THE COMEDY OF ERRORS ACT I. SCENE 1 A hall in the DUKE'S palace Enter the DUKE OF EPHESUS, AEGEON, the Merchant of Syracuse, GAOLER, OFFICERS, and other ATTENDANTS AEGEON. Proceed, Solinus, to procure my fall, And by the doom of death end woes and all. DUKE. Merchant of Syracuse, plead no more; I am not partial to infringe our laws. The enmity and discord which of late Sprung from the rancorous outrage of your duke To merchants, our well-dealing countrymen, Who, wanting guilders to redeem their lives, Have seal'd his rigorous statutes with their bloods, Excludes all pity from our threat'ning looks. For, since the mortal and intestine jars 'Twixt thy seditious countrymen and us, It hath in solemn synods been decreed, Both by the Syracusians and ourselves, To admit no traffic to our adverse towns; Nay, more: if any born at Ephesus Be seen at any Syracusian marts and fairs; Again, if any Syracusian born Come to the bay of Ephesus-he dies, His goods confiscate to the Duke's dispose, Unless a thousand marks be levied, To quit the penalty and to ransom him. Thy substance, valued at the highest rate, Cannot amount unto a hundred marks; Therefore by law thou art condemn'd to die. AEGEON. Yet this my comfort: when your words are done, My woes end likewise with the evening sun. DUKE. Well, Syracusian, say in brief the cause Why thou departed'st from thy native home, And for what cause thou cam'st to Ephesus. AEGEON. A heavier task could not have been impos'd Than I to speak my griefs unspeakable; Yet, that the world may witness that my end Was wrought by nature, not by vile offence, I'll utter what my sorrow gives me leave. In Syracuse was I born, and wed Unto a woman, happy but for me, And by me, had not our hap been bad. With her I liv'd in joy; our wealth increas'd By prosperous voyages I often made To Epidamnum; till my factor's death, And the great care of goods at random left, Drew me from kind embracements of my spouse: From whom my absence was not six months old, Before herself, almost at fainting under The pleasing punishment that women bear, Had made provision for her following me, And soon and safe arrived where I was. There had she not been long but she became A joyful mother of two goodly sons; And, which was strange, the one so like the other As could not be disdnguish'd but by names. That very hour, and in the self-same inn, A mean woman was delivered Of such a burden, male twins, both alike. Those, for their parents were exceeding poor, I bought, and brought up to attend my sons. My wife, not meanly proud of two such boys, Made daily motions for our home return; Unwilling, I agreed. Alas! too soon We came aboard. A league from Epidamnum had we sail'd Before the always-wind-obeying deep Gave any tragic instance of our harm: But longer did we not retain much hope, For what obscured light the heavens did grant Did but convey unto our fearful minds A doubtful warrant of immediate death; Which though myself would gladly have embrac'd, Yet the incessant weepings of my wife, Weeping before for what she saw must come, And piteous plainings of the pretty babes, That mourn'd for fashion, ignorant what to fear, Forc'd me to seek delays for them and me. And this it was, for other means was none: The sailors sought for safety by our boat, And left the ship, then sinking-ripe, to us; My wife, more careful for the latter-born, Had fast'ned him unto a small spare mast, Such as sea-faring men provide for storms; To him one of the other twins was bound, Whilst I had been like heedful of the other. The children thus dispos'd, my wife and I, Fixing our eyes on whom our care was fix'd, Fast'ned ourselves at either end the mast, And, floating straight, obedient to the stream, Was carried towards Corinth, as we thought. At length the sun, gazing upon the earth, Dispers'd those vapours that offended us; And, by the benefit of his wished light, The seas wax'd calm, and we discovered Two ships from far making amain to us- Of Corinth that, of Epidaurus this. But ere they came-O, let me say no more! Gather the sequel by that went before. DUKE. Nay, forward, old man, do not break off so; For we may pity, though not pardon thee. AEGEON. O, had the gods done so, I had not now Worthily term'd them merciless to us! For, ere the ships could meet by twice five leagues, We were encount'red by a mighty rock, Which being violently borne upon, Our helpful ship was splitted in the midst; So that, in this unjust divorce of us, Fortune had left to both of us alike What to delight in, what to sorrow for. Her part, poor soul, seeming as burdened With lesser weight, but not with lesser woe, Was carried with more speed before the wind; And in our sight they three were taken up By fishermen of Corinth, as we thought. At length another ship had seiz'd on us; And, knowing whom it was their hap to save, Gave healthful welcome to their ship-wreck'd guests, And would have reft the fishers of their prey, Had not their bark been very slow of sail; And therefore homeward did they bend their course. Thus have you heard me sever'd from my bliss, That by misfortunes was my life prolong'd, To tell sad stories of my own mishaps. DUKE. And, for the sake of them thou sorrowest for, Do me the favour to dilate at full What have befall'n of them and thee till now. AEGEON. My youngest boy, and yet my eldest care, At eighteen years became inquisitive After his brother, and importun'd me That his attendant-so his case was like, Reft of his brother, but retain'd his name- Might bear him company in the quest of him; Whom whilst I laboured of a love to see, I hazarded the loss of whom I lov'd. Five summers have I spent in farthest Greece, Roaming clean through the bounds of Asia, And, coasting homeward, came to Ephesus; Hopeless to find, yet loath to leave unsought Or that or any place that harbours men. But here must end the story of my life; And happy were I in my timely death, Could all my travels warrant me they live. DUKE. Hapless, Aegeon, whom the fates have mark'd To bear the extremity of dire mishap! Now, trust me, were it not against our laws, Against my crown, my oath, my dignity, Which princes, would they, may not disannul, My soul should sue as advocate for thee. But though thou art adjudged to the death, And passed sentence may not be recall'd But to our honour's great disparagement, Yet will I favour thee in what I can. Therefore, merchant, I'll limit thee this day To seek thy help by beneficial hap. Try all the friends thou hast in Ephesus; Beg thou, or borrow, to make up the sum, And live; if no, then thou art doom'd to die. Gaoler, take him to thy custody. GAOLER. I will, my lord. AEGEON. Hopeless and helpless doth Aegeon wend, But to procrastinate his lifeless end. > ACT Il. SCENE 1 The house of ANTIPHOLUS OF EPHESUS Enter ADRIANA, wife to ANTIPHOLUS OF EPHESUS, with LUCIANA, her sister ADRIANA. Neither my husband nor the slave return'd That in such haste I sent to seek his master! Sure, Luciana, it is two o'clock. LUCIANA. Perhaps some merchant hath invited him, And from the mart he's somewhere gone to dinner; Good sister, let us dine, and never fret. A man is master of his liberty; Time is their master, and when they see time, They'll go or come. If so, be patient, sister. ADRIANA. Why should their liberty than ours be more? LUCIANA. Because their business still lies out o' door. ADRIANA. Look when I serve him so, he takes it ill. LUCIANA. O, know he is the bridle of your will. ADRIANA. There's none but asses will be bridled so. LUCIANA. Why, headstrong liberty is lash'd with woe. There's nothing situate under heaven's eye But hath his bound, in earth, in sea, in sky. The beasts, the fishes, and the winged fowls, Are their males' subjects, and at their controls. Man, more divine, the master of all these, Lord of the wide world and wild wat'ry seas, Indu'd with intellectual sense and souls, Of more pre-eminence than fish and fowls, Are masters to their females, and their lords; Then let your will attend on their accords. ADRIANA. This servitude makes you to keep unwed. LUCIANA. Not this, but troubles of the marriage-bed. ADRIANA. But, were you wedded, you would bear some sway. LUCIANA. Ere I learn love, I'll practise to obey. ADRIANA. How if your husband start some other where? LUCIANA. Till he come home again, I would forbear. ADRIANA. Patience unmov'd! no marvel though she pause: They can be meek that have no other cause. A wretched soul, bruis'd with adversity, We bid be quiet when we hear it cry; But were we burd'ned with like weight of pain, As much, or more, we should ourselves complain. So thou, that hast no unkind mate to grieve thee, With urging helpless patience would relieve me; But if thou live to see like right bereft, This fool-begg'd patience in thee will be left. LUCIANA. Well, I will marry one day, but to try. Here comes your man, now is your husband nigh. Enter DROMIO OF EPHESUS ADRIANA. Say, is your tardy master now at hand? DROMIO OF EPHESUS. Nay, he's at two hands with me, and that my two ears can witness. ADRIANA. Say, didst thou speak with him? Know'st thou his mind? DROMIO OF EPHESUS. Ay, ay, he told his mind upon mine ear. Beshrew his hand, I scarce could understand it. LUCIANA. Spake he so doubtfully thou could'st not feel his meaning? DROMIO OF EPHESUS. Nay, he struck so plainly I could to well feel his blows; and withal so doubtfully that I could scarce understand them. ADRIANA. But say, I prithee, is he coming home? It seems he hath great care to please his wife. DROMIO OF EPHESUS. Why, mistress, sure my master is horn-mad. ADRIANA. Horn-mad, thou villain! DROMIO OF EPHESUS. I mean not cuckold-mad; But, sure, he is stark mad. When I desir'd him to come home to dinner, He ask'd me for a thousand marks in gold. "Tis dinner time' quoth I; 'My gold!' quoth he. 'Your meat doth burn' quoth I; 'My gold!' quoth he. 'Will you come home?' quoth I; 'My gold!' quoth he. 'Where is the thousand marks I gave thee, villain?' 'The pig' quoth I 'is burn'd'; 'My gold!' quoth he. 'My mistress, sir,' quoth I; 'Hang up thy mistress; I know not thy mistress; out on thy mistress.' LUCIANA. Quoth who? DROMIO OF EPHESUS. Quoth my master. 'I know' quoth he 'no house, no wife, no mistress.' So that my errand, due unto my tongue, I thank him, I bare home upon my shoulders; For, in conclusion, he did beat me there. ADRIANA. Go back again, thou slave, and fetch him home. DROMIO OF EPHESUS. Go back again, and be new beaten home? For God's sake, send some other messenger. ADRIANA. Back, slave, or I will break thy pate across. DROMIO OF EPHESUS. And he will bless that cross with other beating; Between you I shall have a holy head. ADRIANA. Hence, prating peasant! Fetch thy master home. DROMIO OF EPHESUS. Am I so round with you, as you with me, That like a football you do spurn me thus? You spurn me hence, and he will spurn me hither; If I last in this service, you must case me in leather. > ACT III. SCENE 1 Before the house of ANTIPHOLUS OF EPHESUS Enter ANTIPHOLUS OF EPHESUS, DROMIO OF EPHESUS, ANGELO, and BALTHAZAR ANTIPHOLUS OF EPHESUS. Good Signior Angelo, you must excuse us all; My wife is shrewish when I keep not hours. Say that I linger'd with you at your shop To see the making of her carcanet, And that to-morrow you will bring it home. But here's a villain that would face me down He met me on the mart, and that I beat him, And charg'd him with a thousand marks in gold, And that I did deny my wife and house. Thou drunkard, thou, what didst thou mean by this? DROMIO OF EPHESUS. Say what you will, sir, but I know what I know. That you beat me at the mart I have your hand to show; If the skin were parchment, and the blows you gave were ink, Your own handwriting would tell you what I think. ANTIPHOLUS OF EPHESUS. I think thou art an ass. DROMIO OF EPHESUS. Marry, so it doth appear By the wrongs I suffer and the blows I bear. I should kick, being kick'd; and being at that pass, You would keep from my heels, and beware of an ass. ANTIPHOLUS OF EPHESUS. Y'are sad, Signior Balthazar; pray God our cheer May answer my good will and your good welcome here. BALTHAZAR. I hold your dainties cheap, sir, and your welcome dear. ANTIPHOLUS OF EPHESUS. O, Signior Balthazar, either at flesh or fish, A table full of welcome makes scarce one dainty dish. BALTHAZAR. Good meat, sir, is common; that every churl affords. ANTIPHOLUS OF EPHESUS. And welcome more common; for that's nothing but words. BALTHAZAR. Small cheer and great welcome makes a merry feast. ANTIPHOLUS OF EPHESUS. Ay, to a niggardly host and more sparing guest. But though my cates be mean, take them in good part; Better cheer may you have, but not with better heart. But, soft, my door is lock'd; go bid them let us in. DROMIO OF EPHESUS. Maud, Bridget, Marian, Cicely, Gillian, Ginn! DROMIO OF SYRACUSE. [Within] Mome, malt-horse, capon, coxcomb, idiot, patch! Either get thee from the door, or sit down at the hatch. Dost thou conjure for wenches, that thou call'st for such store, When one is one too many? Go get thee from the door. DROMIO OF EPHESUS. What patch is made our porter? My master stays in the street. DROMIO OF SYRACUSE. [Within] Let him walk from whence he came, lest he catch cold on's feet. ANTIPHOLUS OF EPHESUS. Who talks within there? Ho, open the door! DROMIO OF SYRACUSE. [Within] Right, sir; I'll tell you when, an you'll tell me wherefore. ANTIPHOLUS OF EPHESUS. Wherefore? For my dinner; I have not din'd to-day. DROMIO OF SYRACUSE. [Within] Nor to-day here you must not; come again when you may. ANTIPHOLUS OF EPHESUS. What art thou that keep'st me out from the house I owe? DROMIO OF SYRACUSE. [Within] The porter for this time, sir, and my name is Dromio. DROMIO OF EPHESUS. O Villain, thou hast stol'n both mine office and my name! The one ne'er got me credit, the other mickle blame. If thou hadst been Dromio to-day in my place, Thou wouldst have chang'd thy face for a name, or thy name for an ass. Enter LUCE, within LUCE. [Within] What a coil is there, Dromio? Who are those at the gate? DROMIO OF EPHESUS. Let my master in, Luce. LUCE. [Within] Faith, no, he comes too late; And so tell your master. DROMIO OF EPHESUS. O Lord, I must laugh! Have at you with a proverb: Shall I set in my staff? LUCE. [Within] Have at you with another: that's-when? can you tell? DROMIO OF SYRACUSE. [Within] If thy name be called Luce -Luce, thou hast answer'd him well. ANTIPHOLUS OF EPHESUS. Do you hear, you minion? You'll let us in, I hope? LUCE. [Within] I thought to have ask'd you. DROMIO OF SYRACUSE. [Within] And you said no. DROMIO OF EPHESUS. SO, Come, help: well struck! there was blow for blow. ANTIPHOLUS OF EPHESUS. Thou baggage, let me in. LUCE. [Within] Can you tell for whose sake? DROMIO OF EPHESUS. Master, knock the door hard. LUCE. [Within] Let him knock till it ache. ANTIPHOLUS OF EPHESUS. You'll cry for this, minion, if beat the door down. LUCE. [Within] What needs all that, and a pair of stocks in the town? Enter ADRIANA, within ADRIANA. [Within] Who is that at the door, that keeps all this noise? DROMIO OF SYRACUSE. [Within] By my troth, your town is troubled with unruly boys. ANTIPHOLUS OF EPHESUS. Are you there, wife? You might have come before. ADRIANA. [Within] Your wife, sir knave! Go get you from the door. DROMIO OF EPHESUS. If YOU went in pain, master, this 'knave' would go sore. ANGELO. Here is neither cheer, sir, nor welcome; we would fain have either. BALTHAZAR. In debating which was best, we shall part with neither. DROMIO OF EPHESUS. They stand at the door, master; bid them welcome hither. ANTIPHOLUS OF EPHESUS. There is something in the wind, that we cannot get in. DROMIO OF EPHESUS. You would say so, master, if your garments were thin. Your cake here is warm within; you stand here in the cold; It would make a man mad as a buck to be so bought and sold. ANTIPHOLUS OF EPHESUS. Go fetch me something; I'll break ope the gate. DROMIO OF SYRACUSE. [Within] Break any breaking here, and I'll break your knave's pate. DROMIO OF EPHESUS. A man may break a word with you, sir; and words are but wind; Ay, and break it in your face, so he break it not behind. DROMIO OF SYRACUSE. [Within] It seems thou want'st breaking; out upon thee, hind! DROMIO OF EPHESUS. Here's too much 'out upon thee!' pray thee let me in. DROMIO OF SYRACUSE. [Within] Ay, when fowls have no feathers and fish have no fin. ANTIPHOLUS OF EPHESUS. Well, I'll break in; go borrow me a crow. DROMIO OF EPHESUS. A crow without feather? Master, mean you so? For a fish without a fin, there's a fowl without a feather; If a crow help us in, sirrah, we'll pluck a crow together. ANTIPHOLUS OF EPHESUS. Go get thee gone; fetch me an iron crow. BALTHAZAR. Have patience, sir; O, let it not be so! Herein you war against your reputation, And draw within the compass of suspect Th' unviolated honour of your wife. Once this-your long experience of her wisdom, Her sober virtue, years, and modesty, Plead on her part some cause to you unknown; And doubt not, sir, but she will well excuse Why at this time the doors are made against you. Be rul'd by me: depart in patience, And let us to the Tiger all to dinner; And, about evening, come yourself alone To know the reason of this strange restraint. If by strong hand you offer to break in Now in the stirring passage of the day, A vulgar comment will be made of it, And that supposed by the common rout Against your yet ungalled estimation That may with foul intrusion enter in And dwell upon your grave when you are dead; For slander lives upon succession, For ever hous'd where it gets possession. ANTIPHOLUS OF EPHESUS. You have prevail'd. I will depart in quiet, And in despite of mirth mean to be merry. I know a wench of excellent discourse, Pretty and witty; wild, and yet, too, gentle; There will we dine. This woman that I mean, My wife-but, I protest, without desert- Hath oftentimes upbraided me withal; To her will we to dinner. [To ANGELO] Get you home And fetch the chain; by this I know 'tis made. Bring it, I pray you, to the Porpentine; For there's the house. That chain will I bestow- Be it for nothing but to spite my wife- Upon mine hostess there; good sir, make haste. Since mine own doors refuse to entertain me, I'll knock elsewhere, to see if they'll disdain me. ANGELO. I'll meet you at that place some hour hence. ANTIPHOLUS OF EPHESUS. Do so; this jest shall cost me some expense. > ACT IV. SCENE 1 A public place Enter SECOND MERCHANT, ANGELO, and an OFFICER SECOND MERCHANT. You know since Pentecost the sum is due, And since I have not much importun'd you; Nor now I had not, but that I am bound To Persia, and want guilders for my voyage. Therefore make present satisfaction, Or I'll attach you by this officer. ANGELO. Even just the sum that I do owe to you Is growing to me by Antipholus; And in the instant that I met with you He had of me a chain; at five o'clock I shall receive the money for the same. Pleaseth you walk with me down to his house, I will discharge my bond, and thank you too. Enter ANTIPHOLUS OF EPHESUS, and DROMIO OF EPHESUS, from the COURTEZAN'S OFFICER. That labour may you save; see where he comes. ANTIPHOLUS OF EPHESUS. While I go to the goldsmith's house, go thou And buy a rope's end; that will I bestow Among my wife and her confederates, For locking me out of my doors by day. But, soft, I see the goldsmith. Get thee gone; Buy thou a rope, and bring it home to me. DROMIO OF EPHESUS. I buy a thousand pound a year; I buy a rope. > ACT V. SCENE 1 A street before a priory Enter SECOND MERCHANT and ANGELO ANGELO. I am sorry, sir, that I have hind'red you; But I protest he had the chain of me, Though most dishonestly he doth deny it. SECOND MERCHANT. How is the man esteem'd here in the city? ANGELO. Of very reverend reputation, sir, Of credit infinite, highly belov'd, Second to none that lives here in the city; His word might bear my wealth at any time. SECOND MERCHANT. Speak softly; yonder, as I think, he walks. Enter ANTIPHOLUS OF SYRACUSE and DROMIO OF SYRACUSE ANGELO. 'Tis so; and that self chain about his neck Which he forswore most monstrously to have. Good sir, draw near to me, I'll speak to him. Signior Andpholus, I wonder much That you would put me to this shame and trouble; And, not without some scandal to yourself, With circumstance and oaths so to deny This chain, which now you wear so openly. Beside the charge, the shame, imprisonment, You have done wrong to this my honest friend; Who, but for staying on our controversy, Had hoisted sail and put to sea to-day. This chain you had of me; can you deny it? ANTIPHOLUS OF SYRACUSE. I think I had; I never did deny it. SECOND MERCHANT. Yes, that you did, sir, and forswore it too. ANTIPHOLUS OF SYRACUSE. Who heard me to deny it or forswear it? SECOND MERCHANT. These ears of mine, thou know'st, did hear thee. Fie on thee, wretch! 'tis pity that thou liv'st To walk where any honest men resort. ANTIPHOLUS OF SYRACUSE. Thou art a villain to impeach me thus; I'll prove mine honour and mine honesty Against thee presently, if thou dar'st stand. SECOND MERCHANT. I dare, and do defy thee for a villain. [They draw] Enter ADRIANA, LUCIANA, the COURTEZAN, and OTHERS ADRIANA. Hold, hurt him not, for God's sake! He is mad. Some get within him, take his sword away; Bind Dromio too, and bear them to my house. DROMIO OF SYRACUSE. Run, master, run; for God's sake take a house. This is some priory. In, or we are spoil'd. > Act II. Scene I. Elsinore. A room in the house of Polonius. Enter Polonius and Reynaldo. Pol. Give him this money and these notes, Reynaldo. Rey. I will, my lord. Pol. You shall do marvell's wisely, good Reynaldo, Before You visit him, to make inquire Of his behaviour. Rey. My lord, I did intend it. Pol. Marry, well said, very well said. Look you, sir, Enquire me first what Danskers are in Paris; And how, and who, what means, and where they keep, What company, at what expense; and finding By this encompassment and drift of question That they do know my son, come you more nearer Than your particular demands will touch it. Take you, as 'twere, some distant knowledge of him; As thus, 'I know his father and his friends, And in part him.' Do you mark this, Reynaldo? Rey. Ay, very well, my lord. Pol. 'And in part him, but,' you may say, 'not well. But if't be he I mean, he's very wild Addicted so and so'; and there put on him What forgeries you please; marry, none so rank As may dishonour him- take heed of that; But, sir, such wanton, wild, and usual slips As are companions noted and most known To youth and liberty. Rey. As gaming, my lord. Pol. Ay, or drinking, fencing, swearing, quarrelling, Drabbing. You may go so far. Rey. My lord, that would dishonour him. Pol. Faith, no, as you may season it in the charge. You must not put another scandal on him, That he is open to incontinency. That's not my meaning. But breathe his faults so quaintly That they may seem the taints of liberty, The flash and outbreak of a fiery mind, A savageness in unreclaimed blood, Of general assault. Rey. But, my good lord- Pol. Wherefore should you do this? Rey. Ay, my lord, I would know that. Pol. Marry, sir, here's my drift, And I believe it is a fetch of warrant. You laying these slight sullies on my son As 'twere a thing a little soil'd i' th' working, Mark you, Your party in converse, him you would sound, Having ever seen in the prenominate crimes The youth you breathe of guilty, be assur'd He closes with you in this consequence: 'Good sir,' or so, or 'friend,' or 'gentleman'- According to the phrase or the addition Of man and country- Rey. Very good, my lord. Pol. And then, sir, does 'a this- 'a does- What was I about to say? By the mass, I was about to say something! Where did I leave? Rey. At 'closes in the consequence,' at 'friend or so,' and gentleman.' Pol. At 'closes in the consequence'- Ay, marry! He closes thus: 'I know the gentleman. I saw him yesterday, or t'other day, Or then, or then, with such or such; and, as you say, There was 'a gaming; there o'ertook in's rouse; There falling out at tennis'; or perchance, 'I saw him enter such a house of sale,' Videlicet, a brothel, or so forth. See you now- Your bait of falsehood takes this carp of truth; And thus do we of wisdom and of reach, With windlasses and with assays of bias, By indirections find directions out. So, by my former lecture and advice, Shall you my son. You have me, have you not? Rey. My lord, I have. Pol. God b' wi' ye, fare ye well! Rey. Good my lord! [Going.] Pol. Observe his inclination in yourself. Rey. I shall, my lord. Pol. And let him ply his music. Rey. Well, my lord. Pol. Farewell! Exit Reynaldo. Enter Ophelia. How now, Ophelia? What's the matter? Oph. O my lord, my lord, I have been so affrighted! Pol. With what, i' th' name of God? Oph. My lord, as I was sewing in my closet, Lord Hamlet, with his doublet all unbrac'd, No hat upon his head, his stockings foul'd, Ungart'red, and down-gyved to his ankle; Pale as his shirt, his knees knocking each other, And with a look so piteous in purport As if he had been loosed out of hell To speak of horrors- he comes before me. Pol. Mad for thy love? Oph. My lord, I do not know, But truly I do fear it. Pol. What said he? Oph. He took me by the wrist and held me hard; Then goes he to the length of all his arm, And, with his other hand thus o'er his brow, He falls to such perusal of my face As he would draw it. Long stay'd he so. At last, a little shaking of mine arm, And thrice his head thus waving up and down, He rais'd a sigh so piteous and profound As it did seem to shatter all his bulk And end his being. That done, he lets me go, And with his head over his shoulder turn'd He seem'd to find his way without his eyes, For out o' doors he went without their help And to the last bended their light on me. Pol. Come, go with me. I will go seek the King. This is the very ecstasy of love, Whose violent property fordoes itself And leads the will to desperate undertakings As oft as any passion under heaven That does afflict our natures. I am sorry. What, have you given him any hard words of late? Oph. No, my good lord; but, as you did command, I did repel his letters and denied His access to me. Pol. That hath made him mad. I am sorry that with better heed and judgment I had not quoted him. I fear'd he did but trifle And meant to wrack thee; but beshrew my jealousy! By heaven, it is as proper to our age To cast beyond ourselves in our opinions As it is common for the younger sort To lack discretion. Come, go we to the King. This must be known; which, being kept close, might move More grief to hide than hate to utter love. Come. Exeunt. Scene II. Elsinore. A room in the Castle. Flourish. [Enter King and Queen, Rosencrantz and Guildenstern, cum aliis. King. Welcome, dear Rosencrantz and Guildenstern. Moreover that we much did long to see you, The need we have to use you did provoke Our hasty sending. Something have you heard Of Hamlet's transformation. So I call it, Sith nor th' exterior nor the inward man Resembles that it was. What it should be, More than his father's death, that thus hath put him So much from th' understanding of himself, I cannot dream of. I entreat you both That, being of so young days brought up with him, And since so neighbour'd to his youth and haviour, That you vouchsafe your rest here in our court Some little time; so by your companies To draw him on to pleasures, and to gather So much as from occasion you may glean, Whether aught to us unknown afflicts him thus That, open'd, lies within our remedy. Queen. Good gentlemen, he hath much talk'd of you, And sure I am two men there are not living To whom he more adheres. If it will please you To show us so much gentry and good will As to expend your time with us awhile For the supply and profit of our hope, Your visitation shall receive such thanks As fits a king's remembrance. Ros. Both your Majesties Might, by the sovereign power you have of us, Put your dread pleasures more into command Than to entreaty. Guil. But we both obey, And here give up ourselves, in the full bent, To lay our service freely at your feet, To be commanded. King. Thanks, Rosencrantz and gentle Guildenstern. Queen. Thanks, Guildenstern and gentle Rosencrantz. And I beseech you instantly to visit My too much changed son.- Go, some of you, And bring these gentlemen where Hamlet is. Guil. Heavens make our presence and our practices Pleasant and helpful to him! Queen. Ay, amen! Exeunt Rosencrantz and Guildenstern, [with some Attendants]. Enter Polonius. Pol. Th' ambassadors from Norway, my good lord, Are joyfully return'd. King. Thou still hast been the father of good news. Pol. Have I, my lord? Assure you, my good liege, I hold my duty as I hold my soul, Both to my God and to my gracious king; And I do think- or else this brain of mine Hunts not the trail of policy so sure As it hath us'd to do- that I have found The very cause of Hamlet's lunacy. King. O, speak of that! That do I long to hear. Pol. Give first admittance to th' ambassadors. My news shall be the fruit to that great feast. King. Thyself do grace to them, and bring them in. [Exit Polonius.] He tells me, my dear Gertrude, he hath found The head and source of all your son's distemper. Queen. I doubt it is no other but the main, His father's death and our o'erhasty marriage. King. Well, we shall sift him. Enter Polonius, Voltemand, and Cornelius. Welcome, my good friends. Say, Voltemand, what from our brother Norway? Volt. Most fair return of greetings and desires. Upon our first, he sent out to suppress His nephew's levies; which to him appear'd To be a preparation 'gainst the Polack, But better look'd into, he truly found It was against your Highness; whereat griev'd, That so his sickness, age, and impotence Was falsely borne in hand, sends out arrests On Fortinbras; which he, in brief, obeys, Receives rebuke from Norway, and, in fine, Makes vow before his uncle never more To give th' assay of arms against your Majesty. Whereon old Norway, overcome with joy, Gives him three thousand crowns in annual fee And his commission to employ those soldiers, So levied as before, against the Polack; With an entreaty, herein further shown, [Gives a paper.] That it might please you to give quiet pass Through your dominions for this enterprise, On such regards of safety and allowance As therein are set down. King. It likes us well; And at our more consider'd time we'll read, Answer, and think upon this business. Meantime we thank you for your well-took labour. Go to your rest; at night we'll feast together. Most welcome home! Exeunt Ambassadors. Pol. This business is well ended. My liege, and madam, to expostulate What majesty should be, what duty is, Why day is day, night is night, and time is time. Were nothing but to waste night, day, and time. Therefore, since brevity is the soul of wit, And tediousness the limbs and outward flourishes, I will be brief. Your noble son is mad. Mad call I it; for, to define true madness, What is't but to be nothing else but mad? But let that go. Queen. More matter, with less art. Pol. Madam, I swear I use no art at all. That he is mad, 'tis true: 'tis true 'tis pity; And pity 'tis 'tis true. A foolish figure! But farewell it, for I will use no art. Mad let us grant him then. And now remains That we find out the cause of this effect- Or rather say, the cause of this defect, For this effect defective comes by cause. Thus it remains, and the remainder thus. Perpend. I have a daughter (have while she is mine), Who in her duty and obedience, mark, Hath given me this. Now gather, and surmise. [Reads] the letter. 'To the celestial, and my soul's idol, the most beautified Ophelia,'- That's an ill phrase, a vile phrase; 'beautified' is a vile phrase. But you shall hear. Thus: [Reads.] 'In her excellent white bosom, these, &c.' Queen. Came this from Hamlet to her? Pol. Good madam, stay awhile. I will be faithful. [Reads.] 'Doubt thou the stars are fire; Doubt that the sun doth move; Doubt truth to be a liar; But never doubt I love. 'O dear Ophelia, I am ill at these numbers; I have not art to reckon my groans; but that I love thee best, O most best, believe it. Adieu. 'Thine evermore, most dear lady, whilst this machine is to him, HAMLET.' This, in obedience, hath my daughter shown me; And more above, hath his solicitings, As they fell out by time, by means, and place, All given to mine ear. King. But how hath she Receiv'd his love? Pol. What do you think of me? King. As of a man faithful and honourable. Pol. I would fain prove so. But what might you think, When I had seen this hot love on the wing (As I perceiv'd it, I must tell you that, Before my daughter told me), what might you, Or my dear Majesty your queen here, think, If I had play'd the desk or table book, Or given my heart a winking, mute and dumb, Or look'd upon this love with idle sight? What might you think? No, I went round to work And my young mistress thus I did bespeak: 'Lord Hamlet is a prince, out of thy star. This must not be.' And then I prescripts gave her, That she should lock herself from his resort, Admit no messengers, receive no tokens. Which done, she took the fruits of my advice, And he, repulsed, a short tale to make, Fell into a sadness, then into a fast, Thence to a watch, thence into a weakness, Thence to a lightness, and, by this declension, Into the madness wherein now he raves, And all we mourn for. King. Do you think 'tis this? Queen. it may be, very like. Pol. Hath there been such a time- I would fain know that- That I have Positively said ''Tis so,' When it prov'd otherwise.? King. Not that I know. Pol. [points to his head and shoulder] Take this from this, if this be otherwise. If circumstances lead me, I will find Where truth is hid, though it were hid indeed Within the centre. King. How may we try it further? Pol. You know sometimes he walks for hours together Here in the lobby. Queen. So he does indeed. Pol. At such a time I'll loose my daughter to him. Be you and I behind an arras then. Mark the encounter. If he love her not, And he not from his reason fall'n thereon Let me be no assistant for a state, But keep a farm and carters. King. We will try it. Enter Hamlet, reading on a book. Queen. But look where sadly the poor wretch comes reading. Pol. Away, I do beseech you, both away I'll board him presently. O, give me leave. Exeunt King and Queen, [with Attendants]. How does my good Lord Hamlet? Ham. Well, God-a-mercy. Pol. Do you know me, my lord? Ham. Excellent well. You are a fishmonger. Pol. Not I, my lord. Ham. Then I would you were so honest a man. Pol. Honest, my lord? Ham. Ay, sir. To be honest, as this world goes, is to be one man pick'd out of ten thousand. Pol. That's very true, my lord. Ham. For if the sun breed maggots in a dead dog, being a god kissing carrion- Have you a daughter? Pol. I have, my lord. Ham. Let her not walk i' th' sun. Conception is a blessing, but not as your daughter may conceive. Friend, look to't. Pol. [aside] How say you by that? Still harping on my daughter. Yet he knew me not at first. He said I was a fishmonger. He is far gone, far gone! And truly in my youth I suff'red much extremity for love- very near this. I'll speak to him again.- What do you read, my lord? Ham. Words, words, words. Pol. What is the matter, my lord? Ham. Between who? Pol. I mean, the matter that you read, my lord. Ham. Slanders, sir; for the satirical rogue says here that old men have grey beards; that their faces are wrinkled; their eyes purging thick amber and plum-tree gum; and that they have a plentiful lack of wit, together with most weak hams. All which, sir, though I most powerfully and potently believe, yet I hold it not honesty to have it thus set down; for you yourself, sir, should be old as I am if, like a crab, you could go backward. Pol. [aside] Though this be madness, yet there is a method in't.- Will You walk out of the air, my lord? Ham. Into my grave? Pol. Indeed, that is out o' th' air. [Aside] How pregnant sometimes his replies are! a happiness that often madness hits on, which reason and sanity could not so prosperously be delivered of. I will leave him and suddenly contrive the means of meeting between him and my daughter.- My honourable lord, I will most humbly take my leave of you. Ham. You cannot, sir, take from me anything that I will more willingly part withal- except my life, except my life, except my life, Enter Rosencrantz and Guildenstern. Pol. Fare you well, my lord. Ham. These tedious old fools! Pol. You go to seek the Lord Hamlet. There he is. Ros. [to Polonius] God save you, sir! Exit [Polonius]. Guil. My honour'd lord! Ros. My most dear lord! Ham. My excellent good friends! How dost thou, Guildenstern? Ah, Rosencrantz! Good lads, how do ye both? Ros. As the indifferent children of the earth. Guil. Happy in that we are not over-happy. On Fortune's cap we are not the very button. Ham. Nor the soles of her shoe? Ros. Neither, my lord. Ham. Then you live about her waist, or in the middle of her favours? Guil. Faith, her privates we. Ham. In the secret parts of Fortune? O! most true! she is a strumpet. What news ? Ros. None, my lord, but that the world's grown honest. Ham. Then is doomsday near! But your news is not true. Let me question more in particular. What have you, my good friends, deserved at the hands of Fortune that she sends you to prison hither? Guil. Prison, my lord? Ham. Denmark's a prison. Ros. Then is the world one. Ham. A goodly one; in which there are many confines, wards, and dungeons, Denmark being one o' th' worst. Ros. We think not so, my lord. Ham. Why, then 'tis none to you; for there is nothing either good or bad but thinking makes it so. To me it is a prison. Ros. Why, then your ambition makes it one. 'Tis too narrow for your mind. Ham. O God, I could be bounded in a nutshell and count myself a king of infinite space, were it not that I have bad dreams. Guil. Which dreams indeed are ambition; for the very substance of the ambitious is merely the shadow of a dream. Ham. A dream itself is but a shadow. Ros. Truly, and I hold ambition of so airy and light a quality that it is but a shadow's shadow. Ham. Then are our beggars bodies, and our monarchs and outstretch'd heroes the beggars' shadows. Shall we to th' court? for, by my fay, I cannot reason. Both. We'll wait upon you. Ham. No such matter! I will not sort you with the rest of my servants; for, to speak to you like an honest man, I am most dreadfully attended. But in the beaten way of friendship, what make you at Elsinore? Ros. To visit you, my lord; no other occasion. Ham. Beggar that I am, I am even poor in thanks; but I thank you; and sure, dear friends, my thanks are too dear a halfpenny. Were you not sent for? Is it your own inclining? Is it a free visitation? Come, deal justly with me. Come, come! Nay, speak. Guil. What should we say, my lord? Ham. Why, anything- but to th' purpose. You were sent for; and there is a kind of confession in your looks, which your modesties have not craft enough to colour. I know the good King and Queen have sent for you. Ros. To what end, my lord? Ham. That you must teach me. But let me conjure you by the rights of our fellowship, by the consonancy of our youth, by the obligation of our ever-preserved love, and by what more dear a better proposer could charge you withal, be even and direct with me, whether you were sent for or no. Ros. [aside to Guildenstern] What say you? Ham. [aside] Nay then, I have an eye of you.- If you love me, hold not off. Guil. My lord, we were sent for. Ham. I will tell you why. So shall my anticipation prevent your discovery, and your secrecy to the King and Queen moult no feather. I have of late- but wherefore I know not- lost all my mirth, forgone all custom of exercises; and indeed, it goes so heavily with my disposition that this goodly frame, the earth, seems to me a sterile promontory; this most excellent canopy, the air, look you, this brave o'erhanging firmament, this majestical roof fretted with golden fire- why, it appeareth no other thing to me than a foul and pestilent congregation of vapours. What a piece of work is a man! how noble in reason! how infinite in faculties! in form and moving how express and admirable! in action how like an angel! in apprehension how like a god! the beauty of the world, the paragon of animals! And yet to me what is this quintessence of dust? Man delights not me- no, nor woman neither, though by your smiling you seem to say so. Ros. My lord, there was no such stuff in my thoughts. Ham. Why did you laugh then, when I said 'Man delights not me'? Ros. To think, my lord, if you delight not in man, what lenten entertainment the players shall receive from you. We coted them on the way, and hither are they coming to offer you service. Ham. He that plays the king shall be welcome- his Majesty shall have tribute of me; the adventurous knight shall use his foil and target; the lover shall not sigh gratis; the humorous man shall end his part in peace; the clown shall make those laugh whose lungs are tickle o' th' sere; and the lady shall say her mind freely, or the blank verse shall halt for't. What players are they? Ros. Even those you were wont to take such delight in, the tragedians of the city. Ham. How chances it they travel? Their residence, both in reputation and profit, was better both ways. Ros. I think their inhibition comes by the means of the late innovation. Ham. Do they hold the same estimation they did when I was in the city? Are they so follow'd? Ros. No indeed are they not. Ham. How comes it? Do they grow rusty? Ros. Nay, their endeavour keeps in the wonted pace; but there is, sir, an eyrie of children, little eyases, that cry out on the top of question and are most tyrannically clapp'd for't. These are now the fashion, and so berattle the common stages (so they call them) that many wearing rapiers are afraid of goosequills and dare scarce come thither. Ham. What, are they children? Who maintains 'em? How are they escoted? Will they pursue the quality no longer than they can sing? Will they not say afterwards, if they should grow themselves to common players (as it is most like, if their means are no better), their writers do them wrong to make them exclaim against their own succession. Ros. Faith, there has been much to do on both sides; and the nation holds it no sin to tarre them to controversy. There was, for a while, no money bid for argument unless the poet and the player went to cuffs in the question. Ham. Is't possible? Guil. O, there has been much throwing about of brains. Ham. Do the boys carry it away? Ros. Ay, that they do, my lord- Hercules and his load too. Ham. It is not very strange; for my uncle is King of Denmark, and those that would make mows at him while my father lived give twenty, forty, fifty, a hundred ducats apiece for his picture in little. 'Sblood, there is something in this more than natural, if philosophy could find it out. Flourish for the Players. Guil. There are the players. Ham. Gentlemen, you are welcome to Elsinore. Your hands, come! Th' appurtenance of welcome is fashion and ceremony. Let me comply with you in this garb, lest my extent to the players (which I tell you must show fairly outwards) should more appear like entertainment than yours. You are welcome. But my uncle-father and aunt-mother are deceiv'd. Guil. In what, my dear lord? Ham. I am but mad north-north-west. When the wind is southerly I know a hawk from a handsaw. Enter Polonius. Pol. Well be with you, gentlemen! Ham. Hark you, Guildenstern- and you too- at each ear a hearer! That great baby you see there is not yet out of his swaddling clouts. Ros. Happily he's the second time come to them; for they say an old man is twice a child. Ham. I will prophesy he comes to tell me of the players. Mark it.- You say right, sir; a Monday morning; twas so indeed. Pol. My lord, I have news to tell you. Ham. My lord, I have news to tell you. When Roscius was an actor in Rome- Pol. The actors are come hither, my lord. Ham. Buzz, buzz! Pol. Upon my honour- Ham. Then came each actor on his ass- Pol. The best actors in the world, either for tragedy, comedy, history, pastoral, pastoral-comical, historical-pastoral, tragical-historical, tragical-comical-historical-pastoral; scene individable, or poem unlimited. Seneca cannot be too heavy, nor Plautus too light. For the law of writ and the liberty, these are the only men. Ham. O Jephthah, judge of Israel, what a treasure hadst thou! Pol. What treasure had he, my lord? Ham. Why, 'One fair daughter, and no more, The which he loved passing well.' Pol. [aside] Still on my daughter. Ham. Am I not i' th' right, old Jephthah? Pol. If you call me Jephthah, my lord, I have a daughter that I love passing well. Ham. Nay, that follows not. Pol. What follows then, my lord? Ham. Why, 'As by lot, God wot,' and then, you know, 'It came to pass, as most like it was.' The first row of the pious chanson will show you more; for look where my abridgment comes. Enter four or five Players. You are welcome, masters; welcome, all.- I am glad to see thee well.- Welcome, good friends.- O, my old friend? Why, thy face is valanc'd since I saw thee last. Com'st' thou to' beard me in Denmark?- What, my young lady and mistress? By'r Lady, your ladyship is nearer to heaven than when I saw you last by the altitude of a chopine. Pray God your voice, like a piece of uncurrent gold, be not crack'd within the ring.- Masters, you are all welcome. We'll e'en to't like French falconers, fly at anything we see. We'll have a speech straight. Come, give us a taste of your quality. Come, a passionate speech. 1. Play. What speech, my good lord? Ham. I heard thee speak me a speech once, but it was never acted; or if it was, not above once; for the play, I remember, pleas'd not the million, 'twas caviary to the general; but it was (as I receiv'd it, and others, whose judgments in such matters cried in the top of mine) an excellent play, well digested in the scenes, set down with as much modesty as cunning. I remember one said there were no sallets in the lines to make the matter savoury, nor no matter in the phrase that might indict the author of affectation; but call'd it an honest method, as wholesome as sweet, and by very much more handsome than fine. One speech in't I chiefly lov'd. 'Twas AEneas' tale to Dido, and thereabout of it especially where he speaks of Priam's slaughter. If it live in your memory, begin at this line- let me see, let me see: 'The rugged Pyrrhus, like th' Hyrcanian beast-' 'Tis not so; it begins with Pyrrhus: 'The rugged Pyrrhus, he whose sable arms, Black as his purpose, did the night resemble When he lay couched in the ominous horse, Hath now this dread and black complexion smear'd With heraldry more dismal. Head to foot Now is be total gules, horridly trick'd With blood of fathers, mothers, daughters, sons, Bak'd and impasted with the parching streets, That lend a tyrannous and a damned light To their lord's murther. Roasted in wrath and fire, And thus o'ersized with coagulate gore, With eyes like carbuncles, the hellish Pyrrhus Old grandsire Priam seeks.' So, proceed you. Pol. Fore God, my lord, well spoken, with good accent and good discretion. 1. Play. 'Anon he finds him, Striking too short at Greeks. His antique sword, Rebellious to his arm, lies where it falls, Repugnant to command. Unequal match'd, Pyrrhus at Priam drives, in rage strikes wide; But with the whiff and wind of his fell sword Th' unnerved father falls. Then senseless Ilium, Seeming to feel this blow, with flaming top Stoops to his base, and with a hideous crash Takes prisoner Pyrrhus' ear. For lo! his sword, Which was declining on the milky head Of reverend Priam, seem'd i' th' air to stick. So, as a painted tyrant, Pyrrhus stood, And, like a neutral to his will and matter, Did nothing. But, as we often see, against some storm, A silence in the heavens, the rack stand still, The bold winds speechless, and the orb below As hush as death- anon the dreadful thunder Doth rend the region; so, after Pyrrhus' pause, Aroused vengeance sets him new awork; And never did the Cyclops' hammers fall On Mars's armour, forg'd for proof eterne, With less remorse than Pyrrhus' bleeding sword Now falls on Priam. Out, out, thou strumpet Fortune! All you gods, In general synod take away her power; Break all the spokes and fellies from her wheel, And bowl the round nave down the hill of heaven, As low as to the fiends! Pol. This is too long. Ham. It shall to the barber's, with your beard.- Prithee say on. He's for a jig or a tale of bawdry, or he sleeps. Say on; come to Hecuba. 1. Play. 'But who, O who, had seen the mobled queen-' Ham. 'The mobled queen'? Pol. That's good! 'Mobled queen' is good. 1. Play. 'Run barefoot up and down, threat'ning the flames With bisson rheum; a clout upon that head Where late the diadem stood, and for a robe, About her lank and all o'erteemed loins, A blanket, in the alarm of fear caught up- Who this had seen, with tongue in venom steep'd 'Gainst Fortune's state would treason have pronounc'd. But if the gods themselves did see her then, When she saw Pyrrhus make malicious sport In Mincing with his sword her husband's limbs, The instant burst of clamour that she made (Unless things mortal move them not at all) Would have made milch the burning eyes of heaven And passion in the gods.' Pol. Look, whe'r he has not turn'd his colour, and has tears in's eyes. Prithee no more! Ham. 'Tis well. I'll have thee speak out the rest of this soon.- Good my lord, will you see the players well bestow'd? Do you hear? Let them be well us'd; for they are the abstract and brief chronicles of the time. After your death you were better have a bad epitaph than their ill report while you live. Pol. My lord, I will use them according to their desert. Ham. God's bodykins, man, much better! Use every man after his desert, and who should scape whipping? Use them after your own honour and dignity. The less they deserve, the more merit is in your bounty. Take them in. Pol. Come, sirs. Ham. Follow him, friends. We'll hear a play to-morrow. Exeunt Polonius and Players [except the First]. Dost thou hear me, old friend? Can you play 'The Murther of Gonzago'? 1. Play. Ay, my lord. Ham. We'll ha't to-morrow night. You could, for a need, study a speech of some dozen or sixteen lines which I would set down and insert in't, could you not? 1. Play. Ay, my lord. Ham. Very well. Follow that lord- and look you mock him not. [Exit First Player.] My good friends, I'll leave you till night. You are welcome to Elsinore. Ros. Good my lord! Ham. Ay, so, God b' wi' ye! [Exeunt Rosencrantz and Guildenstern Now I am alone. O what a rogue and peasant slave am I! Is it not monstrous that this player here, But in a fiction, in a dream of passion, Could force his soul so to his own conceit That, from her working, all his visage wann'd, Tears in his eyes, distraction in's aspect, A broken voice, and his whole function suiting With forms to his conceit? And all for nothing! For Hecuba! What's Hecuba to him, or he to Hecuba, That he should weep for her? What would he do, Had he the motive and the cue for passion That I have? He would drown the stage with tears And cleave the general ear with horrid speech; Make mad the guilty and appal the free, Confound the ignorant, and amaze indeed The very faculties of eyes and ears. Yet I, A dull and muddy-mettled rascal, peak Like John-a-dreams, unpregnant of my cause, And can say nothing! No, not for a king, Upon whose property and most dear life A damn'd defeat was made. Am I a coward? Who calls me villain? breaks my pate across? Plucks off my beard and blows it in my face? Tweaks me by th' nose? gives me the lie i' th' throat As deep as to the lungs? Who does me this, ha? 'Swounds, I should take it! for it cannot be But I am pigeon-liver'd and lack gall To make oppression bitter, or ere this I should have fatted all the region kites With this slave's offal. Bloody bawdy villain! Remorseless, treacherous, lecherous, kindless villain! O, vengeance! Why, what an ass am I! This is most brave, That I, the son of a dear father murther'd, Prompted to my revenge by heaven and hell, Must (like a whore) unpack my heart with words And fall a-cursing like a very drab, A scullion! Fie upon't! foh! About, my brain! Hum, I have heard That guilty creatures, sitting at a play, Have by the very cunning of the scene Been struck so to the soul that presently They have proclaim'd their malefactions; For murther, though it have no tongue, will speak With most miraculous organ, I'll have these Players Play something like the murther of my father Before mine uncle. I'll observe his looks; I'll tent him to the quick. If he but blench, I know my course. The spirit that I have seen May be a devil; and the devil hath power T' assume a pleasing shape; yea, and perhaps Out of my weakness and my melancholy, As he is very potent with such spirits, Abuses me to damn me. I'll have grounds More relative than this. The play's the thing Wherein I'll catch the conscience of the King. Exit. <> ACT III. Scene I. Elsinore. A room in the Castle. Enter King, Queen, Polonius, Ophelia, Rosencrantz, Guildenstern, and Lords. King. And can you by no drift of circumstance Get from him why he puts on this confusion, Grating so harshly all his days of quiet With turbulent and dangerous lunacy? Ros. He does confess he feels himself distracted, But from what cause he will by no means speak. Guil. Nor do we find him forward to be sounded, But with a crafty madness keeps aloof When we would bring him on to some confession Of his true state. Queen. Did he receive you well? Ros. Most like a gentleman. Guil. But with much forcing of his disposition. Ros. Niggard of question, but of our demands Most free in his reply. Queen. Did you assay him To any pastime? Ros. Madam, it so fell out that certain players We o'erraught on the way. Of these we told him, And there did seem in him a kind of joy To hear of it. They are here about the court, And, as I think, they have already order This night to play before him. Pol. 'Tis most true; And he beseech'd me to entreat your Majesties To hear and see the matter. King. With all my heart, and it doth much content me To hear him so inclin'd. Good gentlemen, give him a further edge And drive his purpose on to these delights. Ros. We shall, my lord. Exeunt Rosencrantz and Guildenstern. King. Sweet Gertrude, leave us too; For we have closely sent for Hamlet hither, That he, as 'twere by accident, may here Affront Ophelia. Her father and myself (lawful espials) Will so bestow ourselves that, seeing unseen, We may of their encounter frankly judge And gather by him, as he is behav'd, If't be th' affliction of his love, or no, That thus he suffers for. Queen. I shall obey you; And for your part, Ophelia, I do wish That your good beauties be the happy cause Of Hamlet's wildness. So shall I hope your virtues Will bring him to his wonted way again, To both your honours. Oph. Madam, I wish it may. [Exit Queen.] Pol. Ophelia, walk you here.- Gracious, so please you, We will bestow ourselves.- [To Ophelia] Read on this book, That show of such an exercise may colour Your loneliness.- We are oft to blame in this, 'Tis too much prov'd, that with devotion's visage And pious action we do sugar o'er The Devil himself. King. [aside] O, 'tis too true! How smart a lash that speech doth give my conscience! The harlot's cheek, beautied with plast'ring art, Is not more ugly to the thing that helps it Than is my deed to my most painted word. O heavy burthen! Pol. I hear him coming. Let's withdraw, my lord. Exeunt King and Polonius]. Enter Hamlet. Ham. To be, or not to be- that is the question: Whether 'tis nobler in the mind to suffer The slings and arrows of outrageous fortune Or to take arms against a sea of troubles, And by opposing end them. To die- to sleep- No more; and by a sleep to say we end The heartache, and the thousand natural shocks That flesh is heir to. 'Tis a consummation Devoutly to be wish'd. To die- to sleep. To sleep- perchance to dream: ay, there's the rub! For in that sleep of death what dreams may come When we have shuffled off this mortal coil, Must give us pause. There's the respect That makes calamity of so long life. For who would bear the whips and scorns of time, Th' oppressor's wrong, the proud man's contumely, The pangs of despis'd love, the law's delay, The insolence of office, and the spurns That patient merit of th' unworthy takes, When he himself might his quietus make With a bare bodkin? Who would these fardels bear, To grunt and sweat under a weary life, But that the dread of something after death- The undiscover'd country, from whose bourn No traveller returns- puzzles the will, And makes us rather bear those ills we have Than fly to others that we know not of? Thus conscience does make cowards of us all, And thus the native hue of resolution Is sicklied o'er with the pale cast of thought, And enterprises of great pith and moment With this regard their currents turn awry And lose the name of action.- Soft you now! The fair Ophelia!- Nymph, in thy orisons Be all my sins rememb'red. Oph. Good my lord, How does your honour for this many a day? Ham. I humbly thank you; well, well, well. Oph. My lord, I have remembrances of yours That I have longed long to re-deliver. I pray you, now receive them. Ham. No, not I! I never gave you aught. Oph. My honour'd lord, you know right well you did, And with them words of so sweet breath compos'd As made the things more rich. Their perfume lost, Take these again; for to the noble mind Rich gifts wax poor when givers prove unkind. There, my lord. Ham. Ha, ha! Are you honest? Oph. My lord? Ham. Are you fair? Oph. What means your lordship? Ham. That if you be honest and fair, your honesty should admit no discourse to your beauty. Oph. Could beauty, my lord, have better commerce than with honesty? Ham. Ay, truly; for the power of beauty will sooner transform honesty from what it is to a bawd than the force of honesty can translate beauty into his likeness. This was sometime a paradox, but now the time gives it proof. I did love you once. Oph. Indeed, my lord, you made me believe so. Ham. You should not have believ'd me; for virtue cannot so inoculate our old stock but we shall relish of it. I loved you not. Oph. I was the more deceived. Ham. Get thee to a nunnery! Why wouldst thou be a breeder of sinners? I am myself indifferent honest, but yet I could accuse me of such things that it were better my mother had not borne me. I am very proud, revengeful, ambitious; with more offences at my beck than I have thoughts to put them in, imagination to give them shape, or time to act them in. What should such fellows as I do, crawling between earth and heaven? We are arrant knaves all; believe none of us. Go thy ways to a nunnery. Where's your father? Oph. At home, my lord. Ham. Let the doors be shut upon him, that he may play the fool nowhere but in's own house. Farewell. Oph. O, help him, you sweet heavens! Ham. If thou dost marry, I'll give thee this plague for thy dowry: be thou as chaste as ice, as pure as snow, thou shalt not escape calumny. Get thee to a nunnery. Go, farewell. Or if thou wilt needs marry, marry a fool; for wise men know well enough what monsters you make of them. To a nunnery, go; and quickly too. Farewell. Oph. O heavenly powers, restore him! Ham. I have heard of your paintings too, well enough. God hath given you one face, and you make yourselves another. You jig, you amble, and you lisp; you nickname God's creatures and make your wantonness your ignorance. Go to, I'll no more on't! it hath made me mad. I say, we will have no more marriages. Those that are married already- all but one- shall live; the rest shall keep as they are. To a nunnery, go. Exit. Oph. O, what a noble mind is here o'erthrown! The courtier's, scholar's, soldier's, eye, tongue, sword, Th' expectancy and rose of the fair state, The glass of fashion and the mould of form, Th' observ'd of all observers- quite, quite down! And I, of ladies most deject and wretched, That suck'd the honey of his music vows, Now see that noble and most sovereign reason, Like sweet bells jangled, out of tune and harsh; That unmatch'd form and feature of blown youth Blasted with ecstasy. O, woe is me T' have seen what I have seen, see what I see! Enter King and Polonius. King. Love? his affections do not that way tend; Nor what he spake, though it lack'd form a little, Was not like madness. There's something in his soul O'er which his melancholy sits on brood; And I do doubt the hatch and the disclose Will be some danger; which for to prevent, I have in quick determination Thus set it down: he shall with speed to England For the demand of our neglected tribute. Haply the seas, and countries different, With variable objects, shall expel This something-settled matter in his heart, Whereon his brains still beating puts him thus From fashion of himself. What think you on't? Pol. It shall do well. But yet do I believe The origin and commencement of his grief Sprung from neglected love.- How now, Ophelia? You need not tell us what Lord Hamlet said. We heard it all.