed

Orl. And so am I for Rosalind

Ros. And so am I for no woman

Phe. If this be so, why blame you me to loue you? Sil. If this be so, why blame you me to loue you? Orl. If this be so, why blame you me to loue you? Ros. Why do you speake too, Why blame you mee to loue you

Orl. To her, that is not heere, nor doth not heare

Ros. Pray you no more of this, 'tis like the howling of Irish Wolues against the Moone: I will helpe you if I can: I would loue you if I could: To morrow meet me altogether: I wil marrie you, if euer I marrie Woman, and Ile be married to morrow: I will satisfie you, if euer I satisfi'd man, and you shall bee married to morrow. I wil content you, if what pleases you contents you, and you shal be married to morrow: As you loue Rosalind meet, as you loue Phebe meet, and as I loue no woman, Ile meet: so fare you wel: I haue left you commands

Sil. Ile not faile, if I liue

Phe. Nor I

Orl. Nor I.

Exeunt.

Scoena Tertia.

Enter Clowne and Audrey.

Clo. To morrow is the ioyfull day Audrey, to morow will we be married

Aud. I do desire it with all my heart: and I hope it is no dishonest desire, to desire to be a woman of y world? Heere come two of the banish'd Dukes Pages. Enter two Pages.

1.Pa. Wel met honest Gentleman

Clo. By my troth well met: come, sit, sit, and a song

2.Pa. We are for you, sit i'th middle

1.Pa. Shal we clap into't roundly, without hauking, or spitting, or saying we are hoarse, which are the onely prologues to a bad voice

2.Pa. I faith, y'faith, and both in a tune like two gipsies on a horse.

Song.

It was a Louer, and his lasse, With a hey, and a ho, and a hey nonino, That o're the greene corne feild did passe, In the spring time, the onely pretty rang time. When Birds do sing, hey ding a ding, ding. Sweet Louers loue the spring, And therefore take the present time. With a hey, & a ho, and a hey nonino, For loue is crowned with the prime. In spring time, &c. Betweene the acres of the Rie, With a hey, and a ho, & a hey nonino: These prettie Country folks would lie. In spring time, &c. This Carroll they began that houre, With a hey and a ho, & a hey nonino: How that a life was but a Flower, In spring time, &c

Clo. Truly yong Gentlemen, though there was no great matter in the dittie, yet y note was very vntunable 1.Pa. you are deceiu'd Sir, we kept time, we lost not our time

Clo. By my troth yes: I count it but time lost to heare such a foolish song. God buy you, and God mend your voices. Come Audrie.

Exeunt.

Scena Quarta.

Enter Duke Senior, Amyens, Iaques, Orlando, Oliuer, Celia.

Du.Sen. Dost thou beleeue Orlando, that the boy Can do all this that he hath promised? Orl. I sometimes do beleeue, and somtimes do not, As those that feare they hope, and know they feare. Enter Rosalinde, Siluius, & Phebe.

Ros. Patience once more, whiles our co[m]pact is vrg'd: You say, if I bring in your Rosalinde, You wil bestow her on Orlando heere? Du.Se. That would I, had I kingdoms to giue with hir

Ros. And you say you wil haue her, when I bring hir? Orl. That would I, were I of all kingdomes King

Ros. You say, you'l marrie me, if I be willing

Phe. That will I, should I die the houre after

Ros. But if you do refuse to marrie me, You'l giue your selfe to this most faithfull Shepheard

Phe. So is the bargaine

Ros. You say that you'l haue Phebe if she will

Sil. Though to haue her and death, were both one thing

Ros. I haue promis'd to make all this matter euen: Keepe you your word, O Duke, to giue your daughter, You yours Orlando, to receiue his daughter: Keepe you your word Phebe, that you'l marrie me, Or else refusing me to wed this shepheard: Keepe your word Siluius, that you'l marrie her If she refuse me, and from hence I go To make these doubts all euen.

Exit Ros. and Celia.

Du.Sen. I do remember in this shepheard boy, Some liuely touches of my daughters fauour

Orl. My Lord, the first time that I euer saw him, Me thought he was a brother to your daughter: But my good Lord, this Boy is Forrest borne, And hath bin tutor'd in the rudiments Of many desperate studies, by his vnckle, Whom he reports to be a great Magitian. Enter Clowne and Audrey.

Obscured in the circle of this Forrest

Iaq. There is sure another flood toward, and these couples are comming to the Arke. Here comes a payre of verie strange beasts, which in all tongues, are call'd Fooles

Clo. Salutation and greeting to you all

Iaq. Good my Lord, bid him welcome: This is the Motley-minded Gentleman, that I haue so often met in the Forrest: he hath bin a Courtier he sweares

Clo. If any man doubt that, let him put mee to my purgation, I haue trod a measure, I haue flattred a Lady, I haue bin politicke with my friend, smooth with mine enemie, I haue vndone three Tailors, I haue had foure quarrels, and like to haue fought one

Iaq. And how was that tane vp? Clo. 'Faith we met, and found the quarrel was vpon the seuenth cause

Iaq. How seuenth cause? Good my Lord, like this fellow

Du.Se. I like him very well

Clo. God'ild you sir, I desire you of the like: I presse in heere sir, amongst the rest of the Country copulatiues to sweare, and to forsweare, according as mariage binds and blood breakes: a poore virgin sir, an il-fauor'd thing sir, but mine owne, a poore humour of mine sir, to take that that no man else will: rich honestie dwels like a miser sir, in a poore house, as your Pearle in your foule oyster

Du.Se. By my faith, he is very swift, and sententious Clo. According to the fooles bolt sir, and such dulcet diseases

Iaq. But for the seuenth cause. How did you finde the quarrell on the seuenth cause? Clo. Vpon a lye, seuen times remoued: (beare your bodie more seeming Audry) as thus sir: I did dislike the cut of a certaine Courtiers beard: he sent me word, if I said his beard was not cut well, hee was in the minde it was: this is call'd the retort courteous. If I sent him word againe, it was not well cut, he wold send me word he cut it to please himselfe: this is call'd the quip modest. If againe, it was not well cut, he disabled my iudgment: this is called, the reply churlish. If againe it was not well cut, he would answer I spake not true: this is call'd the reproofe valiant. If againe, it was not well cut, he wold say, I lie: this is call'd the counter-checke quarrelsome: and so to lye circumstantiall, and the lye direct

Iaq. And how oft did you say his beard was not well cut? Clo. I durst go no further then the lye circumstantial: nor he durst not giue me the lye direct: and so wee measur'd swords, and parted

Iaq. Can you nominate in order now, the degrees of the lye

Clo. O sir, we quarrel in print, by the booke: as you haue bookes 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 Reproofe valiant: the fift, the Counterchecke quarrelsome: the sixt, the Lye with circumstance: the seauenth, the Lye direct: all these you may auoyd, but the Lye direct: and you may auoide that too, with an If. I knew when seuen Iustices could not take vp a Quarrell, but when the parties were met themselues, one of them thought but of an If; as if you saide so, then I saide so: and they shooke hands, and swore brothers. Your If, is the onely peace-maker: much vertue in if

Iaq. Is not this a rare fellow my Lord? He's as good at any thing, and yet a foole

Du.Se. He vses his folly like a stalking-horse, and vnder the presentation of that he shoots his wit. Enter Hymen, Rosalind, and Celia.

Still Musicke.

Hymen. Then is there mirth in heauen, When earthly things made eauen attone together. Good Duke receiue thy daughter, Hymen from Heauen brought her, Yea brought her hether. That thou mightst ioyne his hand with his, Whose heart within his bosome is

Ros. To you I giue my selfe, for I am yours. To you I giue my selfe, for I am yours

Du.Se. If there be truth in sight, you are my daughter

Orl. If there be truth in sight, you are my Rosalind

Phe. If sight & shape be true, why then my loue adieu Ros. Ile haue no Father, if you be not he: Ile haue no Husband, if you be not he: Nor ne're wed woman, if you be not shee

Hy. Peace hoa: I barre confusion, 'Tis I must make conclusion Of these most strange euents: Here's eight that must take hands, To ioyne in Hymens bands, If truth holds true contents. You and you, no crosse shall part; You and you, are hart in hart: You, to his loue must accord, Or haue a Woman to your Lord. You and you, are sure together, As the Winter to fowle Weather: Whiles a Wedlocke Hymne we sing, Feede your selues with questioning: That reason, wonder may diminish How thus we met, and these things finish.

Song.

Wedding is great Iunos crowne, O blessed bond of boord and bed: 'Tis Hymen peoples euerie towne, High wedlock then be honored: Honor, high honor and renowne To Hymen, God of euerie Towne

Du.Se. O my deere Neece, welcome thou art to me, Euen daughter welcome, in no lesse degree

Phe. I wil not eate my word, now thou art mine, Thy faith, my fancie to thee doth combine. Enter Second Brother.

2.Bro. Let me haue audience for a word or two: I am the second sonne of old Sir Rowland, That bring these tidings to this faire assembly. Duke Frederick hearing how that euerie day Men of great worth resorted to this forrest, Addrest a mightie power, which were on foote In his owne conduct, purposely to take His brother heere, and put him to the sword: And to the skirts of this wilde Wood he came; Where, meeting with an old Religious man, After some question with him, was conuerted Both from his enterprize, and from the world: His crowne bequeathing to his banish'd Brother, And all their Lands restor'd to him againe That were with him exil'd. This to be true, I do engage my life

Du.Se. Welcome yong man: Thou offer'st fairely to thy brothers wedding: To one his lands with-held, and to the other A land it selfe at large, a potent Dukedome. First, in this Forrest, let vs do those ends That heere were well begun, and wel begot: And after, euery of this happie number That haue endur'd shrew'd daies, and nights with vs, Shal share the good of our returned fortune, According to the measure of their states. Meane time, forget this new-falne dignitie, And fall into our Rusticke Reuelrie: Play Musicke, and you Brides and Bride-groomes all, With measure heap'd in ioy, to'th Measures fall

Iaq. Sir, by your patience: if I heard you rightly, The Duke hath put on a Religious life, And throwne into neglect the pompous Court

2.Bro. He hath

Iaq. To him will I: out of these conuertites, There is much matter to be heard, and learn'd: you to your former Honor, I bequeath your patience, and your vertue, well deserues it. you to a loue, that your true faith doth merit: you to your land, and loue, and great allies: you to a long, and well-deserued bed: And you to wrangling, for thy louing voyage Is but for two moneths victuall'd: So to your pleasures, I am for other, then for dancing meazures

Du.Se. Stay, Iaques, stay

Iaq. To see no pastime, I: what you would haue, Ile stay to know, at your abandon'd caue. Enter.

Du.Se. Proceed, proceed: wee'l begin these rights, As we do trust, they'l end in true delights.

Exit

Ros. It is not the fashion to see the Ladie the Epilogue: but it is no more vnhandsome, then to see the Lord the Prologue. If it be true, that good wine needs no bush, 'tis true, that a good play needes no Epilogue. Yet to good wine they do vse good bushes: and good playes proue the better by the helpe of good Epilogues: What a case am I in then, that am neither a good Epilogue, nor cannot insinuate with you in the behalfe of a good play? I am not furnish'd like a Begger, therefore to begge will not become mee. My way is to coniure you, and Ile begin with the Women. I charge you (O women) for the loue you beare to men, to like as much of this Play, as please you: And I charge you (O men) for the loue you beare to women (as I perceiue by your simpring, none of you hates them) that betweene you, and the women, the play may please. If I were a Woman, I would kisse as many of you as had beards that pleas'd me, complexions that lik'd me, and breaths that I defi'de not: And I am sure, as many as haue good beards, or good faces, or sweet breaths, will for my kind offer, when I make curt'sie, bid me farewell. Enter.

FINIS. As you Like it.

The Taming of the Shrew

Actus primus. Scaena Prima.

Enter Begger and Hostes, Christophero Sly.

Begger. Ile pheeze you infaith

Host. A paire of stockes you rogue

Beg. Y'are a baggage, the Slies are no Rogues. Looke in the Chronicles, we came in with Richard Conqueror: therefore Paucas pallabris, let the world slide: Sessa

Host. You will not pay for the glasses you haue burst? Beg. No, not a deniere: go by S[aint]. Ieronimie, goe to thy cold bed, and warme thee

Host. I know my remedie, I must go fetch the Head-borough

Beg. Third, or fourth, or fift Borough, Ile answere him by Law. Ile not budge an inch boy: Let him come, and kindly.

Falles asleepe.

Winde hornes. Enter a Lord from hunting, with his traine.

Lo. Huntsman I charge thee, tender wel my hounds, Brach Meriman, the poore Curre is imbost, And couple Clowder with the deepe-mouth'd brach, Saw'st thou not boy how Siluer made it good At the hedge corner, in the couldest fault, I would not loose the dogge for twentie pound

Hunts. Why Belman is as good as he my Lord, He cried vpon it at the meerest losse, And twice to day pick'd out the dullest sent, Trust me, I take him for the better dogge

Lord. Thou art a Foole, if Eccho were as fleete, I would esteeme him worth a dozen such: But sup them well, and looke vnto them all, To morrow I intend to hunt againe

Hunts. I will my Lord

Lord. What's heere? One dead, or drunke? See doth he breath? 2.Hun. He breath's my Lord. Were he not warm'd with Ale, this were a bed but cold to sleep so soundly

Lord. Oh monstrous beast, how like a swine he lyes. Grim death, how foule and loathsome is thine image: Sirs, I will practise on this drunken man. What thinke you, if he were conuey'd to bed, Wrap'd in sweet cloathes: Rings put vpon his fingers: A most delicious banquet by his bed, And braue attendants neere him when he wakes, Would not the begger then forget himselfe? 1.Hun. Beleeue me Lord, I thinke he cannot choose

2.H. It would seem strange vnto him when he wak'd Lord. Euen as a flatt'ring dreame, or worthles fancie. Then take him vp, and manage well the iest: Carrie him gently to my fairest Chamber, And hang it round with all my wanton pictures: Balme his foule head in warme distilled waters, And burne sweet Wood to make the Lodging sweete: Procure me Musicke readie when he wakes, To make a dulcet and a heauenly sound: And if he chance to speake, be readie straight (And with a lowe submissiue reuerence) Say, what is it your Honor wil command: Let one attend him with a siluer Bason Full of Rose-water, and bestrew'd with Flowers, Another beare the Ewer: the third a Diaper, And say wilt please your Lordship coole your hands. Some one be readie with a costly suite, And aske him what apparrel he will weare: Another tell him of his Hounds and Horse, And that his Ladie mournes at his disease, Perswade him that he hath bin Lunaticke, And when he sayes he is, say that he dreames, For he is nothing but a mightie Lord: This do, and do it kindly, gentle sirs, It wil be pastime passing excellent, If it be husbanded with modestie

1.Hunts. My Lord I warrant you we wil play our part As he shall thinke by our true diligence He is no lesse then what we say he is

Lord. Take him vp gently, and to bed with him, And each one to his office when he wakes.

Sound trumpets.

Sirrah, go see what Trumpet 'tis that sounds, Belike some Noble Gentleman that meanes (Trauelling some iourney) to repose him heere. Enter Seruingman.

How now? who is it? Ser. An't please your Honor, Players That offer seruice to your Lordship. Enter Players.

Lord. Bid them come neere: Now fellowes, you are welcome

Players. We thanke your Honor

Lord. Do you intend to stay with me to night? 2.Player. So please your Lordshippe to accept our dutie

Lord. With all my heart. This fellow I remember, Since once he plaide a Farmers eldest sonne, 'Twas where you woo'd the Gentlewoman so well: I haue forgot your name: but sure that part Was aptly fitted, and naturally perform'd

Sincklo. I thinke 'twas Soto that your honor meanes

Lord. 'Tis verie true, thou didst it excellent: Well you are come to me in happie time, The rather for I haue some sport in hand, Wherein your cunning can assist me much. There is a Lord will heare you play to night; But I am doubtfull of your modesties, Least (ouer-eying of his odde behauiour, For yet his honor neuer heard a play) You breake into some merrie passion, And so offend him: for I tell you sirs, If you should smile, he growes impatient

Plai. Feare not my Lord, we can contain our selues, Were he the veriest anticke in the world

Lord. Go sirra, take them to the Butterie, And giue them friendly welcome euerie one, Let them want nothing that my house affoords.

Exit one with the Players.

Sirra go you to Bartholmew my Page, And see him drest in all suites like a Ladie: That done, conduct him to the drunkards chamber, And call him Madam, do him obeisance: Tell him from me (as he will win my loue) He beare himselfe with honourable action, Such as he hath obseru'd in noble Ladies Vnto their Lords, by them accomplished, Such dutie to the drunkard let him do: With soft lowe tongue, and lowly curtesie, And say: What is't your Honor will command, Wherein your Ladie, and your humble wife, May shew her dutie, and make knowne her loue. And then with kinde embracements, tempting kisses, And with declining head into his bosome Bid him shed teares, as being ouer-ioyed To see her noble Lord restor'd to health, Who for this seuen yeares hath esteemed him No better then a poore and loathsome begger: And if the boy haue not a womans guift To raine a shower of commanded teares, An Onion wil do well for such a shift, Which in a Napkin (being close conuei'd) Shall in despight enforce a waterie eie: See this dispatch'd with all the hast thou canst, Anon Ile giue thee more instructions.

Exit a seruingman.

I know the boy will wel vsurpe the grace, Voice, gate, and action of a Gentlewoman: I long to heare him call the drunkard husband, And how my men will stay themselues from laughter, When they do homage to this simple peasant, Ile in to counsell them: haply my presence May well abate the ouer-merrie spleene, Which otherwise would grow into extreames. Enter aloft the drunkard with attendants, some with apparel, Bason and Ewer, & other appurtenances, & Lord.

Beg. For Gods sake a pot of small Ale

1.Ser. Wilt please your Lord drink a cup of sacke? 2.Ser. Wilt please your Honor taste of these Conserues? 3.Ser. What raiment wil your honor weare to day

Beg. I am Christophero Sly, call not mee Honour nor Lordship: I ne're drank sacke in my life: and if you giue me any Conserues, giue me conserues of Beefe: nere ask me what raiment Ile weare, for I haue no more doublets then backes: no more stockings then legges: nor no more shooes then feet, nay sometime more feete then shooes, or such shooes as my toes looke through the ouer-leather

Lord. Heauen cease this idle humor in your Honor. Oh that a mightie man of such discent, Of such possessions, and so high esteeme Should be infused with so foule a spirit

Beg. What would you make me mad? Am not I Christopher Slie, old Slies sonne of Burton-heath, by byrth a Pedler, by education a Cardmaker, by transmutation a Beare-heard, and now by present profession a Tinker. Aske Marrian Hacket the fat Alewife of Wincot, if shee know me not: if she say I am not xiiii.d. on the score for sheere Ale, score me vp for the lyingst knaue in Christen dome. What I am not bestraught: here's- 3.Man. Oh this it is that makes your Ladie mourne

2.Man. Oh this is it that makes your seruants droop

Lord. Hence comes it, that your kindred shuns your house As beaten hence by your strange Lunacie. Oh Noble Lord, bethinke thee of thy birth, Call home thy ancient thoughts from banishment, And banish hence these abiect lowlie dreames: Looke how thy seruants do attend on thee, Each in his office readie at thy becke. Wilt thou haue Musicke? Harke Apollo plaies,

Musick

And twentie caged Nightingales do sing. Or wilt thou sleepe? Wee'l haue thee to a Couch, Softer and sweeter then the lustfull bed On purpose trim'd vp for Semiramis. Say thou wilt walke: we wil bestrow the ground. Or wilt thou ride? Thy horses shal be trap'd, Their harnesse studded all with Gold and Pearle. Dost thou loue hawking? Thou hast hawkes will soare Aboue the morning Larke. Or wilt thou hunt, Thy hounds shall make the Welkin answer them And fetch shrill ecchoes from the hollow earth

1.Man. Say thou wilt course, thy gray-hounds are as swift As breathed Stags: I fleeter then the Roe

2.M. Dost thou loue pictures? we wil fetch thee strait Adonis painted by a running brooke, And Citherea all in sedges hid, Which seeme to moue and wanton with her breath, Euen as the wauing sedges play with winde

Lord. Wee'l shew thee Io, as she was a Maid, And how she was beguiled and surpriz'd, As liuelie painted, as the deede was done

3.Man. Or Daphne roming through a thornie wood, Scratching her legs, that one shal sweare she bleeds, And at that sight shal sad Apollo weepe, So workmanlie the blood and teares are drawne

Lord. Thou art a Lord, and nothing but a Lord: Thou hast a Ladie farre more Beautifull, Then any woman in this waining age

1.Man. And til the teares that she hath shed for thee, Like enuious flouds ore-run her louely face, She was the fairest creature in the world, And yet shee is inferiour to none

Beg. Am I a Lord, and haue I such a Ladie? Or do I dreame? Or haue I dream'd till now? I do not sleepe: I see, I heare, I speake: I smel sweet sauours, and I feele soft things: Vpon my life I am a Lord indeede, And not a Tinker, nor Christopher Slie. Well, bring our Ladie hither to our sight, And once againe a pot o'th smallest Ale

2.Man. Wilt please your mightinesse to wash your hands: Oh how we ioy to see your wit restor'd, Oh that once more you knew but what you are: These fifteene yeeres you haue bin in a dreame, Or when you wak'd, so wak'd as if you slept

Beg. These fifteene yeeres, by my fay, a goodly nap, But did I neuer speake of all that time

1.Man. Oh yes my Lord, but verie idle words, For though you lay heere in this goodlie chamber, Yet would you say, ye were beaten out of doore, And raile vpon the Hostesse of the house, And say you would present her at the Leete, Because she brought stone-Iugs, and no seal'd quarts: Sometimes you would call out for Cicely Hacket

Beg. I, the womans maide of the house

3.Man. Why sir you know no house, nor no such maid Nor no such men as you haue reckon'd vp, As Stephen Slie, and old Iohn Naps of Greece, And Peter Turph, and Henry Pimpernell, And twentie more such names and men as these, Which neuer were, nor no man euer saw

Beg. Now Lord be thanked for my good amends

All. Amen. Enter Lady with Attendants.

Beg. I thanke thee, thou shalt not loose by it

Lady. How fares my noble Lord? Beg. Marrie I fare well, for heere is cheere enough. Where is my wife? La. Heere noble Lord, what is thy will with her? Beg. Are you my wife, and will not cal me husband? My men should call me Lord, I am your good-man

La. My husband and my Lord, my Lord and husband I am your wife in all obedience

Beg. I know it well, what must I call her? Lord. Madam

Beg. Alce Madam, or Ione Madam? Lord. Madam, and nothing else, so Lords cal Ladies Beg. Madame wife, they say that I haue dream'd, And slept aboue some fifteene yeare or more

Lady. I, and the time seeme's thirty vnto me, Being all this time abandon'd from your bed

Beg. 'Tis much, seruants leaue me and her alone: Madam vndresse you, and come now to bed

La. Thrice noble Lord, let me intreat of you To pardon me yet for a night or two: Or if not so, vntill the Sun be set. For your Physitians haue expressely charg'd, In perill to incurre your former malady, That I should yet absent me from your bed: I hope this reason stands for my excuse

Beg. I, it stands so that I may hardly tarry so long: But I would be loth to fall into my dreames againe: I wil therefore tarrie in despight of the flesh & the blood Enter a Messenger.

Mes. Your Honors Players hearing your amendment, Are come to play a pleasant Comedie, For so your doctors hold it very meete, Seeing too much sadnesse hath congeal'd your blood, And melancholly is the Nurse of frenzie, Therefore they thought it good you heare a play, And frame your minde to mirth and merriment, Which barres a thousand harmes, and lengthens life

Beg. Marrie I will let them play, it is not a Comontie, a Christmas gambold, or a tumbling tricke? Lady. No my good Lord, it is more pleasing stuffe

Beg. What, houshold stuffe

Lady. It is a kinde of history

Beg. Well, we'l see't: Come Madam wife sit by my side, And let the world slip, we shall nere be yonger.

Flourish. Enter Lucentio, and his man Triano.

Luc. Tranio, since for the great desire I had To see faire Padua, nurserie of Arts, I am arriu'd for fruitfull Lumbardie, The pleasant garden of great Italy, And by my fathers loue and leaue am arm'd With his good will, and thy good companie. My trustie seruant well approu'd in all, Heere let vs breath, and haply institute A course of Learning, and ingenious studies. Pisa renowned for graue Citizens Gaue me my being, and my father first A Merchant of great Trafficke through the world: Vincentio's come of the Bentiuolij, Vincentio's sonne, brought vp in Florence, It shall become to serue all hopes conceiu'd To decke his fortune with his vertuous deedes: And therefore Tranio, for the time I studie, Vertue and that part of Philosophie Will I applie, that treats of happinesse, By vertue specially to be atchieu'd. Tell me thy minde, for I haue Pisa left, And am to Padua come, as he that leaues A shallow plash, to plunge him in the deepe, And with sacietie seekes to quench his thirst

Tra. Me Pardonato, gentle master mine: I am in all affected as your selfe, Glad that you thus continue your resolue, To sucke the sweets of sweete Philosophie. Onely (good master) while we do admire This vertue, and this morall discipline, Let's be no Stoickes, nor no stockes I pray, Or so deuote to Aristotles checkes As Ouid; be an out-cast quite abiur'd: Balke Lodgicke with acquaintance that you haue, And practise Rhetoricke in your common talke, Musicke and Poesie vse, to quicken you, The Mathematickes, and the Metaphysickes Fall to them as you finde your stomacke serues you: No profit growes, where is no pleasure tane: In briefe sir, studie what you most affect

Luc. Gramercies Tranio, well dost thou aduise, If Biondello thou wert come ashore, We could at once put vs in readinesse, And take a Lodging fit to entertaine Such friends (as time) in Padua shall beget. But stay a while, what companie is this? Tra. Master some shew to welcome vs to Towne. Enter Baptista with his two daughters, Katerina & Bianca, Gremio a Pantelowne, Hortentio sister to Bianca. Lucen. Tranio, stand by.

Bap. Gentlemen, importune me no farther, For how I firmly am resolu'd you know: That is, not to bestow my yongest daughter, Before I haue a husband for the elder: If either of you both loue Katherina, Because I know you well, and loue you well, Leaue shall you haue to court her at your pleasure

Gre. To cart her rather. She's to rough for mee, There, there Hortensio, will you any Wife? Kate. I pray you sir, is it your will To make a stale of me amongst these mates? Hor. Mates maid, how meane you that? No mates for you, Vnlesse you were of gentler milder mould

Kate. I'faith sir, you shall neuer neede to feare, Iwis it is not halfe way to her heart: But if it were, doubt not, her care should be, To combe your noddle with a three-legg'd stoole, And paint your face, and vse you like a foole

Hor. From all such diuels, good Lord deliuer vs

Gre. And me too, good Lord

Tra. Husht master, heres some good pastime toward; That wench is starke mad, or wonderfull froward

Lucen. But in the others silence do I see, Maids milde behauiour and sobrietie. Peace Tranio

Tra. Well said Mr, mum, and gaze your fill

Bap. Gentlemen, that I may soone make good What I haue said, Bianca get you in, And let it not displease thee good Bianca, For I will loue thee nere the lesse my girle

Kate. A pretty peate, it is best put finger in the eye, and she knew why

Bian. Sister content you, in my discontent. Sir, to your pleasure humbly I subscribe: My bookes and instruments shall be my companie, On them to looke, and practise by my selfe

Luc. Harke Tranio, thou maist heare Minerua speak

Hor. Signior Baptista, will you be so strange, Sorrie am I that our good will effects Bianca's greefe

Gre. Why will you mew her vp (Signior Baptista) for this fiend of hell, And make her beare the pennance of her tongue

Bap. Gentlemen content ye: I am resolud: Go in Bianca. And for I know she taketh most delight In Musicke, Instruments, and Poetry, Schoolemasters will I keepe within my house, Fit to instruct her youth. If you Hortensio, Or signior Gremio you know any such, Preferre them hither: for to cunning men, I will be very kinde and liberall, To mine owne children, in good bringing vp, And so farewell: Katherina you may stay, For I haue more to commune with Bianca. Enter.

Kate. Why, and I trust I may go too, may I not? What shall I be appointed houres, as though (Belike) I knew not what to take, And what to leaue? Ha.

Exit

Gre. You may go to the diuels dam: your guifts are so good heere's none will holde you: Their loue is not so great Hortensio, but we may blow our nails together, and fast it fairely out. Our cakes dough on both sides. Farewell: yet for the loue I beare my sweet Bianca, if I can by any meanes light on a fit man to teach her that wherein she delights, I will wish him to her father

Hor. So will I signiour Gremio: but a word I pray: Though the nature of our quarrell yet neuer brook'd parle, know now vpon aduice, it toucheth vs both: that we may yet againe haue accesse to our faire Mistris, and be happie riuals in Bianca's loue, to labour and effect one thing specially

Gre. What's that I pray? Hor. Marrie sir to get a husband for her Sister

Gre. A husband: a diuell

Hor. I say a husband

Gre. I say, a diuell: Think'st thou Hortensio, though her father be verie rich, any man is so verie a foole to be married to hell? Hor. Tush Gremio: though it passe your patience & mine to endure her lowd alarums, why man there bee good fellowes in the world, and a man could light on them, would take her with all faults, and mony enough

Gre. I cannot tell: but I had as lief take her dowrie with this condition; To be whipt at the hie crosse euerie morning

Hor. Faith (as you say) there's small choise in rotten apples: but come, since this bar in law makes vs friends, it shall be so farre forth friendly maintain'd, till by helping Baptistas eldest daughter to a husband, wee set his yongest free for a husband, and then haue too't afresh: Sweet Bianca, happy man be his dole: hee that runnes fastest, gets the Ring: How say you signior Gremio? Grem. I am agreed, and would I had giuen him the best horse in Padua to begin his woing that would thoroughly woe her, wed her, and bed her, and ridde the house of her. Come on.

Exeunt. ambo. Manet Tranio and Lucentio

Tra. I pray sir tel me, is it possible That loue should of a sodaine take such hold

Luc. Oh Tranio, till I found it to be true, I neuer thought it possible or likely. But see, while idely I stood looking on, I found the effect of Loue in idlenesse, And now in plainnesse do confesse to thee That art to me as secret and as deere As Anna to the Queene of Carthage was: Tranio I burne, I pine, I perish Tranio, If I atchieue not this yong modest gyrle: Counsaile me Tranio, for I know thou canst: Assist me Tranio, for I know thou wilt

Tra. Master, it is no time to chide you now, Affection is not rated from the heart: If loue haue touch'd you, naught remaines but so, Redime te captam quam queas minimo

Luc. Gramercies Lad: Go forward, this contents, The rest wil comfort, for thy counsels sound

Tra. Master, you look'd so longly on the maide, Perhaps you mark'd not what's the pith of all

Luc. Oh yes, I saw sweet beautie in her face, Such as the daughter of Agenor had, That made great Ioue to humble him to her hand, When with his knees he kist the Cretan strond

Tra. Saw you no more? Mark'd you not how hir sister Began to scold, and raise vp such a storme, That mortal eares might hardly indure the din

Luc. Tranio, I saw her corrall lips to moue, And with her breath she did perfume the ayre, Sacred and sweet was all I saw in her

Tra. Nay, then 'tis time to stirre him fro[m] his trance: I pray awake sir: if you loue the Maide, Bend thoughts and wits to atcheeue her. Thus it stands: Her elder sister is so curst and shrew'd, That til the Father rid his hands of her, Master, your Loue must liue a maide at home, And therefore has he closely meu'd her vp, Because she will not be annoy'd with suters

Luc. Ah Tranio, what a cruell Fathers he: But art thou not aduis'd, he tooke some care To get her cunning Schoolemasters to instruct her

Tra. I marry am I sir, and now 'tis plotted

Luc. I haue it Tranio

Tra. Master, for my hand, Both our inuentions meet and iumpe in one

Luc. Tell me thine first

Tra. You will be schoole-master, And vndertake the teaching of the maid: That's your deuice

Luc. It is: May it be done? Tra. Not possible: for who shall beare your part, And be in Padua heere Vincentio's sonne, Keepe house, and ply his booke, welcome his friends, Visit his Countrimen, and banquet them? Luc. Basta, content thee: for I haue it full. We haue not yet bin seene in any house, Nor can we be distinguish'd by our faces, For man or master: then it followes thus; Thou shalt be master, Tranio in my sted: Keepe house, and port, and seruants, as I should, I will some other be, some Florentine, Some Neapolitan, or meaner man of Pisa. 'Tis hatch'd, and shall be so: Tranio at once Vncase thee: take my Coulord hat and cloake, When Biondello comes, he waites on thee, But I will charme him first to keepe his tongue

Tra. So had you neede: In breefe Sir, sith it your pleasure is, And I am tyed to be obedient, For so your father charg'd me at our parting: Be seruiceable to my sonne (quoth he) Although I thinke 'twas in another sense, I am content to bee Lucentio, Because so well I loue Lucentio

Luc. Tranio be so, because Lucentio loues, And let me be a slaue, t' atchieue that maide, Whose sodaine sight hath thral'd my wounded eye. Enter Biondello.

Heere comes the rogue. Sirra, where haue you bin? Bion. Where haue I beene? Nay how now, where are you? Maister, ha's my fellow Tranio stolne your cloathes, or you stolne his, or both? Pray what's the newes? Luc. Sirra come hither, 'tis no time to iest, And therefore frame your manners to the time Your fellow Tranio heere to saue my life, Puts my apparrell, and my count'nance on, And I for my escape haue put on his: For in a quarrell since I came a-shore, I kil'd a man, and feare I was descried: Waite you on him, I charge you, as becomes: While I make way from hence to saue my life: You vnderstand me? Bion. I sir, ne're a whit

Luc. And not a iot of Tranio in your mouth, Tranio is chang'd into Lucentio

Bion. The better for him, would I were so too

Tra. So could I 'faith boy, to haue the next wish after, that Lucentio indeede had Baptistas yongest daughter. But sirra, not for my sake, but your masters, I aduise you vse your manners discreetly in all kind of companies: When I am alone, why then I am Tranio: but in all places else, your master Lucentio

Luc. Tranio let's go: One thing more rests, that thy selfe execute, To make one among these wooers: if thou ask me why, Sufficeth my reasons are both good and waighty.

Exeunt. The Presenters aboue speakes.

1.Man. My Lord you nod, you do not minde the play

Beg. Yes by Saint Anne do I, a good matter surely: Comes there any more of it? Lady. My Lord, 'tis but begun

Beg. 'Tis a verie excellent peece of worke, Madame Ladie: would 'twere done.

They sit and marke.

Enter Petruchio, and his man Grumio.

Petr. Verona, for a while I take my leaue, To see my friends in Padua; but of all My best beloued and approued friend Hortensio: & I trow this is his house: Heere sirra Grumio, knocke I say

Gru. Knocke sir? whom should I knocke? Is there any man ha's rebus'd your worship? Petr. Villaine I say, knocke me heere soundly

Gru. Knocke you heere sir? Why sir, what am I sir, that I should knocke you heere sir

Petr. Villaine I say, knocke me at this gate, And rap me well, or Ile knocke your knaues pate

Gru. My Mr is growne quarrelsome: I should knocke you first, And then I know after who comes by the worst

Petr. Will it not be? 'Faith sirrah, and you'l not knocke, Ile ring it, Ile trie how you can Sol, Fa, and sing it.

He rings him by the eares

Gru. Helpe mistris helpe, my master is mad

Petr. Now knocke when I bid you: sirrah villaine. Enter Hortensio.

