Why then, well make exchange; here, take you this.


And when that hour oerslips me in the day


Wherein I sigh not, Julia, for thy sake,


The next ensuing hour some foul mischance


The tide is now: nay, not thy tide of tears;


That tide will stay me longer than I should.


Ay, so true love should do: it cannot speak;


For truth hath better deeds than words to grace it.


Alas! this parting strikes poor lovers dumb.


Nay, twill be this hour ere I have done weeping;


all the kind of the Launces have this very fault. I


have received my proportion, like the prodigious


son, and am going with Sir Proteus to the Imperials


court. I think Crab, my dog, be the sourest-natured


dog that lives: my mother weeping, my father


wailing, my sister crying, our maid howling, our cat


wringing her hands, and all our house in a great


perplexity, yet did not this cruel-hearted cur shed


one tear: he is a stone, a very pebble stone, and


has no more pity in him than a dog: a Jew would have


wept to have seen our parting; why, my grandam,


having no eyes, look you, wept herself blind at my


parting. Nay, Ill show you the manner of it. This


shoe is my father: no, this left shoe is my father:


no, no, this left shoe is my mother: nay, that


cannot be so neither: yes, it is so, it is so, it


hath the worser sole. This shoe, with the hole in


it, is my mother, and this my father; a vengeance


ont! there tis: now, sit, this staff is my


sister, for, look you, she is as white as a lily and


as small as a wand: this hat is Nan, our maid: I


am the dog: no, the dog is himself, and I am the


dog--Oh! the dog is me, and I am myself; ay, so,


so. Now come I to my father; Father, your blessing:


now should not the shoe speak a word for weeping:


now should I kiss my father; well, he weeps on. Now


come I to my mother: O, that she could speak now


like a wood woman! Well, I kiss her; why, there


tis; heres my mothers breath up and down. Now


come I to my sister; mark the moan she makes. Now


the dog all this while sheds not a tear nor speaks a


word; but see how I lay the dust with my tears.


Launce, away, away, aboard! thy master is shipped


and thou art to post after with oars. Whats the


matter? why weepest thou, man? Away, ass! Youll


It is no matter if the tied were lost; for it is the


Tut, man, I mean thoult lose the flood, and, in


losing the flood, lose thy voyage, and, in losing


thy voyage, lose thy master, and, in losing thy


master, lose thy service, and, in losing thy


Lose the tide, and the voyage, and the master, and


the service, and the tied! Why, man, if the river


were dry, I am able to fill it with my tears; if the


wind were down, I could drive the boat with my sighs.


Come, come away, man; I was sent to call thee.


Enter SILVIA, VALENTINE, THURIO, and SPEED


What, angry, Sir Thurio! do you change colour?


Give him leave, madam; he is a kind of chameleon.


That hath more mind to feed on your blood than live


I know it well, sir; you always end ere you begin.


A fine volley of words, gentlemen, and quickly shot off.


Yourself, sweet lady; for you gave the fire. Sir


Thurio borrows his wit from your ladyships looks,


and spends what he borrows kindly in your company.


Sir, if you spend word for word with me, I shall


I know it well, sir; you have an exchequer of words,


and, I think, no other treasure to give your


followers, for it appears by their bare liveries,


No more, gentlemen, no more:--here comes my father.


Now, daughter Silvia, you are hard beset.


Sir Valentine, your fathers in good health:


What say you to a letter from your friends


Ay, my good lord; a son that well deserves


I know him as myself; for from our infancy


We have conversed and spent our hours together:


And though myself have been an idle truant,


To clothe mine age with angel-like perfection,


Yet hath Sir Proteus, for thats his name,


Made use and fair advantage of his days;


His years but young, but his experience old;


His head unmellowd, but his judgment ripe;


And, in a word, for far behind his worth


Comes all the praises that I now bestow,


With all good grace to grace a gentleman.


Beshrew me, sir, but if he make this good,


Well, sir, this gentleman is come to me,


With commendation from great potentates;


And here he means to spend his time awhile:


Should I have wishd a thing, it had been he.


Welcome him then according to his worth.


Silvia, I speak to you, and you, Sir Thurio;


For Valentine, I need not cite him to it:


I will send him hither to you presently.