- My lord, do as you please; But if you hold it fit, after the play Let his queen mother all alone entreat him To show his grief. Let her be round with him; And I'll be plac'd so please you, in the ear Of all their conference. If she find him not, To England send him; or confine him where Your wisdom best shall think. King. It shall be so. Madness in great ones must not unwatch'd go. Exeunt. Scene II. Elsinore. hall in the Castle. Enter Hamlet and three of the Players. Ham. Speak the speech, I pray you, as I pronounc'd it to you, trippingly on the tongue. But if you mouth it, as many of our players do, I had as live the town crier spoke my lines. Nor do not saw the air too much with your hand, thus, but use all gently; for in the very torrent, tempest, and (as I may say) whirlwind of your passion, you must acquire and beget a temperance that may give it smoothness. O, it offends me to the soul to hear a robustious periwig-pated fellow tear a passion to tatters, to very rags, to split the cars of the groundlings, who (for the most part) are capable of nothing but inexplicable dumb shows and noise. I would have such a fellow whipp'd for o'erdoing Termagant. It out-herods Herod. Pray you avoid it. Player. I warrant your honour. Ham. Be not too tame neither; but let your own discretion be your tutor. Suit the action to the word, the word to the action; with this special observance, that you o'erstep not the modesty of nature: for anything so overdone is from the purpose of playing, whose end, both at the first and now, was and is, to hold, as 'twere, the mirror up to nature; to show Virtue her own feature, scorn her own image, and the very age and body of the time his form and pressure. Now this overdone, or come tardy off, though it make the unskilful laugh, cannot but make the judicious grieve; the censure of the which one must in your allowance o'erweigh a whole theatre of others. O, there be players that I have seen play, and heard others praise, and that highly (not to speak it profanely), that, neither having the accent of Christians, nor the gait of Christian, pagan, nor man, have so strutted and bellowed that I have thought some of Nature's journeymen had made men, and not made them well, they imitated humanity so abominably. Player. I hope we have reform'd that indifferently with us, sir. Ham. O, reform it altogether! And let those that play your clowns speak no more than is set down for them. For there be of them that will themselves laugh, to set on some quantity of barren spectators to laugh too, though in the mean time some necessary question of the play be then to be considered. That's villanous and shows a most pitiful ambition in the fool that uses it. Go make you ready. Exeunt Players. Enter Polonius, Rosencrantz, and Guildenstern. How now, my lord? Will the King hear this piece of work? Pol. And the Queen too, and that presently. Ham. Bid the players make haste, [Exit Polonius.] Will you two help to hasten them? Both. We will, my lord. Exeunt they two. Ham. What, ho, Horatio! Enter Horatio. Hor. Here, sweet lord, at your service. Ham. Horatio, thou art e'en as just a man As e'er my conversation cop'd withal. Hor. O, my dear lord! Ham. Nay, do not think I flatter; For what advancement may I hope from thee, That no revenue hast but thy good spirits To feed and clothe thee? Why should the poor be flatter'd? No, let the candied tongue lick absurd pomp, And crook the pregnant hinges of the knee Where thrift may follow fawning. Dost thou hear? Since my dear soul was mistress of her choice And could of men distinguish, her election Hath seal'd thee for herself. For thou hast been As one, in suff'ring all, that suffers nothing; A man that Fortune's buffets and rewards Hast ta'en with equal thanks; and blest are those Whose blood and judgment are so well commingled That they are not a pipe for Fortune's finger To sound what stop she please. Give me that man That is not passion's slave, and I will wear him In my heart's core, ay, in my heart of heart, As I do thee. Something too much of this I There is a play to-night before the King. One scene of it comes near the circumstance, Which I have told thee, of my father's death. I prithee, when thou seest that act afoot, Even with the very comment of thy soul Observe my uncle. If his occulted guilt Do not itself unkennel in one speech, It is a damned ghost that we have seen, And my imaginations are as foul As Vulcan's stithy. Give him heedful note; For I mine eyes will rivet to his face, And after we will both our judgments join In censure of his seeming. Hor. Well, my lord. If he steal aught the whilst this play is playing, And scape detecting, I will pay the theft. Sound a flourish. [Enter Trumpets and Kettledrums. Danish march. [Enter King, Queen, Polonius, Ophelia, Rosencrantz, Guildenstern, and other Lords attendant, with the Guard carrying torches. Ham. They are coming to the play. I must be idle. Get you a place. King. How fares our cousin Hamlet? Ham. Excellent, i' faith; of the chameleon's dish. I eat the air, promise-cramm'd. You cannot feed capons so. King. I have nothing with this answer, Hamlet. These words are not mine. Ham. No, nor mine now. [To Polonius] My lord, you play'd once i' th' university, you say? Pol. That did I, my lord, and was accounted a good actor. Ham. What did you enact? Pol. I did enact Julius Caesar; I was kill'd i' th' Capitol; Brutus kill'd me. Ham. It was a brute part of him to kill so capital a calf there. Be the players ready. Ros. Ay, my lord. They stay upon your patience. Queen. Come hither, my dear Hamlet, sit by me. Ham. No, good mother. Here's metal more attractive. Pol. [to the King] O, ho! do you mark that? Ham. Lady, shall I lie in your lap? [Sits down at Ophelia's feet.] Oph. No, my lord. Ham. I mean, my head upon your lap? Oph. Ay, my lord. Ham. Do you think I meant country matters? Oph. I think nothing, my lord. Ham. That's a fair thought to lie between maids' legs. Oph. What is, my lord? Ham. Nothing. Oph. You are merry, my lord. Ham. Who, I? Oph. Ay, my lord. Ham. O God, your only jig-maker! What should a man do but be merry? For look you how cheerfully my mother looks, and my father died within 's two hours. Oph. Nay 'tis twice two months, my lord. Ham. So long? Nay then, let the devil wear black, for I'll have a suit of sables. O heavens! die two months ago, and not forgotten yet? Then there's hope a great man's memory may outlive his life half a year. But, by'r Lady, he must build churches then; or else shall he suffer not thinking on, with the hobby-horse, whose epitaph is 'For O, for O, the hobby-horse is forgot!' Hautboys play. The dumb show enters. Enter a King and a Queen very lovingly; the Queen embracing him and he her. She kneels, and makes show of protestation unto him. He takes her up, and declines his head upon her neck. He lays him down upon a bank of flowers. She, seeing him asleep, leaves him. Anon comes in a fellow, takes off his crown, kisses it, pours poison in the sleeper's ears, and leaves him. The Queen returns, finds the King dead, and makes passionate action. The Poisoner with some three or four Mutes, comes in again, seem to condole with her. The dead body is carried away. The Poisoner wooes the Queen with gifts; she seems harsh and unwilling awhile, but in the end accepts his love. Exeunt. Oph. What means this, my lord? Ham. Marry, this is miching malhecho; it means mischief. Oph. Belike this show imports the argument of the play. Enter Prologue. Ham. We shall know by this fellow. The players cannot keep counsel; they'll tell all. Oph. Will he tell us what this show meant? Ham. Ay, or any show that you'll show him. Be not you asham'd to show, he'll not shame to tell you what it means. Oph. You are naught, you are naught! I'll mark the play. Pro. For us, and for our tragedy, Here stooping to your clemency, We beg your hearing patiently. [Exit.] Ham. Is this a prologue, or the posy of a ring? Oph. 'Tis brief, my lord. Ham. As woman's love. Enter [two Players as] King and Queen. King. Full thirty times hath Phoebus' cart gone round Neptune's salt wash and Tellus' orbed ground, And thirty dozen moons with borrowed sheen About the world have times twelve thirties been, Since love our hearts, and Hymen did our hands, Unite comutual in most sacred bands. Queen. So many journeys may the sun and moon Make us again count o'er ere love be done! But woe is me! you are so sick of late, So far from cheer and from your former state. That I distrust you. Yet, though I distrust, Discomfort you, my lord, it nothing must; For women's fear and love holds quantity, In neither aught, or in extremity. Now what my love is, proof hath made you know; And as my love is siz'd, my fear is so. Where love is great, the littlest doubts are fear; Where little fears grow great, great love grows there. King. Faith, I must leave thee, love, and shortly too; My operant powers their functions leave to do. And thou shalt live in this fair world behind, Honour'd, belov'd, and haply one as kind For husband shalt thou- Queen. O, confound the rest! Such love must needs be treason in my breast. When second husband let me be accurst! None wed the second but who killed the first. Ham. [aside] Wormwood, wormwood! Queen. The instances that second marriage move Are base respects of thrift, but none of love. A second time I kill my husband dead When second husband kisses me in bed. King. I do believe you think what now you speak; But what we do determine oft we break. Purpose is but the slave to memory, Of violent birth, but poor validity; Which now, like fruit unripe, sticks on the tree, But fall unshaken when they mellow be. Most necessary 'tis that we forget To pay ourselves what to ourselves is debt. What to ourselves in passion we propose, The passion ending, doth the purpose lose. The violence of either grief or joy Their own enactures with themselves destroy. Where joy most revels, grief doth most lament; Grief joys, joy grieves, on slender accident. This world is not for aye, nor 'tis not strange That even our loves should with our fortunes change; For 'tis a question left us yet to prove, Whether love lead fortune, or else fortune love. The great man down, you mark his favourite flies, The poor advanc'd makes friends of enemies; And hitherto doth love on fortune tend, For who not needs shall never lack a friend, And who in want a hollow friend doth try, Directly seasons him his enemy. But, orderly to end where I begun, Our wills and fates do so contrary run That our devices still are overthrown; Our thoughts are ours, their ends none of our own. So think thou wilt no second husband wed; But die thy thoughts when thy first lord is dead. Queen. Nor earth to me give food, nor heaven light, Sport and repose lock from me day and night, To desperation turn my trust and hope, An anchor's cheer in prison be my scope, Each opposite that blanks the face of joy Meet what I would have well, and it destroy, Both here and hence pursue me lasting strife, If, once a widow, ever I be wife! Ham. If she should break it now! King. 'Tis deeply sworn. Sweet, leave me here awhile. My spirits grow dull, and fain I would beguile The tedious day with sleep. Queen. Sleep rock thy brain, [He] sleeps. And never come mischance between us twain! Exit. Ham. Madam, how like you this play? Queen. The lady doth protest too much, methinks. Ham. O, but she'll keep her word. King. Have you heard the argument? Is there no offence in't? Ham. No, no! They do but jest, poison in jest; no offence i' th' world. King. What do you call the play? Ham. 'The Mousetrap.' Marry, how? Tropically. This play is the image of a murther done in Vienna. Gonzago is the duke's name; his wife, Baptista. You shall see anon. 'Tis a knavish piece of work; but what o' that? Your Majesty, and we that have free souls, it touches us not. Let the gall'd jade winch; our withers are unwrung. Enter Lucianus. This is one Lucianus, nephew to the King. Oph. You are as good as a chorus, my lord. Ham. I could interpret between you and your love, if I could see the puppets dallying. Oph. You are keen, my lord, you are keen. Ham. It would cost you a groaning to take off my edge. Oph. Still better, and worse. Ham. So you must take your husbands.- Begin, murtherer. Pox, leave thy damnable faces, and begin! Come, the croaking raven doth bellow for revenge. Luc. Thoughts black, hands apt, drugs fit, and time agreeing; Confederate season, else no creature seeing; Thou mixture rank, of midnight weeds collected, With Hecate's ban thrice blasted, thrice infected, Thy natural magic and dire property On wholesome life usurp immediately. Pours the poison in his ears. Ham. He poisons him i' th' garden for's estate. His name's Gonzago. The story is extant, and written in very choice Italian. You shall see anon how the murtherer gets the love of Gonzago's wife. Oph. The King rises. Ham. What, frighted with false fire? Queen. How fares my lord? Pol. Give o'er the play. King. Give me some light! Away! All. Lights, lights, lights! Exeunt all but Hamlet and Horatio. Ham. Why, let the strucken deer go weep, The hart ungalled play; For some must watch, while some must sleep: Thus runs the world away. Would not this, sir, and a forest of feathers- if the rest of my fortunes turn Turk with me-with two Provincial roses on my raz'd shoes, get me a fellowship in a cry of players, sir? Hor. Half a share. Ham. A whole one I! For thou dost know, O Damon dear, This realm dismantled was Of Jove himself; and now reigns here A very, very- pajock. Hor. You might have rhym'd. Ham. O good Horatio, I'll take the ghost's word for a thousand pound! Didst perceive? Hor. Very well, my lord. Ham. Upon the talk of the poisoning? Hor. I did very well note him. Ham. Aha! Come, some music! Come, the recorders! For if the King like not the comedy, Why then, belike he likes it not, perdy. Come, some music! Enter Rosencrantz and Guildenstern. Guil. Good my lord, vouchsafe me a word with you. Ham. Sir, a whole history. Guil. The King, sir- Ham. Ay, sir, what of him? Guil. Is in his retirement, marvellous distemper'd. Ham. With drink, sir? Guil. No, my lord; rather with choler. Ham. Your wisdom should show itself more richer to signify this to the doctor; for me to put him to his purgation would perhaps plunge him into far more choler. Guil. Good my lord, put your discourse into some frame, and start not so wildly from my affair. Ham. I am tame, sir; pronounce. Guil. The Queen, your mother, in most great affliction of spirit hath sent me to you. Ham. You are welcome. Guil. Nay, good my lord, this courtesy is not of the right breed. If it shall please you to make me a wholesome answer, I will do your mother's commandment; if not, your pardon and my return shall be the end of my business. Ham. Sir, I cannot. Guil. What, my lord? Ham. Make you a wholesome answer; my wit's diseas'd. But, sir, such answer as I can make, you shall command; or rather, as you say, my mother. Therefore no more, but to the matter! My mother, you say- Ros. Then thus she says: your behaviour hath struck her into amazement and admiration. Ham. O wonderful son, that can so stonish a mother! But is there no sequel at the heels of this mother's admiration? Impart. Ros. She desires to speak with you in her closet ere you go to bed. Ham. We shall obey, were she ten times our mother. Have you any further trade with us? Ros. My lord, you once did love me. Ham. And do still, by these pickers and stealers! Ros. Good my lord, what is your cause of distemper? You do surely bar the door upon your own liberty, if you deny your griefs to your friend. Ham. Sir, I lack advancement. Ros. How can that be, when you have the voice of the King himself for your succession in Denmark? Ham. Ay, sir, but 'while the grass grows'- the proverb is something musty. Enter the Players with recorders. O, the recorders! Let me see one. To withdraw with you- why do you go about to recover the wind of me, as if you would drive me into a toil? Guil. O my lord, if my duty be too bold, my love is too unmannerly. Ham. I do not well understand that. Will you play upon this pipe? Guil. My lord, I cannot. Ham. I pray you. Guil. Believe me, I cannot. Ham. I do beseech you. Guil. I know, no touch of it, my lord. Ham. It is as easy as lying. Govern these ventages with your fingers and thumbs, give it breath with your mouth, and it will discourse most eloquent music. Look you, these are the stops. Guil. But these cannot I command to any utt'rance of harmony. I have not the skill. Ham. Why, look you now, how unworthy a thing you make of me! You would play upon me; you would seem to know my stops; you would pluck out the heart of my mystery; you would sound me from my lowest note to the top of my compass; and there is much music, excellent voice, in this little organ, yet cannot you make it speak. 'Sblood, do you think I am easier to be play'd on than a pipe? Call me what instrument you will, though you can fret me, you cannot play upon me. Enter Polonius. God bless you, sir! Pol. My lord, the Queen would speak with you, and presently. Ham. Do you see yonder cloud that's almost in shape of a camel? Pol. By th' mass, and 'tis like a camel indeed. Ham. Methinks it is like a weasel. Pol. It is back'd like a weasel. Ham. Or like a whale. Pol. Very like a whale. Ham. Then will I come to my mother by-and-by.- They fool me to the top of my bent.- I will come by-and-by. Pol. I will say so. Exit. Ham. 'By-and-by' is easily said.- Leave me, friends. [Exeunt all but Hamlet.] 'Tis now the very witching time of night, When churchyards yawn, and hell itself breathes out Contagion to this world. Now could I drink hot blood And do such bitter business as the day Would quake to look on. Soft! now to my mother! O heart, lose not thy nature; let not ever The soul of Nero enter this firm bosom. Let me be cruel, not unnatural; I will speak daggers to her, but use none. My tongue and soul in this be hypocrites- How in my words somever she be shent, To give them seals never, my soul, consent! Exit. Scene III. A room in the Castle. Enter King, Rosencrantz, and Guildenstern. King. I like him not, nor stands it safe with us To let his madness range. Therefore prepare you; I your commission will forthwith dispatch, And he to England shall along with you. The terms of our estate may not endure Hazard so near us as doth hourly grow Out of his lunacies. Guil. We will ourselves provide. Most holy and religious fear it is To keep those many many bodies safe That live and feed upon your Majesty. Ros. The single and peculiar life is bound With all the strength and armour of the mind To keep itself from noyance; but much more That spirit upon whose weal depends and rests The lives of many. The cesse of majesty Dies not alone, but like a gulf doth draw What's near it with it. It is a massy wheel, Fix'd on the summit of the highest mount, To whose huge spokes ten thousand lesser things Are mortis'd and adjoin'd; which when it falls, Each small annexment, petty consequence, Attends the boist'rous ruin. Never alone Did the king sigh, but with a general groan. King. Arm you, I pray you, to this speedy voyage; For we will fetters put upon this fear, Which now goes too free-footed. Both. We will haste us. Exeunt Gentlemen. Enter Polonius. Pol. My lord, he's going to his mother's closet. Behind the arras I'll convey myself To hear the process. I'll warrant she'll tax him home; And, as you said, and wisely was it said, 'Tis meet that some more audience than a mother, Since nature makes them partial, should o'erhear The speech, of vantage. Fare you well, my liege. I'll call upon you ere you go to bed And tell you what I know. King. Thanks, dear my lord. Exit [Polonius]. O, my offence is rank, it smells to heaven; It hath the primal eldest curse upon't, A brother's murther! Pray can I not, Though inclination be as sharp as will. My stronger guilt defeats my strong intent, And, like a man to double business bound, I stand in pause where I shall first begin, And both neglect. What if this cursed hand Were thicker than itself with brother's blood, Is there not rain enough in the sweet heavens To wash it white as snow? Whereto serves mercy But to confront the visage of offence? And what's in prayer but this twofold force, To be forestalled ere we come to fall, Or pardon'd being down? Then I'll look up; My fault is past. But, O, what form of prayer Can serve my turn? 'Forgive me my foul murther'? That cannot be; since I am still possess'd Of those effects for which I did the murther- My crown, mine own ambition, and my queen. May one be pardon'd and retain th' offence? In the corrupted currents of this world Offence's gilded hand may shove by justice, And oft 'tis seen the wicked prize itself Buys out the law; but 'tis not so above. There is no shuffling; there the action lies In his true nature, and we ourselves compell'd, Even to the teeth and forehead of our faults, To give in evidence. What then? What rests? Try what repentance can. What can it not? Yet what can it when one cannot repent? O wretched state! O bosom black as death! O limed soul, that, struggling to be free, Art more engag'd! Help, angels! Make assay. Bow, stubborn knees; and heart with strings of steel, Be soft as sinews of the new-born babe! All may be well. He kneels. Enter Hamlet. Ham. Now might I do it pat, now he is praying; And now I'll do't. And so he goes to heaven, And so am I reveng'd. That would be scann'd. A villain kills my father; and for that, I, his sole son, do this same villain send To heaven. Why, this is hire and salary, not revenge! He took my father grossly, full of bread, With all his crimes broad blown, as flush as May; And how his audit stands, who knows save heaven? But in our circumstance and course of thought, 'Tis heavy with him; and am I then reveng'd, To take him in the purging of his soul, When he is fit and seasoned for his passage? No. Up, sword, and know thou a more horrid hent. When he is drunk asleep; or in his rage; Or in th' incestuous pleasure of his bed; At gaming, swearing, or about some act That has no relish of salvation in't- Then trip him, that his heels may kick at heaven, And that his soul may be as damn'd and black As hell, whereto it goes. My mother stays. This physic but prolongs thy sickly days. Exit. King. [rises] My words fly up, my thoughts remain below. Words without thoughts never to heaven go. Exit. Scene IV. The Queen's closet. Enter Queen and Polonius. Pol. He will come straight. Look you lay home to him. Tell him his pranks have been too broad to bear with, And that your Grace hath screen'd and stood between Much heat and him. I'll silence me even here. Pray you be round with him. Ham. (within) Mother, mother, mother! Queen. I'll warrant you; fear me not. Withdraw; I hear him coming. [Polonius hides behind the arras.] Enter Hamlet. Ham. Now, mother, what's the matter? Queen. Hamlet, thou hast thy father much offended. Ham. Mother, you have my father much offended. Queen. Come, come, you answer with an idle tongue. Ham. Go, go, you question with a wicked tongue. Queen. Why, how now, Hamlet? Ham. What's the matter now? Queen. Have you forgot me? Ham. No, by the rood, not so! You are the Queen, your husband's brother's wife, And (would it were not so!) you are my mother. Queen. Nay, then I'll set those to you that can speak. Ham. Come, come, and sit you down. You shall not budge; You go not till I set you up a glass Where you may see the inmost part of you. Queen. What wilt thou do? Thou wilt not murther me? Help, help, ho! Pol. [behind] What, ho! help, help, help! Ham. [draws] How now? a rat? Dead for a ducat, dead! [Makes a pass through the arras and] kills Polonius. Pol. [behind] O, I am slain! Queen. O me, what hast thou done? Ham. Nay, I know not. Is it the King? Queen. O, what a rash and bloody deed is this! Ham. A bloody deed- almost as bad, good mother, As kill a king, and marry with his brother. Queen. As kill a king? Ham. Ay, lady, it was my word. [Lifts up the arras and sees Polonius.] Thou wretched, rash, intruding fool, farewell! I took thee for thy better. Take thy fortune. Thou find'st to be too busy is some danger. Leave wringing of your hands. Peace! sit you down And let me wring your heart; for so I shall If it be made of penetrable stuff; If damned custom have not braz'd it so That it is proof and bulwark against sense. Queen. What have I done that thou dar'st wag thy tongue In noise so rude against me? Ham. Such an act That blurs the grace and blush of modesty; Calls virtue hypocrite; takes off the rose From the fair forehead of an innocent love, And sets a blister there; makes marriage vows As false as dicers' oaths. O, such a deed As from the body of contraction plucks The very soul, and sweet religion makes A rhapsody of words! Heaven's face doth glow; Yea, this solidity and compound mass, With tristful visage, as against the doom, Is thought-sick at the act. Queen. Ah me, what act, That roars so loud and thunders in the index? Ham. Look here upon th's picture, and on this, The counterfeit presentment of two brothers. See what a grace was seated on this brow; Hyperion's curls; the front of Jove himself; An eye like Mars, to threaten and command; A station like the herald Mercury New lighted on a heaven-kissing hill: A combination and a form indeed Where every god did seem to set his seal To give the world assurance of a man. This was your husband. Look you now what follows. Here is your husband, like a mildew'd ear Blasting his wholesome brother. Have you eyes? Could you on this fair mountain leave to feed, And batten on this moor? Ha! have you eyes You cannot call it love; for at your age The heyday in the blood is tame, it's humble, And waits upon the judgment; and what judgment Would step from this to this? Sense sure you have, Else could you not have motion; but sure that sense Is apoplex'd; for madness would not err, Nor sense to ecstacy was ne'er so thrall'd But it reserv'd some quantity of choice To serve in such a difference. What devil was't That thus hath cozen'd you at hoodman-blind? Eyes without feeling, feeling without sight, Ears without hands or eyes, smelling sans all, Or but a sickly part of one true sense Could not so mope. O shame! where is thy blush? Rebellious hell, If thou canst mutine in a matron's bones, To flaming youth let virtue be as wax And melt in her own fire. Proclaim no shame When the compulsive ardour gives the charge, Since frost itself as actively doth burn, And reason panders will. Queen. O Hamlet, speak no more! Thou turn'st mine eyes into my very soul, And there I see such black and grained spots As will not leave their tinct. Ham. Nay, but to live In the rank sweat of an enseamed bed, Stew'd in corruption, honeying and making love Over the nasty sty! Queen. O, speak to me no more! These words like daggers enter in mine ears. No more, sweet Hamlet! Ham. A murtherer and a villain! A slave that is not twentieth part the tithe Of your precedent lord; a vice of kings; A cutpurse of the empire and the rule, That from a shelf the precious diadem stole And put it in his pocket! Queen. No more! Enter the Ghost in his nightgown. Ham. A king of shreds and patches!- Save me and hover o'er me with your wings, You heavenly guards! What would your gracious figure? Queen. Alas, he's mad! Ham. Do you not come your tardy son to chide, That, laps'd in time and passion, lets go by Th' important acting of your dread command? O, say! Ghost. Do not forget. This visitation Is but to whet thy almost blunted purpose. But look, amazement on thy mother sits. O, step between her and her fighting soul Conceit in weakest bodies strongest works. Speak to her, Hamlet. Ham. How is it with you, lady? Queen. Alas, how is't with you, That you do bend your eye on vacancy, And with th' encorporal air do hold discourse? Forth at your eyes your spirits wildly peep; And, as the sleeping soldiers in th' alarm, Your bedded hairs, like life in excrements, Start up and stand an end. O gentle son, Upon the heat and flame of thy distemper Sprinkle cool patience! Whereon do you look? Ham. On him, on him! Look you how pale he glares! His form and cause conjoin'd, preaching to stones, Would make them capable.- Do not look upon me, Lest with this piteous action you convert My stern effects. Then what I have to do Will want true colour- tears perchance for blood. Queen. To whom do you speak this? Ham. Do you see nothing there? Queen. Nothing at all; yet all that is I see. Ham. Nor did you nothing hear? Queen. No, nothing but ourselves. Ham. Why, look you there! Look how it steals away! My father, in his habit as he liv'd! Look where he goes even now out at the portal! Exit Ghost. Queen. This is the very coinage of your brain. This bodiless creation ecstasy Is very cunning in. Ham. Ecstasy? My pulse as yours doth temperately keep time And makes as healthful music. It is not madness That I have utt'red. Bring me to the test, And I the matter will reword; which madness Would gambol from. Mother, for love of grace, Lay not that flattering unction to your soul That not your trespass but my madness speaks. It will but skin and film the ulcerous place, Whiles rank corruption, mining all within, Infects unseen. Confess yourself to heaven; Repent what's past; avoid what is to come; And do not spread the compost on the weeds To make them ranker. Forgive me this my virtue; For in the fatness of these pursy times Virtue itself of vice must pardon beg- Yea, curb and woo for leave to do him good. Queen. O Hamlet, thou hast cleft my heart in twain. Ham. O, throw away the worser part of it, And live the purer with the other half, Good night- but go not to my uncle's bed. Assume a virtue, if you have it not. That monster, custom, who all sense doth eat Of habits evil, is angel yet in this, That to the use of actions fair and good He likewise gives a frock or livery, That aptly is put on. Refrain to-night, And that shall lend a kind of easiness To the next abstinence; the next more easy; For use almost can change the stamp of nature, And either [master] the devil, or throw him out With wondrous potency. Once more, good night; And when you are desirous to be blest, I'll blessing beg of you.- For this same lord, I do repent; but heaven hath pleas'd it so, To punish me with this, and this with me, That I must be their scourge and minister. I will bestow him, and will answer well The death I gave him. So again, good night. I must be cruel, only to be kind; Thus bad begins, and worse remains behind. One word more, good lady. Queen. What shall I do? Ham. Not this, by no means, that I bid you do: Let the bloat King tempt you again to bed; Pinch wanton on your cheek; call you his mouse; And let him, for a pair of reechy kisses, Or paddling in your neck with his damn'd fingers, Make you to ravel all this matter out, That I essentially am not in madness, But mad in craft. 'Twere good you let him know; For who that's but a queen, fair, sober, wise, Would from a paddock, from a bat, a gib Such dear concernings hide? Who would do so? No, in despite of sense and secrecy, Unpeg the basket on the house's top, Let the birds fly, and like the famous ape, To try conclusions, in the basket creep And break your own neck down. Queen. Be thou assur'd, if words be made of breath, And breath of life, I have no life to breathe What thou hast said to me. Ham. I must to England; you know that? Queen. Alack, I had forgot! 'Tis so concluded on. Ham. There's letters seal'd; and my two schoolfellows, Whom I will trust as I will adders fang'd, They bear the mandate; they must sweep my way And marshal me to knavery. Let it work; For 'tis the sport to have the enginer Hoist with his own petar; and 't shall go hard But I will delve one yard below their mines And blow them at the moon. O, 'tis most sweet When in one line two crafts directly meet. This man shall set me packing. I'll lug the guts into the neighbour room.- Mother, good night.- Indeed, this counsellor Is now most still, most secret, and most grave, Who was in life a foolish peating knave. Come, sir, to draw toward an end with you. Good night, mother. [Exit the Queen. Then] Exit Hamlet, tugging in Polonius. <> ACT IV. Scene I. Elsinore. A room in the Castle. Enter King and Queen, with Rosencrantz and Guildenstern. King. There's matter in these sighs. These profound heaves You must translate; 'tis fit we understand them. Where is your son? Queen. Bestow this place on us a little while. [Exeunt Rosencrantz and Guildenstern.] Ah, mine own lord, what have I seen to-night! King. What, Gertrude? How does Hamlet? Queen. Mad as the sea and wind when both contend Which is the mightier. In his lawless fit Behind the arras hearing something stir, Whips out his rapier, cries 'A rat, a rat!' And in this brainish apprehension kills The unseen good old man. King. O heavy deed! It had been so with us, had we been there. His liberty is full of threats to all- To you yourself, to us, to every one. Alas, how shall this bloody deed be answer'd? It will be laid to us, whose providence Should have kept short, restrain'd, and out of haunt This mad young man. But so much was our love We would not understand what was most fit, But, like the owner of a foul disease, To keep it from divulging, let it feed Even on the pith of life. Where is he gone? Queen. To draw apart the body he hath kill'd; O'er whom his very madness, like some ore Among a mineral of metals base, Shows itself pure. He weeps for what is done. King. O Gertrude, come away! The sun no sooner shall the mountains touch But we will ship him hence; and this vile deed We must with all our majesty and skill Both countenance and excuse. Ho, Guildenstern! Enter Rosencrantz and Guildenstern. Friends both, go join you with some further aid. Hamlet in madness hath Polonius slain, And from his mother's closet hath he dragg'd him. Go seek him out; speak fair, and bring the body Into the chapel. I pray you haste in this. Exeunt [Rosencrantz and Guildenstern]. Come, Gertrude, we'll call up our wisest friends And let them know both what we mean to do And what's untimely done. [So haply slander-] Whose whisper o'er the world's diameter, As level as the cannon to his blank, Transports his poisoned shot- may miss our name And hit the woundless air.- O, come away! My soul is full of discord and dismay. Exeunt. Scene II. Elsinore. A passage in the Castle. Enter Hamlet. Ham. Safely stow'd. Gentlemen. (within) Hamlet! Lord Hamlet! Ham. But soft! What noise? Who calls on Hamlet? O, here they come. Enter Rosencrantz and Guildenstern. Ros. What have you done, my lord, with the dead body? Ham. Compounded it with dust, whereto 'tis kin. Ros. Tell us where 'tis, that we may take it thence And bear it to the chapel. Ham. Do not believe it. Ros. Believe what? Ham. That I can keep your counsel, and not mine own. Besides, to be demanded of a sponge, what replication should be made by the son of a king? Ros. Take you me for a sponge, my lord? Ham. Ay, sir; that soaks up the King's countenance, his rewards, his authorities. But such officers do the King best service in the end. He keeps them, like an ape, in the corner of his jaw; first mouth'd, to be last swallowed. When he needs what you have glean'd, it is but squeezing you and, sponge, you shall be dry again. Ros. I understand you not, my lord. Ham. I am glad of it. A knavish speech sleeps in a foolish ear. Ros. My lord, you must tell us where the body is and go with us to the King. Ham. The body is with the King, but the King is not with the body. The King is a thing- Guil. A thing, my lord? Ham. Of nothing. Bring me to him. Hide fox, and all after. Exeunt. Scene III. Elsinore. A room in the Castle. Enter King. King. I have sent to seek him and to find the body. How dangerous is it that this man goes loose! Yet must not we put the strong law on him. He's lov'd of the distracted multitude, Who like not in their judgment, but their eyes; And where 'tis so, th' offender's scourge is weigh'd, But never the offence. To bear all smooth and even, This sudden sending him away must seem Deliberate pause. Diseases desperate grown By desperate appliance are reliev'd, Or not at all. Enter Rosencrantz. How now O What hath befall'n? Ros. Where the dead body is bestow'd, my lord, We cannot get from him. King. But where is he? Ros. Without, my lord; guarded, to know your pleasure. King. Bring him before us. Ros. Ho, Guildenstern! Bring in my lord. Enter Hamlet and Guildenstern [with Attendants]. King. Now, Hamlet, where's Polonius? Ham. At supper. King. At supper? Where? Ham. Not where he eats, but where he is eaten. A certain convocation of politic worms are e'en at him. Your worm is your only emperor for diet. We fat all creatures else to fat us, and we fat ourselves for maggots. Your fat king and your lean beggar is but variable service- two dishes, but to one table. That's the end. King. Alas, alas! Ham. A man may fish with the worm that hath eat of a king, and eat of the fish that hath fed of that worm. King. What dost thou mean by this? Ham. Nothing but to show you how a king may go a progress through the guts of a beggar. King. Where is Polonius? Ham. In heaven. Send thither to see. If your messenger find him not there, seek him i' th' other place yourself. But indeed, if you find him not within this month, you shall nose him as you go up the stair, into the lobby. King. Go seek him there. [To Attendants.] Ham. He will stay till you come. [Exeunt Attendants.] King. Hamlet, this deed, for thine especial safety,- Which we do tender as we dearly grieve For that which thou hast done,- must send thee hence With fiery quickness. Therefore prepare thyself. The bark is ready and the wind at help, Th' associates tend, and everything is bent For England. Ham. For England? King. Ay, Hamlet. Ham. Good. King. So is it, if thou knew'st our purposes. Ham. I see a cherub that sees them. But come, for England! Farewell, dear mother. King. Thy loving father, Hamlet. Ham. My mother! Father and mother is man and wife; man and wife is one flesh; and so, my mother. Come, for England! Exit. King. Follow him at foot; tempt him with speed aboard. Delay it not; I'll have him hence to-night. Away! for everything is seal'd and done That else leans on th' affair. Pray you make haste. Exeunt Rosencrantz and Guildenstern] And, England, if my love thou hold'st at aught,- As my great power thereof may give thee sense, Since yet thy cicatrice looks raw and red After the Danish sword, and thy free awe Pays homage to us,- thou mayst not coldly set Our sovereign process, which imports at full, By letters congruing to that effect, The present death of Hamlet. Do it, England; For like the hectic in my blood he rages, And thou must cure me. Till I know 'tis done, Howe'er my haps, my joys were ne'er begun. Exit. <> Scene IV. Near Elsinore. Enter Fortinbras with his Army over the stage. For. Go, Captain, from me greet the Danish king. Tell him that by his license Fortinbras Craves the conveyance of a promis'd march Over his kingdom. You know the rendezvous. If that his Majesty would aught with us, We shall express our duty in his eye; And let him know so. Capt. I will do't, my lord. For. Go softly on. Exeunt [all but the Captain]. Enter Hamlet, Rosencrantz, [Guildenstern,] and others. Ham. Good sir, whose powers are these? Capt. They are of Norway, sir. Ham. How purpos'd, sir, I pray you? Capt. Against some part of Poland. Ham. Who commands them, sir? Capt. The nephew to old Norway, Fortinbras. Ham. Goes it against the main of Poland, sir, Or for some frontier? Capt. Truly to speak, and with no addition, We go to gain a little patch of ground That hath in it no profit but the name. To pay five ducats, five, I would not farm it; Nor will it yield to Norway or the Pole A ranker rate, should it be sold in fee. Ham. Why, then the Polack never will defend it. Capt. Yes, it is already garrison'd. Ham. Two thousand souls and twenty thousand ducats Will not debate the question of this straw. This is th' imposthume of much wealth and peace, That inward breaks, and shows no cause without Why the man dies.- I humbly thank you, sir. Capt. God b' wi' you, sir. [Exit.] Ros. Will't please you go, my lord? Ham. I'll be with you straight. Go a little before. [Exeunt all but Hamlet.] How all occasions do inform against me And spur my dull revenge! What is a man, If his chief good and market of his time Be but to sleep and feed? A beast, no more. Sure he that made us with such large discourse, Looking before and after, gave us not That capability and godlike reason To fust in us unus'd. Now, whether it be Bestial oblivion, or some craven scruple Of thinking too precisely on th' event,- A thought which, quarter'd, hath but one part wisdom And ever three parts coward,- I do not know Why yet I live to say 'This thing's to do,' Sith I have cause, and will, and strength, and means To do't. Examples gross as earth exhort me. Witness this army of such mass and charge, Led by a delicate and tender prince, Whose spirit, with divine ambition puff'd, Makes mouths at the invisible event, Exposing what is mortal and unsure To all that fortune, death, and danger dare, Even for an eggshell. Rightly to be great Is not to stir without great argument, But greatly to find quarrel in a straw When honour's at the stake. How stand I then, That have a father kill'd, a mother stain'd, Excitements of my reason and my blood, And let all sleep, while to my shame I see The imminent death of twenty thousand men That for a fantasy and trick of fame Go to their graves like beds, fight for a plot Whereon the numbers cannot try the cause, Which is not tomb enough and continent To hide the slain? O, from this time forth, My thoughts be bloody, or be nothing worth! Exit. <> Scene V. Elsinore. A room in the Castle. Enter Horatio, Queen, and a Gentleman. Queen. I will not speak with her. Gent. She is importunate, indeed distract. Her mood will needs be pitied. Queen. What would she have? Gent. She speaks much of her father; says she hears There's tricks i' th' world, and hems, and beats her heart; Spurns enviously at straws; speaks things in doubt, That carry but half sense. Her speech is nothing, Yet the unshaped use of it doth move The hearers to collection; they aim at it, And botch the words up fit to their own thoughts; Which, as her winks and nods and gestures yield them, Indeed would make one think there might be thought, Though nothing sure, yet much unhappily. Hor. 'Twere good she were spoken with; for she may strew Dangerous conjectures in ill-breeding minds. Queen. Let her come in. [Exit Gentleman.] [Aside] To my sick soul (as sin's true nature is) Each toy seems Prologue to some great amiss. So full of artless jealousy is guilt It spills itself in fearing to be spilt. Enter Ophelia distracted. Oph. Where is the beauteous Majesty of Denmark? Queen. How now, Ophelia? Oph. (sings) How should I your true-love know From another one? By his cockle bat and' staff And his sandal shoon. Queen. Alas, sweet lady, what imports this song? Oph. Say you? Nay, pray You mark. (Sings) He is dead and gone, lady, He is dead and gone; At his head a grass-green turf, At his heels a stone. O, ho! Queen. Nay, but Ophelia- Oph. Pray you mark. (Sings) White his shroud as the mountain snow- Enter King. Queen. Alas, look here, my lord! Oph. (Sings) Larded all with sweet flowers; Which bewept to the grave did not go With true-love showers. King. How do you, pretty lady? Oph. Well, God dild you! They say the owl was a baker's daughter. Lord, we know what we are, but know not what we may be. God be at your table! King. Conceit upon her father. Oph. Pray let's have no words of this; but when they ask, you what it means, say you this: (Sings) To-morrow is Saint Valentine's day, All in the morning bedtime, And I a maid at your window, To be your Valentine. Then up he rose and donn'd his clo'es And dupp'd the chamber door, Let in the maid, that out a maid Never departed more. King. Pretty Ophelia! Oph. Indeed, la, without an oath, I'll make an end on't! [Sings] By Gis and by Saint Charity, Alack, and fie for shame! Young men will do't if they come to't By Cock, they are to blame. Quoth she, 'Before you tumbled me, You promis'd me to wed.' He answers: 'So would I 'a' done, by yonder sun, An thou hadst not come to my bed.' King. How long hath she been thus? Oph. I hope all will be well. We must be patient; but I cannot choose but weep to think they would lay him i' th' cold ground. My brother shall know of it; and so I thank you for your good counsel. Come, my coach! Good night, ladies. Good night, sweet ladies. Good night, good night. Exit King. Follow her close; give her good watch, I pray you. [Exit Horatio.] O, this is the poison of deep grief; it springs All from her father's death. O Gertrude, Gertrude, When sorrows come, they come not single spies. But in battalions! First, her father slain; Next, your son gone, and he most violent author Of his own just remove; the people muddied, Thick and and unwholesome in their thoughts and whispers For good Polonius' death, and we have done but greenly In hugger-mugger to inter him; poor Ophelia Divided from herself and her fair judgment, Without the which we are pictures or mere beasts; Last, and as much containing as all these, Her brother is in secret come from France; And wants not buzzers to infect his ear Feeds on his wonder, keep, himself in clouds, With pestilent speeches of his father's death, Wherein necessity, of matter beggar'd, Will nothing stick our person to arraign In ear and ear. O my dear Gertrude, this, Like to a murd'ring piece, in many places Give me superfluous death. A noise within. Queen. Alack, what noise is this? King. Where are my Switzers? Let them guard the door. Enter a Messenger. What is the matter? Mess. Save Yourself, my lord: The ocean, overpeering of his list, Eats not the flats with more impetuous haste Than Young Laertes, in a riotous head, O'erbears Your offices. The rabble call him lord; And, as the world were now but to begin, Antiquity forgot, custom not known, The ratifiers and props of every word, They cry 'Choose we! Laertes shall be king!' Caps, hands, and tongues applaud it to the clouds, 'Laertes shall be king! Laertes king!' A noise within. Queen. How cheerfully on the false trail they cry! O, this is counter, you false Danish dogs! King. The doors are broke. Enter Laertes with others. Laer. Where is this king?- Sirs, staid you all without. All. No, let's come in! Laer. I pray you give me leave. All. We will, we will! Laer. I thank you. Keep the door. [Exeunt his Followers.] O thou vile king, Give me my father! Queen. Calmly, good Laertes. Laer. That drop of blood that's calm proclaims me bastard; Cries cuckold to my father; brands the harlot Even here between the chaste unsmirched brows Of my true mother. King. What is the cause, Laertes, That thy rebellion looks so giantlike? Let him go, Gertrude. Do not fear our person. There's such divinity doth hedge a king That treason can but peep to what it would, Acts little of his will. Tell me, Laertes, Why thou art thus incens'd. Let him go, Gertrude. Speak, man. Laer. Where is my father? King. Dead. Queen. But not by him! King. Let him demand his fill. Laer. How came he dead? I'll not be juggled with: To hell, allegiance! vows, to the blackest devil Conscience and grace, to the profoundest pit! I dare damnation. To this point I stand, That both the world, I give to negligence, Let come what comes; only I'll be reveng'd Most throughly for my father. King. Who shall stay you? Laer. My will, not all the world! And for my means, I'll husband them so well They shall go far with little. King. Good Laertes, If you desire to know the certainty Of your dear father's death, is't writ in your revenge That sweepstake you will draw both friend and foe, Winner and loser? Laer. None but his enemies. King. Will you know them then? Laer. To his good friends thus wide I'll ope my arms And, like the kind life-rend'ring pelican, Repast them with my blood. King. Why, now You speak Like a good child and a true gentleman. That I am guiltless of your father's death, And am most sensibly in grief for it, It shall as level to your judgment pierce As day does to your eye. A noise within: 'Let her come in.' Laer. How now? What noise is that? Enter Ophelia. O heat, dry up my brains! Tears seven times salt Burn out the sense and virtue of mine eye! By heaven, thy madness shall be paid by weight Till our scale turn the beam. O rose of May! Dear maid, kind sister, sweet Ophelia! O heavens! is't possible a young maid's wits Should be as mortal as an old man's life? Nature is fine in love, and where 'tis fine, It sends some precious instance of itself After the thing it loves. Oph. (sings) They bore him barefac'd on the bier (Hey non nony, nony, hey nony) And in his grave rain'd many a tear. Fare you well, my dove! Laer. Hadst thou thy wits, and didst persuade revenge, It could not move thus. Oph. You must sing 'A-down a-down, and you call him a-down-a.' O, how the wheel becomes it! It is the false steward, that stole his master's daughter. Laer. This nothing's more than matter. Oph. There's rosemary, that's for remembrance. Pray you, love, remember. And there is pansies, that's for thoughts. Laer. A document in madness! Thoughts and remembrance fitted. Oph. There's fennel for you, and columbines. There's rue for you, and here's some for me. We may call it herb of grace o' Sundays. O, you must wear your rue with a difference! There's a daisy. I would give you some violets, but they wither'd all when my father died. They say he made a good end. [Sings] For bonny sweet Robin is all my joy. Laer. Thought and affliction, passion, hell itself, She turns to favour and to prettiness. Oph. (sings) And will he not come again? And will he not come again? No, no, he is dead; Go to thy deathbed; He never will come again. His beard was as white as snow, All flaxen was his poll. He is gone, he is gone, And we cast away moan. God 'a'mercy on his soul! And of all Christian souls, I pray God. God b' wi' you. Exit. Laer. Do you see this, O God? King. Laertes, I must commune with your grief, Or you deny me right. Go but apart, Make choice of whom your wisest friends you will, And they shall hear and judge 'twixt you and me. If by direct or by collateral hand They find us touch'd, we will our kingdom give, Our crown, our life, and all that we call ours, To you in satisfaction; but if not, Be you content to lend your patience to us, And we shall jointly labour with your soul To give it due content. Laer. Let this be so. His means of death, his obscure funeral- No trophy, sword, nor hatchment o'er his bones, No noble rite nor formal ostentation,- Cry to be heard, as 'twere from heaven to earth, That I must call't in question. King. So you shall; And where th' offence is let the great axe fall. I pray you go with me. Exeunt <> Scene VI. Elsinore. Another room in the Castle. Enter Horatio with an Attendant. Hor. What are they that would speak with me? Servant. Seafaring men, sir. They say they have letters for you. Hor. Let them come in. [Exit Attendant.] I do not know from what part of the world I should be greeted, if not from Lord Hamlet. Enter Sailors. Sailor. God bless you, sir. Hor. Let him bless thee too. Sailor. 'A shall, sir, an't please him. There's a letter for you, sir,- it comes from th' ambassador that was bound for England- if your name be Horatio, as I am let to know it is. Hor. (reads the letter) 'Horatio, when thou shalt have overlook'd this, give these fellows some means to the King. They have letters for him. Ere we were two days old at sea, a pirate of very warlike appointment gave us chase. Finding ourselves too slow of sail, we put on a compelled valour, and in the grapple I boarded them. On the instant they got clear of our ship; so I alone became their prisoner. They have dealt with me like thieves of mercy; but they knew what they did: I am to do a good turn for them. Let the King have the letters I have sent, and repair thou to me with as much speed as thou wouldst fly death. I have words to speak in thine ear will make thee dumb; yet are they much too light for the bore of the matter. These good fellows will bring thee where I am. Rosencrantz and Guildenstern hold their course for England. Of them I have much to tell thee. Farewell. 'He that thou knowest thine, HAMLET.' Come, I will give you way for these your letters, And do't the speedier that you may direct me To him from whom you brought them. Exeunt. <> Scene VII. Elsinore. Another room in the Castle. Enter King and Laertes. King. Now must your conscience my acquittance seal, And You must put me in your heart for friend, Sith you have heard, and with a knowing ear, That he which hath your noble father slain Pursued my life. Laer. It well appears. But tell me Why you proceeded not against these feats So crimeful and so capital in nature, As by your safety, wisdom, all things else, You mainly were stirr'd up. King. O, for two special reasons, Which may to you, perhaps, seem much unsinew'd, But yet to me they are strong. The Queen his mother Lives almost by his looks; and for myself,- My virtue or my plague, be it either which,- She's so conjunctive to my life and soul That, as the star moves not but in his sphere, I could not but by her. The other motive Why to a public count I might not go Is the great love the general gender bear him, Who, dipping all his faults in their affection, Would, like the spring that turneth wood to stone, Convert his gives to graces; so that my arrows, Too slightly timber'd for so loud a wind, Would have reverted to my bow again, And not where I had aim'd them. Laer. And so have I a noble father lost; A sister driven into desp'rate terms, Whose worth, if praises may go back again, Stood challenger on mount of all the age For her perfections. But my revenge will come. King. Break not your sleeps for that. You must not think That we are made of stuff so flat and dull That we can let our beard be shook with danger, And think it pastime. You shortly shall hear more. I lov'd your father, and we love ourself, And that, I hope, will teach you to imagine- Enter a Messenger with letters. How now? What news? Mess. Letters, my lord, from Hamlet: This to your Majesty; this to the Queen. King. From Hamlet? Who brought them? Mess. Sailors, my lord, they say; I saw them not. They were given me by Claudio; he receiv'd them Of him that brought them. King. Laertes, you shall hear them. Leave us. Exit Messenger. [Reads]'High and Mighty,-You shall know I am set naked on your kingdom. To-morrow shall I beg leave to see your kingly eyes; when I shall (first asking your pardon thereunto) recount the occasion of my sudden and more strange return. 'HAMLET.' What should this mean? Are all the rest come back? Or is it some abuse, and no such thing? Laer. Know you the hand? King. 'Tis Hamlet's character. 'Naked!' And in a postscript here, he says 'alone.' Can you advise me? Laer. I am lost in it, my lord. But let him come! It warms the very sickness in my heart That I shall live and tell him to his teeth, 'Thus didest thou.' King. If it be so, Laertes (As how should it be so? how otherwise?), Will you be rul'd by me? Laer. Ay my lord, So you will not o'errule me to a peace. King. To thine own peace. If he be now return'd As checking at his voyage, and that he means No more to undertake it, I will work him To exploit now ripe in my device, Under the which he shall not choose but fall; And for his death no wind shall breathe But even his mother shall uncharge the practice And call it accident. Laer. My lord, I will be rul'd; The rather, if you could devise it so That I might be the organ. King. It falls right. You have been talk'd of since your travel much, And that in Hamlet's hearing, for a quality Wherein they say you shine, Your sum of parts Did not together pluck such envy from him As did that one; and that, in my regard, Of the unworthiest siege. Laer. What part is that, my lord? King. A very riband in the cap of youth- Yet needfull too; for youth no less becomes The light and careless livery that it wears Than settled age his sables and his weeds, Importing health and graveness. Two months since Here was a gentleman of Normandy. I have seen myself, and serv'd against, the French, And they can well on horseback; but this gallant Had witchcraft in't. He grew unto his seat, And to such wondrous doing brought his horse As had he been incorps'd and demi-natur'd With the brave beast. So far he topp'd my thought That I, in forgery of shapes and tricks, Come short of what he did. Laer. A Norman was't? King. A Norman. Laer. Upon my life, Lamound. King. The very same. Laer. I know him well. He is the broach indeed And gem of all the nation. King. He made confession of you; And gave you such a masterly report For art and exercise in your defence, And for your rapier most especially, That he cried out 'twould be a sight indeed If one could match you. The scrimers of their nation He swore had neither motion, guard, nor eye, If you oppos'd them. Sir, this report of his Did Hamlet so envenom with his envy That he could nothing do but wish and beg Your sudden coming o'er to play with you. Now, out of this- Laer. What out of this, my lord? King. Laertes, was your father dear to you? Or are you like the painting of a sorrow, A face without a heart,' Laer. Why ask you this? King. Not that I think you did not love your father; But that I know love is begun by time, And that I see, in passages of proof, Time qualifies the spark and fire of it. There lives within the very flame of love A kind of wick or snuff that will abate it; And nothing is at a like goodness still; For goodness, growing to a plurisy, Dies in his own too-much. That we would do, We should do when we would; for this 'would' changes, And hath abatements and delays as many As there are tongues, are hands, are accidents; And then this 'should' is like a spendthrift sigh, That hurts by easing. But to the quick o' th' ulcer! Hamlet comes back. What would you undertake To show yourself your father's son in deed More than in words? Laer. To cut his throat i' th' church! King. No place indeed should murther sanctuarize; Revenge should have no bounds. But, good Laertes, Will you do this? Keep close within your chamber. Hamlet return'd shall know you are come home. We'll put on those shall praise your excellence And set a double varnish on the fame The Frenchman gave you; bring you in fine together And wager on your heads. He, being remiss, Most generous, and free from all contriving, Will not peruse the foils; so that with ease, Or with a little shuffling, you may choose A sword unbated, and, in a pass of practice, Requite him for your father. Laer. I will do't! And for that purpose I'll anoint my sword. I bought an unction of a mountebank, So mortal that, but dip a knife in it, Where it draws blood no cataplasm so rare, Collected from all simples that have virtue Under the moon, can save the thing from death This is but scratch'd withal. I'll touch my point With this contagion, that, if I gall him slightly, It may be death. King. Let's further think of this, Weigh what convenience both of time and means May fit us to our shape. If this should fall, And that our drift look through our bad performance. 'Twere better not assay'd. Therefore this project Should have a back or second, that might hold If this did blast in proof. Soft! let me see. We'll make a solemn wager on your cunnings- I ha't! When in your motion you are hot and dry- As make your bouts more violent to that end- And that he calls for drink, I'll have prepar'd him A chalice for the nonce; whereon but sipping, If he by chance escape your venom'd stuck, Our purpose may hold there.- But stay, what noise, Enter Queen. How now, sweet queen? Queen. One woe doth tread upon another's heel, So fast they follow. Your sister's drown'd, Laertes. Laer. Drown'd! O, where? Queen. There is a willow grows aslant a brook, That shows his hoar leaves in the glassy stream. There with fantastic garlands did she come Of crowflowers, nettles, daisies, and long purples, That liberal shepherds give a grosser name, But our cold maids do dead men's fingers call them. There on the pendant boughs her coronet weeds Clamb'ring to hang, an envious sliver broke, When down her weedy trophies and herself Fell in the weeping brook. Her clothes spread wide And, mermaid-like, awhile they bore her up; Which time she chaunted snatches of old tunes, As one incapable of her own distress, Or like a creature native and indued Unto that element; but long it could not be Till that her garments, heavy with their drink, Pull'd the poor wretch from her melodious lay To muddy death. Laer. Alas, then she is drown'd? Queen. Drown'd, drown'd. Laer. Too much of water hast thou, poor Ophelia, And therefore I forbid my tears; but yet It is our trick; nature her custom holds, Let shame say what it will. When these are gone, The woman will be out. Adieu, my lord. I have a speech of fire, that fain would blaze But that this folly douts it. Exit. King. Let's follow, Gertrude. How much I had to do to calm his rage I Now fear I this will give it start again; Therefore let's follow. Exeunt. <> ACT V. Scene I. Elsinore. A churchyard. Enter two Clowns, [with spades and pickaxes]. Clown. Is she to be buried in Christian burial when she wilfully seeks her own salvation? Other. I tell thee she is; therefore make her grave straight. The crowner hath sate on her, and finds it Christian burial. Clown. How can that be, unless she drown'd herself in her own defence? Other. Why, 'tis found so. Clown. It must be se offendendo; it cannot be else. For here lies the point: if I drown myself wittingly, it argues an act; and an act hath three branches-it is to act, to do, and to perform; argal, she drown'd herself wittingly. Other. Nay, but hear you, Goodman Delver! Clown. Give me leave. Here lies the water; good. Here stands the man; good. If the man go to this water and drown himself, it is, will he nill he, he goes- mark you that. But if the water come to him and drown him, he drowns not himself. Argal, he that is not guilty of his own death shortens not his own life. Other. But is this law? Clown. Ay, marry, is't- crowner's quest law. Other. Will you ha' the truth an't? If this had not been a gentlewoman, she should have been buried out o' Christian burial. Clown. Why, there thou say'st! And the more pity that great folk should have count'nance in this world to drown or hang themselves more than their even-Christian. Come, my spade! There is no ancient gentlemen but gard'ners, ditchers, and grave-makers. They hold up Adam's profession. Other. Was he a gentleman? Clown. 'A was the first that ever bore arms. Other. Why, he had none. Clown. What, art a heathen? How dost thou understand the Scripture? The Scripture says Adam digg'd. Could he dig without arms? I'll put another question to thee. If thou answerest me not to the purpose, confess thyself- Other. Go to! Clown. What is he that builds stronger than either the mason, the shipwright, or the carpenter? Other. The gallows-maker; for that frame outlives a thousand tenants. Clown. I like thy wit well, in good faith. The gallows does well. But how does it well? It does well to those that do ill. Now, thou dost ill to say the gallows is built stronger than the church. Argal, the gallows may do well to thee. To't again, come! Other. Who builds stronger than a mason, a shipwright, or a carpenter? Clown. Ay, tell me that, and unyoke. Other. Marry, now I can tell! Clown. To't. Other. Mass, I cannot tell. Enter Hamlet and Horatio afar off. Clown. Cudgel thy brains no more about it, for your dull ass will not mend his pace with beating; and when you are ask'd this question next, say 'a grave-maker.' The houses he makes lasts till doomsday. Go, get thee to Yaughan; fetch me a stoup of liquor. [Exit Second Clown.] [Clown digs and] sings. In youth when I did love, did love, Methought it was very sweet; To contract- O- the time for- a- my behove, O, methought there- a- was nothing- a- meet. Ham. Has this fellow no feeling of his business, that he sings at grave-making? Hor. Custom hath made it in him a property of easiness. Ham. 