Hor. How now, what's the matter? My olde friend Grumio, and my good friend Petruchio? How do you all at Verona? Petr. Signior Hortensio, come you to part the fray? Contutti le core bene trobatto, may I say

Hor. Alla nostra casa bene venuto multo honorata signior mio Petruchio. Rise Grumio rise, we will compound this quarrell

Gru. Nay 'tis no matter sir, what he leges in Latine. If this be not a lawfull cause for me to leaue his seruice, looke you sir: He bid me knocke him, & rap him soundly sir. Well, was it fit for a seruant to vse his master so, being perhaps (for ought I see) two and thirty, a peepe out? Whom would to God I had well knockt at first, then had not Grumio come by the worst

Petr. A sencelesse villaine: good Hortensio, I bad the rascall knocke vpon your gate, And could not get him for my heart to do it

Gru. Knocke at the gate? O heauens: spake you not these words plaine? Sirra, Knocke me heere: rappe me heere: knocke me well, and knocke me soundly? And come you now with knocking at the gate? Petr. Sirra be gone, or talke not I aduise you

Hor. Petruchio patience, I am Grumio's pledge: Why this a heauie chance twixt him and you, Your ancient trustie pleasant seruant Grumio: And tell me now (sweet friend) what happie gale Blowes you to Padua heere, from old Verona? Petr. Such wind as scatters yongmen throgh y world, To seeke their fortunes farther then at home, Where small experience growes but in a few. Signior Hortensio, thus it stands with me, Antonio my father is deceast, And I haue thrust my selfe into this maze, Happily to wiue and thriue, as best I may: Crownes in my purse I haue, and goods at home, And so am come abroad to see the world

Hor. Petruchio, shall I then come roundly to thee, And wish thee to a shrew'd ill-fauour'd wife? Thou'dst thanke me but a little for my counsell: And yet Ile promise thee she shall be rich, And verie rich: but th'art too much my friend, And Ile not wish thee to her

Petr. Signior Hortensio, 'twixt such friends as wee, Few words suffice: and therefore, if thou know One rich enough to be Petruchio's wife: (As wealth is burthen of my woing dance) Be she as foule as was Florentius Loue, As old as Sibell, and as curst and shrow'd As Socrates Zentippe, or a worse: She moues me not, or not remoues at least Affections edge in me. Were she is as rough As are the swelling Adriaticke seas. I come to wiue it wealthily in Padua: If wealthily, then happily in Padua

Gru. Nay looke you sir, hee tels you flatly what his minde is: why giue him Gold enough, and marrie him to a Puppet or an Aglet babie, or an old trot with ne're a tooth in her head, though she haue as manie diseases as two and fiftie horses. Why nothing comes amisse, so monie comes withall

Hor. Petruchio, since we are stept thus farre in, I will continue that I broach'd in iest, I can Petruchio helpe thee to a wife With wealth enough, and yong and beautious, Brought vp as best becomes a Gentlewoman. Her onely fault, and that is faults enough, Is, that she is intollerable curst, And shrow'd, and froward, so beyond all measure, That were my state farre worser then it is, I would not wed her for a mine of Gold

Petr. Hortensio peace: thou knowst not golds effect, Tell me her fathers name, and 'tis enough: For I will boord her, though she chide as loud As thunder, when the clouds in Autumne cracke

Hor. Her father is Baptista Minola, An affable and courteous Gentleman, Her name is Katherina Minola, Renown'd in Padua for her scolding tongue

Petr. I know her father, though I know not her, And he knew my deceased father well: I wil not sleepe Hortensio til I see her, And therefore let me be thus bold with you, To giue you ouer at this first encounter, Vnlesse you wil accompanie me thither

Gru . I pray you Sir let him go while the humor lasts. A my word, and she knew him as wel as I do, she would thinke scolding would doe little good vpon him. Shee may perhaps call him halfe a score Knaues, or so: Why that's nothing; and he begin once, hee'l raile in his rope trickes. Ile tell you what sir, and she stand him but a litle, he wil throw a figure in her face, and so disfigure hir with it, that shee shal haue no more eies to see withall then a Cat: you know him not sir

Hor. Tarrie Petruchio, I must go with thee, For in Baptistas keepe my treasure is: He hath the Iewel of my life in hold, His yongest daughter, beautiful Bianca, And her with-holds from me. Other more Suters to her, and riuals in my Loue: Supposing it a thing impossible, For those defects I haue before rehearst, That euer Katherina wil be woo'd: Therefore this order hath Baptista tane, That none shal haue accesse vnto Bianca, Til Katherine the Curst, haue got a husband

Gru. Katherine the curst, A title for a maide, of all titles the worst

Hor. Now shal my friend Petruchio do me grace, And offer me disguis'd in sober robes, To old Baptista as a schoole-master Well seene in Musicke, to instruct Bianca, That so I may by this deuice at least Haue leaue and leisure to make loue to her, And vnsuspected court her by her selfe. Enter Gremio and Lucentio disguised.

Gru. Heere's no knauerie. See, to beguile the olde-folkes, how the young folkes lay their heads together. Master, master, looke about you: Who goes there? ha

Hor. Peace Grumio, it is the riuall of my Loue. Petruchio stand by a while

Grumio. A proper stripling, and an amorous

Gremio. O very well, I haue perus'd the note: Hearke you sir, Ile haue them verie fairely bound, All bookes of Loue, see that at any hand, And see you reade no other Lectures to her: You vnderstand me. Ouer and beside Signior Baptistas liberalitie, Ile mend it with a Largesse. Take your paper too, And let me haue them verie wel perfum'd; For she is sweeter then perfume it selfe To whom they go to: what wil you reade to her

Luc. What ere I reade to her, Ile pleade for you, As for my patron, stand you so assur'd, As firmely as your selfe were still in place, Yea and perhaps with more successefull words Then you; vnlesse you were a scholler sir

Gre. Oh this learning, what a thing it is

Gru. Oh this Woodcocke, what an Asse it is

Petru. Peace sirra

Hor. Grumio mum: God saue you signior Gremio

Gre. And you are wel met, Signior Hortensio. Trow you whither I am going? To Baptista Minola, I promist to enquire carefully About a schoolemaster for the faire Bianca, And by good fortune I haue lighted well On this yong man: For learning and behauiour Fit for her turne, well read in Poetrie And other bookes, good ones, I warrant ye

Hor. 'Tis well: and I haue met a Gentleman Hath promist me to helpe one to another, A fine Musitian to instruct our Mistris, So shal I no whit be behinde in dutie To faire Bianca, so beloued of me

Gre. Beloued of me, and that my deeds shal proue

Gru. And that his bags shal proue

Hor. Gremio, 'tis now no time to vent our loue, Listen to me, and if you speake me faire, Ile tel you newes indifferent good for either. Heere is a Gentleman whom by chance I met Vpon agreement from vs to his liking, Will vndertake to woo curst Katherine, Yea, and to marrie her, if her dowrie please

Gre. So said, so done, is well: Hortensio, haue you told him all her faults? Petr. I know she is an irkesome brawling scold: If that be all Masters, I heare no harme

Gre. No, sayst me so, friend? What Countreyman? Petr. Borne in Verona, old Butonios sonne: My father dead, my fortune liues for me, And I do hope, good dayes and long, to see

Gre. Oh sir, such a life with such a wife, were strange: But if you haue a stomacke, too't a Gods name, You shal haue me assisting you in all. But will you woo this Wilde-cat? Petr. Will I liue? Gru. Wil he woo her? I: or Ile hang her

Petr. Why came I hither, but to that intent? Thinke you, a little dinne can daunt mine eares? Haue I not in my time heard Lions rore? Haue I not heard the sea, puft vp with windes, Rage like an angry Boare, chafed with sweat? Haue I not heard great Ordnance in the field? And heauens Artillerie thunder in the skies? Haue I not in a pitched battell heard Loud larums, neighing steeds, & trumpets clangue? And do you tell me of a womans tongue? That giues not halfe so great a blow to heare, As wil a Chesse-nut in a Farmers fire. Tush, tush, feare boyes with bugs

Gru. For he feares none

Grem. Hortensio hearke: This Gentleman is happily arriu'd, My minde presumes for his owne good, and yours

Hor. I promist we would be Contributors, And beare his charge of wooing whatsoere

Gremio. And so we wil, prouided that he win her

Gru. I would I were as sure of a good dinner. Enter Tranio braue, and Biondello.

Tra. Gentlemen God saue you. If I may be bold Tell me I beseech you, which is the readiest way To the house of Signior Baptista Minola? Bion. He that ha's the two faire daughters: ist he you meane? Tra. Euen he Biondello

Gre. Hearke you sir, you meane not her to- Tra. Perhaps him and her sir, what haue you to do? Petr. Not her that chides sir, at any hand I pray

Tranio. I loue no chiders sir: Biondello, let's away

Luc. Well begun Tranio

Hor. Sir, a word ere you go: Are you a sutor to the Maid you talke of, yea or no? Tra. And if I be sir, is it any offence? Gremio. No: if without more words you will get you hence

Tra. Why sir, I pray are not the streets as free For me, as for you? Gre. But so is not she

Tra. For what reason I beseech you

Gre. For this reason if you'l kno, That she's the choise loue of Signior Gremio

Hor. That she's the chosen of signior Hortensio

Tra. Softly my Masters: If you be Gentlemen Do me this right: heare me with patience. Baptista is a noble Gentleman, To whom my Father is not all vnknowne, And were his daughter fairer then she is, She may more sutors haue, and me for one. Faire Laedaes daughter had a thousand wooers, Then well one more may faire Bianca haue; And so she shall: Lucentio shal make one, Though Paris came, in hope to speed alone

Gre. What, this Gentleman will out-talke vs all

Luc. Sir giue him head, I know hee'l proue a Iade

Petr. Hortensio, to what end are all these words? Hor. Sir, let me be so bold as aske you, Did you yet euer see Baptistas daughter? Tra. No sir, but heare I do that he hath two: The one, as famous for a scolding tongue, As is the other, for beauteous modestie

Petr. Sir, sir, the first's for me, let her go by

Gre. Yea, leaue that labour to great Hercules, And let it be more then Alcides twelue

Petr. Sir vnderstand you this of me (insooth) The yongest daughter whom you hearken for, Her father keepes from all accesse of sutors, And will not promise her to any man, Vntill the elder sister first be wed. The yonger then is free, and not before

Tranio. If it be so sir, that you are the man Must steed vs all, and me amongst the rest: And if you breake the ice, and do this seeke, Atchieue the elder: set the yonger free, For our accesse, whose hap shall be to haue her, Wil not so gracelesse be, to be ingrate

Hor. Sir you say wel, and wel you do conceiue, And since you do professe to be a sutor, You must as we do, gratifie this Gentleman, To whom we all rest generally beholding

Tranio. Sir, I shal not be slacke, in signe whereof, Please ye we may contriue this afternoone, And quaffe carowses to our Mistresse health, And do as aduersaries do in law, Striue mightily, but eate and drinke as friends

Gru. Bion. Oh excellent motion: fellowes let's be gon

Hor. The motions good indeed, and be it so, Petruchio, I shal be your Been venuto.

Exeunt.

Enter Katherina and Bianca.

Bian. Good sister wrong me not, nor wrong your self, To make a bondmaide and a slaue of mee, That I disdaine: but for these other goods, Vnbinde my hands, Ile pull them off my selfe, Yea all my raiment, to my petticoate, Or what you will command me, wil I do, So well I know my dutie to my elders

Kate. Of all thy sutors heere I charge tel Whom thou lou'st best: see thou dissemble not

Bianca. Beleeue me sister, of all the men aliue, I neuer yet beheld that speciall face, Which I could fancie, more then any other

Kate. Minion thou lyest: Is't not Hortensio? Bian. If you affect him sister, heere I sweare Ile pleade for you my selfe, but you shal haue him

Kate. Oh then belike you fancie riches more, You wil haue Gremio to keepe you faire

Bian. Is it for him you do enuie me so? Nay then you iest, and now I wel perceiue You haue but iested with me all this while: I prethee sister Kate, vntie my hands

Ka. If that be iest, then all the rest was so.

Strikes her

Enter Baptista.

Bap. Why how now Dame, whence growes this insolence? Bianca stand aside, poore gyrle she weepes: Go ply thy Needle, meddle not with her. For shame thou Hilding of a diuellish spirit, Why dost thou wrong her, that did nere wrong thee? When did she crosse thee with a bitter word? Kate. Her silence flouts me, and Ile be reueng'd.

Flies after Bianca

Bap. What in my sight? Bianca get thee in. Enter.

Kate. What will you not suffer me: Nay now I see She is your treasure, she must haue a husband, I must dance bare-foot on her wedding day, And for your loue to her, leade Apes in hell. Talke not to me, I will go sit and weepe, Till I can finde occasion of reuenge

Bap. Was euer Gentleman thus greeu'd as I? But who comes heere. Enter Gremio, Lucentio, in the habit of a meane man, Petruchio with Tranio, with his boy bearing a Lute and Bookes.

Gre. Good morrow neighbour Baptista

Bap. Good morrow neighbour Gremio: God saue you Gentlemen

Pet. And you good sir: pray haue you not a daughter, cal'd Katerina, faire and vertuous

Bap. I haue a daughter sir, cal'd Katerina

Gre. You are too blunt, go to it orderly

Pet. You wrong me signior Gremio, giue me leaue. I am a Gentleman of Verona sir, That hearing of her beautie, and her wit, Her affability and bashfull modestie: Her wondrous qualities, and milde behauiour, Am bold to shew my selfe a forward guest Within your house, to make mine eye the witnesse Of that report, which I so oft haue heard, And for an entrance to my entertainment, I do present you with a man of mine Cunning in Musicke, and the Mathematickes, To instruct her fully in those sciences, Whereof I know she is not ignorant, Accept of him, or else you do me wrong. His name is Litio, borne in Mantua

Bap. Y'are welcome sir, and he for your good sake. But for my daughter Katerine, this I know, She is not for your turne, the more my greefe

Pet. I see you do not meane to part with her, Or else you like not of my companie

Bap. Mistake me not, I speake but as I finde, Whence are you sir? What may I call your name

Pet. Petruchio is my name, Antonio's sonne, A man well knowne throughout all Italy

Bap. I know him well: you are welcome for his sake

Gre. Sauing your tale Petruchio, I pray let vs that are poore petitioners speake too? Bacare, you are meruaylous forward

Pet. Oh, Pardon me signior Gremio, I would faine be doing

Gre. I doubt it not sir. But you will curse Your wooing neighbors: this is a guift Very gratefull, I am sure of it, to expresse The like kindnesse my selfe, that haue beene More kindely beholding to you then any: Freely giue vnto this yong Scholler, that hath Beene long studying at Rhemes, as cunning In Greeke, Latine, and other Languages, As the other in Musicke and Mathematickes: His name is Cambio: pray accept his seruice

Bap. A thousand thankes signior Gremio: Welcome good Cambio. But gentle sir, Me thinkes you walke like a stranger, May I be so bold, to know the cause of your comming? Tra. Pardon me sir, the boldnesse is mine owne, That being a stranger in this Cittie heere, Do make my selfe a sutor to your daughter, Vnto Bianca, faire and vertuous: Nor is your firme resolue vnknowne to me, In the preferment of the eldest sister. This liberty is all that I request, That vpon knowledge of my Parentage, I may haue welcome 'mongst the rest that woo, And free accesse and fauour as the rest. And toward the education of your daughters: I heere bestow a simple instrument, And this small packet of Greeke and Latine bookes: If you accept them, then their worth is great: Bap. Lucentio is your name, of whence I pray

Tra. Of Pisa sir, sonne to Vincentio

Bap. A mightie man of Pisa by report, I know him well: you are verie welcome sir: Take you the Lute, and you the set of bookes, You shall go see your Pupils presently. Holla, within.

Enter a Seruant

Sirrah, leade these Gentlemen To my daughters, and tell them both These are their Tutors, bid them vse them well, We will go walke a little in the Orchard, And then to dinner: you are passing welcome, And so I pray you all to thinke your selues

Pet. Signior Baptista, my businesse asketh haste, And euerie day I cannot come to woo, You knew my father well, and in him me, Left solie heire to all his Lands and goods, Which I haue bettered rather then decreast, Then tell me, if I get your daughters loue, What dowrie shall I haue with her to wife

Bap. After my death, the one halfe of my Lands, And in possession twentie thousand Crownes

Pet. And for that dowrie, Ile assure her of Her widdow-hood, be it that she suruiue me In all my Lands and Leases whatsoeuer, Let specialties be therefore drawne betweene vs, That couenants may be kept on either hand

Bap. I, when the speciall thing is well obtain'd, That is her loue: for that is all in all

Pet. Why that is nothing: for I tell you father, I am as peremptorie as she proud minded: And where two raging fires meete together, They do consume the thing that feedes their furie. Though little fire growes great with little winde, Yet extreme gusts will blow out fire and all: So I to her, and so she yeelds to me, For I am rough, and woo not like a babe

Bap. Well maist thou woo, and happy be thy speed: But be thou arm'd for some vnhappie words

Pet. I to the proofe, as Mountaines are for windes, That shakes not, though they blow perpetually. Enter Hortensio with his head broke.

Bap. How now my friend, why dost thou looke so pale? Hor. For feare I promise you, if I looke pale

Bap. What, will my daughter proue a good Musitian? Hor. I thinke she'l sooner proue a souldier, Iron may hold with her, but neuer Lutes

Bap. Why then thou canst not break her to the Lute? Hor. Why no, for she hath broke the Lute to me: I did but tell her she mistooke her frets, And bow'd her hand to teach her fingering, When (with a most impatient diuellish spirit) Frets call you these? (quoth she) Ile fume with them: And with that word she stroke me on the head, And through the instrument my pate made way, And there I stood amazed for a while, As on a Pillorie, looking through the Lute, While she did call me Rascall, Fidler, And twangling Iacke, with twentie such vilde tearmes, As had she studied to misvse me so

Pet. Now by the world, it is a lustie Wench, I loue her ten times more then ere I did, Oh how I long to haue some chat with her

Bap. Wel go with me, and be not so discomfited. Proceed in practise with my yonger daughter, She's apt to learne, and thankefull for good turnes: Signior Petruchio, will you go with vs, Or shall I send my daughter Kate to you.

Exit. Manet Petruchio.

Pet. I pray you do. Ile attend her heere, And woo her with some spirit when she comes, Say that she raile, why then Ile tell her plaine, She sings as sweetly as a Nightinghale: Say that she frowne, Ile say she lookes as cleere As morning Roses newly washt with dew: Say she be mute, and will not speake a word, Then Ile commend her volubility, And say she vttereth piercing eloquence: If she do bid me packe, Ile giue her thankes, As though she bid me stay by her a weeke: If she denie to wed, Ile craue the day When I shall aske the banes, and when be married. But heere she comes, and now Petruchio speake.

Enter Katerina

Good morrow Kate, for thats your name I heare

Kate. Well haue you heard, but something hard of hearing: They call me Katerine, that do talke of me

Pet. You lye infaith, for you are call'd plaine Kate, And bony Kate, and sometimes Kate the curst: But Kate, the prettiest Kate in Christendome, Kate of Kate-hall, my super-daintie Kate, For dainties are all Kates, and therefore Kate Take this of me, Kate of my consolation, Hearing thy mildnesse prais'd in euery Towne, Thy vertues spoke of, and thy beautie sounded, Yet not so deepely as to thee belongs, My selfe am moou'd to woo thee for my wife

Kate. Mou'd, in good time, let him that mou'd you hether Remoue you hence: I knew you at the first You were a mouable

Pet. Why, what's a mouable? Kat. A ioyn'd stoole

Pet. Thou hast hit it: come sit on me

Kate. Asses are made to beare, and so are you

Pet. Women are made to beare, and so are you

Kate. No such Iade as you, if me you meane

Pet. Alas good Kate, I will not burthen thee, For knowing thee to be but yong and light

Kate. Too light for such a swaine as you to catch, And yet as heauie as my waight should be

Pet. Shold be, should: buzze

Kate. Well tane, and like a buzzard

Pet. Oh slow-wing'd Turtle, shal a buzard take thee? Kat. I for a Turtle, as he takes a buzard

Pet. Come, come you Waspe, y'faith you are too angrie

Kate. If I be waspish, best beware my sting

Pet. My remedy is then to plucke it out

Kate. I, if the foole could finde it where it lies

Pet. Who knowes not where a Waspe does weare his sting? In his taile

Kate. In his tongue? Pet. Whose tongue

Kate. Yours if you talke of tales, and so farewell

Pet. What with my tongue in your taile. Nay, come againe, good Kate, I am a Gentleman, Kate. That Ile trie.

She strikes him

Pet. I sweare Ile cuffe you, if you strike againe

Kate. So may you loose your armes, If you strike me, you are no Gentleman, And if no Gentleman, why then no armes

Pet. A Herald Kate? Oh put me in thy bookes

Kate. What is your Crest, a Coxcombe? Pet. A comblesse Cocke, so Kate will be my Hen

Kate. No Cocke of mine, you crow too like a crauen Pet. Nay come Kate, come: you must not looke so sowre

Kate. It is my fashion when I see a Crab

Pet. Why heere's no crab, and therefore looke not sowre

Kate. There is, there is

Pet. Then shew it me

Kate. Had I a glasse, I would

Pet. What, you meane my face

Kate. Well aym'd of such a yong one

Pet. Now by S[aint]. George I am too yong for you

Kate. Yet you are wither'd

Pet. 'Tis with cares

Kate. I care not

Pet. Nay heare you Kate. Insooth you scape not so

Kate. I chafe you if I tarrie. Let me go

Pet. No, not a whit, I finde you passing gentle: 'Twas told me you were rough, and coy, and sullen, And now I finde report a very liar: For thou art pleasant, gamesome, passing courteous, But slow in speech: yet sweet as spring-time flowers. Thou canst not frowne, thou canst not looke a sconce, Nor bite the lip, as angry wenches will, Nor hast thou pleasure to be crosse in talke: But thou with mildnesse entertain'st thy wooers, With gentle conference, soft, and affable. Why does the world report that Kate doth limpe? Oh sland'rous world: Kate like the hazle twig Is straight, and slender, and as browne in hue As hazle nuts, and sweeter then the kernels: Oh let me see thee walke: thou dost not halt

Kate. Go foole, and whom thou keep'st command

Pet. Did euer Dian so become a Groue As Kate this chamber with her princely gate: O be thou Dian, and let her be Kate, And then let Kate be chaste, and Dian sportfull

Kate. Where did you study all this goodly speech? Petr. It is extempore, from my mother wit

Kate. A witty mother, witlesse else her sonne

Pet. Am I not wise? Kat. Yes, keepe you warme

Pet. Marry so I meane sweet Katherine in thy bed: And therefore setting all this chat aside, Thus in plaine termes: your father hath consented That you shall be my wife; your dowry greed on, And will you, nill you, I will marry you. Now Kate, I am a husband for your turne, For by this light, whereby I see thy beauty, Thy beauty that doth make me like thee well, Thou must be married to no man but me, Enter Baptista, Gremio, Trayno.

For I am he am borne to tame you Kate, And bring you from a wilde Kate to a Kate Conformable as other houshold Kates: Heere comes your father, neuer make deniall, I must, and will haue Katherine to my wife

Bap. Now Signior Petruchio, how speed you with my daughter? Pet. How but well sir? how but well? It were impossible I should speed amisse

Bap. Why how now daughter Katherine, in your dumps? Kat. Call you me daughter? now I promise you You haue shewd a tender fatherly regard, To wish me wed to one halfe Lunaticke, A mad-cap ruffian, and a swearing Iacke, That thinkes with oathes to face the matter out

Pet. Father, 'tis thus, your selfe and all the world That talk'd of her, haue talk'd amisse of her: If she be curst, it is for pollicie, For shee's not froward, but modest as the Doue, Shee is not hot, but temperate as the morne, For patience shee will proue a second Grissell, And Romane Lucrece for her chastitie: And to conclude, we haue greed so well together, That vpon sonday is the wedding day

Kate. Ile see thee hang'd on sonday first

Gre. Hark Petruchio, she saies shee'll see thee hang'd first

Tra. Is this your speeding? nay the[n] godnight our part

Pet. Be patient gentlemen, I choose her for my selfe, If she and I be pleas'd, what's that to you? 'Tis bargain'd twixt vs twaine being alone, That she shall still be curst in company. I tell you 'tis incredible to beleeue How much she loues me: oh the kindest Kate, Shee hung about my necke, and kisse on kisse Shee vi'd so fast, protesting oath on oath, That in a twinke she won me to her loue. Oh you are nouices, 'tis a world to see How tame when men and women are alone, A meacocke wretch can make the curstest shrew: Giue me thy hand Kate, I will vnto Venice To buy apparell 'gainst the wedding day; Prouide the feast father, and bid the guests, I will be sure my Katherine shall be fine

Bap. I know not what to say, but giue me your ha[n]ds, God send you ioy, Petruchio, 'tis a match

Gre. Tra. Amen say we, we will be witnesses

Pet. Father, and wife, and gentlemen adieu, I will to Venice, sonday comes apace, We will haue rings, and things, and fine array, And kisse me Kate, we will be married a sonday.

Exit Petruchio and Katherine.

Gre. Was euer match clapt vp so sodainly? Bap. Faith Gentlemen now I play a marchants part, And venture madly on a desperate Mart

Tra. Twas a commodity lay fretting by you, 'Twill bring you gaine, or perish on the seas

Bap. The gaine I seeke, is quiet me the match

Gre. No doubt but he hath got a quiet catch: But now Baptista, to your yonger daughter, Now is the day we long haue looked for, I am your neighbour, and was suter first

Tra. And I am one that loue Bianca more Then words can witnesse, or your thoughts can guesse

Gre. Yongling thou canst not loue so deare as I

Tra. Gray-beard thy loue doth freeze

Gre. But thine doth frie, Skipper stand backe, 'tis age that nourisheth

Tra. But youth in Ladies eyes that florisheth

Bap. Content you gentlemen, I wil co[m]pound this strife 'Tis deeds must win the prize, and he of both That can assure my daughter greatest dower, Shall haue my Biancas loue. Say signior Gremio, what can you assure her? Gre. First, as you know, my house within the City Is richly furnished with plate and gold, Basons and ewers to laue her dainty hands: My hangings all of tirian tapestry: In Iuory cofers I haue stuft my crownes: In Cypres chests my arras counterpoints, Costly apparell, tents, and Canopies, Fine Linnen, Turky cushions bost with pearle, Vallens of Venice gold, in needle worke: Pewter and brasse, and all things that belongs To house or house-keeping: then at my farme I haue a hundred milch-kine to the pale, Sixe-score fat Oxen standing in my stalls, And all things answerable to this portion. My selfe am strooke in yeeres I must confesse, And if I die to morrow this is hers, If whil'st I liue she will be onely mine

Tra. That only came well in: sir, list to me, I am my fathers heyre and onely sonne, If I may haue your daughter to my wife, Ile leaue her houses three or foure as good Within rich Pisa walls, as any one Old Signior Gremio has in Padua, Besides, two thousand Duckets by the yeere Of fruitfull land, all which shall be her ioynter. What, haue I pincht you Signior Gremio? Gre. Two thousand Duckets by the yeere of land, My Land amounts not to so much in all: That she shall haue, besides an Argosie That now is lying in Marcellus roade: What, haue I choakt you with an Argosie? Tra. Gremio, 'tis knowne my father hath no lesse Then three great Argosies, besides two Galliasses And twelue tite Gallies, these I will assure her, And twice as much what ere thou offrest next

Gre. Nay, I haue offred all, I haue no more, And she can haue no more then all I haue, If you like me, she shall haue me and mine

Tra. Why then the maid is mine from all the world By your firme promise, Gremio is out-vied

Bap. I must confesse your offer is the best, And let your father make her the assurance, Shee is your owne, else you must pardon me: If you should die before him, where's her dower? Tra. That's but a cauill: he is olde, I young

Gre. And may not yong men die as well as old? Bap. Well gentlemen, I am thus resolu'd, On sonday next, you know My daughter Katherine is to be married: Now on the sonday following, shall Bianca Be Bride to you, if you make this assurance: If not, to Signior Gremio: And so I take my leaue, and thanke you both. Enter.

Gre. Adieu good neighbour: now I feare thee not: Sirra, yong gamester, your father were a foole To giue thee all, and in his wayning age Set foot vnder thy table: tut, a toy, An olde Italian foxe is not so kinde my boy. Enter.

Tra. A vengeance on your crafty withered hide, Yet I haue fac'd it with a card of ten: 'Tis in my head to doe my master good: I see no reason but suppos'd Lucentio Must get a father, call'd suppos'd Vincentio, And that's a wonder: fathers commonly Doe get their children: but in this case of woing, A childe shall get a sire, if I faile not of my cunning. Enter.

Actus Tertia.

Enter Lucentio, Hortentio, and Bianca.

Luc. Fidler forbeare, you grow too forward Sir, Haue you so soone forgot the entertainment Her sister Katherine welcom'd you withall

Hort. But wrangling pedant, this is The patronesse of heauenly harmony: Then giue me leaue to haue prerogatiue, And when in Musicke we haue spent an houre, Your Lecture shall haue leisure for as much

Luc. Preposterous Asse that neuer read so farre, To know the cause why musicke was ordain'd: Was it not to refresh the minde of man After his studies, or his vsuall paine? Then giue me leaue to read Philosophy, And while I pause, serue in your harmony

Hort. Sirra, I will not beare these braues of thine

Bianc. Why gentlemen, you doe me double wrong, To striue for that which resteth in my choice: I am no breeching scholler in the schooles, Ile not be tied to howres, nor pointed times, But learne my Lessons as I please my selfe, And to cut off all strife: heere sit we downe, Take you your instrument, play you the whiles, His Lecture will be done ere you haue tun'd

Hort. You'll leaue his Lecture when I am in tune? Luc. That will be neuer, tune your instrument

Bian. Where left we last? Luc. Heere Madam: Hic Ibat Simois, hic est sigeria tellus, hic steterat Priami regia Celsa senis

Bian. Conster them

Luc. Hic Ibat, as I told you before, Simois, I am Lucentio, hic est, sonne vnto Vincentio of Pisa, Sigeria tellus, disguised thus to get your loue, hic steterat, and that Lucentio that comes a wooing, priami, is my man Tranio, regia, bearing my port, celsa senis that we might beguile the old Pantalowne

Hort. Madam, my Instrument's in tune

Bian. Let's heare, oh fie, the treble iarres

Luc. Spit in the hole man, and tune againe

Bian. Now let mee see if I can conster it. Hic ibat simois, I know you not, hic est sigeria tellus, I trust you not, hic staterat priami, take heede he heare vs not, regia presume not, Celsa senis, despaire not

Hort. Madam, tis now in tune

Luc. All but the base

Hort. The base is right, 'tis the base knaue that iars

Luc. How fiery and forward our Pedant is, Now for my life the knaue doth court my loue, Pedascule, Ile watch you better yet: In time I may beleeue, yet I mistrust

Bian. Mistrust it not, for sure Aeacides Was Aiax cald so from his grandfather

Hort. I must beleeue my master, else I promise you, I should be arguing still vpon that doubt, But let it rest, now Litio to you: Good master take it not vnkindly pray That I haue beene thus pleasant with you both

Hort. You may go walk, and giue me leaue a while, My Lessons make no musicke in three parts

Luc. Are you so formall sir, well I must waite And watch withall, for but I be deceiu'd, Our fine Musitian groweth amorous

Hor. Madam, before you touch the instrument, To learne the order of my fingering, I must begin with rudiments of Art, To teach you gamoth in a briefer sort, More pleasant, pithy, and effectuall, Then hath beene taught by any of my trade, And there it is in writing fairely drawne

Bian. Why, I am past my gamouth long agoe

Hor. Yet read the gamouth of Hortentio

Bian. Gamouth I am, the ground of all accord: Are, to plead Hortensio's passion: Beeme, Bianca take him for thy Lord Cfavt, that loues with all affection: D sol re, one Cliffe, two notes haue I, Ela mi, show pitty or I die, Call you this gamouth? tut I like it not, Old fashions please me best, I am not so nice To charge true rules for old inuentions. Enter a Messenger.

Nicke. Mistresse, your father prayes you leaue your books, And helpe to dresse your sisters chamber vp, You know to morrow is the wedding day

Bian. Farewell sweet masters both, I must be gone

Luc. Faith Mistresse then I haue no cause to stay

Hor. But I haue cause to pry into this pedant, Methinkes he lookes as though he were in loue: Yet if thy thoughts Bianca be so humble To cast thy wandring eyes on euery stale: Seize thee that List, if once I finde thee ranging, Hortensio will be quit with thee by changing. Enter.

Enter Baptista, Gremio, Tranio, Katherine, Bianca, and others, attendants.

Bap. Signior Lucentio, this is the pointed day That Katherine and Petruchio should be married, And yet we heare not of our sonne in Law: What will be said, what mockery will it be? To want the Bride-groome when the Priest attends To speake the ceremoniall rites of marriage? What saies Lucentio to this shame of ours? Kate. No shame but mine, I must forsooth be forst To giue my hand oppos'd against my heart Vnto a mad-braine rudesby, full of spleene, Who woo'd in haste, and meanes to wed at leysure: I told you I, he was a franticke foole, Hiding his bitter iests in blunt behauiour, And to be noted for a merry man; Hee'll wooe a thousand, point the day of marriage, Make friends, inuite, and proclaime the banes, Yet neuer meanes to wed where he hath woo'd: Now must the world point at poore Katherine, And say, loe, there is mad Petruchio's wife If it would please him come and marry her

Tra. Patience good Katherine and Baptista too, Vpon my life Petruchio meanes but well, What euer fortune stayes him from his word, Though he be blunt, I know him passing wise, Though he be merry, yet withall he's honest

Kate. Would Katherine had neuer seen him though.

Exit weeping.

Bap. Goe girle, I cannot blame thee now to weepe, For such an iniurie would vexe a very saint, Much more a shrew of impatient humour. Enter Biondello.

Bion. Master, master, newes, and such newes as you neuer heard of, Bap. Is it new and olde too? how may that be? Bion. Why, is it not newes to heard of Petruchio's comming? Bap. Is he come? Bion. Why no sir

Bap. What then? Bion. He is comming

Bap. When will he be heere? Bion. When he stands where I am, and sees you there

Tra. But say, what to thine olde newes? Bion. Why Petruchio is comming, in a new hat and an old ierkin, a paire of old breeches thrice turn'd; a paire of bootes that haue beene candle-cases, one buckled, another lac'd: an olde rusty sword tane out of the Towne Armory, with a broken hilt, and chapelesse: with two broken points: his horse hip'd with an olde mothy saddle, and stirrops of no kindred: besides possest with the glanders, and like to mose in the chine, troubled with the Lampasse, infected with the fashions, full of Windegalls, sped with Spauins, raied with the Yellowes, past cure of the Fiues, starke spoyl'd with the Staggers, begnawne with the Bots, Waid in the backe, and shoulder-shotten, neere leg'd before, and with a halfe-chekt Bitte, & a headstall of sheepes leather, which being restrain'd to keepe him from stumbling, hath been often burst, and now repaired with knots: one girth sixe times peec'd, and a womans Crupper of velure, which hath two letters for her name, fairely set down in studs, and heere and there peec'd with packthred

Bap. Who comes with him? Bion. Oh sir, his Lackey, for all the world Caparison'd like the horse: with a linnen stock on one leg, and a kersey boot-hose on the other, gartred with a red and blew list; an old hat, & the humor of forty fancies prickt in't for a feather: a monster, a very monster in apparell, & not like a Christian foot-boy, or a gentlemans Lacky

Tra. 'Tis some od humor pricks him to this fashion, Yet oftentimes he goes but meane apparel'd

Bap. I am glad he's come, howsoere he comes

Bion. Why sir, he comes not

Bap. Didst thou not say hee comes? Bion. Who, that Petruchio came? Bap. I, that Petruchio came

Bion. No sir, I say his horse comes with him on his backe

Bap. Why that's all one

Bion. Nay by S[aint]. Iamy, I hold you a penny, a horse and a man is more then one, and yet not many. Enter Petruchio and Grumio.

Pet. Come, where be these gallants? who's at home? Bap. You are welcome sir

Petr. And yet I come not well

Bap. And yet you halt not

Tra. Not so well apparell'd as I wish you were

Petr. Were it better I should rush in thus: But where is Kate? where is my louely Bride? How does my father? gentles methinkes you frowne, And wherefore gaze this goodly company, As if they saw some wondrous monument, Some Commet, or vnusuall prodigie? Bap. Why sir, you know this is your wedding day: First were we sad, fearing you would not come, Now sadder that you come so vnprouided: Fie, doff this habit, shame to your estate, An eye-sore to our solemne festiuall

Tra. And tell vs what occasion of import Hath all so long detain'd you from your wife, And sent you hither so vnlike your selfe? Petr. Tedious it were to tell, and harsh to heare, Sufficeth I am come to keepe my word, Though in some part inforced to digresse, Which at more leysure I will so excuse, As you shall well be satisfied with all. But where is Kate? I stay too long from her, The morning weares, 'tis time we were at Church

Tra. See not your Bride in these vnreuerent robes, Goe to my chamber, put on clothes of mine

Pet. Not I, beleeue me, thus Ile visit her

Bap. But thus I trust you will not marry her

Pet. Good sooth euen thus: therefore ha done with words, To me she's married, not vnto my cloathes: Could I repaire what she will weare in me, As I can change these poore accoutrements, 'Twere well for Kate, and better for my selfe. But what a foole am I to chat with you, When I should bid good morrow to my Bride? And seale the title with a louely kisse. Enter.

Tra. He hath some meaning in his mad attire, We will perswade him be it possible, To put on better ere he goe to Church

Bap. Ile after him, and see the euent of this. Enter.

Tra. But sir, Loue concerneth vs to adde Her fathers liking, which to bring to passe As before imparted to your worship, I am to get a man what ere he be, It skills not much, weele fit him to our turne, And he shall be Vincentio of Pisa, And make assurance heere in Padua Of greater summes then I haue promised, So shall you quietly enioy your hope, And marry sweet Bianca with consent

Luc. Were it not that my fellow schoolemaster Doth watch Bianca's steps so narrowly: 'Twere good me-thinkes to steale our marriage, Which once perform'd, let all the world say no, Ile keepe mine owne despite of all the world

Tra. That by degrees we meane to looke into, And watch our vantage in this businesse, Wee'll ouer-reach the grey-beard Gremio, The narrow prying father Minola, The quaint Musician, amorous Litio, All for my Masters sake Lucentio. Enter Gremio.

Signior Gremio, came you from the Church? Gre. As willingly as ere I came from schoole

Tra. And is the Bride & Bridegroom coming home? Gre. A bridegroome say you? 'tis a groome indeed, A grumlling groome, and that the girle shall finde

Tra. Curster then she, why 'tis impossible

Gre. Why hee's a deuill, a deuill, a very fiend

Tra. Why she's a deuill, a deuill, the deuils damme

Gre. Tut, she's a Lambe, a Doue, a foole to him: Ile tell you sir Lucentio; when the Priest Should aske if Katherine should be his wife, I, by goggs woones quoth he, and swore so loud, That all amaz'd the Priest let fall the booke, And as he stoop'd againe to take it vp, This mad-brain'd bridegroome tooke him such a cuffe, That downe fell Priest and booke, and booke and Priest, Now take them vp quoth he, if any list

Tra. What said the wench when he rose againe? Gre. Trembled and shooke: for why, he stamp'd and swore, as if the Vicar meant to cozen him: but after many ceremonies done, hee calls for wine, a health quoth he, as if he had beene aboord carowsing to his Mates after a storme, quaft off the Muscadell, and threw the sops all in the Sextons face: hauing no other reason, but that his beard grew thinne and hungerly, and seem'd to aske him sops as hee was drinking: This done, hee tooke the Bride about the necke, and kist her lips with such a clamorous smacke, that at the parting all the Church did eccho: and I seeing this, came thence for very shame, and after mee I know the rout is comming, such a mad marryage neuer was before: harke, harke, I heare the minstrels play.