This is the gentleman I told your ladyship


Had come along with me, but that his mistress


Did hold his eyes lockd in her crystal looks.


Belike that now she hath enfranchised them


Nay, sure, I think she holds them prisoners still.


Nay, then he should be blind; and, being blind


How could he see his way to seek out you?


Why, lady, Love hath twenty pair of eyes.


They say that Love hath not an eye at all.


To see such lovers, Thurio, as yourself:


Have done, have done; here comes the gentleman.


Welcome, dear Proteus! Mistress, I beseech you,


Confirm his welcome with some special favour.


His worth is warrant for his welcome hither,


If this be he you oft have wishd to hear from.


Mistress, it is: sweet lady, entertain him


To be my fellow-servant to your ladyship.


Too low a mistress for so high a servant.


Not so, sweet  lady: but too mean a servant


To have a look of such a worthy mistress.


Sweet lady, entertain him for your servant.


Servant, you are welcome to a worthless mistress.


Ill die on him that says so but yourself.


Madam, my lord your father would speak with you.


I wait upon his pleasure. Come, Sir Thurio,


Go with me. Once more, new servant, welcome:


Ill leave you to confer of home affairs;


When you have done, we look to hear from you.


Now, tell me, how do all from whence you came?


Your friends are well and have them much commended.


How does your lady? and how thrives your love?


My tales of love were wont to weary you;


Ay, Proteus, but that life is alterd now:


I have done penance for contemning Love,


Whose high imperious thoughts have punishd me


With bitter fasts, with penitential groans,


With nightly tears and daily heart-sore sighs;


Love hath chased sleep from my enthralled eyes


And made them watchers of mine own hearts sorrow.


Nor to his service no such joy on earth.


Now can I break my fast, dine, sup and sleep,


Enough; I read your fortune in your eye.


Even she; and is she not a heavenly saint?


O, flatter me; for love delights in praises.


When I was sick, you gave me bitter pills,


Then speak the truth by her; if not divine,


Sovereign to all the creatures on the earth.


Except thou wilt except against my love.


She shall be dignified with this high honour--


To bear my ladys train, lest the base earth


Should from her vesture chance to steal a kiss


And, of so great a favour growing proud,


Disdain to root the summer-swelling flower


Why, Valentine, what braggardism is this?


Pardon me, Proteus: all I can is nothing


To her whose worth makes other worthies nothing;


Not for the world: why, man, she is mine own,


As twenty seas, if all their sand were pearl,


The water nectar and the rocks pure gold.


Because thou seest me dote upon my love.


Is gone with her along, and I must after,


For love, thou knowst, is full of jealousy.


Ay, and we are betrothd: nay, more, our,


With all the cunning manner of our flight,


Determined of; how I must climb her window,


The ladder made of cords, and all the means


In these affairs to aid me with thy counsel.


Go on before; I shall inquire you forth:


Or as one nail by strength drives out another,


Her true perfection, or my false transgression,


That makes me reasonless to reason thus?


She is fair; and so is Julia that I love--


That I did love, for now my love is thawd;


Which, like a waxen image, gainst a fire,


Bears no impression of the thing it was.


And thats the reason I love him so little.


How shall I dote on her with more advice,


That thus without advice begin to love her!


There is no reason but I shall be blind.


If not, to compass her Ill use my skill.


Launce! by mine honesty, welcome to Milan!


Forswear not thyself, sweet youth, for I am not


welcome. I reckon this always, that a man is never


undone till he be hanged, nor never welcome to a


place till some certain shot be paid and the hostess


Come on, you madcap, Ill to the alehouse with you


presently; where, for one shot of five pence, thou


shalt have five thousand welcomes. But, sirrah, how


Marry, after they closed in earnest, they parted very


Why, then, how stands the matter with them?


Marry, thus: when it stands well with him, it


What an ass art thou! I understand thee not.


What a block art thou, that thou canst not! My


Ay, and what I do too: look thee, Ill but lean,


Why, stand-under and under-stand is all one.


Ask my dog: if he say ay, it will! if he say no,


it will; if he shake his tail and say nothing, it will.


Thou shalt never get such a secret from me but by a parable.