'Tis e'en so. The hand of little employment hath the daintier sense. Clown. (sings) But age with his stealing steps Hath clawed me in his clutch, And hath shipped me intil the land, As if I had never been such. [Throws up a skull.] Ham. That skull had a tongue in it, and could sing once. How the knave jowls it to the ground,as if 'twere Cain's jawbone, that did the first murther! This might be the pate of a Politician, which this ass now o'erreaches; one that would circumvent God, might it not? Hor. It might, my lord. Ham. Or of a courtier, which could say 'Good morrow, sweet lord! How dost thou, good lord?' This might be my Lord Such-a-one, that prais'd my Lord Such-a-one's horse when he meant to beg it- might it not? Hor. Ay, my lord. Ham. Why, e'en so! and now my Lady Worm's, chapless, and knock'd about the mazzard with a sexton's spade. Here's fine revolution, and we had the trick to see't. Did these bones cost no more the breeding but to play at loggets with 'em? Mine ache to think on't. Clown. (Sings) A pickaxe and a spade, a spade, For and a shrouding sheet; O, a Pit of clay for to be made For such a guest is meet. Throws up [another skull]. Ham. There's another. Why may not that be the skull of a lawyer? Where be his quiddits now, his quillets, his cases, his tenures, and his tricks? Why does he suffer this rude knave now to knock him about the sconce with a dirty shovel, and will not tell him of his action of battery? Hum! This fellow might be in's time a great buyer of land, with his statutes, his recognizances, his fines, his double vouchers, his recoveries. Is this the fine of his fines, and the recovery of his recoveries, to have his fine pate full of fine dirt? Will his vouchers vouch him no more of his purchases, and double ones too, than the length and breadth of a pair of indentures? The very conveyances of his lands will scarcely lie in this box; and must th' inheritor himself have no more, ha? Hor. Not a jot more, my lord. Ham. Is not parchment made of sheepskins? Hor. Ay, my lord, And of calveskins too. Ham. They are sheep and calves which seek out assurance in that. I will speak to this fellow. Whose grave's this, sirrah? Clown. Mine, sir. [Sings] O, a pit of clay for to be made For such a guest is meet. Ham. I think it be thine indeed, for thou liest in't. Clown. You lie out on't, sir, and therefore 'tis not yours. For my part, I do not lie in't, yet it is mine. Ham. Thou dost lie in't, to be in't and say it is thine. 'Tis for the dead, not for the quick; therefore thou liest. Clown. 'Tis a quick lie, sir; 'twill away again from me to you. Ham. What man dost thou dig it for? Clown. For no man, sir. Ham. What woman then? Clown. For none neither. Ham. Who is to be buried in't? Clown. One that was a woman, sir; but, rest her soul, she's dead. Ham. How absolute the knave is! We must speak by the card, or equivocation will undo us. By the Lord, Horatio, this three years I have taken note of it, the age is grown so picked that the toe of the peasant comes so near the heel of the courtier he galls his kibe.- How long hast thou been a grave-maker? Clown. Of all the days i' th' year, I came to't that day that our last king Hamlet overcame Fortinbras. Ham. How long is that since? Clown. Cannot you tell that? Every fool can tell that. It was the very day that young Hamlet was born- he that is mad, and sent into England. Ham. Ay, marry, why was be sent into England? Clown. Why, because 'a was mad. 'A shall recover his wits there; or, if 'a do not, 'tis no great matter there. Ham. Why? Clown. 'Twill not he seen in him there. There the men are as mad as he. Ham. How came he mad? Clown. Very strangely, they say. Ham. How strangely? Clown. Faith, e'en with losing his wits. Ham. Upon what ground? Clown. Why, here in Denmark. I have been sexton here, man and boy thirty years. Ham. How long will a man lie i' th' earth ere he rot? Clown. Faith, if 'a be not rotten before 'a die (as we have many pocky corses now-a-days that will scarce hold the laying in, I will last you some eight year or nine year. A tanner will last you nine year. Ham. Why he more than another? Clown. Why, sir, his hide is so tann'd with his trade that 'a will keep out water a great while; and your water is a sore decayer of your whoreson dead body. Here's a skull now. This skull hath lien you i' th' earth three-and-twenty years. Ham. Whose was it? Clown. A whoreson, mad fellow's it was. Whose do you think it was? Ham. Nay, I know not. Clown. A pestilence on him for a mad rogue! 'A pour'd a flagon of Rhenish on my head once. This same skull, sir, was Yorick's skull, the King's jester. Ham. This? Clown. E'en that. Ham. Let me see. [Takes the skull.] Alas, poor Yorick! I knew him, Horatio. A fellow of infinite jest, of most excellent fancy. He hath borne me on his back a thousand times. And now how abhorred in my imagination it is! My gorge rises at it. Here hung those lips that I have kiss'd I know not how oft. Where be your gibes now? your gambols? your songs? your flashes of merriment that were wont to set the table on a roar? Not one now, to mock your own grinning? Quite chap- fall'n? Now get you to my lady's chamber, and tell her, let her paint an inch thick, to this favour she must come. Make her laugh at that. Prithee, Horatio, tell me one thing. Hor. What's that, my lord? Ham. Dost thou think Alexander look'd o' this fashion i' th' earth? Hor. E'en so. Ham. And smelt so? Pah! [Puts down the skull.] Hor. E'en so, my lord. Ham. To what base uses we may return, Horatio! Why may not imagination trace the noble dust of Alexander till he find it stopping a bunghole? Hor. 'Twere to consider too curiously, to consider so. Ham. No, faith, not a jot; but to follow him thither with modesty enough, and likelihood to lead it; as thus: Alexander died, Alexander was buried, Alexander returneth into dust; the dust is earth; of earth we make loam; and why of that loam (whereto he was converted) might they not stop a beer barrel? Imperious Caesar, dead and turn'd to clay, Might stop a hole to keep the wind away. O, that that earth which kept the world in awe Should patch a wall t' expel the winter's flaw! But soft! but soft! aside! Here comes the King- Enter [priests with] a coffin [in funeral procession], King, Queen, Laertes, with Lords attendant.] The Queen, the courtiers. Who is this they follow? And with such maimed rites? This doth betoken The corse they follow did with desp'rate hand Fordo it own life. 'Twas of some estate. Couch we awhile, and mark. [Retires with Horatio.] Laer. What ceremony else? Ham. That is Laertes, A very noble youth. Mark. Laer. What ceremony else? Priest. Her obsequies have been as far enlarg'd As we have warranty. Her death was doubtful; And, but that great command o'ersways the order, She should in ground unsanctified have lodg'd Till the last trumpet. For charitable prayers, Shards, flints, and pebbles should be thrown on her. Yet here she is allow'd her virgin rites, Her maiden strewments, and the bringing home Of bell and burial. Laer. Must there no more be done? Priest. No more be done. We should profane the service of the dead To sing a requiem and such rest to her As to peace-parted souls. Laer. Lay her i' th' earth; And from her fair and unpolluted flesh May violets spring! I tell thee, churlish priest, A minist'ring angel shall my sister be When thou liest howling. Ham. What, the fair Ophelia? Queen. Sweets to the sweet! Farewell. [Scatters flowers.] I hop'd thou shouldst have been my Hamlet's wife; I thought thy bride-bed to have deck'd, sweet maid, And not have strew'd thy grave. Laer. O, treble woe Fall ten times treble on that cursed head Whose wicked deed thy most ingenious sense Depriv'd thee of! Hold off the earth awhile, Till I have caught her once more in mine arms. Leaps in the grave. Now pile your dust upon the quick and dead Till of this flat a mountain you have made T' o'ertop old Pelion or the skyish head Of blue Olympus. Ham. [comes forward] What is he whose grief Bears such an emphasis? whose phrase of sorrow Conjures the wand'ring stars, and makes them stand Like wonder-wounded hearers? This is I, Hamlet the Dane. [Leaps in after Laertes. Laer. The devil take thy soul! [Grapples with him]. Ham. Thou pray'st not well. I prithee take thy fingers from my throat; For, though I am not splenitive and rash, Yet have I in me something dangerous, Which let thy wisdom fear. Hold off thy hand! King. Pluck them asunder. Queen. Hamlet, Hamlet! All. Gentlemen! Hor. Good my lord, be quiet. [The Attendants part them, and they come out of the grave.] Ham. Why, I will fight with him upon this theme Until my eyelids will no longer wag. Queen. O my son, what theme? Ham. I lov'd Ophelia. Forty thousand brothers Could not (with all their quantity of love) Make up my sum. What wilt thou do for her? King. O, he is mad, Laertes. Queen. For love of God, forbear him! Ham. 'Swounds, show me what thou't do. Woo't weep? woo't fight? woo't fast? woo't tear thyself? Woo't drink up esill? eat a crocodile? I'll do't. Dost thou come here to whine? To outface me with leaping in her grave? Be buried quick with her, and so will I. And if thou prate of mountains, let them throw Millions of acres on us, till our ground, Singeing his pate against the burning zone, Make Ossa like a wart! Nay, an thou'lt mouth, I'll rant as well as thou. Queen. This is mere madness; And thus a while the fit will work on him. Anon, as patient as the female dove When that her golden couplets are disclos'd, His silence will sit drooping. Ham. Hear you, sir! What is the reason that you use me thus? I lov'd you ever. But it is no matter. Let Hercules himself do what he may, The cat will mew, and dog will have his day. Exit. King. I pray thee, good Horatio, wait upon him. Exit Horatio. [To Laertes] Strengthen your patience in our last night's speech. We'll put the matter to the present push.- Good Gertrude, set some watch over your son.- This grave shall have a living monument. An hour of quiet shortly shall we see; Till then in patience our proceeding be. Exeunt. Scene II. Elsinore. A hall in the Castle. Enter Hamlet and Horatio. Ham. So much for this, sir; now shall you see the other. You do remember all the circumstance? Hor. Remember it, my lord! Ham. Sir, in my heart there was a kind of fighting That would not let me sleep. Methought I lay Worse than the mutinies in the bilboes. Rashly- And prais'd be rashness for it; let us know, Our indiscretion sometime serves us well When our deep plots do pall; and that should learn us There's a divinity that shapes our ends, Rough-hew them how we will- Hor. That is most certain. Ham. Up from my cabin, My sea-gown scarf'd about me, in the dark Grop'd I to find out them; had my desire, Finger'd their packet, and in fine withdrew To mine own room again; making so bold (My fears forgetting manners) to unseal Their grand commission; where I found, Horatio (O royal knavery!), an exact command, Larded with many several sorts of reasons, Importing Denmark's health, and England's too, With, hoo! such bugs and goblins in my life- That, on the supervise, no leisure bated, No, not to stay the finding of the axe, My head should be struck off. Hor. Is't possible? Ham. Here's the commission; read it at more leisure. But wilt thou bear me how I did proceed? Hor. I beseech you. Ham. Being thus benetted round with villanies, Or I could make a prologue to my brains, They had begun the play. I sat me down; Devis'd a new commission; wrote it fair. I once did hold it, as our statists do, A baseness to write fair, and labour'd much How to forget that learning; but, sir, now It did me yeoman's service. Wilt thou know Th' effect of what I wrote? Hor. Ay, good my lord. Ham. An earnest conjuration from the King, As England was his faithful tributary, As love between them like the palm might flourish, As peace should still her wheaten garland wear And stand a comma 'tween their amities, And many such-like as's of great charge, That, on the view and knowing of these contents, Without debatement further, more or less, He should the bearers put to sudden death, Not shriving time allow'd. Hor. How was this seal'd? Ham. Why, even in that was heaven ordinant. I had my father's signet in my purse, Which was the model of that Danish seal; Folded the writ up in the form of th' other, Subscrib'd it, gave't th' impression, plac'd it safely, The changeling never known. Now, the next day Was our sea-fight; and what to this was sequent Thou know'st already. Hor. So Guildenstern and Rosencrantz go to't. Ham. Why, man, they did make love to this employment! They are not near my conscience; their defeat Does by their own insinuation grow. 'Tis dangerous when the baser nature comes Between the pass and fell incensed points Of mighty opposites. Hor. Why, what a king is this! Ham. Does it not, thinks't thee, stand me now upon- He that hath kill'd my king, and whor'd my mother; Popp'd in between th' election and my hopes; Thrown out his angle for my proper life, And with such coz'nage- is't not perfect conscience To quit him with this arm? And is't not to be damn'd To let this canker of our nature come In further evil? Hor. It must be shortly known to him from England What is the issue of the business there. Ham. It will be short; the interim is mine, And a man's life is no more than to say 'one.' But I am very sorry, good Horatio, That to Laertes I forgot myself, For by the image of my cause I see The portraiture of his. I'll court his favours. But sure the bravery of his grief did put me Into a tow'ring passion. Hor. Peace! Who comes here? Enter young Osric, a courtier. Osr. Your lordship is right welcome back to Denmark. Ham. I humbly thank you, sir. [Aside to Horatio] Dost know this waterfly? Hor. [aside to Hamlet] No, my good lord. Ham. [aside to Horatio] Thy state is the more gracious; for 'tis a vice to know him. He hath much land, and fertile. Let a beast be lord of beasts, and his crib shall stand at the king's mess. 'Tis a chough; but, as I say, spacious in the possession of dirt. Osr. Sweet lord, if your lordship were at leisure, I should impart a thing to you from his Majesty. Ham. I will receive it, sir, with all diligence of spirit. Put your bonnet to his right use. 'Tis for the head. Osr. I thank your lordship, it is very hot. Ham. No, believe me, 'tis very cold; the wind is northerly. Osr. It is indifferent cold, my lord, indeed. Ham. But yet methinks it is very sultry and hot for my complexion. Osr. Exceedingly, my lord; it is very sultry, as 'twere- I cannot tell how. But, my lord, his Majesty bade me signify to you that he has laid a great wager on your head. Sir, this is the matter- Ham. I beseech you remember. [Hamlet moves him to put on his hat.] Osr. Nay, good my lord; for mine ease, in good faith. Sir, here is newly come to court Laertes; believe me, an absolute gentleman, full of most excellent differences, of very soft society and great showing. Indeed, to speak feelingly of him, he is the card or calendar of gentry; for you shall find in him the continent of what part a gentleman would see. Ham. Sir, his definement suffers no perdition in you; though, I know, to divide him inventorially would dozy th' arithmetic of memory, and yet but yaw neither in respect of his quick sail. But, in the verity of extolment, I take him to be a soul of great article, and his infusion of such dearth and rareness as, to make true diction of him, his semblable is his mirror, and who else would trace him, his umbrage, nothing more. Osr. Your lordship speaks most infallibly of him. Ham. The concernancy, sir? Why do we wrap the gentleman in our more rawer breath? Osr. Sir? Hor [aside to Hamlet] Is't not possible to understand in another tongue? You will do't, sir, really. Ham. What imports the nomination of this gentleman? Osr. Of Laertes? Hor. [aside] His purse is empty already. All's golden words are spent. Ham. Of him, sir. Osr. I know you are not ignorant- Ham. I would you did, sir; yet, in faith, if you did, it would not much approve me. Well, sir? Osr. You are not ignorant of what excellence Laertes is- Ham. I dare not confess that, lest I should compare with him in excellence; but to know a man well were to know himself. Osr. I mean, sir, for his weapon; but in the imputation laid on him by them, in his meed he's unfellowed. Ham. What's his weapon? Osr. Rapier and dagger. Ham. That's two of his weapons- but well. Osr. The King, sir, hath wager'd with him six Barbary horses; against the which he has impon'd, as I take it, six French rapiers and poniards, with their assigns, as girdle, hangers, and so. Three of the carriages, in faith, are very dear to fancy, very responsive to the hilts, most delicate carriages, and of very liberal conceit. Ham. What call you the carriages? Hor. [aside to Hamlet] I knew you must be edified by the margent ere you had done. Osr. The carriages, sir, are the hangers. Ham. The phrase would be more germane to the matter if we could carry cannon by our sides. I would it might be hangers till then. But on! Six Barbary horses against six French swords, their assigns, and three liberal-conceited carriages: that's the French bet against the Danish. Why is this all impon'd, as you call it? Osr. The King, sir, hath laid that, in a dozen passes between yourself and him, he shall not exceed you three hits; he hath laid on twelve for nine, and it would come to immediate trial if your lordship would vouchsafe the answer. Ham. How if I answer no? Osr. I mean, my lord, the opposition of your person in trial. Ham. Sir, I will walk here in the hall. If it please his Majesty, it is the breathing time of day with me. Let the foils be brought, the gentleman willing, and the King hold his purpose, I will win for him if I can; if not, I will gain nothing but my shame and the odd hits. Osr. Shall I redeliver you e'en so? Ham. To this effect, sir, after what flourish your nature will. Osr. I commend my duty to your lordship. Ham. Yours, yours. [Exit Osric.] He does well to commend it himself; there are no tongues else for's turn. Hor. This lapwing runs away with the shell on his head. Ham. He did comply with his dug before he suck'd it. Thus has he, and many more of the same bevy that I know the drossy age dotes on, only got the tune of the time and outward habit of encounter- a kind of yesty collection, which carries them through and through the most fann'd and winnowed opinions; and do but blow them to their trial-the bubbles are out, Enter a Lord. Lord. My lord, his Majesty commended him to you by young Osric, who brings back to him, that you attend him in the hall. He sends to know if your pleasure hold to play with Laertes, or that you will take longer time. Ham. I am constant to my purposes; they follow the King's pleasure. If his fitness speaks, mine is ready; now or whensoever, provided I be so able as now. Lord. The King and Queen and all are coming down. Ham. In happy time. Lord. The Queen desires you to use some gentle entertainment to Laertes before you fall to play. Ham. She well instructs me. [Exit Lord.] Hor. You will lose this wager, my lord. Ham. I do not think so. Since he went into France I have been in continual practice. I shall win at the odds. But thou wouldst not think how ill all's here about my heart. But it is no matter. Hor. Nay, good my lord - Ham. It is but foolery; but it is such a kind of gaingiving as would perhaps trouble a woman. Hor. If your mind dislike anything, obey it. I will forestall their repair hither and say you are not fit. Ham. Not a whit, we defy augury; there's a special providence in the fall of a sparrow. If it be now, 'tis not to come; if it be not to come, it will be now; if it be not now, yet it will come: the readiness is all. Since no man knows aught of what he leaves, what is't to leave betimes? Let be. Enter King, Queen, Laertes, Osric, and Lords, with other Attendants with foils and gauntlets. A table and flagons of wine on it. King. Come, Hamlet, come, and take this hand from me. [The King puts Laertes' hand into Hamlet's.] Ham. Give me your pardon, sir. I have done you wrong; But pardon't, as you are a gentleman. This presence knows, And you must needs have heard, how I am punish'd With sore distraction. What I have done That might your nature, honour, and exception Roughly awake, I here proclaim was madness. Was't Hamlet wrong'd Laertes? Never Hamlet. If Hamlet from himself be taken away, And when he's not himself does wrong Laertes, Then Hamlet does it not, Hamlet denies it. Who does it, then? His madness. If't be so, Hamlet is of the faction that is wrong'd; His madness is poor Hamlet's enemy. Sir, in this audience, Let my disclaiming from a purpos'd evil Free me so far in your most generous thoughts That I have shot my arrow o'er the house And hurt my brother. Laer. I am satisfied in nature, Whose motive in this case should stir me most To my revenge. But in my terms of honour I stand aloof, and will no reconcilement Till by some elder masters of known honour I have a voice and precedent of peace To keep my name ungor'd. But till that time I do receive your offer'd love like love, And will not wrong it. Ham. I embrace it freely, And will this brother's wager frankly play. Give us the foils. Come on. Laer. Come, one for me. Ham. I'll be your foil, Laertes. In mine ignorance Your skill shall, like a star i' th' darkest night, Stick fiery off indeed. Laer. You mock me, sir. Ham. No, by this hand. King. Give them the foils, young Osric. Cousin Hamlet, You know the wager? Ham. Very well, my lord. Your Grace has laid the odds o' th' weaker side. King. I do not fear it, I have seen you both; But since he is better'd, we have therefore odds. Laer. This is too heavy; let me see another. Ham. This likes me well. These foils have all a length? Prepare to play. Osr. Ay, my good lord. King. Set me the stoups of wine upon that table. If Hamlet give the first or second hit, Or quit in answer of the third exchange, Let all the battlements their ordnance fire; The King shall drink to Hamlet's better breath, And in the cup an union shall he throw Richer than that which four successive kings In Denmark's crown have worn. Give me the cups; And let the kettle to the trumpet speak, The trumpet to the cannoneer without, The cannons to the heavens, the heaven to earth, 'Now the King drinks to Hamlet.' Come, begin. And you the judges, bear a wary eye. Ham. Come on, sir. Laer. Come, my lord. They play. Ham. One. Laer. No. Ham. Judgment! Osr. A hit, a very palpable hit. Laer. Well, again! King. Stay, give me drink. Hamlet, this pearl is thine; Here's to thy health. [Drum; trumpets sound; a piece goes off [within]. Give him the cup. Ham. I'll play this bout first; set it by awhile. Come. (They play.) Another hit. What say you? Laer. A touch, a touch; I do confess't. King. Our son shall win. Queen. He's fat, and scant of breath. Here, Hamlet, take my napkin, rub thy brows. The Queen carouses to thy fortune, Hamlet. Ham. Good madam! King. Gertrude, do not drink. Queen. I will, my lord; I pray you pardon me. Drinks. King. [aside] It is the poison'd cup; it is too late. Ham. I dare not drink yet, madam; by-and-by. Queen. Come, let me wipe thy face. Laer. My lord, I'll hit him now. King. I do not think't. Laer. [aside] And yet it is almost against my conscience. Ham. Come for the third, Laertes! You but dally. Pray you pass with your best violence; I am afeard you make a wanton of me. Laer. Say you so? Come on. Play. Osr. Nothing neither way. Laer. Have at you now! [Laertes wounds Hamlet; then] in scuffling, they change rapiers, [and Hamlet wounds Laertes]. King. Part them! They are incens'd. Ham. Nay come! again! The Queen falls. Osr. Look to the Queen there, ho! Hor. They bleed on both sides. How is it, my lord? Osr. How is't, Laertes? Laer. Why, as a woodcock to mine own springe, Osric. I am justly kill'd with mine own treachery. Ham. How does the Queen? King. She sounds to see them bleed. Queen. No, no! the drink, the drink! O my dear Hamlet! The drink, the drink! I am poison'd. [Dies.] Ham. O villany! Ho! let the door be lock'd. Treachery! Seek it out. [Laertes falls.] Laer. It is here, Hamlet. Hamlet, thou art slain; No medicine in the world can do thee good. In thee there is not half an hour of life. The treacherous instrument is in thy hand, Unbated and envenom'd. The foul practice Hath turn'd itself on me. Lo, here I lie, Never to rise again. Thy mother's poison'd. I can no more. The King, the King's to blame. Ham. The point envenom'd too? Then, venom, to thy work. Hurts the King. All. Treason! treason! King. O, yet defend me, friends! I am but hurt. Ham. Here, thou incestuous, murd'rous, damned Dane, Drink off this potion! Is thy union here? Follow my mother. King dies. Laer. He is justly serv'd. It is a poison temper'd by himself. Exchange forgiveness with me, noble Hamlet. Mine and my father's death come not upon thee, Nor thine on me! Dies. Ham. Heaven make thee free of it! I follow thee. I am dead, Horatio. Wretched queen, adieu! You that look pale and tremble at this chance, That are but mutes or audience to this act, Had I but time (as this fell sergeant, Death, Is strict in his arrest) O, I could tell you- But let it be. Horatio, I am dead; Thou liv'st; report me and my cause aright To the unsatisfied. Hor. Never believe it. I am more an antique Roman than a Dane. Here's yet some liquor left. Ham. As th'art a man, Give me the cup. Let go! By heaven, I'll ha't. O good Horatio, what a wounded name (Things standing thus unknown) shall live behind me! If thou didst ever hold me in thy heart, Absent thee from felicity awhile, And in this harsh world draw thy breath in pain, To tell my story. [March afar off, and shot within.] What warlike noise is this? Osr. Young Fortinbras, with conquest come from Poland, To the ambassadors of England gives This warlike volley. Ham. O, I die, Horatio! The potent poison quite o'ercrows my spirit. I cannot live to hear the news from England, But I do prophesy th' election lights On Fortinbras. He has my dying voice. So tell him, with th' occurrents, more and less, Which have solicited- the rest is silence. Dies. Hor. Now cracks a noble heart. Good night, sweet prince, And flights of angels sing thee to thy rest! [March within.] Why does the drum come hither? Enter Fortinbras and English Ambassadors, with Drum, Colours, and Attendants. Fort. Where is this sight? Hor. What is it you will see? If aught of woe or wonder, cease your search. Fort. This quarry cries on havoc. O proud Death, What feast is toward in thine eternal cell That thou so many princes at a shot So bloodily hast struck. Ambassador. The sight is dismal; And our affairs from England come too late. The ears are senseless that should give us hearing To tell him his commandment is fulfill'd That Rosencrantz and Guildenstern are dead. Where should we have our thanks? Hor. Not from his mouth, Had it th' ability of life to thank you. He never gave commandment for their death. But since, so jump upon this bloody question, You from the Polack wars, and you from England, Are here arriv'd, give order that these bodies High on a stage be placed to the view; And let me speak to the yet unknowing world How these things came about. So shall you hear Of carnal, bloody and unnatural acts; Of accidental judgments, casual slaughters; Of deaths put on by cunning and forc'd cause; And, in this upshot, purposes mistook Fall'n on th' inventors' heads. All this can I Truly deliver. Fort. Let us haste to hear it, And call the noblest to the audience. For me, with sorrow I embrace my fortune. I have some rights of memory in this kingdom Which now, to claim my vantage doth invite me. Hor. Of that I shall have also cause to speak, And from his mouth whose voice will draw on more. But let this same be presently perform'd, Even while men's minds are wild, lest more mischance On plots and errors happen. Fort. Let four captains Bear Hamlet like a soldier to the stage; For he was likely, had he been put on, To have prov'd most royally; and for his passage The soldiers' music and the rites of war Speak loudly for him. Take up the bodies. Such a sight as this Becomes the field but here shows much amiss. Go, bid the soldiers shoot. Exeunt marching; after the which a peal of ordnance are shot off. THE END <> End of this Etext of The Complete Works of William Shakespeare, The Tragedy of Hamlet, Prince of Denmark THE TRAGEDY OF MACBETH by William Shakespeare Dramatis Personae DUNCAN, King of Scotland MACBETH, Thane of Glamis and Cawdor, a general in the King's army LADY MACBETH, his wife MACDUFF, Thane of Fife, a nobleman of Scotland LADY MACDUFF, his wife MALCOLM, elder son of Duncan DONALBAIN, younger son of Duncan BANQUO, Thane of Lochaber, a general in the King's army FLEANCE, his son LENNOX, nobleman of Scotland ROSS, nobleman of Scotland MENTEITH nobleman of Scotland ANGUS, nobleman of Scotland CAITHNESS, nobleman of Scotland SIWARD, Earl of Northumberland, general of the English forces YOUNG SIWARD, his son SEYTON, attendant to Macbeth HECATE, Queen of the Witches The Three Witches Boy, Son of Macduff Gentlewoman attending on Lady Macbeth An English Doctor A Scottish Doctor A Sergeant A Porter An Old Man The Ghost of Banquo and other Apparitions Lords, Gentlemen, Officers, Soldiers, Murtherers, Attendants, and Messengers <> SCENE: Scotland and England ACT I. SCENE I. A desert place. Thunder and lightning. Enter three Witches. FIRST WITCH. When shall we three meet again? In thunder, lightning, or in rain? SECOND WITCH. When the hurlyburly's done, When the battle's lost and won. THIRD WITCH. That will be ere the set of sun. FIRST WITCH. Where the place? SECOND WITCH. Upon the heath. THIRD WITCH. There to meet with Macbeth. FIRST WITCH. I come, Graymalkin. ALL. Paddock calls. Anon! Fair is foul, and foul is fair. Hover through the fog and filthy air. Exeunt. SCENE II. A camp near Forres. Alarum within. Enter Duncan, Malcolm, Donalbain, Lennox, with Attendants, meeting a bleeding Sergeant. DUNCAN. What bloody man is that? He can report, As seemeth by his plight, of the revolt The newest state. MALCOLM. This is the sergeant Who like a good and hardy soldier fought 'Gainst my captivity. Hail, brave friend! Say to the King the knowledge of the broil As thou didst leave it. SERGEANT. Doubtful it stood, As two spent swimmers that do cling together And choke their art. The merciless Macdonwald- Worthy to be a rebel, for to that The multiplying villainies of nature Do swarm upon him -from the Western Isles Of kerns and gallowglasses is supplied; And Fortune, on his damned quarrel smiling, Show'd like a rebel's whore. But all's too weak; For brave Macbeth -well he deserves that name- Disdaining Fortune, with his brandish'd steel, Which smoked with bloody execution, Like Valor's minion carved out his passage Till he faced the slave, Which ne'er shook hands, nor bade farewell to him, Till he unseam'd him from the nave to the chaps, And fix'd his head upon our battlements. DUNCAN. O valiant cousin! Worthy gentleman! SERGEANT. As whence the sun 'gins his reflection Shipwrecking storms and direful thunders break, So from that spring whence comfort seem'd to come Discomfort swells. Mark, King of Scotland, mark. No sooner justice had, with valor arm'd, Compell'd these skipping kerns to trust their heels, But the Norweyan lord, surveying vantage, With furbish'd arms and new supplies of men, Began a fresh assault. DUNCAN. Dismay'd not this Our captains, Macbeth and Banquo.? SERGEANT. Yes, As sparrows eagles, or the hare the lion. If I say sooth, I must report they were As cannons overcharged with double cracks, So they Doubly redoubled strokes upon the foe. Except they meant to bathe in reeking wounds, Or memorize another Golgotha, I cannot tell- But I am faint; my gashes cry for help. DUNCAN. So well thy words become thee as thy wounds; They smack of honor both. Go get him surgeons. Exit Sergeant, attended. Who comes here? Enter Ross. MALCOLM The worthy Thane of Ross. LENNOX. What a haste looks through his eyes! So should he look That seems to speak things strange. ROSS. God save the King! DUNCAN. Whence camest thou, worthy Thane? ROSS. From Fife, great King, Where the Norweyan banners flout the sky And fan our people cold. Norway himself, with terrible numbers, Assisted by that most disloyal traitor The Thane of Cawdor, began a dismal conflict, Till that Bellona's bridegroom, lapp'd in proof, Confronted him with self-comparisons, Point against point rebellious, arm 'gainst arm, Curbing his lavish spirit; and, to conclude, The victory fell on us. DUNCAN. Great happiness! ROSS. That now Sweno, the Norways' king, craves composition; Nor would we deign him burial of his men Till he disbursed, at Saint Colme's Inch, Ten thousand dollars to our general use. DUNCAN. No more that Thane of Cawdor shall deceive Our bosom interest. Go pronounce his present death, And with his former title greet Macbeth. ROSS. I'll see it done. DUNCAN. What he hath lost, noble Macbeth hath won. Exeunt. SCENE III. A heath. Thunder. Enter the three Witches. FIRST WITCH. Where hast thou been, sister? SECOND WITCH. Killing swine. THIRD WITCH. Sister, where thou? FIRST WITCH. A sailor's wife had chestnuts in her lap, And mounch'd, and mounch'd, and mounch'd. "Give me," quoth I. "Aroint thee, witch!" the rump-fed ronyon cries. Her husband's to Aleppo gone, master the Tiger; But in a sieve I'll thither sail, And, like a rat without a tail, I'll do, I'll do, and I'll do. SECOND WITCH. I'll give thee a wind. FIRST WITCH. Thou'rt kind. THIRD WITCH. And I another. FIRST WITCH. I myself have all the other, And the very ports they blow, All the quarters that they know I' the shipman's card. I will drain him dry as hay: Sleep shall neither night nor day Hang upon his penthouse lid; He shall live a man forbid. Weary se'nnights nine times nine Shall he dwindle, peak, and pine; Though his bark cannot be lost, Yet it shall be tempest-toss'd. Look what I have. SECOND WITCH. Show me, show me. FIRST WITCH. Here I have a pilot's thumb, Wreck'd as homeward he did come. Drum within. THIRD WITCH. A drum, a drum! Macbeth doth come. ALL. The weird sisters, hand in hand, Posters of the sea and land, Thus do go about, about, Thrice to thine, and thrice to mine, And thrice again, to make up nine. Peace! The charm's wound up. Enter Macbeth and Banquo. MACBETH. So foul and fair a day I have not seen. BANQUO. How far is't call'd to Forres? What are these So wither'd and so wild in their attire, That look not like the inhabitants o' the earth, And yet are on't? Live you? or are you aught That man may question? You seem to understand me, By each at once her choppy finger laying Upon her skinny lips. You should be women, And yet your beards forbid me to interpret That you are so. MACBETH. Speak, if you can. What are you? FIRST WITCH. All hail, Macbeth, hail to thee, Thane of Glamis! SECOND WITCH. All hail, Macbeth, hail to thee, Thane of Cawdor! THIRD WITCH. All hail, Macbeth, that shalt be King hereafter! BANQUO. Good sir, why do you start, and seem to fear Things that do sound so fair? I' the name of truth, Are ye fantastical or that indeed Which outwardly ye show? My noble partner You greet with present grace and great prediction Of noble having and of royal hope, That he seems rapt withal. To me you speak not. If you can look into the seeds of time, And say which grain will grow and which will not, Speak then to me, who neither beg nor fear Your favors nor your hate. FIRST WITCH. Hail! SECOND WITCH. Hail! THIRD WITCH. Hail! FIRST WITCH. Lesser than Macbeth, and greater. SECOND WITCH. Not so happy, yet much happier. THIRD WITCH. Thou shalt get kings, though thou be none. So all hail, Macbeth and Banquo! FIRST WITCH. Banquo and Macbeth, all hail! MACBETH. Stay, you imperfect speakers, tell me more. By Sinel's death I know I am Thane of Glamis; But how of Cawdor? The Thane of Cawdor lives, A prosperous gentleman; and to be King Stands not within the prospect of belief, No more than to be Cawdor. Say from whence You owe this strange intelligence, or why Upon this blasted heath you stop our way With such prophetic greeting? Speak, I charge you. Witches vanish. BANQUO. The earth hath bubbles as the water has, And these are of them. Whither are they vanish'd? MACBETH. Into the air, and what seem'd corporal melted As breath into the wind. Would they had stay'd! BANQUO. Were such things here as we do speak about? Or have we eaten on the insane root That takes the reason prisoner? MACBETH. Your children shall be kings. BANQUO. You shall be King. MACBETH. And Thane of Cawdor too. Went it not so? BANQUO. To the selfsame tune and words. Who's here? Enter Ross and Angus. ROSS. The King hath happily received, Macbeth, The news of thy success; and when he reads Thy personal venture in the rebels' fight, His wonders and his praises do contend Which should be thine or his. Silenced with that, In viewing o'er the rest o' the selfsame day, He finds thee in the stout Norweyan ranks, Nothing afeard of what thyself didst make, Strange images of death. As thick as hail Came post with post, and every one did bear Thy praises in his kingdom's great defense, And pour'd them down before him. ANGUS. We are sent To give thee, from our royal master, thanks; Only to herald thee into his sight, Not pay thee. ROSS. And for an earnest of a greater honor, He bade me, from him, call thee Thane of Cawdor. In which addition, hail, most worthy Thane, For it is thine. BANQUO. What, can the devil speak true? MACBETH. The Thane of Cawdor lives. Why do you dress me In borrow'd robes? ANGUS. Who was the Thane lives yet, But under heavy judgement bears that life Which he deserves to lose. Whether he was combined With those of Norway, or did line the rebel With hidden help and vantage, or that with both He labor'd in his country's wreck, I know not; But treasons capital, confess'd and proved, Have overthrown him. MACBETH. [Aside.] Glamis, and Thane of Cawdor! The greatest is behind. [To Ross and Angus] Thanks for your pains. [Aside to Banquo] Do you not hope your children shall be kings, When those that gave the Thane of Cawdor to me Promised no less to them? BANQUO. [Aside to Macbeth.] That, trusted home, Might yet enkindle you unto the crown, Besides the Thane of Cawdor. But 'tis strange; And oftentimes, to win us to our harm, The instruments of darkness tell us truths, Win us with honest trifles, to betray's In deepest consequence- Cousins, a word, I pray you. MACBETH. [Aside.] Two truths are told, As happy prologues to the swelling act Of the imperial theme-I thank you, gentlemen. [Aside.] This supernatural soliciting Cannot be ill, cannot be good. If ill, Why hath it given me earnest of success, Commencing in a truth? I am Thane of Cawdor. If good, why do I yield to that suggestion Whose horrid image doth unfix my hair And make my seated heart knock at my ribs, Against the use of nature? Present fears Are less than horrible imaginings: My thought, whose murther yet is but fantastical, Shakes so my single state of man that function Is smother'd in surmise, and nothing is But what is not. BANQUO. Look, how our partner's rapt. MACBETH. [Aside.] If chance will have me King, why, chance may crown me Without my stir. BANQUO. New honors come upon him, Like our strange garments, cleave not to their mould But with the aid of use. MACBETH. [Aside.] Come what come may, Time and the hour runs through the roughest day. BANQUO. Worthy Macbeth, we stay upon your leisure. MACBETH. Give me your favor; my dull brain was wrought With things forgotten. Kind gentlemen, your pains Are register'd where every day I turn The leaf to read them. Let us toward the King. Think upon what hath chanced, and at more time, The interim having weigh'd it, let us speak Our free hearts each to other. BANQUO. Very gladly. MACBETH. Till then, enough. Come, friends. Exeunt. SCENE IV. Forres. The palace. Flourish. Enter Duncan, Malcolm, Donalbain, Lennox, and Attendants. DUNCAN. Is execution done on Cawdor? Are not Those in commission yet return'd? MALCOLM. My liege, They are not yet come back. But I have spoke With one that saw him die, who did report That very frankly he confess'd his treasons, Implored your Highness' pardon, and set forth A deep repentance. Nothing in his life Became him like the leaving it; he died As one that had been studied in his death, To throw away the dearest thing he owed As 'twere a careless trifle. DUNCAN. There's no art To find the mind's construction in the face: He was a gentleman on whom I built An absolute trust. Enter Macbeth, Banquo, Ross, and Angus. O worthiest cousin! The sin of my ingratitude even now Was heavy on me. Thou art so far before, That swiftest wing of recompense is slow To overtake thee. Would thou hadst less deserved, That the proportion both of thanks and payment Might have been mine! Only I have left to say, More is thy due than more than all can pay. MACBETH. The service and the loyalty lowe, In doing it, pays itself. Your Highness' part Is to receive our duties, and our duties Are to your throne and state, children and servants, Which do but what they should, by doing everything Safe toward your love and honor. DUNCAN. Welcome hither. I have begun to plant thee, and will labor To make thee full of growing. Noble Banquo, That hast no less deserved, nor must be known No less to have done so; let me infold thee And hold thee to my heart. BANQUO. There if I grow, The harvest is your own. DUNCAN. My plenteous joys, Wanton in fullness, seek to hide themselves In drops of sorrow. Sons, kinsmen, thanes, And you whose places are the nearest, know We will establish our estate upon Our eldest, Malcolm, whom we name hereafter The Prince of Cumberland; which honor must Not unaccompanied invest him only, But signs of nobleness, like stars, shall shine On all deservers. From hence to Inverness, And bind us further to you. MACBETH. The rest is labor, which is not used for you. I'll be myself the harbinger, and make joyful The hearing of my wife with your approach; So humbly take my leave. DUNCAN. My worthy Cawdor! MACBETH. [Aside.] The Prince of Cumberland! That is a step On which I must fall down, or else o'erleap, For in my way it lies. Stars, hide your fires; Let not light see my black and deep desires. The eye wink at the hand; yet let that be Which the eye fears, when it is done, to see. Exit. DUNCAN. True, worthy Banquo! He is full so valiant, And in his commendations I am fed; It is a banquet to me. Let's after him, Whose care is gone before to bid us welcome. It is a peerless kinsman. Flourish. Exeunt. SCENE V. Inverness. Macbeth's castle. Enter Lady Macbeth, reading a letter. LADY MACBETH. "They met me in the day of success, and I have learned by the perfectest report they have more in them than mortal knowledge. When I burned in desire to question them further, they made themselves air, into which they vanished. Whiles I stood rapt in the wonder of it, came missives from the King, who all-hailed me 'Thane of Cawdor'; by which title, before, these weird sisters saluted me and referred me to the coming on of time with 'Hail, King that shalt be!' This have I thought good to deliver thee, my dearest partner of greatness, that thou mightst not lose the dues of rejoicing, by being ignorant of what greatness is promised thee. Lay it to thy heart, and farewell." Glamis thou art, and Cawdor, and shalt be What thou art promised. Yet do I fear thy nature. It is too full o' the milk of human kindness To catch the nearest way. Thou wouldst be great; Art not without ambition, but without The illness should attend it. What thou wouldst highly, That wouldst thou holily; wouldst not play false, And yet wouldst wrongly win. Thou'ldst have, great Glamis, That which cries, "Thus thou must do, if thou have it; And that which rather thou dost fear to do Than wishest should be undone." Hie thee hither, That I may pour my spirits in thine ear, And chastise with the valor of my tongue All that impedes thee from the golden round, Which fate and metaphysical aid doth seem To have thee crown'd withal. Enter a Messenger. What is your tidings? MESSENGER. The King comes here tonight. LADY MACBETH. Thou'rt mad to say it! Is not thy master with him? who, were't so, Would have inform'd for preparation. MESSENGER. So please you, it is true; our Thane is coming. One of my fellows had the speed of him, Who, almost dead for breath, had scarcely more Than would make up his message. LADY MACBETH. Give him tending; He brings great news. Exit Messenger. The raven himself is hoarse That croaks the fatal entrance of Duncan Under my battlements. Come, you spirits That tend on mortal thoughts, unsex me here And fill me from the crown to the toe top-full Of direst cruelty! Make thick my blood, Stop up the access and passage to remorse, That no compunctious visitings of nature Shake my fell purpose nor keep peace between The effect and it! Come to my woman's breasts, And take my milk for gall, your murthering ministers, Wherever in your sightless substances You wait on nature's mischief! Come, thick night, And pall thee in the dunnest smoke of hell That my keen knife see not the wound it makes Nor heaven peep through the blanket of the dark To cry, "Hold, hold!" Enter Macbeth. Great Glamis! Worthy Cawdor! Greater than both, by the all-hail hereafter! Thy letters have transported me beyond This ignorant present, and I feel now The future in the instant. MACBETH. My dearest love, Duncan comes here tonight. LADY MACBETH. And when goes hence? MACBETH. Tomorrow, as he purposes. LADY MACBETH. O, never Shall sun that morrow see! Your face, my Thane, is as a book where men May read strange matters. To beguile the time, Look like the time; bear welcome in your eye, Your hand, your tongue; look like the innocent flower, But be the serpent under it. He that's coming Must be provided for; and you shall put This night's great business into my dispatch, Which shall to all our nights and days to come Give solely sovereign sway and masterdom. MACBETH. We will speak further. LADY MACBETH. Only look up clear; To alter favor ever is to fear. Leave all the rest to me. Exeunt. SCENE VI. Before Macbeth's castle. Hautboys and torches. Enter Duncan, Malcolm, Donalbain, Banquo, Lennox, Macduff, Ross, Angus, and Attendants. DUNCAN. This castle hath a pleasant seat; the air Nimbly and sweetly recommends itself Unto our gentle senses. BANQUO. This guest of summer, The temple-haunting martlet, does approve By his loved mansionry that the heaven's breath Smells wooingly here. No jutty, frieze, Buttress, nor coign of vantage, but this bird Hath made his pendant bed and procreant cradle; Where they most breed and haunt, I have observed The air is delicate. Enter Lady Macbeth. DUNCAN. See, see, our honor'd hostess! The love that follows us sometime is our trouble, Which still we thank as love. Herein I teach you How you shall bid God 'ield us for your pains, And thank us for your trouble. LADY MACBETH. All our service In every point twice done, and then done double, Were poor and single business to contend Against those honors deep and broad wherewith Your Majesty loads our house. For those of old, And the late dignities heap'd up to them, We rest your hermits. DUNCAN. Where's the Thane of Cawdor? We coursed him at the heels and had a purpose To be his purveyor; but he rides well, And his great love, sharp as his spur, hath holp him To his home before us. Fair and noble hostess, We are your guest tonight. LADY MACBETH. Your servants ever Have theirs, themselves, and what is theirs, in compt, To make their audit at your Highness' pleasure, Still to return your own. DUNCAN. Give me your hand; Conduct me to mine host. We love him highly, And shall continue our graces towards him. By your leave, hostess. Exeunt. SCENE VII Macbeth's castle. Hautboys and torches. Enter a Sewer and divers Servants with dishes and service, who pass over the stage. Then enter Macbeth. MACBETH. If it were done when 'tis done, then 'twere well It were done quickly. If the assassination Could trammel up the consequence, and catch, With his surcease, success; that but this blow Might be the be-all and the end-all -here, But here, upon this bank and shoal of time, We'ld jump the life to come. But in these cases We still have judgement here, that we but teach Bloody instructions, which being taught return To plague the inventor. This even-handed justice Commends the ingredients of our poison'd chalice To our own lips. He's here in double trust: First, as I am his kinsman and his subject, Strong both against the deed; then, as his host, Who should against his murtherer shut the door, Not bear the knife myself. Besides, this Duncan Hath borne his faculties so meek, hath been So clear in his great office, that his virtues Will plead like angels trumpet-tongued against The deep damnation of his taking-off, And pity, like a naked new-born babe Striding the blast, or heaven's cherubin horsed Upon the sightless couriers of the air, Shall blow the horrid deed in every eye, That tears shall drown the wind. I have no spur To prick the sides of my intent, but only Vaulting ambition, which o'erleaps itself And falls on the other. Enter Lady Macbeth. How now, what news? LADY MACBETH. He has almost supp'd. Why have you left the chamber? MACBETH. Hath he ask'd for me? LADY MACBETH. Know you not he has? MACBETH. We will proceed no further in this business: He hath honor'd me of late, and I have bought Golden opinions from all sorts of people, Which would be worn now in their newest gloss, Not cast aside so soon. LADY MACBETH. Was the hope drunk Wherein you dress'd yourself? Hath it slept since? And wakes it now, to look so green and pale At what it did so freely? From this time Such I account thy love. Art thou afeard To be the same in thine own act and valor As thou art in desire? Wouldst thou have that Which thou esteem'st the ornament of life And live a coward in thine own esteem, Letting "I dare not" wait upon "I would" Like the poor cat i' the adage? MACBETH. Prithee, peace! I dare do all that may become a man; Who dares do more is none. LADY MACBETH. What beast wast then That made you break this enterprise to me? When you durst do it, then you were a man, And, to be more than what you were, you would Be so much more the man. Nor time nor place Did then adhere, and yet you would make both. They have made themselves, and that their fitness now Does unmake you. I have given suck and know How tender 'tis to love the babe that milks me- I would, while it was smiling in my face, Have pluck'd my nipple from his boneless gums And dash'd the brains out had I so sworn as you Have done to this. MACBETH. If we should fail? LADY MACBETH. We fail? But screw your courage to the sticking-place And we'll not fail. When Duncan is asleep- Whereto the rather shall his day's hard journey Soundly invite him- his two chamberlains Will I with wine and wassail so convince That memory, the warder of the brain, Shall be a fume and the receipt of reason A limbeck only. When in swinish sleep Their drenched natures lie as in a death, What cannot you and I perform upon The unguarded Duncan? What not put upon His spongy officers, who shall bear the guilt Of our great quell? MACBETH. Bring forth men-children only, For thy undaunted mettle should compose Nothing but males. Will it not be received, When we have mark'd with blood those sleepy two Of his own chamber and used their very daggers, That they have done't? LADY MACBETH. Who dares receive it other, As we shall make our griefs and clamor roar Upon his death? MACBETH. I am settled and bend up Each corporal agent to this terrible feat. Away, and mock the time with fairest show: False face must hide what the false heart doth know. Exeunt. <> ACT II. SCENE I. Inverness. Court of Macbeth's castle. Enter Banquo and Fleance, bearing a torch before him. BANQUO. How goes the night, boy? FLEANCE. The moon is down; I have not heard the clock. BANQUO. And she goes down at twelve. FLEANCE. I take't 'tis later, sir. BANQUO. Hold, take my sword. There's husbandry in heaven, Their candles are all out. Take thee that too. A heavy summons lies like lead upon me, And yet I would not sleep. Merciful powers, Restrain in me the cursed thoughts that nature Gives way to in repose! Enter Macbeth and a Servant with a torch. Give me my sword. Who's there? MACBETH. A friend. BANQUO. What, sir, not yet at rest? The King's abed. He hath been in unusual pleasure and Sent forth great largess to your offices. This diamond he greets your wife withal, By the name of most kind hostess, and shut up In measureless content. MACBETH. Being unprepared, Our will became the servant to defect, Which else should free have wrought. BANQUO. All's well. I dreamt last night of the three weird sisters: To you they have show'd some truth. MACBETH. I think not of them; Yet, when we can entreat an hour to serve, We would spend it in some words upon that business, If you would grant the time. BANQUO. At your kind'st leisure. MACBETH. If you shall cleave to my consent, when 'tis, It shall make honor for you. BANQUO. So I lose none In seeking to augment it, but still keep My bosom franchised and allegiance clear, I shall be counsel'd. MACBETH. Good repose the while. BANQUO. Thanks, sir, the like to you. Exeunt Banquo. and Fleance. MACBETH. Go bid thy mistress, when my drink is ready, She strike upon the bell. Get thee to bed. Exit Servant. Is this a dagger which I see before me, The handle toward my hand? Come, let me clutch thee. I have thee not, and yet I see thee still. Art thou not, fatal vision, sensible To feeling as to sight? Or art thou but A dagger of the mind, a false creation, Proceeding from the heat-oppressed brain? I see thee yet, in form as palpable As this which now I draw. Thou marshal'st me the way that I was going, And such an instrument I was to use. Mine eyes are made the fools o' the other senses, Or else worth all the rest. I see thee still, And on thy blade and dudgeon gouts of blood, Which was not so before. There's no such thing: It is the bloody business which informs Thus to mine eyes. Now o'er the one half-world Nature seems dead, and wicked dreams abuse The curtain'd sleep; witchcraft celebrates Pale Hecate's offerings; and wither'd Murther, Alarum'd by his sentinel, the wolf, Whose howl's his watch, thus with his stealthy pace, With Tarquin's ravishing strides, towards his design Moves like a ghost. Thou sure and firm-set earth, Hear not my steps, which way they walk, for fear Thy very stones prate of my whereabout, And take the present horror from the time, Which now suits with it. Whiles I threat, he lives; Words to the heat of deeds too cold breath gives. A bell rings. I go, and it is done; the bell invites me. Hear it not, Duncan, for it is a knell That summons thee to heaven, or to hell. Exit. SCENE II. The same. Enter Lady Macbeth. LADY MACBETH. That which hath made them drunk hath made me bold; What hath quench'd them hath given me fire. Hark! Peace! It was the owl that shriek'd, the fatal bellman, Which gives the stern'st good night. He is about it: The doors are open, and the surfeited grooms Do mock their charge with snores. I have drugg'd their possets That death and nature do contend about them, Whether they live or die. MACBETH. [Within.] Who's there' what, ho! LADY MACBETH. Alack, I am afraid they have awaked And 'tis not done. The attempt and not the deed Confounds us. Hark! I laid their daggers ready; He could not miss 'em. Had he not resembled My father as he slept, I had done't. Enter Macbeth, My husband! MACBETH. I have done the deed. Didst thou not hear a noise? LADY MACBETH. I heard the owl scream and the crickets cry. Did not you speak? MACBETH. When? LADY MACBETH. Now. MACBETH. As I descended? LADY MACBETH. Ay. MACBETH. Hark! Who lies i' the second chamber? LADY MACBETH. Donalbain. MACBETH. This is a sorry sight. [Looks on his hands. LADY MACBETH. A foolish thought, to say a sorry sight. MACBETH. There's one did laugh in 's sleep, and one cried, "Murther!" That they did wake each other. I stood and heard them, But they did say their prayers and address'd them Again to sleep. LADY MACBETH. There are two lodged together. MACBETH. One cried, "God bless us!" and "Amen" the other, As they had seen me with these hangman's hands. Listening their fear, I could not say "Amen," When they did say, "God bless us!" LADY MACBETH. Consider it not so deeply. MACBETH. But wherefore could not I pronounce "Amen"? I had most need of blessing, and "Amen" Stuck in my throat. LADY MACBETH. These deeds must not be thought After these ways; so, it will make us mad. MACBETH. I heard a voice cry, "Sleep no more! Macbeth does murther sleep" -the innocent sleep, Sleep that knits up the ravel'd sleave of care, The death of each day's life, sore labor's bath, Balm of hurt minds, great nature's second course, Chief nourisher in life's feast- LADY MACBETH. What do you mean? MACBETH. Still it cried, "Sleep no more!" to all the house; "Glamis hath murther'd sleep, and therefore Cawdor Shall sleep no more. Macbeth shall sleep no more." LADY MACBETH. Who was it that thus cried? Why, worthy Thane, You do unbend your noble strength, to think So brainsickly of things. Go, get some water And wash this filthy witness from your hand. Why did you bring these daggers from the place? They must lie there. Go carry them, and smear The sleepy grooms with blood. MACBETH. I'll go no more. I am afraid to think what I have done; Look on't again I dare not. LADY MACBETH. Infirm of purpose! Give me the daggers. The sleeping and the dead Are but as pictures; 'tis the eye of childhood That fears a painted devil. If he do bleed, I'll gild the faces of the grooms withal, For it must seem their guilt. Exit. Knocking within. MACBETH. Whence is that knocking? How is't with me, when every noise appals me? What hands are here? Ha, they pluck out mine eyes! Will all great Neptune's ocean wash this blood Clean from my hand? No, this my hand will rather The multitudinous seas incarnadine, Making the green one red. Re-enter Lady Macbeth. LADY MACBETH. My hands are of your color, but I shame To wear a heart so white. [Knocking within.] I hear knocking At the south entry. Retire we to our chamber. A little water clears us of this deed. How easy is it then! Your constancy Hath left you unattended. [Knocking within.] Hark, more knocking. Get on your nightgown, lest occasion call us And show us to be watchers. Be not lost So poorly in your thoughts. MACBETH. To know my deed, 'twere best not know myself. Knocking within. Wake Duncan with thy knocking! I would thou couldst! Exeunt. SCENE III. The same. Enter a Porter. Knocking within. PORTER. Here's a knocking indeed! If a man were porter of Hell Gate, he should have old turning the key. [Knocking within.] Knock, knock, knock! Who's there, i' the name of Belzebub? Here's a farmer that hanged himself on th' expectation of plenty. Come in time! Have napkins enow about you; here you'll sweat fort. [Knocking within.] Knock, knock! Who's there, in th' other devil's name? Faith, here's an equivocator that could swear in both the scales against either scale, who committed treason enough for God's sake, yet could not equivocate to heaven. O, come in, equivocator. [Knocking within.] Knock, knock, knock! Who's there? Faith, here's an English tailor come hither, for stealing out of a French hose. Come in, tailor; here you may roast your goose. [Knocking within.] Knock, knock! Never at quiet! What are you? But this place is too cold for hell. I'll devil-porter it no further. I had thought to have let in some of all professions, that go the primrose way to the everlasting bonfire. [Knocking within.] Anon, anon! I pray you, remember the porter. Opens the gate. Enter Macduff and Lennox. MACDUFF. Was it so late, friend, ere you went to bed, That you do lie so late? PORTER. Faith, sir, we were carousing till the second cock; and drink, sir, is a great provoker of three things. MACDUFF. What three things does drink especially provoke? PORTER. Marry, sir, nose-painting, sleep, and urine. Lechery, sir, it provokes and unprovokes: it provokes the desire, but it takes away the performance. Therefore much drink may be said to be an equivocator with lechery: it makes him, and it mars him; it sets him on, and it takes him off; it persuades him and disheartens him; makes him stand to and not stand to; in conclusion, equivocates him in a sleep, and giving him the lie, leaves him. MACDUFF. I believe drink gave thee the lie last night. PORTER. That it did, sir, i' the very throat on me; but requited him for his lie, and, I think, being too strong for him, though he took up my legs sometime, yet I made shift to cast him. MACDUFF. Is thy master stirring? Enter Macbeth. Our knocking has awaked him; here he comes. LENNOX. Good morrow, noble sir. MACBETH. morrow, both. MACDUFF. Is the King stirring, worthy Thane? MACBETH. Not yet. MACDUFF. He did command me to call timely on him; I have almost slipp'd the hour. MACBETH. I'll bring you to him. MACDUFF. I know this is a joyful trouble to you, But yet 'tis one. MACBETH. The labor we delight in physics pain. This is the door. MACDUFF I'll make so bold to call, For 'tis my limited service. Exit. LENNOX. Goes the King hence today? MACBETH. He does; he did appoint so. LENNOX. The night has been unruly. Where we lay, Our chimneys were blown down, and, as they say, Lamentings heard i' the air, strange screams of death, And prophesying with accents terrible Of dire combustion and confused events New hatch'd to the woeful time. The obscure bird Clamor'd the livelong night. Some say the earth Was feverous and did shake. MACBETH. 