Musicke playes.

Enter Petruchio, Kate, Bianca, Hortensio, Baptista.

Petr. Gentlemen & friends, I thank you for your pains, I know you thinke to dine with me to day, And haue prepar'd great store of wedding cheere, But so it is, my haste doth call me hence, And therefore heere I meane to take my leaue

Bap. Is't possible you will away to night? Pet. I must away to day before night come, Make it no wonder: if you knew my businesse, You would intreat me rather goe then stay: And honest company, I thanke you all, That haue beheld me giue away my selfe To this most patient, sweet, and vertuous wife, Dine with my father, drinke a health to me, For I must hence, and farewell to you all

Tra. Let vs intreat you stay till after dinner

Pet. It may not be

Gra. Let me intreat you

Pet. It cannot be

Kat. Let me intreat you

Pet. I am content

Kat. Are you content to stay? Pet. I am content you shall entreat me stay, But yet not stay, entreat me how you can

Kat. Now if you loue me stay

Pet. Grumio, my horse

Gru. I sir, they be ready, the Oates haue eaten the horses

Kate. Nay then, Doe what thou canst, I will not goe to day, No, nor to morrow, not till I please my selfe, The dore is open sir, there lies your way, You may be iogging whiles your bootes are greene: For me, Ile not be gone till I please my selfe, 'Tis like you'll proue a iolly surly groome, That take it on you at the first so roundly

Pet. O Kate content thee, prethee be not angry

Kat. I will be angry, what hast thou to doe? Father, be quiet, he shall stay my leisure

Gre. I marry sir, now it begins to worke

Kat. Gentlemen, forward to the bridall dinner, I see a woman may be made a foole If she had not a spirit to resist

Pet. They shall goe forward Kate at thy command, Obey the Bride you that attend on her. Goe to the feast, reuell and domineere, Carowse full measure to her maiden-head, Be madde and merry, or goe hang your selues: But for my bonny Kate, she must with me: Nay, looke not big, nor stampe, not stare, nor fret, I will be master of what is mine owne, Shee is my goods, my chattels, she is my house, My houshold-stuffe, my field, my barne, My horse, my oxe, my asse, my any thing, And heere she stands, touch her who euer dare, Ile bring mine action on the proudest he That stops my way in Padua: Grumio Draw forth thy weapon, we are beset with theeues, Rescue thy Mistresse if thou be a man: Feare not sweet wench, they shall not touch thee Kate, Ile buckler thee against a Million.

Exeunt. P. Ka.

Bap. Nay, let them goe, a couple of quiet ones

Gre. Went they not quickly, I should die with laughing

Tra. Of all mad matches neuer was the like

Luc. Mistresse, what's your opinion of your sister? Bian. That being mad her selfe, she's madly mated

Gre. I warrant him Petruchio is Kated

Bap. Neighbours and friends, though Bride & Bridegroom wants For to supply the places at the table, You know there wants no iunkets at the feast: Lucentio, you shall supply the Bridegroomes place, And let Bianca take her sisters roome

Tra. Shall sweet Bianca practise how to bride it? Bap. She shall Lucentio: come gentlemen lets goe. Enter Grumio.

Exeunt.

Gru. Fie, fie on all tired Iades, on all mad Masters, & all foule waies: was euer man so beaten? was euer man so raide? was euer man so weary? I am sent before to make a fire, and they are comming after to warme them: now were not I a little pot, & soone hot; my very lippes might freeze to my teeth, my tongue to the roofe of my mouth, my heart in my belly, ere I should come by a fire to thaw me, but I with blowing the fire shall warme my selfe: for considering the weather, a taller man then I will take cold: Holla, hoa Curtis. Enter Curtis.

Curt. Who is that calls so coldly? Gru. A piece of Ice: if thou doubt it, thou maist slide from my shoulder to my heele, with no greater a run but my head and my necke. A fire good Curtis

Cur. Is my master and his wife comming Grumio? Gru. Oh I Curtis I, and therefore fire, fire, cast on no water

Cur. Is she so hot a shrew as she's reported

Gru. She was good Curtis before this frost: but thou know'st winter tames man, woman, and beast: for it hath tam'd my old master, and my new mistris, and my selfe fellow Curtis

Gru. Away you three inch foole, I am no beast

Gru. Am I but three inches? Why thy horne is a foot and so long am I at the least. But wilt thou make a fire, or shall I complaine on thee to our mistris, whose hand (she being now at hand) thou shalt soone feele, to thy cold comfort, for being slow in thy hot office

Cur. I prethee good Grumio, tell me, how goes the world? Gru. A cold world Curtis in euery office but thine, & therefore fire: do thy duty, and haue thy dutie, for my Master and mistris are almost frozen to death

Cur. There's fire readie, and therefore good Grumio the newes

Gru. Why Iacke boy, ho boy, and as much newes as wilt thou

Cur. Come, you are so full of conicatching

Gru. Why therefore fire, for I haue caught extreme cold. Where's the Cooke, is supper ready, the house trim'd, rushes strew'd, cobwebs swept, the seruingmen in their new fustian, the white stockings, and euery officer his wedding garment on? Be the Iackes faire within, the Gils faire without, the Carpets laide, and euerie thing in order? Cur. All readie: and therefore I pray thee newes

Gru. First know my horse is tired, my master & mistris falne out

Cur. How? Gru. Out of their saddles into the durt, and thereby hangs a tale

Cur. Let's ha't good Grumio

Gru. Lend thine eare

Cur. Heere

Gru. There

Cur. This 'tis to feele a tale, not to heare a tale

Gru. And therefore 'tis cal'd a sensible tale: and this Cuffe was but to knocke at your eare, and beseech listning: now I begin, Inprimis wee came downe a fowle hill, my Master riding behinde my Mistris

Cur. Both of one horse? Gru. What's that to thee? Cur. Why a horse

Gru. Tell thou the tale: but hadst thou not crost me, thou shouldst haue heard how her horse fel, and she vnder her horse: thou shouldst haue heard in how miery a place, how she was bemoil'd, how hee left her with the horse vpon her, how he beat me because her horse stumbled, how she waded through the durt to plucke him off me: how he swore, how she prai'd, that neuer prai'd before: how I cried, how the horses ranne away, how her bridle was burst: how I lost my crupper, with manie things of worthy memorie, which now shall die in obliuion, and thou returne vnexperienc'd to thy graue

Cur. By this reckning he is more shrew than she

Gru. I, and that thou and the proudest of you all shall finde when he comes home. But what talke I of this? Call forth Nathaniel, Ioseph, Nicholas, Phillip, Walter, Sugersop and the rest: let their heads bee slickely comb'd, their blew coats brush'd, and their garters of an indifferent knit, let them curtsie with their left legges, and not presume to touch a haire of my Masters horse-taile, till they kisse their hands. Are they all readie? Cur. They are

Gru. Call them forth

Cur. Do you heare ho? you must meete my maister to countenance my mistris

Gru. Why she hath a face of her owne

Cur. Who knowes not that? Gru. Thou it seemes, that cals for company to countenance her

Cur. I call them forth to credit her. Enter foure or fiue seruingmen.

Gru. Why she comes to borrow nothing of them

Nat. Welcome home Grumio

Phil. How now Grumio

Ios. What Grumio

Nick. Fellow Grumio

Nat. How now old lad

Gru. Welcome you: how now you: what you: fellow you: and thus much for greeting. Now my spruce companions, is all readie, and all things neate? Nat. All things is readie, how neere is our master? Gre. E'ne at hand, alighted by this: and therefore be not- Cockes passion, silence, I heare my master. Enter Petruchio and Kate.

Pet. Where be these knaues? What no man at doore To hold my stirrop, nor to take my horse? Where is Nathaniel, Gregory, Phillip

All ser. Heere, heere sir, heere sir

Pet. Heere sir, heere sir, heere sir, heere sir. You logger-headed and vnpollisht groomes: What? no attendance? no regard? no dutie? Where is the foolish knaue I sent before? Gru. Heere sir, as foolish as I was before

Pet. You pezant, swain, you horson malt-horse drudg Did I not bid thee meete me in the Parke, And bring along these rascal knaues with thee? Grumio. Nathaniels coate sir was not fully made, And Gabrels pumpes were all vnpinkt i'th heele: There was no Linke to colour Peters hat, And Walters dagger was not come from sheathing: There were none fine, but Adam, Rafe, and Gregory, The rest were ragged, old, and beggerly, Yet as they are, heere are they come to meete you

Pet. Go rascals, go, and fetch my supper in.

Ex. Ser.

Where is the life that late I led? Where are those? Sit downe Kate, And welcome. Soud, soud, soud, soud. Enter seruants with supper.

Why when I say? Nay good sweete Kate be merrie. Off with my boots, you rogues: you villaines, when? It was the Friar of Orders gray, As he forth walked on his way. Out you rogue, you plucke my foote awrie, Take that, and mend the plucking of the other. Be merrie Kate: Some water heere: what hoa. Enter one with water.

Where's my Spaniel Troilus? Sirra, get you hence, And bid my cozen Ferdinand come hither: One Kate that you must kisse, and be acquainted with. Where are my Slippers? Shall I haue some water? Come Kate and wash, & welcome heartily: You horson villaine, will you let it fall? Kate. Patience I pray you, 'twas a fault vnwilling

Pet. A horson beetle-headed flap-ear'd knaue: Come Kate sit downe, I know you haue a stomacke, Will you giue thankes, sweete Kate, or else shall I? What's this, Mutton? 1.Ser. I

Pet. Who brought it? Peter. I

Pet. 'Tis burnt, and so is all the meate: What dogges are these? Where is the rascall Cooke? How durst you villaines bring it from the dresser And serue it thus to me that loue it not? There, take it to you, trenchers, cups, and all: You heedlesse iolt-heads, and vnmanner'd slaues. What, do you grumble? Ile be with you straight

Kate. I pray you husband be not so disquiet, The meate was well, if you were so contented

Pet. I tell thee Kate, 'twas burnt and dried away, And I expressely am forbid to touch it: For it engenders choller, planteth anger, And better 'twere that both of vs did fast, Since of our selues, our selues are chollericke, Then feede it with such ouer-rosted flesh: Be patient, to morrow't shalbe mended, And for this night we'l fast for companie. Come I wil bring thee to thy Bridall chamber.

Exeunt.

Enter Seruants seuerally.

Nath. Peter didst euer see the like

Peter. He kils her in her owne humor

Grumio. Where is he? Enter Curtis a Seruant.

Cur. In her chamber, making a sermon of continencie to her, and railes, and sweares, and rates, that shee (poore soule) knowes not which way to stand, to looke, to speake, and sits as one new risen from a dreame. Away, away, for he is comming hither. Enter Petruchio.

Pet. Thus haue I politickely begun my reigne, And 'tis my hope to end successefully: My Faulcon now is sharpe, and passing emptie, And til she stoope, she must not be full gorg'd, For then she neuer lookes vpon her lure. Another way I haue to man my Haggard, To make her come, and know her Keepers call: That is, to watch her, as we watch these Kites, That baite, and beate, and will not be obedient: She eate no meate to day, nor none shall eate. Last night she slept not, nor to night she shall not: As with the meate, some vndeserued fault Ile finde about the making of the bed, And heere Ile fling the pillow, there the boulster, This way the Couerlet, another way the sheets: I, and amid this hurlie I intend, That all is done in reuerend care of her, And in conclusion, she shal watch all night, And if she chance to nod, Ile raile and brawle, And with the clamor keepe her stil awake: This is a way to kil a Wife with kindnesse, And thus Ile curbe her mad and headstrong humor: He that knowes better how to tame a shrew, Now let him speake, 'tis charity to shew.

Exit

Enter Tranio and Hortensio.

Tra. Is't possible friend Lisio, that mistris Bianca Doth fancie any other but Lucentio, I tel you sir, she beares me faire in hand

Luc. Sir, to satisfie you in what I haue said, Stand by, and marke the manner of his teaching. Enter Bianca.

Hor. Now Mistris, profit you in what you reade? Bian. What Master reade you first, resolue me that? Hor. I reade, that I professe the Art to loue

Bian. And may you proue sir Master of your Art

Luc. While you sweet deere proue Mistresse of my heart

Hor. Quicke proceeders marry, now tel me I pray, you that durst sweare that your Mistris Bianca Lou'd me in the World so wel as Lucentio

Tra. Oh despightful Loue, vnconstant womankind, I tel thee Lisio this is wonderfull

Hor. Mistake no more, I am not Lisio, Nor a Musitian as I seeme to bee, But one that scorne to liue in this disguise, For such a one as leaues a Gentleman, And makes a God of such a Cullion; Know sir, that I am cal'd Hortensio

Tra. Signior Hortensio, I haue often heard Of your entire affection to Bianca, And since mine eyes are witnesse of her lightnesse, I wil with you, if you be so contented, Forsweare Bianca, and her loue for euer

Hor. See how they kisse and court: Signior Lucentio, Heere is my hand, and heere I firmly vow Neuer to woo her more, but do forsweare her As one vnworthie all the former fauours That I haue fondly flatter'd them withall

Tra. And heere I take the like vnfained oath, Neuer to marrie with her, though she would intreate, Fie on her, see how beastly she doth court him

Hor. Would all the world but he had quite forsworn For me, that I may surely keepe mine oath. I wil be married to a wealthy Widdow, Ere three dayes passe, which hath as long lou'd me, As I haue lou'd this proud disdainful Haggard, And so farewel signior Lucentio, Kindnesse in women, not their beauteous lookes Shal win my loue, and so I take my leaue, In resolution, as I swore before

Tra. Mistris Bianca, blesse you with such grace, As longeth to a Louers blessed case: Nay, I haue tane you napping gentle Loue, And haue forsworne you with Hortensio

Bian. Tranio you iest, but haue you both forsworne mee? Tra. Mistris we haue

Luc. Then we are rid of Lisio

Tra. I'faith hee'l haue a lustie Widdow now, That shalbe woo'd, and wedded in a day

Bian. God giue him ioy

Tra. I, and hee'l tame her

Bianca. He sayes so Tranio

Tra. Faith he is gone vnto the taming schoole

Bian. The taming schoole: what is there such a place? Tra. I mistris, and Petruchio is the master, That teacheth trickes eleuen and twentie long, To tame a shrew, and charme her chattering tongue. Enter Biondello.

Bion. Oh Master, master I haue watcht so long, That I am dogge-wearie, but at last I spied An ancient Angel comming downe the hill, Wil serue the turne

Tra. What is he Biondello? Bio. Master, a Marcantant, or a pedant, I know not what, but formall in apparrell, In gate and countenance surely like a Father

Luc. And what of him Tranio? Tra. If he be credulous, and trust my tale, Ile make him glad to seeme Vincentio, And giue assurance to Baptista Minola. As if he were the right Vincentio

Par. Take me your loue, and then let me alone. Enter a Pedant.

Ped. God saue you sir

Tra. And you sir, you are welcome, Trauaile you farre on, or are you at the farthest? Ped. Sir at the farthest for a weeke or two, But then vp farther, and as farre as Rome, And so to Tripolie, if God lend me life

Tra. What Countreyman I pray? Ped. Of Mantua

Tra. Of Mantua Sir, marrie God forbid, And come to Padua carelesse of your life

Ped. My life sir? how I pray? for that goes hard

Tra. 'Tis death for any one in Mantua To come to Padua, know you not the cause? Your ships are staid at Venice, and the Duke For priuate quarrel 'twixt your Duke and him, Hath publish'd and proclaim'd it openly: 'Tis meruaile, but that you are but newly come, You might haue heard it else proclaim'd about

Ped. Alas sir, it is worse for me then so, For I haue bils for monie by exchange From Florence, and must heere deliuer them

Tra. Wel sir, to do you courtesie, This wil I do, and this I wil aduise you. First tell me, haue you euer beene at Pisa? Ped. I sir, in Pisa haue I often bin, Pisa renowned for graue Citizens

Tra. Among them know you one Vincentio? Ped. I know him not, but I haue heard of him: A Merchant of incomparable wealth

Tra. He is my father sir, and sooth to say, In count'nance somewhat doth resemble you

Bion. As much as an apple doth an oyster, & all one

Tra. To saue your life in this extremitie, This fauor wil I do you for his sake, And thinke it not the worst of all your fortunes, That you are like to Sir Vincentio. His name and credite shal you vndertake, And in my house you shal be friendly lodg'd, Looke that you take vpon you as you should, You vnderstand me sir: so shal you stay Til you haue done your businesse in the Citie: If this be court'sie sir, accept of it

Ped. Oh sir I do, and wil repute you euer The patron of my life and libertie

Tra. Then go with me, to make the matter good, This by the way I let you vnderstand, My father is heere look'd for euerie day, To passe assurance of a dowre in marriage 'Twixt me, and one Baptistas daughter heere: In all these circumstances Ile instruct you, Go with me to cloath you as becomes you.

Exeunt.

Actus Quartus. Scena Prima.

Enter Katherina and Grumio.

Gru. No, no forsooth I dare not for my life

Ka. The more my wrong, the more his spite appears. What, did he marrie me to famish me? Beggers that come vnto my fathers doore, Vpon intreatie haue a present almes, If not, elsewhere they meete with charitie: But I, who neuer knew how to intreat, Nor neuer needed that I should intreate, Am staru'd for meate, giddie for lacke of sleepe: With oathes kept waking, and with brawling fed, And that which spights me more then all these wants, He does it vnder name of perfect loue: As who should say, if I should sleepe or eate 'Twere deadly sicknesse, or else present death. I prethee go, and get me some repast, I care not what, so it be holsome foode

Gru. What say you to a Neats foote? Kate. 'Tis passing good, I prethee let me haue it

Gru. I feare it is too chollericke a meate. How say you to a fat Tripe finely broyl'd? Kate. I like it well, good Grumio fetch it me

Gru. I cannot tell, I feare 'tis chollericke. What say you to a peece of Beefe and Mustard? Kate. A dish that I do loue to feede vpon

Gru. I, but the Mustard is too hot a little

Kate. Why then the Beefe, and let the Mustard rest

Gru. Nay then I wil not, you shal haue the Mustard Or else you get no beefe of Grumio

Kate. Then both or one, or any thing thou wilt

Gru. Why then the Mustard without the beefe

Kate. Go get thee gone, thou false deluding slaue,

Beats him.

That feed'st me with the verie name of meate. Sorrow on thee, and all the packe of you That triumph thus vpon my misery: Go get thee gone, I say. Enter Petruchio, and Hortensio with meate

Petr. How fares my Kate, what sweeting all amort? Hor. Mistris, what cheere? Kate. Faith as cold as can be

Pet. Plucke vp thy spirits, looke cheerfully vpon me. Heere Loue, thou seest how diligent I am, To dresse thy meate my selfe, and bring it thee. I am sure sweet Kate, this kindnesse merites thankes. What, not a word? Nay then, thou lou'st it not: And all my paines is sorted to no proofe. Heere take away this dish

Kate. I pray you let it stand

Pet. The poorest seruice is repaide with thankes, And so shall mine before you touch the meate

Kate. I thanke you sir

Hor. Signior Petruchio, fie you are too blame: Come Mistris Kate, Ile beare you companie

Petr. Eate it vp all Hortensio, if thou louest mee: Much good do it vnto thy gentle heart: Kate eate apace; and now my honie Loue, Will we returne vnto thy Fathers house, And reuell it as brauely as the best, With silken coats and caps, and golden Rings, With Ruffes and Cuffes, and Fardingales, and things: With Scarfes, and Fannes, & double change of brau'ry, With Amber Bracelets, Beades, and all this knau'ry. What hast thou din'd? The Tailor staies thy leasure, To decke thy bodie with his ruffling treasure. Enter Tailor.

Come Tailor, let vs see these ornaments. Enter Haberdasher.

Lay forth the gowne. What newes with you sir? Fel. Heere is the cap your Worship did bespeake

Pet. Why this was moulded on a porrenger, A Veluet dish: Fie, fie, 'tis lewd and filthy, Why 'tis a cockle or a walnut-shell, A knacke, a toy, a tricke, a babies cap: Away with it, come let me haue a bigger

Kate. Ile haue no bigger, this doth fit the time, And Gentlewomen weare such caps as these

Pet. When you are gentle, you shall haue one too, And not till then

Hor. That will not be in hast

Kate. Why sir I trust I may haue leaue to speake, And speake I will. I am no childe, no babe, Your betters haue indur'd me say my minde, And if you cannot, best you stop your eares. My tongue will tell the anger of my heart, Or els my heart concealing it wil breake, And rather then it shall, I will be free, Euen to the vttermost as I please in words

Pet. Why thou saist true, it is paltrie cap, A custard coffen, a bauble, a silken pie, I loue thee well in that thou lik'st it not

Kate. Loue me, or loue me not, I like the cap, And it I will haue, or I will haue none

Pet. Thy gowne, why I: come Tailor let vs see't. Oh mercie God, what masking stuffe is heere? Whats this? a sleeue? 'tis like demi cannon, What, vp and downe caru'd like an apple Tart? Heers snip, and nip, and cut, and slish and slash, Like to a Censor in a barbers shoppe: Why what a deuils name Tailor cal'st thou this? Hor. I see shees like to haue neither cap nor gowne

Tai. You bid me make it orderlie and well, According to the fashion, and the time

Pet. Marrie and did: but if you be remembred, I did not bid you marre it to the time. Go hop me ouer euery kennell home, For you shall hop without my custome sir: Ile none of it; hence, make your best of it

Kate. I neuer saw a better fashion'd gowne, More queint, more pleasing, nor more commendable: Belike you meane to make a puppet of me

Pet. Why true, he meanes to make a puppet of thee

Tail. She saies your Worship meanes to make a puppet of her

Pet. Oh monstrous arrogance: Thou lyest, thou thred, thou thimble, Thou yard three quarters, halfe yard, quarter, naile, Thou Flea, thou Nit, thou winter cricket thou: Brau'd in mine owne house with a skeine of thred: Away thou Ragge, thou quantitie, thou remnant, Or I shall so be-mete thee with thy yard, As thou shalt thinke on prating whil'st thou liu'st: I tell thee I, that thou hast marr'd her gowne

Tail. Your worship is deceiu'd, the gowne is made Iust as my master had direction: Grumio gaue order how it should be done

Gru. I gaue him no order, I gaue him the stuffe

Tail. But how did you desire it should be made? Gru. Marrie sir with needle and thred

Tail. But did you not request to haue it cut? Gru. Thou hast fac'd many things

Tail. I haue

Gru. Face not mee: thou hast brau'd manie men, braue not me; I will neither bee fac'd nor brau'd. I say vnto thee, I bid thy Master cut out the gowne, but I did not bid him cut it to peeces. Ergo thou liest

Tail. Why heere is the note of the fashion to testify

Pet. Reade it

Gru. The note lies in's throate if he say I said so

Tail. Inprimis, a loose bodied gowne

Gru. Master, if euer I said loose-bodied gowne, sow me in the skirts of it, and beate me to death with a bottome of browne thred: I said a gowne

Pet. Proceede

Tai. With a small compast cape

Gru. I confesse the cape

Tai. With a trunke sleeue

Gru. I confesse two sleeues

Tai. The sleeues curiously cut

Pet. I there's the villanie

Gru. Error i'th bill sir, error i'th bill? I commanded the sleeues should be cut out, and sow'd vp againe, and that Ile proue vpon thee, though thy little finger be armed in a thimble

Tail. This is true that I say, and I had thee in place where thou shouldst know it

Gru. I am for thee straight: take thou the bill, giue me thy meat-yard, and spare not me

Hor. God-a-mercie Grumio, then hee shall haue no oddes

Pet. Well sir in breefe the gowne is not for me

Gru. You are i'th right sir, 'tis for my mistris

Pet. Go take it vp vnto thy masters vse

Gru. Villaine, not for thy life: Take vp my Mistresse gowne for thy masters vse

Pet. Why sir, what's your conceit in that? Gru. Oh sir, the conceit is deeper then you think for: Take vp my Mistris gowne to his masters vse. Oh fie, fie, fie

Pet. Hortensio, say thou wilt see the Tailor paide: Go take it hence, be gone, and say no more

Hor. Tailor, Ile pay thee for thy gowne to morrow, Take no vnkindnesse of his hastie words: Away I say, commend me to thy master.

Exit Tail.

Pet. Well, come my Kate, we will vnto your fathers, Euen in these honest meane habiliments: Our purses shall be proud, our garments poore: For 'tis the minde that makes the bodie rich. And as the Sunne breakes through the darkest clouds, So honor peereth in the meanest habit. What is the Iay more precious then the Larke? Because his feathers are more beautifull. Or is the Adder better then the Eele, Because his painted skin contents the eye. Oh no good Kate: neither art thou the worse For this poore furniture, and meane array. If thou accountedst it shame, lay it on me, And therefore frolicke, we will hence forthwith, To feast and sport vs at thy fathers house, Go call my men, and let vs straight to him, And bring our horses vnto Long-lane end, There wil we mount, and thither walke on foote, Let's see, I thinke 'tis now some seuen a clocke, And well we may come there by dinner time

Kate. I dare assure you sir, 'tis almost two, And 'twill be supper time ere you come there

Pet. It shall be seuen ere I go to horse: Looke what I speake, or do, or thinke to doe, You are still crossing it, sirs let't alone, I will not goe to day, and ere I doe, It shall be what a clock I say it is

Hor. Why so this gallant will command the sunne. Enter Tranio, and the Pedant drest like Vincentio.

Tra. Sirs, this is the house, please it you that I call

Ped. I what else, and but I be deceiued, Signior Baptista may remember me Neere twentie yeares a goe in Genoa

Tra. Where we were lodgers, at the Pegasus, Tis well, and hold your owne in any case With such austeritie as longeth to a father. Enter Biondello.

Ped. I warrant you: but sir here comes your boy, 'Twere good he were school'd

Tra. Feare you not him: sirra Biondello, Now doe your dutie throughlie I aduise you: Imagine 'twere the right Vincentio

Bion. Tut, feare not me

Tra. But hast thou done thy errand to Baptista

Bion. I told him that your father was at Venice, And that you look't for him this day in Padua, Tra. Th'art a tall fellow, hold thee that to drinke, Here comes Baptista: set your countenance sir. Enter Baptista and Lucentio: Pedant booted and bare headed.

Tra. Signior Baptista you are happilie met: Sir, this is the gentleman I told you of, I pray you stand good father to me now, Giue me Bianca for my patrimony

Ped. Soft son: sir by your leaue, hauing com to Padua To gather in some debts, my son Lucentio Made me acquainted with a waighty cause Of loue betweene your daughter and himselfe: And for the good report I heare of you, And for the loue he beareth to your daughter, And she to him: to stay him not too long, I am content in a good fathers care To haue him matcht, and if you please to like No worse then I, vpon some agreement Me shall you finde readie and willing With one consent to haue her so bestowed: For curious I cannot be with you Signior Baptista, of whom I heare so well

Bap. Sir, pardon me in what I haue to say, Your plainnesse and your shortnesse please me well: Right true it is your sonne Lucentio here Doth loue my daughter, and she loueth him, Or both dissemble deepely their affections: And therefore if you say no more then this, That like a Father you will deale with him, And passe my daughter a sufficient dower, The match is made, and all is done, Your sonne shall haue my daughter with consent

Tra. I thanke you sir, where then doe you know best We be affied and such assurance tane, As shall with either parts agreement stand

Bap. Not in my house Lucentio, for you know Pitchers haue eares, and I haue manie seruants, Besides old Gremio is harkning still, And happilie we might be interrupted

Tra. Then at my lodging, and it like you, There doth my father lie: and there this night Weele passe the businesse priuately and well: Send for your daughter by your seruant here, My Boy shall fetch the Scriuener presentlie, The worst is this that at so slender warning, You are like to haue a thin and slender pittance

Bap. It likes me well: Cambio hie you home, and bid Bianca make her readie straight: And if you will tell what hath hapned, Lucentios Father is arriued in Padua, And how she's like to be Lucentios wife

Biond. I praie the gods she may withall my heart. Enter.

Tran. Dallie not with the gods, but get thee gone. Enter Peter.

Signior Baptista, shall I leade the way, Welcome, one messe is like to be your cheere, Come sir, we will better it in Pisa

Bap. I follow you.

Exeunt.

Enter Lucentio and Biondello.

Bion. Cambio

Luc. What saist thou Biondello

Biond. You saw my Master winke and laugh vpon you? Luc. Biondello, what of that? Biond. Faith nothing: but has left mee here behinde to expound the meaning or morrall of his signes and tokens

Luc. I pray thee moralize them

Biond. Then thus: Baptista is safe talking with the deceiuing Father of a deceitfull sonne

Luc. And what of him? Biond. His daughter is to be brought by you to the supper

Luc. And then

Bio. The old Priest at Saint Lukes Church is at your command at all houres

Luc. And what of all this

Bion. I cannot tell, expect they are busied about a counterfeit assurance: take you assurance of her, Cum preuilegio ad Impremendum solem, to th' Church take the Priest, Clarke, and some sufficient honest witnesses: If this be not that you looke for, I haue no more to say, But bid Bianca farewell for euer and a day

Luc. Hear'st thou Biondello

Biond. I cannot tarry: I knew a wench maried in an afternoone as shee went to the Garden for Parseley to stuffe a Rabit, and so may you sir: and so adew sir, my Master hath appointed me to goe to Saint Lukes to bid the Priest be readie to come against you come with your appendix. Enter.

Luc. I may and will, if she be so contented: She will be pleas'd, then wherefore should I doubt: Hap what hap may, Ile roundly goe about her: It shall goe hard if Cambio goe without her. Enter.

Enter Petruchio, Kate, Hortentio

Petr. Come on a Gods name, once more toward our fathers: Good Lord how bright and goodly shines the Moone

Kate. The Moone, the Sunne: it is not Moonelight now

Pet. I say it is the Moone that shines so bright

Kate. I know it is the Sunne that shines so bright

Pet. Now by my mothers sonne, and that's my selfe, It shall be moone, or starre, or what I list, Or ere I iourney to your Fathers house: Goe on, and fetch our horses backe againe, Euermore crost and crost, nothing but crost

Hort. Say as he saies, or we shall neuer goe

Kate. Forward I pray, since we haue come so farre, And be it moone, or sunne, or what you please: And if you please to call it a rush Candle, Henceforth I vowe it shall be so for me

Petr. I say it is the Moone

Kate. I know it is the Moone

Petr. Nay then you lye: it is the blessed Sunne

Kate. Then God be blest, it is the blessed sun, But sunne it is not, when you say it is not, And the Moone changes euen as your minde: What you will haue it nam'd, euen that it is, And so it shall be so for Katherine

Hort. Petruchio, goe thy waies, the field is won

Petr. Well, forward, forward, thus the bowle should run, And not vnluckily against the Bias: But soft, Company is comming here. Enter Vincentio.

Good morrow gentle Mistris, where away: Tell me sweete Kate, and tell me truely too, Hast thou beheld a fresher Gentlewoman: Such warre of white and red within her cheekes: What stars do spangle heauen with such beautie, As those two eyes become that heauenly face? Faire louely Maide, once more good day to thee: Sweete Kate embrace her for her beauties sake

Hort. A will make the man mad to make the woman of him

Kate. Yong budding Virgin, faire, and fresh, & sweet, Whether away, or whether is thy aboade? Happy the Parents of so faire a childe; Happier the man whom fauourable stars A lots thee for his louely bedfellow

Petr. Why how now Kate, I hope thou art not mad, This is a man old, wrinckled, faded, withered, And not a Maiden, as thou saist he is

Kate. Pardon old father my mistaking eies, That haue bin so bedazled with the sunne, That euery thing I looke on seemeth greene: Now I perceiue thou art a reuerent Father: Pardon I pray thee for my mad mistaking

Petr. Do good old grandsire, & withall make known Which way thou trauellest, if along with vs, We shall be ioyfull of thy companie

Vin. Faire Sir, and you my merry Mistris, That with your strange encounter much amasde me: My name is call'd Vincentio, my dwelling Pisa, And bound I am to Padua, there to visite A sonne of mine, which long I haue not seene

Petr. What is his name? Vinc. Lucentio gentle sir

Petr. Happily met, the happier for thy sonne: And now by Law, as well as reuerent age, I may intitle thee my louing Father, The sister to my wife, this Gentlewoman, Thy Sonne by this hath married: wonder not, Nor be not grieued, she is of good esteeme, Her dowrie wealthie, and of worthie birth; Beside, so qualified, as may beseeme The Spouse of any noble Gentleman: Let me imbrace with old Vincentio, And wander we to see thy honest sonne, Who will of thy arriuall be full ioyous

Vinc. But is this true, or is it else your pleasure, Like pleasant trauailors to breake a Iest Vpon the companie you ouertake? Hort. I doe assure thee father so it is

Petr. Come goe along and see the truth hereof, For our first merriment hath made thee iealous.

Exeunt.

Hor. Well Petruchio, this has put me in heart; Haue to my Widdow, and if she froward, Then hast thou taught Hortentio to be vntoward. Enter.

Enter Biondello, Lucentio and Bianca, Gremio is out before.

Biond. Softly and swiftly sir, for the Priest is ready

Luc. I flie Biondello; but they may chance to neede thee at home, therefore leaue vs. Enter.

Biond. Nay faith, Ile see the Church a your backe, and then come backe to my mistris as soone as I can

Gre. I maruaile Cambio comes not all this while. Enter Petruchio, Kate, Vincentio, Grumio with Attendants.

Petr. Sir heres the doore, this is Lucentios house, My Fathers beares more toward the Market-place, Thither must I, and here I leaue you sir

Vin. You shall not choose but drinke before you go, I thinke I shall command your welcome here; And by all likelihood some cheere is toward.

Knock.

Grem. They're busie within, you were best knocke lowder.

Pedant lookes out of the window.

Ped. What's he that knockes as he would beat downe the gate? Vin. Is Signior Lucentio within sir? Ped. He's within sir, but not to be spoken withall

Vinc. What if a man bring him a hundred pound or two to make merrie withall

Ped. Keepe your hundred pounds to your selfe, hee shall neede none so long as I liue

Petr. Nay, I told you your sonne was well beloued in Padua: doe you heare sir, to leaue friuolous circumstances, I pray you tell signior Lucentio that his Father is come from Pisa, and is here at the doore to speake with him

Ped. Thou liest his Father is come from Padua, and here looking out at the window

Vin. Art thou his father? Ped. I sir, so his mother saies, if I may beleeue her

Petr. Why how now gentleman: why this is flat knauerie to take vpon you another mans name

Peda. Lay hands on the villaine, I beleeue a meanes to cosen some bodie in this Citie vnder my countenance. Enter Biondello.

Bio. I haue seene them in the Church together, God send 'em good shipping: but who is here? mine old Master Vincentio: now wee are vndone and brought to nothing

Vin. Come hither crackhempe

Bion. I hope I may choose Sir

Vin. Come hither you rogue, what haue you forgot mee? Biond. Forgot you, no sir: I could not forget you, for I neuer saw you before in all my life

Vinc. What, you notorious villaine, didst thou neuer see thy Mistris father, Vincentio? Bion. What my old worshipfull old master? yes marie sir see where he lookes out of the window

Vin. Ist so indeede.

He beates Biondello.

Bion. Helpe, helpe, helpe, here's a mad man will murder me

Pedan. Helpe, sonne, helpe signior Baptista

Petr. Preethe Kate let's stand aside and see the end of this controuersie. Enter Pedant with seruants, Baptista, Tranio.

Tra. Sir, what are you that offer to beate my seruant? Vinc. What am I sir: nay what are you sir: oh immortall Goddes: oh fine villaine, a silken doublet, a veluet hose, a scarlet cloake, and a copataine hat: oh I am vndone, I am vndone: while I plaie the good husband at home, my sonne and my seruant spend all at the vniuersitie

Tra. How now, what's the matter? Bapt. What is the man lunaticke? Tra. Sir, you seeme a sober ancient Gentleman by your habit: but your words shew you a mad man: why sir, what cernes it you, if I weare Pearle and gold: I thank my good Father, I am able to maintaine it

Vin. Thy father: oh villaine, he is a Saile-maker in Bergamo

Bap. You mistake sir, you mistake sir, praie what do you thinke is his name? Vin. His name, as if I knew not his name: I haue brought him vp euer since he was three yeeres old, and his name is Tronio

Ped. Awaie, awaie mad asse, his name is Lucentio, and he is mine onelie sonne and heire to the Lands of me signior Vincentio

Ven. Lucentio: oh he hath murdred his Master; laie hold on him I charge you in the Dukes name: oh my sonne, my sonne: tell me thou villaine, where is my son Lucentio? Tra. Call forth an officer: Carrie this mad knaue to the Iaile: father Baptista, I charge you see that hee be forth comming

Vinc. Carrie me to the Iaile? Gre. Staie officer, he shall not go to prison

Bap. Talke not signior Gremio: I saie he shall goe to prison

Gre. Take heede signior Baptista, least you be conicatcht in this businesse: I dare sweare this is the right Vincentio

Ped. Sweare if thou dar'st

Gre. Naie, I dare not sweare it

Tran. Then thou wert best saie that I am not Lucentio

Gre. Yes, I know thee to be signior Lucentio

Bap. Awaie with the dotard, to the Iaile with him. Enter Biondello, Lucentio and Bianeu.