Tis well that I get it so. But, Launce, how sayest


thou, that my master is become a notable lover?


A notable lubber, as thou reportest him to be.


Why, thou whoreson ass, thou mistakest me.


Why, fool, I meant not thee; I meant thy master.


I tell thee, my master is become a hot lover.


Why, I tell thee, I care not though he burn himself


in love. If thou wilt, go with me to the alehouse;


if not, thou art an Hebrew, a Jew, and not worth the


Because thou hast not so much charity in thee as to


go to the ale with a Christian. Wilt thou go?


To love fair Silvia, shall I be forsworn;


To wrong my friend, I shall be much forsworn;


And even that power which gave me first my oath


Love bade me swear and Love bids me forswear.


O sweet-suggesting Love, if thou hast sinned,


Teach me, thy tempted subject, to excuse it!


And he wants wit that wants resolved will


To learn his wit to exchange the bad for better.


Fie, fie, unreverend tongue! to call her bad,


Whose sovereignty so oft thou hast preferrd


With twenty thousand soul-confirming oaths.


But there I leave to love where I should love.


If I keep them, I needs must lose myself;


If I lose them, thus find I by their loss


For love is still most precious in itself;


And Silvia--witness Heaven, that made her fair!--


Remembering that my love to her is dead;


Without some treachery used to Valentine.


This night he meaneth with a corded ladder


To climb celestial Silvias chamber-window,


Now presently Ill give her father notice


Of their disguising and pretended flight;


Who, all enraged, will banish Valentine;


For Thurio, he intends, shall wed his daughter;


But, Valentine being gone, Ill quickly cross


By some sly trick blunt Thurios dull proceeding.


Love, lend me wings to make my purpose swift,


As thou hast lent me wit to plot this drift!


Counsel, Lucetta; gentle girl, assist me;


And even in kind love I do conjure thee,


Who art the table wherein all my thoughts


To measure kingdoms with his feeble steps;


Much less shall she that hath Loves wings to fly,


And when the flight is made to one so dear,


Of such divine perfection, as Sir Proteus.


Better forbear till Proteus make return.


O, knowst thou not his looks are my souls food?


By longing for that food so long a time.


Didst thou but know the inly touch of love,


Thou wouldst as soon go kindle fire with snow


As seek to quench the fire of love with words.


I do not seek to quench your loves hot fire,


Lest it should burn above the bounds of reason.


The more thou dammst it up, the more it burns.


The current that with gentle murmur glides,


Thou knowst, being stoppd, impatiently doth rage;


But when his fair course is not hindered,


He makes sweet music with the enamelled stones,


Till the last step have brought me to my love;


And there Ill rest, as after much turmoil


Why, then, your ladyship must cut your hair.


No, girl, Ill knit it up in silken strings


With twenty odd-conceited true-love knots.


Of greater time than I shall show to be.


What fashion, madam shall I make your breeches?


That fits as well as Tell me, good my lord,


What compass will you wear your farthingale?


Why even what fashion thou best likest, Lucetta.


You must needs have them with a codpiece, madam.


Out, out, Lucetta! that would be ill-favourd.


A round hose, madam, nows not worth a pin,


Unless you have a codpiece to stick pins on.


What thou thinkest meet and is most mannerly.


But tell me, wench, how will the world repute me


If you think so, then stay at home and go not.


If Proteus like your journey when you come,


No matter whos displeased when you are gone:


I fear me, he will scarce be pleased withal.


All these are servants to deceitful men.


Base men, that use them to so base effect!


But truer stars did govern Proteus birth


His words are bonds, his oaths are oracles,


His love sincere, his thoughts immaculate,


His tears pure messengers sent from his heart,


His heart as far from fraud as heaven from earth.


Pray heaven he prove so, when you come to him!


Now, as thou lovest me, do him not that wrong


To take a note of what I stand in need of,


All that is mine I leave at thy dispose,


Only, in lieu thereof, dispatch me hence.


Sir Thurio, give us leave, I pray, awhile;


Now, tell me, Proteus, whats your will with me?


My gracious lord, that which I would discover


The law of friendship bids me to conceal;


But when I call to mind your gracious favours


Which else no worldly good should draw from me.