'Twas a rough fight. LENNOX. My young remembrance cannot parallel A fellow to it. Re-enter Macduff. MACDUFF. O horror, horror, horror! Tongue nor heart Cannot conceive nor name thee. MACBETH. LENNOX. What's the matter? MACDUFF. Confusion now hath made his masterpiece. Most sacrilegious murther hath broke ope The Lord's anointed temple and stole thence The life o' the building. MACBETH. What is't you say? the life? LENNOX. Mean you his Majesty? MACDUFF. Approach the chamber, and destroy your sight With a new Gorgon. Do not bid me speak; See, and then speak yourselves. Exeunt Macbeth and Lennox. Awake, awake! Ring the alarum bell. Murther and treason! Banquo and Donalbain! Malcolm, awake! Shake off this downy sleep, death's counterfeit, And look on death itself! Up, up, and see The great doom's image! Malcolm! Banquo! As from your graves rise up, and walk like sprites To countenance this horror! Ring the bell. Bell rings. Enter Lady Macbeth. LADY MACBETH. What's the business, That such a hideous trumpet calls to parley The sleepers of the house? Speak, speak! MACDUFF. O gentle lady, 'Tis not for you to hear what I can speak: The repetition in a woman's ear Would murther as it fell. Enter Banquo. O Banquo, Banquo! Our royal master's murther'd. LADY MACBETH. Woe, alas! What, in our house? BANQUO. Too cruel anywhere. Dear Duff, I prithee, contradict thyself, And say it is not so. Re-enter Macbeth and Lennox, with Ross. MACBETH. Had I but died an hour before this chance, I had lived a blessed time, for from this instant There's nothing serious in mortality. All is but toys; renown and grace is dead, The wine of life is drawn, and the mere lees Is left this vault to brag of. Enter Malcolm and Donalbain. DONALBAIN. What is amiss? MACBETH. You are, and do not know't. The spring, the head, the fountain of your blood Is stopped, the very source of it is stopp'd. MACDUFF. Your royal father's murther'd. MALCOLM. O, by whom? LENNOX. Those of his chamber, as it seem'd, had done't. Their hands and faces were all badged with blood; So were their daggers, which unwiped we found Upon their pillows. They stared, and were distracted; no man's life Was to be trusted with them. MACBETH. O, yet I do repent me of my fury, That I did kill them. MACDUFF. Wherefore did you so? MACBETH. Who can be wise, amazed, temperate and furious, Loyal and neutral, in a moment? No man. The expedition of my violent love Outrun the pauser reason. Here lay Duncan, His silver skin laced with his golden blood, And his gash'd stabs look'd like a breach in nature For ruin's wasteful entrance; there, the murtherers, Steep'd in the colors of their trade, their daggers Unmannerly breech'd with gore. Who could refrain, That had a heart to love, and in that heart Courage to make 's love known? LADY MACBETH. Help me hence, ho! MACDUFF. Look to the lady. MALCOLM. [Aside to Donalbain.] Why do we hold our tongues, That most may claim this argument for ours? DONALBAIN. [Aside to Malcolm.] What should be spoken here, where our fate, Hid in an auger hole, may rush and seize us? Let's away, Our tears are not yet brew'd. MALCOLM. [Aside to Donalbain.] Nor our strong sorrow Upon the foot of motion. BANQUO. Look to the lady. Lady Macbeth is carried out. And when we have our naked frailties hid, That suffer in exposure, let us meet And question this most bloody piece of work To know it further. Fears and scruples shake us. In the great hand of God I stand, and thence Against the undivulged pretense I fight Of treasonous malice. MACDUFF. And so do I. ALL. So all. MACBETH. Let's briefly put on manly readiness And meet i' the hall together. ALL. Well contented. Exeunt all but Malcolm and Donalbain. MALCOLM. What will you do? Let's not consort with them. To show an unfelt sorrow is an office Which the false man does easy. I'll to England. DONALBAIN. To Ireland, I; our separated fortune Shall keep us both the safer. Where we are There's daggers in men's smiles; the near in blood, The nearer bloody. MALCOLM. This murtherous shaft that's shot Hath not yet lighted, and our safest way Is to avoid the aim. Therefore to horse; And let us not be dainty of leave-taking, But shift away. There's warrant in that theft Which steals itself when there's no mercy left. Exeunt. SCENE IV. Outside Macbeth's castle. Enter Ross with an Old Man. OLD MAN. Threescore and ten I can remember well, Within the volume of which time I have seen Hours dreadful and things strange, but this sore night Hath trifled former knowings. ROSS. Ah, good father, Thou seest the heavens, as troubled with man's act, Threaten his bloody stage. By the clock 'tis day, And yet dark night strangles the traveling lamp. Is't night's predominance, or the day's shame, That darkness does the face of earth entomb, When living light should kiss it? OLD MAN. 'Tis unnatural, Even like the deed that's done. On Tuesday last A falcon towering in her pride of place Was by a mousing owl hawk'd at and kill'd. ROSS. And Duncan's horses-a thing most strange and certain- Beauteous and swift, the minions of their race, Turn'd wild in nature, broke their stalls, flung out, Contending 'gainst obedience, as they would make War with mankind. OLD MAN. 'Tis said they eat each other. ROSS. They did so, to the amazement of mine eyes That look'd upon't. Enter Macduff. Here comes the good Macduff. How goes the world, sir, now? MACDUFF. Why, see you not? ROSS. Is't known who did this more than bloody deed? MACDUFF. Those that Macbeth hath slain. ROSS. Alas, the day! What good could they pretend? MACDUFF. They were suborn'd: Malcolm and Donalbain, the King's two sons, Are stol'n away and fled, which puts upon them Suspicion of the deed. ROSS. 'Gainst nature still! Thriftless ambition, that wilt ravin up Thine own life's means! Then 'tis most like The sovereignty will fall upon Macbeth. MACDUFF. He is already named, and gone to Scone To be invested. ROSS. Where is Duncan's body? MACDUFF. Carried to Colmekill, The sacred storehouse of his predecessors And guardian of their bones. ROSS. Will you to Scone? MACDUFF. No, cousin, I'll to Fife. ROSS. Well, I will thither. MACDUFF. Well, may you see things well done there. Adieu, Lest our old robes sit easier than our new! ROSS. Farewell, father. OLD MAN. God's benison go with you and with those That would make good of bad and friends of foes! Exeunt. <> ACT III. SCENE I. Forres. The palace. Enter Banquo. BANQUO. Thou hast it now: King, Cawdor, Glamis, all, As the weird women promised, and I fear Thou play'dst most foully for't; yet it was said It should not stand in thy posterity, But that myself should be the root and father Of many kings. If there come truth from them (As upon thee, Macbeth, their speeches shine) Why, by the verities on thee made good, May they not be my oracles as well And set me up in hope? But hush, no more. Sennet sounds. Enter Macbeth as King, Lady Macbeth as Queen, Lennox, Ross, Lords, Ladies, and Attendants. MACBETH. Here's our chief guest. LADY MACBETH. If he had been forgotten, It had been as a gap in our great feast And all thing unbecoming. MACBETH. Tonight we hold a solemn supper, sir, And I'll request your presence. BANQUO. Let your Highness Command upon me, to the which my duties Are with a most indissoluble tie Forever knit. MACBETH. Ride you this afternoon? BANQUO. Ay, my good lord. MACBETH. We should have else desired your good advice, Which still hath been both grave and prosperous In this day's council; but we'll take tomorrow. Is't far you ride'! BANQUO. As far, my lord, as will fill up the time 'Twixt this and supper. Go not my horse the better, I must become a borrower of the night For a dark hour or twain. MACBETH. Fail not our feast. BANQUO. My lord, I will not. MACBETH. We hear our bloody cousins are bestow'd In England and in Ireland, not confessing Their cruel parricide, filling their hearers With strange invention. But of that tomorrow, When therewithal we shall have cause of state Craving us jointly. Hie you to horse; adieu, Till you return at night. Goes Fleance with you? BANQUO. Ay, my good lord. Our time does call upon 's. MACBETH. I wish your horses swift and sure of foot, And so I do commend you to their backs. Farewell. Exit Banquo. Let every man be master of his time Till seven at night; to make society The sweeter welcome, we will keep ourself Till supper time alone. While then, God be with you! Exeunt all but Macbeth and an Attendant. Sirrah, a word with you. Attend those men Our pleasure? ATTENDANT. They are, my lord, without the palace gate. MACBETH. Bring them before us. Exit Attendant. To be thus is nothing, But to be safely thus. Our fears in Banquo. Stick deep, and in his royalty of nature Reigns that which would be fear'd. 'Tis much he dares, And, to that dauntless temper of his mind, He hath a wisdom that doth guide his valor To act in safety. There is none but he Whose being I do fear; and under him My genius is rebuked, as it is said Mark Antony's was by Caesar. He chid the sisters When first they put the name of King upon me And bade them speak to him; then prophet-like They hail'd him father to a line of kings. Upon my head they placed a fruitless crown And put a barren sceptre in my gripe, Thence to be wrench'd with an unlineal hand, No son of mine succeeding. If't be so, For Banquo's issue have I filed my mind, For them the gracious Duncan have I murther'd, Put rancors in the vessel of my peace Only for them, and mine eternal jewel Given to the common enemy of man, To make them kings -the seed of Banquo kings! Rather than so, come, Fate, into the list, And champion me to the utterance! Who's there? Re-enter Attendant, with two Murtherers. Now go to the door, and stay there till we call. Exit Attendant. Was it not yesterday we spoke together? FIRST MURTHERER. It was, so please your Highness. MACBETH. Well then, now Have you consider'd of my speeches? Know That it was he in the times past which held you So under fortune, which you thought had been Our innocent self? This I made good to you In our last conference, pass'd in probation with you: How you were borne in hand, how cross'd, the instruments, Who wrought with them, and all things else that might To half a soul and to a notion crazed Say, "Thus did Banquo." FIRST MURTHERER. You made it known to us. MACBETH. I did so, and went further, which is now Our point of second meeting. Do you find Your patience so predominant in your nature, That you can let this go? Are you so gospel'd, To pray for this good man and for his issue, Whose heavy hand hath bow'd you to the grave And beggar'd yours forever? FIRST MURTHERER. We are men, my liege. MACBETH. Ay, in the catalogue ye go for men, As hounds and greyhounds, mongrels, spaniels, curs, Shoughs, waterrugs, and demi-wolves are clept All by the name of dogs. The valued file Distinguishes the swift, the slow, the subtle, The housekeeper, the hunter, every one According to the gift which bounteous nature Hath in him closed, whereby he does receive Particular addition, from the bill That writes them all alike; and so of men. Now if you have a station in the file, Not i' the worst rank of manhood, say it, And I will put that business in your bosoms Whose execution takes your enemy off, Grapples you to the heart and love of us, Who wear our health but sickly in his life, Which in his death were perfect. SECOND MURTHERER. I am one, my liege, Whom the vile blows and buffets of the world Have so incensed that I am reckless what I do to spite the world. FIRST MURTHERER. And I another So weary with disasters, tugg'd with fortune, That I would set my life on any chance, To mend it or be rid on't. MACBETH. Both of you Know Banquo was your enemy. BOTH MURTHERERS. True, my lord. MACBETH. So is he mine, and in such bloody distance That every minute of his being thrusts Against my near'st of life; and though I could With barefaced power sweep him from my sight And bid my will avouch it, yet I must not, For certain friends that are both his and mine, Whose loves I may not drop, but wail his fall Who I myself struck down. And thence it is That I to your assistance do make love, Masking the business from the common eye For sundry weighty reasons. SECOND MURTHERER. We shall, my lord, Perform what you command us. FIRST MURTHERER. Though our lives- MACBETH. Your spirits shine through you. Within this hour at most I will advise you where to plant yourselves, Acquaint you with the perfect spy o' the time, The moment on't; fort must be done tonight And something from the palace (always thought That I require a clearness); and with him- To leave no rubs nor botches in the work- Fleance his son, that keeps him company, Whose absence is no less material to me Than is his father's, must embrace the fate Of that dark hour. Resolve yourselves apart; I'll come to you anon. BOTH MURTHERERS. We are resolved, my lord. MACBETH. I'll call upon you straight. Abide within. Exeunt Murtherers. It is concluded: Banquo, thy soul's flight, If it find heaven, must find it out tonight. Exit. SCENE II. The palace. Enter Lady Macbeth and a Servant. LADY MACBETH. Is Banquo gone from court? SERVANT. Ay, madam, but returns again tonight. LADY MACBETH. Say to the King I would attend his leisure For a few words. SERVANT. Madam, I will. Exit. LADY MACBETH. Nought's had, all's spent, Where our desire is got without content. 'Tis safer to be that which we destroy Than by destruction dwell in doubtful joy. Enter Macbeth. How now, my lord? Why do you keep alone, Of sorriest fancies your companions making, Using those thoughts which should indeed have died With them they think on? Things without all remedy Should be without regard. What's done is done. MACBETH. We have scotch'd the snake, not kill'd it. She'll close and be herself, whilst our poor malice Remains in danger of her former tooth. But let the frame of things disjoint, both the worlds suffer, Ere we will eat our meal in fear and sleep In the affliction of these terrible dreams That shake us nightly. Better be with the dead, Whom we, to gain our peace, have sent to peace, Than on the torture of the mind to lie In restless ecstasy. Duncan is in his grave; After life's fitful fever he sleeps well. Treason has done his worst; nor steel, nor poison, Malice domestic, foreign levy, nothing, Can touch him further. LADY MACBETH. Come on, Gentle my lord, sleek o'er your rugged looks; Be bright and jovial among your guests tonight. MACBETH. So shall I, love, and so, I pray, be you. Let your remembrance apply to Banquo; Present him eminence, both with eye and tongue: Unsafe the while, that we Must lave our honors in these flattering streams, And make our faces vizards to our hearts, Disguising what they are. LADY MACBETH. You must leave this. MACBETH. O, full of scorpions is my mind, dear wife! Thou know'st that Banquo and his Fleance lives. LADY MACBETH. But in them nature's copy's not eterne. MACBETH. There's comfort yet; they are assailable. Then be thou jocund. Ere the bat hath flown His cloister'd flight, ere to black Hecate's summons The shard-borne beetle with his drowsy hums Hath rung night's yawning peal, there shall be done A deed of dreadful note. LADY MACBETH. What's to be done? MACBETH. Be innocent of the knowledge, dearest chuck, Till thou applaud the deed. Come, seeling night, Scarf up the tender eye of pitiful day, And with thy bloody and invisible hand Cancel and tear to pieces that great bond Which keeps me pale! Light thickens, and the crow Makes wing to the rooky wood; Good things of day begin to droop and drowse, Whiles night's black agents to their preys do rouse. Thou marvel'st at my words, but hold thee still: Things bad begun make strong themselves by ill. So, prithee, go with me. Exeunt. SCENE III. A park near the palace. Enter three Murtherers. FIRST MURTHERER. But who did bid thee join with us? THIRD MURTHERER. Macbeth. SECOND MURTHERER. He needs not our mistrust, since he delivers Our offices and what we have to do To the direction just. FIRST MURTHERER. Then stand with us. The west yet glimmers with some streaks of day; Now spurs the lated traveler apace To gain the timely inn, and near approaches The subject of our watch. THIRD MURTHERER. Hark! I hear horses. BANQUO. [Within.] Give us a light there, ho! SECOND MURTHERER. Then 'tis he; the rest That are within the note of expectation Already are i' the court. FIRST MURTHERER. His horses go about. THIRD MURTHERER. Almost a mile, but he does usually- So all men do -from hence to the palace gate Make it their walk. SECOND MURTHERER. A light, a light! Enter Banquo, and Fleance with a torch. THIRD MURTHERER. 'Tis he. FIRST MURTHERER. Stand to't. BANQUO. It will be rain tonight. FIRST MURTHERER. Let it come down. They set upon Banquo. BANQUO. O, treachery! Fly, good Fleance, fly, fly, fly! Thou mayst revenge. O slave! Dies. Fleance escapes. THIRD MURTHERER. Who did strike out the light? FIRST MURTHERER. Wast not the way? THIRD MURTHERER. There's but one down; the son is fled. SECOND MURTHERER. We have lost Best half of our affair. FIRST MURTHERER. Well, let's away and say how much is done. Exeunt. SCENE IV. A Hall in the palace. A banquet prepared. Enter Macbeth, Lady Macbeth, Ross, Lennox, Lords, and Attendants. MACBETH. You know your own degrees; sit down. At first And last the hearty welcome. LORDS. Thanks to your Majesty. MACBETH. Ourself will mingle with society And play the humble host. Our hostess keeps her state, but in best time We will require her welcome. LADY MACBETH. Pronounce it for me, sir, to all our friends, For my heart speaks they are welcome. Enter first Murtherer to the door. MACBETH. See, they encounter thee with their hearts' thanks. Both sides are even; here I'll sit i' the midst. Be large in mirth; anon we'll drink a measure The table round. [Approaches the door.] There's blood upon thy face. MURTHERER. 'Tis Banquo's then. MACBETH. 'Tis better thee without than he within. Is he dispatch'd? MURTHERER. My lord, his throat is cut; that I did for him. MACBETH. Thou art the best o' the cut-throats! Yet he's good That did the like for Fleance. If thou didst it, Thou art the nonpareil. MURTHERER. Most royal sir, Fleance is 'scaped. MACBETH. [Aside.] Then comes my fit again. I had else been perfect, Whole as the marble, founded as the rock, As broad and general as the casing air; But now I am cabin'd, cribb'd, confin'd, bound in To saucy doubts and fears -But Banquo's safe? MURTHERER. Ay, my good lord. Safe in a ditch he bides, With twenty trenched gashes on his head, The least a death to nature. MACBETH. Thanks for that. There the grown serpent lies; the worm that's fled Hath nature that in time will venom breed, No teeth for the present. Get thee gone. Tomorrow We'll hear ourselves again. Exit Murtherer. LADY MACBETH. My royal lord, You do not give the cheer. The feast is sold That is not often vouch'd, while 'tis amaking, 'Tis given with welcome. To feed were best at home; From thence the sauce to meat is ceremony; Meeting were bare without it. MACBETH. Sweet remembrancer! Now good digestion wait on appetite, And health on both! LENNOX. May't please your Highness sit. The Ghost of Banquo enters and sits in Macbeth's place. MACBETH. Here had we now our country's honor roof'd, Were the graced person of our Banquo present, Who may I rather challenge for unkindness Than pity for mischance! ROSS. His absence, sir, Lays blame upon his promise. Please't your Highness To grace us with your royal company? MACBETH. The table's full. LENNOX. Here is a place reserved, sir. MACBETH. Where? LENNOX. Here, my good lord. What is't that moves your Highness? MACBETH. Which of you have done this? LORDS. What, my good lord? MACBETH. Thou canst not say I did it; never shake Thy gory locks at me. ROSS. Gentlemen, rise; his Highness is well. LADY MACBETH. Sit, worthy friends; my lord is often thus, And hath been from his youth. Pray you, keep seat. The fit is momentary; upon a thought He will again be well. If much you note him, You shall offend him and extend his passion. Feed, and regard him not-Are you a man? MACBETH. Ay, and a bold one, that dare look on that Which might appal the devil. LADY MACBETH. O proper stuff! This is the very painting of your fear; This is the air-drawn dagger which you said Led you to Duncan. O, these flaws and starts, Impostors to true fear, would well become A woman's story at a winter's fire, Authorized by her grandam. Shame itself! Why do you make such faces? When all's done, You look but on a stool. MACBETH. Prithee, see there! Behold! Look! Lo! How say you? Why, what care I? If thou canst nod, speak too. If charnel houses and our graves must send Those that we bury back, our monuments Shall be the maws of kites. Exit Ghost. LADY MACBETH. What, quite unmann'd in folly? MACBETH. If I stand here, I saw him. LADY MACBETH. Fie, for shame! MACBETH. Blood hath been shed ere now, i' the olden time, Ere humane statute purged the gentle weal; Ay, and since too, murthers have been perform'd Too terrible for the ear. The time has been, That, when the brains were out, the man would die, And there an end; but now they rise again, With twenty mortal murthers on their crowns, And push us from our stools. This is more strange Than such a murther is. LADY MACBETH. My worthy lord, Your noble friends do lack you. MACBETH. I do forget. Do not muse at me, my most worthy friends. I have a strange infirmity, which is nothing To those that know me. Come, love and health to all; Then I'll sit down. Give me some wine, fill full. I drink to the general joy o' the whole table, And to our dear friend Banquo, whom we miss. Would he were here! To all and him we thirst, And all to all. LORDS. Our duties and the pledge. Re-enter Ghost. MACBETH. Avaunt, and quit my sight! Let the earth hide thee! Thy bones are marrowless, thy blood is cold; Thou hast no speculation in those eyes Which thou dost glare with. LADY MACBETH. Think of this, good peers, But as a thing of custom. 'Tis no other, Only it spoils the pleasure of the time. MACBETH. What man dare, I dare. Approach thou like the rugged Russian bear, The arm'd rhinoceros, or the Hyrcan tiger; Take any shape but that, and my firm nerves Shall never tremble. Or be alive again, And dare me to the desert with thy sword. If trembling I inhabit then, protest me The baby of a girl. Hence, horrible shadow! Unreal mockery, hence! Exit Ghost. Why, so, being gone, I am a man again. Pray you sit still. LADY MACBETH. You have displaced the mirth, broke the good meeting, With most admired disorder. MACBETH. Can such things be, And overcome us like a summer's cloud, Without our special wonder? You make me strange Even to the disposition that I owe When now I think you can behold such sights And keep the natural ruby of your cheeks When mine is blanch'd with fear. ROSS. What sights, my lord? LADY MACBETH. I pray you, speak not; he grows worse and worse; Question enrages him. At once, good night. Stand not upon the order of your going, But go at once. LENNOX. Good night, and better health Attend his Majesty! LADY MACBETH. A kind good night to all! Exeunt all but Macbeth and Lady Macbeth. MACBETH. will have blood; they say blood will have blood. Stones have been known to move and trees to speak; Augures and understood relations have By maggot pies and choughs and rooks brought forth The secret'st man of blood. What is the night? LADY MACBETH. Almost at odds with morning, which is which. MACBETH. How say'st thou, that Macduff denies his person At our great bidding? LADY MACBETH. Did you send to him, sir? MACBETH. I hear it by the way, but I will send. There's not a one of them but in his house I keep a servant feed. I will tomorrow, And betimes I will, to the weird sisters. More shall they speak; for now I am bent to know, By the worst means, the worst. For mine own good All causes shall give way. I am in blood Stepp'd in so far that, should I wade no more, Returning were as tedious as go o'er. Strange things I have in head that will to hand, Which must be acted ere they may be scann'd. LADY MACBETH. You lack the season of all natures, sleep. MACBETH. Come, we'll to sleep. My strange and self-abuse Is the initiate fear that wants hard use. We are yet but young in deed. Exeunt. SCENE V. A heath. Thunder. Enter the three Witches, meeting Hecate. FIRST WITCH. Why, how now, Hecate? You look angerly. HECATE. Have I not reason, beldams as you are, Saucy and overbold? How did you dare To trade and traffic with Macbeth In riddles and affairs of death, And I, the mistress of your charms, The close contriver of all harms, Was never call'd to bear my part, Or show the glory of our art? And, which is worse, all you have done Hath been but for a wayward son, Spiteful and wrathful, who, as others do, Loves for his own ends, not for you. But make amends now. Get you gone, And at the pit of Acheron Meet me i' the morning. Thither he Will come to know his destiny. Your vessels and your spells provide, Your charms and everything beside. I am for the air; this night I'll spend Unto a dismal and a fatal end. Great business must be wrought ere noon: Upon the corner of the moon There hangs a vaporous drop profound; I'll catch it ere it come to ground. And that distill'd by magic sleights Shall raise such artificial sprites As by the strength of their illusion Shall draw him on to his confusion. He shall spurn fate, scorn death, and bear His hopes 'bove wisdom, grace, and fear. And you all know security Is mortals' chiefest enemy. Music and a song within, "Come away, come away." Hark! I am call'd; my little spirit, see, Sits in a foggy cloud and stays for me. Exit. FIRST WITCH. Come, let's make haste; she'll soon be back again. Exeunt. SCENE VI. Forres. The palace. Enter Lennox and another Lord. LENNOX. My former speeches have but hit your thoughts, Which can interpret farther; only I say Thing's have been strangely borne. The gracious Duncan Was pitied of Macbeth; marry, he was dead. And the right valiant Banquo walk'd too late, Whom, you may say, if't please you, Fleance kill'd, For Fleance fled. Men must not walk too late. Who cannot want the thought, how monstrous It was for Malcolm and for Donalbain To kill their gracious father? Damned fact! How it did grieve Macbeth! Did he not straight, In pious rage, the two delinquents tear That were the slaves of drink and thralls of sleep? Was not that nobly done? Ay, and wisely too, For 'twould have anger'd any heart alive To hear the men deny't. So that, I say, He has borne all things well; and I do think That, had he Duncan's sons under his key- As, an't please heaven, he shall not -they should find What 'twere to kill a father; so should Fleance. But, peace! For from broad words, and 'cause he fail'd His presence at the tyrant's feast, I hear, Macduff lives in disgrace. Sir, can you tell Where he bestows himself? LORD. The son of Duncan, From whom this tyrant holds the due of birth, Lives in the English court and is received Of the most pious Edward with such grace That the malevolence of fortune nothing Takes from his high respect. Thither Macduff Is gone to pray the holy King, upon his aid To wake Northumberland and warlike Siward; That by the help of these, with Him above To ratify the work, we may again Give to our tables meat, sleep to our nights, Free from our feasts and banquets bloody knives, Do faithful homage, and receive free honors- All which we pine for now. And this report Hath so exasperate the King that he Prepares for some attempt of war. LENNOX. Sent he to Macduff? LORD. He did, and with an absolute "Sir, not I," The cloudy messenger turns me his back, And hums, as who should say, "You'll rue the time That clogs me with this answer." LENNOX. And that well might Advise him to a caution, to hold what distance His wisdom can provide. Some holy angel Fly to the court of England and unfold His message ere he come, that a swift blessing May soon return to this our suffering country Under a hand accursed! LORD. I'll send my prayers with him. Exeunt. <> ACT IV. SCENE I. A cavern. In the middle, a boiling cauldron. Thunder. Enter the three Witches. FIRST WITCH. Thrice the brinded cat hath mew'd. SECOND WITCH. Thrice and once the hedge-pig whined. THIRD WITCH. Harpier cries, "'Tis time, 'tis time." FIRST WITCH. Round about the cauldron go; In the poison'd entrails throw. Toad, that under cold stone Days and nights has thirty-one Swelter'd venom sleeping got, Boil thou first i' the charmed pot. ALL. Double, double, toil and trouble; Fire burn and cauldron bubble. SECOND WITCH. Fillet of a fenny snake, In the cauldron boil and bake; Eye of newt and toe of frog, Wool of bat and tongue of dog, Adder's fork and blind-worm's sting, Lizard's leg and howlet's wing, For a charm of powerful trouble, Like a hell-broth boil and bubble. ALL. Double, double, toil and trouble; Fire burn and cauldron bubble. THIRD WITCH. Scale of dragon, tooth of wolf, Witch's mummy, maw and gulf Of the ravin'd salt-sea shark, Root of hemlock digg'd i' the dark, Liver of blaspheming Jew, Gall of goat and slips of yew Sliver'd in the moon's eclipse, Nose of Turk and Tartar's lips, Finger of birth-strangled babe Ditch-deliver'd by a drab, Make the gruel thick and slab. Add thereto a tiger's chawdron, For the ingredients of our cawdron. ALL. Double, double, toil and trouble; Fire burn and cauldron bubble. SECOND WITCH. Cool it with a baboon's blood, Then the charm is firm and good. Enter Hecate to the other three Witches. HECATE. O, well done! I commend your pains, And everyone shall share i' the gains. And now about the cauldron sing, Like elves and fairies in a ring, Enchanting all that you put in. Music and a song, "Black spirits." Hecate retires. SECOND WITCH. By the pricking of my thumbs, Something wicked this way comes. Open, locks, Whoever knocks! Enter Macbeth. MACBETH. How now, you secret, black, and midnight hags? What is't you do? ALL. A deed without a name. MACBETH. I conjure you, by that which you profess (Howeer you come to know it) answer me: Though you untie the winds and let them fight Against the churches, though the yesty waves Confound and swallow navigation up, Though bladed corn be lodged and trees blown down, Though castles topple on their warders' heads, Though palaces and pyramids do slope Their heads to their foundations, though the treasure Of nature's germaines tumble all together Even till destruction sicken, answer me To what I ask you. FIRST WITCH. Speak. SECOND WITCH. Demand. THIRD WITCH. We'll answer. FIRST WITCH. Say, if thou'dst rather hear it from our mouths, Or from our masters'? MACBETH. Call 'em, let me see 'em. FIRST WITCH. Pour in sow's blood that hath eaten Her nine farrow; grease that's sweaten From the murtherer's gibbet throw Into the flame. ALL. Come, high or low; Thyself and office deftly show! Thunder. First Apparition: an armed Head. MACBETH. Tell me, thou unknown power- FIRST WITCH. He knows thy thought: Hear his speech, but say thou nought. FIRST APPARITION. Macbeth! Macbeth! Macbeth! Beware Macduff, Beware the Thane of Fife. Dismiss me. Enough. Descends. MACBETH. Whate'er thou art, for thy good caution, thanks; Thou hast harp'd my fear aright. But one word more- FIRST WITCH. He will not be commanded. Here's another, More potent than the first. Thunder. Second Apparition: a bloody Child. SECOND APPARITION. Macbeth! Macbeth! Macbeth! MACBETH. Had I three ears, I'd hear thee. SECOND APPARITION. Be bloody, bold, and resolute: laugh to scorn The power of man, for none of woman born Shall harm Macbeth. Descends. MACBETH. Then live, Macduff. What need I fear of thee? But yet I'll make assurance double sure, And take a bond of fate: thou shalt not live, That I may tell pale-hearted fear it lies, And sleep in spite of thunder. Thunder. Third Apparition: a Child crowned, with a tree in his hand. What is this, That rises like the issue of a king, And wears upon his baby brow the round And top of sovereignty? ALL. Listen, but speak not to't. THIRD APPARITION. Be lion-mettled, proud, and take no care Who chafes, who frets, or where conspirers are. Macbeth shall never vanquish'd be until Great Birnam Wood to high Dunsinane Hill Shall come against him. Descends. MACBETH. That will never be. Who can impress the forest, bid the tree Unfix his earth-bound root? Sweet bodements, good! Rebellion's head, rise never till the Wood Of Birnam rise, and our high-placed Macbeth Shall live the lease of nature, pay his breath To time and mortal custom. Yet my heart Throbs to know one thing: tell me, if your art Can tell so much, shall Banquo's issue ever Reign in this kingdom? ALL. Seek to know no more. MACBETH. I will be satisfied! Deny me this, And an eternal curse fall on you! Let me know. Why sinks that cauldron, and what noise is this? Hautboys. FIRST WITCH. Show! SECOND WITCH. Show! THIRD. WITCH. Show! ALL. Show his eyes, and grieve his heart; Come like shadows, so depart! A show of eight Kings, the last with a glass in his hand; Banquo's Ghost following. MACBETH. Thou are too like the spirit of Banquo Down! Thy crown does sear mine eyeballs. And thy hair, Thou other gold-bound brow, is like the first. A third is like the former. Filthy hags! Why do you show me this? A fourth! Start, eyes! What, will the line stretch out to the crack of doom? Another yet! A seventh! I'll see no more! And yet the eighth appears, who bears a glass Which shows me many more; and some I see That twofold balls and treble sceptres carry. Horrible sight! Now I see 'tis true; For the blood-bolter'd Banquo smiles upon me, And points at them for his. What, is this so? FIRST WITCH. Ay, sir, all this is so. But why Stands Macbeth thus amazedly? Come,sisters, cheer we up his sprites, And show the best of our delights. I'll charm the air to give a sound, While you perform your antic round, That this great King may kindly say Our duties did his welcome pay. Music. The Witches dance and then vanish with Hecate. MACBETH. are they? Gone? Let this pernicious hour Stand ay accursed in the calendar! Come in, without there! Enter Lennox. LENNOX. What's your Grace's will? MACBETH. Saw you the weird sisters? LENNOX. No, my lord. MACBETH. Came they not by you? LENNOX. No indeed, my lord. MACBETH. Infected be the 'air whereon they ride, And damn'd all those that trust them! I did hear The galloping of horse. Who wast came by? LENNOX. 'Tis two or three, my lord, that bring you word Macduff is fled to England. MACBETH. Fled to England? LENNOX. Ay, my good lord. MACBETH. [Aside.] Time, thou anticipatest my dread exploits. The flighty purpose never is o'ertook Unless the deed go with it. From this moment The very firstlings of my heart shall be The firstlings of my hand. And even now, To crown my thoughts with acts, be it thought and done: The castle of Macduff I will surprise, Seize upon Fife, give to the edge o' the sword His wife, his babes, and all unfortunate souls That trace him in his line. No boasting like a fool; This deed I'll do before this purpose cool. But no more sights! -Where are these gentlemen? Come, bring me where they are. Exeunt. SCENE II. Fife. Macduff's castle. Enter Lady Macduff, her Son, and Ross. LADY MACDUFF. What had he done, to make him fly the land? ROSS. You must have patience, madam. LADY MACDUFF. He had none; His flight was madness. When our actions do not, Our fears do make us traitors. ROSS. You know not Whether it was his wisdom or his fear. LADY MACDUFF. Wisdom? To leave his wife, to leave his babes, His mansion, and his titles, in a place From whence himself does fly? He loves us not; He wants the natural touch; for the poor wren, The most diminutive of birds, will fight, Her young ones in her nest, against the owl. All is the fear and nothing is the love; As little is the wisdom, where the flight So runs against all reason. ROSS. My dearest coz, I pray you, school yourself. But for your husband, He is noble, wise, Judicious, and best knows The fits o' the season. I dare not speak much further; But cruel are the times when we are traitors And do not know ourselves; when we hold rumor From what we fear, yet know not what we fear, But float upon a wild and violent sea Each way and move. I take my leave of you; Shall not be long but I'll be here again. Things at the worst will cease or else climb upward To what they were before. My pretty cousin, Blessing upon you! LADY MACDUFF. Father'd he is, and yet he's fatherless. ROSS. I am so much a fool, should I stay longer, It would be my disgrace and your discomfort. I take my leave at once. Exit. LADY MACDUFF. Sirrah, your father's dead. And what will you do now? How will you live? SON. As birds do, Mother. LADY MACDUFF. What, with worms and flies? SON. With what I get, I mean; and so do they. LADY MACDUFF. Poor bird! Thou'ldst never fear the net nor lime, The pitfall nor the gin. SON. Why should I, Mother? Poor birds they are not set for. My father is not dead, for all your saying. LADY MACDUFF. Yes, he is dead. How wilt thou do for father? SON. Nay, how will you do for a husband? LADY MACDUFF. Why, I can buy me twenty at any market. SON. Then you'll buy 'em to sell again. LADY MACDUFF. Thou speak'st with all thy wit, and yet, i' faith, With wit enough for thee. SON. Was my father a traitor, Mother? LADY MACDUFF. Ay, that he was. SON. What is a traitor? LADY MACDUFF. Why one that swears and lies. SON. And be all traitors that do so? LADY MACDUFF. Everyone that does so is a traitor and must be hanged. SON. And must they all be hanged that swear and lie? LADY MACDUFF. Everyone. SON. Who must hang them? LADY MACDUFF. Why, the honest men. SON. Then the liars and swearers are fools, for there are liars and swearers enow to beat the honest men and hang up them. LADY MACDUFF. Now, God help thee, poor monkey! But how wilt thou do for a father? SON. If he were dead, you'ld weep for him; if you would not, it were a good sign that I should quickly have a new father. LADY MACDUFF. Poor prattler, how thou talk'st! Enter a Messenger. MESSENGER. Bless you, fair dame! I am not to you known, Though in your state of honor I am perfect. I doubt some danger does approach you nearly. If you will take a homely man's advice, Be not found here; hence, with your little ones. To fright you thus, methinks I am too savage; To do worse to you were fell cruelty, Which is too nigh your person. Heaven preserve you! I dare abide no longer. Exit. LADY MACDUFF. Whither should I fly? I have done no harm. But I remember now I am in this earthly world, where to do harm Is often laudable, to do good sometime Accounted dangerous folly. Why then, alas, Do I put up that womanly defense, To say I have done no harm -What are these faces? Enter Murtherers. FIRST MURTHERER. Where is your husband? LADY MACDUFF. I hope, in no place so unsanctified Where such as thou mayst find him. FIRST MURTHERER. He's a traitor. SON. Thou liest, thou shag-ear'd villain! FIRST MURTHERER. What, you egg! Stabs him. Young fry of treachery! SON. He has kill'd me, Mother. Run away, I pray you! Dies. Exit Lady Macduff, crying "Murther!" Exeunt Murtherers, following her. SCENE III. England. Before the King's palace. Enter Malcolm and Macduff. MALCOLM. Let us seek out some desolate shade and there Weep our sad bosoms empty. MACDUFF. Let us rather Hold fast the mortal sword, and like good men Bestride our downfall'n birthdom. Each new morn New widows howl, new orphans cry, new sorrows Strike heaven on the face, that it resounds As if it felt with Scotland and yell'd out Like syllable of dolor. MALCOLM. What I believe, I'll wall; What know, believe; and what I can redress, As I shall find the time to friend, I will. What you have spoke, it may be so perchance. This tyrant, whose sole name blisters our tongues, Was once thought honest. You have loved him well; He hath not touch'd you yet. I am young, but something You may deserve of him through me, and wisdom To offer up a weak, poor, innocent lamb To appease an angry god. MACDUFF. I am not treacherous. MALCOLM. But Macbeth is. A good and virtuous nature may recoil In an imperial charge. But I shall crave your pardon; That which you are, my thoughts cannot transpose. Angels are bright still, though the brightest fell. Though all things foul would wear the brows of grace, Yet grace must still look so. MACDUFF. I have lost my hopes. MALCOLM. Perchance even there where I did find my doubts. Why in that rawness left you wife and child, Those precious motives, those strong knots of love, Without leave-taking? I pray you, Let not my jealousies be your dishonors, But mine own safeties. You may be rightly just, Whatever I shall think. MACDUFF. Bleed, bleed, poor country! Great tyranny, lay thou thy basis sure, For goodness dare not check thee. Wear thou thy wrongs; The title is affeer'd. Fare thee well, lord. I would not be the villain that thou think'st For the whole space that's in the tyrant's grasp And the rich East to boot. MALCOLM. Be not offended; I speak not as in absolute fear of you. I think our country sinks beneath the yoke; It weeps, it bleeds, and each new day a gash Is added to her wounds. I think withal There would be hands uplifted in my right; And here from gracious England have I offer Of goodly thousands. But for all this, When I shall tread upon the tyrant's head, Or wear it on my sword, yet my poor country Shall have more vices than it had before, More suffer and more sundry ways than ever, By him that shall succeed. MACDUFF. What should he be? MALCOLM. It is myself I mean, in whom I know All the particulars of vice so grafted That, when they shall be open'd, black Macbeth Will seem as pure as snow, and the poor state Esteem him as a lamb, being compared With my confineless harms. MACDUFF. Not in the legions Of horrid hell can come a devil more damn'd In evils to top Macbeth. MALCOLM. I grant him bloody, Luxurious, avaricious, false, deceitful, Sudden, malicious, smacking of every sin That has a name. But there's no bottom, none, In my voluptuousness. Your wives, your daughters, Your matrons, and your maids could not fill up The cestern of my lust, and my desire All continent impediments would o'erbear That did oppose my will. Better Macbeth Than such an one to reign. MACDUFF. Boundless intemperance In nature is a tyranny; it hath been The untimely emptying of the happy throne, And fall of many kings. But fear not yet To take upon you what is yours. You may Convey your pleasures in a spacious plenty And yet seem cold, the time you may so hoodwink. We have willing dames enough; there cannot be That vulture in you to devour so many As will to greatness dedicate themselves, Finding it so inclined. MALCOLM. With this there grows In my most ill-composed affection such A stanchless avarice that, were I King, I should cut off the nobles for their lands, Desire his jewels and this other's house, And my more-having would be as a sauce To make me hunger more, that I should forge Quarrels unjust against the good and loyal, Destroying them for wealth. MACDUFF. This avarice Sticks deeper, grows with more pernicious root Than summer-seeming lust, and it hath been The sword of our slain kings. Yet do not fear; Scotland hath foisons to fill up your will Of your mere own. All these are portable, With other graces weigh'd. MALCOLM. But I have none. The king-becoming graces, As justice, verity, temperance, stableness, Bounty, perseverance, mercy, lowliness, Devotion, patience, courage, fortitude, I have no relish of them, but abound In the division of each several crime, Acting it many ways. Nay, had I power, I should Pour the sweet milk of concord into hell, Uproar the universal peace, confound All unity on earth. MACDUFF. O Scotland, Scotland! MALCOLM. If such a one be fit to govern, speak. I am as I have spoken. MACDUFF. Fit to govern? No, not to live. O nation miserable! With an untitled tyrant bloody-scepter'd, When shalt thou see thy wholesome days again, Since that the truest issue of thy throne By his own interdiction stands accursed And does blaspheme his breed? Thy royal father Was a most sainted king; the queen that bore thee, Oftener upon her knees than on her feet, Died every day she lived. Fare thee well! These evils thou repeat'st upon thyself Have banish'd me from Scotland. O my breast, Thy hope ends here! MALCOLM. Macduff, this noble passion, Child of integrity, hath from my soul Wiped the black scruples, reconciled my thoughts To thy good truth and honor. Devilish Macbeth By many of these trains hath sought to win me Into his power, and modest wisdom plucks me From over-credulous haste. But God above Deal between thee and me! For even now I put myself to thy direction and Unspeak mine own detraction; here abjure The taints and blames I laid upon myself, For strangers to my nature. I am yet Unknown to woman, never was forsworn, Scarcely have coveted what was mine own, At no time broke my faith, would not betray The devil to his fellow, and delight No less in truth than life. My first false speaking Was this upon myself. What I am truly Is thine and my poor country's to command. Whither indeed, before thy here-approach, Old Siward, with ten thousand warlike men Already at a point, was setting forth. Now we'll together, and the chance of goodness Be like our warranted quarrel! Why are you silent? MACDUFF. Such welcome and unwelcome things at once 'Tis hard to reconcile. Enter a Doctor. MALCOLM. Well, more anon. Comes the King forth, I pray you? DOCTOR. Ay, sir, there are a crew of wretched souls That stay his cure. Their malady convinces The great assay of art, but at his touch, Such sanctity hath heaven given his hand, They presently amend. MALCOLM. I thank you, Doctor. Exit Doctor. MACDUFF. What's the disease he means? MALCOLM. 'Tis call'd the evil: A most miraculous work in this good King, Which often, since my here-remain in England, I have seen him do. How he solicits heaven, Himself best knows; but strangely-visited people, All swol'n and ulcerous, pitiful to the eye, The mere despair of surgery, he cures, Hanging a golden stamp about their necks Put on with holy prayers; and 'tis spoken, To the succeeding royalty he leaves The healing benediction. With this strange virtue He hath a heavenly gift of prophecy, And sundry blessings hang about his throne That speak him full of grace. Enter Ross. MACDUFF. See, who comes here? MALCOLM. My countryman, but yet I know him not. MACDUFF. My ever gentle cousin, welcome hither. MALCOLM. I know him now. Good God, betimes remove The means that makes us strangers! ROSS. Sir, amen. MACDUFF. Stands Scotland where it did? ROSS. Alas, poor country, Almost afraid to know itself! It cannot Be call'd our mother, but our grave. Where nothing, But who knows nothing, is once seen to smile; Where sighs and groans and shrieks that rend the air, Are made, not mark'd; where violent sorrow seems A modern ecstasy. The dead man's knell Is there scarce ask'd for who, and good men's lives Expire before the flowers in their caps, Dying or ere they sicken. MACDUFF. O, relation Too nice, and yet too true! MALCOLM. What's the newest grief? ROSS. That of an hour's age doth hiss the speaker; Each minute teems a new one. MACDUFF. How does my wife? ROSS. Why, well. MACDUFF. And all my children? ROSS. Well too. MACDUFF. The tyrant has not batter'd at their peace? ROSS. No, they were well at peace when I did leave 'em. MACDUFF. Be not a niggard of your speech. How goest? ROSS. When I came hither to transport the tidings, Which I have heavily borne, there ran a rumor Of many worthy fellows that were out, Which was to my belief witness'd the rather, For that I saw the tyrant's power afoot. Now is the time of help; your eye in Scotland Would create soldiers, make our women fight, To doff their dire distresses. MALCOLM. Be't their comfort We are coming thither. Gracious England hath Lent us good Siward and ten thousand men; An older and a better soldier none That Christendom gives out. ROSS. Would I could answer This comfort with the like! But I have words That would be howl'd out in the desert air, Where hearing should not latch them. MACDUFF. What concern they? The general cause? Or is it a fee-grief Due to some single breast? ROSS. No mind that's honest But in it shares some woe, though the main part Pertains to you alone. MACDUFF. If it be mine, Keep it not from me, quickly let me have it. ROSS. Let not your ears despise my tongue forever, Which shall possess them with the heaviest sound That ever yet they heard. MACDUFF. Humh! I guess at it. ROSS. Your castle is surprised; your wife and babes Savagely slaughter'd. To relate the manner Were, on the quarry of these murther'd deer, To add the death of you. MALCOLM. Merciful heaven! What, man! Neer pull your hat upon your brows; Give sorrow words. The grief that does not speak Whispers the o'erfraught heart, and bids it break. MACDUFF. My children too? ROSS. Wife, children, servants, all That could be found. MACDUFF. And I must be from thence! My wife kill'd too? ROSS. I have said. MALCOLM. Be comforted. Let's make us medicines of our great revenge, To cure this deadly grief. MACDUFF. He has no children. All my pretty ones? Did you say all? O hell-kite! All? What, all my pretty chickens and their dam At one fell swoop? MALCOLM. Dispute it like a man. MACDUFF. I shall do so, But I must also feel it as a man. I cannot but remember such things were That were most precious to me. Did heaven look on, And would not take their part? Sinful Macduff, They were all struck for thee! Naught that I am, Not for their own demerits, but for mine, Fell slaughter on their souls. Heaven rest them now! MALCOLM. Be this the whetstone of your sword. Let grief Convert to anger; blunt not the heart, enrage it. MACDUFF. O, I could play the woman with mine eyes And braggart with my tongue! But, gentle heavens, Cut short all intermission; front to front Bring thou this fiend of Scotland and myself; Within my sword's length set him; if he 'scape, Heaven forgive him too! MALCOLM. This tune goes manly. Come, go we to the King; our power is ready, Our lack is nothing but our leave. Macbeth Is ripe for shaking, and the powers above Put on their instruments. Receive what cheer you may, The night is long that never finds the day. Exeunt. <> ACT V. SCENE I. Dunsinane. Anteroom in the castle. Enter a Doctor of Physic and a Waiting Gentlewoman. DOCTOR. I have two nights watched with you, but can perceive no truth in your report. When was it she last walked? GENTLEWOMAN. Since his Majesty went into the field, have seen her rise from her bed, throw her nightgown upon her, unlock her closet, take forth paper, fold it, write upon't, read it, afterwards seal it, and again return to bed; yet all this while in a most fast sleep. DOCTOR. A great perturbation in nature, to receive at once the benefit of sleep and do the effects of watching! In this slumbery agitation, besides her walking and other actual performances, what, at any time, have you heard her say? GENTLEWOMAN. That, sir, which I will not report after her. DOCTOR. You may to me, and 'tis most meet you should. GENTLEWOMAN. Neither to you nor anyone, having no witness to confirm my speech. Enter Lady Macbeth with a taper. Lo you, here she comes! This is her very guise, and, upon my life, fast asleep. Observe her; stand close. DOCTOR. How came she by that light? GENTLEWOMAN. Why, it stood by her. She has light by her continually; 'tis her command. DOCTOR. You see, her eyes are open. GENTLEWOMAN. Ay, but their sense is shut. DOCTOR. What is it she does now? Look how she rubs her hands. GENTLEWOMAN. It is an accustomed action with her, to seem thus washing her hands. I have known her continue in this a quarter of an hour. LADY MACBETH. Yet here's a spot. DOCTOR. Hark, she speaks! I will set down what comes from her, to satisfy my remembrance the more strongly. LADY MACBETH. Out, damned spot! Out, I say! One- two -why then 'tis time to do't. Hell is murky. Fie, my lord, fie! A soldier, and afeard? What need we fear who knows it, when none can call our power to account? Yet who would have thought the old man to have had so much blood in him? DOCTOR. Do you mark that? LADY MACBETH. The Thane of Fife had a wife; where is she now? What, will these hands neer be clean? No more o' that, my lord, no more o' that. You mar all with this starting. DOCTOR. Go to, go to; you have known what you should not. GENTLEWOMAN. She has spoke what she should not, I am sure of that. Heaven knows what she has known. LADY MACBETH. Here's the smell of the blood still. All the perfumes of Arabia will not sweeten this little hand. Oh, oh, oh! DOCTOR. What a sigh is there! The heart is sorely charged. GENTLEWOMAN. I would not have such a heart in my bosom for the dignity of the whole body. DOCTOR. Well, well, well- GENTLEWOMAN. Pray God it be, sir. DOCTOR. This disease is beyond my practice. Yet I have known those which have walked in their sleep who have died holily in their beds. LADY MACBETH. Wash your hands, put on your nightgown, look not so pale. I tell you yet again, Banquo's buried; he cannot come out on's grave. DOCTOR. Even so? LADY MACBETH. To bed, to bed; there's knocking at the gate. Come, come, come, come, give me your hand.What's done cannot be undone. To bed, to bed, to bed. Exit. DOCTOR. Will she go now to bed? GENTLEWOMAN. Directly. DOCTOR. Foul whisperings are abroad. Unnatural deeds Do breed unnatural troubles; infected minds To their deaf pillows will discharge their secrets. More needs she the divine than the physician. God, God, forgive us all! Look after her; Remove from her the means of all annoyance, And still keep eyes upon her. So good night. My mind she has mated and amazed my sight. I think, but dare not speak. GENTLEWOMAN. Good night, good doctor. Exeunt. SCENE II. The country near Dunsinane. Drum and colors. Enter Menteith, Caithness, Angus, Lennox, and Soldiers. MENTEITH. The English power is near, led on by Malcolm, His uncle Siward, and the good Macduff. Revenges burn in them, for their dear causes Would to the bleeding and the grim alarm Excite the mortified man. ANGUS. Near Birnam Wood Shall we well meet them; that way are they coming. CAITHNESS. Who knows if Donalbain be with his brother? LENNOX. For certain, sir, he is not; I have a file Of all the gentry. There is Seward's son And many unrough youths that even now Protest their first of manhood. MENTEITH. What does the tyrant? CAITHNESS. Great Dunsinane he strongly fortifies. Some say he's mad; others, that lesser hate him, Do call it valiant fury; but, for certain, He cannot buckle his distemper'd cause Within the belt of rule. ANGUS. Now does he feel His secret murthers sticking on his hands, Now minutely revolts upbraid his faith-breach; Those he commands move only in command, Nothing in love. Now does he feel his title Hang loose about him, like a giant's robe Upon a dwarfish thief. MENTEITH. Who then shall blame His pester'd senses to recoil and start, When all that is within him does condemn Itself for being there? CAITHNESS. Well, march we on To give obedience where 'tis truly owed. Meet we the medicine of the sickly weal, And with him pour we, in our country's purge, Each drop of us. LENNOX. Or so much as it needs To dew the sovereign flower and drown the weeds. Make we our march towards Birnam. Exeunt marching. SCENE III. Dunsinane. A room in the castle. Enter Macbeth, Doctor, and Attendants. MACBETH. Bring me no more reports; let them fly all! Till Birnam Wood remove to Dunsinane I cannot taint with fear. What's the boy Malcolm? Was he not born of woman? The spirits that know All mortal consequences have pronounced me thus: "Fear not, Macbeth; no man that's born of woman Shall e'er have power upon thee." Then fly, false Thanes, And mingle with the English epicures! The mind I sway by and the heart I bear Shall never sag with doubt nor shake with fear. Enter a Servant. The devil damn thee black, thou cream-faced loon! Where got'st thou that goose look? SERVANT. There is ten thousand- MACBETH. Geese, villain? SERVANT. Soldiers, sir. MACBETH. Go prick thy face and over-red thy fear, Thou lily-liver'd boy. What soldiers, patch? Death of thy soul! Those linen cheeks of thine Are counselors to fear. What soldiers, whey-face? SERVANT. The English force, so please you. MACBETH. Take thy face hence. Exit Servant. Seyton-I am sick at heart, When I behold- Seyton, I say!- This push Will cheer me ever or disseat me now. I have lived long enough. My way of life Is fall'n into the sear, the yellow leaf, And that which should accompany old age, As honor, love, obedience, troops of friends, I must not look to have; but in their stead, Curses, not loud but deep, mouth-honor, breath, Which the poor heart would fain deny and dare not. Seyton! Enter Seyton. SEYTON. What's your gracious pleasure? MACBETH. What news more? SEYTON. All is confirm'd, my lord, which was reported. MACBETH. I'll fight, 'til from my bones my flesh be hack'd. Give me my armor. SEYTON. 'Tis not needed yet. MACBETH. I'll put it on. Send out more horses, skirr the country round, Hang those that talk of fear. Give me mine armor. How does your patient, doctor? DOCTOR. Not so sick, my lord, As she is troubled with thick-coming fancies, That keep her from her rest. MACBETH. Cure her of that. Canst thou not minister to a mind diseased, Pluck from the memory a rooted sorrow, Raze out the written troubles of the brain, And with some sweet oblivious antidote Cleanse the stuff'd bosom of that perilous stuff Which weighs upon the heart? DOCTOR. Therein the patient Must minister to himself. MACBETH. Throw physic to the dogs, I'll none of it. Come, put mine armor on; give me my staff. Seyton, send out. Doctor, the Thanes fly from me. Come, sir, dispatch. If thou couldst, doctor, cast The water of my land, find her disease And purge it to a sound and pristine health, I would applaud thee to the very echo, That should applaud again. Pull't off, I say. What rhubarb, cyme, or what purgative drug Would scour these English hence? Hearst thou of them? DOCTOR. Ay, my good lord, your royal preparation Makes us hear something. MACBETH. Bring it after me. I will not be afraid of death and bane Till Birnam Forest come to Dunsinane. DOCTOR. [Aside.] Were I from Dunsinane away and clear, Profit again should hardly draw me here. Exeunt. SCENE IV. Country near Birnam Wood. Drum and colors. Enter Malcolm, old Seward and his Son, Macduff, Menteith, Caithness, Angus, Lennox, Ross, and Soldiers, marching. MALCOLM. Cousins, I hope the days are near at hand That chambers will be safe. MENTEITH. We doubt it nothing. SIWARD. What wood is this before us? MENTEITH. The Wood of Birnam. MALCOLM. Let every soldier hew him down a bough, And bear't before him; thereby shall we shadow The numbers of our host, and make discovery Err in report of us. SOLDIERS. It shall be done. SIWARD. We learn no other but the confident tyrant Keeps still in Dunsinane and will endure Our setting down before't. MALCOLM. 