Vin. Thus strangers may be haild and abusd: oh monstrous villaine

Bion. Oh we are spoil'd, and yonder he is, denie him, forsweare him, or else we are all vndone.

Exit Biondello, Tranio and Pedant as fast as may be.

Luc. Pardon sweete father.

Kneele.

Vin. Liues my sweete sonne? Bian. Pardon deere father

Bap. How hast thou offended, where is Lucentio? Luc. Here's Lucentio, right sonne to the right Vincentio, That haue by marriage made thy daughter mine, While counterfeit supposes bleer'd thine eine

Gre. Here's packing with a witnesse to deceiue vs all

Vin. Where is that damned villaine Tranio, That fac'd and braued me in this matter so? Bap. Why, tell me is not this my Cambio? Bian. Cambio is chang'd into Lucentio

Luc. Loue wrought these miracles. Biancas loue Made me exchange my state with Tranio, While he did beare my countenance in the towne, And happilie I haue arriued at the last Vnto the wished hauen of my blisse: What Tranio did, my selfe enforst him to; Then pardon him sweete Father for my sake

Vin. Ile slit the villaines nose that would haue sent me to the Iaile

Bap. But doe you heare sir, haue you married my daughter without asking my good will? Vin. Feare not Baptista, we will content you, goe to: but I will in to be reueng'd for this villanie. Enter.

Bap. And I to sound the depth of this knauerie. Enter.

Luc. Looke not pale Bianca, thy father will not frown.

Exeunt.

Gre. My cake is dough, but Ile in among the rest, Out of hope of all, but my share of the feast

Kate. Husband let's follow, to see the end of this adoe

Petr. First kisse me Kate, and we will

Kate. What in the midst of the streete? Petr. What art thou asham'd of me? Kate. No sir, God forbid, but asham'd to kisse

Petr. Why then let's home againe: Come Sirra let's awaie

Kate. Nay, I will giue thee a kisse, now praie thee Loue staie

Petr. Is not this well? come my sweete Kate. Better once then neuer, for neuer to late.

Exeunt.

Actus Quintus.

Enter Baptista, Vincentio, Gremio, the Pedant, Lucentio, and Bianca. Tranio, Biondello Grumio, and Widdow: The Seruingmen with Tranio bringing in a Banquet.

Luc. At last, though long, our iarring notes agree, And time it is when raging warre is come, To smile at scapes and perils ouerblowne: My faire Bianca bid my father welcome, While I with selfesame kindnesse welcome thine: Brother Petruchio, sister Katerina, And thou Hortentio with thy louing Widdow: Feast with the best, and welcome to my house, My Banket is to close our stomakes vp After our great good cheere: praie you sit downe, For now we sit to chat as well as eate

Petr. Nothing but sit and sit, and eate and eate

Bap. Padua affords this kindnesse, sonne Petruchio

Petr. Padua affords nothing but what is kinde

Hor. For both our sakes I would that word were true

Pet. Now for my life Hortentio feares his Widow

Wid. Then neuer trust me if I be affeard

Petr. You are verie sencible, and yet you misse my sence: I meane Hortentio is afeard of you

Wid. He that is giddie thinks the world turns round

Petr. Roundlie replied

Kat. Mistris, how meane you that? Wid. Thus I conceiue by him

Petr. Conceiues by me, how likes Hortentio that? Hor. My Widdow saies, thus she conceiues her tale

Petr. Verie well mended: kisse him for that good Widdow

Kat. He that is giddie thinkes the world turnes round, I praie you tell me what you meant by that

Wid. Your housband being troubled with a shrew, Measures my husbands sorrow by his woe: And now you know my meaning

Kate. A verie meane meaning

Wid. Right, I meane you

Kat. And I am meane indeede, respecting you

Petr. To her Kate

Hor. To her Widdow

Petr. A hundred marks, my Kate does put her down

Hor. That's my office Petr. Spoke like an Officer: ha to the lad.

Drinkes to Hortentio.

Bap. How likes Gremio these quicke witted folkes? Gre. Beleeue me sir, they But together well

Bian. Head, and but an hastie witted bodie, Would say your Head and But were head and horne

Vin. I Mistris Bride, hath that awakened you? Bian. I, but not frighted me, therefore Ile sleepe againe

Petr. Nay that you shall not since you haue begun: Haue at you for a better iest or too

Bian. Am I your Bird, I meane to shift my bush, And then pursue me as you draw your Bow. You are welcome all.

Exit Bianca.

Petr. She hath preuented me, here signior Tranio, This bird you aim'd at, though you hit her not, Therefore a health to all that shot and mist

Tri. Oh sir, Lucentio slipt me like his Gray-hound, Which runs himselfe, and catches for his Master

Petr. A good swift simile, but something currish

Tra. 'Tis well sir that you hunted for your selfe: 'Tis thought your Deere does hold you at a baie

Bap. Oh, oh Petruchio, Tranio hits you now

Luc. I thanke thee for that gird good Tranio

Hor. Confesse, confesse, hath he not hit you here? Petr. A has a little gald me I confesse: And as the Iest did glaunce awaie from me, 'Tis ten to one it maim'd you too out right

Bap. Now in good sadnesse sonne Petruchio, I thinke thou hast the veriest shrew of all

Petr. Well, I say no: and therefore sir assurance, Let's each one send vnto his wife, And he whose wife is most obedient, To come at first when he doth send for her, Shall win the wager which we will propose

Hort. Content, what's the wager? Luc. Twentie crownes

Petr. Twentie crownes, Ile venture so much of my Hawke or Hound, But twentie times so much vpon my Wife

Luc. A hundred then

Hor. Content

Petr. A match, 'tis done

Hor. Who shall begin? Luc. That will I. Goe Biondello, bid your Mistris come to me

Bio. I goe. Enter.

Bap. Sonne, Ile be your halfe, Bianca comes

Luc. Ile haue no halues: Ile beare it all my selfe. Enter Biondello.

How now, what newes? Bio. Sir, my Mistris sends you word That she is busie, and she cannot come

Petr. How? she's busie, and she cannot come: is that an answere? Gre. I, and a kinde one too: Praie God sir your wife send you not a worse

Petr. I hope better

Hor. Sirra Biondello, goe and intreate my wife to come to me forthwith.

Exit. Bion.

Pet. Oh ho, intreate her, nay then shee must needes come

Hor. I am affraid sir, doe what you can Enter Biondello.

Yours will not be entreated: Now, where's my wife? Bion. She saies you haue some goodly Iest in hand, She will not come: she bids you come to her

Petr. Worse and worse, she will not come: Oh vilde, intollerable, not to be indur'd: Sirra Grumio, goe to your Mistris, Say I command her come to me. Enter.

Hor. I know her answere

Pet. What? Hor. She will not

Petr. The fouler fortune mine, and there an end. Enter Katerina.

Bap. Now by my hollidam here comes Katerina

Kat. What is your will sir, that you send for me? Petr. Where is your sister, and Hortensios wife? Kate. They sit conferring by the Parler fire

Petr. Goe fetch them hither, if they denie to come, Swinge me them soundly forth vnto their husbands: Away I say, and bring them hither straight

Luc. Here is a wonder, if you talke of a wonder

Hor. And so it is: I wonder what it boads

Petr. Marrie peace it boads, and loue, and quiet life, An awfull rule, and right supremicie: And to be short, what not, that's sweete and happie

Bap. Now faire befall thee good Petruchio; The wager thou hast won, and I will adde Vnto their losses twentie thousand crownes, Another dowrie to another daughter, For she is chang'd as she had neuer bin

Petr. Nay, I will win my wager better yet, And show more signe of her obedience, Her new built vertue and obedience. Enter Kate, Bianca, and Widdow.

See where she comes, and brings your froward Wiues As prisoners to her womanlie perswasion: Katerine, that Cap of yours becomes you not, Off with that bable, throw it vnderfoote

Wid. Lord let me neuer haue a cause to sigh, Till I be brought to such a sillie passe

Bian. Fie what a foolish dutie call you this? Luc. I would your dutie were as foolish too: The wisdome of your dutie faire Bianca, Hath cost me fiue hundred crownes since supper time

Bian. The more foole you for laying on my dutie

Pet. Katherine I charge thee tell these head-strong women, what dutie they doe owe their Lords and husbands

Wid. Come, come, your mocking: we will haue no telling

Pet. Come on I say, and first begin with her

Wid. She shall not

Pet. I say she shall, and first begin with her

Kate. Fie, fie, vnknit that threatning vnkinde brow, And dart not scornefull glances from those eies, To wound thy Lord, thy King, thy Gouernour. It blots thy beautie, as frosts doe bite the Meads, Confounds thy fame, as whirlewinds shake faire budds, And in no sence is meete or amiable. A woman mou'd, is like a fountaine troubled, Muddie, ill seeming, thicke, bereft of beautie, And while it is so, none so dry or thirstie Will daigne to sip, or touch one drop of it. Thy husband is thy Lord, thy life, thy keeper, Thy head, thy soueraigne: One that cares for thee, And for thy maintenance. Commits his body To painfull labour, both by sea and land: To watch the night in stormes, the day in cold, Whil'st thou ly'st warme at home, secure and safe, And craues no other tribute at thy hands, But loue, faire lookes, and true obedience; Too little payment for so great a debt. Such dutie as the subiect owes the Prince, Euen such a woman oweth to her husband: And when she is froward, peeuish, sullen, sowre, And not obedient to his honest will, What is she but a foule contending Rebell, And gracelesse Traitor to her louing Lord? I am asham'd that women are so simple, To offer warre, where they should kneele for peace: Or seeke for rule, supremacie, and sway, When they are bound to serue, loue, and obay. Why are our bodies soft, and weake, and smooth, Vnapt to toyle and trouble in the world, But that our soft conditions, and our harts, Should well agree with our externall parts? Come, come, you froward and vnable wormes, My minde hath bin as bigge as one of yours, My heart as great, my reason haplie more, To bandie word for word, and frowne for frowne; But now I see our Launces are but strawes: Our strength as weake, our weakenesse past compare, That seeming to be most, which we indeed least are. Then vale your stomackes, for it is no boote, And place your hands below your husbands foote: In token of which dutie, if he please, My hand is readie, may it do him ease

Pet. Why there's a wench: Come on, and kisse mee Kate

Luc. Well go thy waies olde Lad for thou shalt ha't

Vin. Tis a good hearing, when children are toward

Luc. But a harsh hearing, when women are froward, Pet. Come Kate, wee'le to bed, We three are married, but you two are sped. 'Twas I wonne the wager, though you hit the white, And being a winner, God giue you good night.

Exit Petruchio

Horten. Now goe thy wayes, thou hast tam'd a curst Shrow

Luc. Tis a wonder, by your leaue, she wil be tam'd so.

FINIS. THE Taming of the Shrew.

All's Well, that Ends Well

Actus primus. Scoena Prima.

Enter yong Bertram Count of Rossillion, his Mother, and Helena, Lord Lafew, all in blacke.

Mother. In deliuering my sonne from me, I burie a second husband

Ros. And I in going Madam, weep ore my fathers death anew; but I must attend his maiesties command, to whom I am now in Ward, euermore in subiection

Laf. You shall find of the King a husband Madame, you sir a father. He that so generally is at all times good, must of necessitie hold his vertue to you, whose worthinesse would stirre it vp where it wanted rather then lack it where there is such abundance

Mo. What hope is there of his Maiesties amendment? Laf. He hath abandon'd his Phisitions Madam, vnder whose practises he hath persecuted time with hope, and finds no other aduantage in the processe, but onely the loosing of hope by time

Mo. This yong Gentlewoman had a father, O that had, how sad a passage tis, whose skill was almost as great as his honestie, had it stretch'd so far, would haue made nature immortall, and death should haue play for lacke of worke. Would for the Kings sake hee were liuing, I thinke it would be the death of the Kings disease

Laf. How call'd you the man you speake of Madam? Mo. He was famous sir in his profession, and it was his great right to be so: Gerard de Narbon

Laf. He was excellent indeed Madam, the King very latelie spoke of him admiringly, and mourningly: hee was skilfull enough to haue liu'd stil, if knowledge could be set vp against mortallitie

Ros. What is it (my good Lord) the King languishes of? Laf. A Fistula my Lord

Ros. I heard not of it before

Laf. I would it were not notorious. Was this Gentlewoman the Daughter of Gerard de Narbon? Mo. His sole childe my Lord, and bequeathed to my ouer looking. I haue those hopes of her good, that her education promises her dispositions shee inherits, which makes faire gifts fairer: for where an vncleane mind carries vertuous qualities, there commendations go with pitty, they are vertues and traitors too: in her they are the better for their simplenesse; she deriues her honestie, and atcheeues her goodnesse

Lafew. Your commendations Madam get from her teares

Mo. 'Tis the best brine a Maiden can season her praise in. The remembrance of her father neuer approches her heart, but the tirrany of her sorrowes takes all liuelihood from her cheeke. No more of this Helena, go too, no more least it be rather thought you affect a sorrow, then to haue- Hell. I doe affect a sorrow indeed, but I haue it too

Laf. Moderate lamentation is the right of the dead, excessiue greefe the enemie to the liuing

Mo. If the liuing be enemie to the greefe, the excesse makes it soone mortall

Ros. Maddam I desire your holie wishes

Laf. How vnderstand we that? Mo. Be thou blest Bertrame, and succeed thy father In manners as in shape: thy blood and vertue Contend for Empire in thee, and thy goodnesse Share with thy birth-right. Loue all, trust a few, Doe wrong to none: be able for thine enemie Rather in power then vse: and keepe thy friend Vnder thy owne lifes key. Be checkt for silence, But neuer tax'd for speech. What heauen more wil, That thee may furnish, and my prayers plucke downe, Fall on thy head. Farwell my Lord, 'Tis an vnseason'd Courtier, good my Lord Aduise him

Laf. He cannot want the best That shall attend his loue

Mo. Heauen blesse him: Farwell Bertram

Ro. The best wishes that can be forg'd in your thoghts be seruants to you: be comfortable to my mother, your Mistris, and make much of her

Laf. Farewell prettie Lady, you must hold the credit of your father

Hell. O were that all, I thinke not on my father, And these great teares grace his remembrance more Then those I shed for him. What was he like? I haue forgott him. My imagination Carries no fauour in't but Bertrams. I am vndone, there is no liuing, none, If Bertram be away. 'Twere all one, That I should loue a bright particuler starre, And think to wed it, he is so aboue me In his bright radience and colaterall light, Must I be comforted, not in his sphere; Th' ambition in my loue thus plagues it selfe: The hind that would be mated by the Lion Must die for loue. 'Twas prettie, though a plague To see him euerie houre to sit and draw His arched browes, his hawking eie, his curles In our hearts table: heart too capeable Of euerie line and tricke of his sweet fauour. But now he's gone, and my idolatrous fancie Must sanctifie his Reliques. Who comes heere? Enter Parrolles.

One that goes with him: I loue him for his sake, And yet I know him a notorious Liar, Thinke him a great way foole, solie a coward, Yet these fixt euils sit so fit in him, That they take place, when Vertues steely bones Lookes bleake i'th cold wind: withall, full ofte we see Cold wisedome waighting on superfluous follie

Par. Saue you faire Queene

Hel. And you Monarch

Par. No

Hel. And no

Par. Are you meditating on virginitie? Hel. I: you haue some staine of souldier in you: Let mee aske you a question. Man is enemie to virginitie, how may we barracado it against him? Par. Keepe him out

Hel. But he assailes, and our virginitie though valiant, in the defence yet is weak: vnfold to vs some war-like resistance

Par. There is none: Man setting downe before you, will vndermine you, and blow you vp

Hel. Blesse our poore Virginity from vnderminers and blowers vp. Is there no Military policy how Virgins might blow vp men? Par. Virginity beeing blowne downe, Man will quicklier be blowne vp: marry in blowing him downe againe, with the breach your selues made, you lose your Citty. It is not politicke, in the Common-wealth of Nature, to preserue virginity. Losse of Virginitie, is rationall encrease, and there was neuer Virgin goe, till virginitie was first lost. That you were made of, is mettall to make Virgins. Virginitie, by beeing once lost, may be ten times found: by being euer kept, it is euer lost: 'tis too cold a companion: Away with't

Hel. I will stand for't a little, though therefore I die a Virgin

Par. There's little can bee saide in't, 'tis against the rule of Nature. To speake on the part of virginitie, is to accuse your Mothers; which is most infallible disobedience. He that hangs himselfe is a Virgin: Virginitie murthers it selfe, and should be buried in highwayes out of all sanctified limit, as a desperate Offendresse against Nature. Virginitie breedes mites, much like a Cheese, consumes it selfe to the very payring, and so dies with feeding his owne stomacke. Besides, Virginitie is peeuish, proud, ydle, made of selfe-loue, which is the most inhibited sinne in the Cannon. Keepe it not, you cannot choose but loose by't. Out with't: within ten yeare it will make it selfe two, which is a goodly increase, and the principall it selfe not much the worse. Away with't

Hel. How might one do sir, to loose it to her owne liking? Par. Let mee see. Marry ill, to like him that ne're it likes. 'Tis a commodity wil lose the glosse with lying: The longer kept, the lesse worth: Off with't while 'tis vendible. Answer the time of request, Virginitie like an olde Courtier, weares her cap out of fashion, richly suted, but vnsuteable, iust like the brooch & the tooth-pick, which were not now: your Date is better in your Pye and your Porredge, then in your cheeke: and your virginity, your old virginity, is like one of our French wither'd peares, it lookes ill, it eates drily, marry 'tis a wither'd peare: it was formerly better, marry yet 'tis a wither'd peare: Will you any thing with it? Hel. Not my virginity yet: There shall your Master haue a thousand loues, A Mother, and a Mistresse, and a friend, A Phenix, Captaine, and an enemy, A guide, a Goddesse, and a Soueraigne, A Counsellor, a Traitoresse, and a Deare: His humble ambition, proud humility: His iarring, concord: and his discord, dulcet: His faith, his sweet disaster: with a world Of pretty fond adoptious christendomes That blinking Cupid gossips. Now shall he: I know not what he shall, God send him well, The Courts a learning place, and he is one

Par. What one ifaith? Hel. That I wish well, 'tis pitty

Par. What's pitty? Hel. That wishing well had not a body in't, Which might be felt, that we the poorer borne, Whose baser starres do shut vs vp in wishes, Might with effects of them follow our friends, And shew what we alone must thinke, which neuer Returnes vs thankes. Enter Page.

Pag. Monsieur Parrolles, My Lord cals for you

Par. Little Hellen farewell, if I can remember thee, I will thinke of thee at Court

Hel. Monsieur Parolles, you were borne vnder a charitable starre

Par. Vnder Mars I

Hel. I especially thinke, vnder Mars

Par. Why vnder Mars? Hel. The warres hath so kept you vnder, that you must needes be borne vnder Mars

Par. When he was predominant

Hel. When he was retrograde I thinke rather

Par. Why thinke you so? Hel. You go so much backward when you fight

Par. That's for aduantage

Hel. So is running away, When feare proposes the safetie: But the composition that your valour and feare makes in you, is a vertue of a good wing, and I like the weare well

Paroll. I am so full of businesses, I cannot answere thee acutely: I will returne perfect Courtier, in the which my instruction shall serue to naturalize thee, so thou wilt be capeable of a Courtiers councell, and vnderstand what aduice shall thrust vppon thee, else thou diest in thine vnthankfulnes, and thine ignorance makes thee away, farewell: When thou hast leysure, say thy praiers: when thou hast none, remember thy Friends: Get thee a good husband, and vse him as he vses thee: So farewell

Hel. Our remedies oft in our selues do lye, Which we ascribe to heauen: the fated skye Giues vs free scope, onely doth backward pull Our slow designes, when we our selues are dull. What power is it, which mounts my loue so hye, That makes me see, and cannot feede mine eye? The mightiest space in fortune, Nature brings To ioyne like, likes; and kisse like natiue things. Impossible be strange attempts to those That weigh their paines in sence, and do suppose What hath beene, cannot be. Who euer stroue To shew her merit, that did misse her loue? (The Kings disease) my proiect may deceiue me, But my intents are fixt, and will not leaue me.

Exit

Flourish Cornets. Enter the King of France with Letters, and diuers Attendants.

King. The Florentines and Senoys are by th' eares, Haue fought with equall fortune, and continue A brauing warre

1.Lo.G. So tis reported sir

King. Nay tis most credible, we heere receiue it, A certaintie vouch'd from our Cosin Austria, With caution, that the Florentine will moue vs For speedie ayde: wherein our deerest friend Preiudicates the businesse, and would seeme To haue vs make deniall

1.Lo.G. His loue and wisedome Approu'd so to your Maiesty, may pleade For amplest credence

King. He hath arm'd our answer, And Florence is deni'de before he comes: Yet for our Gentlemen that meane to see The Tuscan seruice, freely haue they leaue To stand on either part

2.Lo.E. It well may serue A nursserie to our Gentrie, who are sicke For breathing, and exploit

King. What's he comes heere. Enter Bertram, Lafew, and Parolles.

1.Lor.G. It is the Count Rosignoll my good Lord, Yong Bertram

King. Youth, thou bear'st thy Fathers face, Franke Nature rather curious then in hast Hath well compos'd thee: Thy Fathers morall parts Maist thou inherit too: Welcome to Paris

Ber. My thankes and dutie are your Maiesties

Kin. I would I had that corporall soundnesse now, As when thy father, and my selfe, in friendship First tride our souldiership: he did looke farre Into the seruice of the time, and was Discipled of the brauest. He lasted long, But on vs both did haggish Age steale on, And wore vs out of act: It much repaires me To talke of your good father; in his youth He had the wit, which I can well obserue To day in our yong Lords: but they may iest Till their owne scorne returne to them vnnoted Ere they can hide their leuitie in honour: So like a Courtier, contempt nor bitternesse Were in his pride, or sharpnesse; if they were, His equall had awak'd them, and his honour Clocke to it selfe, knew the true minute when Exception bid him speake: and at this time His tongue obey'd his hand. Who were below him, He vs'd as creatures of another place, And bow'd his eminent top to their low rankes, Making them proud of his humilitie, In their poore praise he humbled: Such a man Might be a copie to these yonger times; Which followed well, would demonstrate them now But goers backward

Ber. His good remembrance sir Lies richer in your thoughts, then on his tombe: So in approofe liues not his Epitaph, As in your royall speech

King. Would I were with him he would alwaies say, (Me thinkes I heare him now) his plausiue words He scatter'd not in eares, but grafted them To grow there and to beare: Let me not liue, This his good melancholly oft began On the Catastrophe and heele of pastime When it was out: Let me not liue (quoth hee) After my flame lackes oyle, to be the snuffe Of yonger spirits, whose apprehensiue senses All but new things disdaine; whose iudgements are Meere 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 honie can bring home, I quickly were dissolued from my hiue To giue some Labourers roome

2.L.E. You'r loued Sir, They that least lend it you, shall lacke you first

Kin. I fill a place I know't: how long ist Count Since the Physitian at your fathers died? He was much fam'd

Ber. Some six moneths since my Lord

Kin. If he were liuing, I would try him yet. Lend me an arme: the rest haue worne me out With seuerall applications: Nature and sicknesse Debate it at their leisure. Welcome Count, My sonne's no deerer

Ber. Thanke your Maiesty.

Exit

Flourish.

Enter Countesse, Steward, and Clowne.

Coun. I will now heare, what say you of this gentlewoman

Ste. Maddam the care I haue had to euen your content, I wish might be found in the Kalender of my past endeuours, for then we wound our Modestie, and make foule the clearnesse of our deseruings, when of our selues we publish them

Coun. What doe's this knaue heere? Get you gone sirra: the complaints I haue heard of you I do not all beleeue, 'tis my slownesse that I doe not: For I know you lacke not folly to commit them, & haue abilitie enough to make such knaueries yours

Clo. 'Tis not vnknown to you Madam, I am a poore fellow

Coun. Well sir

Clo. No maddam, 'Tis not so well that I am poore, though manie of the rich are damn'd, but if I may haue your Ladiships good will to goe to the world, Isbell the woman and I will doe as we may

Coun. Wilt thou needes be a begger? Clo. I doe beg your good will in this case

Cou. In what case? Clo. In Isbels case and mine owne: seruice is no heritage, and I thinke I shall neuer haue the blessing of God, till I haue issue a my bodie: for they say barnes are blessings

Cou. Tell me thy reason why thou wilt marrie? Clo. My poore bodie Madam requires it, I am driuen on by the flesh, and hee must needes goe that the diuell driues

Cou. Is this all your worships reason? Clo. Faith Madam I haue other holie reasons, such as they are

Cou. May the world know them? Clo. I haue beene Madam a wicked creature, as you and all flesh and blood are, and indeede I doe marrie that I may repent

Cou. Thy marriage sooner then thy wickednesse

Clo. I am out a friends Madam, and I hope to haue friends for my wiues sake

Cou. Such friends are thine enemies knaue

Clo. Y'are shallow Madam in great friends, for the knaues come to doe that for me which I am a wearie of: he that eres my Land, spares my teame, and giues mee leaue to Inne the crop: if I be his cuckold hee's my drudge; he that comforts my wife, is the cherisher of my flesh and blood; hee that cherishes my flesh and blood, loues my flesh and blood; he that loues 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 feare in marriage, for yong Charbon the Puritan, and old Poysam the Papist, how somere their hearts are seuer'd in Religion, their heads are both one, they may ioule horns together like any Deare i'th Herd

Cou. Wilt thou euer be a foule mouth'd and calumnious knaue? Clo. A Prophet I Madam, and I speake the truth the next waie, for I the Ballad will repeate, which men full true shall finde, your marriage comes by destinie, your Cuckow sings by kinde

Cou. Get you gone sir, Ile talke with you more anon

Stew. May it please you Madam, that hee bid Hellen come to you, of her I am to speake

Cou. Sirra tell my gentlewoman I would speake with her, Hellen I meane

Clo. Was this faire face the cause, quoth she, Why the Grecians sacked Troy, Fond done, done, fond was this King Priams ioy, With that she sighed as she stood,

bis

And gaue this sentence then, among nine bad if one be good, among nine bad if one be good, there's yet one good in ten

Cou. What, one good in tenne? you corrupt the song sirra

Clo. One good woman in ten Madam, which is a purifying ath' song: would God would serue the world so all the yeere, weed finde no fault with the tithe woman if I were the Parson, one in ten quoth a? and wee might haue a good woman borne but ore euerie blazing starre, or at an earthquake, 'twould mend the Lotterie well, a man may draw his heart out ere a plucke one

Cou. Youle begone sir knaue, and doe as I command you? Clo. That man should be at womans command, and yet no hurt done, though honestie be no Puritan, yet it will doe no hurt, it will weare the Surplis of humilitie ouer the blacke-Gowne of a bigge heart: I am going forsooth, the businesse is for Helen to come hither. Enter.

Cou. Well now

Stew. I know Madam you loue your Gentlewoman intirely

Cou. Faith I doe: her Father bequeath'd her to mee, and she her selfe without other aduantage, may lawfullie make title to as much loue as shee findes, there is more owing her then is paid, and more shall be paid her then sheele demand

Stew. Madam, I was verie late more neere her then I thinke shee wisht mee, alone shee was, and did communicate to her selfe her owne words to her owne eares, shee thought, I dare vowe for her, they toucht not anie stranger sence, her matter was, shee loued your Sonne; Fortune shee said was no goddesse, that had put such difference betwixt their two estates: Loue no god, that would not extend his might onelie, where qualities were leuell, Queene of Virgins, that would suffer her poore Knight surpris'd without rescue in the first assault or ransome afterward: This shee deliuer'd in the most bitter touch of sorrow that ere I heard Virgin exclaime in, which I held my dutie speedily to acquaint you withall, sithence in the losse that may happen, it concernes you something to know it

Cou. You haue discharg'd this honestlie, keepe it to your selfe, manie likelihoods inform'd mee of this before, which hung so tottring in the ballance, that I could neither beleeue nor misdoubt: praie you leaue mee, stall this in your bosome, and I thanke you for your honest care: I will speake with you further anon.

Exit Steward.

Enter Hellen.

Old.Cou. Euen so it was with me when I was yong: If euer we are natures, these are ours, this thorne Doth to our Rose of youth rightlie belong Our bloud to vs, this to our blood is borne, It is the show, and seale of natures truth, Where loues strong passion is imprest in youth, By our remembrances of daies forgon, Such were our faults, or then we thought them none, Her eie is sicke on't, I obserue her now

Hell. What is your pleasure Madam? Ol.Cou. You know Hellen I am a mother to you

Hell. Mine honorable Mistris

Ol.Cou. Nay a mother, why not a mother? when I sed a mother Me thought 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 seene Adoption striues with nature, and choise breedes A natiue slip to vs from forraine seedes: You nere opprest me with a mothers groane, Yet I expresse to you a mothers care, (Gods mercie maiden) dos it curd thy blood To say I am thy mother? what's the matter, That this distempered messenger of wet? The manie colour'd Iris rounds thine eye? - Why, that you are my daughter? Hell. That I am not

Old.Cou. I say I am your Mother

Hell. Pardon Madam. The Count Rosillion cannot be my brother: I am from humble, he from honored name: No note vpon my Parents, his all noble, My Master, my deere Lord he is, and I His seruant liue, and will his vassall die: He must not be my brother

Ol.Cou. Nor I your Mother

Hell. You are my mother Madam, would you were So that my Lord your sonne were not my brother, Indeede my mother, or were you both our mothers, I care no more for, then I doe for heauen, So I were not his sister, cant no other, But I your daughter, he must be my brother

Old.Cou. Yes Hellen, you might be my daughter in law, God shield you meane it not, daughter and mother So striue vpon your pulse; what pale agen? My feare hath catcht your fondnesse! now I see The mistrie of your louelinesse, and finde Your salt teares head, now to all sence 'tis grosse: You loue my sonne, inuention is asham'd Against the proclamation of thy passion To say thou doost not: therefore tell me true, But tell me then 'tis so, for looke, thy cheekes Confesse it 'ton tooth to th' other, and thine eies See it so grosely showne in thy behauiours, That in their kinde they speake it, onely sinne And hellish obstinacie tye thy tongue That truth should be suspected, speake, ist so? If it be so, you haue wound a goodly clewe: If it be not, forsweare't how ere I charge thee, As heauen shall worke in me for thine auaile To tell me truelie

Hell. Good Madam pardon me

Cou. Do you loue my Sonne? Hell. Your pardon noble Mistris

Cou. Loue you my Sonne? Hell. Doe not you loue him Madam? Cou. Goe not about; my loue hath in't a bond Whereof the world takes note: Come, come, disclose: The state of your affection, for your passions Haue to the full appeach'd

Hell. Then I confesse Here on my knee, before high heauen and you, That before you, and next vnto high heauen, I loue your Sonne: My friends were poore but honest, so's my loue: Be not offended, for it hurts not him That he is lou'd of me; I follow him not By any token of presumptuous suite, Nor would I haue him, till I doe deserue him, Yet neuer know how that desert should be: I know I loue in vaine, striue against hope: Yet in this captious, and intemible Siue. I still poure in the waters of my loue And lacke not to loose still; thus Indian like Religious in mine error, I adore The Sunne that lookes vpon his worshipper, But knowes of him no more. My deerest Madam, Let not your hate incounter with my loue, For louing where you doe; but if your selfe, Whose aged honor cites a vertuous youth, Did euer, in so true a flame of liking, Wish chastly, and loue dearely, that your Dian Was both her selfe and loue, O then giue pittie To her whose state is such, that cannot choose But lend and giue where she is sure to loose; That seekes not to finde that, her search implies, But riddle like, liues sweetely where she dies

Cou. Had you not lately an intent, speake truely, To goe to Paris? Hell. Madam I had

Cou. Wherefore? tell true

Hell. I will tell truth, by grace it selfe I sweare: You know my Father left me some prescriptions Of rare and prou'd effects, such as his reading And manifest experience, had collected For generall soueraigntie: and that he wil'd me In heedefull'st reseruation to bestow them, As notes, whose faculties inclusiue were, More then they were in note: Amongst the rest, There is a remedie, approu'd, set downe, To cure the desperate languishings whereof The King is render'd lost

Cou. This was your motiue for Paris, was it, speake? Hell. My Lord, your sonne, made me to think of this; Else Paris, and the medicine, and the King, Had from the conuersation of my thoughts, Happily beene absent then

Cou. But thinke you Hellen, If you should tender your supposed aide, He would receiue it? He and his Phisitions Are of a minde, he, that they cannot helpe him: They, that they cannot helpe, how shall they credit A poore vnlearned Virgin, when the Schooles Embowel'd of their doctrine, haue left off The danger to it selfe

Hell. There's something in't More then my Fathers skill, which was the great'st Of his profession, that his good receipt, Shall for my legacie be sanctified Byth' luckiest stars in heauen, and would your honor But giue me leaue to trie successe, I'de venture The well lost life of mine, on his Graces cure, By such a day, an houre

Cou. Doo'st thou beleeue't? Hell. I Madam knowingly

Cou. Why Hellen thou shalt haue my leaue and loue, Meanes and attendants, and my louing greetings To those of mine in Court, Ile staie at home And praie Gods blessing into thy attempt: Begon to morrow, and be sure of this, What I can helpe thee to, thou shalt not misse.

Exeunt.

Actus Secundus.

Enter the King with diuers yong Lords, taking leaue for the Florentine warre: Count, Rosse, and Parrolles. Florish Cornets.

King. Farewell yong Lords, these warlike principles Doe not throw from you, and you my Lords farewell: Share the aduice betwixt you, if both gaine, all The guift doth stretch it selfe as 'tis receiu'd, And is enough for both

Lord.G. 'Tis our hope sir, After well entred souldiers, to returne And finde your grace in health

King. No, no, it cannot be; and yet my heart Will not confesse he owes the mallady That doth my life besiege: farwell yong Lords, Whether I liue or die, be you the sonnes Of worthy French men: let higher Italy (Those bated that inherit but the fall Of the last Monarchy) see that you come Not to wooe honour, but to wed it, when The brauest questant shrinkes: finde what you seeke, That fame may cry you loud: I say farewell

L.G. Health at your bidding serue your Maiesty

King. Those girles of Italy, take heed of them, They say our French, lacke language to deny If they demand: beware of being Captiues Before you serue

Bo. Our hearts receiue your warnings

King. Farewell, come hether to me

1.Lo.G. Oh my sweet Lord y you wil stay behind vs

Parr. 'Tis not his fault the spark

2.Lo.E. Oh 'tis braue warres

Parr. Most admirable, I haue seene those warres

Rossill. I am commanded here, and kept a coyle with, Too young, and the next yeere, and 'tis too early

Parr. And thy minde stand too't boy, Steale away brauely

Rossill. I shal stay here the for-horse to a smocke, Creeking my shooes on the plaine Masonry, Till honour be bought vp, and no sword worne But one to dance with: by heauen, Ile steale away

1.Lo.G. There's honour in the theft

Parr. Commit it Count

2.Lo.E. I am your accessary, and so farewell

Ros. I grow to you, & our parting is a tortur'd body

1.Lo.G. Farewell Captaine

2.Lo.E. Sweet Mounsier Parolles

Parr. Noble Heroes; my sword and yours are kinne, good sparkes and lustrous, a word good mettals. You shall finde in the Regiment of the Spinij, one Captaine Spurio his sicatrice, with an Embleme of warre heere on his sinister cheeke; it was this very sword entrench'd it: say to him I liue, and obserue his reports for me

Lo.G. We shall noble Captaine

Parr. Mars doate on you for his nouices, what will ye doe? Ross. Stay the King

Parr. Vse a more spacious ceremonie to the Noble Lords, you haue restrain'd your selfe within the List of too cold an adieu: be more expressiue to them; for they weare themselues in the cap of the time, there do muster true gate; eat, speake, and moue vnder the influence of the most receiu'd starre, and though the deuill leade the measure, such are to be followed: after them, and take a more dilated farewell

Ross. And I will doe so

Parr. Worthy fellowes, and like to prooue most sinewie sword-men.

Exeunt.

Enter Lafew.

L.Laf. Pardon my Lord for mee and for my tidings

King. Ile see thee to stand vp

L.Laf. Then heres a man stands that has brought his pardon, I would you had kneel'd my Lord to aske me mercy, And that at my bidding you could so stand vp

King. I would I had, so I had broke thy pate And askt thee mercy for't

Laf. Goodfaith a-crosse, but my good Lord 'tis thus, Will you be cur'd of your infirmitie? King. No

Laf. O will you eat no grapes my royall foxe? Yes but you will, my noble grapes, and if My royall foxe could reach them: I haue seen a medicine That's able to breath life into a stone, Quicken a rocke, and make you dance Canari With sprightly fire and motion, whose simple touch Is powerfull to arayse King Pippen, nay To giue great Charlemaine a pen in's hand And write to her a loue-line

King. What her is this? Laf. Why doctor she: my Lord, there's one arriu'd, If you will see her: now by my faith and honour, If seriously I may conuay my thoughts In this my light deliuerance, I haue spoke With one, that in her sexe, her yeeres, profession, Wisedome and constancy, hath amaz'd mee more Then I dare blame my weakenesse: will you see her? For that is her demand, and know her businesse? That done, laugh well at me

King. Now good Lafew, Bring in the admiration, that we with thee May spend our wonder too, or take off thine By wondring how thou tookst it

Laf. Nay, Ile fit you, And not be all day neither

King. Thus he his speciall nothing euer prologues

Laf. Nay, come your waies. Enter Hellen.