Know, worthy prince, Sir Valentine, my friend,


This night intends to steal away your daughter:


I know you have determined to bestow her


On Thurio, whom your gentle daughter hates;


And should she thus be stoln away from you,


To cross my friend in his intended drift


Than, by concealing it, heap on your head


A pack of sorrows which would press you down,


Being unprevented, to your timeless grave.


Proteus, I thank thee for thine honest care;


Which to requite, command me while I live.


This love of theirs myself have often seen,


Haply when they have judged me fast asleep,


But fearing lest my jealous aim might err


I gave him gentle looks, thereby to find


That which thyself hast now disclosed to me.


And, that thou mayst perceive my fear of this,


Knowing that tender youth is soon suggested,


Know, noble lord, they have devised a mean


And with a corded ladder fetch her down;


For which the youthful lover now is gone


And this way comes he with it presently;


Where, if it please you, you may intercept him.


For love of you, not hate unto my friend,


Hath made me publisher of this pretence.


Adieu, my Lord; Sir Valentine is coming.


Please it your grace, there is a messenger


That stays to bear my letters to my friends,


My health and happy being at your court.


Nay then, no matter; stay with me awhile;


That touch me near, wherein thou must be secret.


Tis not unknown to thee that I have sought


To match my friend Sir Thurio to my daughter.


I know it well, my Lord; and, sure, the match


Were rich and honourable; besides, the gentleman


Is full of virtue, bounty, worth and qualities


Beseeming such a wife as your fair daughter:


No, trust me; she is peevish, sullen, froward,


Proud, disobedient, stubborn, lacking duty,


And, may I say to thee, this pride of hers,


Upon advice, hath drawn my love from her;


And, where I thought the remnant of mine age


Should have been cherishd by her child-like duty,


And turn her out to who will take her in:


Then let her beauty be her wedding-dower;


For me and my possessions she esteems not.


What would your Grace have me to do in this?


Now therefore would I have thee to my tutor--


Besides, the fashion of the time is changed--


Win her with gifts, if she respect not words:


More than quick words do move a womans mind.


But she did scorn a present that I sent her.


A woman sometimes scorns what best contents her.


For scorn at first makes after-love the more.


If she do frown, tis not in hate of you,


If she do chide, tis not to have you gone;


For why, the fools are mad, if left alone.


For get you gone, she doth not mean away!


Flatter and praise, commend, extol their graces;


Though neer so black, say they have angels faces.


That man that hath a tongue, I say, is no man,


If with his tongue he cannot win a woman.


But she I mean is promised by her friends


Why, then, I would resort to her by night.


Ay, but the doors be lockd and keys kept safe,


That no man hath recourse to her by night.


What lets but one may enter at her window?


Her chamber is aloft, far from the ground,


And built so shelving that one cannot climb it


Why then, a ladder quaintly made of cords,


To cast up, with a pair of anchoring hooks,


Would serve to scale another Heros tower,


Advise me where I may have such a ladder.


When would you use it? pray, sir, tell me that.


This very night; for Love is like a child,


That longs for every thing that he can come by.


By seven oclock Ill get you such a ladder.


How shall I best convey the ladder thither?


It will be light, my lord, that you may bear it


A cloak as long as thine will serve the turn?


Why, any cloak will serve the turn, my lord.


I pray thee, let me feel thy cloak upon me.


What letter is this same? Whats here? To Silvia!


And here an engine fit for my proceeding.


Ill be so bold to break the seal for once.


My thoughts do harbour with my Silvia nightly,


And slaves they are to me that send them flying:


O, could their master come and go as lightly,


Himself would lodge where senseless they are lying!


My herald thoughts in thy pure bosom rest them:


While I, their king, that hither them importune,


Do curse the grace that with such grace hath blessd them,


Because myself do want my servants fortune:


I curse myself, for they are sent by me,


That they should harbour where their lord would be.


Silvia, this night I will enfranchise thee.


Tis so; and heres the ladder for the purpose.


Why, Phaeton,--for thou art Merops son,--


Wilt thou aspire to guide the heavenly car


And with thy daring folly burn the world?


Wilt thou reach stars, because they shine on thee?