'Tis his main hope; For where there is advantage to be given, Both more and less have given him the revolt, And none serve with him but constrained things Whose hearts are absent too. MACDUFF. Let our just censures Attend the true event, and put we on Industrious soldiership. SIWARD. The time approaches That will with due decision make us know What we shall say we have and what we owe. Thoughts speculative their unsure hopes relate, But certain issue strokes must arbitrate. Towards which advance the war. Exeunt Marching. SCENE V. Dunsinane. Within the castle. Enter Macbeth, Seyton, and Soldiers, with drum and colors. MACBETH. Hang out our banners on the outward walls; The cry is still, "They come!" Our castle's strength Will laugh a siege to scorn. Here let them lie Till famine and the ague eat them up. Were they not forced with those that should be ours, We might have met them dareful, beard to beard, And beat them backward home. A cry of women within. What is that noise? SEYTON. It is the cry of women, my good lord. Exit. MACBETH. I have almost forgot the taste of fears: The time has been, my senses would have cool'd To hear a night-shriek, and my fell of hair Would at a dismal treatise rouse and stir As life were in't. I have supp'd full with horrors; Direness, familiar to my slaughterous thoughts, Cannot once start me. Re-enter Seyton. Wherefore was that cry? SEYTON. The Queen, my lord, is dead. MACBETH. She should have died hereafter; There would have been a time for such a word. Tomorrow, and tomorrow, and tomorrow Creeps in this petty pace from day to day To the last syllable of recorded time; And all our yesterdays have lighted fools The way to dusty death. Out, out, brief candle! Life's but a walking shadow, a poor player That struts and frets his hour upon the stage And then is heard no more. It is a tale Told by an idiot, full of sound and fury, Signifying nothing. Enter a Messenger. Thou comest to use thy tongue; thy story quickly. MESSENGER. Gracious my lord, I should report that which I say I saw, But know not how to do it. MACBETH. Well, say, sir. MESSENGER. As I did stand my watch upon the hill, I look'd toward Birnam, and anon, methought, The Wood began to move. MACBETH. Liar and slave! MESSENGER. Let me endure your wrath, if't be not so. Within this three mile may you see it coming; I say, a moving grove. MACBETH. If thou speak'st false, Upon the next tree shalt thou hang alive, Till famine cling thee; if thy speech be sooth, I care not if thou dost for me as much. I pull in resolution and begin To doubt the equivocation of the fiend That lies like truth. "Fear not, till Birnam Wood Do come to Dunsinane," and now a wood Comes toward Dunsinane. Arm, arm, and out! If this which he avouches does appear, There is nor flying hence nor tarrying here. I 'gin to be aweary of the sun And wish the estate o' the world were now undone. Ring the alarum bell! Blow, wind! Come, wrack! At least we'll die with harness on our back. Exeunt. SCENE VI. Dunsinane. Before the castle. Enter Malcolm, old Siward, Macduff, and their Army, with boughs. Drum and colors. MALCOLM. Now near enough; your leavy screens throw down, And show like those you are. You, worthy uncle, Shall with my cousin, your right noble son, Lead our first battle. Worthy Macduff and we Shall take upon 's what else remains to do, According to our order. SIWARD. Fare you well. Do we but find the tyrant's power tonight, Let us be beaten if we cannot fight. MACDUFF. Make all our trumpets speak, give them all breath, Those clamorous harbingers of blood and death. Exeunt. SCENE VII. Dunsinane. Before the castle. Alarums. Enter Macbeth. MACBETH. They have tied me to a stake; I cannot fly, But bear-like I must fight the course. What's he That was not born of woman? Such a one Am I to fear, or none. Enter young Siward. YOUNG SIWARD. What is thy name? MACBETH. Thou'lt be afraid to hear it. YOUNG SIWARD. No, though thou call'st thyself a hotter name Than any is in hell. MACBETH. My name's Macbeth. YOUNG SIWARD. The devil himself could not pronounce a title More hateful to mine ear. MACBETH. No, nor more fearful. YOUNG SIWARD O Thou liest, abhorred tyrant; with my sword I'll prove the lie thou speak'st. They fight, and young Seward is slain. MACBETH. Thou wast born of woman. But swords I smile at, weapons laugh to scorn, Brandish'd by man that's of a woman born. Exit. Alarums. Enter Macduff. MACDUFF. That way the noise is. Tyrant, show thy face! If thou best slain and with no stroke of mine, My wife and children's ghosts will haunt me still. I cannot strike at wretched kerns, whose arms Are hired to bear their staves. Either thou, Macbeth, Or else my sword, with an unbatter'd edge, I sheathe again undeeded. There thou shouldst be; By this great clatter, one of greatest note Seems bruited. Let me find him, Fortune! And more I beg not. Exit. Alarums. Enter Malcolm and old Siward. SIWARD. This way, my lord; the castle's gently render'd. The tyrant's people on both sides do fight, The noble Thanes do bravely in the war, The day almost itself professes yours, And little is to do. MALCOLM. We have met with foes That strike beside us. SIWARD. Enter, sir, the castle. Exeunt. Alarum. SCENE VIII. Another part of the field. Enter Macbeth. MACBETH. Why should I play the Roman fool and die On mine own sword? Whiles I see lives, the gashes Do better upon them. Enter Macduff. MACDUFF. Turn, hell hound, turn! MACBETH. Of all men else I have avoided thee. But get thee back, my soul is too much charged With blood of thine already. MACDUFF. I have no words. My voice is in my sword, thou bloodier villain Than terms can give thee out! They fight. MACBETH. Thou losest labor. As easy mayst thou the intrenchant air With thy keen sword impress as make me bleed. Let fall thy blade on vulnerable crests; I bear a charmed life, which must not yield To one of woman born. MACDUFF. Despair thy charm, And let the angel whom thou still hast served Tell thee, Macduff was from his mother's womb Untimely ripp'd. MACBETH. Accursed be that tongue that tells me so, For it hath cow'd my better part of man! And be these juggling fiends no more believed That patter with us in a double sense, That keep the word of promise to our ear And break it to our hope. I'll not fight with thee. MACDUFF. Then yield thee, coward, And live to be the show and gaze o' the time. We'll have thee, as our rarer monsters are, Painted upon a pole, and underwrit, "Here may you see the tyrant." MACBETH. I will not yield, To kiss the ground before young Malcolm's feet, And to be baited with the rabble's curse. Though Birnam Wood be come to Dunsinane, And thou opposed, being of no woman born, Yet I will try the last. Before my body I throw my warlike shield! Lay on, Macduff, And damn'd be him that first cries, "Hold, enough!" Exeunt fighting. Alarums. SCENE IX. Retreat. Flourish. Enter, with drum and colors, Malcolm, old Siward, Ross, the other Thanes, and Soldiers. MALCOLM. I would the friends we miss were safe arrived. SIWARD. Some must go off, and yet, by these I see, So great a day as this is cheaply bought. MALCOLM. Macduff is missing, and your noble son. ROSS. Your son, my lord, has paid a soldier's debt. He only lived but till he was a man, The which no sooner had his prowess confirm'd In the unshrinking station where he fought, But like a man he died. SIWARD. Then he is dead? ROSS. Ay, and brought off the field. Your cause of sorrow Must not be measured by his worth, for then It hath no end. SIWARD. Had he his hurts before? ROSS. Ay, on the front. SIWARD. Why then, God's soldier be he! Had I as many sons as I have hairs, I would not wish them to a fairer death. And so his knell is knoll'd. MALCOLM. He's worth more sorrow, And that I'll spend for him. SIWARD. He's worth no more: They say he parted well and paid his score, And so God be with him! Here comes newer comfort. Re-enter Macduff, with Macbeth's head. MACDUFF. Hail, King, for so thou art. Behold where stands The usurper's cursed head. The time is free. I see thee compass'd with thy kingdom's pearl That speak my salutation in their minds, Whose voices I desire aloud with mine- Hail, King of Scotland! ALL. Hail, King of Scotland! Flourish. MALCOLM. We shall not spend a large expense of time Before we reckon with your several loves And make us even with you. My Thanes and kinsmen, Henceforth be Earls, the first that ever Scotland In such an honor named. What's more to do, Which would be planted newly with the time, As calling home our exiled friends abroad That fled the snares of watchful tyranny, Producing forth the cruel ministers Of this dead butcher and his fiend-like queen, Who, as 'tis thought, by self and violent hands Took off her life; this, and what needful else That calls upon us, by the grace of Grace We will perform in measure, time, and place. So thanks to all at once and to each one, Whom we invite to see us crown'd at Scone. Flourish. Exeunt. -THE END- <> End of this Etext of The Complete Works of William Shakespeare The Tragedy of Macbeth Much adoe about Nothing Actus primus, Scena prima. Enter Leonato Gouernour of Messina, Innogen his wife, Hero his daughter, and Beatrice his Neece, with a messenger. Leonato. I learne in this Letter, that Don Peter of Arragon, comes this night to Messina Mess. He is very neere by this: he was not three Leagues off when I left him Leon. How many Gentlemen haue you lost in this action? Mess. But few of any sort, and none of name Leon. A victorie is twice it selfe, when the atchieuer brings home full numbers: I finde heere, that Don Peter hath bestowed much honor on a yong Florentine, called Claudio Mess. Much deseru'd on his part, and equally remembred by Don Pedro, he hath borne himselfe beyond the promise of his age, doing in the figure of a Lambe, the feats of a Lion, he hath indeede better bettred expectation, then you must expect of me to tell you how Leo. He hath an Vnckle heere in Messina, wil be very much glad of it Mess. I haue alreadie deliuered him letters, and there appeares much ioy in him, euen so much, that ioy could not shew it selfe modest enough, without a badg of bitternesse Leo. Did he breake out into teares? Mess. In great measure Leo. A kinde ouerflow of kindnesse, there are no faces truer, then those that are so wash'd, how much better is it to weepe at ioy, then to ioy at weeping? Bea. I pray you, is Signior Mountanto return'd from the warres, or no? Mess. I know none of that name, Lady, there was none such in the armie of any sort Leon. What is he that you aske for Neece? Hero. My cousin meanes Signior Benedick of Padua Mess. O he's return'd, and as pleasant as euer he was Beat. He set vp his bils here in Messina, & challeng'd Cupid at the Flight: and my Vnckles foole reading the Challenge, subscrib'd for Cupid, and challeng'd him at the Burbolt. I pray you, how many hath hee kil'd and eaten in these warres? But how many hath he kil'd? for indeed, I promis'd to eate all of his killing Leon. 'Faith Neece, you taxe Signior Benedicke too much, but hee'l be meete with you, I doubt it not Mess. He hath done good seruice Lady in these wars Beat. You had musty victuall, and he hath holpe to ease it: he's a very valiant Trencher-man, hee hath an excellent stomacke Mess. And a good souldier too Lady Beat. And a good souldier to a Lady. But what is he to a Lord? Mess. A Lord to a Lord, a man to a man, stuft with all honourable vertues Beat. It is so indeed, he is no lesse then a stuft man: but for the stuffing well, we are all mortall Leon. You must not (sir) mistake my Neece, there is a kind of merry war betwixt Signior Benedick, & her: they neuer meet, but there's a skirmish of wit between them Bea. Alas, he gets nothing by that. In our last conflict, foure of his fiue wits went halting off, and now is the whole man gouern'd with one: so that if hee haue wit enough to keepe himselfe warme, let him beare it for a difference betweene himselfe and his horse: For it is all the wealth that he hath left, to be knowne a reasonable creature. Who is his companion now? He hath euery month a new sworne brother Mess. Is't possible? Beat. Very easily possible: he weares his faith but as the fashion of his hat, it euer changes with y next block Mess. I see (Lady) the Gentleman is not in your bookes Bea. No, and he were, I would burne my study. But I pray you, who is his companion? Is there no young squarer now, that will make a voyage with him to the diuell? Mess. He is most in the company of the right noble Claudio Beat. O Lord, he will hang vpon him like a disease: he is sooner caught then the pestilence, and the taker runs presently mad. God helpe the noble Claudio, if hee haue caught the Benedict, it will cost him a thousand pound ere he be cur'd Mess. I will hold friends with you Lady Bea. Do good friend Leo. You'l ne're run mad Neece Bea. No, not till a hot Ianuary Mess. Don Pedro is approach'd. Enter don Pedro, Claudio, Benedicke, Balthasar, and Iohn the bastard. Pedro. Good Signior Leonato, you are come to meet your trouble: the fashion of the world is to auoid cost, and you encounter it Leon. Neuer came trouble to my house in the likenes of your Grace: for trouble being gone, comfort should remaine: but when you depart from me, sorrow abides, and happinesse takes his leaue Pedro. You embrace your charge too willingly: I thinke this is your daughter Leonato. Her mother hath many times told me so Bened. Were you in doubt that you askt her? Leonato. Signior Benedicke, no, for then were you a childe Pedro. You haue it full Benedicke, we may ghesse by this, what you are, being a man, truely the Lady fathers her selfe: be happie Lady, for you are like an honorable father Ben. If Signior Leonato be her father, she would not haue his head on her shoulders for al Messina, as like him as she is Beat. I wonder that you will still be talking, signior Benedicke, no body markes you Ben. What my deere Ladie Disdaine! are you yet liuing? Beat. Is it possible Disdaine should die, while shee hath such meete foode to feede it, as Signior Benedicke? Curtesie it selfe must conuert to Disdaine, if you come in her presence Bene. Then is curtesie a turne-coate, but it is certaine I am loued of all Ladies, onely you excepted: and I would I could finde in my heart that I had not a hard heart, for truely I loue none Beat. A deere happinesse to women, they would else haue beene troubled with a pernitious Suter, I thanke God and my cold blood, I am of your humour for that, I had rather heare my Dog barke at a Crow, than a man sweare he loues me Bene. God keepe your Ladiship still in that minde, so some Gentleman or other shall scape a predestinate scratcht face Beat. Scratching could not make it worse, and 'twere such a face as yours were Bene. Well, you are a rare Parrat teacher Beat. A bird of my tongue, is better than a beast of your Ben. I would my horse had the speed of your tongue, and so good a continuer, but keepe your way a Gods name, I haue done Beat. You alwaies end with a Iades tricke, I know you of old Pedro. This is the summe of all: Leonato, signior Claudio, and signior Benedicke; my deere friend Leonato, hath inuited you all, I tell him we shall stay here, at the least a moneth, and he heartily praies some occasion may detaine vs longer: I dare sweare hee is no hypocrite, but praies from his heart Leon. If you sweare, my Lord, you shall not be forsworne, let mee bid you welcome, my Lord, being reconciled to the Prince your brother: I owe you all duetie Iohn. I thanke you, I am not of many words, but I thanke you Leon. Please it your grace leade on? Pedro. Your hand Leonato, we will goe together. Exeunt. Manet Benedicke and Claudio. Clau. Benedicke, didst thou note the daughter of signior Leonato? Bene. I noted her not, but I lookt on her Claud. Is she not a modest yong Ladie? Bene. Doe you question me as an honest man should doe, for my simple true iudgement? or would you haue me speake after my custome, as being a professed tyrant to their sexe? Clau. No, I pray thee speake in sober iudgement Bene. Why yfaith me thinks shee's too low for a hie praise, too browne for a faire praise, and too little for a great praise, onely this commendation I can affoord her, that were shee other then she is, she were vnhandsome, and being no other, but as she is, I doe not like her Clau. Thou think'st I am in sport, I pray thee tell me truely how thou lik'st her Bene. Would you buie her, that you enquier after her? Clau. Can the world buie such a iewell? Ben. Yea, and a case to put it into, but speake you this with a sad brow? Or doe you play the flowting iacke, to tell vs Cupid is a good Hare-finder, and Vulcan a rare Carpenter: Come, in what key shall a man take you to goe in the song? Clau. In mine eie, she is the sweetest Ladie that euer I lookt on Bene. I can see yet without spectacles, and I see no such matter: there's her cosin, and she were not possest with a furie, exceedes her as much in beautie, as the first of Maie doth the last of December: but I hope you haue no intent to turne husband, haue you? Clau. I would scarce trust my selfe, though I had sworne the contrarie, if Hero would be my wife Bene. Ist come to this? in faith hath not the world one man but he will weare his cap with suspition? shall I neuer see a batcheller of three score againe? goe to yfaith, and thou wilt needes thrust thy necke into a yoke, weare the print of it, and sigh away sundaies: looke, don Pedro is returned to seeke you. Enter don Pedro, Iohn the bastard. Pedr. What secret hath held you here, that you followed not to Leonatoes? Bened. I would your Grace would constraine mee to tell Pedro. I charge thee on thy allegeance Ben. You heare, Count Claudio, I can be secret as a dumbe man, I would haue you thinke so (but on my allegiance, marke you this, on my allegiance) hee is in loue, With who? now that is your Graces part: marke how short his answere is, with Hero, Leonatoes short daughter Clau. If this were so, so were it vttred Bened. Like the old tale, my Lord, it is not so, nor 'twas not so: but indeede, God forbid it should be so Clau. If my passion change not shortly, God forbid it should be otherwise Pedro. Amen, if you loue her, for the Ladie is verie well worthie Clau. You speake this to fetch me in, my Lord Pedr. By my troth I speake my thought Clau. And in faith, my Lord, I spoke mine Bened. And by my two faiths and troths, my Lord, I speake mine Clau. That I loue her, I feele Pedr. That she is worthie, I know Bened. That I neither feele how shee should be loued, nor know how shee should be worthie, is the opinion that fire cannot melt out of me, I will die in it at the stake Pedr. Thou wast euer an obstinate heretique in the despight of Beautie Clau. And neuer could maintaine his part, but in the force of his will Ben. That a woman conceiued me, I thanke her: that she brought mee vp, I likewise giue her most humble thankes: but that I will haue a rechate winded in my forehead, or hang my bugle in an inuisible baldricke, all women shall pardon me: because I will not do them the wrong to mistrust any, I will doe my selfe the right to trust none: and the fine is, (for the which I may goe the finer) I will liue a Batchellor Pedro. I shall see thee ere I die, looke pale with loue Bene. With anger, with sicknesse, or with hunger, my Lord, not with loue: proue that euer I loose more blood with loue, then I will get againe with drinking, picke out mine eyes with a Ballet-makers penne, and hang me vp at the doore of a brothel-house for the signe of blinde Cupid Pedro. Well, if euer thou doost fall from this faith, thou wilt proue a notable argument Bene. If I do, hang me in a bottle like a Cat, & shoot at me, and he that hit's me, let him be clapt on the shoulder, and cal'd Adam Pedro. Well, as time shall trie: In time the sauage Bull doth beare the yoake Bene. The sauage bull may, but if euer the sensible Benedicke beare it, plucke off the bulles hornes, and set them in my forehead, and let me be vildely painted, and in such great Letters as they write, heere is good horse to hire: let them signifie vnder my signe, here you may see Benedicke the married man Clau. If this should euer happen, thou wouldst bee horne mad Pedro. Nay, if Cupid haue not spent all his Quiuer in Venice, thou wilt quake for this shortly Bene. I looke for an earthquake too then Pedro. Well, you will temporize with the houres, in the meane time, good Signior Benedicke, repaire to Leonatoes, commend me to him, and tell him I will not faile him at supper, for indeede he hath made great preparation Bene. I haue almost matter enough in me for such an Embassage, and so I commit you Clau. To the tuition of God. From my house, if I had it Pedro. The sixt of Iuly. Your louing friend, Benedick Bene. Nay mocke not, mocke not; the body of your discourse is sometime guarded with fragments, and the guardes are but slightly basted on neither, ere you flout old ends any further, examine your conscience, and so I leaue you. Enter. Clau. My Liege, your Highnesse now may doe mee good Pedro. My loue is thine to teach, teach it but how, And thou shalt see how apt it is to learne Any hard Lesson that may do thee good Clau. Hath Leonato any sonne my Lord? Pedro. No childe but Hero, she's his onely heire. Dost thou affect her Claudio? Clau. O my Lord, When you went onward on this ended action, I look'd vpon her with a souldiers eie, That lik'd, but had a rougher taske in hand, Than to driue liking to the name of loue: But now I am return'd, and that warre-thoughts Haue left their places vacant: in their roomes, Come thronging soft and delicate desires, All prompting mee how faire yong Hero is, Saying I lik'd her ere I went to warres Pedro. Thou wilt be like a louer presently, And tire the hearer with a booke of words: If thou dost loue faire Hero, cherish it, And I will breake with her: wast not to this end, That thou beganst to twist so fine a story? Clau. How sweetly doe you minister to loue, That know loues griefe by his complexion! But lest my liking might too sodaine seeme, I would haue salu'd it with a longer treatise Ped. What need y bridge much broder then the flood? The fairest graunt is the necessitie: Looke what will serue, is fit: 'tis once, thou louest, And I will fit thee with the remedie, I know we shall haue reuelling to night, I will assume thy part in some disguise, And tell faire Hero I am Claudio, And in her bosome Ile vnclaspe my heart, And take her hearing prisoner with the force And strong incounter of my amorous tale: Then after, to her father will I breake, And the conclusion is, shee shall be thine, In practise let vs put it presently. Exeunt. Enter Leonato and an old man, brother to Leonato. Leo. How now brother, where is my cosen your son: hath he prouided this musicke? Old. He is very busie about it, but brother, I can tell you newes that you yet dreamt not of Lo. Are they good? Old. As the euents stamps them, but they haue a good couer: they shew well outward, the Prince and Count Claudio walking in a thick pleached alley in my orchard, were thus ouer-heard by a man of mine: the Prince discouered to Claudio that hee loued my niece your daughter, and meant to acknowledge it this night in a dance, and if hee found her accordant, hee meant to take the present time by the top, and instantly breake with you of it Leo. Hath the fellow any wit that told you this? Old. A good sharpe fellow, I will send for him, and question him your selfe Leo. No, no; wee will hold it as a dreame, till it appeare it selfe: but I will acquaint my daughter withall, that she may be the better prepared for an answer, if peraduenture this bee true: goe you and tell her of it: coosins, you know what you haue to doe, O I crie you mercie friend, goe you with mee and I will vse your skill, good cosin haue a care this busie time. Exeunt. Enter Sir Iohn the Bastard, and Conrade his companion. Con. What the good yeere my Lord, why are you thus out of measure sad? Ioh. There is no measure in the occasion that breeds, therefore the sadnesse is without limit Con. You should heare reason Iohn. And when I haue heard it, what blessing bringeth it? Con. If not a present remedy, yet a patient sufferance Ioh. I wonder that thou (being as thou saist thou art, borne vnder Saturne) goest about to apply a morall medicine, to a mortifying mischiefe: I cannot hide what I am: I must bee sad when I haue cause, and smile at no mans iests, eat when I haue stomacke, and wait for no mans leisure: sleepe when I am drowsie, and tend on no mans businesse, laugh when I am merry, and claw no man in his humor Con. Yea, but you must not make the ful show of this, till you may doe it without controllment, you haue of late stood out against your brother, and hee hath tane you newly into his grace, where it is impossible you should take root, but by the faire weather that you make your selfe, it is needful that you frame the season for your owne haruest Iohn. I had rather be a canker in a hedge, then a rose in his grace, and it better fits my bloud to be disdain'd of all, then to fashion a carriage to rob loue from any: in this (though I cannot be said to be a flattering honest man) it must not be denied but I am a plaine dealing villaine, I am trusted with a mussell, and enfranchisde with a clog, therefore I haue decreed, not to sing in my cage: if I had my mouth, I would bite: if I had my liberty, I would do my liking: in the meane time, let me be that I am, and seeke not to alter me Con. Can you make no vse of your discontent? Iohn. I will make all vse of it, for I vse it onely. Who comes here? what newes Borachio? Enter Borachio. Bor. I came yonder from a great supper, the Prince your brother is royally entertained by Leonato, and I can giue you intelligence of an intended marriage Iohn. Will it serue for any Modell to build mischiefe on? What is hee for a foole that betrothes himselfe to vnquietnesse? Bor. Mary it is your brothers right hand Iohn. Who, the most exquisite Claudio? Bor. Euen he Iohn. A proper squier, and who, and who, which way lookes he? Bor. Mary on Hero, the daughter and Heire of Leonato Iohn. A very forward March-chicke, how came you to this: Bor. Being entertain'd for a perfumer, as I was smoaking a musty roome, comes me the Prince and Claudio, hand in hand in sad conference: I whipt behind the Arras, and there heard it agreed vpon, that the Prince should wooe Hero for himselfe, and hauing obtain'd her, giue her to Count Claudio Iohn. Come, come, let vs thither, this may proue food to my displeasure, that young start-vp hath all the glorie of my ouerthrow: if I can crosse him any way, I blesse my selfe euery way, you are both sure, and will assist mee? Conr. To the death my Lord Iohn. Let vs to the great supper, their cheere is the greater that I am subdued, would the Cooke were of my minde: shall we goe proue whats to be done? Bor. Wee'll wait vpon your Lordship. Exeunt. Actus Secundus. Enter Leonato, his brother, his wife, Hero his daughter, and Beatrice his neece, and a kinsman. Leonato. Was not Count Iohn here at supper? Brother. I saw him not Beatrice. How tartly that Gentleman lookes, I neuer can see him, but I am heart-burn'd an howre after Hero. He is of a very melancholy disposition Beatrice. Hee were an excellent man that were made iust in the mid-way betweene him and Benedicke, the one is too like an image and saies nothing, and the other too like my Ladies eldest sonne, euermore tatling Leon. Then halfe signior Benedicks tongue in Count Iohns mouth, and halfe Count Iohns melancholy in Signior Benedicks face Beat. With a good legge, and a good foot vnckle, and money enough in his purse, such a man would winne any woman in the world, if he could get her good will Leon. By my troth Neece, thou wilt neuer get thee a husband, if thou be so shrewd of thy tongue Brother. Infaith shee's too curst Beat. Too curst is more then curst, I shall lessen Gods sending that way: for it is said, God sends a curst Cow short hornes, but to a Cow too curst he sends none Leon. So, by being too curst, God will send you no hornes Beat. Iust, if he send me no husband, for the which blessing, I am at him vpon my knees euery morning and euening: Lord, I could not endure a husband with a beard on his face, I had rather lie in the woollen Leonato. You may light vpon a husband that hath no beard Beatrice. What should I doe with him? dresse him in my apparell, and make him my waiting gentlewoman? he that hath a beard, is more then a youth: and he that hath no beard, is lesse then a man: and hee that is more then a youth, is not for mee: and he that is lesse then a man, I am not for him: therefore I will euen take sixepence in earnest of the Berrord, and leade his Apes into hell Leon. Well then, goe you into hell Beat. No, but to the gate, and there will the Deuill meete mee like an old Cuckold with hornes on his head, and say, get you to heauen Beatrice, get you to heauen, heere's no place for you maids, so deliuer I vp my Apes, and away to S[aint]. Peter: for the heauens, hee shewes mee where the Batchellers sit, and there liue wee as merry as the day is long Brother. Well neece, I trust you will be rul'd by your father Beatrice. Yes faith, it is my cosens dutie to make curtsie, and say, as it please you: but yet for all that cosin, let him be a handsome fellow, or else make an other cursie, and say, father, as it please me Leonato. Well neece, I hope to see you one day fitted with a husband Beatrice. Not till God make men of some other mettall then earth, would it not grieue a woman to be ouermastred with a peece of valiant dust: to make account of her life to a clod of waiward marle? no vnckle, ile none: Adams sonnes are my brethren, and truly I hold it a sinne to match in my kinred Leon. Daughter, remember what I told you, if the Prince doe solicit you in that kinde, you know your answere Beatrice. The fault will be in the musicke cosin, if you be not woed in good time: if the Prince bee too important, tell him there is measure in euery thing, & so dance out the answere, for heare me Hero, wooing, wedding, & repenting, is as a Scotch jigge, a measure, and a cinquepace: the first suite is hot and hasty like a Scotch jigge (and full as fantasticall) the wedding manerly modest, (as a measure) full of state & aunchentry, and then comes repentance, and with his bad legs falls into the cinquepace faster and faster, till he sinkes into his graue Leonato. Cosin you apprehend passing shrewdly Beatrice. I haue a good eye vnckle, I can see a Church by daylight Leon. The reuellers are entring brother, make good roome. Enter Prince, Pedro, Claudio, and Benedicke, and Balthasar, or dumbe Iohn, Maskers with a drum. Pedro. Lady, will you walke about with your friend? Hero. So you walke softly, and looke sweetly, and say nothing, I am yours for the walke, and especially when I walke away Pedro. With me in your company Hero. I may say so when I please Pedro. And when please you to say so? Hero. When I like your fauour, for God defend the Lute should be like the case Pedro. My visor is Philemons roofe, within the house is Loue Hero. Why then your visor should be thatcht Pedro. Speake low if you speake Loue Bene. Well, I would you did like me Mar. So would not I for your owne sake, for I haue manie ill qualities Bene. Which is one? Mar. I say my prayers alowd Ben. I loue you the better, the hearers may cry Amen Mar. God match me with a good dauncer Balt. Amen Mar. And God keepe him out of my sight when the daunce is done: answer Clarke Balt. No more words, the Clarke is answered Vrsula. I know you well enough, you are Signior Anthonio Anth. At a word, I am not Vrsula. I know you by the wagling of your head Anth. To tell you true, I counterfet him Vrsu. You could neuer doe him so ill well, vnlesse you were the very man: here's his dry hand vp & down, you are he, you are he Anth. At a word I am not Vrsula. Come, come, doe you thinke I doe not know you by your excellent wit? can vertue hide it selfe? goe to mumme, you are he, graces will appeare, and there's an end Beat. Will you not tell me who told you so? Bene. No, you shall pardon me Beat. Nor will you not tell me who you are? Bened. Not now Beat. That I was disdainfull, and that I had my good wit out of the hundred merry tales: well, this was Signior Benedicke that said so Bene. What's he? Beat. I am sure you know him well enough Bene. Not I, beleeue me Beat. Did he neuer make you laugh? Bene. I pray you what is he? Beat. Why he is the Princes ieaster, a very dull foole, onely his gift is, in deuising impossible slanders, none but Libertines delight in him, and the commendation is not in his witte, but in his villanie, for hee both pleaseth men and angers them, and then they laugh at him, and beat him: I am sure he is in the Fleet, I would he had boorded me Bene. When I know the Gentleman, Ile tell him what you say Beat. Do, do, hee'l but breake a comparison or two on me, which peraduenture (not markt, or not laugh'd at) strikes him into melancholly, and then there's a Partridge wing saued, for the foole will eate no supper that night. We must follow the Leaders Ben. In euery good thing Bea. Nay, if they leade to any ill, I will leaue them at the next turning. Exeunt. Musicke for the dance. Iohn. Sure my brother is amorous on Hero, and hath withdrawne her father to breake with him about it: the Ladies follow her, and but one visor remaines Borachio. And that is Claudio, I know him by his bearing Iohn. Are not you signior Benedicke? Clau. You know me well, I am hee Iohn. Signior, you are verie neere my Brother in his loue, he is enamor'd on Hero, I pray you disswade him from her, she is no equall for his birth: you may do the part of an honest man in it Claudio. How know you he loues her? Iohn. I heard him sweare his affection Bor. So did I too, and he swore he would marrie her to night Iohn. Come, let vs to the banquet. Ex. manet Clau. Clau. Thus answere I in name of Benedicke, But heare these ill newes with the eares of Claudio: 'Tis certaine so, the Prince woes for himselfe: Friendship is constant in all other things, Saue in the Office and affaires of loue: Therefore all hearts in loue vse their owne tongues. Let euerie eye negotiate for it selfe, And trust no Agent: for beautie is a witch, Against whose charmes, faith melteth into blood: This is an accident of hourely proofe, Which I mistrusted not. Farewell therefore Hero. Enter Benedicke. Ben. Count Claudio Clau. Yea, the same Ben. Come, will you goe with me? Clau. Whither? Ben. Euen to the next Willow, about your own businesse, Count. What fashion will you weare the Garland off? About your necke, like an Vsurers chaine? Or vnder your arme, like a Lieutenants scarfe? You must weare it one way, for the Prince hath got your Hero Clau . I wish him ioy of her Ben. Why that's spoken like an honest Drouier, so they sel Bullockes: but did you thinke the Prince wold haue serued you thus? Clau. I pray you leaue me Ben. Ho now you strike like the blindman, 'twas the boy that stole your meate, and you'l beat the post Clau. If it will not be, Ile leaue you. Enter. Ben. Alas poore hurt fowle, now will he creepe into sedges: But that my Ladie Beatrice should know me, & not know me: the Princes foole! Hah? It may be I goe vnder that title, because I am merrie: yea but so I am apt to do my selfe wrong: I am not so reputed, it is the base (though bitter) disposition of Beatrice, that putt's the world into her person, and so giues me out: well, Ile be reuenged as I may. Enter the Prince. Pedro. Now Signior, where's the Count, did you see him? Bene. Troth my Lord, I haue played the part of Lady Fame, I found him heere as melancholy as a Lodge in a Warren, I told him, and I thinke, told him true, that your grace had got the will of this young Lady, and I offered him my company to a willow tree, either to make him a garland, as being forsaken, or to binde him a rod, as being worthy to be whipt Pedro. To be whipt, what's his fault? Bene. The flat transgression of a Schoole-boy, who being ouer-ioyed with finding a birds nest, shewes it his companion, and he steales it Pedro. Wilt thou make a trust, a transgression? the transgression is in the stealer Ben. Yet it had not been amisse the rod had beene made, and the garland too, for the garland he might haue worne himselfe, and the rod hee might haue bestowed on you, who (as I take it) haue stolne his birds nest Pedro. I will but teach them to sing, and restore them to the owner Bene. If their singing answer your saying, by my faith you say honestly Pedro. The Lady Beatrice hath a quarrell to you, the Gentleman that daunst with her, told her shee is much wrong'd by you Bene. O she misusde me past the indurance of a block: an oake but with one greene leafe on it, would haue answered her: my very visor began to assume life, and scold with her: shee told mee, not thinking I had beene my selfe, that I was the Princes Iester, and that I was duller then a great thaw, hudling iest vpon iest, with such impossible conueiance vpon me, that I stood like a man at a marke, with a whole army shooting at me: shee speakes poynyards, and euery word stabbes: if her breath were as terrible as terminations, there were no liuing neere her, she would infect to the north starre: I would not marry her, though she were indowed with all that Adam had left him before he transgrest, she would haue made Hercules haue turnd spit, yea, and haue cleft his club to make the fire too: come, talke not of her, you shall finde her the infernall Ate in good apparell. I would to God some scholler would coniure her, for certainely while she is heere, a man may liue as quiet in hell, as in a sanctuary, and people sinne vpon purpose, because they would goe thither, so indeed all disquiet, horror, and perturbation followes her. Enter Claudio and Beatrice, Leonato, Hero. Pedro. Looke heere she comes Bene. Will your Grace command mee any seruice to the worlds end? I will goe on the slightest arrand now to the Antypodes that you can deuise to send me on: I will fetch you a tooth-picker now from the furthest inch of Asia: bring you the length of Prester Iohns foot: fetch you a hayre off the great Chams beard: doe you any embassage to the Pigmies, rather then hould three words conference, with this Harpy: you haue no employment for me? Pedro. None, but to desire your good company Bene. O God sir, heeres a dish I loue not, I cannot indure this Lady tongue. Enter. Pedr. Come Lady, come, you haue lost the heart of Signior Benedicke Beatr. Indeed my Lord, hee lent it me a while, and I gaue him vse for it, a double heart for a single one, marry once before he wonne it of mee, with false dice, therefore your Grace may well say I haue lost it Pedro. You haue put him downe Lady, you haue put him downe Beat. So I would not he should do me, my Lord, lest I should prooue the mother of fooles: I haue brought Count Claudio, whom you sent me to seeke Pedro. Why how now Count, wherfore are you sad? Claud. Not sad my Lord Pedro. How then? sicke? Claud. Neither, my Lord Beat. The Count is neither sad, nor sicke, nor merry, nor well: but ciuill Count, ciuill as an Orange, and something of a iealous complexion Pedro. Ifaith Lady, I thinke your blazon to be true. though Ile be sworne, if hee be so, his conceit is false: heere Claudio, I haue wooed in thy name, and faire Hero is won, I haue broke with her father, and his good will obtained, name the day of marriage, and God giue thee ioy Leona. Count, take of me my daughter, and with her my fortunes: his grace hath made the match, & all grace say, Amen to it Beatr. Speake Count, tis your Qu Claud. Silence is the perfectest Herault of ioy, I were but little happy if I could say, how much? Lady, as you are mine, I am yours, I giue away my selfe for you, and doat vpon the exchange Beat. Speake cosin, or (if you cannot) stop his mouth with a kisse, and let not him speake neither Pedro. In faith Lady you haue a merry heart Beatr. Yea my Lord I thanke it, poore foole it keepes on the windy side of Care, my coosin tells him in his eare that he is in my heart Clau. And so she doth coosin Beat. Good Lord for alliance: thus goes euery one to the world but I, and I am sun-burn'd, I may sit in a corner and cry, heigh ho for a husband Pedro. Lady Beatrice, I will get you one Beat. I would rather haue one of your fathers getting: hath your Grace ne're a brother like you? your father got excellent husbands, if a maid could come by them Prince. Will you haue me? Lady Beat. No, my Lord, vnlesse I might haue another for working-daies, your Grace is too costly to weare euerie day: but I beseech your Grace pardon mee, I was borne to speake all mirth, and no matter Prince. Your silence most offends me, and to be merry, best becomes you, for out of question, you were born in a merry howre Beatr. No sure my Lord, my Mother cried, but then there was a starre daunst, and vnder that was I borne: cosins God giue you ioy Leonato. Neece, will you looke to those things I told you of? Beat. I cry you mercy Vncle, by your Graces pardon. Exit Beatrice. Prince. By my troth a pleasant spirited Lady Leon. There's little of the melancholy element in her my Lord, she is neuer sad, but when she sleepes, and not euer sad then: for I haue heard my daughter say, she hath often dreamt of vnhappinesse, and wakt her selfe with laughing Pedro. Shee cannot indure to heare tell of a husband Leonato. O, by no meanes, she mocks all her wooers out of suite Prince. She were an excellent wife for Benedick Leonato. O Lord, my Lord, if they were but a weeke married, they would talke themselues madde Prince. Counte Claudio, when meane you to goe to Church? Clau. To morrow my Lord, Time goes on crutches, till Loue haue all his rites Leonato. Not till monday, my deare sonne, which is hence a iust seuen night, and a time too briefe too, to haue all things answer minde Prince. Come, you shake the head at so long a breathing, but I warrant thee Claudio, the time shall not goe dully by vs, I will in the interim, vndertake one of Hercules labors, which is, to bring Signior Benedicke and the Lady Beatrice into a mountaine of affection, th' one with th' other, I would faine haue it a match, and I doubt not but to fashion it, if you three will but minister such assistance as I shall giue you direction Leonato. My Lord, I am for you, though it cost mee ten nights watchings Claud. And I my Lord Prin. And you to gentle Hero? Hero. I will doe any modest office, my Lord, to helpe my cosin to a good husband Prin. And Benedick is not the vnhopefullest husband that I know: thus farre can I praise him, hee is of a noble straine, of approued valour, and confirm'd honesty, I will teach you how to humour your cosin, that shee shall fall in loue with Benedicke, and I, with your two helpes, will so practise on Benedicke, that in despight of his quicke wit, and his queasie stomacke, hee shall fall in loue with Beatrice: if wee can doe this, Cupid is no longer an Archer, his glory shall be ours, for wee are the onely louegods, goe in with me, and I will tell you my drift. Enter. Enter Iohn and Borachio. Ioh. It is so, the Count Claudio shal marry the daughter of Leonato Bora. Yea my Lord, but I can crosse it Iohn. Any barre, any crosse, any impediment, will be medicinable to me, I am sicke in displeasure to him, and whatsoeuer comes athwart his affection, ranges euenly with mine, how canst thou crosse this marriage? Bor. Not honestly my Lord, but so couertly, that no dishonesty shall appeare in me Iohn. Shew me breefely how Bor. I thinke I told your Lordship a yeere since, how much I am in the fauour of Margaret, the waiting gentlewoman to Hero Iohn. I remember Bor. I can at any vnseasonable instant of the night, appoint her to looke out at her Ladies chamber window Iohn. What life is in that, to be the death of this marriage? Bor. The poyson of that lies in you to temper, goe you to the Prince your brother, spare not to tell him, that hee hath wronged his Honor in marrying the renowned Claudio, whose estimation do you mightily hold vp, to a contaminated stale, such a one as Hero Iohn. What proofe shall I make of that? Bor. Proofe enough, to misuse the Prince, to vexe Claudio, to vndoe Hero, and kill Leonato, looke you for any other issue? Iohn. Onely to despight them, I will endeauour any thing Bor. Goe then, finde me a meete howre, to draw on Pedro and the Count Claudio alone, tell them that you know that Hero loues me, intend a kinde of zeale both to the Prince and Claudio (as in a loue of your brothers honor who hath made this match) and his friends reputation, who is thus like to be cosen'd with the semblance of a maid, that you haue discouer'd thus: they will scarcely beleeue this without triall: offer them instances which shall beare no lesse likelihood, than to see mee at her chamber window, heare me call Margaret, Hero; heare Margaret terme me Claudio, and bring them to see this the very night before the intended wedding, for in the meane time, I will so fashion the matter, that Hero shall be absent, and there shall appeare such seeming truths of Heroes disloyaltie, that iealousie shall be cal'd assurance, and all the preparation ouerthrowne Iohn. Grow this to what aduerse issue it can, I will put it in practise: be cunning in the working this, and thy fee is a thousand ducates Bor. Be thou constant in the accusation, and my cunning shall not shame me Iohn. I will presentlie goe learne their day of marriage. Enter. Enter Benedicke alone. Bene. Boy Boy. Signior Bene. In my chamber window lies a booke, bring it hither to me in the orchard Boy. I am heere already sir. Enter. Bene. I know that, but I would haue thee hence, and heere againe. I doe much wonder, that one man seeing how much another man is a foole, when he dedicates his behauiours to loue, will after hee hath laught at such shallow follies in others, become the argument of his owne scorne, by falling in loue, & such a man is Claudio. I haue known when there was no musicke with him but the drum and the fife, and now had hee rather heare the taber and the pipe: I haue knowne when he would haue walkt ten mile afoot, to see a good armor, and now will he lie ten nights awake caruing the fashion of a new dublet: he was wont to speake plaine, & to the purpose (like an honest man & a souldier) and now is he turn'd orthography, his words are a very fantasticall banquet, iust so many strange dishes: may I be so conuerted, & see with these eyes? I cannot tell, I thinke not: I will not bee sworne, but loue may transforme me to an oyster, but Ile take my oath on it, till he haue made an oyster of me, he shall neuer make me such a foole: one woman is faire, yet I am well: another is wise, yet I am well: another vertuous, yet I am well: but till all graces be in one woman, one woman shall not come in my grace: rich shee shall be, that's certaine: wise, or Ile none: vertuous, or Ile neuer cheapen her: faire, or Ile neuer looke on her: milde, or come not neere me: Noble, or not for an Angell: of good discourse: an excellent Musitian, and her haire shal be of what colour it please God, hah! the Prince and Monsieur Loue, I will hide me in the Arbor. Enter Prince, Leonato, Claudio, and Iacke Wilson. Prin. Come, shall we heare this musicke? Claud. Yea my good Lord: how still the euening is. As husht on purpose to grace harmonie Prin. See you where Benedicke hath hid himselfe? Clau. O very well my Lord: the musicke ended, Wee'll fit the kid-foxe with a penny worth Prince. Come Balthasar, wee'll heare that song again Balth. O good my Lord, taxe not so bad a voyce, To slander musicke any more then once Prin. It is the witnesse still of excellency, To slander Musicke any more then once Prince. It is the witnesse still of excellencie, To put a strange face on his owne perfection, I pray thee sing, and let me woe no more Balth. Because you talke of wooing, I will sing, Since many a wooer doth commence his suit, To her he thinkes not worthy, yet he wooes, Yet will he sweare he loues Prince. Nay pray thee come, Or if thou wilt hold longer argument, Doe it in notes Balth. Note this before my notes, Theres not a note of mine that's worth the noting Prince. Why these are very crotchets that he speaks, Note notes forsooth, and nothing Bene. Now diuine aire, now is his soule rauisht, is it not strange that sheepes guts should hale soules out of mens bodies? well, a horne for my money when all's done. The Song. Sigh no more Ladies, sigh no more, Men were deceiuers euer, One foote in Sea, and one on shore, To one thing constant neuer, Then sigh not so, but let them goe, And be you blithe and bonnie, Conuerting all your sounds of woe, Into hey nony nony. Sing no more ditties, sing no moe, Of dumps so dull and heauy, The fraud of men were euer so, Since summer first was leauy, Then sigh not so, &c Prince. By my troth a good song Balth. And an ill singer, my Lord Prince. Ha, no, no faith, thou singst well enough for a shift Ben. And he had been a dog that should haue howld thus, they would haue hang'd him, and I pray God his bad voyce bode no mischiefe, I had as liefe haue heard the night-rauen, come what plague could haue come after it Prince. Yea marry, dost thou heare Balthasar? I pray thee get vs some excellent musick: for to morrow night we would haue it at the Lady Heroes chamber window Balth. The best I can, my Lord. Exit Balthasar. Prince. Do so, farewell. Come hither Leonato, what was it you told me of to day, that your Niece Beatrice was in loue with signior Benedicke? Cla. O I, stalke on, stalke on, the foule sits. I did neuer thinke that Lady would haue loued any man Leon. No, nor I neither, but most wonderful, that she should so dote on Signior Benedicke, whom shee hath in all outward behauiours seemed euer to abhorre Bene. Is't possible? sits the winde in that corner? Leo. By my troth my Lord, I cannot tell what to thinke of it, but that she loues him with an inraged affection, it is past the infinite of thought Prince. May be she doth but counterfeit Claud. Faith like enough Leon. O God! counterfeit? there was neuer counterfeit of passion, came so neere the life of passion as she discouers it Prince. Why what effects of passion shewes she? Claud. Baite the hooke well, this fish will bite Leon. What effects my Lord? shee will sit you, you heard my daughter tell you how Clau. She did indeed Prince. How, how I pray you? you amaze me, I would haue thought her spirit had beene inuincible against all assaults of affection Leo. I would haue sworne it had, my Lord, especially against Benedicke Bene. I should thinke this a gull, but that the whitebearded fellow speakes it: knauery cannot sure hide himselfe in such reuerence Claud. He hath tane th' infection, hold it vp Prince. Hath shee made her affection known to Benedicke: Leonato. No, and sweares she neuer will, that's her torment Claud. 'Tis true indeed, so your daughter saies: shall I, saies she, that haue so oft encountred him with scorne, write to him that I loue him? Leo. This saies shee now when shee is beginning to write to him, for shee'll be vp twenty times a night, and there will she sit in her smocke, till she haue writ a sheet of paper: my daughter tells vs all Clau. Now you talke of a sheet of paper, I remember a pretty iest your daughter told vs of Leon. O when she had writ it, & was reading it ouer, she found Benedicke and Beatrice betweene the sheete Clau. That Leon. O she tore the letter into a thousand halfpence, raild at her self, that she should be so immodest to write, to one that shee knew would flout her: I measure him, saies she, by my owne spirit, for I should flout him if hee writ to mee, yea though I loue him, I should Clau. Then downe vpon her knees she falls, weepes, sobs, beates her heart, teares her hayre, praies, curses, O sweet Benedicke, God giue me patience Leon. She doth indeed, my daughter saies so, and the extasie hath so much ouerborne her, that my daughter is somtime afeard she will doe a desperate out-rage to her selfe, it is very true Prince. It were good that Benedicke knew of it by some other, if she will not discouer it Clau. To what end? he would but make a sport of it, and torment the poore Lady worse Prin. And he should, it were an almes to hang him, shee's an excellent sweet Lady, and (out of all suspition,) she is vertuous Claudio. And she is exceeding wise Prince. In euery thing, but in louing Benedicke Leon. O my Lord, wisedome and bloud combating in so tender a body, we haue ten proofes to one, that bloud hath the victory, I am sorry for her, as I haue iust cause, being her Vncle, and her Guardian Prince. I would shee had bestowed this dotage on mee, I would haue daft all other respects, and made her halfe my selfe: I pray you tell Benedicke of it, and heare what he will say Leon. Were it good thinke you? Clau. Hero thinkes surely she wil die, for she saies she will die, if hee loue her not, and shee will die ere shee make her loue knowne, and she will die if hee wooe her, rather than shee will bate one breath of her accustomed crossenesse Prince. She doth well, if she should make tender of her loue, 'tis very possible hee'l scorne it, for the man (as you know all) hath a contemptible spirit Clau. He is a very proper man Prin. He hath indeed a good outward happines Clau. 'Fore God, and in my minde very wise Prin. He doth indeed shew some sparkes that are like wit Leon. And I take him to be valiant Prin. As Hector, I assure you, and in the managing of quarrels you may see hee is wise, for either hee auoydes them with great discretion, or vndertakes them with a Christian-like feare Leon. If hee doe feare God, a must necessarilie keepe peace, if hee breake the peace, hee ought to enter into a quarrell with feare and trembling Prin. And so will he doe, for the man doth fear God, howsoeuer it seemes not in him, by some large ieasts hee will make: well, I am sorry for your niece, shall we goe see Benedicke, and tell him of her loue Claud. Neuer tell him, my Lord, let her weare it out with good counsell Leon. Nay that's impossible, she may weare her heart out first Prin. Well, we will heare further of it by your daughter, let it coole the while, I loue Benedicke well, and I could wish he would modestly examine himselfe, to see how much he is vnworthy to haue so good a Lady Leon. My Lord, will you walke? dinner is ready Clau. If he do not doat on her vpon this, I wil neuer trust my expectation Prin. Let there be the same Net spread for her, and that must your daughter and her gentlewoman carry: the sport will be, when they hold one an opinion of anothers dotage, and no such matter, that's the Scene that I would see, which will be meerely a dumbe shew: let vs send her to call him into dinner. Exeunt. Bene. This can be no tricke, the conference was sadly borne, they haue the truth of this from Hero, they seeme to pittie the Lady: it seemes her affections haue the full bent: loue me? why it must be requited: I heare how I am censur'd, they say I will beare my selfe proudly, if I perceiue the loue come from her: they say too, that she will rather die than giue any signe of affection: I did neuer thinke to marry, I must not seeme proud, happy are they that heare their detractions, and can put them to mending: they say the Lady is faire, 'tis a truth, I can beare them witnesse: and vertuous, tis so, I cannot reprooue it, and wise, but for louing me, by my troth it is no addition to her witte, nor no great argument of her folly; for I wil be horribly in loue with her, I may chance haue some odde quirkes and remnants of witte broken on mee, because I haue rail'd so long against marriage: but doth not the appetite alter? a man loues the meat in his youth, that he cannot indure in his age. Shall quips and sentences, and these paper bullets of the braine awe a man from the careere of his humour? No, the world must be peopled. When I said I would die a batcheler, I did not think I should liue till I were maried, here comes Beatrice: by this day, shee's a faire Lady, I doe spie some markes of loue in her. Enter Beatrice. Beat. Against my wil I am sent to bid you come in to dinner Bene. Faire Beatrice, I thanke you for your paines Beat. I tooke no more paines for those thankes, then you take paines to thanke me, if it had been painefull, I would not haue come Bene. You take pleasure then in the message Beat. Yea iust so much as you may take vpon a kniues point, and choake a daw withall: you haue no stomacke signior, fare you well. Enter. Bene. Ha, against my will I am sent to bid you come into dinner: there's a double meaning in that: I tooke no more paines for those thankes then you took paines to thanke me, that's as much as to say, any paines that I take for you is as easie as thankes: if I do not take pitty of her I am a villaine, if I doe not loue her I am a Iew, I will goe get her picture. Enter. Actus Tertius. Enter Hero and two Gentlemen, Margaret, and Vrsula. Hero. Good Margaret runne thee to the parlour, There shalt thou finde my Cosin Beatrice, Proposing with the Prince and Claudio, Whisper her eare, and tell her I and Vrsula, Walke in the Orchard, and our whole discourse Is all of her, say that thou ouer-heardst vs, And bid her steale into the pleached bower, Where hony-suckles ripened by the sunne, Forbid the sunne to enter: like fauourites, Made proud by Princes, that aduance their pride, Against that power that bred it, there will she hide her, To listen our purpose, this is thy office, Beare thee well in it, and leaue vs alone Marg. Ile make her come I warrant you presently Hero. Now Vrsula, when Beatrice doth come, As we do trace this alley vp and downe, Our talke must onely be of Benedicke, When I doe name him, let it be thy part, To praise him more then euer man did merit, My talke to thee must be how Benedicke Is sicke in loue with Beatrice; of this matter, Is little Cupids crafty arrow made, That onely wounds by heare-say: now begin, Enter Beatrice. For looke where Beatrice like a Lapwing runs Close by the ground, to heare our conference Vrs. The pleasant'st angling is to see the fish Cut with her golden ores the siluer streame, And greedily deuoure the treacherous baite: So angle we for Beatrice, who euen now, Is couched in the wood-bine couerture, Feare you not my part of the Dialogue Her. Then go we neare her that her eare loose nothing, Of the false sweete baite that we lay for it: No truely Vrsula, she is too disdainfull, I know her spirits are as coy and wilde, As Haggerds of the rocke Vrsula. But are you sure, That Benedicke loues Beatrice so intirely? Her. So saies the Prince, and my new trothed Lord Vrs. And did they bid you tell her of it, Madam? Her. They did intreate me to acquaint her of it, But I perswaded them, if they lou'd Benedicke, To wish him wrastle with affection, And neuer to let Beatrice know of it Vrsula. Why did you so, doth not the Gentleman Deserue as full as fortunate a bed, As euer Beatrice shall couch vpon? Hero. O God of loue! I know he doth deserue, As much as may be yeelded to a man: But Nature neuer fram'd a womans heart, Of prowder stuffe then that of Beatrice: Disdaine and Scorne ride sparkling in her eyes, Mis-prizing what they looke on, and her wit Values it selfe so highly, that to her All matter else seemes weake: she cannot loue, Nor take no shape nor proiect of affection, Shee is so selfe indeared Vrsula. Sure I thinke so, And therefore certainely it were not good She knew his loue, lest she make sport at it Hero. Why you speake truth, I neuer yet saw man, How wise, how noble, yong, how rarely featur'd. But she would spell him backward: if faire fac'd, She would sweare the gentleman should be her sister: If blacke, why Nature drawing of an anticke, Made a foule blot: if tall, a launce ill headed: If low, an agot very vildlie cut: If speaking, why a vane blowne with all windes: If silent, why a blocke moued with none. So turnes she euery man the wrong side out, And neuer giues to Truth and Vertue, that Which simplenesse and merit purchaseth Vrsu. Sure, sure, such carping is not commendable Hero. No, not to be so odde, and from all fashions, As Beatrice is, cannot be commendable, But who dare tell her so? if I should speake, She would mocke me into ayre, O she would laugh me Out of my selfe, presse me to death with wit, Therefore let Benedicke like couered fire, Consume away in sighes, waste inwardly: It were a better death, to die with mockes, Which is as bad as die with tickling Vrsu. Yet tell her of it, heare what shee will say Hero. No, rather I will goe to Benedicke, And counsaile him to fight against his passion, And truly Ile deuise some honest slanders, To staine my cosin with, one doth not know, How much an ill word may impoison liking Vrsu. O doe not doe your cosin such a wrong, She cannot be so much without true iudgement, Hauing so swift and excellent a wit As she is prisde to haue, as to refuse So rare a Gentleman as signior Benedicke Hero. He is the onely man of Italy, Alwaies excepted, my deare Claudio Vrsu. I pray you be not angry with me, Madame, Speaking my fancy: Signior Benedicke, For shape, for bearing argument and valour, Goes formost in report through Italy Hero. Indeed he hath an excellent good name Vrsu. His excellence did earne it ere he had it: When are you married Madame? Hero. Why euerie day to morrow, come goe in, Ile shew thee some attires, and haue thy counsell, Which is the best to furnish me to morrow Vrsu. Shee's tane I warrant you, We haue caught her Madame? Hero. If it proue so, then louing goes by haps, Some Cupid kills with arrowes, some with traps. Enter. Beat. What fire is in mine eares? can this be true? Stand I condemn'd for pride and scorne so much? Contempt, farewell, and maiden pride, adew, No glory liues behinde the backe of such. And Benedicke, loue on, I will requite thee, Taming my wilde heart to thy louing hand: If thou dost loue, my kindnesse shall incite thee To binde our loues vp in a holy band. For others say thou dost deserue, and I Beleeue it better then reportingly. Enter. Enter Prince, Claudio, Benedicke, and Leonato. Prince. I doe but stay till your marriage be consummate, and then go I toward Arragon Clau. Ile bring you thither my Lord, if you'l vouchsafe me Prin. Nay, that would be as great a soyle in the new glosse of your marriage, as to shew a childe his new coat and forbid him to weare it, I will onely bee bold with Benedicke for his companie, for from the crowne of his head, to the sole of his foot, he is all mirth, he hath twice or thrice cut Cupids bow-string, and the little hang-man dare not shoot at him, he hath a heart as sound as a bell, and his tongue is the clapper, for what his heart thinkes, his tongue speakes Bene. Gallants, I am not as I haue bin Leo. So say I, methinkes you are sadder Claud. I hope he be in loue Prin. Hang him truant, there's no true drop of bloud in him to be truly toucht with loue, if he be sad, he wants money Bene. I haue the tooth-ach Prin. Draw it Bene. Hang it Claud. You must hang it first, and draw it afterwards Prin. What? sigh for the tooth-ach Leon. Where is but a humour or a worme Bene. Well, euery one cannot master a griefe, but hee that has it Clau. Yet say I, he is in loue Prin. There is no appearance of fancie in him, vnlesse it be a fancy that he hath to strange disguises, as to bee a Dutchman to day, a Frenchman to morrow: vnlesse hee haue a fancy to this foolery, as it appeares hee hath, hee is no foole for fancy, as you would haue it to appeare he is Clau. If he be not in loue with some woman, there is no beleeuing old signes, a brushes his hat a mornings, What should that bode? Prin. Hath any man seene him at the Barbers? Clau. No, but the Barbers man hath beene seen with him, and the olde ornament of his cheeke hath alreadie stuft tennis balls Leon. Indeed he lookes yonger than hee did, by the losse of a beard Prin. Nay a rubs himselfe with Ciuit, can you smell him out by that? Clau. That's as much as to say, the sweet youth's in loue Prin. The greatest note of it is his melancholy Clau. And when was he wont to wash his face? Prin. Yea, or to paint himselfe? for the which I heare what they say of him Clau. Nay, but his iesting spirit, which is now crept into a lute-string, and now gouern'd by stops Prin. Indeed that tels a heauy tale for him: conclude, he is in loue Clau. Nay, but I know who loues him Prince. That would I know too, I warrant one that knowes him not Cla. Yes, and his ill conditions, and in despight of all, dies for him Prin. Shee shall be buried with her face vpwards Bene. Yet is this no charme for the tooth-ake, old signior, walke aside with mee, I haue studied eight or nine wise words to speake to you, which these hobby-horses must not heare Prin. For my life to breake with him about Beatrice Clau. 'Tis euen so, Hero and Margaret haue by this played their parts with Beatrice, and then the two Beares will not bite one another when they meete. Enter Iohn the Bastard. Bast. My Lord and brother, God saue you Prin. Good den brother Bast. If your leisure seru'd, I would speake with you Prince. In priuate? Bast. If it please you, yet Count Claudio may heare, for what I would speake of, concernes him Prin. What's the matter? Basta. Meanes your Lordship to be married to morrow? Prin. You know he does Bast. I know not that when he knowes what I know Clau. If there be any impediment, I pray you discouer it Bast. You may thinke I loue you not, let that appeare hereafter, and ayme better at me by that I now will manifest, for my brother (I thinke, he holds you well, and in dearenesse of heart) hath holpe to effect your ensuing marriage: surely sute ill spent, and labour ill bestowed Prin. Why, what's the matter? Bastard. I came hither to tell you, and circumstances shortned, (for she hath beene too long a talking of) the Lady is disloyall Clau. Who Hero? Bast. Euen shee, Leonatoes Hero, your Hero, euery mans Hero Clau. Disloyall? Bast. The word is too good to paint out her wickednesse, I could say she were worse, thinke you of a worse title, and I will fit her to it: wonder not till further warrant: goe but with mee to night, you shal see her chamber window entred, euen the night before her wedding day, if you loue her, then to morrow wed her: But it would better fit your honour to change your minde Claud. May this be so? Princ. I will not thinke it Bast. If you dare not trust that you see, confesse not that you know: if you will follow mee, I will shew you enough, and when you haue seene more, & heard more, proceed accordingly Clau. If I see any thing to night, why I should not marry her to morrow in the congregation, where I shold wedde, there will I shame her Prin. And as I wooed for thee to obtaine her, I will ioyne with thee to disgrace her Bast. I will disparage her no farther, till you are my witnesses, beare it coldly but till night, and let the issue shew it selfe Prin. O day vntowardly turned! Claud. O mischiefe strangelie thwarting! Bastard. O plague right well preuented! so will you say, when you haue seene the sequele. Enter. Enter Dogbery and his compartner with the watch. Dog. Are you good men and true? Verg. Yea, or else it were pitty but they should suffer saluation body and soule Dogb. Nay, that were a punishment too good for them, if they should haue any allegiance in them, being chosen for the Princes watch Verges. Well, giue them their charge, neighbour Dogbery Dog. First, who thinke you the most desartlesse man to be Constable Watch.1. Hugh Ote-cake sir, or George Sea-coale, for they can write and reade Dogb. Come hither neighbour Sea-coale, God hath blest you with a good name: to be a wel-fauoured man, is the gift of Fortune, but to write and reade, comes by Nature Watch 2. Both which Master Constable Dogb. You haue: I knew it would be your answere: well, for your fauour sir, why giue God thankes, & make no boast of it, and for your writing and reading, let that appeare when there is no need of such vanity, you are thought heere to be the most senslesse and fit man for the Constable of the watch: therefore beare you the lanthorne: this is your charge: You shall comprehend all vagrom men, you are to bid any man stand in the Princes name Watch 2. How if a will not stand? Dogb. Why then take no note of him, but let him go, and presently call the rest of the Watch together, and thanke God you are ridde of a knaue Verges. If he will not stand when he is bidden, hee is none of the Princes subiects Dogb. True, and they are to meddle with none but the Princes subiects: you shall also make no noise in the streetes: for, for the Watch to babble and talke, is most tollerable, and not to be indured Watch. We will rather sleepe than talke, wee know what belongs to a Watch Dog. Why you speake like an ancient and most quiet watchman, for I cannot see how sleeping should offend: only haue a care that your bills be not stolne: well, you are to call at all the Alehouses, and bid them that are drunke get them to bed Watch. How if they will not? Dogb. Why then let them alone till they are sober, if they make you not then the better answere, you may say, they are not the men you tooke them for Watch. Well sir, Dogb. If you meet a theefe, you may suspect him, by vertue of your office, to be no true man: and for such kinde of men, the lesse you meddle or make with them, why the more is for your honesty Watch. If wee know him to be a thiefe, shall wee not lay hands on him Dogb. Truly by your office you may, but I think they that touch pitch will be defil'd: the most peaceable way for you, if you doe take a theefe, is, to let him shew himselfe what he is, and steale out of your company Ver. You haue bin alwaies cal'd a merciful ma[n] partner Dog. Truely I would not hang a dog by my will, much more a man who hath anie honestie in him Verges. If you heare a child crie in the night you must call to the nurse, and bid her still it Watch. How if the nurse be asleepe and will not heare vs? Dog. Why then depart in peace, and let the childe wake her with crying, for the ewe that will not heare her Lambe when it baes, will neuer answere a calfe when he bleates Verges. 