King. This haste hath wings indeed

Laf. Nay, come your waies, This is his Maiestie, say your minde to him, A Traitor you doe looke like, but such traitors His Maiesty seldome feares, I am Cresseds Vncle, That dare leaue two together, far you well. Enter.

King. Now faire one, do's your busines follow vs? Hel. I my good Lord, Gerard de Narbon was my father, In what he did professe, well found

King. I knew him

Hel. The rather will I spare my praises towards him, Knowing him is enough: on's bed of death, Many receits he gaue me, chieflie one, Which as the dearest issue of his practice And of his olde experience, th' onlie darling, He bad me store vp, as a triple eye, Safer then mine owne two: more deare I haue so, And hearing your high Maiestie is toucht With that malignant cause, wherein the honour Of my deare fathers gift, stands cheefe in power, I come to tender it, and my appliance, With all bound humblenesse

King. We thanke you maiden, But may not be so credulous of cure, When our most learned Doctors leaue vs, and The congregated Colledge haue concluded, That labouring Art can neuer ransome nature From her inaydible estate: I say we must not So staine our iudgement, or corrupt our hope, To prostitute our past-cure malladie To empericks, or to disseuer so Our great selfe and our credit, to esteeme A sencelesse helpe, when helpe past sence we deeme

Hell. My dutie then shall pay me for my paines: I will no more enforce mine office on you, Humbly intreating from your royall thoughts, A modest one to beare me backe againe

King. I cannot giue thee lesse to be cal'd gratefull: Thou thoughtst to helpe me, and such thankes I giue, As one neere death to those that wish him liue: But what at full I know, thou knowst no part, I knowing all my perill, thou no Art

Hell. What I can doe, can doe no hurt to try, Since you set vp your rest 'gainst remedie: He that of greatest workes is finisher, Oft does them by the weakest minister: So holy Writ, in babes hath iudgement showne, When Iudges haue bin babes; great flouds haue flowne From simple sources: and great Seas haue dried When Miracles haue by the great'st beene denied. Oft expectation failes, and most oft there Where most it promises: and oft it hits, Where hope is coldest, and despaire most shifts

King. I must not heare thee, fare thee wel kind maide, Thy paines not vs'd, must by thy selfe be paid, Proffers not tooke, reape thanks for their reward

Hel. Inspired Merit so by breath is bard, It is not so with him that all things knowes As 'tis with vs, that square our guesse by showes: But most it is presumption in vs, when The help of heauen we count the act of men. Deare sir, to my endeauors giue consent, Of heauen, not me, make an experiment. I am not an Imposture, that proclaime My selfe against the leuill of mine aime, But know I thinke, and thinke I know most sure, My Art is not past power, nor you past cure

King. Art thou so confident? Within what space Hop'st thou my cure? Hel. The greatest grace lending grace, Ere twice the horses of the sunne shall bring Their fiery torcher his diurnall ring, Ere twice in murke and occidentall dampe Moist Hesperus hath quench'd her sleepy Lampe: Or foure and twenty times the Pylots glasse Hath told the theeuish minutes, how they passe: What is infirme, from your sound parts shall flie, Health shall liue free, and sickenesse freely dye

King. Vpon thy certainty and confidence, What dar'st thou venter? Hell. Taxe of impudence, A strumpets boldnesse, a divulged shame Traduc'd by odious ballads: my maidens name Seard otherwise, ne worse of worst extended With vildest torture, let my life be ended

Kin. Methinks in thee some blessed spirit doth speak His powerfull sound, within an organ weake: And what impossibility would slay In common sence, sence saues another way: Thy life is deere, for all that life can rate Worth name of life, in thee hath estimate: Youth, beauty, wisedome, courage, all That happines and prime, can happy call: Thou this to hazard, needs must intimate Skill infinite, or monstrous desperate, Sweet practiser, thy Physicke I will try, That ministers thine owne death if I die

Hel. If I breake time, or flinch in property Of what I spoke, vnpittied let me die, And well deseru'd: not helping, death's my fee, But if I helpe, what doe you promise me

Kin. Make thy demand

Hel. But will you make it euen? Kin. I by my Scepter, and my hopes of helpe

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

Kin. Heere is my hand, the premises obseru'd, Thy will by my performance shall be seru'd: So make the choice of thy owne time, for I Thy resolv'd Patient, on thee still relye: More should I question thee, and more I must, Though more to know, could not be more to trust: From whence thou cam'st, how tended on, but rest Vnquestion'd welcome, and vndoubted blest. Giue me some helpe heere hoa, if thou proceed, As high as word, my deed shall match thy deed.

Florish. Exit.

Enter Countesse and Clowne.

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

Clown. I will shew my selfe highly fed, and lowly taught, I know my businesse is but to the Court

Lady. To the Court, why what place make you speciall, when you put off that with such contempt, but to the Court? Clo. Truly Madam, if God haue lent a man any manners, hee may easilie put it off at Court: hee that cannot make a legge, put off's cap, kisse his hand, and say nothing, has neither legge, hands, lippe, nor cap; and indeed such a fellow, to say precisely, were not for the Court, but for me, I haue an answere will serue all men

Lady. Marry that's a bountifull answere that fits all questions

Clo. It is like a Barbers chaire that fits all buttockes, the pin buttocke, the quatch-buttocke, the brawn buttocke, or any buttocke

Lady. Will your answere serue fit to all questions? Clo. As fit as ten groats is for the hand of an Atturney, as your French Crowne for your taffety punke, as Tibs rush for Toms fore-finger, as a pancake for Shroue-tuesday, a Morris for May-day, as the naile to his hole, the Cuckold to his horne, as a scolding queane to a wrangling knaue, as the Nuns lip to the Friers mouth, nay as the pudding to his skin

Lady. Haue you, I say, an answere of such fitnesse for all questions? Clo. From below your Duke, to beneath your Constable, it will fit any question

Lady. It must be an answere of most monstrous size, that must fit all demands

Clo. But a triflle neither in good faith, if the learned should speake truth of it: heere it is, and all that belongs to't. Aske mee if I am a Courtier, it shall doe you no harme to learne

Lady. To be young againe if we could: I will bee a foole in question, hoping to bee the wiser by your answer

La. I pray you sir, are you a Courtier? Clo. O Lord sir theres a simple putting off: more, more, a hundred of them

La. Sir I am a poore freind of yours, that loues you

Clo. O Lord sir, thicke, thicke, spare not me

La. I thinke sir, you can eate none of this homely meate

Clo. O Lord sir; nay put me too't, I warrant you

La. You were lately whipt sir as I thinke

Clo. O Lord sir, spare not me

La. Doe you crie O Lord sir at your whipping, and spare not me? Indeed your O Lord sir, is very sequent to your whipping: you would answere very well to a whipping if you were but bound too't

Clo. I nere had worse lucke in my life in my O Lord sir: I see things may serue long, but not serue euer

La. I play the noble huswife with the time, to entertaine it so merrily with a foole

Clo. O Lord sir, why there't serues well agen

La. And end sir to your businesse: giue Hellen this, And vrge her to a present answer backe, Commend me to my kinsmen, and my sonne, This is not much

Clo. Not much commendation to them

La. Not much imployement for you, you vnderstand me

Clo. Most fruitfully, I am there, before my legges

La. Hast you agen.

Exeunt.

Enter Count, Lafew, and Parolles.

Ol.Laf. They say miracles are past, and we haue our Philosophicall persons, to make moderne and familiar things supernaturall and causelesse. Hence is it, that we make trifles of terrours, ensconcing our selues into seeming knowledge, when we should submit our selues to an vnknowne feare

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

Ros. And so 'tis

Ol.Laf. To be relinquisht of the Artists

Par. So I say both of Galen and Paracelsus

Ol.Laf. Of all the learned and authenticke fellowes

Par. Right so I say

Ol.Laf. That gaue him out incureable

Par. Why there 'tis, so say I too

Ol.Laf. Not to be help'd

Par. Right, as 'twere a man assur'd of a- Ol.Laf. Vncertaine life, and sure death

Par. Iust, you say well: so would I haue said

Ol.Laf. I may truly say, it is a noueltie to the world

Par. It is indeede if you will haue it in shewing, you shall reade it in what do ye call there

Ol.Laf. A shewing of a heauenly effect in an earthly Actor

Par. That's it, I would haue said, the verie same

Ol.Laf. Why your Dolphin is not lustier: fore mee I speake in respect- Par. Nay 'tis strange, 'tis very straunge, that is the breefe and the tedious of it, and he's of a most facinerious spirit, that will not acknowledge it to be the- Ol.Laf. Very hand of heauen

Par. I, so I say

Ol.Laf. In a most weake- Par. And debile minister great power, great trancendence, which should indeede giue vs a further vse to be made, then alone the recou'ry of the king, as to bee Old Laf. Generally thankfull. Enter King, Hellen, and attendants.

Par. I would haue said it, you say well: heere comes the King

Ol.Laf. Lustique, as the Dutchman saies: Ile like a maide the Better whil'st I haue a tooth in my head: why he's able to leade her a Carranto

Par. Mor du vinager, is not this Helen? Ol.Laf. Fore God I thinke so

King. Goe call before mee all the Lords in Court, Sit my preseruer by thy patients side, And with this healthfull hand whose banisht sence Thou hast repeal'd, a second time receyue The confirmation of my promis'd guift, Which but attends thy naming. Enter 3 or 4 Lords.

Faire Maide send forth thine eye, this youthfull parcell Of Noble Batchellors, stand at my bestowing, Ore whom both Soueraigne power, and fathers voice I haue to vse; thy franke election make, Thou hast power to choose, and they none to forsake

Hel. To each of you, one faire and vertuous Mistris; Fall when loue please, marry to each but one

Old Laf. I'de giue bay curtall, and his furniture My mouth no more were broken then these boyes, And writ as little beard

King. Peruse them well: Not one of those, but had a Noble father.

She addresses her to a Lord.

Hel. Gentlemen, heauen hath through me, restor'd the king to health

All. We vnderstand it, and thanke heauen for you

Hel. I am a simple Maide, and therein wealthiest That I protest, I simply am a Maide: Please it your Maiestie, I haue done already: The blushes in my cheekes thus whisper mee, We blush that thou shouldst choose, but be refused; Let the white death sit on thy cheeke for euer, Wee'l nere come there againe

King. Make choise and see, Who shuns thy loue, shuns all his loue in mee

Hel. Now Dian from thy Altar do I fly, And to imperiall loue, that God most high Do my sighes streame: Sir, wil you heare my suite? 1.Lo. And grant it

Hel. Thankes sir, all the rest is mute

Ol.Laf. I had rather be in this choise, then throw Ames-ace for my life

Hel. The honor sir that flames in your faire eyes, Before I speake too threatningly replies: Loue make your fortunes twentie times aboue Her that so wishes, and her humble loue

2.Lo. No better if you please

Hel. My wish receiue, Which great loue grant, and so I take my leaue

Ol.Laf. Do all they denie her? And they were sons of mine, I'de haue them whip'd, or I would send them to'th Turke to make Eunuches of

Hel. Be not afraid that I your hand should take, Ile neuer do you wrong for your owne sake: Blessing vpon your vowes, and in your bed Finde fairer fortune, if you euer wed

Old Laf. These boyes are boyes of Ice, they'le none haue heere: sure they are bastards to the English, the French nere got em

La. You are too young, too happie, and too good To make your selfe a sonne out of my blood

4.Lord. Faire one, I thinke not so

Ol.Lord There's one grape yet, I am sure thy father drunke wine. But if thou be'st not an asse, I am a youth of fourteene: I haue knowne thee already

Hel. I dare not say I take you, but I giue Me and my seruice, euer whilst I liue Into your guiding power: This is the man

King. Why then young Bertram take her shee's thy wife

Ber. My wife my Leige? I shal beseech your highnes In such a busines, giue me leaue to vse The helpe of mine owne eies

King. Know'st thou not Bertram what shee ha's done for mee? Ber. Yes my good Lord, but neuer hope to know why I should marrie her

King. Thou know'st shee ha's rais'd me from my sickly bed

Ber. But followes it my Lord, to bring me downe Must answer for your raising? I knowe her well: Shee had her breeding at my fathers charge: A poore Physitians daughter my wife? Disdaine Rather corrupt me euer

King. Tis onely title thou disdainst in her, the which I can build vp: strange is it that our bloods Of colour, waight, and heat, pour'd all together, Would quite confound distinction: yet stands off In differences so mightie. If she bee All that is vertuous (saue what thou dislik'st) A poore Phisitians daughter, thou dislik'st Of vertue for the name: but doe not so: From lowest place, whence vertuous things proceed, The place is dignified by th' doers deede. Where great additions swell's, and vertue none, It is a dropsied honour. Good alone, Is good without a name? Vilenesse is so: The propertie by what is is, should go, Not by the title. Shee is young, wise, faire, In these, to Nature shee's immediate heire: And these breed honour: that is honours scorne, Which challenges it selfe as honours borne, And is not like the sire: Honours thriue, When rather from our acts we them deriue Then our fore-goers: the meere words, a slaue Debosh'd on euerie tombe, on euerie graue: A lying Trophee, and as oft is dumbe, Where dust, and damn'd obliuion is the Tombe. Of honour'd bones indeed, what should be saide? If thou canst like this creature, as a maide, I can create the rest: Vertue, and shee Is her owne dower: Honour and wealth, from mee

Ber. I cannot loue her, nor will striue to doo't

King. Thou wrong'st thy selfe, if thou shold'st striue to choose

Hel. That you are well restor'd my Lord, I'me glad: Let the rest go

King. My Honor's at the stake, which to defeate I must produce my power. Heere, take her hand, Proud scornfull boy, vnworthie this good gift, That dost in vile misprision shackle vp My loue, and her desert: that canst not dreame, We poizing vs in her defectiue scale, Shall weigh thee to the beame: That wilt not know, It is in Vs to plant thine Honour, where We please to haue it grow. Checke thy contempt: Obey Our will, which trauailes in thy good: Beleeue not thy disdaine, but presentlie Do thine owne fortunes that obedient right Which both thy dutie owes, and Our power claimes, Or I will throw thee from my care for euer Into the staggers, and the carelesse lapse Of youth and ignorance: both my reuenge and hate Loosing vpon thee, in the name of iustice, Without all termes of pittie. Speake, thine answer

Ber. Pardon my gracious Lord: for I submit My fancie to your eies, when I consider What great creation, and what dole of honour Flies where you bid it: I finde that she which late Was in my Nobler thoughts, most base: is now The praised of the King, who so ennobled, Is as 'twere borne so

King. Take her by the hand, And tell her she is thine: to whom I promise A counterpoize: If not to thy estate, A ballance more repleat

Ber. I take her hand

Kin. Good fortune, and the fauour of the King Smile vpon this Contract: whose Ceremonie Shall seeme expedient on the now borne briefe, And be perform'd to night: the solemne Feast Shall more attend vpon the coming space, Expecting absent friends. As thou lou'st her, Thy loue's to me Religious: else, do's erre.

Exeunt.

Parolles and Lafew stay behind, commenting of this wedding.

Laf. Do you heare Monsieur? A word with you

Par. Your pleasure sir

Laf. Your Lord and Master did well to make his recantation

Par. Recantation? My Lord? my Master? Laf. I: Is it not a Language I speake? Par. A most harsh one, and not to bee vnderstoode without bloudie succeeding. My Master? Laf. Are you Companion to the Count Rosillion? Par. To any Count, to all Counts: to what is man

Laf. To what is Counts man: Counts maister is of another stile

Par. You are too old sir: Let it satisfie you, you are too old

Laf. I must tell thee sirrah, I write Man: to which title age cannot bring thee

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

Laf. I did thinke thee for two ordinaries: to bee a prettie wise fellow, thou didst make tollerable vent of thy trauell, it might passe: yet the scarffes and the bannerets about thee, did manifoldlie disswade me from beleeuing thee a vessell of too great a burthen. I haue now found thee, when I loose thee againe, I care not: yet art thou good for nothing but taking vp, and that th'ourt scarce worth

Par. Hadst thou not the priuiledge of Antiquity vpon thee

Laf. Do not plundge thy selfe to farre in anger, least thou hasten thy triall: which if, Lord haue mercie on thee for a hen, so my good window of Lettice fare thee well, thy casement I neede not open, for I look through thee. Giue me thy hand

Par. My Lord, you giue me most egregious indignity

Laf. I with all my heart, and thou art worthy of it

Par. I haue not my Lord deseru'd it

Laf. Yes good faith, eu'ry dramme of it, and I will not bate thee a scruple

Par. Well, I shall be wiser

Laf. Eu'n as soone as thou can'st, for thou hast to pull at a smacke a'th contrarie. If euer thou bee'st bound in thy skarfe and beaten, thou shall finde what it is to be proud of thy bondage, I haue a desire to holde my acquaintance with thee, or rather my knowledge, that I may say in the default, he is a man I know

Par. My Lord you do me most insupportable vexation

Laf. I would it were hell paines for thy sake, and my poore doing eternall: for doing I am past, as I will by thee, in what motion age will giue me leaue. Enter.

Par. Well, thou hast a sonne shall take this disgrace off me; scuruy, old, filthy, scuruy Lord: Well, I must be patient, there is no fettering of authority. Ile beate him (by my life) if I can meete him with any conuenience, and he were double and double a Lord. Ile haue no more pittie of his age then I would haue of- Ile beate him, and if I could but meet him agen. Enter Lafew.

Laf. Sirra, your Lord and masters married, there's newes for you: you haue a new Mistris

Par. I most vnfainedly beseech your Lordshippe to make some reseruation of your wrongs. He is my good Lord, whom I serue aboue is my master

Laf. Who? God

Par. I sir

Laf. The deuill it is, that's thy master. Why dooest thou garter vp thy armes a this fashion? Dost make hose of thy sleeues? Do other seruants so? Thou wert best set thy lower part where thy nose stands. By mine Honor, if I were but two houres yonger, I'de beate thee: mee-think'st thou art a generall offence, and euery man shold beate thee: I thinke thou wast created for men to breath themselues vpon thee

Par. This is hard and vndeserued measure my Lord

Laf. Go too sir, you were beaten in Italy for picking a kernell out of a Pomgranat, you are a vagabond, and no true traueller: you are more sawcie with Lordes and honourable personages, then the Commission of your birth and vertue giues you Heraldry. You are not worth another word, else I'de call you knaue. I leaue you.

Exit

Enter Count Rossillion.

Par. Good, very good, it is so then: good, very good, let it be conceal'd awhile

Ros. Vndone, and forfeited to cares for euer

Par. What's the matter sweet-heart? Rossill. Although before the solemne Priest I haue sworne, I will not bed her

Par. What? what sweet heart? Ros. O my Parrolles, they haue married me: Ile to the Tuscan warres, and neuer bed her

Par. France is a dog-hole, and it no more merits, The tread of a mans foot: too'th warres

Ros. There's letters from my mother: What th' import is, I know not yet

Par. I that would be knowne: too'th warrs my boy, too'th warres: He weares his honor in a boxe vnseene, That hugges his kickie wickie heare at home, Spending his manlie marrow in her armes Which should sustaine the bound and high curuet Of Marses fierie steed: to other Regions, France is a stable, wee that dwell in't Iades, Therefore too'th warre

Ros. It shall be so, Ile 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 speake. His present gift Shall furnish me to those Italian fields Where noble fellowes strike: Warres is no strife To the darke house, and the detected wife

Par. Will this Caprichio hold in thee, art sure? Ros. Go with me to my chamber, and aduice me. Ile send her straight away: To morrow, Ile to the warres, she to her single sorrow

Par. Why these bals bound, ther's noise in it. Tis hard A yong man maried, is a man that's mard: Therefore away, and leaue her brauely: go, The King ha's done you wrong: but hush 'tis so.

Exit

Enter Helena and Clowne.

Hel. My mother greets me kindly, is she well? Clo. She is not well, but yet she has her health, she's very merrie, but yet she is not well: but thankes be giuen she's very well, and wants nothing i'th world: but yet she is not well

Hel. If she be verie wel, what do's she ayle, that she's not verie well? Clo. Truly she's very well indeed, but for two things Hel. What two things? Clo. One, that she's not in heauen, whether God send her quickly: the other, that she's in earth, from whence God send her quickly. Enter Parolles.

Par. Blesse you my fortunate Ladie

Hel. I hope sir I haue your good will to haue mine owne good fortune

Par. You had my prayers to leade them on, and to keepe them on, haue them still. O my knaue, how do's my old Ladie? Clo. So that you had her wrinkles, and I her money, I would she did as you say

Par. Why I say nothing

Clo. Marry you are the wiser man: for many a mans tongue shakes out his masters vndoing: to say nothing, to do nothing, to know nothing, and to haue nothing, is to be a great part of your title, which is within a verie little of nothing

Par. Away, th'art a knaue

Clo. You should haue said sir before a knaue, th'art a knaue, that's before me th'art a knaue: this had beene truth sir

Par. Go too, thou art a wittie foole, I haue found thee

Clo. Did you finde me in your selfe sir, or were you taught to finde me? Clo. The search sir was profitable, and much Foole may you find in you, euen to the worlds pleasure, and the encrease of laughter

Par. A good knaue ifaith, and well fed. Madam, my Lord will go awaie to night, A verie serrious businesse call's on him: The great prerogatiue and rite of loue, Which as your due time claimes, he do's acknowledge, But puts it off to a compell'd restraint: Whose want, and whose delay, is strew'd with sweets Which they distill now in the curbed time, To make the comming houre oreflow with ioy, And pleasure drowne the brim

Hel. What's his will else? Par. That you will take your instant leaue a'th king, And make this hast as your owne good proceeding, Strengthned with what Apologie you thinke May make it probable neede

Hel. What more commands hee? Par. That hauing this obtain'd, you presentlie Attend his further pleasure

Hel. In euery thing I waite vpon his will

Par. I shall report it so.

Exit Par.

Hell. I pray you come sirrah.

Exit

Enter Lafew and Bertram.

Laf. But I hope your Lordshippe thinkes not him a souldier

Ber. Yes my Lord and of verie valiant approofe

Laf. You haue it from his owne deliuerance

Ber. And by other warranted testimonie

Laf. Then my Diall goes not true, I tooke this Larke for a bunting

Ber. I do assure you my Lord he is very great in knowledge, and accordinglie valiant

Laf. I haue then sinn'd against his experience, and transgrest against his valour, and my state that way is dangerous, since I cannot yet find in my heart to repent: Heere he comes, I pray you make vs freinds, I will pursue the amitie. Enter Parolles.

Par. These things shall be done sir

Laf. Pray you sir whose his Tailor? Par. Sir? Laf. O I know him well, I sir, hee sirs a good workeman, a verie good Tailor

Ber. Is shee gone to the king? Par. Shee is

Ber. Will shee away to night? Par. As you'le haue her

Ber. I haue writ my letters, casketted my treasure, Giuen order for our horses, and to night, When I should take possession of the Bride, And ere I doe begin

Laf. A good Trauailer is something at the latter end of a dinner, but on that lies three thirds, and vses a known truth to passe a thousand nothings with, should bee once hard, and thrice beaten. God saue you Captaine

Ber. Is there any vnkindnes betweene my Lord and you Monsieur? Par. I know not how I haue deserued to run into my Lords displeasure

Laf. You haue made shift to run into't, bootes and spurres and all: like him that leapt into the Custard, and out of it you'le runne againe, rather then suffer question for your residence

Ber. It may bee you haue mistaken him my Lord

Laf. And shall doe so euer, though I tooke him at's prayers. Fare you well my Lord, and beleeue this of me, there can be no kernell in this light Nut: the soule of this man is his cloathes: Trust him not in matter of heauie consequence: I haue kept of them tame, & know their natures. Farewell Monsieur, I haue spoken better of you, then you haue or will to deserue at my hand, but we must do good against euill

Par. An idle Lord, I sweare

Ber. I thinke so

Par. Why do you not know him? Ber. Yes, I do know him well, and common speech Giues him a worthy passe. Heere comes my clog. Enter Helena.

Hel. I haue sir as I was commanded from you Spoke with the King, and haue procur'd his leaue For present parting, onely he desires Some priuate speech with you

Ber. I shall obey his will. You must not meruaile Helen at my course, Which holds not colour with the time, nor does The ministration, and required office On my particular. Prepar'd I was not For such a businesse, therefore am I found So much vnsetled: This driues me to intreate you, That presently you take your way for home, And rather muse then aske why I intreate you, For my respects are better then they seeme, And my appointments haue in them a neede Greater then shewes it selfe at the first view, To you that know them not. This to my mother, 'Twill be two daies ere I shall see you, so I leaue you to your wisedome

Hel. Sir, I can nothing say, But that I am your most obedient seruant

Ber. Come, come, no more of that

Hel. And euer shall With true obseruance seeke to eeke out that Wherein toward me my homely starres haue faild To equall my great fortune

Ber. Let that goe: my hast is verie great. Farwell: Hie home

Hel. Pray sir your pardon

Ber. Well, what would you say? Hel. I am not worthie of the wealth I owe, Nor dare I say 'tis mine: and yet it is, But like a timorous theefe, most faine would steale What law does vouch mine owne

Ber. What would you haue? Hel. Something, and scarse so much: nothing indeed, I would not tell you what I would my Lord: Faith yes, Strangers and foes do sunder, and not kisse

Ber. I pray you stay not, but in hast to horse

Hel. I shall not breake your bidding, good my Lord: Where are my other men? Monsieur, farwell.

Exit

Ber. Go thou toward home, where I wil neuer come, Whilst I can shake my sword, or heare the drumme: Away, and for our flight

Par. Brauely, Coragio.

Actus Tertius.

Flourish. Enter the Duke of Florence, the two Frenchmen, with a troope of Souldiers.

Duke. So that from point to point, now haue you heard The fundamentall reasons of this warre, Whose great decision hath much blood let forth And more thirsts after

1.Lord. Holy seemes the quarrell Vpon your Graces part: blacke and fearefull On the opposer

Duke. Therefore we meruaile much our Cosin France Would in so iust a businesse, shut his bosome Against our borrowing prayers

French E. Good my Lord, The reasons of our state I cannot yeelde, But like a common and an outward man, That the great figure of a Counsaile frames, By selfe vnable motion, therefore dare not Say what I thinke of it, since I haue found My selfe in my incertaine grounds to faile As often as I guest

Duke. Be it his pleasure

Fren.G. But I am sure the yonger of our nature, That surfet on their ease, will day by day Come heere for Physicke

Duke. Welcome shall they bee: And all the honors that can flye from vs, Shall on them settle: you know your places well, When better fall, for your auailes they fell, To morrow to'th the field.

Flourish.

Enter Countesse and Clowne.

Count. It hath happen'd all, as I would haue had it, saue that he comes not along with her

Clo. By my troth I take my young Lord to be a verie melancholly man

Count. By what obseruance I pray you

Clo. Why he will looke vppon his boote, and sing: mend the Ruffe and sing, aske questions and sing, picke his teeth, and sing: I know a man that had this tricke of melancholy hold a goodly Mannor for a song

Lad. Let me see what he writes, and when he meanes to come

Clow. I haue no minde to Isbell since I was at Court. Our old Lings, and our Isbels a'th Country, are nothing like your old Ling and your Isbels a'th Court: the brains of my Cupid's knock'd out, and I beginne to loue, as an old man loues money, with no stomacke

Lad. What haue we heere? Clo. In that you haue there.

Exit

A Letter.

I haue sent you a daughter-in-Law, shee hath recouered the King, and vndone me: I haue wedded her, not bedded her, and sworne to make the not eternall. You shall heare I am runne away, know it before the report come. If there bee bredth enough in the world, I will hold a long distance. My duty to you. Your vnfortunate sonne, Bertram. This is not well rash and vnbridled boy, To flye the fauours of so good a King, To plucke his indignation on thy head, By the misprising of a Maide too vertuous For the contempt of Empire. Enter Clowne.

Clow. O Madam, yonder is heauie newes within betweene two souldiers, and my yong Ladie

La. What is the matter

Clo. Nay there is some comfort in the newes, some comfort, your sonne will not be kild so soone as I thoght he would

La. Why should he be kill'd? Clo. So say I Madame, if he runne away, as I heare he does, the danger is in standing too't, that's the losse of men, though it be the getting of children. Heere they come will tell you more. For my part I onely heare your sonne was run away. Enter Hellen and two Gentlemen.

French E. Saue you good Madam

Hel. Madam, my Lord is gone, for euer gone

French G. Do not say so

La. Thinke vpon patience, pray you Gentlemen, I haue felt so many quirkes of ioy and greefe, That the first face of neither on the start Can woman me vntoo't. Where is my sonne I pray you? Fren.G. Madam he's gone to serue the Duke of Florence, We met him thitherward, for thence we came: And after some dispatch in hand at Court, Thither we bend againe

Hel. Looke on his Letter Madam, here's my Pasport. When thou canst get the Ring vpon my finger, which neuer shall come off, and shew mee a childe begotten of thy bodie, that I am father too, then call me husband: but in such a (then) I write a Neuer. This is a dreadfull sentence

La. Brought you this Letter Gentlemen? 1.G. I Madam, and for the Contents sake are sorrie for our paines

Old La. I prethee Ladie haue a better cheere, If thou engrossest, all the greefes are thine, Thou robst me of a moity: He was my sonne, But I do wash his name out of my blood, And thou art all my childe. Towards Florence is he? Fren.G. I Madam

La. And to be a souldier

Fren.G. Such is his noble purpose, and beleeu't The Duke will lay vpon him all the honor That good conuenience claimes

La. Returne you thither

Fren.E. I Madam, with the swiftest wing of speed

Hel. Till I haue no wife, I haue nothing in France, 'Tis bitter

La. Finde you that there? Hel. I Madame

Fren.E. 'Tis but the boldnesse of his hand haply, which his heart was not consenting too

Lad. Nothing in France, vntill he haue no wife: There's nothing heere that is too good for him But onely she, and she deserues a Lord That twenty such rude boyes might tend vpon, And call her hourely Mistris. Who was with him? Fren.E. A seruant onely, and a Gentleman: which I haue sometime knowne

La. Parolles was it not? Fren.E. I my good Ladie, hee

La. A verie tainted fellow, and full of wickednesse, My sonne corrupts a well deriued nature With his inducement

Fren.E. Indeed good Ladie the fellow has a deale of that, too much, which holds him much to haue

La. Y'are welcome Gentlemen, I will intreate you when you see my sonne, to tell him that his sword can neuer winne the honor that he looses: more Ile intreate you written to beare along

Fren.G. We serue you Madam in that and all your worthiest affaires

La. Not so, but as we change our courtesies, Will you draw neere? Enter.

Hel. Till I haue no wife I haue nothing in France. Nothing in France vntill he has no wife: Thou shalt haue none Rossillion, none in France, Then hast thou all againe: poore Lord, is't I That chase thee from thy Countrie, and expose Those tender limbes of thine, to the euent Of the none-sparing warre? And is it I, That driue thee from the sportiue Court, where thou Was't shot at with faire eyes, to be the marke Of smoakie Muskets? O you leaden messengers, That ride vpon the violent speede of fire, Fly with false ayme, moue the still-peering aire That sings with piercing, do not touch my Lord: Who euer shoots at him, I set him there. Who euer charges on his forward brest I am the Caitiffe that do hold him too't, And though I kill him not, I am the cause His death was so effected: Better 'twere I met the rauine Lyon when he roar'd With sharpe constraint of hunger: better 'twere, That all the miseries which nature owes Were mine at once. No come thou home Rossillion, Whence honor but of danger winnes a scarre, As oft it looses all. I will be gone: My being heere it is, that holds thee hence, Shall I stay heere to doo't? No, no, although The ayre of Paradise did fan the house, And Angels offic'd all: I will be gone, That pittifull rumour may report my flight To consolate thine eare. Come night, end day, For with the darke (poore theefe) Ile steale away. Enter.

Flourish. Enter the Duke of Florence, Rossillion, drum and trumpets, soldiers, Parrolles.

Duke. The Generall of our horse thou art, and we Great in our hope, lay our best loue and credence Vpon thy promising fortune

Ber. Sir it is A charge too heauy for my strength, but yet Wee'l striue to beare it for your worthy sake, To th' extreme edge of hazard

Duke. Then go thou forth, And fortune play vpon thy prosperous helme As thy auspicious mistris

Ber. This very day Great Mars I put my selfe into thy file, Make me but like my thoughts, and I shall proue A louer of thy drumme, hater of loue.

Exeunt. omnes Enter Countesse & Steward.

La. 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. Reade it agen.

Letter.

I am S[aint]. Iaques Pilgrim, thither gone: Ambitious loue hath so in me offended, That bare-foot plod I the cold ground vpon With sainted vow my faults to haue amended Write, write, that from the bloodie course of warre, My deerest Master your deare sonne, may hie, Blesse him at home in peace. Whilst I from farre, His name with zealous feruour sanctifie: His taken labours bid him me forgiue: I his despightfull Iuno sent him forth, From Courtly friends, with Camping foes to liue, Where death and danger dogges the heeles of worth. He is too good and faire for death, and mee, Whom I my selfe embrace, to set him free. Ah what sharpe stings are in her mildest words? Rynaldo, you did neuer lacke aduice so much, As letting her passe so: had I spoke with her, I could haue well diuerted her intents, Which thus she hath preuented

Ste. Pardon me Madam, If I had giuen you this at ouer-night, She might haue beene ore-tane: and yet she writes Pursuite would be but vaine

La. What Angell shall Blesse this vnworthy husband, he cannot thriue, Vnlesse her prayers, whom heauen delights to heare And loues to grant, repreeue him from the wrath Of greatest Iustice. Write, write Rynaldo, To this vnworthy husband of his wife, Let euerie word waigh heauie of her worth, That he does waigh too light: my greatest greefe, Though little he do feele it, set downe sharpely. Dispatch the most conuenient messenger, When haply he shall heare that she is gone, He will returne, and hope I may that shee Hearing so much, will speede her foote againe, Led hither by pure loue: which of them both Is deerest to me, I haue no skill in sence To make distinction: prouide this Messenger: My heart is heauie, and mine age is weake, Greefe would haue teares, and sorrow bids me speake.

Exeunt.

A Tucket afarre off.

Enter old Widdow of Florence, her daughter Violenta and Mariana, with other Citizens.

Widdow. Nay come, For if they do approach the Citty, We shall loose all the sight

Diana. They say, the French Count has done Most honourable seruice

Wid. It is reported, That he has taken their great'st Commander, And that with his owne hand he slew The Dukes brother: we haue lost our labour, They are gone a contrarie way: harke, you may know by their Trumpets

Maria. Come lets returne againe, And suffice our selues with the report of it. Well Diana, take heed of this French Earle, The honor of a Maide is her name, And no Legacie is so rich As honestie

Widdow. I haue told my neighbour How you haue beene solicited by a Gentleman His Companion

Maria. I know that knaue, hang him, one Parolles, a filthy Officer he is in those suggestions for the young Earle, beware of them Diana; their promises, entisements, oathes, tokens, and all these engines of lust, are not the things they go vnder: many a maide hath beene seduced by them, and the miserie is example, that so terrible shewes in the wracke of maiden-hood, cannot for all that disswade succession, but that they are limed with the twigges that threatens them. I hope I neede not to aduise you further, but I hope your owne grace will keepe you where you are, though there were no further danger knowne, but the modestie which is so lost

Dia. You shall not neede to feare me. Enter Hellen.

Wid. I hope so: looke here comes a pilgrim, I know she will lye at my house, thither they send one another, Ile question her. God saue you pilgrim, whether are bound? Hel. To S[aint]. Iaques la grand. Where do the Palmers lodge, I do beseech you? Wid. At the S[aint]. Francis heere beside the Port

Hel. Is this the way?

A march afarre.

Wid. I marrie ist. Harke you, they come this way: If you will tarrie holy Pilgrime But till the troopes come by, I will conduct you where you shall be lodg'd, The rather for I thinke I know your hostesse As ample as my selfe

Hel. Is it your selfe? Wid. If you shall please so Pilgrime

Hel. I thanke you, and will stay vpon your leisure

Wid. You came I thinke from France? Hel. I did so

Wid. Heere you shall see a Countriman of yours That has done worthy seruice

Hel. His name I pray you? Dia. The Count Rossillion: know you such a one? Hel. But by the eare that heares most nobly of him: His face I know not

Dia. What somere he is He's brauely taken heere. He stole from France As 'tis reported: for the King had married him Against his liking. Thinke you it is so? Hel. I surely meere the truth, I know his Lady

Dia. There is a Gentleman that serues the Count, Reports but coursely of her

Hel. What's his name? Dia. Monsieur Parrolles

Hel. Oh I beleeue with him, In argument of praise, or to the worth Of the great Count himselfe, she is too meane To haue her name repeated, all her deseruing Is a reserued honestie, and that I haue not heard examin'd

Dian. Alas poore Ladie, 'Tis a hard bondage to become the wife Of a detesting Lord

Wid. I write good creature, wheresoere she is, Her hart waighes sadly: this yong maid might do her A shrewd turne if she pleas'd

Hel. How do you meane? May be the amorous Count solicites her In the vnlawfull purpose

Wid. He does indeede, And brokes with all that can in such a suite Corrupt the tender honour of a Maide: But she is arm'd for him, and keepes her guard In honestest defence.