Bestow thy fawning smiles on equal mates,


And think my patience, more than thy desert,


Thank me for this more than for all the favours


Which all too much I have bestowd on thee.


Will give thee time to leave our royal court,


By heaven! my wrath shall far exceed the love


Be gone! I will not hear thy vain excuse;


But, as thou lovest thy life, make speed from hence.


And why not death rather than living torment?


What light is light, if Silvia be not seen?


Fosterd, illumined, cherishd, kept alive.


I fly not death, to fly his deadly doom:


Him we go to find: theres not a hair ons head


Can nothing speak? Master, shall I strike?


Why, sir, Ill strike nothing: I pray you,--


Sirrah, I say, forbear. Friend Valentine, a word.


My ears are stopt and cannot hear good news,


So much of bad already hath possessd them.


No Valentine, indeed, for sacred Silvia.


No Valentine, if Silvia have forsworn me.


Sir, there is a proclamation that you are vanished.


That thou art banished--O, thats the news!--


From hence, from Silvia and from me thy friend.


And now excess of it will make me surfeit.


Ay, ay; and she hath offerd to the doom--


Which, unreversed, stands in effectual force--


A sea of melting pearl, which some call tears:


Those at her fathers churlish feet she tenderd;


With them, upon her knees, her humble self;


Wringing her hands, whose whiteness so became them


But neither bended knees, pure hands held up,


Sad sighs, deep groans, nor silver-shedding tears,


Could penetrate her uncompassionate sire;


Besides, her intercession chafed him so,


With many bitter threats of biding there.


No more; unless the next word that thou speakst


If so, I pray thee, breathe it in mine ear,


Cease to lament for that thou canst not help,


And study help for that which thou lamentst.


Time is the nurse and breeder of all good.


Here if thou stay, thou canst not see thy love;


Besides, thy staying will abridge thy life.


Hope is a lovers staff; walk hence with that


And manage it against despairing thoughts.


Thy letters may be here, though thou art hence;


Which, being writ to me, shall be deliverd


Even in the milk-white bosom of thy love.


Come, Ill convey thee through the city-gate;


And, ere I part with thee, confer at large


Of all that may concern thy love-affairs.


As thou lovest Silvia, though not for thyself,


I pray thee, Launce, an if thou seest my boy,


Bid him make haste and meet me at the North-gate.


Go, sirrah, find him out. Come, Valentine.


I am but a fool, look you; and yet I have the wit to


think my master is a kind of a knave: but thats


all one, if he be but one knave. He lives not now


that knows me to be in love; yet I am in love; but a


team of horse shall not pluck that from me; nor who


tis I love; and yet tis a woman; but what woman, I


will not tell myself; and yet tis a milkmaid; yet


tis not a maid, for she hath had gossips; yet tis


a maid, for she is her masters maid, and serves for


wages. She hath more qualities than a water-spaniel;


Imprimis: She can fetch and carry. Why, a horse


can do no more: nay, a horse cannot fetch, but only


carry; therefore is she better than a jade. Item:


She can milk; look you, a sweet virtue in a maid


How now, Signior Launce! what news with your


With my masters ship? why, it is at sea.


Well, your old vice still; mistake the word. What


The blackest news that ever thou heardest.


Fie on thee, jolt-head! thou canst not read.


I will try thee. Tell me this: who begot thee?


O illiterate loiterer! it was the son of thy


grandmother: this proves that thou canst not read.


And thereof comes the proverb: Blessing of your


What need a man care for a stock with a wench, when


A special virtue: for then she need not be washed


Then may I set the world on wheels, when she can


Thats as much as to say, bastard virtues; that,


indeed, know not their fathers and therefore have no names.


Item: She is not to be kissed fasting in respect


Well, that fault may be mended with a breakfast. Read on.


Its no matter for that, so she sleep not in her talk.


O villain, that set this down among her vices! To


be slow in words is a womans only virtue: I pray


thee, out witht, and place it for her chief virtue.


Out with that too; it was Eves legacy, and cannot


I care not for that neither, because I love crusts.


Well, the best is, she hath no teeth to bite.


If her liquor be good, she shall: if she will not, I


will; for good things should be praised.