'Tis verie true Dog. This is the end of the charge: you constable are to present the Princes owne person, if you meete the Prince in the night, you may staie him Verges. Nay birladie that I thinke a cannot Dog. Fiue shillings to one on't with anie man that knowes the Statutes, he may staie him, marrie not without the prince be willing, for indeed the watch ought to offend no man, and it is an offence to stay a man against his will Verges. Birladie I thinke it be so Dog. Ha, ah ha, well masters good night, and there be anie matter of weight chances, call vp me, keepe your fellowes counsailes, and your owne, and good night, come neighbour Watch. Well masters, we heare our charge, let vs go sit here vpon the Church bench till two, and then all to bed Dog. One word more, honest neighbors. I pray you watch about signior Leonatoes doore, for the wedding being there to morrow, there is a great coyle to night, adiew, be vigitant I beseech you. Exeunt. Enter Borachio and Conrade. Bor. What, Conrade? Watch. Peace, stir not Bor. Conrade I say Con. Here man, I am at thy elbow Bor. Mas and my elbow itcht, I thought there would a scabbe follow Con. I will owe thee an answere for that, and now forward with thy tale Bor. Stand thee close then vnder this penthouse, for it drissels raine, and I will, like a true drunkard, vtter all to thee Watch. Some treason masters, yet stand close Bor. Therefore know, I haue earned of Don Iohn a thousand Ducates Con. Is it possible that anie villanie should be so deare? Bor. Thou should'st rather aske if it were possible anie villanie should be so rich? for when rich villains haue neede of poore ones, poore ones may make what price they will Con. I wonder at it Bor. That shewes thou art vnconfirm'd, thou knowest that the fashion of a doublet, or a hat, or a cloake, is nothing to a man Con. Yes, it is apparell Bor. I meane the fashion Con. Yes the fashion is the fashion Bor. Tush, I may as well say the foole's the foole, but seest thou not what a deformed theefe this fashion is? Watch. I know that deformed, a has bin a vile theefe, this vii. yeares, a goes vp and downe like a gentle man: I remember his name Bor. Did'st thou not heare some bodie? Con. No, 'twas the vaine on the house Bor. Seest thou not (I say) what a deformed thiefe this fashion is, how giddily a turnes about all the Hotblouds, betweene, foureteene & fiue & thirtie, sometimes fashioning them like Pharaoes souldiours in the rechie painting, sometime like god Bels priests in the old Church window, sometime like the shauen Hercules in the smircht worm-eaten tapestrie, where his cod-peece seemes as massie as his club Con. All this I see, and see that the fashion weares out more apparrell then the man; but art not thou thy selfe giddie with the fashion too that thou hast shifted out of thy tale into telling me of the fashion? Bor. Not so neither, but know that I haue to night wooed Margaret the Lady Heroes gentle-woman, by the name of Hero, she leanes me out at her mistris chamberwindow, bids me a thousand times good night: I tell this tale vildly. I should first tell thee how the Prince Claudio and my Master planted, and placed, and possessed by my Master Don Iohn, saw a far off in the Orchard this amiable incounter Con. And thought thy Margaret was Hero? Bor. Two of them did, the Prince and Claudio, but the diuell my Master knew she was Margaret and partly by his oathes, which first possest them, partly by the darke night which did deceiue them, but chiefely, by my villanie, which did confirme any slander that Don Iohn had made, away went Claudio enraged, swore hee would meete her as he was apointed next morning at the Temple, and there, before the whole congregation shame her with what he saw o're night, and send her home againe without a husband Watch.1. We charge you in the Princes name stand Watch.2. Call vp the right master Constable, we haue here recouered the most dangerous peece of lechery, that euer was knowne in the Common-wealth Watch.1. And one Deformed is one of them, I know him, a weares a locke Conr. Masters, masters Watch.2. Youle be made bring deformed forth I warrant you, Conr. Masters, neuer speake, we charge you, let vs obey you to goe with vs Bor. We are like to proue a goodly commoditie, being taken vp of these mens bils Conr. A commoditie in question I warrant you, come weele obey you. Exeunt. Enter Hero, and Margaret, and Vrsula. Hero. Good Vrsula wake my cosin Beatrice, and desire her to rise Vrsu. I will Lady Her. And bid her come hither Vrs. Well Mar. Troth I thinke your other rebato were better Hero. No pray thee good Meg, Ile weare this Marg. By my troth's not so good, and I warrant your cosin will say so Hero. My cosin's a foole, and thou art another, ile weare none but this Mar. I like the new tire within excellently, if the haire were a thought browner: and your gown's a most rare fashion yfaith, I saw the Dutchesse of Millaines gowne that they praise so Hero. O that exceedes they say Mar. By my troth's but a night-gowne in respect of yours, cloth a gold and cuts, and lac'd with siluer, set with pearles, downe sleeues, side sleeues, and skirts, round vnderborn with a blewish tinsel, but for a fine queint gracefull and excellent fashion, yours is worth ten on't Hero. God giue mee ioy to weare it, for my heart is exceeding heauy Marga. 'Twill be heauier soone, by the waight of a man Hero. Fie vpon thee, art not asham'd? Marg. Of what Lady? of speaking honourably? is not marriage honourable in a beggar? is not your Lord honourable without marriage? I thinke you would haue me say, sauing your reuerence a husband: and bad thinking doe not wrest true speaking, Ile offend no body, is there any harme in the heauier for a husband? none I thinke, and it be the right husband, and the right wife, otherwise 'tis light and not heauy, aske my Lady Beatrice else, here she comes. Enter Beatrice. Hero. Good morrow Coze Beat. Good morrow sweet Hero Hero. Why how now? do you speake in the sick tune? Beat. I am out of all other tune, me thinkes Mar. Claps into Light a loue, (that goes without a burden,) do you sing it and Ile dance it Beat. Ye Light aloue with your heeles, then if your husband haue stables enough, you'll looke he shall lacke no barnes Mar. O illegitimate construction! I scorne that with my heeles Beat. 'Tis almost fiue a clocke cosin, 'tis time you were ready, by my troth I am exceeding ill, hey ho Mar. For a hauke, a horse, or a husband? Beat. For the letter that begins them all, H Mar. Well, and you be not turn'd Turke, there's no more sayling by the starre Beat. What meanes the foole trow? Mar. Nothing I, but God send euery one their harts desire Hero. These gloues the Count sent mee, they are an excellent perfume Beat. I am stuft cosin, I cannot smell Mar. A maid and stuft! there's goodly catching of colde Beat. O God helpe me, God help me, how long haue you profest apprehension? Mar. Euer since you left it, doth not my wit become me rarely? Beat. It is not seene enough, you should weare it in your cap, by my troth I am sicke Mar. Get you some of this distill'd carduus benedictus and lay it to your heart, it is the onely thing for a qualm Hero. There thou prick'st her with a thissell Beat. Benedictus, why benedictus? you haue some morall in this benedictus Mar. Morall? no by my troth, I haue no morall meaning, I meant plaine holy thissell, you may thinke perchance that I thinke you are in loue, nay birlady I am not such a foole to thinke what I list, nor I list not to thinke what I can, nor indeed, I cannot thinke, if I would thinke my hart out of thinking, that you are in loue, or that you will be in loue, or that you can be in loue: yet Benedicke was such another, and now is he become a man, he swore hee would neuer marry, and yet now in despight of his heart he eates his meat without grudging, and how you may be conuerted I know not, but me thinkes you looke with your eies as other women doe Beat. What pace is this that thy tongue keepes Mar. Not a false gallop. Enter Vrsula. Vrsula. Madam, withdraw, the Prince, the Count, signior Benedicke, Don Iohn, and all the gallants of the towne are come to fetch you to Church Hero. Helpe me to dresse mee good coze, good Meg, good Vrsula. Enter Leonato, and the Constable, and the Headborough. Leonato. What would you with mee, honest neighbour? Const.Dog. Mary sir I would haue some confidence with you, that decernes you nearely Leon. Briefe I pray you, for you see it is a busie time with me Const.Dog. Mary this it is sir Headb. Yes in truth it is sir Leon. What is it my good friends? Con.Do. Goodman Verges sir speakes a little of the matter, an old man sir, and his wits are not so blunt, as God helpe I would desire they were, but infaith honest as the skin betweene his browes Head. Yes I thank God, I am as honest as any man liuing, that is an old man, and no honester then I Con.Dog. Comparisons are odorous, palabras, neighbour Verges Leon. Neighbours, you are tedious Con.Dog. It pleases your worship to say so, but we are the poore Dukes officers, but truely for mine owne part, if I were as tedious as a King I could finde in my heart to bestow it all of your worship Leon. All thy tediousnesse on me, ah? Const.Dog. Yea, and 'twere a thousand times more than 'tis, for I heare as good exclamation on your Worship as of any man in the Citie, and though I bee but a poore man, I am glad to heare it Head. And so am I Leon. I would faine know what you haue to say Head. Marry sir our watch to night, excepting your worships presence, haue tane a couple of as arrant knaues as any in Messina Con.Dog. A good old man sir, hee will be talking as they say, when the age is in, the wit is out, God helpe vs, it is a world to see: well said yfaith neighbour Verges, well, God's a good man, and two men ride of a horse, one must ride behinde, an honest soule yfaith sir, by my troth he is, as euer broke bread, but God is to bee worshipt, all men are not alike, alas good neighbour Leon. Indeed neighbour he comes too short of you Con.Do. Gifts that God giues Leon. I must leaue you Con.Dog. One word sir, our watch sir haue indeede comprehended two aspitious persons, & we would haue them this morning examined before your worship Leon. Take their examination your selfe, and bring it me, I am now in great haste, as may appeare vnto you Const. It shall be suffigance Leon. Drinke some wine ere you goe: fare you well. Enter. Messenger. My Lord, they stay for you to giue your daughter to her husband Leon. Ile wait vpon them, I am ready Dogb. Goe good partner, goe get you to Francis Seacoale, bid him bring his pen and inkehorne to the Gaole: we are now to examine those men Verges. And we must doe it wisely Dogb. Wee will spare for no witte I warrant you: heere's that shall driue some to a non-come, only get the learned writer to set downe our excommunication, and meet me at the Iaile. Exeunt. Actus Quartus. Enter Prince, Bastard, Leonato, Frier, Claudio, Benedicke, Hero, and Beatrice. Leonato. Come Frier Francis, be briefe, onely to the plaine forme of marriage, and you shal recount their particular duties afterwards Fran. You come hither, my Lord, to marry this Lady Clau. No Leo. To be married to her: Frier, you come to marrie her Frier. Lady, you come hither to be married to this Count Hero. I doe Frier. If either of you know any inward impediment why you should not be conioyned, I charge you on your soules to vtter it Claud. Know you anie, Hero? Hero. None my Lord Frier. Know you anie, Count? Leon. I dare make his answer, None Clau. O what men dare do! what men may do! what men daily do! Bene. How now! interiections? why then, some be of laughing, as ha, ha, he Clau. Stand thee by Frier, father, by your leaue, Will you with free and vnconstrained soule Giue me this maid your daughter? Leon. As freely sonne as God did giue her me Cla. And what haue I to giue you back, whose worth May counterpoise this rich and precious gift? Prin. Nothing, vnlesse you render her againe Clau. Sweet Prince, you learn me noble thankfulnes: There Leonato, take her backe againe, Giue not this rotten Orenge to your friend, Shee's but the signe and semblance of her honour: Behold how like a maid she blushes heere! O what authoritie and shew of truth Can cunning sinne couer it selfe withall! Comes not that bloud, as modest euidence, To witnesse simple Vertue? would you not sweare All you that see her, that she were a maide, By these exterior shewes? But she is none: She knowes the heat of a luxurious bed: Her blush is guiltinesse, not modestie Leonato. What doe you meane, my Lord? Clau. Not to be married, Not to knit my soule to an approued wanton Leon. Deere my Lord, if you in your owne proofe, Haue vanquisht the resistance of her youth, And made defeat of her virginitie Clau. I know what you would say: if I haue knowne (her, You will say, she did imbrace me as a husband, And so extenuate the forehand sinne: No Leonato, I neuer tempted her with word too large, But as a brother to his sister, shewed Bashfull sinceritie and comely loue Hero. And seem'd I euer otherwise to you? Clau. Out on thee seeming, I will write against it, You seeme to me as Diane in her Orbe, As chaste as is the budde ere it be blowne: But you are more intemperate in your blood, Than Venus, or those pampred animalls, That rage in sauage sensualitie Hero. Is my Lord well, that he doth speake so wide? Leon. Sweete Prince, why speake not you? Prin. What should I speake? I stand dishonour'd that haue gone about, To linke my deare friend to a common stale Leon. Are these things spoken, or doe I but dreame? Bast. Sir, they are spoken, and these things are true Bene. This lookes not like a nuptiall Hero. True, O God! Clau. Leonato, stand I here? Is this the Prince? is this the Princes brother? Is this face Heroes? are our eies our owne? Leon. All this is so, but what of this my Lord? Clau. Let me but moue one question to your daughter, And by that fatherly and kindly power, That you haue in her, bid her answer truly Leo. I charge thee doe, as thou art my childe Hero. O God defend me how am I beset, What kinde of catechizing call you this? Clau. To make you answer truly to your name Hero. Is it not Hero? who can blot that name With any iust reproach? Claud. Marry that can Hero, Hero it selfe can blot out Heroes vertue. What man was he, talkt with you yesternight, Out at your window betwixt twelue and one? Now if you are a maid, answer to this Hero. I talkt with no man at that howre my Lord Prince. Why then you are no maiden. Leonato, I am sorry you must heare: vpon mine honor, My selfe, my brother, and this grieued Count Did see her, heare her, at that howre last night, Talke with a ruffian at her chamber window, Who hath indeed most like a liberall villaine, Confest the vile encounters they haue had A thousand times in secret Iohn. Fie, fie, they are not to be named my Lord, Not to be spoken of, There is not chastitie enough in language, Without offence to vtter them: thus pretty Lady I am sorry for thy much misgouernment Claud. O Hero! what a Hero hadst thou beene If halfe thy outward graces had beene placed About thy thoughts and counsailes of thy heart? But fare thee well, most foule, most faire, farewell Thou pure impiety, and impious puritie, For thee Ile locke vp all the gates of Loue, And on my eie-lids shall Coniecture hang, To turne all beauty into thoughts of harme, And neuer shall it more be gracious Leon. Hath no mans dagger here a point for me? Beat. Why how now cosin, wherfore sink you down? Bast. Come, let vs go: these things come thus to light, Smother her spirits vp Bene. How doth the Lady? Beat. Dead I thinke, helpe vncle, Hero, why Hero, Vncle, Signor Benedicke, Frier Leonato. O Fate! take not away thy heauy hand, Death is the fairest couer for her shame That may be wisht for Beatr. How now cosin Hero? Fri. Haue comfort Ladie Leon. Dost thou looke vp? Frier. Yea, wherefore should she not? Leon. Wherfore? Why doth not euery earthly thing Cry shame vpon her? Could she heere denie The storie that is printed in her blood? Do not liue Hero, do not ope thine eyes: For did I thinke thou wouldst not quickly die, Thought I thy spirits were stronger then thy shames, My selfe would on the reward of reproaches Strike at thy life. Grieu'd I, I had but one? Chid I, for that at frugal Natures frame? O one too much by thee: why had I one? Why euer was't thou louelie in my eies? Why had I not with charitable hand Tooke vp a beggars issue at my gates, Who smeered thus, and mir'd with infamie, I might haue said, no part of it is mine: This shame deriues it selfe from vnknowne loines, But mine, and mine I lou'd, and mine I prais'd, And mine that I was proud on mine so much, That I my selfe, was to my selfe not mine: Valewing of her, why she, O she is falne Into a pit of Inke, that the wide sea Hath drops too few to wash her cleane againe, And salt too little, which may season giue To her foule tainted flesh Ben. Sir, sir, be patient: for my part, I am so attired in wonder, I know not what to say Bea. O on my soule my cosin is belied Ben. Ladie, were you her bedfellow last night? Bea. No, truly: not although vntill last night, I haue this tweluemonth bin her bedfellow Leon. Confirm'd, confirm'd, O that is stronger made Which was before barr'd vp with ribs of iron. Would the Princes lie, and Claudio lie, Who lou'd her so, that speaking of her foulnesse, Wash'd it with teares? Hence from her, let her die Fri. Heare me a little, for I haue onely bene silent so long, and giuen way vnto this course of fortune, by noting of the Ladie, I haue markt. A thousand blushing apparitions, To start into her face, a thousand innocent shames, In Angel whitenesse beare away those blushes, And in her eie there hath appear'd a fire To burne the errors that these Princes hold Against her maiden truth. Call me a foole, Trust not my reading, nor my obseruations, Which with experimental seale doth warrant The tenure of my booke: trust not my age, My reuerence, calling, nor diuinitie, If this sweet Ladie lye not guiltlesse heere, Vnder some biting error Leo. Friar, it cannot be: Thou seest that all the Grace that she hath left, Is, that she wil not adde to her damnation, A sinne of periury, she not denies it: Why seek'st thou then to couer with excuse, That which appeares in proper nakednesse? Fri. Ladie, what man is he you are accus'd of? Hero. They know that do accuse me, I know none: If I know more of any man aliue Then that which maiden modestie doth warrant, Let all my sinnes lacke mercy. O my Father, Proue you that any man with me conuerst, At houres vnmeete, or that I yesternight Maintain'd the change of words with any creature, Refuse me, hate me, torture me to death Fri. There is some strange misprision in the Princes Ben. Two of them haue the verie bent of honor, And if their wisedomes be misled in this: The practise of it liues in Iohn the bastard, Whose spirits toile in frame of villanies Leo. I know not: if they speake but truth of her, These hands shall teare her: If they wrong her honour, The proudest of them shall wel heare of it. Time hath not yet so dried this bloud of mine, Nor age so eate vp my inuention, Nor Fortune made such hauocke of my meanes, Nor my bad life reft me so much of friends, But they shall finde, awak'd in such a kinde, Both strength of limbe, and policie of minde, Ability in meanes, and choise of friends, To quit me of them throughly Fri. Pause awhile: And let my counsell sway you in this case, Your daughter heere the Princesse (left for dead) Let her awhile be secretly kept in, And publish it, that she is dead indeed: Maintaine a mourning ostentation, And on your Families old monument, Hang mournfull Epitaphes, and do all rites, That appertaine vnto a buriall Leon. What shall become of this? What wil this do? Fri. Marry this wel carried, shall on her behalfe, Change slander to remorse, that is some good, But not for that dreame I on this strange course, But on this trauaile looke for greater birth: She dying, as it must be so maintain'd, Vpon the instant that she was accus'd, Shal be lamented, pittied, and excus'd Of euery hearer: for it so fals out, That what we haue, we prize not to the worth, Whiles we enioy it; but being lack'd and lost, Why then we racke the value, then we finde The vertue that possession would not shew vs Whiles it was ours, so will it fare with Claudio: When he shal heare she dyed vpon his words, Th' Idea of her life shal sweetly creepe Into his study of imagination. And euery louely Organ of her life, Shall come apparel'd in more precious habite: More mouing delicate, and ful of life, Into the eye and prospect of his soule Then when she liu'd indeed: then shal he mourne, If euer Loue had interest in his Liuer, And wish he had not so accused her: No, though he thought his accusation true: Let this be so, and doubt not but successe Wil fashion the euent in better shape, Then I can lay it downe in likelihood. But if all ayme but this be leuelld false, The supposition of the Ladies death, Will quench the wonder of her infamie. And if it sort not well, you may conceale her As best befits her wounded reputation, In some reclusiue and religious life, Out of all eyes, tongues, mindes and iniuries Bene. Signior Leonato, let the Frier aduise you, And though you know my inwardnesse and loue Is very much vnto the Prince and Claudio. Yet, by mine honor, I will deale in this, As secretly and iustlie, as your soule Should with your bodie Leon. Being that I flow in greefe, The smallest twine may lead me Frier. 'Tis well consented, presently away, For to strange sores, strangely they straine the cure, Come Lady, die to liue, this wedding day Perhaps is but prolong'd, haue patience & endure. Enter. Bene. Lady Beatrice, haue you wept all this while? Beat. Yea, and I will weepe a while longer Bene. I will not desire that Beat. You haue no reason, I doe it freely Bene. Surelie I do beleeue your fair cosin is wrong'd Beat. Ah, how much might the man deserue of mee that would right her! Bene. Is there any way to shew such friendship? Beat. A verie euen way, but no such friend Bene. May a man doe it? Beat. It is a mans office, but not yours Bene. I doe loue nothing in the world so well as you, is not that strange? Beat. As strange as the thing I know not, it were as possible for me to say, I loued nothing so well as you, but beleeue me not, and yet I lie not, I confesse nothing, nor I deny nothing, I am sorry for my cousin Bene. By my sword Beatrice thou lou'st me Beat. Doe not sweare by it and eat it Bene. I will sweare by it that you loue mee, and I will make him eat it that sayes I loue not you Beat. Will you not eat your word? Bene. With no sawce that can be deuised to it, I protest I loue thee Beat. Why then God forgiue me Bene. What offence sweet Beatrice? Beat. You haue stayed me in a happy howre, I was about to protest I loued you Bene. And doe it with all thy heart Beat. I loue you with so much of my heart, that none is left to protest Bened. Come, bid me doe any thing for thee Beat. Kill Claudio Bene. Ha, not for the wide world Beat. You kill me to denie, farewell Bene. Tarrie sweet Beatrice Beat. I am gone, though I am heere, there is no loue in you, nay I pray you let me goe Bene. Beatrice Beat. Infaith I will goe Bene. Wee'll be friends first Beat. You dare easier be friends with mee, than fight with mine enemy Bene. Is Claudio thine enemie? Beat. Is a not approued in the height a villaine, that hath slandered, scorned, dishonoured my kinswoman? O that I were a man! what, beare her in hand vntill they come to take hands, and then with publike accusation vncouered slander, vnmittigated rancour? O God that I were a man! I would eat his heart in the market-place Bene. Heare me Beatrice Beat. Talke with a man out at a window, a proper saying Bene. Nay but Beatrice Beat. Sweet Hero, she is wrong'd, shee is slandered, she is vndone Bene. Beat? Beat. Princes and Counties! surelie a Princely testimonie, a goodly Count, Comfect, a sweet Gallant surelie, O that I were a man for his sake! or that I had any friend would be a man for my sake! But manhood is melted into cursies, valour into complement, and men are onelie turned into tongue, and trim ones too: he is now as valiant as Hercules, that only tells a lie, and sweares it: I cannot be a man with wishing, therfore I will die a woman with grieuing Bene. Tarry good Beatrice, by this hand I loue thee Beat. Vse it for my loue some other way then swearing by it Bened. Thinke you in your soule the Count Claudio hath wrong'd Hero? Beat. Yea, as sure as I haue a thought, or a soule Bene. Enough, I am engagde, I will challenge him, I will kisse your hand, and so leaue you: by this hand Claudio shall render me a deere account: as you heare of me, so thinke of me: goe comfort your coosin, I must say she is dead, and so farewell. Enter the Constables, Borachio, and the Towne Clerke in gownes. Keeper. Is our whole dissembly appeard? Cowley. O a stoole and a cushion for the Sexton Sexton. Which be the malefactors? Andrew. Marry that am I, and my partner Cowley. Nay that's certaine, wee haue the exhibition to examine Sexton. But which are the offenders that are to be examined, let them come before master Constable Kemp. Yea marry, let them come before mee, what is your name, friend? Bor. Borachio Kem. Pray write downe Borachio. Yours sirra Con. I am a Gentleman sir, and my name is Conrade Kee. Write downe Master gentleman Conrade: maisters, doe you serue God: maisters, it is proued alreadie that you are little better than false knaues, and it will goe neere to be thought so shortly, how answer you for your selues? Con. Marry sir, we say we are none Kemp. A maruellous witty fellow I assure you, but I will goe about with him: come you hither sirra, a word in your eare sir, I say to you, it is thought you are false knaues Bor. Sir, I say to you, we are none Kemp. Well, stand aside, 'fore God they are both in a tale: haue you writ downe that they are none? Sext. Master Constable, you goe not the way to examine, you must call forth the watch that are their accusers Kemp. Yea marry, that's the eftest way, let the watch come forth: masters, I charge you in the Princes name, accuse these men Watch 1. This man said sir, that Don Iohn the Princes brother was a villaine Kemp. Write down, Prince Iohn a villaine: why this is flat periurie, to call a Princes brother villaine Bora. Master Constable Kemp. Pray thee fellow peace, I do not like thy looke I promise thee Sexton. What heard you him say else? Watch 2. Mary that he had receiued a thousand Dukates of Don Iohn, for accusing the Lady Hero wrongfully Kemp. Flat Burglarie as euer was committed Const. Yea by th' masse that it is Sexton. What else fellow? Watch 1. And that Count Claudio did meane vpon his words, to disgrace Hero before the whole assembly, and not marry her Kemp. O villaine! thou wilt be condemn'd into euerlasting redemption for this Sexton. What else? Watch. This is all Sexton. And this is more masters then you can deny, Prince Iohn is this morning secretly stolne away: Hero was in this manner accus'd, in this very manner refus'd, and vpon the griefe of this sodainely died: Master Constable, let these men be bound, and brought to Leonato, I will goe before, and shew him their examination Const. Come, let them be opinion'd Sex. Let them be in the hands of Coxcombe Kem. Gods my life, where's the Sexton? let him write downe the Princes Officer Coxcombe: come, binde them thou naughty varlet Couley. Away, you are an asse, you are an asse Kemp. Dost thou not suspect my place? dost thou not suspect my yeeres? O that hee were heere to write mee downe an asse! but masters, remember that I am an asse: though it be not written down, yet forget not y I am an asse: No thou villaine, y art full of piety as shall be prou'd vpon thee by good witnesse, I am a wise fellow, and which is more, an officer, and which is more, a houshoulder, and which is more, as pretty a peece of flesh as any in Messina, and one that knowes the Law, goe to, & a rich fellow enough, goe to, and a fellow that hath had losses, and one that hath two gownes, and euery thing handsome about him: bring him away: O that I had been writ downe an asse! Enter. Actus Quintus. Enter Leonato and his brother. Brother. If you goe on thus, you will kill your selfe, And 'tis not wisedome thus to second griefe, Against your selfe Leon. I pray thee cease thy counsaile, Which falls into mine eares as profitlesse, As water in a siue: giue not me counsaile, Nor let no comfort delight mine eare, But such a one whose wrongs doth sute with mine. Bring me a father that so lou'd his childe, Whose ioy of her is ouer-whelmed like mine, And bid him speake of patience, Measure his woe the length and bredth of mine, And let it answere euery straine for straine, As thus for thus, and such a griefe for such, In euery lineament, branch, shape, and forme: If such a one will smile and stroke his beard, And sorrow, wagge, crie hem, when he should grone, Patch griefe with prouerbs, make misfortune drunke, With candle-wasters: bring him yet to me, And I of him will gather patience: But there is no such man, for brother, men Can counsaile, and speake comfort to that griefe, Which they themselues not feele, but tasting it, Their counsaile turnes to passion, which before, Would giue preceptiall medicine to rage, Fetter strong madnesse in a silken thred, Charme ache with ayre, and agony with words, No, no, 'tis all mens office, to speake patience To those that wring vnder the load of sorrow: But no mans vertue nor sufficiencie To be so morall, when he shall endure The like himselfe: therefore giue me no counsaile, My griefs cry lowder then aduertisement Broth. Therein do men from children nothing differ Leonato. I pray thee peace, I will be flesh and bloud, For there was neuer yet Philosopher, That could endure the tooth-ake patiently, How euer they haue writ the stile of gods, And made a push at chance and sufferance Brother. Yet bend not all the harme vpon your selfe, Make those that doe offend you, suffer too Leon. There thou speak'st reason, nay I will doe so, My soule doth tell me, Hero is belied, And that shall Claudio know, so shall the Prince, And all of them that thus dishonour her. Enter Prince and Claudio. Brot. Here comes the Prince and Claudio hastily Prin. Good den, good den Clau. Good day to both of you Leon. Heare you my Lords? Prin. We haue some haste Leonato Leo. Some haste my Lord! wel, fareyouwel my Lord, Are you so hasty now? well, all is one Prin. Nay, do not quarrel with vs, good old man Brot. If he could rite himselfe with quarrelling, Some of vs would lie low Claud. Who wrongs him? Leon. Marry y dost wrong me, thou dissembler, thou: Nay, neuer lay thy hand vpon thy sword, I feare thee not Claud. Marry beshrew my hand, If it should giue your age such cause of feare, Infaith my hand meant nothing to my sword Leonato. Tush, tush, man, neuer fleere and iest at me, I speake not like a dotard, nor a foole, As vnder priuiledge of age to bragge, What I haue done being yong, or what would doe, Were I not old, know Claudio to thy head, Thou hast so wrong'd my innocent childe and me, That I am forc'd to lay my reuerence by, And with grey haires and bruise of many daies, Doe challenge thee to triall of a man, I say thou hast belied mine innocent childe. Thy slander hath gone through and through her heart, And she lies buried with her ancestors: O in a tombe where neuer scandall slept, Saue this of hers, fram'd by thy villanie Claud. My villany? Leonato. Thine Claudio, thine I say Prin. You say not right old man Leon. My Lord, my Lord, Ile proue it on his body if he dare, Despight his nice fence, and his actiue practise, His Maie of youth, and bloome of lustihood Claud. Away, I will not haue to do with you Leo. Canst thou so daffe me? thou hast kild my child, If thou kilst me, boy, thou shalt kill a man Bro. He shall kill two of vs, and men indeed, But that's no matter, let him kill one first: Win me and weare me, let him answere me, Come follow me boy, come sir boy, come follow me Sir boy, ile whip you from your foyning fence, Nay, as I am a gentleman, I will Leon. Brother Brot. Content your self, God knows I lou'd my neece, And she is dead, slander'd to death by villaines, That dare as well answer a man indeede, As I dare take a serpent by the tongue. Boyes, apes, braggarts, Iackes, milke-sops Leon. Brother Anthony Brot. Hold you content, what man? I know them, yea And what they weigh, euen to the vtmost scruple, Scambling, out-facing, fashion-monging boyes, That lye, and cog, and flout, depraue, and slander, Goe antiquely, and show outward hidiousnesse, And speake of halfe a dozen dang'rous words, How they might hurt their enemies, if they durst. And this is all Leon. But brother Anthonie Ant. Come, 'tis no matter, Do not you meddle, let me deale in this Pri. Gentlemen both, we will not wake your patience My heart is sorry for your daughters death: But on my honour she was charg'd with nothing But what was true, and very full of proofe Leon. My Lord, my Lord Prin. I will not heare you. Enter Benedicke. Leo. No come brother, away, I will be heard. Exeunt. ambo. Bro. And shall, or some of vs will smart for it Prin. See, see, here comes the man we went to seeke Clau. Now signior, what newes? Ben. Good day my Lord Prin. Welcome signior, you are almost come to part almost a fray Clau. Wee had likt to haue had our two noses snapt off with two old men without teeth Prin. Leonato and his brother, what think'st thou? had wee fought, I doubt we should haue beene too yong for them Ben. In a false quarrell there is no true valour, I came to seeke you both Clau. We haue beene vp and downe to seeke thee, for we are high proofe melancholly, and would faine haue it beaten away, wilt thou vse thy wit? Ben. It is in my scabberd, shall I draw it? Prin. Doest thou weare thy wit by thy side? Clau. Neuer any did so, though verie many haue been beside their wit, I will bid thee drawe, as we do the minstrels, draw to pleasure vs Prin. As I am an honest man he lookes pale, art thou sicke, or angrie? Clau. What, courage man: what though care kil'd a cat, thou hast mettle enough in thee to kill care Ben. Sir, I shall meete your wit in the careere, and you charge it against me, I pray you chuse another subiect Clau. Nay then giue him another staffe, this last was broke crosse Prin. By this light, he changes more and more, I thinke he be angrie indeede Clau. If he be, he knowes how to turne his girdle Ben. Shall I speake a word in your eare? Clau. God blesse me from a challenge Ben. You are a villaine, I iest not, I will make it good how you dare, with what you dare, and when you dare: do me right, or I will protest your cowardise: you haue kill'd a sweete Ladie, and her death shall fall heauie on you, let me heare from you Clau. Well, I will meete you, so I may haue good cheare Prin. What, a feast, a feast? Clau. I faith I thanke him, he hath bid me to a calues head and a Capon, the which if I doe not carue most curiously, say my knife's naught, shall I not finde a woodcocke too? Ben. Sir, your wit ambles well, it goes easily Prin. Ile tell thee how Beatrice prais'd thy wit the other day: I said thou hadst a fine wit: true saies she, a fine little one: no said I, a great wit: right saies shee, a great grosse one: nay said I, a good wit: iust said she, it hurts no body: nay said I, the gentleman is wise: certaine said she, a wise gentleman: nay said I, he hath the tongues: that I beleeue said shee, for hee swore a thing to me on munday night, which he forswore on tuesday morning: there's a double tongue, there's two tongues: thus did shee an howre together trans-shape thy particular vertues, yet at last she concluded with a sigh, thou wast the proprest man in Italie Claud. For the which she wept heartily, and said shee car'd not Prin. Yea that she did, but yet for all that, and if shee did not hate him deadlie, shee would loue him dearely, the old mans daughter told vs all Clau. All, all, and moreouer, God saw him when he was hid in the garden Prin. But when shall we set the sauage Bulls hornes on the sensible Benedicks head? Clau. Yea and text vnderneath, heere dwells Benedicke the married man Ben. Fare you well, Boy, you know my minde, I will leaue you now to your gossep-like humor, you breake iests as braggards do their blades, which God be thanked hurt not: my Lord, for your manie courtesies I thank you, I must discontinue your companie, your brother the Bastard is fled from Messina: you haue among you, kill'd a sweet and innocent Ladie: for my Lord Lackebeard there, he and I shall meete, and till then peace be with him Prin. He is in earnest Clau. In most profound earnest, and Ile warrant you, for the loue of Beatrice Prin. And hath challeng'd thee Clau. Most sincerely Prin. What a prettie thing man is, when he goes in his doublet and hose, and leaues off his wit. Enter Constable, Conrade, and Borachio. Clau. He is then a Giant to an Ape, but then is an Ape a Doctor to such a man Prin. But soft you, let me be, plucke vp my heart, and be sad, did he not say my brother was fled? Const. Come you sir, if iustice cannot tame you, shee shall nere weigh more reasons in her ballance, nay, and you be a cursing hypocrite once, you must be lookt to Prin. How now, two of my brothers men bound? Borachio one Clau. Harken after their offence my Lord Prin. Officers, what offence haue these men done? Const. Marrie sir, they haue committed false report, moreouer they haue spoken vntruths, secondarily they are slanders, sixt and lastly, they haue belyed a Ladie, thirdly, they haue verified vniust things, and to conclude they are lying knaues Prin. First I aske thee what they haue done, thirdlie I aske thee what's their offence, sixt and lastlie why they are committed, and to conclude, what you lay to their charge Clau. Rightlie reasoned, and in his owne diuision, and by my troth there's one meaning well suted Prin. Who haue you offended masters, that you are thus bound to your answer? this learned Constable is too cunning to be vnderstood, what's your offence? Bor. Sweete Prince, let me go no farther to mine answere: do you heare me, and let this Count kill mee: I haue deceiued euen your verie eies: what your wisedomes could not discouer, these shallow fooles haue brought to light, who in the night ouerheard me confessing to this man, how Don Iohn your brother incensed me to slander the Ladie Hero, how you were brought into the Orchard, and saw me court Margaret in Heroes garments, how you disgrac'd her when you should marrie her: my villanie they haue vpon record, which I had rather seale with my death, then repeate ouer to my shame: the Ladie is dead vpon mine and my masters false accusation: and briefelie, I desire nothing but the reward of a villaine Prin. Runs not this speech like yron through your bloud? Clau. I haue drunke poison whiles he vtter'd it Prin. But did my Brother set thee on to this? Bor. Yea, and paid me richly for the practise of it Prin. He is compos'd and fram'd of treacherie, And fled he is vpon this villanie Clau. Sweet Hero, now thy image doth appeare In the rare semblance that I lou'd it first Const. Come, bring away the plaintiffes, by this time our Sexton hath reformed Signior Leonato of the matter: and masters, do not forget to specifie when time & place shall serue, that I am an Asse Con.2. Here, here comes master Signior Leonato, and the Sexton too. Enter Leonato. Leon. Which is the villaine? let me see his eies, That when I note another man like him, I may auoide him: which of these is he? Bor. If you would know your wronger, looke on me Leon. Art thou the slaue that with thy breath hast kild mine innocent childe? Bor. Yea, euen I alone Leo. No, not so villaine, thou beliest thy selfe, Here stand a paire of honourable men, A third is fled that had a hand in it: I thanke you Princes for my daughters death, Record it with your high and worthie deedes, 'Twas brauely done, if you bethinke you of it Clau. I know not how to pray your patience, Yet I must speake, choose your reuenge your selfe, Impose me to what penance your inuention Can lay vpon my sinne, yet sinn'd I not, But in mistaking Prin. By my soule nor I, And yet to satisfie this good old man, I would bend vnder anie heauie waight, That heele enioyne me to Leon. I cannot bid you bid my daughter liue, That were impossible, but I praie you both, Possesse the people in Messina here, How innocent she died, and if your loue Can labour aught in sad inuention, Hang her an epitaph vpon her toomb, And sing it to her bones, sing it to night: To morrow morning come you to my house, And since you could not be my sonne in law, Be yet my Nephew: my brother hath a daughter, Almost the copie of my childe that's dead, And she alone is heire to both of vs, Giue her the right you should haue giu'n her cosin, And so dies my reuenge Clau. O noble sir! Your ouerkindnesse doth wring teares from me, I do embrace your offer, and dispose For henceforth of poore Claudio Leon. To morrow then I will expect your comming, To night I take my leaue, this naughtie man Shall face to face be brought to Margaret, Who I beleeue was packt in all this wrong, Hired to it by your brother Bor. No, by my soule she was not, Nor knew not what she did when she spoke to me, But alwaies hath bin iust and vertuous, In anie thing that I do know by her Const. Moreouer sir, which indeede is not vnder white and black, this plaintiffe here, the offendour did call mee asse, I beseech you let it be remembred in his punishment, and also the watch heard them talke of one Deformed, they say he weares a key in his eare and a lock hanging by it, and borrowes monie in Gods name, the which he hath vs'd so long, and neuer paied, that now men grow hard-harted and will lend nothing for Gods sake: praie you examine him vpon that point Leon. I thanke thee for thy care and honest paines Const. Your worship speakes like a most thankefull and reuerend youth, and I praise God for you Leon. There's for thy paines Const. God saue the foundation Leon. Goe, I discharge thee of thy prisoner, and I thanke thee Const. I leaue an arrant knaue with your worship, which I beseech your worship to correct your selfe, for the example of others: God keepe your worship, I wish your worship well, God restore you to health, I humblie giue you leaue to depart, and if a merrie meeting may be wisht, God prohibite it: come neighbour Leon. Vntill to morrow morning, Lords, farewell. Exeunt. Brot. Farewell my Lords, we looke for you to morrow Prin. We will not faile Clau. To night ile mourne with Hero Leon. Bring you these fellowes on, weel talke with Margaret, How her acquaintance grew with this lewd fellow. Exeunt. Enter Benedicke and Margaret. Ben. Praie thee sweete Mistris Margaret, deserue well at my hands, by helping mee to the speech of Beatrice Mar. Will you then write me a Sonnet in praise of my beautie? Bene. In so high a stile Margaret, that no man liuing shall come ouer it, for in most comely truth thou deseruest it Mar. To haue no man come ouer me, why, shall I alwaies keepe below staires? Bene. Thy wit is as quicke as the grey-hounds mouth, it catches Mar. And yours, as blunt as the Fencers foiles, which hit, but hurt not Bene. A most manly wit Margaret, it will not hurt a woman: and so I pray thee call Beatrice, I giue thee the bucklers Mar. Giue vs the swords, wee haue bucklers of our owne Bene. If you vse them Margaret, you must put in the pikes with a vice, and they are dangerous weapons for Maides Mar. Well, I will call Beatrice to you, who I thinke hath legges. Exit Margarite. Ben. And therefore will come. The God of loue that sits aboue, and knowes me, and knowes me, how pittifull I deserue. I meane in singing, but in louing, Leander the good swimmer, Troilous the first imploier of pandars, and a whole booke full of these quondam carpet-mongers, whose name yet runne smoothly in the euen rode of a blanke verse, why they were neuer so truely turned ouer and ouer as my poore selfe in loue: marrie I cannot shew it rime, I haue tried, I can finde out no rime to Ladie but babie, an innocent rime: for scorne, horne, a hard rime: for schoole foole, a babling rime: verie ominous endings, no, I was not borne vnder a riming Plannet, for I cannot wooe in festiuall tearmes: Enter Beatrice. sweete Beatrice would'st thou come when I cal'd thee? Beat. Yea Signior, and depart when you bid me Bene. O stay but till then Beat. Then, is spoken: fare you well now, and yet ere I goe, let me goe with that I came, which is, with knowing what hath past betweene you and Claudio Bene. Onely foule words, and thereupon I will kisse thee Beat. Foule words is but foule wind, and foule wind is but foule breath, and foule breath is noisome, therefore I will depart vnkist Bene. Thou hast frighted the word out of his right sence, so forcible is thy wit, but I must tell thee plainely, Claudio vndergoes my challenge, and either I must shortly heare from him, or I will subscribe him a coward, and I pray thee now tell me, for which of my bad parts didst thou first fall in loue with me? Beat. For them all together, which maintain'd so politique a state of euill, that they will not admit any good part to intermingle with them: but for which of my good parts did you first suffer loue for me? Bene. Suffer loue! a good epithite, I do suffer loue indeede, for I loue thee against my will, Beat. In spight of your heart I think, alas poore heart, if you spight it for my sake, I will spight it for yours, for I will neuer loue that which my friend hates Bened. Thou and I are too wise to wooe peaceablie Bea. It appeares not in this confession, there's not one wise man among twentie that will praise himselfe Bene. An old, an old instance Beatrice, that liu'd in the time of good neighbours, if a man doe not erect in this age his owne tombe ere he dies, hee shall liue no longer in monuments, then the Bels ring, & the Widdow weepes Beat. And how long is that thinke you? Ben. Question, why an hower in clamour and a quarter in rhewme, therfore is it most expedient for the wise, if Don worme (his conscience) finde no impediment to the contrarie, to be the trumpet of his owne vertues, as I am to my selfe so much for praising my selfe, who I my selfe will beare witnesse is praise worthie, and now tell me, how doth your cosin? Beat. Verie ill Bene. And how doe you? Beat. Verie ill too. Enter Vrsula. Bene. Serue God, loue me, and mend, there will I leaue you too, for here comes one in haste Vrs. Madam, you must come to your Vncle, yonders old coile at home, it is prooued my Ladie Hero hath bin falselie accusde, the Prince and Claudio mightilie abusde, and Don Iohn is the author of all, who is fled and gone: will you come presentlie? Beat. Will you go heare this newes Signior? Bene. I will liue in thy heart, die in thy lap, and be buried in thy eies: and moreouer, I will goe with thee to thy Vncles. Exeunt. Enter Claudio, Prince, and three or foure with Tapers. Clau. Is this the monument of Leonato? Lord. It is my Lord. Epitaph. Done to death by slanderous tongues, Was the Hero that here lies: Death in guerdon of her wrongs, Giues her fame which neuer dies: So the life that dyed with shame, Liues in death with glorious fame. Hang thou there vpon the tombe, Praising her when I am dombe Clau. Now musick sound & sing your solemn hymne Song. Pardon goddesse of the night, Those that slew thy virgin knight, For the which with songs of woe, Round about her tombe they goe: Midnight assist our mone, helpe vs to sigh and grone. Heauily, heauily. Graues yawne and yeelde your dead, Till death be vttered, Heauenly, heauenly Lo. Now vnto thy bones good night, yeerely will I do this right Prin. Good morrow masters, put your Torches out, The wolues haue preied, and looke, the gentle day Before the wheeles of Phoebus, round about Dapples the drowsie East with spots of grey: Thanks to you all, and leaue vs, fare you well Clau. Good morrow masters, each his seuerall way Prin. Come let vs hence, and put on other weedes, And then to Leonatoes we will goe Clau. And Hymen now with luckier issue speeds, Then this for whom we rendred vp this woe. Exeunt. Enter Leonato, Bene. Marg. Vrsula, old man, Frier, Hero. Frier. Did I not tell you she was innocent? Leo. So are the Prince and Claudio who accus'd her, Vpon the errour that you heard debated: But Margaret was in some fault for this, Although against her will as it appeares, In the true course of all the question Old. Well, I am glad that all things sort so well Bene. And so am I, being else by faith enforc'd To call young Claudio to a reckoning for it Leo. Well daughter, and you gentlewomen all, Withdraw into a chamber by your selues, And when I send for you, come hither mask'd: The Prince and Claudio promis'd by this howre To visit me, you know your office Brother, You must be father to your brothers daughter, And giue her to young Claudio. Exeunt. Ladies. Old. Which I will doe with confirm'd countenance Bene. Frier, I must intreat your paines, I thinke Frier. To doe what Signior? Bene. To binde me, or vndoe me, one of them: Signior Leonato, truth it is good Signior, Your neece regards me with an eye of fauour Leo. That eye my daughter lent her, 'tis most true Bene. And I doe with an eye of loue requite her Leo. The sight whereof I thinke you had from me, From Claudio, and the Prince, but what's your will? Bened. Your answer sir is Enigmaticall, But for my will, my will is, your good will May stand with ours, this day to be conioyn'd, In the state of honourable marriage, In which (good Frier) I shall desire your helpe Leon. My heart is with your liking Frier. And my helpe. Enter Prince and Claudio, with attendants. Prin. Good morrow to this faire assembly Leo. Good morrow Prince, good morrow Claudio: We heere attend you, are you yet determin'd, To day to marry with my brothers daughter? Claud. Ile hold my minde were she an Ethiope Leo. Call her forth brother, heres the Frier ready Prin. Good morrow Benedicke, why what's the matter? That you haue such a Februarie face, So full of frost, of storme, and clowdinesse Claud. I thinke he thinkes vpon the sauage bull: Tush, feare not man, wee'll tip thy hornes with gold, And all Europa shall reioyce at thee, As once Europa did at lusty Ioue, When he would play the noble beast in loue Ben. Bull Ioue sir, had an amiable low, And some such strange bull leapt your fathers Cow, A got a Calfe in that same noble feat, Much like to you, for you haue iust his bleat. Enter brother, Hero, Beatrice, Margaret, Vrsula. Cla. For this I owe you: here comes other recknings. Which is the Lady I must seize vpon? Leo. This same is she, and I doe giue you her Cla. Why then she's mine, sweet let me see your face Leon. No that you shal not, till you take her hand, Before this Frier, and sweare to marry her Clau. Giue me your hand before this holy Frier, I am your husband if you like of me Hero. And when I liu'd I was your other wife, And when you lou'd, you were my other husband Clau. Another Hero? Hero. Nothing certainer. One Hero died, but I doe liue, And surely as I liue, I am a maid Prin. The former Hero, Hero that is dead Leon. Shee died my Lord, but whiles her slander liu'd Frier. All this amazement can I qualifie, When after that the holy rites are ended, Ile tell you largely of faire Heroes death: Meane time let wonder seeme familiar, And to the chappell let vs presently Ben. Soft and faire Frier, which is Beatrice? Beat. I answer to that name, what is your will? Bene. Doe not you loue me? Beat. Why no, no more then reason Bene. Why then your Vncle, and the Prince, & Claudio, haue beene deceiued, they swore you did Beat. Doe not you loue mee? Bene. Troth no, no more then reason Beat. Why then my Cosin Margaret and Vrsula Are much deceiu'd, for they did sweare you did Bene. They swore you were almost sicke for me Beat. They swore you were wel-nye dead for me Bene. 'Tis no matter, then you doe not loue me? Beat. No truly, but in friendly recompence Leon. Come Cosin, I am sure you loue the gentlema[n] Clau. And Ile be sworne vpon't, that he loues her, For heres a paper written in his hand, A halting sonnet of his owne pure braine, Fashioned to Beatrice Hero. And heeres another, Writ in my cosins hand, stolne from her pocket, Containing her affection vnto Benedicke Bene. A miracle, here's our owne hands against our hearts: come I will haue thee, but by this light I take thee for pittie Beat. I would not denie you, but by this good day, I yeeld vpon great perswasion, & partly to saue your life, for I was told, you were in a consumption Leon. Peace I will stop your mouth Prin. How dost thou Benedicke the married man? Bene. Ile tell thee what Prince: a Colledge of witte-crackers cannot flout mee out of my humour, dost thou think I care for a Satyre or an Epigram? no, if a man will be beaten with braines, a shall weare nothing handsome about him: in briefe, since I do purpose to marry, I will thinke nothing to any purpose that the world can say against it, and therefore neuer flout at me, for I haue said against it: for man is a giddy thing, and this is my conclusion: for thy part Claudio, I did thinke to haue beaten thee, but in that thou art like to be my kinsman, liue vnbruis'd, and loue my cousin Cla. I had well hop'd y wouldst haue denied Beatrice, y I might haue cudgel'd thee out of thy single life, to make thee a double dealer, which out of questio[n] thou wilt be, if my Cousin do not looke exceeding narrowly to thee Bene. Come, come, we are friends, let's haue a dance ere we are married, that we may lighten our own hearts, and our wiues heeles Leon. Wee'll haue dancing afterward Bene. First, of my word, therfore play musick. Prince, thou art sad, get thee a wife, get thee a wife, there is no staff more reuerend then one tipt with horn. Enter. Mes. Messen. My Lord, your brother Iohn is tane in flight, And brought with armed men backe to Messina Bene. Thinke not on him till to morrow, ile deuise thee braue punishments for him: strike vp Pipers. Dance. FINIS. Much adoe about Nothing. The Tragedie of Romeo and Juliet Actus Primus. Scoena Prima. Enter Sampson and Gregory, with Swords and Bucklers, of the House of Capulet. Sampson. Gregory: A my word wee'l not carry coales Greg. No, for then we should be Colliars Samp. I mean, if we be in choller, wee'l draw Greg. I, While you liue, draw your necke out o'th Collar Samp. I strike quickly, being mou'd Greg. But thou art not quickly mou'd to strike Samp. A dog of the house of Mountague, moues me Greg. To moue, is to stir: and to be valiant, is to stand: Therefore, if thou art mou'd, thou runst away Samp. A dogge of that house shall moue me to stand. I will take the wall of any Man or Maid of Mountagues Greg. That shewes thee a weake slaue, for the weakest goes to the wall Samp. True, and therefore women being the weaker Vessels, are euer thrust to the wall: therefore I will push Mountagues men from the wall, and thrust his Maides to the wall Greg. The Quarrell is betweene our Masters, and vs their men Samp. 'Tis all one, I will shew my selfe a tyrant: when I haue fought with the men, I will bee ciuill with the Maids, and cut off their heads Greg. The heads of the Maids? Sam. I, the heads of the Maids, or their Maiden-heads, Take it in what sence thou wilt Greg. They must take it sence, that feele it Samp. Me they shall feele while I am able to stand: And 'tis knowne I am a pretty peece of flesh Greg. 'Tis well thou art not Fish: If thou had'st, thou had'st beene poore Iohn. Draw thy Toole, here comes of the House of the Mountagues. Enter two other Seruingmen. Sam. My naked weapon is out: quarrel, I wil back thee Gre. How? Turne thy backe, and run Sam. Feare me not Gre. No marry: I feare thee Sam. Let vs take the Law of our sides: let them begin Gr. I wil frown as I passe by, & let the[m] take it as they list Sam. Nay, as they dare. I wil bite my Thumb at them, which is a disgrace to them, if they beare it Abra. Do you bite your Thumbe at vs sir? Samp. I do bite my Thumbe, sir Abra. Do you bite your Thumb at vs, sir? Sam. Is the Law of our side, if I say I? Gre. No Sam. No sir, I do not bite my Thumbe at you sir: but I bite my Thumbe sir Greg. Do you quarrell sir? Abra. Quarrell sir? no sir Sam. If you do sir, I am for you, I serue as good a man as you Abra. No better? Samp. Well sir. Enter Benuolio. Gr. Say better: here comes one of my masters kinsmen Samp. Yes, better Abra. You Lye Samp. Draw if you be men. Gregory, remember thy washing blow. They Fight. Ben. Part Fooles, put vp your Swords, you know not what you do. Enter Tibalt. Tyb. What art thou drawne, among these heartlesse Hindes? Turne thee Benuolio, looke vpon thy death Ben. I do but keepe the peace, put vp thy Sword, Or manage it to part these men with me Tyb. What draw, and talke of peace? I hate the word As I hate hell, all Mountagues, and thee: Haue at thee Coward. Fight. Enter three or foure Citizens with Clubs. Offi. Clubs, Bils, and Partisons, strike, beat them down Downe with the Capulets, downe with the Mountagues. Enter old Capulet in his Gowne, and his wife. Cap. What noise is this? Giue me my long Sword ho Wife. A crutch, a crutch: why call you for a Sword? Cap. My Sword I say: Old Mountague is come, And flourishes his Blade in spight of me. Enter old Mountague, & his wife. Moun. Thou villaine Capulet. Hold me not, let me go 2.Wife. Thou shalt not stir a foote to seeke a Foe. Enter Prince Eskales, with his Traine. Prince. Rebellious Subiects, Enemies to peace, Prophaners of this Neighbor-stained Steele, Will they not heare? What hoe, you Men, you Beasts, That quench the fire of your pernitious Rage, With purple Fountaines issuing from your Veines: On paine of Torture, from those bloody hands Throw your mistemper'd Weapons to the ground, And heare the Sentence of your mooued Prince. Three ciuill Broyles, bred of an Ayery word, By thee old Capulet and Mountague, Haue thrice disturb'd the quiet of our streets, And made Verona's ancient Citizens Cast by their Graue beseeming Ornaments, To wield old Partizans, in hands as old, Cankred with peace, to part your Cankred hate, If euer you disturbe our streets againe, Your liues shall pay the forfeit of the peace. For this time all the rest depart away: You Capulet shall goe along with me, And Mountague come you this afternoone, To know our Fathers pleasure in this case: To old Free-towne, our common iudgement place: Once more on paine of death, all men depart. Exeunt. Moun. Who set this auncient quarrell new abroach? Speake Nephew, were you by, when it began: Ben. Heere were the seruants of your aduersarie, And yours close fighting ere I did approach, I drew to part them, in the instant came The fiery Tibalt, with his sword prepar'd, Which as he breath'd defiance to my eares, He swong about his head, and cut the windes, Who nothing hurt withall, hist him in scorne. While we were enterchanging thrusts and blowes, Came more and more, and fought on part and part, Till the Prince came, who parted either part Wife. O where is Romeo, saw you him to day? Right glad am I, he was not at this fray Ben. Madam, an houre before the worshipt Sun Peer'd forth the golden window of the East, A troubled mind draue me to walke abroad, Where vnderneath the groue of Sycamour, That West-ward rooteth from this City side: So earely walking did I see your Sonne: Towards him I made, but he was ware of me, And stole into the couert of the wood, I measuring his affections by my owne, Which then most sought, wher most might not be found: Being one too many by my weary selfe, Pursued my Honour, not pursuing his And gladly shunn'd, who gladly fled from me Mount. Many a morning hath he there beene seene, With teares augmenting the fresh mornings deaw, Adding to cloudes, more cloudes with his deepe sighes, But all so soone as the all-cheering Sunne, Should in the farthest East begin to draw The shadie Curtaines from Auroras bed, Away from light steales home my heauy Sonne, And priuate in his Chamber pennes himselfe, Shuts vp his windowes, lockes faire day-light out, And makes himselfe an artificiall night: Blacke and portendous must this humour proue, Vnlesse good counsell may the cause remoue Ben. My Noble Vncle doe you know the cause? Moun. I neither know it, nor can learne of him Ben. Haue you importun'd him by any meanes? Moun. Both by my selfe and many other Friends, But he his owne affections counseller, Is to himselfe (I will not say how true) But to himselfe so secret and so close, So farre from sounding and discouery, As is the bud bit with an enuious worme, Ere he can spread his sweete leaues to the ayre, Or dedicate his beauty to the same. Could we but learne from whence his sorrowes grow, We would as willingly giue cure, as know. Enter Romeo. Ben. See where he comes, so please you step aside, Ile know his greeuance, or be much denide Moun. I would thou wert so happy by thy stay, To heare true shrift. Come Madam let's away. Exeunt. Ben. Good morrow Cousin Rom. Is the day so young? Ben. But new strooke nine Rom. Aye me, sad houres seeme long: Was that my Father that went hence so fast? Ben. It was: what sadnes lengthens Romeo's houres? Ro. Not hauing that, which hauing, makes them short Ben. In loue Romeo. Out Ben. Of loue Rom. Out of her fauour where I am in loue Ben. Alas that loue so gentle in his view, Should be so tyrannous and rough in proofe Rom. Alas that loue, whose view is muffled still, Should without eyes, see path-wayes to his will: Where shall we dine? O me: what fray was heere? Yet tell me not, for I haue heard it all: Heere's much to do with hate, but more with loue: Why then, O brawling loue, O louing hate, O any thing, of nothing first created: O heauie lightnesse, serious vanity, Mishapen Chaos of welseeming formes, Feather of lead, bright smoake, cold fire, sicke health, Still waking sleepe, that is not what it is: This loue feele I, that feele no loue in this. Doest thou not laugh? Ben. No Coze, I rather weepe Rom. Good heart, at what? Ben. At thy good hearts oppression Rom. Why such is loues transgression. Griefes of mine owne lie heauie in my breast, Which thou wilt propagate to haue it preast With more of thine, this loue that thou hast showne, Doth adde more griefe, to too much of mine owne. Loue, is a smoake made with the fume of sighes, Being purg'd, a fire sparkling in Louers eyes, Being vext, a Sea nourisht with louing teares, What is it else? a madnesse, most discreet, A choking gall, and a preseruing sweet: Farewell my Coze Ben. Soft I will goe along. And if you leaue me so, you do me wrong Rom. Tut I haue lost my selfe, I am not here, This is not Romeo, hee's some other where Ben. Tell me in sadnesse, who is that you loue? Rom. What shall I grone and tell thee? Ben. Grone, why no: but sadly tell me who Rom. A sicke man in sadnesse makes his will: A word ill vrg'd to one that is so ill: In sadnesse Cozin, I do loue a woman Ben. I aym'd so neare, when I suppos'd you lou'd Rom. A right good marke man, and shee's faire I loue Ben. A right faire marke, faire Coze, is soonest hit Rom. Well in that hit you misse, sheel not be hit With Cupids arrow, she hath Dians wit: And in strong proofe of chastity well arm'd: From loues weake childish Bow, she liues vncharm'd. Shee will not stay the siege of louing tearmes, Nor bid th' encounter of assailing eyes. Nor open her lap to Sainct-seducing Gold: O she is rich in beautie, onely poore, That when she dies, with beautie dies her store Ben. Then she hath sworne, that she will still liue chast? Rom. She hath, and in that sparing make huge wast? For beauty steru'd with her seuerity, Cuts beauty off from all posteritie. She is too faire, too wise: wisely too faire, To merit blisse by making me dispaire: She hath forsworne to loue, and in that vow Do I liue dead, that liue to tell it now Ben. Be rul'd by me, forget to thinke of her Rom. O teach me how I should forget to thinke Ben. By giuing liberty vnto thine eyes, Examine other beauties, Ro. 