Drumme and Colours. Enter Count Rossillion, Parrolles, and the whole Armie.

Mar. The goddes forbid else

Wid. So, now they come: That is Anthonio the Dukes eldest sonne, That Escalus

Hel. Which is the Frenchman? Dia. Hee, That with the plume, 'tis a most gallant fellow, I would he lou'd his wife: if he were honester He were much goodlier. Is't not a handsom Gentleman Hel. I like him well

Di. 'Tis pitty he is not honest: yonds that same knaue That leades him to these places: were I his Ladie, I would poison that vile Rascall

Hel. Which is he? Dia. That Iacke-an-apes with scarfes. Why is hee melancholly? Hel. Perchance he's hurt i'th battaile

Par. Loose our drum? Well

Mar. He's shrewdly vext at something. Looke he has spyed vs

Wid. Marrie hang you

Mar. And your curtesie, for a ring-carrier. Enter.

Wid. The troope is past: Come pilgrim, I wil bring you, Where you shall host: Of inioyn'd penitents There's foure or fiue, to great S[aint]. Iaques bound, Alreadie at my house

Hel. I humbly thanke you: Please it this Matron, and this gentle Maide To eate with vs 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. Wee'l take your offer kindly.

Exeunt.

Enter Count Rossillion and the Frenchmen, as at first.

Cap.E. Nay good my Lord put him too't: let him haue his way

Cap.G. If your Lordshippe finde him not a Hilding, hold me no more in your respect

Cap.E. On my life my Lord, a bubble

Ber. Do you thinke I am so farre Deceiued in him

Cap.E. Beleeue it my Lord, in mine owne direct knowledge, without any malice, but to speake of him as my kinsman, hee's a most notable Coward, an infinite and endlesse Lyar, an hourely promise-breaker, the owner of no one good qualitie, worthy your Lordships entertainment

Cap.G. It were fit you knew him, least reposing too farre in his vertue which he hath not, he might at some great and trustie businesse, in a maine daunger, fayle you

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

Cap.G. None better then to let him fetch off his drumme, which you heare him so confidently vndertake to do

C.E. I with a troop of Florentines wil sodainly surprize him; such I will haue whom I am sure he knowes not from the enemie: wee will binde and hoodwinke him so, that he shall suppose no other but that he is carried into the Leager of the aduersaries, when we bring him to our owne 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 feare, offer to betray you, and deliuer all the intelligence in his power against you, and that with the diuine forfeite of his soule vpon oath, neuer trust my iudgement in anie thing

Cap.G. O for the loue of laughter, let him fetch his drumme, he sayes he has a stratagem for't: when your Lordship sees the bottome of this successe in't, and to what mettle this counterfeyt lump of ours will be melted if you giue him not Iohn drummes entertainement, your inclining cannot be remoued. Heere he comes. Enter Parrolles.

Cap.E. O for the loue of laughter hinder not the honor of his designe, let him fetch off his drumme in any hand

Ber. How now Monsieur? This drumme sticks sorely in your disposition

Cap.G. A pox on't, let it go, 'tis but a drumme

Par. But a drumme: Ist but a drumme? A drum so lost. There was excellent command, to charge in with our horse vpon our owne wings, and to rend our owne souldiers

Cap.G. That was not to be blam'd in the command of the seruice: it was a disaster of warre that Cæsar him selfe could not haue preuented, if he had beene there to command

Ber. Well, wee cannot greatly condemne our successe: some dishonor wee had in the losse of that drum, but it is not to be recouered

Par. It might haue beene recouered

Ber. It might, but it is not now

Par. It is to be recouered, but that the merit of seruice is sildome attributed to the true and exact performer, I would haue that drumme or another, or hic iacet

Ber. Why if you haue a stomacke, too't Monsieur: if you thinke your mysterie in stratagem, can bring this instrument of honour againe into his natiue quarter, be magnanimious in the enterprize and go on, I wil grace the attempt for a worthy exploit: if you speede well in it, the Duke shall both speake of it, and extend to you what further becomes his greatnesse, euen to the vtmost syllable of your worthinesse

Par. By the hand of a souldier I will vndertake it

Ber. But you must not now slumber in it

Par. Ile about it this euening, and I will presently pen downe my dilemma's, encourage my selfe in my certaintie, put my selfe into my mortall preparation: and by midnight looke to heare further from me

Ber. May I bee bold to acquaint his grace you are gone about it

Par. I know not what the successe wil be my Lord, but the attempt I vow

Ber. I know th'art valiant, And to the possibility of thy souldiership, Will subscribe for thee: Farewell

Par. I loue not many words.

Exit

Cap.E. No more then a fish loues water. Is not this a strange fellow my Lord, that so confidently seemes to vndertake this businesse, which he knowes is not to be done, damnes himselfe to do, & dares better be damnd then to doo't

Cap.G. You do not know him my Lord as we doe, certaine it is that he will steale himselfe into a mans fauour, and for a weeke escape a great deale of discoueries, but when you finde him out, you haue him euer after

Ber. Why do you thinke he will make no deede at all of this that so seriouslie hee dooes addresse himselfe vnto? Cap.E. None in the world, but returne with an inuention, and clap vpon you two or three probable lies: but we haue almost imbost him, you shall see his fall to night; for indeede he is not for your Lordshippes respect

Cap.G. Weele make you some sport with the Foxe ere we case him. He was first smoak'd by the old Lord Lafew, when his disguise and he is parted, tell me what a sprat you shall finde him, which you shall see this verie night

Cap.E. I must go looke my twigges, He shall be caught

Ber. Your brother he shall go along with me

Cap.G. As't please your Lordship, Ile leaue you

Ber. Now wil I lead you to the house, and shew you The Lasse I spoke of

Cap.E. But you say she's honest

Ber. That's all the fault: I spoke with hir but once, And found her wondrous cold, but I sent to her By this same Coxcombe that we haue i'th winde Tokens and Letters, which she did resend, And this is all I haue done: She's a faire creature, Will you go see her? Cap.E. With all my heart my Lord.

Exeunt.

Enter Hellen, and Widdow.

Hel. If you misdoubt me that I am not shee, I know not how I shall assure you further, But I shall loose the grounds I worke vpon

Wid. Though my estate be falne, I was well borne, Nothing acquainted with these businesses, And would not put my reputation now In any staining act

Hel. Nor would I wish you. First giue me trust, the Count he is my husband, And what to your sworne counsaile I haue spoken, Is so from word to word: and then you cannot By the good ayde that I of you shall borrow, Erre in bestowing it

Wid. I should beleeue you, For you haue shew'd me that which well approues Y'are great in fortune

Hel. Take this purse of Gold, And let me buy your friendly helpe thus farre, Which I will ouer-pay, and pay againe When I haue found it. The Count he woes your daughter, Layes downe his wanton siedge before her beautie, Resolue to carrie her: let her in fine consent As wee'l direct her how 'tis best to beare it: Now his important blood will naught denie, That shee'l demand: a ring the Countie weares, That downward hath succeeded in his house From sonne to sonne, some foure or fiue discents, 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 seeme too deere, How ere repented after

Wid. Now I see the bottome of your purpose

Hel. You see it lawfull then, it is no more, But that your daughter ere she seemes as wonne, Desires this Ring; appoints him an encounter; In fine, deliuers me to fill the time, Her selfe most chastly absent: after To marry her, Ile adde three thousand Crownes To what is past already

Wid. I haue yeelded: Instruct my daughter how she shall perseuer, That time and place with this deceite so lawfull May proue coherent. Euery night he comes With Musickes of all sorts, and songs compos'd To her vnworthinesse: It nothing steeds vs To chide him from our eeues, for he persists As if his life lay on't

Hel. Why then to night Let vs assay our plot, which if it speed, Is wicked meaning in a lawfull deede; And lawfull meaning in a lawfull act, Where both not sinne, and yet a sinfull fact. But let's about it.

Actus Quartus.

Enter one of the Frenchmen, with fiue or sixe other souldiers in ambush.

Lord E. He can come no other way but by this hedge corner: when you sallie vpon him, speake what terrible Language you will: though you vnderstand it not your selues, no matter: for we must not seeme to vnderstand him, vnlesse some one among vs, whom wee must produce for an Interpreter

1.Sol. Good Captaine, let me be th' Interpreter

Lor.E. Art not acquainted with him? knowes he not thy voice? 1.Sol. No sir I warrant you

Lo.E. But what linsie wolsy hast thou to speake to vs againe

1.Sol. E'n such as you speake to me

Lo.E. He must thinke vs some band of strangers, i'th aduersaries entertainment. Now he hath a smacke of all neighbouring Languages: therefore we must euery one be a man of his owne fancie, not to know what we speak one to another: so we seeme to know, is to know straight our purpose: Choughs language, gabble enough, and good enough. As for you interpreter, you must seeme very politicke. But couch hoa, heere hee comes, to beguile two houres in a sleepe, and then to returne & swear the lies he forges. Enter Parrolles.

Par. Ten a clocke: Within these three houres 'twill be time enough to goe home. What shall I say I haue done? It must bee a very plausiue inuention that carries it. They beginne to smoake mee, and disgraces haue of late, knock'd too often at my doore: I finde my tongue is too foole-hardie, but my heart hath the feare of Mars before it, and of his creatures, not daring the reports of my tongue

Lo.E. This is the first truth that ere thine own tongue was guiltie of

Par. What the diuell should moue mee to vndertake the recouerie of this drumme, being not ignorant of the impossibility, and knowing I had no such purpose? I must giue my selfe some hurts, and say I got them in exploit: yet slight ones will not carrie it. They will say, came you off with so little? And great ones I dare not giue, wherefore what's the instance. Tongue, I must put you into a Butter-womans mouth, and buy my selfe another of Baiazeths Mule, if you prattle mee into these perilles

Lo.E. Is it possible he should know what hee is, and be that he is

Par. I would the cutting of my garments wold serue the turne, or the breaking of my Spanish sword

Lo.E. We cannot affoord you so

Par. Or the baring of my beard, and to say it was in stratagem

Lo.E. 'Twould not do

Par. Or to drowne my cloathes, and say I was stript

Lo.E. Hardly serue

Par. Though I swore I leapt from the window of the Citadell

Lo.E. How deepe? Par. Thirty fadome

Lo.E. Three great oathes would scarse make that be beleeued

Par. I would I had any drumme of the enemies, I would sweare I recouer'd it

Lo.E. You shall heare one anon

Par. A drumme now of the enemies.

Alarum within.

Lo.E. Throca movousus, cargo, cargo, cargo

All. Cargo, cargo, cargo, villianda par corbo, cargo

Par. O ransome, ransome, Do not hide mine eyes

Inter. Boskos thromuldo boskos

Par. I know you are the Muskos Regiment, And I shall loose my life for want of language. If there be heere German or Dane, Low Dutch, Italian, or French, let him speake to me, Ile discouer that, which shal vndo the Florentine

Int. Boskos vauvado, I vnderstand thee, & can speake thy tongue: Kerelybonto sir, betake thee to thy faith, for seuenteene ponyards are at thy bosome

Par. Oh

Inter. Oh pray, pray, pray, Manka reuania dulche

Lo.E. Oscorbidulchos voliuorco

Int. The Generall is content to spare thee yet, And hoodwinkt as thou art, will leade thee on To gather from thee. Haply thou mayst informe Something to saue thy life

Par. O let me liue, And all the secrets of our campe Ile shew, Their force, their purposes: Nay, Ile speake that, Which you will wonder at

Inter. But wilt thou faithfully? Par. If I do not, damne me

Inter. Acordo linta. Come on, thou are granted space.

Exit

A short Alarum within.

L.E. Go tell the Count Rossillion and my brother, We haue caught the woodcocke, and will keepe him mufled Till we do heare from them

Sol. Captaine I will

L.E. A will betray vs all vnto our selues, Informe on that

Sol. So I will sir

L.E. Till then Ile keepe him darke and safely lockt.

Exit

Enter Bertram, and the Maide called Diana.

Ber. They told me that your name was Fontybell

Dia. No my good Lord, Diana

Ber. Titled Goddesse, And worth it with addition: but faire soule, In your fine frame hath loue no qualitie? If the quicke fire of youth light not your minde, 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 sterne, And now you should be as your mother was When your sweet selfe was got

Dia. She then was honest

Ber. So should you be

Dia. No: My mother did but dutie, such (my Lord) As you owe to your wife

Ber. No more a'that: I prethee do not striue against my vowes: I was compell'd to her, but I loue thee By loues owne sweet constraint, and will for euer Do thee all rights of seruice

Dia. I so you serue vs Till we serue you: But when you haue our Roses, You barely leaue our thornes to pricke our selues, And mocke vs with our barenesse

Ber. How haue I sworne

Dia. Tis not the many oathes that makes the truth, But the plaine single vow, that is vow'd true: What is not holie, that we sweare not by, But take the high'st to witnesse: then pray you tell me, If I should sweare by Ioues great attributes, I lou'd you deerely, would you beleeue my oathes, When I did loue you ill? This ha's no holding To sweare by him whom I protest to loue That I will worke against him. Therefore your oathes Are words and poore conditions, but vnseal'd At lest in my opinion

Ber. Change it, change it: Be not so holy cruell: Loue is holie, And my integritie ne're knew the crafts That you do charge men with: Stand no more off, But giue thy selfe vnto my sicke desires, Who then recouers. Say thou art mine, and euer My loue as it beginnes, shall so perseuer

Dia. I see that men make rope's in such a scarre, That wee'l forsake our selues. Giue me that Ring

Ber. Ile lend it thee my deere; but haue no power To giue it from me

Dia. Will you not my Lord? Ber. It is an honour longing to our house, Bequeathed downe from manie Ancestors, Which were the greatest obloquie i'th world, In me to loose

Dian. Mine Honors such a Ring, My chastities the Iewell of our house, Bequeathed downe from many Ancestors, Which were the greatest obloquie i'th world, In mee to loose. Thus your owne proper wisedome Brings in the Champion honor on my part, Against your vaine assault

Ber. Heere, take my Ring, My house, mine honor, yea my life be thine, And Ile be bid by thee

Dia. When midnight comes, knocke at my chamber window: Ile order take, my mother shall not heare. Now will I charge you in the band of truth, When you haue conquer'd my yet maiden-bed, Remaine there but an houre, nor speake to mee: My reasons are most strong, and you shall know them, When backe againe this Ring shall be deliuer'd: And on your finger in the night, Ile put Another Ring, that what in time proceeds, May token to the future, our past deeds. Adieu till then, then faile not: you haue wonne A wife of me, though there my hope be done

Ber. A heauen on earth I haue won by wooing thee

Di. For which, liue long to thank both heauen & me, You may so in the end. My mother told me iust how he would woo, As if she sate in's heart. She sayes, all men Haue the like oathes: He had sworne to marrie me When his wife's dead: therfore Ile lye with him When I am buried. Since Frenchmen are so braide, Marry that will, I liue and die a Maid: Onely in this disguise, I think't no sinne, To cosen him that would vniustly winne.

Exit

Enter the two French Captaines, and some two or three Souldiours.

Cap.G. You haue not giuen him his mothers letter

Cap.E. I haue deliu'red it an houre since, there is som thing in't that stings his nature: for on the reading it, he chang'd almost into another man

Cap.G. He has much worthy blame laid vpon him, for shaking off so good a wife, and so sweet a Lady

Cap.E. Especially, hee hath incurred the euerlasting displeasure of the King, who had euen tun'd his bounty to sing happinesse to him. I will tell you a thing, but you shall let it dwell darkly with you

Cap.G. When you haue spoken it 'tis dead, and I am the graue of it

Cap.E. Hee hath peruerted a young Gentlewoman heere in Florence, of a most chaste renown, & this night he fleshes his will in the spoyle of her honour: hee hath giuen her his monumentall Ring, and thinkes himselfe made in the vnchaste composition

Cap.G. Now God delay our rebellion as we are our selues, what things are we

Cap.E. Meerely our owne traitours. And as in the common course of all treasons, we still see them reueale themselues, till they attaine to their abhorr'd ends: so he that in this action contriues against his owne Nobility in his proper streame, ore-flowes himselfe

Cap.G. Is it not meant damnable in vs, to be Trumpeters of our vnlawfull intents? We shall not then haue his company to night? Cap.E. Not till after midnight: for hee is dieted to his houre

Cap.G. That approaches apace: I would gladly haue him see his company anathomiz'd, that hee might take a measure of his owne iudgements, wherein so curiously he had set this counterfeit

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

Cap.G. In the meane time, what heare you of these Warres? Cap.E. I heare there is an ouerture of peace

Cap.G. Nay, I assure you a peace concluded

Cap.E. What will Count Rossillion do then? Will he trauaile higher, or returne againe into France? Cap.G. I perceiue by this demand, you are not altogether of his councell

Cap.E. Let it be forbid sir, so should I bee a great deale of his act

Cap.G. Sir, his wife some two months since fledde from his house, her pretence is a pilgrimage to Saint Iaques le grand; which holy vndertaking, with most austere sanctimonie she accomplisht: and there residing, the tendernesse of her Nature, became as a prey to her greefe: in fine, made a groane of her last breath, & now she sings in heauen

Cap.E. How is this iustified? Cap.G. The stronger part of it by her owne Letters, which makes her storie true, euen to the poynt of her death: her death it selfe, which could not be her office to say, is come: was faithfully confirm'd by the Rector of the place

Cap.E. Hath the Count all this intelligence? Cap.G. I, and the particular confirmations, point from point, to the full arming of the veritie

Cap.E. I am heartily sorrie that hee'l bee gladde of this

Cap.G. How mightily sometimes, we make vs comforts of our losses

Cap.E. And how mightily some other times, wee drowne our gaine in teares, the great dignitie that his valour hath here acquir'd for him, shall at home be encountred with a shame as ample

Cap.G. The webbe of our life, is of a mingled yarne, good and ill together: our vertues would bee proud, if our faults whipt them not, and our crimes would dispaire if they were not cherish'd by our vertues. Enter a Messenger.

How now? Where's your master? Ser. He met the Duke in the street sir, of whom hee hath taken a solemne leaue: his Lordshippe will next morning for France. The Duke hath offered him Letters of commendations to the King

Cap.E. They shall bee no more then needfull there, if they were more then they can commend. Enter Count Rossillion.

Ber. They cannot be too sweete for the Kings tartnesse, heere's his Lordship now. How now my Lord, i'st not after midnight? Ber. I haue to night dispatch'd sixteene businesses, a moneths length a peece, by an abstract of successe: I haue congied with the Duke, done my adieu with his neerest; buried a wife, mourn'd for her, writ to my Ladie mother, I am returning, entertain'd my Conuoy, & betweene these maine parcels of dispatch, affected many nicer needs: the last was the greatest, but that I haue not ended yet

Cap.E. If the businesse bee of any difficulty, and this morning your departure hence, it requires hast of your Lordship

Ber. I meane the businesse is not ended, as fearing to heare of it hereafter: but shall we haue this dialogue betweene the Foole and the Soldiour. Come, bring forth this counterfet module, ha's deceiu'd mee, like a double-meaning Prophesier

Cap.E. Bring him forth, ha's sate i'th stockes all night poore gallant knaue

Ber. No matter, his heeles haue deseru'd it, in vsurping his spurres so long. How does he carry himselfe? Cap.E. I haue told your Lordship alreadie: The stockes carrie him. But to answer you as you would be vnderstood, hee weepes like a wench that had shed her milke, he hath confest himselfe to Morgan, whom hee supposes to be a Friar, fro[m] the time of his remembrance to this very instant disaster of his setting i'th stockes: and what thinke you he hath confest? Ber. Nothing of me, ha's a? Cap.E. His confession is taken, and it shall bee read to his face, if your Lordshippe be in't, as I beleeue you are, you must haue the patience to heare it. Enter Parolles with his Interpreter.

Ber. A plague vpon him, muffeld; he can say nothing of me: hush, hush

Cap.G. Hoodman comes: Portotartarossa

Inter. He calles for the tortures, what will you say without em

Par. I will confesse what I know without constraint, If ye pinch me like a Pasty, I can say no more

Int. Bosko Chimurcho

Cap. Boblibindo chicurmurco

Int. You are a mercifull Generall: Our Generall bids you answer to what I shall aske you out of a Note

Par. And truly, as I hope to liue

Int. First demand of him, how many horse the Duke is strong. What say you to that? Par. Fiue or sixe thousand, but very weake and vnseruiceable: the troopes are all scattered, and the Commanders verie poore rogues, vpon my reputation and credit, and as I hope to liue

Int. Shall I set downe your answer so? Par. Do, Ile take the Sacrament on't, how & which way you will: all's one to him

Ber. What a past-sauing slaue is this? Cap.G. Y'are deceiu'd my Lord, this is Mounsieur Parrolles the gallant militarist, that was his owne phrase that had the whole theoricke of warre in the knot of his scarfe, and the practise in the chape of his dagger

Cap.E. I will neuer trust a man againe, for keeping his sword cleane, nor beleeue he can haue euerie thing in him, by wearing his apparrell neatly

Int. Well, that's set downe

Par. Fiue or six thousand horse I sed, I will say true, or thereabouts set downe, for Ile speake truth

Cap.G. He's very neere the truth in this

Ber. But I con him no thankes for't in the nature he deliuers it

Par. Poore rogues, I pray you say

Int. Well, that's set downe

Par. I humbly thanke you sir, a truth's a truth, the Rogues are maruailous poore

Interp. Demaund of him of what strength they are a foot. What say you to that? Par. By my troth sir, if I were to liue this present houre, I will tell true. Let me see, Spurio a hundred & fiftie, Sebastian so many, Corambus so many, Iaques so many: Guiltian, Cosmo, Lodowicke, and Gratij, two hundred fiftie each: Mine owne Company, Chitopher, Vaumond, Bentij, two hundred fiftie each: so that the muster file, rotten and sound, vppon my life amounts not to fifteene thousand pole, halfe of the which, dare not shake the snow from off their Cassockes, least they shake themselues to peeces

Ber. What shall be done to him? Cap.G. Nothing, but let him haue thankes. Demand of him my condition: and what credite I haue with the Duke

Int. Well that's set downe: you shall demaund of him, whether one Captaine Dumaine bee i'th Campe, a Frenchman: what his reputation is with the Duke, what his valour, honestie, and expertnesse in warres: or whether he thinkes it were not possible with well-waighing summes of gold to corrupt him to a reuolt. What say you to this? What do you know of it? Par. I beseech you let me answer to the particular of the intergatories. Demand them singly

Int. Do you know this Captaine Dumaine? Par. I know him, a was a Botchers Prentize in Paris, from whence he was whipt for getting the Shrieues fool with childe, a dumbe innocent that could not say him nay

Ber. Nay, by your leaue hold your hands, though I know his braines are forfeite to the next tile that fals

Int. Well, is this Captaine in the Duke of Florences campe? Par. Vpon my knowledge he is, and lowsie

Cap.G. Nay looke not so vpon me: we shall heare of your Lord anon

Int. What is his reputation with the Duke? Par. The Duke knowes him for no other, but a poore Officer of mine, and writ to mee this other day, to turne him out a'th band. I thinke I haue his Letter in my pocket

Int. Marry we'll search

Par. In good sadnesse I do not know, either it is there, or it is vpon a file with the Dukes other Letters, in my Tent

Int. Heere 'tis, heere's a paper, shall I reade it to you? Par. I do not know if it be it or no

Ber. Our Interpreter do's it well

Cap.G. Excellently

Int. Dian, the Counts a foole, and full of gold

Par. That is not the Dukes letter sir: that is an aduertisement to a proper maide in Florence, one Diana, to take heede of the allurement of one Count Rossillion, a foolish idle boy: but for all that very ruttish. I pray you sir put it vp againe

Int. Nay, Ile reade it first by your fauour

Par. My meaning in't I protest was very honest in the behalfe of the maid: for I knew the young Count to be a dangerous and lasciuious boy, who is a whale to Virginity, and deuours vp all the fry it finds

Ber. Damnable both-sides rogue

Int.

Let.

When he sweares oathes, bid him drop gold, and take it: After he scores, he neuer payes the score: Halfe won is match well made, match and well make it, He nere payes after-debts, take it before, And say a souldier (Dian) told thee this: Men are to mell with, boyes are not to kis. For count of this, the Counts a Foole I know it, Who payes before, but not when he does owe it. Thine as he vow'd to thee in thine eare, Parolles

Ber. He shall be whipt through the Armie with this rime in's forehead

Cap.E. This is your deuoted friend sir, the manifold Linguist, and the army-potent souldier

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

Int. I perceiue sir by your Generals lookes, wee shall be faine to hang you

Par. My life sir in any case: Not that I am afraide to dye, but that my offences beeing many, I would repent out the remainder of Nature. Let me liue sir in a dungeon, i'th stockes, or any where, so I may liue

Int. Wee'le see what may bee done, so you confesse freely: therefore once more to this Captaine Dumaine: you haue answer'd to his reputation with the Duke, and to his valour. What is his honestie? Par. He will steale sir an Egge out of a Cloister: for rapes and rauishments he paralels Nessus. Hee professes not keeping of oaths, in breaking em he is stronger then Hercules. He will lye sir, with such volubilitie, that you would thinke truth were a foole: drunkennesse is his best vertue, for he will be swine-drunke, and in his sleepe he does little harme, saue to his bed-cloathes about him: but they know his conditions, and lay him in straw. I haue but little more to say sir of his honesty, he ha's euerie thing that an honest man should not haue; what an honest man should haue, he has nothing

Cap.G. I begin to loue him for this

Ber. For this description of thine honestie? A pox vpon him for me, he's more and more a Cat

Int. What say you to his expertnesse in warre? Par. Faith sir, ha's led the drumme before the English Tragedians: to belye him I will not, and more of his souldiership 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 doe the man what honour I can, but of this I am not certaine

Cap.G. He hath out-villain'd villanie so farre, that the raritie redeemes him

Ber. A pox on him, he's a Cat still

Int. His qualities being at this poore price, I neede not to aske you, if Gold will corrupt him to reuolt

Par. Sir, for a Cardceue he will sell the fee-simple of his saluation, the inheritance of it, and cut th' intaile from all remainders, and a perpetuall succession for it perpetually

Int. What's his Brother, the other Captain Dumain? Cap.E. Why do's he aske him of me? Int. What's he? Par. E'ne a Crow a'th same nest: not altogether so great as the first in goodnesse, but greater a great deale in euill. He excels his Brother for a coward, yet his Brother is reputed one of the best that is. In a retreate hee outrunnes any Lackey; marrie in comming on, hee ha's the Crampe

Int. If your life be saued, will you vndertake to betray the Florentine

Par. I, and the Captaine of his horse, Count Rossillion

Int. Ile whisper with the Generall, and knowe his pleasure

Par. Ile no more drumming, a plague of all drummes, onely to seeme to deserue well, and to beguile the supposition of that lasciuious yong boy the Count, haue I run into this danger: yet who would haue suspected an ambush where I was taken? Int. There is no remedy sir, but you must dye: the Generall sayes, you that haue so traitorously discouerd the secrets of your army, and made such pestifferous reports of men very nobly held, can serue the world for no honest vse: therefore you must dye. Come headesman, off with his head

Par. O Lord sir let me liue, or let me see my death

Int. That shall you, and take your leaue of all your friends: So, looke about you, know you any heere? Count. Good morrow noble Captaine

Lo.E. God blesse you Captaine Parolles

Cap.G. God saue you noble Captaine

Lo.E. Captain, what greeting will you to my Lord Lafew? I am for France

Cap.G. Good Captaine will you giue me a Copy of the sonnet you writ to Diana in behalfe of the Count Rossillion, and I were not a verie Coward, I'de compell it of you, but far you well.

Exeunt.

Int. You are vndone Captaine all but your scarfe, that has a knot on't yet

Par. Who cannot be crush'd with a plot? Inter. If you could finde out a Countrie where but women were that had receiued so much shame, you might begin an impudent Nation. Fare yee well sir, I am for France too, we shall speake of you there.

Exit

Par. Yet am I thankfull: if my heart were great 'Twould burst at this: Captaine Ile be no more, But I will eate, and drinke, and sleepe as soft As Captaine shall. Simply the thing I am Shall make me liue: who knowes himselfe a braggart Let him feare this; for it will come to passe, That euery braggart shall be found an Asse. Rust sword, coole blushes, and Parrolles liue Safest in shame: being fool'd, by fool'rie thriue; There's place and meanes for euery man aliue. Ile after them. Enter.

Enter Hellen, Widdow, and Diana.

Hel. That you may well perceiue I haue not wrong'd you, One of the greatest in the Christian world Shall be my suretie: for whose throne 'tis needfull Ere I can perfect mine intents, to kneele. Time was, I did him a desired office Deere almost as his life, which gratitude Through flintie Tartars bosome would peepe forth, And answer thankes. I duly am inform'd, His grace is at Marcellae, to which place We haue conuenient conuoy: you must know I am supposed dead, the Army breaking, My husband hies him home, where heauen ayding, And by the leaue of my good Lord the King, Wee'l be before our welcome

Wid. Gentle Madam, You neuer had a seruant to whose trust Your busines was more welcome

Hel. Nor your Mistris Euer a friend, whose thoughts more truly labour To recompence your loue: Doubt not but heauen Hath brought me vp to be your daughters dower, As it hath fated her to be my motiue And helper to a husband. But O strange men, That can such sweet vse make of what they hate, When sawcie trusting of the cosin'd thoughts Defiles the pitchy night, so lust doth play With what it loathes, for that which is away, But more of this heereafter: you Diana, Vnder my poore instructions yet must suffer Something in my behalfe

Dia. Let death and honestie Go with your impositions, I am yours Vpon your will to suffer

Hel. Yet I pray you: But with the word the time will bring on summer, When Briars shall haue leaues as well as thornes, And be as sweet as sharpe: we must away, Our Wagon is prepar'd, and time reuiues vs, All's well that ends well, still the fines the Crowne; What ere the course, the end is the renowne.

Exeunt.

Enter Clowne, old Lady, and Lafew.

Laf. No, no, no, your sonne was misled with a snipt taffata fellow there, whose villanous saffron wold haue made all the vnbak'd and dowy youth of a nation in his colour: your daughter-in-law had beene aliue at this houre, and your sonne heere at home, more aduanc'd by the King, then by that red-tail'd humble Bee I speak of

La. I would I had not knowne him, it was the death of the most vertuous gentlewoman, that euer Nature had praise for creating. If she had pertaken of my flesh and cost mee the deerest groanes of a mother, I could not haue owed her a more rooted loue

Laf. Twas a good Lady, 'twas a good Lady. Wee may picke a thousand sallets ere wee light on such another hearbe

Clo. Indeed sir she was the sweete Margerom of the sallet, or rather the hearbe of grace

Laf. They are not hearbes you knaue, they are nose-hearbes

Clowne. I am no great Nabuchadnezar sir, I haue not much skill in grace

Laf. Whether doest thou professe thy selfe, a knaue or a foole? Clo. A foole sir at a womans seruice, and a knaue at a mans

Laf. Your distinction

Clo. I would cousen the man of his wife, and do his seruice

Laf. So you were a knaue at his seruice indeed

Clo. And I would giue his wife my bauble sir to doe her seruice

Laf. I will subscribe for thee, thou art both knaue and foole

Clo. At your seruice

Laf. No, no, no

Clo. Why sir, if I cannot serue you, I can serue as great a prince as you are

Laf. Whose that, a Frenchman? Clo. Faith sir a has an English maine, but his fisnomie is more hotter in France then there

Laf. What prince is that? Clo. The blacke prince sir, alias the prince of darkenesse, alias the diuell

Laf. Hold thee there's my purse, I giue thee not this to suggest thee from thy master thou talk'st off, serue him still

Clo. I am a woodland fellow sir, that alwaies loued a great fire, and the master I speak of euer keeps a good fire, but sure he is the Prince of the world, let his Nobilitie remaine in's Court. I am for the house with the narrow gate, which I take to be too little for pompe to enter: some that humble themselues may, but the manie will be too chill and tender, and theyle bee for the flowrie way that leads to the broad gate, and the great fire

Laf. Go thy waies, I begin to bee a wearie of thee, and I tell thee so before, because I would not fall out with thee. Go thy wayes, let my horses be wel look'd too, without any trickes

Clo. If I put any trickes vpon em sir, they shall bee Iades trickes, which are their owne right by the law of Nature.

Exit

Laf. A shrewd knaue and an vnhappie

Lady. So a is. My Lord that's gone made himselfe much sport out of him, by his authoritie hee remaines heere, which he thinkes is a pattent for his sawcinesse, and indeede he has no pace, but runnes where he will

Laf. I like him well, 'tis not amisse: and I was about to tell you, since I heard of the good Ladies death, and that my Lord your sonne was vpon his returne home. I moued the King my master to speake in the behalfe of my daughter, which in the minoritie of them both, his Maiestie out of a selfe gracious remembrance did first propose, his Highnesse hath promis'd me to doe it, and to stoppe vp the displeasure he hath conceiued against your sonne, there is no fitter matter. How do's your Ladyship like it? La. With verie much content my Lord, and I wish it happily effected

Laf. His Highnesse comes post from Marcellus, of as able bodie as when he number'd thirty, a will be heere to morrow, or I am deceiu'd by him that in such intelligence hath seldome fail'd

La. It reioyces me, that I hope I shall see him ere I die. I haue letters that my sonne will be heere to night: I shall beseech your Lordship to remaine with mee, till they meete together

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

Lad. You neede but pleade your honourable priuiledge

Laf. Ladie, of that I haue made a bold charter, but I thanke my God, it holds yet. Enter Clowne.

Clo. O Madam, yonders my Lord your sonne with a patch of veluet on's face, whether there bee a scar vnder't or no, the Veluet knowes, but 'tis a goodly patch of Veluet, his left cheeke is a cheeke of two pile and a halfe, but his right cheeke is worne bare

Laf. A scarre nobly got, Or a noble scarre, is a good liu'rie of honor, So belike is that

Clo. But it is your carbinado'd face

Laf. Let vs go see your sonne I pray you, I long to talke With the yong noble souldier

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

Exeunt.

Actus Quintus.

Enter Hellen, Widdow, and Diana, with two Attendants.

Hel. But this exceeding posting day and night, Must wear your spirits low, we cannot helpe it: But since you haue made the daies and nights as one, To weare your gentle limbes in my affayres, Be bold you do so grow in my requitall, As nothing can vnroote you. In happie time, Enter a gentle Astringer.

This man may helpe me to his Maiesties eare, If he would spend his power. God saue you sir

Gent. And you

Hel. Sir, I haue seene you in the Court of France

Gent. I haue beene sometimes there

Hel. I do presume sir, that you are not falne From the report that goes vpon your goodnesse, And therefore goaded with most sharpe occasions, Which lay nice manners by, I put you to The vse of your owne vertues, for the which I shall continue thankefull

Gent. What's your will? Hel. That it will please you To giue this poore petition to the King, And ayde me with that store of power you haue To come into his presence

Gen. The Kings not heere

Hel. Not heere sir? Gen. Not indeed, He hence remou'd last night, and with more hast Then is his vse

Wid. Lord how we loose our paines

Hel. All's well that ends well yet, Though time seeme so aduerse, and meanes vnfit: I do beseech you, whither is he gone? Gent. Marrie as I take it to Rossillion, Whither I am going

Hel. 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 thanke your paines for it, I will come after you with what good speede Our meanes will make vs meanes

Gent. This Ile do for you

Hel. And you shall finde your selfe to be well thankt what e're falles more. We must to horse againe, Go, go, prouide. Enter Clowne and Parrolles.

Par. Good Mr Lauatch giue my Lord Lafew this letter, I haue ere now sir beene better knowne to you, when I haue held familiaritie with fresher cloathes: but I am now sir muddied in fortunes mood, and smell somewhat strong of her strong displeasure

Clo. Truely, Fortunes displeasure is but sluttish if it smell so strongly as thou speak'st of: I will hencefoorth eate no Fish of Fortunes butt'ring. Prethee alow the winde

Par. Nay you neede not to stop your nose sir: I spake but by a Metaphor

Clo. Indeed sir, if your Metaphor stinke, I will stop my nose, or against any mans Metaphor. Prethe get thee further

Par. Pray you sir deliuer me this paper

Clo. Foh, prethee stand away: a paper from fortunes close-stoole, to giue to a Nobleman. Looke heere he comes himselfe. Enter Lafew.

Clo. Heere is a purre of Fortunes sir, or of Fortunes Cat, but not a Muscat, that ha's falne into the vncleane fish-pond of her displeasure, and as he sayes is muddied withall. Pray you sir, vse the Carpe as you may, for he lookes like a poore decayed, ingenious, foolish, rascally knaue. I doe pittie his distresse in my smiles of comfort, and leaue him to your Lordship

Par. My Lord I am a man whom fortune hath cruelly scratch'd

Laf. And what would you haue me to doe? 'Tis too late to paire her nailes now. Wherein haue you played the knaue with fortune that she should scratch you, who of her selfe is a good Lady, and would not haue knaues thriue long vnder? There's a Cardecue for you: Let the Iustices make you and fortune friends; I am for other businesse

Par. I beseech your honour to heare mee one single word, Laf. you begge a single peny more: Come you shall ha't, saue your word

Par. My name my good Lord is Parrolles

Laf. You begge more then word then. Cox my passion, giue me your hand: How does your drumme? Par. O my good Lord, you were the first that found mee

Laf. Was I insooth? And I was the first that lost thee

Par. It lies in you my Lord to bring me in some grace for you did bring me out

Laf. Out vpon thee knaue, doest thou put vpon mee at once both the office of God and the diuel: one brings thee in grace, and the other brings thee out. The Kings comming I know by his Trumpets. Sirrah, inquire further after me, I had talke of you last night, though you are a foole and a knaue, you shall eate, go too, follow

Par. I praise God for you.