Of her tongue she cannot, for thats writ down she


is slow of; of her purse she shall not, for that


Ill keep shut: now, of another thing she may, and


Item: She hath more hair than wit, and more faults


than hairs, and more wealth than faults.


Stop there; Ill have her: she was mine, and not


mine, twice or thrice in that last article.


More hair than wit? It may be; Ill prove it. The


cover of the salt hides the salt, and therefore it


is more than the salt; the hair that covers the wit


is more than the wit, for the greater hides the


Why, that word makes the faults gracious. Well,


Ill have her; and if it be a match, as nothing is


Why, then will I tell thee--that thy master stays


For thee! ay, who art thou? he hath stayed for a


Thou must run to him, for thou hast stayed so long


Why didst not tell me sooner? pox of your love letters!


Now will he be swinged for reading my letter; an


unmannerly slave, that will thrust himself into


secrets! Ill after, to rejoice in the boys correction.


Sir Thurio, fear not but that she will love you,


Now Valentine is banishd from her sight.


Since his exile she hath despised me most,


This weak impress of love is as a figure


Trenched in ice, which with an hours heat


Dissolves to water and doth lose his form.


A little time will melt her frozen thoughts


And worthless Valentine shall be forgot.


How now, Sir Proteus! Is your countryman


A little time, my lord, will kill that grief.


Proteus, the good conceit I hold of thee--


For thou hast shown some sign of good desert--


Makes me the better to confer with thee.


Let me not live to look upon your grace.


Thou knowst how willingly I would effect


The match between Sir Thurio and my daughter.


And also, I think, thou art not ignorant


She did, my lord, when Valentine was here.


What might we do to make the girl forget


The love of Valentine and love Sir Thurio?


With falsehood, cowardice and poor descent,


Three things that women highly hold in hate.


Ay, but shell think that it is spoke in hate.


Therefore it must with circumstance be spoken


By one whom she esteemeth as his friend.


And that, my lord, I shall be loath to do:


Where your good word cannot advantage him,


You have prevaild, my lord; if I can do it


By ought that I can speak in his dispraise,


She shall not long continue love to him.


But say this weed her love from Valentine,


It follows not that she will love Sir Thurio.


Therefore, as you unwind her love from him,


Lest it should ravel and be good to none,


Which must be done by praising me as much


As you in worth dispraise Sir Valentine.


And, Proteus, we dare trust you in this kind,


And cannot soon revolt and change your mind.


Where you with Silvia may confer at large;


And, for your friends sake, will be glad of you;


Where you may temper her by your persuasion


To hate young Valentine and love my friend.


But you, Sir Thurio, are not sharp enough;


By wailful sonnets, whose composed rhymes


Should be full-fraught with serviceable vows.


You sacrifice your tears, your sighs, your heart:


Write till your ink be dry, and with your tears


Moist it again, and frame some feeling line


For Orpheus lute was strung with poets sinews,


Whose golden touch could soften steel and stones,


Forsake unsounded deeps to dance on sands.


Visit by night your ladys chamber-window


With some sweet concert; to their instruments


Tune a deploring dump: the nights dead silence


Will well become such sweet-complaining grievance.


This, or else nothing, will inherit her.


This discipline shows thou hast been in love.


And thy advice this night Ill put in practise.


Therefore, sweet Proteus, my direction-giver,


To sort some gentlemen well skilld in music.


I have a sonnet that will serve the turn


Well wait upon your grace till after supper,


And afterward determine our proceedings.


SCENE I. The frontiers of Mantua. A forest.


If there be ten, shrink not, but down with em.


Stand, sir, and throw us that you have about ye:


If not: well make you sit and rifle you.


Sir, we are undone; these are the villains


That all the travellers do fear so much.


Ay, by my beard, will we, for hes a proper man.


Then know that I have little wealth to lose:


Of which if you should here disfurnish me,


You take the sum and substance that I have.


Some sixteen months, and longer might have stayd,


For that which now torments me to rehearse:


I killd a man, whose death I much repent;


Without false vantage or base treachery.


Why, neer repent it, if it were done so.


But were you banishd for so small a fault?


My youthful travel therein made me happy,


By the bare scalp of Robin Hoods fat friar,


This fellow were a king for our wild faction!