'Tis the way to cal hers (exquisit) in question more, These happy maskes that kisse faire Ladies browes, Being blacke, puts vs in mind they hide the faire: He that is strooken blind, cannot forget The precious treasure of his eye-sight lost: Shew me a Mistresse that is passing faire, What doth her beauty serue but as a note, Where I may read who past that passing faire. Farewell thou can'st not teach me to forget, Ben. Ile pay that doctrine, or else die in debt. Exeunt. Enter Capulet, Countie Paris, and the Clowne. Capu. Mountague is bound as well as I, In penalty alike, and 'tis not hard I thinke, For men so old as wee, to keepe the peace Par. Of Honourable reckoning are you both, And pittie 'tis you liu'd at ods so long: But now my Lord, what say you to my sute? Capu. But saying ore what I haue said before, My Child is yet a stranger in the world, Shee hath not seene the change of fourteene yeares, Let two more Summers wither in their pride, Ere we may thinke her ripe to be a Bride Pari. Younger then she, are happy mothers made Capu. And too soone mar'd are those so early made: Earth hath swallowed all my hopes but she, Shee's the hopefull Lady of my earth: But wooe her gentle Paris, get her heart, My will to her consent, is but a part, And shee agree, within her scope of choise, Lyes my consent, and faire according voice: This night I hold an old accustom'd Feast, Whereto I haue inuited many a Guest, Such as I loue, and you among the store, One more, most welcome makes my number more: At my poore house, looke to behold this night, Earth-treading starres, that make darke heauen light, Such comfort as do lusty young men feele, When well apparrel'd Aprill on the heele Of limping Winter treads, euen such delight Among fresh Fennell buds shall you this night Inherit at my house: heare all, all see: And like her most, whose merit most shall be: Which one more veiw, of many, mine being one, May stand in number, though in reckning none. Come, goe with me: goe sirrah trudge about, Through faire Verona, find those persons out, Whose names are written there, and to them say, My house and welcome, on their pleasure stay. Enter. Ser. Find them out whose names are written. Heere it is written, that the Shoo-maker should meddle with his Yard, and the Tayler with his Last, the Fisher with his Pensill, and the Painter with his Nets. But I am sent to find those persons whose names are writ, & can neuer find what names the writing person hath here writ (I must to the learned) in good time. Enter Benuolio, and Romeo. Ben. Tut man, one fire burnes out anothers burning, One paine is lesned by anothers anguish: Turne giddie, and be holpe by backward turning: One desparate greefe, cures with anothers languish: Take thou some new infection to the eye, And the rank poyson of the old wil die Rom. Your Plantan leafe is excellent for that Ben. For what I pray thee? Rom. For your broken shin Ben. Why Romeo art thou mad? Rom. Not mad, but bound more then a mad man is: Shut vp in prison, kept without my foode, Whipt and tormented: and Godden good fellow, Ser. Godgigoden, I pray sir can you read? Rom. I mine owne fortune in my miserie Ser. Perhaps you haue learn'd it without booke: But I pray can you read any thing you see? Rom. I, if I know the Letters and the Language Ser. Ye say honestly, rest you merry Rom. Stay fellow, I can read. He reades the Letter. Seigneur Martino, and his wife and daughter: County Anselme and his beautious sisters: the Lady widdow of Vtruuio, Seigneur Placentio, and his louely Neeces: Mercutio and his brother Valentine: mine vncle Capulet his wife and daughters: my faire Neece Rosaline, Liuia, Seigneur Valentio, & his Cosen Tybalt: Lucio and the liuely Helena. A faire assembly, whither should they come? Ser. Vp Rom. Whither? to supper? Ser. To our house Rom. Whose house? Ser. My Maisters Rom. Indeed I should haue askt you that before Ser. Now Ile tell you without asking. My maister is the great rich Capulet, and if you be not of the house of Mountagues I pray come and crush a cup of wine. Rest you merry. Enter. Ben. At this same auncient Feast of Capulets Sups the faire Rosaline, whom thou so loues: With all the admired Beauties of Verona, Go thither and with vnattainted eye, Compare her face with some that I shall show, And I will make thee thinke thy Swan a Crow Rom. When the deuout religion of mine eye Maintaines such falshood, then turne teares to fire: And these who often drown'd could neuer die, Transparent Heretiques be burnt for liers. One fairer then my loue: the all-seeing Sun Nere saw her match, since first the world begun Ben. Tut, you saw her faire, none else being by, Herselfe poys'd with herselfe in either eye: But in that Christall scales, let there be waid, Your Ladies loue against some other Maid That I will show you, shining at this Feast, And she shew scant shell, well, that now shewes best Rom. Ile goe along, no such sight to be showne, But to reioyce in splendor of mine owne. Enter Capulets Wife and Nurse. Wife. Nurse wher's my daughter? call her forth to me Nurse. Now by my Maidenhead, at twelue yeare old I bad her come, what Lamb: what Ladi-bird, God forbid, Where's this Girle? what Iuliet? Enter Iuliet Iuliet. How now, who calls? Nur. Your Mother Iuliet. Madam I am heere, what is your will? Wife. This is the matter: Nurse giue me leaue awhile, we must talke in secret. Nurse come backe againe, I haue remembred me, thou'se heare our counsell. Thou knowest my daughter's of a prety age Nurse. Faith I can tell her age vnto an houre Wife. Shee's not fourteene Nurse. Ile lay fourteene of my teeth, And yet to my teene be it spoken, I haue but foure, shee's not fourteene. How long is it now to Lammas tide? Wife. A fortnight and odde dayes Nurse. Euen or odde, of all daies in the yeare come Lammas Eue at night shall she be fourteene. Susan & she, God rest all Christian soules, were of an age. Well Susan is with God, she was too good for me. But as I said, on Lamas Eue at night shall she be fourteene, that shall she marie, I remember it well. 'Tis since the Earth-quake now eleuen yeares, and she was wean'd I neuer shall forget it, of all the daies of the yeare, vpon that day: for I had then laid Worme-wood to my Dug sitting in the Sunne vnder the Douehouse wall, my Lord and you were then at Mantua, nay I doe beare a braine. But as I said, when it did tast the Worme-wood on the nipple of my Dugge, and felt it bitter, pretty foole, to see it teachie, and fall out with the Dugge, Shake quoth the Doue-house, 'twas no neede I trow to bid mee trudge, and since that time it is a eleuen yeares, for then she could stand alone, nay bi'th' roode she could haue runne, & wadled all about: for euen the day before she broke her brow, & then my Husband God be with his soule, a was a merrie man, tooke vp the Child, yea quoth hee, doest thou fall vpon thy face? thou wilt fall backeward when thou hast more wit, wilt thou not Iule? And by my holy-dam, the pretty wretch lefte crying, & said I: to see now how a Iest shall come about. I warrant, & I shall liue a thousand yeares, I neuer should forget it: wilt thou not Iule quoth he? and pretty foole it stinted, and said I Old La. Inough of this, I pray thee hold thy peace Nurse. Yes Madam, yet I cannot chuse but laugh, to thinke it should leaue crying, & say I: and yet I warrant it had vpon it brow, a bumpe as big as a young Cockrels stone? A perilous knock, and it cryed bitterly. Yea quoth my husband, fall'st vpon thy face, thou wilt fall backward when thou commest to age: wilt thou not Iule? It stinted: and said I Iule. And stint thou too, I pray thee Nurse, say I Nur. Peace I haue done: God marke thee too his grace thou wast the prettiest Babe that ere I nurst, and I might liue to see thee married once, I haue my wish Old La. Marry that marry is the very theame I came to talke of, tell me daughter Iuliet, How stands your disposition to be Married? Iuli. It is an houre that I dreame not of Nur. An houre, were I not thine onely Nurse, I would say thou had'st suckt wisedome from thy teat Old La. Well thinke of marriage now, yonger then you Heere in Verona, Ladies of esteeme, Are made already Mothers. By my count I was your Mother, much vpon these yeares That you are now a Maide, thus then in briefe: The valiant Paris seekes you for his loue Nurse. A man young Lady, Lady, such a man as all the world. Why hee's a man of waxe Old La. Veronas Summer hath not such a flower Nurse. Nay hee's a flower, infaith a very flower Old La. What say you, can you loue the Gentleman? This night you shall behold him at our Feast, Read ore the volume of young Paris face, And find delight, writ there with Beauties pen: Examine euery seuerall liniament, And see how one another lends content: And what obscur'd in this faire volume lies, Find written in the Margent of his eyes. This precious Booke of Loue, this vnbound Louer, To Beautifie him, onely lacks a Couer. The fish liues in the Sea, and 'tis much pride For faire without, the faire within to hide: That Booke in manies eyes doth share the glorie, That in Gold claspes, Lockes in the Golden storie: So shall you share all that he doth possesse, By hauing him, making your selfe no lesse Nurse. No lesse, nay bigger: women grow by men Old La. Speake briefly, can you like of Paris loue? Iuli. Ile looke to like, if looking liking moue. But no more deepe will I endart mine eye, Then your consent giues strength to make flye. Enter a Seruing man. Ser. Madam, the guests are come, supper seru'd vp, you cal'd, my young Lady askt for, the Nurse cur'st in the Pantery, and euery thing in extremitie: I must hence to wait, I beseech you follow straight. Enter. Mo. We follow thee, Iuliet, the Countie staies Nurse. Goe Gyrle, seeke happie nights to happy daies. Exeunt. Enter Romeo, Mercutio, Benuolio, with fiue or sixe other Maskers, Torch-bearers. Rom. What shall this spech be spoke for our excuse? Or shall we on without Apologie? Ben. The date is out of such prolixitie, Weele haue no Cupid, hood winkt with a skarfe, Bearing a Tartars painted Bow of lath, Skaring the Ladies like a Crow-keeper. But let them measure vs by what they will, Weele measure them with a Measure, and be gone Rom. Giue me a Torch, I am not for this ambling. Being but heauy I will beare the light Mer. Nay gentle Romeo, we must haue you dance Rom. Not I beleeue me, you haue dancing shooes With nimble soles, I haue a soale of Lead So stakes me to the ground, I cannot moue Mer. You are a Louer, borrow Cupids wings, And soare with them aboue a common bound Rom. I am too sore enpearced with his shaft, To soare with his light feathers, and to bound: I cannot bound a pitch aboue dull woe, Vnder loues heauy burthen doe I sinke Hora. And to sinke in it should you burthen loue, Too great oppression for a tender thing Rom. Is loue a tender thing? it is too rough, Too rude, too boysterous, and it pricks like thorne Mer. If loue be rough with you, be rough with loue, Pricke loue for pricking, and you beat loue downe, Giue me a Case to put my visage in, A Visor for a Visor, what care I What curious eye doth quote deformities: Here are the Beetle-browes shall blush for me Ben. Come knocke and enter, and no sooner in, But euery man betake him to his legs Rom. A Torch for me, let wantons light of heart Tickle the sencelesse rushes with their heeles: For I am prouerb'd with a Grandsier Phrase, Ile be a Candle-holder and looke on, The game was nere so faire, and I am done Mer. Tut, duns the Mouse, the Constables owne word, If thou art dun, weele draw thee from the mire. Or saue your reuerence loue, wherein thou stickest Vp to the eares, come we burne day-light ho Rom. Nay that's not so Mer. I meane sir I delay, We wast our lights in vaine, lights, lights, by day; Take our good meaning, for our Iudgement sits Fiue times in that, ere once in our fiue wits Rom. And we meane well in going to this Maske, But 'tis no wit to go Mer. Why may one aske? Rom. I dreampt a dreame to night Mer. And so did I Rom. Well what was yours? Mer. That dreamers often lye Ro. In bed a sleepe while they do dreame things true Mer. O then I see Queene Mab hath beene with you: She is the Fairies Midwife, & she comes in shape no bigger then Agat-stone, on the fore-finger of an Alderman, drawne with a teeme of little Atomies, ouer mens noses as they lie asleepe: her Waggon Spokes made of long Spinners legs: the Couer of the wings of Grashoppers, her Traces of the smallest Spiders web, her coullers of the Moonshines watry Beames, her Whip of Crickets bone, the Lash of Philome, her Waggoner, a small gray-coated Gnat, not halfe so bigge as a round little Worme, prickt from the Lazie-finger of a man. Her Chariot is an emptie Haselnut, made by the Ioyner Squirrel or old Grub, time out a mind, the Faries Coach-makers: & in this state she gallops night by night, through Louers braines: and then they dreame of Loue. On Courtiers knees, that dreame on Cursies strait: ore Lawyers fingers, who strait dreampt on Fees, ore Ladies lips, who strait on kisses dreame, which oft the angry Mab with blisters plagues, because their breath with Sweet meats tainted are. Sometime she gallops ore a Courtiers nose, & then dreames he of smelling out a sute: & somtime comes she with Tith pigs tale, tickling a Parsons nose as a lies asleepe, then he dreames of another Benefice. Sometime she driueth ore a Souldiers necke, & then dreames he of cutting Forraine throats, of Breaches, Ambuscados, Spanish Blades: Of Healths fiue Fadome deepe, and then anon drums in his eares, at which he startes and wakes; and being thus frighted, sweares a prayer or two & sleepes againe: this is that very Mab that plats the manes of Horses in the night: & bakes the Elklocks in foule sluttish haires, which once vntangled, much misfortune bodes, This is the hag, when Maides lie on their backs, That presses them, and learnes them first to beare, Making them women of good carriage: This is she Rom. Peace, peace, Mercutio peace, Thou talk'st of nothing Mer. True, I talke of dreames: Which are the children of an idle braine, Begot of nothing, but vaine phantasie, Which is as thin of substance as the ayre, And more inconstant then the wind, who wooes Euen now the frozen bosome of the North: And being anger'd, puffes away from thence, Turning his side to the dew dropping South Ben. This wind you talke of blowes vs from our selues, Supper is done, and we shall come too late Rom. I feare too early, for my mind misgiues, Some consequence yet hanging in the starres, Shall bitterly begin his fearefull date With this nights reuels, and expire the tearme Of a despised life clos'd in my brest: By some vile forfeit of vntimely death. But he that hath the stirrage of my course, Direct my sute: on lustie Gentlemen Ben. Strike Drum. They march about the Stage, and Seruingmen come forth with their napkins. Enter Seruant. Ser. Where's Potpan, that he helpes not to take away? He shift a Trencher? he scrape a Trencher? 1. When good manners, shall lie in one or two mens hands, and they vnwasht too, 'tis a foule thing Ser. Away with the Ioynstooles, remoue the Courtcubbord, looke to the Plate: good thou, saue mee a piece of Marchpane, and as thou louest me, let the Porter let in Susan Grindstone, and Nell, Anthonie and Potpan 2. I Boy readie Ser. You are lookt for, and cal'd for, askt for, & sought for, in the great Chamber 1. We cannot be here and there too, chearly Boyes, Be brisk awhile, and the longer liuer take all. Exeunt. Enter all the Guests and Gentlewomen to the Maskers. 1. Capu. Welcome Gentlemen, Ladies that haue their toes Vnplagu'd with Cornes, will walke about with you: Ah my Mistresses, which of you all Will now deny to dance? She that makes dainty, She Ile sweare hath Cornes: am I come neare ye now? Welcome Gentlemen, I haue seene the day That I haue worne a Visor, and could tell A whispering tale in a faire Ladies eare: Such as would please: 'tis gone, 'tis gone, 'tis gone, You are welcome Gentlemen, come Musitians play: Musicke plaies: and they dance. A Hall, Hall, giue roome, and foote it Girles, More light you knaues, and turne the Tables vp: And quench the fire, the Roome is growne too hot. Ah sirrah, this vnlookt for sport comes well: Nay sit, nay sit, good Cozin Capulet, For you and I are past our dauncing daies: How long 'ist now since last your selfe and I Were in a Maske? 2. Capu. Berlady thirty yeares 1. Capu. What man: 'tis not so much, 'tis not so much, 'Tis since the Nuptiall of Lucentio, Come Pentycost as quickely as it will, Some fiue and twenty yeares, and then we Maskt 2. Cap. 'Tis more, 'tis more, his Sonne is elder sir: His Sonne is thirty 3. Cap. Will you tell me that? His Sonne was but a Ward two yeares agoe Rom. What Ladie is that which doth inrich the hand Of yonder Knight? Ser. I know not sir Rom. O she doth teach the Torches to burne bright: It seemes she hangs vpon the cheeke of night, As a rich Iewel in an aethiops eare: Beauty too rich for vse, for earth too deare: So shewes a Snowy Doue trooping with Crowes, As yonder Lady ore her fellowes showes; The measure done, Ile watch her place of stand, And touching hers, make blessed my rude hand. Did my heart loue till now, forsweare it sight, For I neuer saw true Beauty till this night Tib. This by his voice, should be a Mountague. Fetch me my Rapier Boy, what dares the slaue Come hither couer'd with an antique face, To fleere and scorne at our Solemnitie? Now by the stocke and Honour of my kin, To strike him dead I hold it not a sin Cap. Why how now kinsman, Wherefore storme you so? Tib. Vncle this is a Mountague, our foe: A Villaine that is hither come in spight, To scorne at our Solemnitie this night Cap. Young Romeo is it? Tib. 'Tis he, that Villaine Romeo Cap. Content thee gentle Coz, let him alone, A beares him like a portly Gentleman: And to say truth, Verona brags of him, To be a vertuous and well gouern'd youth: I would not for the wealth of all the towne, Here in my house do him disparagement: Therfore be patient, take no note of him, It is my will, the which if thou respect, Shew a faire presence, and put off these frownes, An ill beseeming semblance for a Feast Tib. It fits when such a Villaine is a guest, Ile not endure him Cap. He shall be endur'd. What goodman boy, I say he shall, go too, Am I the Maister here or you? go too, Youle not endure him, God shall mend my soule, Youle make a Mutinie among the Guests: You will set cocke a hoope, youle be the man Tib. Why Vncle, 'tis a shame Cap. Go too, go too, You are a sawcy Boy, 'ist so indeed? This tricke may chance to scath you, I know what, You must contrary me, marry 'tis time. Well said my hearts, you are a Princox, goe, Be quiet, or more light, more light for shame, Ile make you quiet. What, chearely my hearts Tib. Patience perforce, with wilfull choler meeting, Makes my flesh tremble in their different greeting: I will withdraw, but this intrusion shall Now seeming sweet, conuert to bitter gall. Enter. Rom. If I prophane with my vnworthiest hand, This holy shrine, the gentle sin is this, My lips to blushing Pilgrims did ready stand, To smooth that rough touch, with a tender kisse Iul. Good Pilgrime, You do wrong your hand too much. Which mannerly deuotion shewes in this, For Saints haue hands, that Pilgrims hands do tuch, And palme to palme, is holy Palmers kisse Rom. Haue not Saints lips, and holy Palmers too? Iul. I Pilgrim, lips that they must vse in prayer Rom. O then deare Saint, let lips do what hands do, They pray (grant thou) least faith turne to dispaire Iul. Saints do not moue, Though grant for prayers sake Rom. Then moue not while my prayers effect I take: Thus from my lips, by thine my sin is purg'd Iul. Then haue my lips the sin that they haue tooke Rom. Sin from my lips? O trespasse sweetly vrg'd: Giue me my sin againe Iul. You kisse by'th' booke Nur. Madam your Mother craues a word with you Rom. What is her Mother? Nurs. Marrie Batcheler, Her Mother is the Lady of the house, And a good Lady, and a wise, and Vertuous, I Nur'st her Daughter that you talkt withall: I tell you, he that can lay hold of her, Shall haue the chincks Rom. Is she a Capulet? O deare account! My life is my foes debt Ben. Away, be gone, the sport is at the best Rom. I so I feare, the more is my vnrest Cap. Nay Gentlemen prepare not to be gone, We haue a trifling foolish Banquet towards: Is it e'ne so? why then I thanke you all. I thanke you honest Gentlemen, good night: More Torches here: come on, then let's to bed. Ah sirrah, by my faie it waxes late, Ile to my rest Iuli. Come hither Nurse, What is yond Gentleman: Nur. The Sonne and Heire of old Tyberio Iuli. What's he that now is going out of doore? Nur. Marrie that I thinke be young Petruchio Iul. What's he that follows here that would not dance? Nur. I know not Iul. Go aske his name: if he be married, My graue is like to be my wedded bed Nur. His name is Romeo, and a Mountague, The onely Sonne of your great Enemie Iul. My onely Loue sprung from my onely hate, Too early seene, vnknowne, and knowne too late, Prodigious birth of Loue it is to me, That I must loue a loathed Enemie Nur. What's this? whats this? Iul. A rime, I learne euen now Of one I dan'st withall. One cals within, Iuliet. Nur. Anon, anon: Come let's away, the strangers all are gone. Exeunt. Chorus. Now old desire doth in his death bed lie, And yong affection gapes to be his Heire, That faire, for which Loue gron'd for and would die, With tender Iuliet matcht, is now not faire. Now Romeo is beloued, and Loues againe, A like bewitched by the charme of lookes: But to his foe suppos'd he must complaine, And she steale Loues sweet bait from fearefull hookes: Being held a foe, he may not haue accesse To breath such vowes as Louers vse to sweare, And she as much in Loue, her meanes much lesse, To meete her new Beloued any where: But passion lends them Power, time, meanes to meete, Temp'ring extremities with extreame sweete. Enter Romeo alone. Rom. Can I goe forward when my heart is here? Turne backe dull earth, and find thy Center out. Enter Benuolio, with Mercutio. Ben. Romeo, my Cozen Romeo, Romeo Merc. He is wise, And on my life hath stolne him home to bed Ben. He ran this way and leapt this Orchard wall. Call good Mercutio: Nay, Ile coniure too Mer. Romeo, Humours, Madman, Passion, Louer, Appeare thou in the likenesse of a sigh, Speake but one time, and I am satisfied: Cry me but ay me, Prouant, but Loue and day, Speake to my goship Venus one faire word, One Nickname for her purblind Sonne and her, Young Abraham Cupid he that shot so true, When King Cophetua lou'd the begger Maid, He heareth not, he stirreth not, he moueth not, The Ape is dead, I must coniure him, I coniure thee by Rosalines bright eyes, By her High forehead, and her Scarlet lip, By her Fine foote, Straight leg, and Quiuering thigh, And the Demeanes, that there Adiacent lie, That in thy likenesse thou appeare to vs Ben. And if he heare thee thou wilt anger him Mer. This cannot anger him, t'would anger him To raise a spirit in his Mistresse circle, Of some strange nature, letting it stand Till she had laid it, and coniured it downe, That were some spight. My inuocation is faire and honest, & in his Mistris name, I coniure onely but to raise vp him Ben. Come, he hath hid himselfe among these Trees To be consorted with the Humerous night: Blind is his Loue, and best befits the darke Mer. If Loue be blind, Loue cannot hit the marke, Now will he sit vnder a Medler tree, And wish his Mistresse were that kind of Fruite, As Maides cal Medlers when they laugh alone, O Romeo that she were, O that she were An open, or thou a Poprin Peare, Romeo goodnight, Ile to my Truckle bed, This Field-bed is to cold for me to sleepe, Come shall we go? Ben. Go then, for 'tis in vaine to seeke him here That meanes not to be found. Exeunt. Rom. He ieasts at Scarres that neuer felt a wound, But soft, what light through yonder window breaks? It is the East, and Iuliet is the Sunne, Arise faire Sun and kill the enuious Moone, Who is already sicke and pale with griefe, That thou her Maid art far more faire then she: Be not her Maid since she is enuious, Her Vestal liuery is but sicke and greene, And none but fooles do weare it, cast it off: It is my Lady, O it is my Loue, O that she knew she were, She speakes, yet she sayes nothing, what of that? Her eye discourses, I will answere it: I am too bold 'tis not to me she speakes: Two of the fairest starres in all the Heauen, Hauing some businesse do entreat her eyes, To twinckle in their Spheres till they returne. What if her eyes were there, they in her head, The brightnesse of her cheeke would shame those starres, As day-light doth a Lampe, her eye in heauen, Would through the ayrie Region streame so bright, That Birds would sing, and thinke it were not night: See how she leanes her cheeke vpon her hand. O that I were a Gloue vpon that hand, That I might touch that cheeke Iul. Ay me Rom. She speakes. Oh speake againe bright Angell, for thou art As glorious to this night being ore my head, As is a winged messenger of heauen Vnto the white vpturned wondring eyes Of mortalls that fall backe to gaze on him, When he bestrides the lazie puffing Cloudes, And sailes vpon the bosome of the ayre Iul. O Romeo, Romeo, wherefore art thou Romeo? Denie thy Father and refuse thy name: Or if thou wilt not, be but sworne to my Loue, And Ile no longer be a Capulet Rom. Shall I heare more, or shall I speake at this? Iu. 'Tis but thy name that is my Enemy: Thou art thy selfe, though not a Mountague, What's Mountague? it is nor hand nor foote, Nor arme, nor face, O be some other name Belonging to a man. What? in a names that which we call a Rose, By any other word would smell as sweete, So Romeo would, were he not Romeo cal'd, Retaine that deare perfection which he owes, Without that title Romeo, doffe thy name, And for thy name which is no part of thee, Take all my selfe Rom. I take thee at thy word: Call me but Loue, and Ile be new baptiz'd, Hence foorth I neuer will be Romeo Iuli. What man art thou, that thus bescreen'd in night So stumblest on my counsell? Rom. By a name, I know not how to tell thee who I am: My name deare Saint, is hatefull to my selfe, Because it is an Enemy to thee, Had I it written, I would teare the word Iuli. My eares haue yet not drunke a hundred words Of thy tongues vttering, yet I know the sound. Art thou not Romeo, and a Montague? Rom. Neither faire Maid, if either thee dislike Iul. How cam'st thou hither. Tell me, and wherefore? The Orchard walls are high, and hard to climbe, And the place death, considering who thou art, If any of my kinsmen find thee here, Rom. With Loues light wings Did I ore-perch these Walls, For stony limits cannot hold Loue out, And what Loue can do, that dares Loue attempt: Therefore thy kinsmen are no stop to me Iul. If they do see thee, they will murther thee Rom. Alacke there lies more perill in thine eye, Then twenty of their Swords, looke thou but sweete, And I am proofe against their enmity Iul. I would not for the world they saw thee here Rom. I haue nights cloake to hide me from their eyes And but thou loue me, let them finde me here, My life were better ended by their hate, Then death proroged wanting of thy Loue Iul. By whose direction found'st thou out this place? Rom. By Loue that first did prompt me to enquire, He lent me counsell, and I lent him eyes, I am no Pylot, yet wert thou as far As that vast-shore-washet with the farthest Sea, I should aduenture for such Marchandise Iul. Thou knowest the maske of night is on my face, Else would a Maiden blush bepaint my cheeke, For that which thou hast heard me speake to night, Faine would I dwell on forme, faine, faine, denie What I haue spoke, but farewell Complement, Doest thou Loue? I know thou wilt say I, And I will take thy word, yet if thou swear'st, Thou maiest proue false: at Louers periuries They say Ioue laught, oh gentle Romeo, If thou dost Loue, pronounce it faithfully: Or if thou thinkest I am too quickly wonne, Ile frowne and be peruerse, and say thee nay, So thou wilt wooe: But else not for the world. In truth faire Mountague I am too fond: And therefore thou maiest thinke my behauiour light, But trust me Gentleman, Ile proue more true, Then those that haue coying to be strange, I should haue beene more strange, I must confesse, But that thou ouer heard'st ere I was ware My true Loues passion, therefore pardon me, And not impute this yeelding to light Loue, Which the darke night hath so discouered Rom. Lady, by yonder Moone I vow, That tips with siluer all these Fruite tree tops Iul. O sweare not by the Moone, th' inconstant Moone, That monethly changes in her circled Orbe, Least that thy Loue proue likewise variable Rom. What shall I sweare by? Iul. Do not sweare at all: Or if thou wilt sweare by thy gratious selfe, Which is the God of my Idolatry, And Ile beleeue thee Rom. If my hearts deare loue Iuli. Well do not sweare, although I ioy in thee: I haue no ioy of this contract to night, It is too rash, too vnaduis'd, too sudden, Too like the lightning which doth cease to be Ere, one can say, it lightens, Sweete good night: This bud of Loue by Summers ripening breath, May proue a beautious Flower when next we meete: Goodnight, goodnight, as sweete repose and rest, Come to thy heart, as that within my brest Rom. O wilt thou leaue me so vnsatisfied? Iuli. What satisfaction can'st thou haue to night? Ro. Th' exchange of thy Loues faithfull vow for mine Iul. I gaue thee mine before thou did'st request it: And yet I would it were to giue againe Rom. Would'st thou withdraw it, For what purpose Loue? Iul. But to be franke and giue it thee againe, And yet I wish but for the thing I haue, My bounty is as boundlesse as the Sea, My Loue as deepe, the more I giue to thee The more I haue, for both are Infinite: I heare some noyse within deare Loue adue: Cals within. Anon good Nurse, sweet Mountague be true: Stay but a little, I will come againe Rom. O blessed blessed night, I am afear'd Being in night, all this is but a dreame, Too flattering sweet to be substantiall Iul. Three words deare Romeo, And goodnight indeed, If that thy bent of Loue be Honourable, Thy purpose marriage, send me word to morrow, By one that Ile procure to come to thee, Where and what time thou wilt performe the right, And all my Fortunes at thy foote Ile lay, And follow thee my Lord throughout the world Within: Madam. I come, anon: but if thou meanest not well, I do beseech thee Within: Madam. (By and by I come) To cease thy strife, and leaue me to my griefe, To morrow will I send Rom. So thriue my soule Iu. A thousand times goodnight. Enter. Rome. A thousand times the worse to want thy light, Loue goes toward Loue as school-boyes fro[m] their books But Loue fro[m] Loue, towards schoole with heauie lookes. Enter Iuliet againe. Iul. Hist Romeo hist: O for a Falkners voice, To lure this Tassell gentle backe againe, Bondage is hoarse, and may not speake aloud, Else would I teare the Caue where Eccho lies, And make her ayrie tongue more hoarse, then With repetition of my Romeo Rom. It is my soule that calls vpon my name. How siluer sweet, sound Louers tongues by night, Like softest Musicke to attending eares Iul. Romeo Rom. My Neece Iul. What a clock to morrow Shall I send to thee? Rom. By the houre of nine Iul. I will not faile, 'tis twenty yeares till then, I haue forgot why I did call thee backe Rom. Let me stand here till thou remember it Iul. I shall forget, to haue thee still stand there, Remembring how I Loue thy company Rom. And Ile still stay, to haue thee still forget, Forgetting any other home but this Iul. 'Tis almost morning, I would haue thee gone, And yet no further then a wantons Bird, That let's it hop a little from his hand, Like a poore prisoner in his twisted Gyues, And with a silken thred plucks it backe againe, So louing Iealous of his liberty Rom. I would I were thy Bird Iul. Sweet so would I, Yet I should kill thee with much cherishing: Good night, good night Rom. Parting is such sweete sorrow, That I shall say goodnight, till it be morrow Iul. Sleepe dwell vpon thine eyes, peace in thy brest Rom. Would I were sleepe and peace so sweet to rest, The gray ey'd morne smiles on the frowning night, Checkring the Easterne Clouds with streakes of light, And darkenesse fleckel'd like a drunkard reeles, From forth dayes pathway, made by Titans wheeles. Hence will I to my ghostly Friers close Cell, His helpe to craue, and my deare hap to tell. Enter. Enter Frier alone with a basket. Fri. The gray ey'd morne smiles on the frowning night, Checkring the Easterne Cloudes with streaks of light: And fleckled darknesse like a drunkard reeles, From forth daies path, and Titans burning wheeles: Now ere the Sun aduance his burning eye, The day to cheere, and nights danke dew to dry, I must vpfill this Osier Cage of ours, With balefull weedes, and precious Iuiced flowers, The earth that's Natures mother, is her Tombe, What is her burying graue that is her wombe: And from her wombe children of diuers kind We sucking on her naturall bosome find: Many for many vertues excellent: None but for some, and yet all different. O mickle is the powerfull grace that lies In Plants, Hearbs, stones, and their true qualities: For nought so vile, that on earth doth liue, But to the earth some speciall good doth giue. Nor ought so good, but strain'd from that faire vse, Reuolts from true birth, stumbling on abuse. Vertue it selfe turnes vice being misapplied, And vice sometime by action dignified. Enter Romeo. Within the infant rind of this weake flower, Poyson hath residence, and medicine power: For this being smelt, with that part cheares each part, Being tasted stayes all sences with the heart. Two such opposed Kings encampe them still, In man as well as Hearbes, grace and rude will: And where the worser is predominant, Full soone the Canker death eates vp that Plant Rom. Good morrow Father Fri. Benedecite. What early tongue so sweet saluteth me? Young Sonne, it argues a distempered head, So soone to bid goodmorrow to thy bed; Care keepes his watch in euery old mans eye, And where Care lodges, sleepe will neuer lye: But where vnbrused youth with vnstuft braine Doth couch his lims, there, golden sleepe doth raigne; Therefore thy earlinesse doth me assure, Thou art vprous'd with some distemprature; Or if not so, then here I hit it right. Our Romeo hath not beene in bed to night Rom. That last is true, the sweeter rest was mine Fri. God pardon sin: wast thou with Rosaline? Rom. With Rosaline, my ghostly Father? No, I haue forgot that name, and that names woe Fri. That's my good Son, but wher hast thou bin then? Rom. Ile tell thee ere thou aske it me agen: I haue beene feasting with mine enemie, Where on a sudden one hath wounded me, That's by me wounded: both our remedies Within thy helpe and holy phisicke lies: I beare no hatred, blessed man: for loe My intercession likewise steads my foe Fri. Be plaine good Son, rest homely in thy drift, Ridling confession, findes but ridling shrift Rom. Then plainly know my hearts deare Loue is set, On the faire daughter of rich Capulet: As mine on hers, so hers is set on mine; And all combin'd, saue what thou must combine By holy marriage: when and where, and how, We met, we wooed, and made exchange of vow: Ile tell thee as we passe, but this I pray, That thou consent to marrie vs to day Fri. Holy S[aint]. Francis, what a change is heere? Is Rosaline that thou didst Loue so deare So soone forsaken? young mens Loue then lies Not truely in their hearts, but in their eyes. Iesu Maria, what a deale of brine Hath washt thy sallow cheekes for Rosaline? How much salt water throwne away in wast, To season Loue that of it doth not tast. The Sun not yet thy sighes, from heauen cleares, Thy old grones yet ringing in my auncient eares: Lo here vpon thy cheeke the staine doth sit, Of an old teare that is not washt off yet. If ere thou wast thy selfe, and these woes thine, Thou and these woes, were all for Rosaline. And art thou chang'd? pronounce this sentence then, Women may fall, when there's no strength in men Rom. Thou chid'st me oft for louing Rosaline Fri. For doting, not for louing pupill mine Rom. And bad'st me bury Loue Fri. Not in a graue, To lay one in, another out to haue Rom. I pray thee chide me not, her I Loue now Doth grace for grace, and Loue for Loue allow: The other did not so Fri. O she knew well, Thy Loue did read by rote, that could not spell: But come young wauerer, come goe with me, In one respect, Ile thy assistant be: For this alliance may so happy proue, To turne your houshould rancor to pure Loue Rom. O let vs hence, I stand on sudden hast Fri. Wisely and slow, they stumble that run fast. Exeunt. Enter Benuolio and Mercutio. Mer. Where the deule should this Romeo be? came he not home to night? Ben. Not to his Fathers, I spoke with his man Mer. Why that same pale hard-harted wench, that Rosaline torments him so, that he will sure run mad Ben. Tibalt, the kinsman to old Capulet, hath sent a Letter to his Fathers house Mer. A challenge on my life Ben. Romeo will answere it Mer. Any man that can write, may answere a Letter Ben. Nay, he will answere the Letters Maister how he dares, being dared Mer. Alas poore Romeo, he is already dead stab'd with a white wenches blacke eye, runne through the eare with a Loue song, the very pinne of his heart, cleft with the blind Bowe-boyes but-shaft, and is he a man to encounter Tybalt? Ben. Why what is Tibalt? Mer. More then Prince of Cats. Oh hee's the Couragious Captaine of Complements: he fights as you sing pricksong, keeps time, distance, and proportion, he rests his minum, one, two, and the third in your bosom: the very butcher of a silk button, a Dualist, a Dualist: a Gentleman of the very first house of the first and second cause: ah the immortall Passado, the Punto reuerso, the Hay Ben. The what? Mer. The Pox of such antique lisping affecting phantacies, these new tuners of accent: Iesu a very good blade, a very tall man, a very good whore. Why is not this a lamentable thing Grandsire, that we should be thus afflicted with these strange flies: these fashion Mongers, these pardon-mee's, who stand so much on the new form, that they cannot sit at ease on the old bench. O their bones, their bones. Enter Romeo. Ben. Here comes Romeo, here comes Romeo Mer. Without his Roe, like a dryed Hering. O flesh, flesh, how art thou fishified? Now is he for the numbers that Petrarch flowed in: Laura to his Lady, was a kitchen wench, marrie she had a better Loue to berime her: Dido a dowdie, Cleopatra a Gipsie, Hellen and Hero, hildings and Harlots: Thisbie a gray eie or so, but not to the purpose. Signior Romeo, Bon iour, there's a French salutation to your French slop: you gaue vs the counterfait fairely last night Romeo. Good morrow to you both, what counterfeit did I giue you? Mer. The slip sir, the slip, can you not conceiue? Rom. Pardon Mercutio, my businesse was great, and in such a case as mine, a man may straine curtesie Mer. That's as much as to say, such a case as yours constrains a man to bow in the hams Rom. Meaning to cursie Mer. Thou hast most kindly hit it Rom. A most curteous exposition Mer. Nay, I am the very pinck of curtesie Rom. Pinke for flower Mer. Right Rom. Why then is my Pump well flowr'd Mer. Sure wit, follow me this ieast, now till thou hast worne out thy Pump, that when the single sole of it is worne, the ieast may remaine after the wearing, sole-singular Rom. O single sol'd ieast, Soly singular for the singlenesse Mer. Come betweene vs good Benuolio, my wits faints Rom. Swits and spurs, Swits and spurs, or Ile crie a match Mer. Nay, if our wits run the Wild-Goose chase, I am done: For thou hast more of the Wild-Goose in one of thy wits, then I am sure I haue in my whole fiue. Was I with you there for the Goose? Rom. Thou wast neuer with mee for any thing, when thou wast not there for the Goose Mer. I will bite thee by the eare for that iest Rom. Nay, good Goose bite not Mer. Thy wit is a very Bitter-sweeting, It is a most sharpe sawce Rom. And is it not well seru'd into a Sweet-Goose? Mer. Oh here's a wit of Cheuerell, that stretches from an ynch narrow, to an ell broad Rom. I stretch it out for that word, broad, which added to the Goose, proues thee farre and wide, abroad Goose Mer. Why is not this better now, then groning for Loue, now art thou sociable, now art thou Romeo: now art thou what thou art, by Art as well as by Nature, for this driueling Loue is like a great Naturall, that runs lolling vp and downe to hid his bable in a hole Ben. Stop there, stop there Mer. Thou desir'st me to stop in my tale against the haire Ben. Thou would'st else haue made thy tale large Mer. O thou art deceiu'd, I would haue made it short, or I was come to the whole depth of my tale, and meant indeed to occupie the argument no longer. Enter Nurse and her man. Rom. Here's a goodly geare. A sayle, a sayle Mer. Two, two: a Shirt and a Smocke Nur. Peter? Peter. Anon Nur. My Fan Peter? Mer. Good Peter to hide her face? For her Fans the fairer face? Nur. God ye good morrow Gentlemen Mer. God ye gooden faire Gentlewoman Nur. Is it gooden? Mer. 'Tis no lesse I tell you: for the bawdy hand of the Dyall is now vpon the pricke of Noone Nur. Out vpon you: what a man are you? Rom. One Gentlewoman, That God hath made, himselfe to mar Nur. By my troth it is said, for himselfe to, mar quatha: Gentlemen, can any of you tel me where I may find the young Romeo? Romeo. I can tell you: but young Romeo will be older when you haue found him, then he was when you sought him: I am the youngest of that name, for fault of a worse Nur. You say well Mer. Yea is the worst well, Very well tooke: Ifaith, wisely, wisely Nur. If you be he sir, I desire some confidence with you? Ben. She will endite him to some Supper Mer. A baud, a baud, a baud. So ho Rom. What hast thou found? Mer. No Hare sir, vnlesse a Hare sir in a Lenten pie, that is something stale and hoare ere it be spent. An old Hare hoare, and an old Hare hoare is very good meat in Lent. But a Hare that is hoare is too much for a score, when it hoares ere it be spent, Romeo will you come to your Fathers? Weele to dinner thither Rom. I will follow you Mer. Farewell auncient Lady: Farewell Lady, Lady, Lady. Exit. Mercutio, Benuolio. Nur. I pray you sir, what sawcie Merchant was this that was so full of his roperie? Rom. A Gentleman Nurse, that loues to heare himselfe talke, and will speake more in a minute, then he will stand to in a Moneth Nur. And a speake any thing against me, Ile take him downe, z a were lustier then he is, and twentie such Iacks: and if I cannot, Ile finde those that shall: scuruie knaue, I am none of his flurt-gils, I am none of his skaines mates, and thou must stand by too and suffer euery knaue to vse me at his pleasure Pet. I saw no man vse you at his pleasure: if I had, my weapon should quickly haue beene out, I warrant you, I dare draw assoone as another man, if I see occasion in a good quarrell, and the law on my side Nur. Now afore God, I am so vext, that euery part about me quiuers, skuruy knaue: pray you sir a word: and as I told you, my young Lady bid me enquire you out, what she bid me say, I will keepe to my selfe: but first let me tell ye, if ye should leade her in a fooles paradise, as they say, it were a very grosse kind of behauiour, as they say: for the Gentlewoman is yong: & therefore, if you should deale double with her, truely it were an ill thing to be offered to any Gentlewoman, and very weake dealing Nur. Nurse commend me to thy Lady and Mistresse, I protest vnto thee Nur. Good heart, and yfaith I will tell her as much: Lord, Lord she will be a ioyfull woman Rom. What wilt thou tell her Nurse? thou doest not marke me? Nur. I will tell her sir, that you do protest, which as I take it, is a Gentleman-like offer Rom. Bid her deuise some meanes to come to shrift this afternoone, And there she shall at Frier Lawrence Cell Be shriu'd and married: here is for thy paines Nur. No truly sir not a penny Rom. Go too, I say you shall Nur. This afternoone sir? well she shall be there Ro. And stay thou good Nurse behind the Abbey wall, Within this houre my man shall be with thee, And bring thee Cords made like a tackled staire, Which to the high top gallant of my ioy, Must be my conuoy in the secret night. Farewell, be trustie and Ile quite thy paines: Farewell, commend me to thy Mistresse Nur. Now God in heauen blesse thee: harke you sir, Rom. What saist thou my deare Nurse? Nurse. Is your man secret, did you nere heare say two may keepe counsell putting one away Ro. Warrant thee my man is true as steele Nur. Well sir, my Mistresse is the sweetest Lady, Lord, Lord, when 'twas a little prating thing. O there is a Noble man in Towne one Paris, that would faine lay knife aboard: but she good soule had as leeue see a Toade, a very Toade as see him: I anger her sometimes, and tell her that Paris is the properer man, but Ile warrant you, when I say so, shee lookes as pale as any clout in the versall world. Doth not Rosemarie and Romeo begin both with a letter? Rom. I Nurse, what of that? Both with an R Nur. A mocker that's the dogs name. R. is for the no, I know it begins with some other letter, and she hath the prettiest sententious of it, of you and Rosemary, that it would do you good to heare it Rom. Commend me to thy Lady Nur. I a thousand times. Peter? Pet. Anon Nur. Before and apace. Exit Nurse and Peter. Enter Iuliet. Iul. The clocke strook nine, when I did send the Nurse, In halfe an houre she promised to returne, Perchance she cannot meete him: that's not so: Oh she is lame, Loues Herauld should be thoughts, Which ten times faster glides then the Sunnes beames, Driuing backe shadowes ouer lowring hils. Therefore do nimble Pinion'd Doues draw Loue, And therefore hath the wind-swift Cupid wings: Now is the Sun vpon the highmost hill Of this daies iourney, and from nine till twelue, Is three long houres, yet she is not come. Had she affections and warme youthfull blood, She would be as swift in motion as a ball, My words would bandy her to my sweete Loue, And his to me, but old folkes, Many faine as they were dead, Vnwieldie, slow, heauy, and pale as lead. Enter Nurse. O God she comes, O hony Nurse what newes? Hast thou met with him? send thy man away Nur. Peter stay at the gate Iul. Now good sweet Nurse: O Lord, why lookest thou sad? Though newes, be sad, yet tell them merrily. If good thou sham'st the musicke of sweet newes, By playing it to me, with so sower a face Nur. I am a weary, giue me leaue awhile, Fie how my bones ake, what a iaunt haue I had? Iul. I would thou had'st my bones, and I thy newes: Nay come I pray thee speake, good good Nurse speake Nur. Iesu what hast? can you not stay a while? Do you not see that I am out of breath? Iul. How art thou out of breath, when thou hast breth To say to me, that thou art out of breath? The excuse that thou dost make in this delay, Is longer then the tale thou dost excuse. Is thy newes good or bad? answere to that, Say either, and Ile stay the circumstance: Let me be satisfied, ist good or bad? Nur. Well, you haue made a simple choice, you know not how to chuse a man: Romeo, no not he though his face be better then any mans, yet his legs excels all mens, and for a hand, and a foote, and a body, though they be not to be talkt on, yet they are past compare: he is not the flower of curtesie, but Ile warrant him as gentle a Lambe: go thy waies wench, serue God. What haue you din'd at home? Iul. No no: but all this did I know before What saies he of our marriage? what of that? Nur. Lord how my head akes, what a head haue I? It beates as it would fall in twenty peeces. My backe a tother side: o my backe, my backe: Beshrew your heart for sending me about To catch my death with iaunting vp and downe Iul. Ifaith: I am sorrie that thou art so well. Sweet sweet, sweet Nurse, tell me what saies my Loue? Nur. Your Loue saies like an honest Gentleman, And a courteous, and a kind, and a handsome, And I warrant a vertuous: where is your Mother? Iul. Where is my Mother? Why she is within, where should she be? How odly thou repli'st: Your Loue saies like an honest Gentleman: Where is your Mother? Nur. O Gods Lady deare, Are you so hot? marrie come vp I trow, Is this the Poultis for my aking bones? Henceforward do your messages your selfe Iul. Heere's such a coile, come what saies Romeo? Nur. Haue you got leaue to go to shift to day? Iul. I haue Nur. Then high you hence to Frier Lawrence Cell, There staies a Husband to make you a wife: Now comes the wanton bloud vp in your cheekes, Thei'le be in Scarlet straight at any newes: Hie you to Church, I must an other way, To fetch a Ladder by the which your Loue Must climde a birds nest Soone when it is darke: I am the drudge, and toile in your delight: But you shall beare the burthen soone at night. Go Ile to dinner, hie you to the Cell Iul. Hie to high Fortune, honest Nurse, farewell. Exeunt. Enter Frier and Romeo. Fri. So smile the heauens vpon this holy act, That after houres, with sorrow chide vs not Rom. Amen, amen, but come what sorrow can, It cannot counteruaile the exchange of ioy That one short minute giues me in her sight: Do thou but close our hands with holy words. Then Loue-deuouring death do what he dare, It is inough. I may call her mine Fri. These violent delights haue violent endes, And in their triumph: die like fire and powder; Which as they kisse consume. The sweetest honey Is loathsome in his owne deliciousnesse, And in the taste confoundes the appetite. Therefore Loue moderately, long Loue doth so, Too swift arriues as tardie as too slow. Enter Iuliet. Here comes the Lady. Oh so light a foot Will nere weare out the euerlasting flint, A Louer may bestride the Gossamours, That ydles in the wanton Summer ayre, And yet not fall, so light is vanitie Iul. Good euen to my ghostly Confessor Fri. Romeo shall thanke thee Daughter for vs both Iul. As much to him, else in his thanks too much Fri. Ah Iuliet, if the measure of thy ioy Be heapt like mine, and that thy skill be more To blason it, then sweeten with thy breath This neighbour ayre, and let rich musickes tongue, Vnfold the imagin'd happinesse that both Receiue in either, by this deere encounter Iul. Conceit more rich in matter then in words, Brags of his substance, not of Ornament: They are but beggers that can count their worth, But my true Loue is growne to such excesse, I cannot sum vp some of halfe my wealth Fri. Come, come with me, & we will make short worke, For by your leaues, you shall not stay alone, Till holy Church incorporate two in one. Enter Mercutio, Benuolio, and men. Ben. I pray thee good Mercutio lets retire, The day is hot, the Capulets abroad: And if we meet, we shal not scape a brawle, for now these hot dayes, is the mad blood stirring Mer. Thou art like one of these fellowes, that when he enters the confines of a Tauerne, claps me his Sword vpon the Table, and sayes, God send me no need of thee: and by the operation of the second cup, drawes him on the Drawer, when indeed there is no need Ben. Am I like such a Fellow? Mer. Come, come, thou art as hot a Iacke in thy mood, as any in Italie: and assoone moued to be moodie, and assoone moodie to be mou'd Ben. And what too? Mer. Nay, and there were two such, we should haue none shortly, for one would kill the other: thou, why thou wilt quarrell with a man that hath a haire more, or a haire lesse in his beard, then thou hast: thou wilt quarrell with a man for cracking Nuts, hauing no other reason, but because thou hast hasell eyes: what eye, but such an eye, would spie out such a quarrell? thy head is full of quarrels, as an egge is full of meat, and yet thy head hath bin beaten as addle as an egge for quarreling: thou hast quarrel'd with a man for coffing in the street, because he hath wakened thy Dog that hath laine asleepe in the Sun. Did'st thou not fall out with a Tailor for wearing his new Doublet before Easter? with another, for tying his new shooes with old Riband, and yet thou wilt Tutor me from quarrelling? Ben. And I were so apt to quarell as thou art, any man should buy the Fee-simple of my life, for an houre and a quarter Mer. The Fee-simple? O simple. Enter Tybalt, Petruchio, and others. Ben. By my head here comes the Capulets Mer. By my heele I care not Tyb. Follow me close, for I will speake to them. Gentlemen, Good den, a word with one of you Mer. And but one word with one of vs? couple it with something, make it a word and a blow Tib. You shall find me apt inough to that sir, and you will giue me occasion Mercu. Could you not take some occasion without giuing? Tib. Mercutio thou consort'st with Romeo Mer. Consort? what dost thou make vs Minstrels? & thou make Minstrels of vs, looke to heare nothing but discords: heere's my fiddlesticke, heere's that shall make you daunce. Come consort Ben. We talke here in the publike haunt of men, Either withdraw vnto some priuate place, Or reason coldly of your greeuances: Or else depart, here all eies gaze on vs Mer. Mens eyes were made to looke, and let them gaze. I will not budge for no mans pleasure I. Enter Romeo. Tib. Well peace be with you sir, here comes my man Mer. But Ile be hang'd sir if he weare your Liuery. Marry go before to field, heele be your follower, Your worship in that sense, may call him man Tib. Romeo, the loue I beare thee, can affoord No better terme then this: Thou art a Villaine Rom. Tibalt, the reason that I haue to loue thee, Doth much excuse the appertaining rage To such a greeting: Villaine am I none; Therefore farewell, I see thou know'st me not Tib. Boy, this shall not excuse the iniuries That thou hast done me, therefore turne and draw Rom. I do protest I neuer iniur'd thee, But lou'd thee better then thou can'st deuise: Till thou shalt know the reason of my loue, And so good Capulet, which name I tender As dearely as my owne, be satisfied Mer. O calme, dishonourable, vile submission: Alla stucatho carries it away. Tybalt, you Rat-catcher, will you walke? Tib. What wouldst thou haue with me? Mer. Good King of Cats, nothing but one of your nine liues, that I meane to make bold withall, and as you shall vse me hereafter dry beate the rest of the eight. Will you pluck your Sword out of his Pilcher by the eares? Make hast, least mine be about your eares ere it be out Tib. I am for you Rom. Gentle Mercutio, put thy Rapier vp Mer. Come sir, your Passado Rom. Draw Benuolio, beat downe their weapons: Gentlemen, for shame forbeare this outrage, Tibalt, Mercutio, the Prince expresly hath Forbidden bandying in Verona streetes. Hold Tybalt, good Mercutio. Exit Tybalt. Mer. I am hurt. A plague a both the Houses, I am sped: Is he gone and hath nothing? Ben. What art thou hurt? Mer. I, I, a scratch, a scratch, marry 'tis inough, Where is my Page? go Villaine fetch a Surgeon Rom. Courage man, the hurt cannot be much Mer. No: 'tis not so deepe as a well, nor so wide as a Church doore, but 'tis inough, 'twill serue: aske for me to morrow, and you shall find me a graue man. I am pepper'd I warrant, for this world: a plague a both your houses. What, a Dog, a Rat, a Mouse, a Cat to scratch a man to death: a Braggart, a Rogue, a Villaine, that fights by the booke of Arithmeticke, why the deu'le came you betweene vs? I was hurt vnder your arme Rom. I thought all for the best Mer. Helpe me into some house Benuolio, Or I shall faint: a plague a both your houses. They haue made wormesmeat of me, I haue it, and soundly to your Houses. Enter. Rom. This Gentleman the Princes neere Alie, My very Friend hath got his mortall hurt In my behalfe, my reputation stain'd With Tibalts slaunder, Tybalt that an houre Hath beene my Cozin: O Sweet Iuliet, Thy Beauty hath made me Effeminate, And in my temper softned Valours steele. Enter Benuolio. Ben. O Romeo, Romeo, braue Mercutio's is dead, That Gallant spirit hath aspir'd the Cloudes, Which too vntimely here did scorne the earth Rom. This daies blacke Fate, on mo daies depend, This but begins, the wo others must end. Enter Tybalt. Ben. Here comes the Furious Tybalt backe againe Rom. He gon in triumph, and Mercutio slaine? Away to heauen respectiue Lenitie, And fire and Fury, be my conduct now. Now Tybalt take the Villaine backe againe That late thou gau'st me, for Mercutios soule Is but a little way aboue our heads, Staying for thine to keepe him companie: Either thou or I, or both, must goe with him Tib. Thou wretched Boy that didst consort him here, Shalt with him hence Rom. This shall determine that. They fight. Tybalt falles. Ben. Romeo, away be gone: The Citizens are vp, and Tybalt slaine, Stand not amaz'd, the Prince will Doome thee death If thou art taken: hence, be gone, away Rom. O! I am Fortunes foole Ben. Why dost thou stay? Exit Romeo. Enter Citizens. Citi. Which way ran he that kild Mercutio? Tibalt that Murtherer, which way ran he? Ben. There lies that Tybalt Citi. Vp sir go with me: I charge thee in the Princes names obey. Enter Prince, old Montague, Capulet, their Wiues and all. Prin. Where are the vile beginners of this Fray? Ben. O Noble Prince, I can discouer all The vnluckie Mannage of this fatall brall: There lies the man slaine by young Romeo, That slew thy kinsman braue Mercutio Cap. Wi. Tybalt, my Cozin? O my Brothers Child, O Prince, O Cozin, Husband, O the blood is spild Of my deare kinsman. Prince as thou art true, For bloud of ours, shed bloud of Mountague. O Cozin, Cozin Prin. Benuolio, who began this Fray? Ben. Tybalt here slaine, whom Romeo's hand did slay, Romeo that spoke him faire, bid him bethinke How nice the Quarrell was, and vrg'd withall Your high displeasure: all this vttered, With gentle breath, calme looke, knees humbly bow'd Could not take truce with the vnruly spleene Of Tybalts deafe to peace, but that he Tilts With Peircing steele at bold Mercutio's breast, Who all as hot, turnes deadly point to point, And with a Martiall scorne, with one hand beates Cold death aside, and with the other sends It back to Tybalt, whose dexterity Retorts it: Romeo he cries aloud, Hold Friends, Friends part, and swifter then his tongue, His aged arme, beats downe their fatall points, And twixt them rushes, vnderneath whose arme, An enuious thrust from Tybalt, hit the life Of stout Mercutio, and then Tybalt fled. But by and by comes backe to Romeo, Who had but newly entertained Reuenge, And too't they goe like lightning, for ere I Could draw to part them, was stout Tybalt slaine: And as he fell, did Romeo turne and flie: This is the truth, or let Benuolio die Cap. Wi. He is a kinsman to the Mountague, Affection makes him false, he speakes not true: Some twenty of them fought in this blacke strife, And all those twenty could but kill one life. I beg for Iustice, which thou Prince must giue: Romeo slew Tybalt, Romeo must not liue Prin. Romeo slew him, he slew Mercutio, Who now the price of his deare blood doth owe Cap. Not Romeo Prince, he was Mercutios Friend, His fault concludes, but what the law should end, The life of Tybalt Prin. And for that offence, Immediately we doe exile him hence: I haue an interest in your hearts proceeding: My bloud for your rude brawles doth lie a bleeding. But Ile Amerce you with so strong a fine, That you shall all repent the losse of mine. It will be deafe to pleading and excuses, Nor teares, nor prayers shall purchase our abuses. Therefore vse none, let Romeo hence in hast, Else when he is found, that houre is his last. Beare hence his body, and attend our will: Mercy not Murders, pardoning those that kill. Exeunt. Enter Iuliet alone. Iul. Gallop apace, you fiery footed steedes, Towards Phoebus lodging, such a Wagoner As Phaeton would whip you to the west, And bring in Cloudie night immediately. Spred thy close Curtaine Loue-performing night, That run-awayes eyes may wincke, and Romeo Leape to these armes, vntalkt of and vnseene, Louers can see to doe their Amorous rights, And by their owne Beauties: or if Loue be blind, It best agrees with night: come ciuill night, Thou sober suted Matron all in blacke, And learne me how to loose a winning match, Plaid for a paire of stainlesse Maidenhoods, Hood my vnman'd blood bayting in my Cheekes, With thy Blacke mantle, till strange Loue grow bold, Thinke true Loue acted simple modestie: Come night, come Romeo, come thou day in night, For thou wilt lie vpon the wings of night Whiter then new Snow vpon a Rauens backe: Come gentle night, come louing blackebrow'd night. Giue me my Romeo, and when I shall die, Take him and cut him out in little starres, And he will make the Face of heauen so fine, That all the world will be in Loue with night, And pay no worship to the Garish Sun. O I haue bought the Mansion of a Loue, But not possest it, and though I am sold, Not yet enioy'd, so tedious is this day, As is the night before some Festiuall, To an impatient child that hath new robes And may not weare them, O here comes my Nurse: Enter Nurse with cords. And she brings newes and euery tongue that speaks But Romeos name, speakes heauenly eloquence: Now Nurse, what newes? what hast thou there? The Cords that Romeo bid thee fetch? Nur. I, I, the Cords Iuli. Ay me, what newes? Why dost thou wring thy hands Nur. A weladay, hee's dead, hee's dead, We are vndone Lady, we are vndone. Alacke the day, hee's gone, hee's kil'd, he's dead Iul. Can heauen be so enuious? Nur. Romeo can, Though heauen cannot. O Romeo, Romeo. Who euer would haue thought it Romeo Iuli. What diuell art thou, That dost torment me thus? This torture should be roar'd in dismall hell, Hath Romeo slaine himselfe? say thou but I, And that bare vowell I shall poyson more Then the death-darting eye of Cockatrice, I am not I, if there be such an I. Or those eyes shot, that makes thee answere I: If he be slaine say I, or if not, no. Briefe, sounds, determine of my weale or wo Nur. I saw the wound, I saw it with mine eyes, God saue the marke, here on his manly brest, A pitteous Coarse, a bloody piteous Coarse: Pale, pale as ashes, all bedawb'd in blood, All in gore blood I sounded at the sight Iul. O breake my heart, Poore Banckrout breake at once, To prison eyes, nere looke on libertie. Vile earth to earth resigne, end motion here, And thou and Romeo presse on heauie beere Nur. O Tybalt, Tybalt, the best Friend I had: O curteous Tybalt honest Gentleman, That euer I should liue to see thee dead Iul. What storme is this that blowes so contrarie? Is Romeo slaughtred? and is Tybalt dead? My dearest Cozen, and my dearer Lord: Then dreadfull Trumpet sound the generall doome, For who is liuing, if those two are gone? Nur. Tybalt is gone, and Romeo banished, Romeo that kil'd him, he is banished Iul. O God! Did Romeo's hand shed Tybalts blood It did, it did, alas the day, it did Nur. O Serpent heart hid with a flowring face Iul. Did euer Dragon keepe so faire a Caue? Beautifull Tyrant, fiend Angelicall: Rauenous Doue-feather'd Rauen, Woluish-rauening Lambe, Dispised substance of Diuinest show: Iust opposite to what thou iustly seem'st, A dimne Saint, an Honourable Villaine: O Nature! what had'st thou to doe in hell, When thou did'st bower the spirit of a fiend In mortall paradise of such sweet flesh? Was euer booke containing such vile matter So fairely bound? O that deceit should dwell In such a gorgeous Pallace Nur. There's no trust, no faith, no honestie in men, All periur'd, all forsworne, all naught, all dissemblers, Ah where's my man? giue me some Aqua-vitae? These griefes, these woes, these sorrowes make me old: Shame come to Romeo Iul. Blister'd be thy tongue For such a wish, he was not borne to shame: Vpon his brow shame is asham'd to sit; For 'tis a throane where Honour may be Crown'd Sole Monarch of the vniuersall earth: O what a beast was I to chide him? Nur. Will you speake well of him, That kil'd your Cozen? Iul. Shall I speake ill of him that is my husband? Ah poore my Lord, what tongue shall smooth thy name, When I thy three houres wife haue mangled it. But wherefore Villaine did'st thou kill my Cozin? That Villaine Cozin would haue kil'd my husband: Backe foolish teares, backe to your natiue spring, Your tributarie drops belong to woe, Which you mistaking offer vp to ioy: My husband liues that Tibalt would haue slaine, And Tibalt dead that would haue slaine my husband: All this is comfort, wherefore weepe I then? Some words there was worser then Tybalts death That murdered me, I would forget it feine, But oh, it presses to my memory, Like damned guilty deedes to sinners minds, Tybalt is dead and Romeo banished: That banished, that one word banished, Hath slaine ten thousand Tibalts: Tibalts death Was woe inough if it had ended there: Or if sower woe delights in fellowship, And needly will be rankt with other griefes, Why followed not when she said Tibalts dead, Thy Father or thy Mother, nay or both, Which moderne lamentation might haue mou'd. But which a rere-ward following Tybalts death Romeo is banished to speake that word, Is Father, Mother, Tybalt, Romeo, Iuliet, All slaine, all dead: Romeo is banished, There is no end, no limit, measure, bound, In that words death, no words can that woe sound. Where is my Father and my Mother Nurse? Nur. Weeping and wailing ouer Tybalts Coarse, Will you go to them? I will bring you thither Iu. Wash they his wounds with tears: mine shal be spent When theirs are drie for Romeo's banishment. Take vp those Cordes, poore ropes you are beguil'd, Both you and I for Romeo is exild: He made you for a high-way to my bed, But I a Maid, die Maiden widowed. Come Cord, come Nurse, Ile to my wedding bed, And death not Romeo, take my Maiden head Nur. Hie to your Chamber, Ile find Romeo To comfort you, I wot well where he is: Harke ye your Romeo will be heere at night, Ile to him, he is hid at Lawrence Cell Iul. O find him, giue this Ring to my true Knight, And bid him come, to take his last farewell. Exit Enter Frier and Romeo. Fri. Romeo come forth, Come forth thou fearfull man, Affliction is enamor'd of thy parts And thou art wedded to calamitie, Rom. Father what newes? What is the Princes Doome? What sorrow craues acquaintance at my hand, That I yet know not? Fri. Too familiar Is my deare Sonne with such sowre Company I bring thee tydings of the Princes Doome Rom. What lesse then Doomesday, Is the Princes Doome? Fri. A gentler iudgement vanisht from his lips, Not bodies death, but bodies banishment Rom. Ha, banishment? be mercifull, say death: For exile hath more terror in his looke, Much more then death: do not say banishment Fri. Here from Verona art thou banished: Be patient, for the world is broad and wide Rom. There is no world without Verona walles, But Purgatorie, Torture, hell it selfe: Hence banished, is banisht from the world, And worlds exile is death. Then banished, Is death, mistearm'd, calling death banished, Thou cut'st my head off with a golden Axe, And smilest vpon the stroke that murders me Fri. O deadly sin, O rude vnthankefulnesse! Thy falt our Law calles death, but the kind Prince Taking thy part, hath rusht aside the Law, And turn'd that blacke word death, to banishment. This is deare mercy, and thou seest it not Rom. 