Flourish. Enter King, old Lady, Lafew, the two French Lords, with attendants.

Kin. We lost a Iewell of her, and our esteeme Was made much poorer by it: but your sonne, As mad in folly, lack'd the sence to know Her estimation home

Old La. 'Tis past my Liege, And I beseech your Maiestie to make it Naturall rebellion, done i'th blade of youth, When oyle and fire, too strong for reasons force, Ore-beares it, and burnes on

Kin. My honour'd Lady, I haue forgiuen and forgotten all, Though my reuenges were high bent vpon him, And watch'd the time to shoote

Laf. This I must say, But first I begge my pardon: the yong Lord Did to his Maiesty, his Mother, and his Ladie, Offence of mighty note; but to himselfe The greatest wrong of all. He lost a wife, Whose beauty did astonish the suruey Of richest eies: whose words all eares tooke captiue, Whose deere perfection, hearts that scorn'd to serue, Humbly call'd Mistris

Kin. Praising what is lost, Makes the remembrance deere. Well, call him hither, We are reconcil'd, and the first view shall kill All repetition: Let him not aske our pardon, The nature of his great offence is dead, And deeper then obliuion, we do burie Th' incensing reliques of it. Let him approach A stranger, no offender; and informe him So 'tis our will he should

Gent. I shall my Liege

Kin. What sayes he to your daughter, Haue you spoke? Laf. All that he is, hath reference to your Highnes

Kin. Then shall we haue a match. I haue letters sent me, that sets him high in fame. Enter Count Bertram.

Laf. He lookes well on't

Kin. I am not a day of season, For thou maist see a sun-shine, and a haile In me at once: But to the brightest beames Distracted clouds giue way, so stand thou forth, The time is faire againe

Ber. My high repented blames Deere Soueraigne pardon to me

Kin. 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 Th' inaudible, and noiselesse foot of time Steales, ere we can effect them. You remember The daughter of this Lord? Ber. Admiringly my Liege, at first I stucke my choice vpon her, ere my heart Durst make too bold a herauld of my tongue: Where the impression of mine eye enfixing, Contempt his scornfull Perspectiue did lend me, Which warpt the line, of euerie other fauour, Scorn'd a faire colour, or exprest it stolne, Extended or contracted all proportions To a most hideous obiect. Thence it came, That she whom all men prais'd, and whom my selfe, Since I haue lost, haue lou'd; was in mine eye The dust that did offend it

Kin. Well excus'd: That thou didst loue her, strikes some scores away From the great compt: but loue that comes too late, Like a remorsefull pardon slowly carried To the great sender, turnes a sowre offence, Crying, that's good that's gone: Our rash faults, Make triuiall price of serious things we haue, Not knowing them, vntill we know their graue. Oft our displeasures to our selues vniust, Destroy our friends, and after weepe their dust: Our owne loue waking, cries to see what's done, While shamefull hate sleepes out the afternoone. Be this sweet Helens knell, and now forget her. Send forth your amorous token for faire Maudlin, The maine consents are had, and heere wee'l stay To see our widdowers second marriage day: Which better then the first, O deere heauen blesse, Or, ere they meete in me, O Nature cesse

Laf. Come on my sonne, in whom my houses name Must be digested: giue a fauour from you To sparkle in the spirits of my daughter, That she may quickly come. By my old beard, And eu'rie haire that's on't, Helen that's dead Was a sweet creature: such a ring as this, The last that ere I tooke her leaue at Court, I saw vpon her finger

Ber. Hers it was not

King. Now pray you let me see it. For mine eye, While I was speaking, oft was fasten'd too't: This Ring was mine, and when I gaue it Hellen, I bad her if her fortunes euer stoode Necessitied to helpe, that by this token I would releeue her. Had you that craft to reaue her Of what should stead her most? Ber. My gracious Soueraigne, How ere it pleases you to take it so, The ring was neuer hers

Old La. Sonne, on my life I haue seene her weare it, and she reckon'd it At her liues rate

Laf. I am sure I saw her weare it

Ber. You are deceiu'd my Lord, she neuer saw it: In Florence was it from a casement throwne mee, Wrap'd in a paper, which contain'd the name Of her that threw it: Noble she was, and thought I stood ingag'd, but when I had subscrib'd To mine owne fortune, and inform'd her fully, I could not answer in that course of Honour As she had made the ouerture, she ceast In heauie satisfaction, and would neuer Receiue the Ring againe

Kin. Platus himselfe, That knowes the tinct and multiplying med'cine, Hath not in natures mysterie more science, Then I haue in this Ring. 'Twas mine, 'twas Helens, Who euer gaue it you: then if you know That you are well acquainted with your selfe, Confesse 'twas hers, and by what rough enforcement You got it from her. She call'd the Saints to suretie, That she would neuer put it from her finger, Vnlesse she gaue it to your selfe in bed, Where you haue neuer come: or sent it vs Vpon her great disaster

Ber. She neuer saw it

Kin. Thou speak'st it falsely: as I loue mine Honor, And mak'st connecturall feares to come into me, Which I would faine shut out, if it should proue That thou art so inhumane, 'twill not proue so: And yet I know not, thou didst hate her deadly, And she is dead, which nothing but to close Her eyes my selfe, could win me to beleeue, More then to see this Ring. Take him away, My fore-past proofes, how ere the matter fall Shall taze my feares of little vanitie, Hauing vainly fear'd too little. Away with him, Wee'l sift this matter further

Ber. If you shall proue This Ring was euer hers, you shall as easie Proue that I husbanded her bed in Florence, Where yet she neuer was. Enter a Gentleman.

King. I am wrap'd in dismall thinkings

Gen. Gracious Soueraigne. Whether I haue beene too blame or no, I know not, Here's a petition from a Florentine, Who hath for foure or fiue remoues come short, To tender it her selfe. I vndertooke it, Vanquish'd thereto by the faire grace and speech Of the poore suppliant, who by this I know Is heere attending: her businesse lookes in her With an importing visage, and she told me In a sweet verball breefe, it did concerne Your Highnesse with her selfe.

A Letter.

Vpon his many protestations to marrie mee when his wife was dead, I blush to say it, he wonne me. Now is the Count Rossillion a Widdower, his vowes are forfeited to mee, and my honors payed to him. Hee stole from Florence, taking no leaue, and I follow him to his Countrey for Iustice: Grant it me, O King, in you it best lies, otherwise a seducer flourishes, and a poore Maid is vndone. Diana Capilet

Laf. I will buy me a sonne in Law in a faire, and toule for this. Ile none of him

Kin. The heauens haue thought well on thee Lafew, To bring forth this discou'rie, seeke these sutors: Go speedily, and bring againe the Count. Enter Bertram.

I am a-feard the life of Hellen (Ladie) Was fowly snatcht

Old La. Now iustice on the doers

King. I wonder sir, sir, wiues are monsters to you, And that you flye them as you sweare them Lordship, Yet you desire to marry. What woman's that? Enter Widdow, Diana, and Parrolles.

Dia. I am my Lord a wretched Florentine, Deriued from the ancient Capilet, My suite as I do vnderstand you know, And therefore know how farre I may be pittied

Wid. I am her Mother sir, whose age and honour Both suffer vnder this complaint we bring, And both shall cease, without your remedie

King. Come hether Count, do you know these Women? Ber. My Lord, I neither can nor will denie, But that I know them, do they charge me further? Dia. Why do you looke so strange vpon your wife? Ber. She's none of mine my Lord

Dia. If you shall marrie You giue away this hand, and that is mine, You giue away heauens vowes, and those are mine: You giue away my selfe, which is knowne mine: For I by vow am so embodied yours, That she which marries you, must marrie me, Either both or none

Laf. Your reputation comes too short for my daughter, you are no husband for her

Ber. My Lord, this is a fond and desp'rate creature, Whom sometime I haue laugh'd with: Let your highnes Lay a more noble thought vpon mine honour, Then for to thinke that I would sinke it heere

Kin. Sir for my thoughts, you haue them il to friend, Till your deeds gaine them fairer: proue your honor, Then in my thought it lies

Dian. Good my Lord, Aske him vpon his oath, if hee do's thinke He had not my virginity

Kin. What saist thou to her? Ber. She's impudent my Lord, And was a common gamester to the Campe

Dia. He do's me wrong my Lord: If I were so, He might haue bought me at a common price. Do not beleeue him. O behold this Ring, Whose high respect and rich validitie Did lacke a Paralell: yet for all that He gaue it to a Commoner a'th Campe If I be one

Coun. He blushes, and 'tis hit: Of sixe preceding Ancestors that Iemme Confer'd by testament to'th sequent issue Hath it beene owed and worne. This is his wife, That Ring's a thousand proofes

King. Me thought you saide You saw one heere in Court could witnesse it

Dia. I did my Lord, but loath am to produce So bad an instrument, his names Parrolles

Laf. I saw the man to day, if man he bee

Kin. Finde him, and bring him hether

Ros. What of him: He's quoted for a most perfidious slaue With all the spots a'th world, taxt and debosh'd, Whose nature sickens: but to speake a truth, Am I, or that or this for what he'l vtter, That will speake any thing

Kin. She hath that Ring of yours

Ros. I thinke she has; certaine it is I lyk'd her, And boorded her i'th wanton way of youth: She knew her distance, and did angle for mee, Madding my eagernesse with her restraint, As all impediments in fancies course Are motiues of more fancie, and in fine, Her insuite comming with her moderne grace, Subdu'd me to her rate, she got the Ring, And I had that which any inferiour might At Market price haue bought

Dia. I must be patient: You that haue turn'd off a first so noble wife, May iustly dyet me. I pray you yet, (Since you lacke vertue, I will loose a husband) Send for your Ring, I will returne it home, And giue me mine againe

Ros. I haue it not

Kin. What Ring was yours I pray you? Dian. Sir much like the same vpon your finger

Kin. Know you this Ring, this Ring was his of late

Dia. And this was it I gaue him being a bed

Kin. The story then goes false, you threw it him Out of a Casement

Dia. I haue spoke the truth. Enter Parolles.

Ros. My Lord, I do confesse the ring was hers

Kin. You boggle shrewdly, euery feather starts you: Is this the man you speake of? Dia. I, my Lord

Kin. Tell me sirrah, but tell me true I charge you, Not fearing the displeasure of your master: Which on your iust proceeding, Ile keepe off, By him and by this woman heere, what know you? Par. So please your Maiesty, my master hath bin an honourable Gentleman. Trickes hee hath had in him, which Gentlemen haue

Kin. Come, come, to'th' purpose: Did hee loue this woman? Par. Faith sir he did loue her, but how

Kin. How I pray you? Par. He did loue her sir, as a Gent. loues a Woman

Kin. How is that? Par. He lou'd her sir, and lou'd her not

Kin. As thou art a knaue and no knaue, what an equiuocall Companion is this? Par. I am a poore man, and at your Maiesties command

Laf. Hee's a good drumme my Lord, but a naughtie Orator

Dian. Do you know he promist me marriage? Par. Faith I know more then Ile speake

Kin. But wilt thou not speake all thou know'st? Par. Yes so please your Maiesty: I did goe betweene them as I said, but more then that he loued her, for indeede he was madde for her, and talkt of Sathan, and of Limbo, and of Furies, and I know not what: yet I was in that credit with them at that time, that I knewe of their going to bed, and of other motions, as promising her marriage, and things which would deriue mee ill will to speake of, therefore I will not speake what I know

Kin. Thou hast spoken all alreadie, vnlesse thou canst say they are maried, but thou art too fine in thy euidence, therefore stand aside. This Ring you say was yours

Dia. I my good Lord

Kin. Where did you buy it? Or who gaue it you? Dia. It was not giuen me, nor I did not buy it

Kin. Who lent it you? Dia. It was not lent me neither

Kin. Where did you finde it then? Dia. I found it not

Kin. If it were yours by none of all these wayes, How could you giue it him? Dia. I neuer gaue it him

Laf. This womans an easie gloue my Lord, she goes off and on at pleasure

Kin. This Ring was mine, I gaue it his first wife

Dia. It might be yours or hers for ought I know

Kin. Take her away, I do not like her now, To prison with her: and away with him, Vnlesse thou telst me where thou hadst this Ring, Thou diest within this houre

Dia. Ile neuer tell you

Kin. Take her away

Dia. Ile put in baile my liedge

Kin. I thinke thee now some common Customer

Dia. By Ioue if euer I knew man 'twas you

King. Wherefore hast thou accusde him al this while

Dia. Because he's guiltie, and he is not guilty: He knowes I am no Maid, and hee'l sweare too't: Ile sweare I am a Maid, and he knowes not. Great King I am no strumpet, by my life, I am either Maid, or else this old mans wife

Kin. She does abuse our eares, to prison with her

Dia. Good mother fetch my bayle. Stay Royall sir, The Ieweller that owes the Ring is sent for, And he shall surety me. But for this Lord, Who hath abus'd me as he knowes himselfe, Though yet he neuer harm'd me, heere I quit him. He knowes himselfe my bed he hath defil'd, And at that time he got his wife with childe: Dead though she be, she feeles her yong one kicke: So there's my riddle, one that's dead is quicke, And now behold the meaning. Enter Hellen and Widdow.

Kin. Is there no exorcist Beguiles the truer Office of mine eyes? Is't reall that I see? Hel. No my good Lord, 'Tis but the shadow of a wife you see, The name, and not the thing

Ros. Both, both, O pardon

Hel. Oh my good Lord, when I was like this Maid, I found you wondrous kinde, there is your Ring, And looke you, heeres your letter: this it sayes, When from my finger you can get this Ring, And is by me with childe, &c. This is done, Will you be mine now you are doubly wonne? Ros. If she my Liege can make me know this clearly, Ile loue her dearely, euer, euer dearly

Hel. If it appeare not plaine, and proue vntrue, Deadly diuorce step betweene me and you. O my deere mother do I see you liuing? Laf. Mine eyes smell Onions, I shall weepe anon: Good Tom Drumme lend me a handkercher. So I thanke thee, waite on me home, Ile make sport with thee: Let thy curtsies alone, they are scuruy ones

King. Let vs from point to point this storie know, To make the euen truth in pleasure flow: If thou beest yet a fresh vncropped flower, Choose thou thy husband, and Ile pay thy dower. For I can guesse, that by thy honest ayde, Thou keptst a wife her selfe, thy selfe a Maide. Of that and all the progresse more and lesse, Resoluedly more leasure shall expresse: All yet seemes well, and if it end so meete, The bitter past, more welcome is the sweet.

Flourish.

The Kings a Begger, now the Play is done, All is well ended, if this suite be wonne, That you expresse 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 vs, and take our hearts.

Exeunt. omn.

FINIS. ALL'S Well, that Ends Well.

Twelfe Night, Or what you will

Actus Primus, Scaena Prima.

Enter Orsino Duke of Illyria, Curio, and other Lords.

Duke. If Musicke be the food of Loue, play on, Giue me excesse of it: that surfetting, The appetite may sicken, and so dye. That straine agen, it had a dying fall: O, it came ore my eare, like the sweet sound That breathes vpon a banke of Violets; Stealing, and giuing Odour. Enough, no more, 'Tis not so sweet now, as it was before. O spirit of Loue, how quicke and fresh art thou, That notwithstanding thy capacitie, Receiueth as the Sea. Nought enters there, Of what validity, and pitch so ere, But falles into abatement, and low price Euen in a minute; so full of shapes is fancie, That it alone, is high fantasticall

Cu. Will you go hunt my Lord? Du. What Curio? Cu. The Hart

Du. Why so I do, the Noblest that I haue: O when mine eyes did see Oliuia first, Me thought she purg'd the ayre of pestilence; That instant was I turn'd into a Hart, And my desires like fell and cruell hounds, Ere since pursue me. How now what newes from her? Enter Valentine.

Val. So please my Lord, I might not be admitted, But from her handmaid do returne this answer: The Element it selfe, till seuen yeares heate, Shall not behold her face at ample view: But like a Cloystresse she will vailed walke, And water once a day her Chamber round With eye-offending brine: all this to season A brothers dead loue, which she would keepe fresh And lasting, in her sad remembrance

Du. O she that hath a heart of that fine frame To pay this debt of loue but to a brother, How will she loue, when the rich golden shaft Hath kill'd the flocke of all affections else That liue in her. When Liuer, Braine, and Heart, These soueraigne thrones, are all supply'd and fill'd Her sweete perfections with one selfe king: Away before me, to sweet beds of Flowres, Loue-thoughts lye rich, when canopy'd with bowres.

Exeunt.

Scena Secunda.

Enter Viola, a Captaine, and Saylors.

Vio. What Country (Friends) is this? Cap. This is Illyria Ladie

Vio. And what should I do in Illyria? My brother he is in Elizium, Perchance he is not drown'd: What thinke you saylors? Cap. It is perchance that you your selfe were saued

Vio. O my poore brother, and so perchance may he be

Cap. True Madam, and to comfort you with chance, Assure your selfe, after our ship did split, When you, and those poore number saued with you, Hung on our driuing boate: I saw your brother Most prouident in perill, binde himselfe, (Courage and hope both teaching him the practise) To a strong Maste, that liu'd vpon the sea: Where like Orion on the Dolphines backe, I saw him hold acquaintance with the waues, So long as I could see

Vio. For saying so, there's Gold: Mine owne escape vnfoldeth to my hope, Whereto thy speech serues for authoritie The like of him. Know'st thou this Countrey? Cap. I Madam well, for I was bred and borne Not three houres trauaile from this very place

Vio. Who gouernes heere? Cap. A noble Duke in nature, as in name

Vio. What is his name? Cap. Orsino

Vio. Orsino: I haue heard my father name him. He was a Batchellor then

Cap. And so is now, or was so very late: For but a month ago I went from hence, And then 'twas fresh in murmure (as you know What great ones do, the lesse will prattle of,) That he did seeke the loue of faire Oliuia

Vio. What's shee? Cap. A vertuous maid, the daughter of a Count That dide some tweluemonth since, then leauing her In the protection of his sonne, her brother, Who shortly also dide: for whose deere loue (They say) she hath abiur'd the sight And company of men

Vio. O that I seru'd that Lady, And might not be deliuered to the world Till I had made mine owne occasion mellow What my estate is

Cap. That were hard to compasse, Because she will admit no kinde of suite, No, not the Dukes

Vio. There is a faire behauiour in thee Captaine, And though that nature, with a beauteous wall Doth oft close in pollution: yet of thee I will beleeue thou hast a minde that suites With this thy faire and outward charracter. I prethee (and Ile pay thee bounteously) Conceale me what I am, and be my ayde, For such disguise as haply shall become The forme of my intent. Ile serue this Duke, Thou shalt present me as an Eunuch to him, It may be worth thy paines: for I can sing, And speake to him in many sorts of Musicke, That will allow me very worth his seruice. What else may hap, to time I will commit, Onely shape thou thy silence to my wit

Cap. Be you his Eunuch, and your Mute Ile bee, When my tongue blabs, then let mine eyes not see

Vio. I thanke thee: Lead me on.

Exeunt.

Scaena Tertia.

Enter Sir Toby, and Maria.

Sir To. What a plague meanes my Neece to take the death of her brother thus? I am sure care's an enemie to life

Mar. By my troth sir Toby, you must come in earlyer a nights: your Cosin, my Lady, takes great exceptions to your ill houres

To. Why let her except, before excepted

Ma. I, but you must confine your selfe within the modest limits of order

To. Confine? Ile confine my selfe no finer then I am: these cloathes are good enough to drinke in, and so bee these boots too: and they be not, let them hang themselues in their owne straps

Ma. That quaffing and drinking will vndoe you: I heard my Lady talke of it yesterday: and of a foolish knight that you brought in one night here, to be hir woer To. Who, Sir Andrew Ague-cheeke? Ma. I he

To. He's as tall a man as any's in Illyria

Ma. What's that to th' purpose? To. Why he ha's three thousand ducates a yeare

Ma. I, but hee'l haue but a yeare in all these ducates: He's a very foole, and a prodigall

To. Fie, that you'l say so: he playes o'th Viol-de-gamboys, and speaks three or four languages word for word without booke, & hath all the good gifts of nature

Ma. He hath indeed, almost naturall: for besides that he's a foole, he's a great quarreller: and but that hee hath the gift of a Coward, to allay the gust he hath in quarrelling, 'tis thought among the prudent, he would quickely haue the gift of a graue

Tob. By this hand they are scoundrels and substractors that say so of him. Who are they? Ma. They that adde moreour, hee's drunke nightly in your company

To. With drinking healths to my Neece: Ile drinke to her as long as there is a passage in my throat, & drinke in Illyria: he's a Coward and a Coystrill that will not drinke to my Neece, till his braines turne o'th toe, like a parish top. What wench? Castiliano vulgo: for here coms Sir Andrew Agueface. Enter Sir Andrew.

And. Sir Toby Belch. How now sir Toby Belch? To. Sweet sir Andrew

And. Blesse you faire Shrew

Mar. And you too sir

Tob. Accost Sir Andrew, accost

And. What's that? To. My Neeces Chamber-maid

Ma. Good Mistris accost, I desire better acquaintance Ma. My name is Mary sir

And. Good mistris Mary, accost

To, You mistake knight: Accost, is front her, boord her, woe her, assayle her

And. By my troth I would not vndertake her in this company. Is that the meaning of Accost? Ma. Far you well Gentlemen

To. And thou let part so Sir Andrew, would thou mightst neuer draw sword agen

And. And you part so mistris, I would I might neuer draw sword agen: Faire Lady, doe you thinke you haue fooles in hand? Ma. Sir, I haue not you by'th hand

An. Marry but you shall haue, and heeres my hand

Ma. Now sir, thought is free: I pray you bring your hand to'th Buttry barre, and let it drinke

An. Wherefore (sweet-heart?) What's your Metaphor? Ma. It's dry sir

And. Why I thinke so: I am not such an asse, but I can keepe my hand dry. But what's your iest? Ma. A dry iest Sir

And. Are you full of them? Ma. I Sir, I haue them at my fingers ends: marry now I let go your hand, I am barren.

Exit Maria

To. O knight, thou lack'st a cup of Canarie: when did I see thee so put downe? An. Neuer in your life I thinke, vnlesse you see Canarie put me downe: mee thinkes sometimes I haue no more wit then a Christian, or an ordinary man ha's: but I am a great eater of beefe, and I beleeue that does harme to my wit

To. No question

An. And I thought that, I'de forsweare it. Ile ride home to morrow sir Toby

To. Pur-quoy my deere knight? An. What is purquoy? Do, or not do? I would I had bestowed that time in the tongues, that I haue in fencing dancing, and beare-bayting: O had I but followed the Arts

To. Then hadst thou had an excellent head of haire

An. Why, would that haue mended my haire? To. Past question, for thou seest it will not coole my nature An. But it becoms me wel enough, dost not? To. Excellent, it hangs like flax on a distaffe: & I hope to see a huswife take thee between her legs, & spin it off

An. Faith Ile home to morrow sir Toby, your niece wil not be seene, or if she be it's four to one, she'l none of me: the Count himselfe here hard by, wooes her

To. Shee'l none o'th Count, she'l not match aboue hir degree, neither in estate, yeares, nor wit: I haue heard her swear't. Tut there's life in't man

And. Ile stay a moneth longer. I am a fellow o'th strangest minde i'th world: I delight in Maskes and Reuels sometimes altogether

To. Art thou good at these kicke-chawses Knight? And. As any man in Illyria, whatsoeuer he be, vnder the degree of my betters, & yet I will not compare with an old man

To. What is thy excellence in a galliard, knight? And. Faith, I can cut a caper

To. And I can cut the Mutton too't

And. And I thinke I haue the backe-tricke, simply as strong as any man in Illyria

To. Wherefore are these things hid? Wherefore haue these gifts a Curtaine before 'em? Are they like to take dust, like mistris Mals picture? Why dost thou not goe to Church in a Galliard, and come home in a Carranto? My verie walke should be a Iigge: I would not so much as make water but in a Sinke-a-pace: What dooest thou meane? Is it a world to hide vertues in? I did thinke by the excellent constitution of thy legge, it was form'd vnder the starre of a Galliard

And. I, 'tis strong, and it does indifferent well in a dam'd colour'd stocke. Shall we sit about some Reuels? To. What shall we do else: were we not borne vnder Taurus? And. Taurus? That sides and heart

To. No sir, it is leggs and thighes: let me see thee caper. Ha, higher: ha, ha, excellent.

Exeunt.

Scena Quarta.

Enter Valentine, and Viola in mans attire.

Val. If the Duke continue these fauours towards you Cesario, you are like to be much aduanc'd, he hath known you but three dayes, and already you are no stranger

Vio. You either feare his humour, or my negligence, that you call in question the continuance of his loue. Is he inconstant sir, in his fauours

Val. No beleeue me. Enter Duke, Curio, and Attendants.

Vio. I thanke you: heere comes the Count

Duke. Who saw Cesario hoa? Vio. On your attendance my Lord heere

Du. Stand you a-while aloofe. Cesario, Thou knowst no lesse, but all: I haue vnclasp'd To thee the booke euen of my secret soule. Therefore good youth, addresse thy gate vnto her, Be not deni'de accesse, stand at her doores, And tell them, there thy fixed foot shall grow Till thou haue audience

Vio. Sure my Noble Lord, If she be so abandon'd to her sorrow As it is spoke, she neuer will admit me

Du. Be clamorous, and leape all ciuill bounds, Rather then make vnprofited returne, Vio. Say I do speake with her (my Lord) what then? Du. O then, vnfold the passion of my loue, Surprize her with discourse of my deere faith; It shall become thee well to act my woes: She will attend it better in thy youth, Then in a Nuntio's of more graue aspect

Vio. I thinke not so, my Lord

Du. Deere Lad, beleeue it; For they shall yet belye thy happy yeeres, That say thou art a man: Dianas lip Is not more smooth, and rubious: thy small pipe Is as the maidens organ, shrill, and sound, And all is semblatiue a womans part. I know thy constellation is right apt For this affayre: some foure or fiue attend him, All if you will: for I my selfe am best When least in companie: prosper well in this, And thou shalt liue as freely as thy Lord, To call his fortunes thine

Vio. Ile do my best To woe your Lady: yet a barrefull strife, Who ere I woe, my selfe would be his wife.

Exeunt.

Scena Quinta.

Enter Maria, and Clowne.

Ma. Nay, either tell me where thou hast bin, or I will not open my lippes so wide as a brissle may enter, in way of thy excuse: my Lady will hang thee for thy absence

Clo. Let her hang me: hee that is well hang'de in this world, needs to feare no colours

Ma. Make that good

Clo. He shall see none to feare

Ma. A good lenton answer: I can tell thee where y saying was borne, of I feare no colours

Clo. Where good mistris Mary? Ma. In the warrs, & that may you be bolde to say in your foolerie

Clo. Well, God giue them wisedome that haue it: & those that are fooles, let them vse their talents

Ma. Yet you will be hang'd for being so long absent, or to be turn'd away: is not that as good as a hanging to you? Clo. Many a good hanging, preuents a bad marriage: and for turning away, let summer beare it out

Ma. You are resolute then? Clo. Not so neyther, but I am resolu'd on two points Ma. That if one breake, the other will hold: or if both breake, your gaskins fall

Clo. Apt in good faith, very apt: well go thy way, if sir Toby would leaue drinking, thou wert as witty a piece of Eues flesh, as any in Illyria

Ma. Peace you rogue, no more o'that: here comes my Lady: make your excuse wisely, you were best. Enter Lady Oliuia, with Maluolio.

Clo. Wit, and't be thy will, put me into good fooling: those wits that thinke they haue thee, doe very oft proue fooles: and I that am sure I lacke thee, may passe for a wise man. For what saies Quinapalus, Better a witty foole, then a foolish wit. God blesse thee Lady

Ol. Take the foole away

Clo. Do you not heare fellowes, take away the Ladie

Ol. Go too, y'are a dry foole: Ile no more of you: besides you grow dis-honest

Clo. Two faults Madona, that drinke & good counsell wil amend: for giue the dry foole drink, then is the foole not dry: bid the dishonest man mend himself, if he mend, he is no longer dishonest; if hee cannot, let the Botcher mend him: any thing that's mended, is but patch'd: vertu that transgresses, is but patcht with sinne, and sin that amends, is but patcht with vertue. If that this simple Sillogisme will serue, so: if it will not, what remedy? As there is no true Cuckold but calamity, so beauties a flower; The Lady bad take away the foole, therefore I say againe, take her away

Ol. Sir, I bad them take away you

Clo. Misprision in the highest degree. Lady, Cucullus non facit monachum: that's as much to say, as I weare not motley in my braine: good Madona, giue mee leaue to proue you a foole

Ol. Can you do it? Clo. Dexteriously, good Madona

Ol. Make your proofe

Clo. I must catechize you for it Madona, Good my Mouse of vertue answer mee

Ol. Well sir, for want of other idlenesse, Ile bide your proofe

Clo. Good Madona, why mournst thou? Ol. Good foole, for my brothers death

Clo. I thinke his soule is in hell, Madona

Ol. I know his soule is in heauen, foole

Clo. The more foole (Madona) to mourne for your Brothers soule, being in heauen. Take away the Foole, Gentlemen

Ol. What thinke you of this foole Maluolio, doth he not mend? Mal. Yes, and shall do, till the pangs of death shake him: Infirmity that decaies the wise, doth euer make the better foole

Clow. God send you sir, a speedie Infirmity, for the better increasing your folly: Sir Toby will be sworn that I am no Fox, but he wil not passe his word for two pence that you are no Foole

Ol. How say you to that Maluolio? Mal. I maruell your Ladyship takes delight in such a barren rascall: I saw him put down the other day, with an ordinary foole, that has no more braine then a stone. Looke you now, he's out of his gard already: vnles you laugh and minister occasion to him, he is gag'd. I protest I take these Wisemen, that crow so at these set kinde of fooles, no better then the fooles Zanies

Ol. O you are sicke of selfe-loue Maluolio, and taste with a distemper'd appetite. To be generous, guiltlesse, and of free disposition, is to take those things for Bird-bolts, that you deeme Cannon bullets: There is no slander in an allow'd foole, though he do nothing but rayle; nor no rayling, in a knowne discreet man, though hee do nothing but reproue

Clo. Now Mercury indue thee with leasing, for thou speak'st well of fooles. Enter Maria.

Mar. Madam, there is at the gate, a young Gentleman, much desires to speake with you

Ol. From the Count Orsino, is it? Ma I know not (Madam) 'tis a faire young man, and well attended

Ol. Who of my people hold him in delay? Ma. Sir Toby Madam, your kinsman

Ol. Fetch him off I pray you, he speakes nothing but madman: Fie on him. Go you Maluolio; If it be a suit from the Count, I am sicke, or not at home. What you will, to dismisse it.

Exit Maluo.

Now you see sir, how your fooling growes old, & people dislike it

Clo. Thou hast spoke for vs (Madona) as if thy eldest sonne should be a foole: whose scull, Ioue cramme with braines, for heere he comes. Enter Sir Toby.

One of thy kin has a most weake Pia-mater

Ol. By mine honor halfe drunke. What is he at the gate Cosin? To. A Gentleman

Ol. A Gentleman? What Gentleman? To. 'Tis a Gentleman heere. A plague o'these pickle herring: How now Sot

Clo. Good Sir Toby

Ol. Cosin, Cosin, how haue you come so earely by this Lethargie? To. Letcherie, I defie Letchery: there's one at the gate

Ol. I marry, what is he? To. Let him be the diuell and he will, I care not: giue me faith say I. Well, it's all one.

Exit

Ol. What's a drunken man like, foole? Clo. Like a drown'd man, a foole, and a madde man: One draught aboue heate, makes him a foole, the second maddes him, and a third drownes him

Ol. Go thou and seeke the Crowner, and let him sitte o'my Coz: for he's in the third degree of drinke: hee's drown'd: go looke after him

Clo. He is but mad yet Madona, and the foole shall looke to the madman. Enter Maluolio.

Mal. Madam, yond young fellow sweares hee will speake with you. I told him you were sicke, he takes on him to vnderstand so much, and therefore comes to speak with you. I told him you were asleepe, he seems to haue a fore knowledge of that too, and therefore comes to speake with you. What is to be said to him Ladie, hee's fortified against any deniall

Ol. Tell him, he shall not speake with me

Mal. Ha's beene told so: and hee sayes hee'l stand at your doore like a Sheriffes post, and be the supporter to a bench, but hee'l speake with you

Ol. What kinde o'man is he? Mal. Why of mankinde

Ol. What manner of man? Mal. Of verie ill manner: hee'l speake with you, will you, or no

Ol. Of what personage, and yeeres is he? Mal. Not yet old enough for a man, nor yong enough for a boy: as a squash is before tis a pescod, or a Codling when tis almost an Apple: Tis with him in standing water, betweene boy and man. He is verie well-fauour'd, and he speakes verie shrewishly: One would thinke his mothers milke were scarse out of him

Ol. Let him approach: Call in my Gentlewoman

Mal. Gentlewoman, my Lady calles. Enter.

Enter Maria.

Ol. Giue me my vaile: come throw it ore my face, Wee'l once more heare Orsinos Embassie. Enter Violenta.

Vio. The honorable Ladie of the house, which is she? Ol. Speake to me, I shall answer for her: your will

Vio. Most radiant, exquisite, and vnmatchable beautie. I pray you tell me if this bee the Lady of the house, for I neuer saw her. I would bee loath to cast away my speech: for besides that it is excellently well pend, I haue taken great paines to con it. Good Beauties, let mee sustaine no scorne; I am very comptible, euen to the least sinister vsage

Ol. Whence came you sir? Vio. I can say little more then I haue studied, & that question's out of my part. Good gentle one, giue mee modest assurance, if you be the Ladie of the house, that | I may proceede in my speech

Ol. Are you a Comedian? Vio. No my profound heart: and yet (by the verie phangs of malice, I sweare) I am not that I play. Are you the Ladie of the house? Ol. If I do not vsurpe my selfe, I am

Vio. Most certaine, if you are she, you do vsurp your selfe: for what is yours to bestowe, is, not yours to reserue. But this is from my Commission: I will on with my speech in your praise, and then shew you the heart of my message

Ol. Come to what is important in't: I forgiue you the praise

Vio. Alas, I tooke great paines to studie it, and 'tis Poeticall

Ol. It is the more like to be feigned, I pray you keep it in. I heard you were sawcy at my gates, & allowd your approach rather to wonder at you, then to heare you. If you be not mad, be gone: if you haue reason, be breefe: 'tis not that time of Moone with me, to make one in so skipping a dialogue

Ma. Will you hoyst sayle sir, here lies your way

Vio. No good swabber, I am to hull here a little longer. Some mollification for your Giant, sweete Ladie; tell me your minde, I am a messenger

Ol. Sure you haue some hiddeous matter to deliuer, when the curtesie of it is so fearefull. Speake your office

Vio. It alone concernes your eare: I bring no ouerture of warre, no taxation of homage; I hold the Olyffe in my hand: my words are as full of peace, as matter

Ol. Yet you began rudely. What are you? What would you? Vio. The rudenesse that hath appear'd in mee, haue I learn'd from my entertainment. What I am, and what I would, are as secret as maiden-head: to your eares, Diuinity; to any others, prophanation

Ol. Giue vs the place alone, We will heare this diuinitie. Now sir, what is your text? Vio. Most sweet Ladie

Ol. A comfortable doctrine, and much may bee saide of it. Where lies your Text? Vio. In Orsinoes bosome

Ol. In his bosome? In what chapter of his bosome? Vio. To answer by the method, in the first of his hart

Ol. O, I haue read it: it is heresie. Haue you no more to say? Vio. Good Madam, let me see your face

Ol. Haue you any Commission from your Lord, to negotiate with my face: you are now out of your Text: but we will draw the Curtain, and shew you the picture. Looke you sir, such a one I was this present: Ist not well done? Vio. Excellently done, if God did all

Ol. 'Tis in graine sir, 'twill endure winde and weather

Vio. Tis beauty truly blent, whose red and white, Natures owne sweet, and cunning hand laid on: Lady, you are the cruell'st shee aliue, If you will leade these graces to the graue, And leaue the world no copie

Ol. O sir, I will not be so hard-hearted: I will giue out diuers scedules of my beautie. It shalbe Inuentoried and euery particle and vtensile labell'd to my will: As, Item two lippes indifferent redde, Item two grey eyes, with lids to them: Item, one necke, one chin, & so forth. Were you sent hither to praise me? Vio. I see you what you are, you are too proud: But if you were the diuell, you are faire: My Lord, and master loues you: O such loue Could be but recompenc'd, though you were crown'd The non-pareil of beautie

Ol. How does he loue me? Vio. With adorations, fertill teares, With groanes that thunder loue, with sighes of fire

Ol. Your Lord does know my mind, I cannot loue him Yet I suppose him vertuous, know him noble, Of great estate, of fresh and stainlesse youth; In voyces well divulg'd, free, learn'd, and valiant, And in dimension, and the shape of nature, A gracious person; But yet I cannot loue him: He might haue tooke his answer long ago

Vio. If I did loue you in my masters flame, With such a suffring, such a deadly life: In your deniall, I would finde no sence, I would not vnderstand it

Ol. Why, what would you? Vio. Make me a willow Cabine at your gate, And call vpon my soule within the house, Write loyall Cantons of contemned loue, And sing them lowd euen in the dead of night: Hallow your name to the reuerberate hilles, And make the babling Gossip of the aire, Cry out Oliuia: O you should not rest Betweene the elements of ayre, and earth, But you should pittie me

Ol. You might do much: What is your Parentage? Vio. Aboue my fortunes, yet my state is well: I am a Gentleman

Ol. Get you to your Lord: I cannot loue him: let him send no more, Vnlesse (perchance) you come to me againe, To tell me how he takes it: Fare you well: I thanke you for your paines: spend this for mee

Vio. I am no feede poast, Lady; keepe your purse, My Master, not my selfe, lackes recompence. Loue make his heart of flint, that you shal loue, And let your feruour like my masters be, Plac'd in contempt: Farwell fayre crueltie.