'Tis Torture and not mercy, heauen is here Where Iuliet liues, and euery Cat and Dog, And little Mouse, euery vnworthy thing Liue here in Heauen and may looke on her, But Romeo may not. More Validitie, More Honourable state, more Courtship liues In carrion Flies, then Romeo: they may seaze On the white wonder of deare Iuliets hand, And steale immortall blessing from her lips, Who euen in pure and vestall modestie Still blush, as thinking their owne kisses sin. This may Flies doe, when I from this must flie, And saist thou yet, that exile is not death? But Romeo may not, hee is banished. Had'st thou no poyson mixt, no sharpe ground knife, No sudden meane of death, though nere so meane, But banished to kill me? Banished? O Frier, the damned vse that word in hell: Howlings attends it, how hast then the hart Being a Diuine, a Ghostly Confessor, A Sin-Absoluer, and my Friend profest: To mangle me with that word, banished? Fri. Then fond Mad man, heare me speake Rom. O thou wilt speake againe of banishment Fri. Ile giue thee Armour to keepe off that word, Aduersities sweete milke, Philosophie, To comfort thee, though thou art banished Rom. Yet banished? hang vp Philosophie: Vnlesse Philosophie can make a Iuliet, Displant a Towne, reuerse a Princes Doome, It helpes not, it preuailes not, talke no more Fri. O then I see, that Mad men haue no eares Rom. How should they, When wisemen haue no eyes? Fri. Let me dispaire with thee of thy estate, Rom. Thou can'st not speake of that y dost not feele, Wert thou as young as Iuliet my Loue: An houre but married, Tybalt murdered, Doting like me, and like me banished, Then mightest thou speake, Then mightest thou teare thy hayre, And fall vpon the ground as I doe now, Taking the measure of an vnmade graue. Enter Nurse, and knockes. Frier. Arise one knockes, Good Romeo hide thy selfe Rom. Not I, Vnlesse the breath of Hartsicke groanes Mist-like infold me from the search of eyes. Knocke Fri. Harke how they knocke: (Who's there) Romeo arise, Thou wilt be taken, stay a while, stand vp: Knocke. Run to my study: by and by, Gods will What simplenesse is this: I come, I come. Knocke. Who knocks so hard? Whence come you? what's your will? Enter Nurse. Nur. Let me come in, And you shall know my errand: I come from Lady Iuliet Fri. Welcome then Nur. O holy Frier, O tell me holy Frier, Where's my Ladies Lord? where's Romeo? Fri. There on the ground, With his owne teares made drunke Nur. O he is euen in my Mistresse case, Iust in her case. O wofull simpathy: Pittious predicament, euen so lies she, Blubbring and weeping, weeping and blubbring, Stand vp, stand vp, stand and you be a man, For Iuliets sake, for her sake rise and stand: Why should you fall into so deepe an O Rom. Nurse Nur. Ah sir, ah sir, deaths the end of all Rom. Speak'st thou of Iuliet? how is it with her? Doth not she thinke me an old Murtherer, Now I haue stain'd the Childhood of our ioy, With blood remoued, but little from her owne? Where is she? and how doth she? and what sayes My conceal'd Lady to our conceal'd Loue? Nur. Oh she sayes nothing sir, but weeps and weeps, And now fals on her bed, and then starts vp, And Tybalt calls, and then on Romeo cries, And then downe falls againe Ro. As if that name shot from the dead leuell of a Gun, Did murder her, as that names cursed hand Murdred her kinsman. Oh tell me Frier, tell me, In what vile part of this Anatomie Doth my name lodge? Tell me, that I may sacke The hatefull Mansion Fri. Hold thy desperate hand: Art thou a man? thy forme cries out thou art: Thy teares are womanish, thy wild acts denote The vnreasonable Furie of a beast. Vnseemely woman, in a seeming man, And ill beseeming beast in seeming both, Thou hast amaz'd me. By my holy order, I thought thy disposition better temper'd. Hast thou slaine Tybalt? wilt thou slay thy selfe? And slay thy Lady, that in thy life lies, By doing damned hate vpon thy selfe? Why rayl'st thou on thy birth? the heauen and earth? Since birth, and heauen and earth, all three do meete In thee at once, which thou at once would'st loose. Fie, fie, thou sham'st thy shape, thy loue, thy wit, Which like a Vsurer abound'st in all: And vsest none in that true vse indeed, Which should bedecke thy shape, thy loue, thy wit: Thy Noble shape, is but a forme of waxe, Digressing from the Valour of a man, Thy deare Loue sworne but hollow periurie, Killing that Loue which thou hast vow'd to cherish. Thy wit, that Ornament, to shape and Loue, Mishapen in the conduct of them both: Like powder in a skillesse Souldiers flaske, Is set a fire by thine owne ignorance, And thou dismembred with thine owne defence. What, rowse thee man, thy Iuliet is aliue, For whose deare sake thou wast but lately dead. There art thou happy. Tybalt would kill thee, But thou slew'st Tybalt, there art thou happie. The law that threatned death became thy Friend. And turn'd it to exile, there art thou happy. A packe or blessing light vpon thy backe, Happinesse Courts thee in her best array, But like a mishaped and sullen wench, Thou puttest vp thy Fortune and thy Loue: Take heed, take heed, for such die miserable. Goe get thee to thy Loue as was decreed, Ascend her Chamber, hence and comfort her: But looke thou stay not till the watch be set, For then thou canst not passe to Mantua, Where thou shalt liue till we can finde a time To blaze your marriage, reconcile your Friends, Beg pardon of thy Prince, and call thee backe, With twenty hundred thousand times more ioy Then thou went'st forth in lamentation. Goe before Nurse, commend me to thy Lady, And bid her hasten all the house to bed, Which heauy sorrow makes them apt vnto. Romeo is comming Nur. O Lord, I could haue staid here all night, To heare good counsell: oh what learning is! My Lord Ile tell my Lady you will come Rom. Do so, and bid my Sweete prepare to chide Nur. Heere sir, a Ring she bid me giue you sir: Hie you, make hast, for it growes very late Rom. How well my comfort is reuiu'd by this Fri. Go hence, Goodnight, and here stands all your state: Either be gone before the watch be set, Or by the breake of day disguis'd from hence, Soiourne in Mantua, Ile find out your man, And he shall signifie from time to time, Euery good hap to you, that chaunces heere: Giue me thy hand, 'tis late, farewell, goodnight Rom. But that a ioy past ioy, calls out on me, It were a griefe, so briefe to part with thee: Farewell. Exeunt. Enter old Capulet, his Wife and Paris. Cap. Things haue falne out sir so vnluckily, That we haue had no time to moue our Daughter: Looke you, she Lou'd her kinsman Tybalt dearely, And so did I. Well, we were borne to die. 'Tis very late, she'l not come downe to night: I promise you, but for your company, I would haue bin a bed an houre ago Par. These times of wo, affoord no times to wooe: Madam goodnight, commend me to your Daughter Lady. I will, and know her mind early to morrow, To night, she is mewed vp to her heauinesse Cap. Sir Paris, I will make a desperate tender Of my Childes loue: I thinke she will be rul'd In all respects by me: nay more, I doubt it not. Wife, go you to her ere you go to bed, Acquaint her here, of my Sonne Paris Loue, And bid her, marke you me, on Wendsday next, But soft, what day is this? Par. Monday my Lord Cap. Monday, ha ha: well Wendsday is too soone, A Thursday let it be: a Thursday tell her, She shall be married to this Noble Earle: Will you be ready? do you like this hast? Weele keepe no great adoe, a Friend or two, For harke you, Tybalt being slaine so late, It may be thought we held him carelesly, Being our kinsman, if we reuell much: Therefore weele haue some halfe a dozen Friends, And there an end. But what say you to Thursday? Paris. My Lord, I would that Thursday were to morrow Cap. Well, get you gone, a Thursday, be it then: Go you to Iuliet ere you go to bed, Prepare her wife, against this wedding day. Farewell my Lord, light to my Chamber hoa, Afore me, it is so late, that we may call it early by and by, Goodnight. Exeunt. Enter Romeo and Iuliet aloft. Iul. Wilt thou be gone? It is not yet neere day: It was the Nightingale, and not the Larke, That pier'st the fearefull hollow of thine eare, Nightly she sings on yond Pomgranet tree, Beleeue me Loue, it was the Nightingale Rom. It was the Larke the Herauld of the Morne: No Nightingale: looke Loue what enuious streakes Do lace the seuering Cloudes in yonder East: Nights Candles are burnt out, and Iocond day Stands tipto on the mistie Mountaines tops, I must be gone and liue, or stay and die Iul. Yond light is not daylight, I know it I: It is some Meteor that the Sun exhales, To be to thee this night a Torch-bearer, And light thee on thy way to Mantua. Therefore stay yet, thou need'st not be gone, Rom. Let me be tane, let me be put to death, I am content, so thou wilt haue it so. Ile say yon gray is not the mornings eye, 'Tis but the pale reflexe of Cinthias brow. Nor that is not Larke whose noates do beate The vaulty heauen so high aboue our heads, I haue more care to stay, then will to go: Come death and welcome, Iuliet wills it so. How ist my soule, lets talke, it is not day Iuli. It is, it is, hie hence be gone away: It is the Larke that sings so out of tune, Straining harsh Discords, and vnpleasing Sharpes. Some say the Larke makes sweete Diuision; This doth not so: for she diuideth vs. Some say, the Larke and loathed Toad change eyes, O now I would they had chang'd voyces too: Since arme from arme that voyce doth vs affray, Hunting thee hence, with Hunts-vp to the day, O now be gone, more light and it light growes Rom. More light & light, more darke & darke our woes. Enter Madam and Nurse. Nur. Madam Iul. Nurse Nur. Your Lady Mother is comming to your chamber, The day is broke, be wary, looke about Iul. Then window let day in, and let life out Rom. Farewell, farewell, one kisse and Ile descend Iul. Art thou gone so? Loue, Lord, ay Husband, Friend, I must heare from thee euery day in the houre, For in a minute there are many dayes, O by this count I shall be much in yeares, Ere I againe behold my Romeo Rom. Farewell: I will omit no oportunitie, That may conuey my greetings Loue, to thee Iul. O thinkest thou we shall euer meet againe? Rom. I doubt it not, and all these woes shall serue For sweet discourses in our time to come Iuliet. O God! I haue an ill Diuining soule, Me thinkes I see thee now, thou art so lowe, As one dead in the bottome of a Tombe, Either my eye-sight failes, or thou look'st pale Rom. And trust me Loue, in my eye so do you: Drie sorrow drinkes our blood. Adue, adue. Enter. Iul. O Fortune, Fortune, all men call thee fickle, If thou art fickle, what dost thou with him That is renown'd for faith? be fickle Fortune: For then I hope thou wilt not keepe him long, But send him backe. Enter Mother. Lad. Ho Daughter, are you vp? Iul. Who ist that calls? Is it my Lady Mother. Is she not downe so late, or vp so early? What vnaccustom'd cause procures her hither? Lad. Why how now Iuliet? Iul. Madam I am not well Lad. Euermore weeping for your Cozins death? What wilt thou wash him from his graue with teares? And if thou could'st, thou could'st not make him liue: Therefore haue done, some griefe shewes much of Loue, But much of griefe, shewes still some want of wit Iul. Yet let me weepe, for such a feeling losse Lad. So shall you feele the losse, but not the Friend Which you weepe for Iul. Feeling so the losse, I cannot chuse but euer weepe the Friend La. Well Girle, thou weep'st not so much for his death, As that the Villaine liues which slaughter'd him Iul. What Villaine, Madam? Lad. That same Villaine Romeo Iul. Villaine and he, be many miles assunder: God pardon, I doe with all my heart: And yet no man like he, doth grieue my heart Lad. That is because the Traitor liues Iul. I Madam from the reach of these my hands: Would none but I might venge my Cozins death Lad. We will haue vengeance for it, feare thou not. Then weepe no more, Ile send to one in Mantua, Where that same banisht Run-agate doth liue, Shall giue him such an vnaccustom'd dram, That he shall soone keepe Tybalt company: And then I hope thou wilt be satisfied Iul. Indeed I neuer shall be satisfied With Romeo, till I behold him. Dead Is my poore heart so for a kinsman vext: Madam, if you could find out but a man To beare a poyson, I would temper it; That Romeo should vpon receit thereof, Soone sleepe in quiet. O how my heart abhors To heare him nam'd, and cannot come to him, To wreake the Loue I bore my Cozin, Vpon his body that hath slaughter'd him Mo. Find thou the meanes, and Ile find such a man. But now Ile tell thee ioyfull tidings Gyrle Iul. And ioy comes well, in such a needy time, What are they, beseech your Ladyship? Mo. Well, well, thou hast a carefull Father Child? One who to put thee from thy heauinesse, Hath sorted out a sudden day of ioy, That thou expects not, nor I lookt not for Iul. Madam in happy time, what day is this? Mo. Marry my Child, early next Thursday morne, The gallant, young, and Noble Gentleman, The Countie Paris at Saint Peters Church, Shall happily make thee a ioyfull Bride Iul. Now by Saint Peters Church, and Peter too, He shall not make me there a ioyfull Bride. I wonder at this hast, that I must wed Ere he that should be Husband comes to woe: I pray you tell my Lord and Father Madam, I will not marrie yet, and when I doe, I sweare It shall be Romeo, whom you know I hate Rather then Paris. These are newes indeed Mo. Here comes your Father, tell him so your selfe, And see how he will take it at your hands. Enter Capulet and Nurse. Cap. When the Sun sets, the earth doth drizzle deaw But for the Sunset of my Brothers Sonne, It raines downright. How now? A Conduit Gyrle, what still in teares? Euermore showring in one little body? Thou counterfaits a Barke, a Sea, a Wind: For still thy eyes, which I may call the Sea, Do ebbe and flow with teares, the Barke thy body is Sayling in this salt floud, the windes thy sighes, Who raging with the teares and they with them, Without a sudden calme will ouer set Thy tempest tossed body. How now wife? Haue you deliuered to her our decree? Lady. I sir; But she will none, she giues you thankes, I would the foole were married to her graue Cap. Soft, take me with you, take me with you wife, How, will she none? doth she not giue vs thanks? Is she not proud? doth she not count her blest, Vnworthy as she is, that we haue wrought So worthy a Gentleman, to be her Bridegroome Iul. Not proud you haue, But thankfull that you haue: Proud can I neuer be of what I haue, But thankfull euen for hate, that is meant Loue Cap. How now? How now? Chopt Logicke? what is this? Proud, and I thanke you: and I thanke you not. Thanke me no thankings, nor proud me no prouds, But fettle your fine ioints 'gainst Thursday next, To go with Paris to Saint Peters Church: Or I will drag thee, on a Hurdle thither. Out you greene sicknesse carrion, out you baggage, You tallow face Lady. Fie, fie, what are you mad? Iul. Good Father, I beseech you on my knees Heare me with patience, but to speake a word Fa. Hang thee young baggage, disobedient wretch, I tell thee what, get thee to Church a Thursday, Or neuer after looke me in the face. Speake not, reply not, do not answere me. My fingers itch, wife: we scarce thought vs blest, That God had lent vs but this onely Child, But now I see this one is one too much, And that we haue a curse in hauing her: Out on her Hilding Nur. God in heauen blesse her, You are too blame my Lord to rate her so Fa. And why my Lady wisedome? hold your tongue, Good Prudence, smatter with your gossip, go Nur. I speak no treason, Father, O Godigoden, May not one speake? Fa. Peace you mumbling foole, Vtter your grauitie ore a Gossips bowles For here we need it not La. You are too hot Fa. Gods bread, it makes me mad: Day, night, houre, ride, time, worke, play, Alone in companie, still my care hath bin To haue her matcht, and hauing now prouided A Gentleman of Noble Parentage, Of faire Demeanes, Youthfull, and Nobly Allied, Stuft as they say with Honourable parts, Proportion'd as ones thought would wish a man, And then to haue a wretched puling foole, A whining mammet, in her Fortunes tender, To answer, Ile not wed, I cannot Loue: I am too young, I pray you pardon me. But, and you will not wed, Ile pardon you. Graze where you will, you shall not house with me: Looke too't, thinke on't, I do not vse to iest. Thursday is neere, lay hand on heart, aduise, And you be mine, Ile giue you to my Friend: And you be not, hang, beg, starue, die in the streets, For by my soule, Ile nere acknowledge thee, Nor what is mine shall neuer do thee good: Trust too't, bethinke you, Ile not be forsworne Enter. Iuli. Is there no pittie sitting in the Cloudes, That sees into the bottome of my griefe? O sweet my Mother cast me not away, Delay this marriage, for a month, a weeke, Or if you do not, make the Bridall bed In that dim Monument where Tybalt lies Mo. Talke not to me, for Ile not speake a word, Do as thou wilt, for I haue done with thee. Enter. Iul. O God! O Nurse, how shall this be preuented? My Husband is on earth, my faith in heauen, How shall that faith returne againe to earth, Vnlesse that Husband send it me from heauen, By leauing earth? Comfort me, counsaile me: Alacke, alacke, that heauen should practise stratagems Vpon so soft a subiect as my selfe. What saist thou? hast thou not a word of ioy? Some comfort Nurse Nur. Faith here it is, Romeo is banished, and all the world to nothing, That he dares nere come backe to challenge you: Or if he do, it needs must be by stealth. Then since the case so stands as now it doth, I thinke it best you married with the Countie, O hee's a Louely Gentleman: Romeos a dish-clout to him: an Eagle Madam Hath not so greene, so quicke, so faire an eye As Paris hath, beshrow my very heart, I thinke you are happy in this second match, For it excels your first: or if it did not, Your first is dead, or 'twere as good he were, As liuing here and you no vse of him Iul. Speakest thou from thy heart? Nur. And from my soule too, Or else beshrew them both Iul. Amen Nur. What? Iul. Well, thou hast comforted me marue'lous much, Go in, and tell my Lady I am gone, Hauing displeas'd my Father, to Lawrence Cell, To make confession, and to be absolu'd Nur. Marrie I will, and this is wisely done Iul. Auncient damnation, O most wicked fiend! It is more sin to wish me thus forsworne, Or to dispraise my Lord with that same tongue Which she hath prais'd him with aboue compare, So many thousand times? Go Counsellor, Thou and my bosom henceforth shall be twaine: Ile to the Frier to know his remedie, If all else faile, my selfe haue power to die. Exeunt. Enter Frier and Countie Paris. Fri. On Thursday sir? the time is very short Par. My Father Capulet will haue it so, And I am nothing slow to slack his hast Fri. You say you do not know the Ladies mind? Vneuen is the course, I like it not Pa. Immoderately she weepes for Tybalts death, And therfore haue I little talke of Loue, For Venus smiles not in a house of teares. Now sir, her Father counts it dangerous That she doth giue her sorrow so much sway: And in his wisedome, hasts our marriage, To stop the inundation of her teares, Which too much minded by her selfe alone, May be put from her by societie. Now doe you know the reason of this hast? Fri. I would I knew not why it should be slow'd. Looke sir, here comes the Lady towards my Cell. Enter Iuliet. Par. Happily met, my Lady and my wife Iul. That may be sir, when I may be a wife Par. That may be, must be Loue, on Thursday next Iul. What must be shall be Fri. That's a certaine text Par. Come you to make confession to this Father? Iul. To answere that, I should confesse to you Par. Do not denie to him, that you Loue me Iul. I will confesse to you that I Loue him Par. So will ye, I am sure that you Loue me Iul. If I do so, it will be of more price, Being spoke behind your backe, then to your face Par. Poore soule, thy face is much abus'd with teares Iul. The teares haue got small victorie by that: For it was bad inough before their spight Pa. Thou wrong'st it more then teares with that report Iul. That is no slaunder sir, which is a truth, And what I spake, I spake it to thy face Par. Thy face is mine, and thou hast slaundred it Iul. It may be so, for it is not mine owne. Are you at leisure, Holy Father now, Or shall I come to you at euening Masse? Fri. My leisure serues me pensiue daughter now. My Lord you must intreat the time alone Par. Godsheild: I should disturbe Deuotion, Iuliet, on Thursday early will I rowse yee, Till then adue, and keepe this holy kisse. Exit Paris. Iul. O shut the doore, and when thou hast done so, Come weepe with me, past hope, past care, past helpe Fri. O Iuliet, I alreadie know thy griefe, It streames me past the compasse of my wits: I heare thou must and nothing may prorogue it, On Thursday next be married to this Countie Iul. Tell me not Frier that thou hearest of this, Vnlesse thou tell me how I may preuent it: If in thy wisedome, thou canst giue no helpe, Do thou but call my resolution wise, And with this knife, Ile helpe it presently. God ioyn'd my heart, and Romeos, thou our hands, And ere this hand by thee to Romeo seal'd: Shall be the Labell to another Deede, Or my true heart with trecherous reuolt, Turne to another, this shall slay them both: Therefore out of thy long experien'st time, Giue me some present counsell, or behold Twixt my extreames and me, this bloody knife Shall play the vmpeere, arbitrating that, Which the commission of thy yeares and art, Could to no issue of true honour bring: Be not so long to speak, I long to die, If what thou speak'st, speake not of remedy Fri. Hold Daughter, I doe spie a kind of hope, Which craues as desperate an execution, As that is desperate which we would preuent. If rather then to marrie Countie Paris Thou hast the strength of will to slay thy selfe, Then is it likely thou wilt vndertake A thing like death to chide away this shame, That coap'st with death himselfe, to scape fro it: And if thou dar'st, Ile giue thee remedie Iul. Oh bid me leape, rather then marrie Paris, From of the Battlements of any Tower, Or walke in theeuish waies, or bid me lurke Where Serpents are: chaine me with roaring Beares Or hide me nightly in a Charnell house, Orecouered quite with dead mens ratling bones, With reckie shankes and yellow chappels sculls: Or bid me go into a new made graue, And hide me with a dead man in his graue, Things that to heare them told, haue made me tremble, And I will doe it without feare or doubt, To liue an vnstained wife to my sweet Loue Fri. Hold then: goe home, be merrie, giue consent, To marrie Paris: wensday is to morrow, To morrow night looke that thou lie alone, Let not thy Nurse lie with thee in thy Chamber: Take thou this Violl being then in bed, And this distilling liquor drinke thou off, When presently through all thy veines shall run, A cold and drowsie humour: for no pulse Shall keepe his natiue progresse, but surcease: No warmth, no breath shall testifie thou liuest, The Roses in thy lips and cheekes shall fade To many ashes, the eyes windowes fall Like death when he shut vp the day of life: Each part depriu'd of supple gouernment, Shall stiffe and starke, and cold appeare like death, And in this borrowed likenesse of shrunke death Thou shalt continue two and forty houres, And then awake, as from a pleasant sleepe. Now when the Bridegroome in the morning comes, To rowse thee from thy bed, there art thou dead: Then as the manner of our country is, In thy best Robes vncouer'd on the Beere, Be borne to buriall in thy kindreds graue: Thou shalt be borne to that same ancient vault, Where all the kindred of the Capulets lie, In the meane time against thou shalt awake, Shall Romeo by my Letters know our drift, And hither shall he come, and that very night Shall Romeo beare thee hence to Mantua. And this shall free thee from this present shame, If no inconstant toy nor womanish feare, Abate thy valour in the acting it Iul. Giue me, giue me, O tell me not of care Fri. Hold get you gone, be strong and prosperous: In this resolue, Ile send a Frier with speed To Mantua with my Letters to thy Lord Iu. Loue giue me strength, And the strength shall helpe afford: Farewell deare father. Exit Enter Father Capulet, Mother, Nurse, and Seruing men, two or three. Cap. So many guests inuite as here are writ, Sirrah, go hire me twenty cunning Cookes Ser. You shall haue none ill sir, for Ile trie if they can licke their fingers Cap. How canst thou trie them so? Ser. Marrie sir, 'tis an ill Cooke that cannot licke his owne fingers: therefore he that cannot licke his fingers goes not with me Cap. Go be gone, we shall be much vnfurnisht for this time: what is my Daughter gone to Frier Lawrence? Nur. I forsooth Cap. Well he may chance to do some good on her, A peeuish selfe-wild harlotry it is. Enter Iuliet. Nur. See where she comes from shrift With merrie looke Cap. How now my headstrong, Where haue you bin gadding? Iul. Where I haue learnt me to repent the sin Of disobedient opposition: To you and your behests, and am enioyn'd By holy Lawrence, to fall prostrate here, To beg your pardon: pardon I beseech you, Henceforward I am euer rul'd by you Cap. Send for the Countie, goe tell him of this, Ile haue this knot knit vp to morrow morning Iul. I met the youthfull Lord at Lawrence Cell, And gaue him what becomed Loue I might, Not stepping ore the bounds of modestie Cap. Why I am glad on't, this is well, stand vp, This is as't should be, let me see the County: I marrie go I say, and fetch him hither. Now afore God, this reueren'd holy Frier, All our whole Cittie is much bound to him Iul. Nurse will you goe with me into my Closet, To helpe me sort such needfull ornaments, As you thinke fit to furnish me to morrow? Mo. No not till Thursday, there's time inough Fa. Go Nurse, go with her, Weele to Church to morrow. Exeunt. Iuliet and Nurse. Mo. We shall be short in our prouision, 'Tis now neere night Fa. Tush, I will stirre about, And all things shall be well, I warrant thee wife: Go thou to Iuliet, helpe to decke vp her, Ile not to bed to night, let me alone: Ile play the huswife for this once. What ho? They are all forth, well I will walke my selfe To Countie Paris, to prepare him vp Against to morrow, my heart is wondrous light, Since this same way-ward Gyrle is so reclaim'd. Exeunt. Father and Mother. Enter Iuliet and Nurse. Iul. I those attires are best, but gentle Nurse I pray thee leaue me to my selfe to night: For I haue need of many Orysons, To moue the heauens to smile vpon my state, Which well thou know'st, is crosse and full of sin. Enter Mother. Mo. What are you busie ho? need you my help? Iul. No Madam, we haue cul'd such necessaries As are behoouefull for our state to morrow: So please you, let me now be left alone; And let the Nurse this night sit vp with you, For I am sure, you haue your hands full all, In this so sudden businesse Mo. Goodnight. Get thee to bed and rest, for thou hast need. Exeunt. Iul. Farewell: God knowes when we shall meete againe. I haue a faint cold feare thrills through my veines, That almost freezes vp the heate of fire: Ile call them backe againe to comfort me. Nurse, what should she do here? My dismall Sceane, I needs must act alone: Come Viall, what if this mixture do not worke at all? Shall I be married then to morrow morning? No, no, this shall forbid it. Lie thou there, What if it be a poyson which the Frier Subtilly hath ministred to haue me dead, Least in this marriage he should be dishonour'd, Because he married me before to Romeo? I feare it is, and yet me thinkes it should not, For he hath still beene tried a holy man. How, if when I am laid into the Tombe, I wake before the time that Romeo Come to redeeme me? There's a fearefull point: Shall I not then be stifled in the Vault? To whose foule mouth no healthsome ayre breaths in, And there die strangled ere my Romeo comes. Or if I liue, is it not very like, The horrible conceit of death and night, Together with the terror of the place, As in a Vaulte, an ancient receptacle, Where for these many hundred yeeres the bones Of all my buried Auncestors are packt, Where bloody Tybalt, yet but greene in earth, Lies festring in his shrow'd, where as they say, At some houres in the night, Spirits resort: Alacke, alacke, is it not like that I So early waking, what with loathsome smels, And shrikes like Mandrakes torne out of the earth, That liuing mortalls hearing them, run mad. O if I wake, shall I not be distraught, Inuironed with all these hidious feares, And madly play with my forefathers ioynts? And plucke the mangled Tybalt from his shrow'd? And in this rage, with some great kinsmans bone, As (with a club) dash out my desperate braines. O looke, me thinks I see my Cozins Ghost, Seeking out Romeo that did spit his body Vpon my Rapiers point: stay Tybalt, stay; Romeo, Romeo, Romeo, here's drinke: I drinke to thee. Enter Lady of the house, and Nurse. Lady. Hold, Take these keies, and fetch more spices Nurse Nur. They call for Dates and Quinces in the Pastrie. Enter old Capulet. Cap. Come, stir, stir, stir, The second Cocke hath Crow'd, The Curphew Bell hath rung, 'tis three a clocke: Looke to the bakte meates, good Angelica, Spare not for cost Nur. Go you Cot-queane, go, Get you to bed, faith youle be sicke to morrow For this nights watching Cap. No not a whit: what? I haue watcht ere now All night for lesse cause, and nere beene sicke La. I you haue bin a Mouse-hunt in your time, But I will watch you from such watching now. Exit Lady and Nurse. Cap. A iealous hood, a iealous hood, Now fellow, what there? Enter three or foure with spits, and logs, and baskets. Fel. Things for the Cooke sir, but I know not what Cap. Make hast, make hast, sirrah, fetch drier Logs. Call Peter, he will shew thee where they are Fel. I haue a head sir, that will find out logs, And neuer trouble Peter for the matter Cap. Masse and well said, a merrie horson, ha, Thou shalt be loggerhead; good Father, 'tis day. Play Musicke The Countie will be here with Musicke straight, For so he said he would, I heare him neere, Nurse, wife, what ho? what Nurse I say? Enter Nurse. Go waken Iuliet, go and trim her vp, Ile go and chat with Paris: hie, make hast, Make hast, the Bridegroome, he is come already: Make hast I say Nur. Mistris, what Mistris? Iuliet? Fast I warrant her she. Why Lambe, why Lady? fie you sluggabed, Why Loue I say? Madam, sweet heart: why Bride? What not a word? You take your peniworths now. Sleepe for a weeke, for the next night I warrant The Countie Paris hath set vp his rest, That you shall rest but little, God forgiue me: Marrie and Amen: how sound is she a sleepe? I must needs wake her: Madam, Madam, Madam, I, let the Countie take you in your bed, Heele fright you vp yfaith. Will it not be? What drest, and in your clothes, and downe againe? I must needs wake you: Lady, Lady, Lady? Alas, alas, helpe, helpe, my Ladyes dead, Oh weladay, that euer I was borne, Some Aqua-vitæ ho, my Lord, my Lady? Mo. What noise is heere? Enter Mother. Nur. O lamentable day Mo. What is the matter? Nur. Looke, looke, oh heauie day Mo. O me, O me, my Child, my onely life: Reuiue, looke vp, or I will die with thee: Helpe, helpe, call helpe. Enter Father. Fa. For shame bring Iuliet forth, her Lord is come Nur. Shee's dead: deceast, shee's dead: alacke the day M. Alacke the day, shee's dead, shee's dead, shee's dead Fa. Ha? Let me see her: out alas shee's cold, Her blood is setled and her ioynts are stiffe: Life and these lips haue long bene seperated: Death lies on her like an vntimely frost Vpon the swetest flower of all the field Nur. O Lamentable day! Mo. O wofull time Fa. Death that hath tane her hence to make me waile, Ties vp my tongue, and will not let me speake. Enter Frier and the Countie. Fri. Come, is the Bride ready to go to Church? Fa. Ready to go, but neuer to returne. O Sonne, the night before thy wedding day, Hath death laine with thy wife: there she lies, Flower as she was, deflowred by him. Death is my Sonne in law, death is my Heire, My Daughter he hath wedded. I will die, And leaue him all life liuing, all is deaths Pa. Haue I thought long to see this mornings face, And doth it giue me such a sight as this? Mo. Accur'st, vnhappie, wretched hatefull day, Most miserable houre, that ere time saw In lasting labour of his Pilgrimage. But one, poore one, one poore and louing Child, But one thing to reioyce and solace in, And cruell death hath catcht it from my sight Nur. O wo, O wofull, wofull, wofull day, Most lamentable day, most wofull day, That euer, euer, I did yet behold. O day, O day, O day, O hatefull day, Neuer was seene so blacke a day as this: O wofull day, O wofull day Pa. Beguild, diuorced, wronged, spighted, slaine, Most detestable death, by thee beguil'd, By cruell, cruell thee, quite ouerthrowne: O loue, O life; not life, but loue in death Fat. Despis'd, distressed, hated, martir'd, kil'd, Vncomfortable time, why cam'st thou now To murther, murther our solemnitie? O Child, O Child; my soule, and not my Child, Dead art thou, alacke my Child is dead, And with my Child, my ioyes are buried Fri. Peace ho for shame, confusions: Care liues not In these confusions, heauen and your selfe Had part in this faire Maid, now heauen hath all, And all the better is it for the Maid: Your part in her, you could not keepe from death, But heauen keepes his part in eternall life: The most you sought was her promotion, For 'twas your heauen, she shouldst be aduan'st, And weepe ye now, seeing she is aduan'st Aboue the Cloudes, as high as Heauen it selfe? O in this loue, you loue your Child so ill, That you run mad, seeing that she is well: Shee's not well married, that liues married long, But shee's best married, that dies married yong. Drie vp your teares, and sticke your Rosemarie On this faire Coarse, and as the custome is, And in her best array beare her to Church: For though some Nature bids all vs lament, Yet Natures teares are Reasons merriment Fa. All things that we ordained Festiuall, Turne from their office to blacke Funerall: Our instruments to melancholy Bells, Our wedding cheare, to a sad buriall Feast: Our solemne Hymnes, to sullen Dyrges change: Our Bridall flowers serue for a buried Coarse: And all things change them to the contrarie Fri. Sir go you in; and Madam, go with him, And go sir Paris, euery one prepare To follow this faire Coarse vnto her graue: The heauens do lowre vpon you, for some ill: Moue them no more, by crossing their high will. Exeunt. Mu. Faith we may put vp our Pipes and be gone Nur. Honest goodfellowes: Ah put vp, put vp, For well you know, this is a pitifull case Mu. I by my troth, the case may be amended. Enter Peter. Pet. Musitions, oh Musitions, Hearts ease, hearts ease, O, and you will haue me liue, play hearts ease Mu. Why hearts ease; Pet. O Musitions, Because my heart it selfe plaies, my heart is full Mu. Not a dump we, 'tis no time to play now Pet. You will not then? Mu. No Pet. I will then giue it you soundly Mu. What will you giue vs? Pet. No money on my faith, but the gleeke. I will giue you the Minstrell Mu. Then will I giue you the Seruing creature Peter. Then will I lay the seruing Creatures Dagger on your pate. I will carie no Crochets, Ile Re you, Ile Fa you, do you note me? Mu. And you Re vs, and Fa vs, you Note vs 2.M. Pray you put vp your Dagger, And put out your wit. Then haue at you with my wit Peter. I will drie-beate you with an yron wit, And put vp my yron Dagger. Answere me like men: When griping griefes the heart doth wound, then Musicke with her siluer sound. Why siluer sound? why Musicke with her siluer sound? what say you Simon Catling? Mu. Mary sir, because siluer hath a sweet sound Pet. Pratest, what say you Hugh Rebicke? 2.M. I say siluer sound, because Musitions sound for siluer Pet. Pratest to, what say you Iames Sound-Post? 3.Mu. Faith I know not what to say Pet. O I cry you mercy, you are the Singer. I will say for you; it is Musicke with her siluer sound, Because Musitions haue no gold for sounding: Then Musicke with her siluer sound, with speedy helpe doth lend redresse. Enter. Mu. What a pestilent knaue is this same? M.2. Hang him Iacke, come weele in here, tarrie for the Mourners, and stay dinner. Enter. Enter Romeo. Rom. If I may trust the flattering truth of sleepe, My dreames presage some ioyfull newes at hand: My bosomes L[ord]. sits lightly in his throne: And all this day an vnaccustom'd spirit, Lifts me aboue the ground with cheerefull thoughts. I dreamt my Lady came and found me dead, (Strange dreame that giues a dead man leaue to thinke,) And breath'd such life with kisses in my lips, That I reuiu'd and was an Emperour. Ah me, how sweet is loue it selfe possest, When but loues shadowes are so rich in ioy. Enter Romeo's man. Newes from Verona, how now Balthazer? Dost thou not bring me Letters from the Frier? How doth my Lady? Is my Father well? How doth my Lady Iuliet? that I aske againe, For nothing can be ill, is she be well Man. Then she is well, and nothing can be ill. Her body sleepes in Capels Monument, And her immortall part with Angels liue, I saw her laid low in her kindreds Vault, And presently tooke Poste to tell it you: O pardon me for bringing these ill newes, Since you did leaue it for my office Sir Rom. Is it euen so? Then I denie you Starres. Thou knowest my lodging, get me inke and paper, And hire Post-Horses, I will hence to night Man. I do beseech you sir, haue patience: Your lookes are pale and wild, and do import Some misaduenture Rom. Tush, thou art deceiu'd, Leaue me, and do the thing I bid thee do. Hast thou no Letters to me from the Frier? Man. No my good Lord. Exit Man. Rom. No matter: Get thee gone, And hyre those Horses, Ile be with thee straight, Well Iuliet, I will lie with thee to night: Lets see for meanes, O mischiefe thou art swift, To enter in the thoughts of desperate men: I do remember an Appothecarie, And here abouts dwells, which late I noted In tattred weeds, with ouerwhelming browes, Culling of Simples, meager were his lookes, Sharp miserie had worne him to the bones: And in his needie shop a Tortoyrs hung, An Allegater stuft, and other skins Of ill shap'd fishes, and about his shelues, A beggerly account of emptie boxes , Greene earthen pots, Bladders, and mustie seedes, Remnants of packthred, and old cakes of Roses Were thinly scattered, to make vp a shew. Noting this penury, to my selfe I said, An if a man did need a poyson now, Whose sale is present death in Mantua, Here liues a Caitiffe wretch would sell it him. O this same thought did but fore-run my need, And this same needie man must sell it me. As I remember, this should be the house, Being holy day, the beggers shop is shut. What ho? Appothecarie? Enter Appothecarie. App. Who call's so low'd? Rom. Come hither man, I see that thou art poore, Hold, there is fortie Duckets, let me haue A dram of poyson, such soone speeding geare, As will disperse it selfe through all the veines, That the life-wearie-taker may fall dead, And that the Trunke may be discharg'd of breath, As violently, as hastie powder fier'd Doth hurry from the fatall Canons wombe App. Such mortall drugs I haue, but Mantuas law Is death to any he, that vtters them Rom. Art thou so bare and full of wretchednesse, And fear'st to die? Famine is in thy cheekes, Need and opression starueth in thy eyes, Contempt and beggery hangs vpon thy backe: The world is not thy friend, nor the worlds law: The world affords no law to make thee rich. Then be not poore, but breake it, and take this App. My pouerty, but not my will consents Rom. I pray thy pouerty, and not thy will App. Put this in any liquid thing you will And drinke it off, and if you had the strength Of twenty men, it would dispatch you straight Rom. There's thy Gold, Worse poyson to mens soules, Doing more murther in this loathsome world, Then these poore compounds that thou maiest not sell. I sell thee poyson, thou hast sold me none, Farewell, buy food, and get thy selfe in flesh. Come Cordiall, and not poyson, go with me To Iuliets graue, for there must I vse thee. Exeunt. Enter Frier Iohn to Frier Lawrence. Iohn. Holy Franciscan Frier, Brother, ho? Enter Frier Lawrence. Law. This same should be the voice of Frier Iohn. Welcome from Mantua, what sayes Romeo? Or if his mind be writ, giue me his Letter Iohn. Going to find a bare-foote Brother out, One of our order to associate me, Here in this Citie visiting the sick, And finding him, the Searchers of the Towne Suspecting that we both were in a house Where the infectious pestilence did raigne, Seal'd vp the doores, and would not let vs forth, So that my speed to Mantua there was staid Law. Who bare my Letter then to Romeo? Iohn. I could not send it, here it is againe, Nor get a messenger to bring it thee, So fearefull were they of infection Law. Vnhappie Fortune: by my Brotherhood The Letter was not nice; but full of charge, Of deare import; and the neglecting it May do much danger: Frier Iohn go hence, Get me an Iron Crow, and bring it straight Vnto my Cell Iohn. Brother Ile go and bring it thee. Enter. Law. Now must I to the Monument alone, Within this three houres will faire Iuliet wake, Shee will beshrew me much that Romeo Hath had no notice of these accidents: But I will write againe to Mantua, And keepe her at my Cell till Romeo come, Poore liuing Coarse, clos'd in a dead mans Tombe, Enter. Enter Paris and his Page. Par. Giue me thy Torch Boy, hence and stand aloft, Yet put it out, for I would not be seene: Vnder yond young Trees lay thee all along, Holding thy eare close to the hollow ground, So shall no foot vpon the Churchyard tread, Being loose, vnfirme with digging vp of Graues, But thou shalt heare it: whistle then to me, As signall that thou hearest some thing approach, Giue me those flowers. Do as I bid thee, go Page. I am almost afraid to stand alone Here in the Churchyard, yet I will aduenture Pa. Sweet Flower with flowers thy Bridall bed I strew: O woe, thy Canopie is dust and stones, Which with sweet water nightly I will dewe, Or wanting that, with teares destil'd by mones; The obsequies that I for thee will keepe, Nightly shall be, to strew thy graue, and weepe. Whistle Boy. The Boy giues warning, something doth approach, What cursed foot wanders this wayes to night, To crosse my obsequies, and true loues right? What with a Torch? Muffle me night a while. Enter Romeo, and Peter. Rom. Giue me that Mattocke, & the wrenching Iron, Hold take this Letter, early in the morning See thou deliuer it to my Lord and Father, Giue me the light; vpon thy life I charge thee, What ere thou hear'st or seest, stand all aloofe, And do not interrupt me in my course. Why I descend into this bed of death, Is partly to behold my Ladies face: But chiefly to take thence from her dead finger, A precious Ring, a Ring that I must vse, In deare employment, therefore hence be gone: But if thou iealous dost returne to prie In what I further shall intend to do, By heauen I will teare thee ioynt by ioynt, And strew this hungry Churchyard with thy limbs: The time, and my intents are sauage wilde: More fierce and more inexorable farre, Them emptie Tygers, or the roaring Sea Pet. I will be gone sir, and not trouble you Ro. So shalt thou shew me friendship: take thou that, Liue and be prosperous, and farewell good fellow Pet. For all this same, Ile hide me here about, His lookes I feare, and his intents I doubt Rom. Thou detestable mawe, thou wombe of death, Gorg'd with the dearest morsell of the earth: Thus I enforce thy rotten Iawes to open, And in despight, Ile cram thee with more food Par. This is that banisht haughtie Mountague, That murdred my Loues Cozin; with which griefe, It is supposed the faire Creature died, And here is come to do some villanous shame To the dead bodies: I will apprehend him. Stop thy vnhallowed toyle, vile Mountague: Can vengeance be pursued further then death? Condemned villaine, I do apprehend thee. Obey and go with me, for thou must die, Rom. I must indeed, and therfore came I hither: Good gentle youth, tempt not a desperate man, Flie hence and leaue me, thinke vpon those gone, Let them affright thee. I beseech thee Youth, Put not an other sin vpon my head, By vrging me to furie. O be gone, By heauen I loue thee better then my selfe, For I come hither arm'd against my selfe: Stay not, be gone, liue, and hereafter say, A mad mans mercy bid thee run away Par. I do defie thy commisseration, And apprehend thee for a Fellon here Ro. Wilt thou prouoke me? Then haue at thee Boy Pet. O Lord they fight, I will go call the Watch Pa. O I am slaine, if thou be mercifull, Open the Tombe, lay me with Iuliet Rom. In faith I will, let me peruse this face: Mercutius kinsman, Noble Countie Paris, What said my man, when my betossed soule Did not attend him as we rode? I thinke He told me Paris should haue married Iuliet. Said he not so? Or did I dreame it so? Or am I mad, hearing him talke of Iuliet, To thinke it was so? O giue me thy hand, One, writ with me in sowre misfortunes booke. Ile burie thee in a triumphant graue. A Graue; O no, a Lanthorne; slaughtred Youth: For here lies Iuliet, and her beautie makes This Vault a feasting presence full of light. Death lie thou there, by a dead man inter'd, How oft when men are at the point of death, Haue they beene merrie? Which their Keepers call A lightning before death? Oh how may I Call this a lightning? O my Loue, my Wife, Death that hath suckt the honey of thy breath, Hath had no power yet vpon thy Beautie: Thou are not conquer'd: Beauties ensigne yet Is Crymson in thy lips, and in thy cheekes, And Deaths pale flag is not aduanced there. Tybalt, ly'st thou there in thy bloudy sheet? O what more fauour can I do to thee, Then with that hand that cut thy youth in twaine, To sunder his that was thy enemie? Forgiue me Cozen. Ah deare Iuliet: Why art thou yet so faire? I will beleeue, Shall I beleeue, that vnsubstantiall death is amorous? And that the leane abhorred Monster keepes Thee here in darke to be his Paramour? For feare of that, I still will stay with thee, And neuer from this Pallace of dym night Depart againe: come lie thou in my armes, Heere's to thy health, where ere thou tumblest in. O true Appothecarie! Thy drugs are quicke. Thus with a kisse I die. Depart againe; here, here will I remaine, With Wormes that are thy Chambermaides: O here Will I set vp my euerlasting rest: And shake the yoke of inauspicious starres From this world-wearied flesh: Eyes looke your last: Armes take your last embrace: And lips, O you The doores of breath, seale with a righteous kisse A datelesse bargaine to ingrossing death: Come bitter conduct, come vnsauory guide, Thou desperate Pilot, now at once run on The dashing Rocks, thy Sea-sicke wearie Barke: Heere's to my Loue. O true Appothecary: Thy drugs are quicke. Thus with a kisse I die. Enter Frier with a Lanthorne, Crow, and Spade. Fri. St. Francis be my speed, how oft to night Haue my old feet stumbled at graues? Who's there? Man. Here's one, a Friend, & one that knowes you well Fri. Blisse be vpon you. Tell me good my Friend What Torch is yond that vainely lends his light To grubs, and eyelesse Sculles? As I discerne, It burneth in the Capels Monument Man. It doth so holy sir, And there's my Master, one that you loue Fri. Who is it? Man. Romeo Fri. How long hath he bin there? Man. Full halfe an houre Fri. Go with me to the Vault Man. I dare not Sir. My Master knowes not but I am gone hence, And fearefully did menace me with death, If I did stay to looke on his entents Fri. Stay, then Ile go alone, feares comes vpon me. O much I feare some ill vnluckie thing Man. As I did sleepe vnder this young tree here, I dreamt my maister and another fought, And that my Maister slew him Fri. Romeo. Alacke, alacke, what blood is this which staines The stony entrance of this Sepulcher? What meane these Masterlesse, and goarie Swords To lie discolour'd by this place of peace? Romeo, oh pale: who else? what Paris too? And steept in blood? Ah what an vnkind houre Is guiltie of this lamentable chance? The Lady stirs Iul. O comfortable Frier, where's my Lord? I do remember well where I should be: And there I am, where is my Romeo? Fri. I heare some noyse Lady, come from that nest Of death, contagion, and vnnaturall sleepe, A greater power then we can contradict Hath thwarted our entents, come, come away, Thy husband in thy bosome there lies dead: And Paris too: come Ile dispose of thee, Among a Sisterhood of holy Nunnes: Stay not to question, for the watch is comming. Come, go good Iuliet, I dare no longer stay. Enter. Iul. Go get thee hence, for I will not away, What's here, A cup clos'd in my true loues hand? Poyson I see hath bin his timelesse end O churle, drinke all? and left no friendly drop, To helpe me after, I will kisse thy lips, Happlie some poyson yet doth hang on them, To make me die with a restoratiue. Thy lips are warme. Enter Boy and Watch. Watch. Lead Boy, which way? Iul. Yea noise? Then ile be briefe. O happy Dagger. 'Tis in thy sheath, there rust and let me die. Kils herselfe. Boy. This is the place, There where the Torch doth burne Watch. The ground is bloody, Search about the Churchyard. Go some of you, who ere you find attach. Pittifull sight, here lies the Countie slaine, And Iuliet bleeding, warme and newly dead Who here hath laine these two dayes buried. Go tell the Prince, runne to the Capulets, Raise vp the Mountagues, some others search, We see the ground whereon these woes do lye, But the true ground of all these piteous woes, We cannot without circumstance descry. Enter Romeo's man. Watch. Here's Romeo's man, We found him in the Churchyard Con. Hold him in safety, till the Prince come hither. Enter Frier, and another Watchman. 3.Wat. Here is a Frier that trembles, sighes, and weepes We tooke this Mattocke and this Spade from him, As he was comming from this Church-yard side Con. A great suspition, stay the Frier too. Enter the Prince. Prin. What misaduenture is so earely vp, That calls our person from our mornings rest? Enter Capulet and his Wife. Cap. What should it be that they so shrike abroad? Wife. O the people in the streete crie Romeo. Some Iuliet, and some Paris, and all runne With open outcry toward our Monument Pri. What feare is this which startles in your eares? Wat. Soueraigne, here lies the Countie Paris slaine, And Romeo dead, and Iuliet dead before, Warme and new kil'd Prin. Search, Seeke, and know how, this foule murder comes Wat. Here is a Frier, and Slaughter'd Romeos man, With Instruments vpon them fit to open These dead mens Tombes Cap. O heauen! O wife looke how our Daughter bleedes! This Dagger hath mistaine, for loe his house Is empty on the backe of Mountague, And is misheathed in my Daughters bosome Wife. O me, this sight of death, is as a Bell That warnes my old age to a Sepulcher. Enter Mountague. Pri. Come Mountague, for thou art early vp To see thy Sonne and Heire, now early downe Moun. Alas my liege, my wife is dead to night, Griefe of my Sonnes exile hath stopt her breath: What further woe conspires against my age? Prin. Looke: and thou shalt see Moun. O thou vntaught, what manners is in this, To presse before thy Father to a graue? Prin. Seale vp the mouth of outrage for a while, Till we can cleare these ambiguities, And know their spring, their head, their true descent, And then I will be generall of your woes, And lead you euen to death? meane time forbeare, And let mischance be slaue to patience, Bring forth the parties of suspition Fri. I am the greatest, able to doe least, Yet most suspected as the time and place Doth make against me of this direfull murther: And heere I stand both to impeach and purge My selfe condemned, and my selfe excus'd Prin. Then say at once, what thou dost know in this? Fri. I will be briefe, for my short date of breath Is not so long as is a tedious tale. Romeo there dead, was husband to that Iuliet, And she there dead, that's Romeos faithfull wife: I married them; and their stolne marriage day Was Tybalts Doomesday: whose vntimely death Banish'd the new-made Bridegroome from this Citie: For whom (and not for Tybalt) Iuliet pinde. You, to remoue that siege of Greefe from her, Betroth'd, and would haue married her perforce To Countie Paris. Then comes she to me, And (with wilde lookes) bid me deuise some meanes To rid her from this second Marriage, Or in my Cell there would she kill her selfe. Then gaue I her (so Tutor'd by my Art) A sleeping Potion, which so tooke effect As I intended, for it wrought on her The forme of death. Meane time, I writ to Romeo, That he should hither come, as this dyre night, To helpe to take her from her borrowed graue, Being the time the Potions force should cease. But he which bore my Letter, Frier Iohn, Was stay'd by accident; and yesternight Return'd my Letter backe. Then all alone, At the prefixed houre of her waking, Came I to take her from her Kindreds vault, Meaning to keepe her closely at my Cell, Till I conueniently could send to Romeo. But when I came (some Minute ere the time Of her awaking) heere vntimely lay The Noble Paris, and true Romeo dead. Shee wakes, and I intreated her come foorth, And beare this worke of Heauen, with patience: But then, a noyse did scarre me from the Tombe, And she (too desperate) would not go with me, But (as it seemes) did violence on her selfe. All this I know, and to the Marriage her Nurse is priuy: And if ought in this miscarried by my fault, Let my old life be sacrific'd, some houre before the time, Vnto the rigour of seuerest Law Prin. We still haue knowne thee for a Holy man. Where's Romeo's man? What can he say to this? Boy. I brought my Master newes of Iuliets death, And then in poste he came from Mantua To this same place, to this same Monument. This Letter he early bid me giue his Father, And threatned me with death, going in the Vault, If I departed not, and left him there Prin. Giue me the Letter, I will look on it. Where is the Counties Page that rais'd the Watch? Sirra, what made your Master in this place? Page. He came with flowres to strew his Ladies graue, And bid me stand aloofe, and so I did: Anon comes one with light to ope the Tombe, And by and by my Maister drew on him, And then I ran away to call the Watch Prin. This Letter doth make good the Friers words, Their course of Loue, the tydings of her death: And heere he writes, that he did buy a poyson Of a poore Pothecarie, and therewithall Came to this Vault to dye, and lye with Iuliet. Where be these Enemies? Capulet, Mountague, See what a scourge is laide vpon your hate, That Heauen finds meanes to kill your ioyes with Loue; And I, for winking at your discords too, Haue lost a brace of Kinsmen: All are punish'd Cap. O Brother Mountague, giue me thy hand, This is my Daughters ioynture, for no more Can I demand Moun. But I can giue thee more: For I will raise her Statue in pure Gold, That whiles Verona by that name is knowne, There shall no figure at that Rate be set, As that of True and Faithfull Iuliet Cap. As rich shall Romeo by his Lady ly, Poore sacrifices of our enmity Prin. A glooming peace this morning with it brings, The Sunne for sorrow will not shew his head; Go hence, to haue more talke of these sad things, Some shall be pardon'd, and some punished. For neuer was a Storie of more Wo, Then this of Iuliet, and her Romeo. Exeunt. omnes FINIS. THE TRAGEDIE OF ROMEO and IVLIET