Exit

Ol. What is your Parentage? Aboue my fortunes, yet my state is well; I am a Gentleman. Ile be sworne thou art, Thy tongue, thy face, thy limbes, actions, and spirit, Do giue thee fiue-fold blazon: not too fast: soft, soft, Vnlesse the Master were the man. How now? Euen so quickly may one catch the plague? Me thinkes I feele this youths perfections With an inuisible, and subtle stealth To creepe in at mine eyes. Well, let it be. What hoa, Maluolio. Enter Maluolio.

Mal. Heere Madam, at your seruice

Ol. Run after that same peeuish Messenger The Countes man: he left this Ring behinde him Would I, or not: tell him, Ile none of it. Desire him not to flatter with his Lord, Nor hold him vp with hopes, I am not for him: If that the youth will come this way to morrow, Ile giue him reasons for't: hie thee Maluolio

Mal. Madam, I will. Enter.

Ol. I do I know not what, and feare to finde Mine eye too great a flatterer for my minde: Fate, shew thy force, our selues we do not owe, What is decreed, must be: and be this so.

Finis, Actus primus.

Actus Secundus, Scaena prima.

Enter Antonio & Sebastian.

Ant. Will you stay no longer: nor will you not that I go with you

Seb. By your patience, no: my starres shine darkely ouer me; the malignancie of my fate, might perhaps distemper yours; therefore I shall craue of you your leaue, that I may beare my euils alone. It were a bad recompence for your loue, to lay any of them on you

An. Let me yet know of you, whither you are bound

Seb. No sooth sir: my determinate voyage is meere extrauagancie. But I perceiue in you so excellent a touch of modestie, that you will not extort from me, what I am willing to keepe in: therefore it charges me in manners, the rather to expresse my selfe: you must know of mee then Antonio, my name is Sebastian (which I call'd Rodorigo) my father was that Sebastian of Messaline, whom I know you haue heard of. He left behinde him, my selfe, and a sister, both borne in an houre: if the Heauens had beene pleas'd, would we had so ended. But you sir, alter'd that, for some houre before you tooke me from the breach of the sea, was my sister drown'd

Ant. Alas the day

Seb. A Lady sir, though it was said shee much resembled me, was yet of many accounted beautiful: but thogh I could not with such estimable wonder ouer-farre beleeue that, yet thus farre I will boldly publish her, shee bore a minde that enuy could not but call faire: Shee is drown'd already sir with salt water, though I seeme to drowne her remembrance againe with more

Ant. Pardon me sir, your bad entertainment

Seb. O good Antonio, forgiue me your trouble

Ant. If you will not murther me for my loue, let mee be your seruant

Seb. If you will not vndo what you haue done, that is kill him, whom you haue recouer'd, desire it not. Fare ye well at once, my bosome is full of kindnesse, and I am yet so neere the manners of my mother, that vpon the least occasion more, mine eyes will tell tales of me: I am bound to the Count Orsino's Court, farewell.

Exit

Ant. The gentlenesse of all the gods go with thee: I haue many enemies in Orsino's Court, Else would I very shortly see thee there: But come what may, I do adore thee so, That danger shall seeme sport, and I will go. Enter.

Scaena Secunda.

Enter Viola and Maluolio, at seuerall doores.

Mal. Were not you eu'n now, with the Countesse Oliuia? Vio. Euen now sir, on a moderate pace, I haue since ariu'd but hither

Mal. She returnes this Ring to you (sir) you might haue saued mee my paines, to haue taken it away your selfe. She adds moreouer, that you should put your Lord into a desperate assurance, she will none of him. And one thing more, that you be neuer so hardie to come againe in his affaires, vnlesse it bee to report your Lords taking of this: receiue it so

Vio. She tooke the Ring of me, Ile none of it

Mal. Come sir, you peeuishly threw it to her: and her will is, it should be so return'd: If it bee worth stooping for, there it lies, in your eye: if not, bee it his that findes it. Enter.

Vio. I left no Ring with her: what meanes this Lady? Fortune forbid my out-side haue not charm'd her: She made good view of me, indeed so much, That me thought her eyes had lost her tongue, For she did speake in starts distractedly. She loues me sure, the cunning of her passion Inuites me in this churlish messenger: None of my Lords Ring? Why he sent her none; I am the man, if it be so, as tis, Poore Lady, she were better loue a dreame: Disguise, I see thou art a wickednesse, Wherein the pregnant enemie does much. How easie is it, for the proper false In womens waxen hearts to set their formes: Alas, O frailtie is the cause, not wee, For such as we are made, if such we bee: How will this fadge? My master loues her deerely, And I (poore monster) fond asmuch on him: And she (mistaken) seemes to dote on me: What will become of this? As I am man, My state is desperate for my maisters loue: As I am woman (now alas the day) What thriftlesse sighes shall poore Oliuia breath? O time, thou must vntangle this, not I, It is too hard a knot for me t' vnty.

Scoena Tertia.

Enter Sir Toby, and Sir Andrew.

To. Approach Sir Andrew: not to bee a bedde after midnight, is to be vp betimes, and Deliculo surgere, thou know'st

And. Nay by my troth I know not: but I know, to be vp late, is to be vp late

To. A false conclusion: I hate it as an vnfill'd Canne. To be vp after midnight, and to go to bed then is early: so that to go to bed after midnight, is to goe to bed betimes. Does not our liues consist of the foure Elements? And. Faith so they say, but I thinke it rather consists of eating and drinking

To. Th'art a scholler; let vs therefore eate and drinke Marian I say, a stoope of wine. Enter Clowne.

And. Heere comes the foole yfaith

Clo. How now my harts: Did you neuer see the Picture of we three? To. Welcome asse, now let's haue a catch

And. By my troth the foole has an excellent breast. I had rather then forty shillings I had such a legge, and so sweet a breath to sing, as the foole has. Insooth thou wast in very gracious fooling last night, when thou spok'st of Pigrogromitus, of the Vapians passing the Equinoctial of Queubus: 'twas very good yfaith: I sent thee sixe pence for thy Lemon, hadst it? Clo. I did impeticos thy gratillity: for Maluolios nose is no Whip-stocke. My Lady has a white hand, and the Mermidons are no bottle-ale houses

An. Excellent: Why this is the best fooling, when all is done. Now a song

To. Come on, there is sixe pence for you. Let's haue a song

An. There's a testrill of me too: if one knight giue a Clo. Would you haue a loue-song, or a song of good life? To. A loue song, a loue song

An. I, I. I care not for good life

Clowne sings . O Mistris mine where are you roming? O stay and heare, your true loues coming, That can sing both high and low. Trip no further prettie sweeting. Iourneys end in louers meeting, Euery wise mans sonne doth know

An. Excellent good, ifaith

To. Good, good

Clo. What is loue, tis not heereafter, Present mirth, hath present laughter: What's to come, is still vnsure. In delay there lies no plentie, Then come kisse me sweet and twentie: Youths a stuffe will not endure

An. A mellifluous voyce, as I am true knight

To. A contagious breath

An. Very sweet, and contagious ifaith

To. To heare by the nose, it is dulcet in contagion. But shall we make the Welkin dance indeed? Shall wee rowze the night-Owle in a Catch, that will drawe three soules out of one Weauer? Shall we do that? And. And you loue me, let's doo't: I am dogge at a Catch

Clo. Byrlady sir, and some dogs will catch well

An. Most certaine: Let our Catch be, Thou Knaue

Clo. Hold thy peace, thou Knaue knight. I shall be constrain'd in't, to call thee knaue, Knight

An. 'Tis not the first time I haue constrained one to call me knaue. Begin foole: it begins, Hold thy peace

Clo. I shall neuer begin if I hold my peace

An. Good ifaith: Come begin.

Catch sung

Enter Maria.

Mar. What a catterwalling doe you keepe heere? If my Ladie haue not call'd vp her Steward Maluolio, and bid him turne you out of doores, neuer trust me

To. My Lady's a Catayan, we are politicians, Maluolios a Peg-a-ramsie, and Three merry men be wee. Am not I consanguinious? Am I not of her blood: tilly vally. Ladie, There dwelt a man in Babylon, Lady, Lady

Clo. Beshrew me, the knights in admirable fooling

An. I, he do's well enough if he be dispos'd, and so do I too: he does it with a better grace, but I do it more naturall

To. O the twelfe day of December

Mar. For the loue o' God peace. Enter Maluolio.

Mal. My masters are you mad? Or what are you? Haue you no wit, manners, nor honestie, but to gabble like Tinkers at this time of night? Do yee make an Alehouse of my Ladies house, that ye squeak out your Coziers Catches without any mitigation or remorse of voice? Is there no respect of place, persons, nor time in you? To. We did keepe time sir in our Catches. Snecke vp

Mal. Sir Toby, I must be round with you. My Lady bad me tell you, that though she harbors you as her kinsman, she's nothing ally'd to your disorders. If you can separate your selfe and your misdemeanors, you are welcome to the house: if not, and it would please you to take leaue of her, she is very willing to bid you farewell

To. Farewell deere heart, since I must needs be gone

Mar. Nay good Sir Toby

Clo. His eyes do shew his dayes are almost done

Mal. Is't euen so? To. But I will neuer dye

Clo. Sir Toby there you lye

Mal. This is much credit to you

To. Shall I bid him go

Clo. What and if you do? To. Shall I bid him go, and spare not? Clo. O no, no, no, no, you dare not

To. Out o' tune sir, ye lye: Art any more then a Steward? Dost thou thinke because thou art vertuous, there shall be no more Cakes and Ale? Clo. Yes by S[aint]. Anne, and Ginger shall bee hotte y'th mouth too

To. Th'art i'th right. Goe sir, rub your Chaine with crums. A stope of Wine Maria

Mal. Mistris Mary, if you priz'd my Ladies fauour at any thing more then contempt, you would not giue meanes for this vnciuill rule; she shall know of it by this hand.

Exit

Mar. Go shake your eares

An. 'Twere as good a deede as to drink when a mans a hungrie, to challenge him the field, and then to breake promise with him, and make a foole of him

To. Doo't knight, Ile write thee a Challenge: or Ile deliuer thy indignation to him by word of mouth

Mar. Sweet Sir Toby be patient for to night: Since the youth of the Counts was to day with my Lady, she is much out of quiet. For Monsieur Maluolio, let me alone with him: If I do not gull him into a nayword, and make him a common recreation, do not thinke I haue witte enough to lye straight in my bed: I know I can do it

To. Possesse vs, possesse vs, tell vs something of him

Mar. Marrie sir, sometimes he is a kinde of Puritane

An. O, if I thought that, Ide beate him like a dogge

To. What for being a Puritan, thy exquisite reason, deere knight

An. I haue no exquisite reason for't, but I haue reason good enough

Mar. The diu'll a Puritane that hee is, or any thing constantly but a time-pleaser, an affection'd Asse, that cons State without booke, and vtters it by great swarths. The best perswaded of himselfe: so cram'd (as he thinkes) with excellencies, that it is his grounds of faith, that all that looke on him, loue him: and on that vice in him, will my reuenge finde notable cause to worke

To. What wilt thou do? Mar. I will drop in his way some obscure Epistles of loue, wherein by the colour of his beard, the shape of his legge, the manner of his gate, the expressure of his eye, forehead, and complection, he shall finde himselfe most feelingly personated. I can write very like my Ladie your Neece, on a forgotten matter wee can hardly make distinction of our hands

To. Excellent, I smell a deuice

An. I hau't in my nose too

To. He shall thinke by the Letters that thou wilt drop that they come from my Neece, and that shee's in loue with him

Mar. My purpose is indeed a horse of that colour

An. And your horse now would make him an Asse

Mar. Asse, I doubt not

An. O twill be admirable

Mar. Sport royall I warrant you: I know my Physicke will worke with him, I will plant you two, and let the Foole make a third, where he shall finde the Letter: obserue his construction of it: For this night to bed, and dreame on the euent: Farewell.

Exit

To. Good night Penthisilea

An. Before me she's a good wench

To. She's a beagle true bred, and one that adores me: what o'that? An. I was ador'd once too

To. Let's to bed knight: Thou hadst neede send for more money

An. If I cannot recouer your Neece, I am a foule way out

To. Send for money knight, if thou hast her not i'th end, call me Cut

An. If I do not, neuer trust me, take it how you will

To. Come, come, Ile go burne some Sacke, tis too late to go to bed now: Come knight, come knight.

Exeunt.

Scena Quarta.

Enter Duke, Viola, Curio, and others

Du. Giue me some Musick; Now good morow frends. Now good Cesario, but that peece of song, That old and Anticke song we heard last night; Me thought it did releeue my passion much, More then light ayres, and recollected termes Of these most briske and giddy-paced times. Come, but one verse

Cur. He is not heere (so please your Lordshippe) that should sing it? Du. Who was it? Cur. Feste the Iester my Lord, a foole that the Ladie Oliuiaes Father tooke much delight in. He is about the house

Du. Seeke him out, and play the tune the while.

Musicke playes.

Come hither Boy, if euer thou shalt loue In the sweet pangs of it, remember me: For such as I am, all true Louers are, Vnstaid and skittish in all motions else, Saue in the constant image of the creature That is belou'd. How dost thou like this tune? Vio. It giues a verie eccho to the seate Where loue is thron'd

Du. Thou dost speake masterly, My life vpon't, yong though thou art, thine eye Hath staid vpon some fauour that it loues: Hath it not boy? Vio. A little, by your fauour

Du. What kinde of woman ist? Vio. Of your complection

Du. She is not worth thee then. What yeares ifaith? Vio. About your yeeres my Lord

Du. Too old by heauen: Let still the woman take An elder then her selfe, so weares she to him; So swayes she leuell in her husbands heart: For boy, howeuer we do praise our selues, Our fancies are more giddie and vnfirme, More longing, wauering, sooner lost and worne, Then womens are

Vio. I thinke it well my Lord

Du. Then let thy Loue be yonger then thy selfe, Or thy affection cannot hold the bent: For women are as Roses, whose faire flowre Being once displaid, doth fall that verie howre

Vio. And so they are: alas, that they are so: To die, euen when they to perfection grow. Enter Curio & Clowne.

Du. O fellow come, the song we had last night: Marke it Cesario, it is old and plaine; The Spinsters and the Knitters in the Sun, And the free maides that weaue their thred with bones, Do vse to chaunt it: it is silly sooth, And dallies with the innocence of loue, Like the old age

Clo. Are you ready Sir? Duke. I prethee sing.

Musicke.

The Song.

Come away, come away death, And in sad cypresse let me be laide. Fye away, fie away breath, I am slaine by a faire cruell maide: My shrowd of white, stuck all with Ew, O prepare it. My part of death no one so true did share it. Not a flower, not a flower sweete On my blacke coffin, let there be strewne: Not a friend, not a friend greet My poore corpes, where my bones shall be throwne: A thousand thousand sighes to saue, lay me o where Sad true louer neuer find my graue, to weepe there

Du. There's for thy paines

Clo. No paines sir, I take pleasure in singing sir

Du. Ile pay thy pleasure then

Clo. Truely sir, and pleasure will be paide one time, or another

Du. Giue me now leaue, to leaue thee

Clo. Now the melancholly God protect thee, and the Tailor make thy doublet of changeable Taffata, for thy minde is a very Opall. I would haue men of such constancie put to Sea, that their businesse might be euery thing, and their intent euerie where, for that's it, that alwayes makes a good voyage of nothing. Farewell.

Exit

Du. Let all the rest giue place: Once more Cesario, Get thee to yond same soueraigne crueltie: Tell her my loue, more noble then the world Prizes not quantitie of dirtie lands, The parts that fortune hath bestow'd vpon her: Tell her I hold as giddily as Fortune: But 'tis that miracle, and Queene of Iems That nature prankes her in, attracts my soule

Vio. But if she cannot loue you sir

Du. It cannot be so answer'd

Vio. Sooth but you must. Say that some Lady, as perhappes there is, Hath for your loue as great a pang of heart As you haue for Oliuia: you cannot loue her: You tel her so: Must she not then be answer'd? Du. There is no womans sides Can bide the beating of so strong a passion, As loue doth giue my heart: no womans heart So bigge, to hold so much, they lacke retention. Alas, their loue may be call'd appetite, No motion of the Liuer, but the Pallat, That suffer surfet, cloyment, and reuolt, But mine is all as hungry as the Sea, And can digest as much, make no compare Betweene that loue a woman can beare me, And that I owe Oliuia

Vio. I but I know

Du. What dost thou knowe? Vio. Too well what loue women to men may owe: In faith they are as true of heart, as we. My Father had a daughter lou'd a man As it might be perhaps, were I a woman I should your Lordship

Du. And what's her history? Vio. A blanke my Lord: she neuer told her loue, But let concealment like a worme i'th budde Feede on her damaske cheeke: she pin'd in thought, And with a greene and yellow melancholly, She sate like Patience on a Monument, Smiling at greefe. Was not this loue indeede? We men may say more, sweare more, but indeed Our shewes are more then will: for still we proue Much in our vowes, but little in our loue

Du. But di'de thy sister of her loue my Boy? Vio. I am all the daughters of my Fathers house, And all the brothers too: and yet I know not. Sir, shall I to this Lady? Du. I that's the Theame, To her in haste: giue her this Iewell: say, My loue can giue no place, bide no denay.

Exeunt.

Scena Quinta.

Enter Sir Toby, Sir Andrew, and Fabian.

To. Come thy wayes Signior Fabian

Fab. Nay Ile come: if I loose a scruple of this sport, let me be boyl'd to death with Melancholly

To. Wouldst thou not be glad to haue the niggardly Rascally sheepe-biter, come by some notable shame? Fa. I would exult man: you know he brought me out o' fauour with my Lady, about a Beare-baiting heere

To. To anger him wee'l haue the Beare againe, and we will foole him blacke and blew, shall we not sir Andrew? An. And we do not, it is pittie of our liues. Enter Maria.

To. Heere comes the little villaine: How now my Mettle of India? Mar. Get ye all three into the box tree: Maluolio's comming downe this walke, he has beene yonder i'the Sunne practising behauiour to his own shadow this halfe houre: obserue him for the loue of Mockerie: for I know this Letter wil make a contemplatiue Ideot of him. Close in the name of ieasting, lye thou there: for heere comes the Trowt, that must be caught with tickling.

Exit

Enter Maluolio.

Mal. 'Tis but Fortune, all is fortune. Maria once told me she did affect me, and I haue heard her self come thus neere, that should shee fancie, it should bee one of my complection. Besides she vses me with a more exalted respect, then any one else that followes her. What should I thinke on't? To. Heere's an ouer-weening rogue

Fa. Oh peace: Contemplation makes a rare Turkey Cocke of him, how he iets vnder his aduanc'd plumes

And. Slight I could so beate the Rogue

To. Peace I say

Mal. To be Count Maluolio

To. Ah Rogue

An. Pistoll him, pistoll him

To. Peace, peace

Mal. There is example for't: The Lady of the Strachy, married the yeoman of the wardrobe

An. Fie on him Iezabel

Fa. O peace, now he's deepely in: looke how imagination blowes him

Mal. Hauing beene three moneths married to her, sitting in my state

To. O for a stone-bow to hit him in the eye

Mal. Calling my Officers about me, in my branch'd Veluet gowne: hauing come from a day bedde, where I haue left Oliuia sleeping

To. Fire and Brimstone

Fa. O peace, peace

Mal. And then to haue the humor of state: and after a demure trauaile of regard: telling them I knowe my place, as I would they should doe theirs: to aske for my kinsman Toby

To. Boltes and shackles

Fa. Oh peace, peace, peace, now, now

Mal. Seauen of my people with an obedient start, make out for him: I frowne the while, and perchance winde vp my watch, or play with my some rich Iewell: Toby approaches; curtsies there to me

To. Shall this fellow liue? Fa. Though our silence be drawne from vs with cars, yet peace

Mal. I extend my hand to him thus: quenching my familiar smile with an austere regard of controll

To. And do's not Toby take you a blow o'the lippes, then? Mal. Saying, Cosine Toby, my Fortunes hauing cast me on your Neece, giue me this prerogatiue of speech

To. What, what? Mal. You must amend your drunkennesse

To. Out scab

Fab. Nay patience, or we breake the sinewes of our plot? Mal. Besides you waste the treasure of your time, with a foolish knight

And. That's mee I warrant you

Mal. One sir Andrew

And. I knew 'twas I, for many do call mee foole

Mal. What employment haue we heere? Fa. Now is the Woodcocke neere the gin

To. Oh peace, and the spirit of humors intimate reading aloud to him

Mal. By my life this is my Ladies hand: these bee her very C's, her V's, and her T's, and thus makes shee her great P's. It is in contempt of question her hand

An. Her C's, her V's, and her T's: why that? Mal. To the vnknowne belou'd, this, and my good Wishes: Her very Phrases: By your leaue wax. Soft, and the impressure her Lucrece, with which she vses to seale: tis my Lady: To whom should this be? Fab. This winnes him, Liuer and all

Mal. Ioue knowes I loue, but who, Lips do not mooue, no man must know. No man must know. What followes? The numbers alter'd: No man must know, If this should be thee Maluolio? To. Marrie hang thee brocke

Mal. I may command where I adore, but silence like a Lucresse knife: With bloodlesse stroke my heart doth gore, M.O.A.I. doth sway my life

Fa. A fustian riddle

To. Excellent Wench, say I

Mal. M.O.A.I. doth sway my life. Nay but first let me see, let me see, let me see

Fab. What dish a poyson has she drest him? To. And with what wing the stallion checkes at it? Mal. I may command, where I adore: Why shee may command me: I serue her, she is my Ladie. Why this is euident to any formall capacitie. There is no obstruction in this, and the end: What should that Alphabeticall position portend, if I could make that resemble something in me? Softly, M.O.A.I

To. O I, make vp that, he is now at a cold sent

Fab. Sowter will cry vpon't for all this, though it bee as ranke as a Fox

Mal. M. Maluolio, M. why that begins my name

Fab. Did not I say he would worke it out, the Curre is excellent at faults

Mal. M. But then there is no consonancy in the sequell that suffers vnder probation: A. should follow, but O. does

Fa. And O shall end, I hope

To. I, or Ile cudgell him, and make him cry O

Mal. And then I. comes behind

Fa. I, and you had any eye behinde you, you might see more detraction at your heeles, then Fortunes before you

Mal. M,O,A,I. This simulation is not as the former: and yet to crush this a little, it would bow to mee, for euery one of these Letters are in my name. Soft, here followes prose: If this fall into thy hand, reuolue. In my stars I am aboue thee, but be not affraid of greatnesse: Some are become great, some atcheeues greatnesse, and some haue greatnesse thrust vppon em. Thy fates open theyr hands, let thy blood and spirit embrace them, and to invre thy selfe to what thou art like to be: cast thy humble slough, and appeare fresh. Be opposite with a kinsman, surly with seruants: Let thy tongue tang arguments of state; put thy selfe into the tricke of singularitie. Shee thus aduises thee, that sighes for thee. Remember who commended thy yellow stockings, and wish'd to see thee euer crosse garter'd: I say remember, goe too, thou art made if thou desir'st to be so: If not, let me see thee a steward still, the fellow of seruants, and not woorthie to touch Fortunes fingers Farewell, Shee that would alter seruices with thee, the fortunate vnhappy daylight and champian discouers not more: This is open, I will bee proud, I will reade politicke Authours, I will baffle Sir Toby, I will wash off grosse acquaintance, I will be point deuise, the very man. I do not now foole my selfe, to let imagination iade mee; for euery reason excites to this, that my Lady loues me. She did commend my yellow stockings of late, shee did praise my legge being crosse-garter'd, and in this she manifests her selfe to my loue, & with a kinde of iniunction driues mee to these habites of her liking. I thanke my starres, I am happy: I will bee strange, stout, in yellow stockings, and crosse Garter'd, euen with the swiftnesse of putting on. Ioue, and my starres be praised. Heere is yet a postscript. Thou canst not choose but know who I am. If thou entertainst my loue, let it appeare in thy smiling, thy smiles become thee well. Therefore in my presence still smile, deero my sweete, I prethee. Ioue I thanke thee, I will smile, I wil do euery thing that thou wilt haue me.

Exit

Fab. I will not giue my part of this sport for a pension of thousands to be paid from the Sophy

To. I could marry this wench for this deuice

An. So could I too

To. And aske no other dowry with her, but such another iest. Enter Maria.

An. Nor I neither

Fab. Heere comes my noble gull catcher

To. Wilt thou set thy foote o'my necke

An. Or o'mine either? To. Shall I play my freedome at tray-trip, and becom thy bondslaue? An. Ifaith, or I either? Tob. Why, thou hast put him in such a dreame, that when the image of it leaues him, he must run mad

Ma. Nay but say true, do's it worke vpon him? To. Like Aqua vite with a Midwife

Mar. If you will then see the fruites of the sport, mark his first approach before my Lady: hee will come to her in yellow stockings, and 'tis a colour she abhorres, and crosse garter'd, a fashion shee detests: and hee will smile vpon her, which will now be so vnsuteable to her disposition, being addicted to a melancholly, as shee is, that it cannot but turn him into a notable contempt: if you wil see it follow me

To. To the gates of Tartar, thou most excellent diuell of wit

And. Ile make one too.

Exeunt.

Finis Actus secundus

Actus Tertius, Scaena prima.

Enter Viola and Clowne.

Vio. Saue thee Friend and thy Musick: dost thou liue by thy Tabor? Clo. No sir, I liue by the Church

Vio. Art thou a Churchman? Clo. No such matter sir, I do liue by the Church: For, I do liue at my house, and my house dooth stand by the Church

Vio. So thou maist say the Kings lyes by a begger, if a begger dwell neer him: or the Church stands by thy Tabor, if thy Tabor stand by the Church

Clo. You haue said sir: To see this age: A sentence is but a cheu'rill gloue to a good witte, how quickely the wrong side may be turn'd outward

Vio. Nay that's certaine: they that dally nicely with words, may quickely make them wanton

Clo. I would therefore my sister had had no name Sir

Vio. Why man? Clo. Why sir, her names a word, and to dallie with that word, might make my sister wanton: But indeede, words are very Rascals, since bonds disgrac'd them

Vio. Thy reason man? Clo. Troth sir, I can yeeld you none without wordes, and wordes are growne so false, I am loath to proue reason with them

Vio. I warrant thou art a merry fellow, and car'st for nothing

Clo. Not so sir, I do care for something: but in my conscience sir, I do not care for you: if that be to care for nothing sir, I would it would make you inuisible

Vio. Art not thou the Lady Oliuia's foole? Clo. No indeed sir, the Lady Oliuia has no folly, shee will keepe no foole sir, till she be married, and fooles are as like husbands, as Pilchers are to Herrings, the Husbands the bigger, I am indeede not her foole, but hir corrupter of words

Vio. I saw thee late at the Count Orsino's

Clo. Foolery sir, does walke about the Orbe like the Sun, it shines euery where. I would be sorry sir, but the Foole should be as oft with your Master, as with my Mistris: I thinke I saw your wisedome there

Vio. Nay, and thou passe vpon me, Ile no more with thee. Hold there's expences for thee

Clo. Now Ioue in his next commodity of hayre, send thee a beard

Vio. By my troth Ile tell thee, I am almost sicke for one, though I would not haue it grow on my chinne. Is thy Lady within? Clo Would not a paire of these haue bred sir? Vio. Yes being kept together, and put to vse

Clo. I would play Lord Pandarus of Phrygia sir, to bring a Cressida to this Troylus

Vio. I vnderstand you sir, tis well begg'd

Clo. The matter I hope is not great sir; begging, but a begger: Cressida was a begger. My Lady is within sir. I will conster to them whence you come, who you are, and what you would are out of my welkin, I might say Element, but the word is ouer-worne.

Exit

Vio. This fellow is wise enough to play the foole, And to do that well, craues a kinde of wit: He must obserue their mood on whom he iests, The quality of persons, and the time: And like the Haggard, checke at euery Feather That comes before his eye. This is a practice, As full of labour as a Wise-mans Art: For folly that he wisely shewes, is fit; But wisemens folly falne, quite taint their wit. Enter Sir Toby and Andrew.

To. Saue you Gentleman

Vio. And you sir

And. Dieu vou guard Monsieur

Vio. Et vouz ousie vostre seruiture

An. I hope sir, you are, and I am yours

To. Will you incounter the house, my Neece is desirous you should enter, if your trade be to her

Vio. I am bound to your Neece sir, I meane she is the list of my voyage

To. Taste your legges sir, put them to motion

Vio. My legges do better vnderstand me sir, then I vnderstand what you meane by bidding me taste my legs

To. I meane to go sir, to enter

Vio. I will answer you with gate and entrance, but we are preuented. Enter Oliuia, and Gentlewoman.

Most excellent accomplish'd Lady, the heauens raine Odours on you

And. That youth's a rare Courtier, raine odours, wel

Vio. My matter hath no voice Lady, but to your owne most pregnant and vouchsafed eare

And. Odours, pregnant, and vouchsafed: Ile get 'em all three already

Ol. Let the Garden doore be shut, and leaue mee to my hearing. Giue me your hand sir

Vio. My dutie Madam, and most humble seruice

Ol. What is your name? Vio. Cesario is your seruants name, faire Princesse

Ol. My seruant sir? 'Twas neuer merry world, Since lowly feigning was call'd complement: Y'are seruant to the Count Orsino youth

Vio. And he is yours, and his must needs be yours: Your seruants seruant, is your seruant Madam

Ol. For him, I thinke not on him: for his thoughts, Would they were blankes, rather then fill'd with me

Vio. Madam, I come to whet your gentle thoughts On his behalfe

Ol. O by your leaue I pray you. I bad you neuer speake againe of him; But would you vndertake another suite I had rather heare you, to solicit that, Then Musicke from the spheares

Vio. Deere Lady

Ol. Giue me leaue, beseech you: I did send, After the last enchantment you did heare, A Ring in chace of you. So did I abuse My selfe, my seruant, and I feare me you: Vnder your hard construction must I sit, To force that on you in a shamefull cunning Which you knew none of yours. What might you think? Haue you not set mine Honor at the stake, And baited it with all th' vnmuzled thoughts That tyrannous heart can think? To one of your receiuing Enough is shewne, a Cipresse, not a bosome, Hides my heart: so let me heare you speake

Vio. I pittie you

Ol. That's a degree to loue

Vio. No not a grize: for tis a vulgar proofe That verie oft we pitty enemies

Ol. Why then me thinkes 'tis time to smile agen: O world, how apt the poore are to be proud? If one should be a prey, how much the better To fall before the Lion, then the Wolfe?

Clocke strikes.

The clocke vpbraides me with the waste of time: Be not affraid good youth, I will not haue you, And yet when wit and youth is come to haruest, Your wife is like to reape a proper man: There lies your way, due West

Vio. Then Westward hoe: Grace and good disposition attend your Ladyship: You'l nothing Madam to my Lord, by me: Ol. Stay: I prethee tell me what thou thinkst of me? Vio. That you do thinke you are not what you are

Ol. If I thinke so, I thinke the same of you

Vio. Then thinke you right: I am not what I am

Ol. I would you were, as I would haue you be

Vio. Would it be better Madam, then I am? I wish it might, for now I am your foole

Ol. O what a deale of scorne, lookes beautifull? In the contempt and anger of his lip, A murdrous guilt shewes not it selfe more soone, Then loue that would seeme hid: Loues night, is noone. Cesario, by the Roses of the Spring, By maid-hood, honor, truth, and euery thing, I loue thee so, that maugre all thy pride, Nor wit, nor reason, can my passion hide: Do not extort thy reasons from this clause, For that I woo, thou therefore hast no cause: But rather reason thus, with reason fetter; Loue sought, is good: but giuen vnsought, is better

Vio. By innocence I sweare, and by my youth, I haue one heart, one bosome, and one truth, And that no woman has, nor neuer none Shall mistris be of it, saue I alone. And so adieu good Madam, neuer more, Will I my Masters teares to you deplore

Ol. Yet come againe: for thou perhaps mayst moue That heart which now abhorres, to like his loue.

Exeunt.

Scoena Secunda.

Enter Sir Toby, Sir Andrew, and Fabian.

And. No faith, Ile not stay a iot longer: To. Thy reason deere venom, giue thy reason

Fab. You must needes yeelde your reason, Sir Andrew? And. Marry I saw your Neece do more fauours to the Counts Seruing-man, then euer she bestow'd vpon mee: I saw't i'th Orchard

To. Did she see the while, old boy, tell me that

And. As plaine as I see you now

Fab. This was a great argument of loue in her toward you

And. S'light; will you make an Asse o'me

Fab. I will proue it legitimate sir, vpon the Oathes of iudgement, and reason

To. And they haue beene grand Iurie men, since before Noah was a Saylor

Fab. Shee did shew fauour to the youth in your sight, onely to exasperate you, to awake your dormouse valour, to put fire in your Heart, and brimstone in your Liuer: you should then haue accosted her, and with some excellent iests, fire-new from the mint, you should haue bangd the youth into dumbenesse: this was look'd for at your hand, and this was baulkt: the double gilt of this opportunitie you let time wash off, and you are now sayld into the North of my Ladies opinion, where you will hang like an ysickle on a Dutchmans beard, vnlesse you do redeeme it, by some laudable attempt, either of valour or policie

And. And't be any way, it must be with Valour, for policie I hate: I had as liefe be a Brownist, as a Politician

To. Why then build me thy fortunes vpon the basis of valour. Challenge me the Counts youth to fight with him hurt him in eleuen places, my Neece shall take note of it, and assure thy selfe, there is no loue-Broker in the world, can more preuaile in mans commendation with woman, then report of valour

Fab. There is no way but this sir Andrew

An. Will either of you beare me a challenge to him? To. Go, write it in a martial hand, be curst and briefe: it is no matter how wittie, so it bee eloquent, and full of inuention: taunt him with the license of Inke: if thou thou'st him some thrice, it shall not be amisse, and as many Lyes, as will lye in thy sheete of paper, although the sheete were bigge enough for the bedde of Ware in England, set 'em downe, go about it. Let there bee gaulle enough in thy inke, though thou write with a Goose-pen, no matter: about it

And. Where shall I finde you? To. Wee'l call thee at the Cubiculo: Go.

Exit Sir Andrew.

Fa. This is a deere Manakin to you Sir Toby

To. I haue beene deere to him lad, some two thousand strong, or so

Fa. We shall haue a rare Letter from him; but you'le not deliuer't

To. Neuer trust me then: and by all meanes stirre on the youth to an answer. I thinke Oxen and waine-ropes cannot hale them together. For Andrew, if he were open'd and you finde so much blood in his Liuer, as will clog the foote of a flea, Ile eate the rest of th' anatomy

Fab. And his opposit the youth beares in his visage no great presage of cruelty. Enter Maria.

To. Looke where the youngest Wren of mine comes

Mar. If you desire the spleene, and will laughe your selues into stitches, follow me; yond gull Maluolio is turned Heathen, a verie Renegatho; for there is no christian that meanes to be saued by beleeuing rightly, can euer beleeue such impossible passages of grossenesse. Hee's in yellow stockings

To. And crosse garter'd? Mar. Most villanously: like a Pedant that keepes a Schoole i'th Church: I haue dogg'd him like his murtherer. He does obey euery point of the Letter that I dropt, to betray him: He does smile his face into more lynes, then is in the new Mappe, with the augmentation of the Indies: you haue not seene such a thing as tis: I can hardly forbeare hurling things at him, I know my Ladie will strike him: if shee doe, hee'l smile, and take't for a great fauour

To. Come bring vs, bring vs where he is.

Exeunt. Omnes.

Scaena Tertia.

Enter Sebastian and Anthonio.

Seb. I would not by my will haue troubled you, But since you make your pleasure of your paines, I will no further chide you

Ant. I could not stay behinde you: my desire (More sharpe then filed steele) did spurre me forth, And not all loue to see you (though so much As might haue drawne one to a longer voyage) But iealousie, what might befall your trauell, Being skillesse in these parts: which to a stranger, Vnguided, and vnfriended, often proue Rough, and vnhospitable. My willing loue, The rather by these arguments of feare Set forth in your pursuite

Seb. My kinde Anthonio, I can no other answer make, but thankes, And thankes: and euer oft good turnes, Are shuffel'd off with such vncurrant pay: But were my worth, as is my conscience firme, You should finde better dealing: what's to do? Shall we go see the reliques of this Towne? Ant. To morrow sir, best first go see your Lodging? Seb. I am not weary, and 'tis long to night I pray you let vs satisfie our eyes With the memorials, and the things of fame That do renowne this City