Master, be one of them; its an honourable kind of thievery.


Tell us this: have you any thing to take to?


Know, then, that some of us are gentlemen,


Who, in my mood, I stabbd unto the heart.


And I for such like petty crimes as these,


But to the purpose--for we cite our faults,


That they may hold excusd our lawless lives;


With goodly shape and by your own report


Therefore, above the rest, we parley to you:


What sayst thou? wilt thou be of our consort?


Well do thee homage and be ruled by thee,


Love thee as our commander and our king.


But if thou scorn our courtesy, thou diest.


Thou shalt not live to brag what we have offerd.


I take your offer and will live with you,


Come, go with us, well bring thee to our crews,


And show thee all the treasure we have got,


Which, with ourselves, all rest at thy dispose.


SCENE II. Milan. Outside the DUKEs palace, under SILVIAs chamber.


But Silvia is too fair, too true, too holy,


To be corrupted with my worthless gifts.


She twits me with my falsehood to my friend;


She bids me think how I have been forsworn


In breaking faith with Julia whom I loved:


And notwithstanding all her sudden quips,


The least whereof would quell a lovers hope,


Yet, spaniel-like, the more she spurns my love,


The more it grows and fawneth on her still.


But here comes Thurio: now must we to her window,


How now, Sir Proteus, are you crept before us?


Ay, gentle Thurio: for you know that love


Will creep in service where it cannot go.


Ay, but I hope, sir, that you love not here.


Sir, but I do; or else I would be hence.


I thank you for your own. Now, gentlemen,


Enter, at a distance, Host, and JULIA in boys clothes


Now, my young guest, methinks youre allycholly: I


Marry, mine host, because I cannot be merry.


Come, well have you merry: Ill bring you where


you shall hear music and see the gentleman that you asked for.


How now! are you sadder than you were before? How


Not so; but yet so false that he grieves my very


Ay, I would I were deaf; it makes me have a slow heart.


You would have them always play but one thing?


I would always have one play but one thing.


But, host, doth this Sir Proteus that we talk on


I tell you what Launce, his man, told me: he loved


Gone to seek his dog; which tomorrow, by his


masters command, he must carry for a present to his lady.


Sir Thurio, fear not you: I will so plead


That you shall say my cunning drift excels.


One, lady, if you knew his pure hearts truth,


You would quickly learn to know him by his voice.


Sir Proteus, gentle lady, and your servant.


You have your wish; my will is even this:


Thou subtle, perjured, false, disloyal man!


Thinkst thou I am so shallow, so conceitless,


That hast deceived so many with thy vows?


Return, return, and make thy love amends.


For me, by this pale queen of night I swear,


That I despise thee for thy wrongful suit,


Even for this time I spend in talking to thee.


I grant, sweet love, that I did love a lady;


[Aside]        Twere false, if I should speak it;


Say that she be; yet Valentine thy friend


Sweet lady, let me rake it from the earth.


Go to thy ladys grave and call hers thence,


Or, at the least, in hers sepulchre thine.


Vouchsafe me yet your picture for my love,


The picture that is hanging in your chamber;


To that Ill speak, to that Ill sigh and weep:


For since the substance of your perfect self


And to your shadow will I make true love.


[Aside]  If twere a substance, you would, sure,


But since your falsehood shall become you well


To worship shadows and adore false shapes,


Send to me in the morning and Ill send it:


Marry, at my house. Trust me, I think tis almost


Not so; but it hath been the longest night


That eer I watchd and the most heaviest.


Theres some great matter sheld employ me in.


One that attends your ladyships command.


Sir Eglamour, a thousand times good morrow.


I am thus early come to know what service


Think not I flatter, for I swear I do not--


Valiant, wise, remorseful, well accomplishd:


Thou art not ignorant what dear good will


Nor how my father would enforce me marry


Thyself hast loved; and I have heard thee say


No grief did ever come so near thy heart


As when thy lady and thy true love died,


Upon whose grave thou vowdst pure chastity.


And, for the ways are dangerous to pass,


Which heaven and fortune still rewards with plagues.


If not, to hide what I have said to thee,


Which since I know they virtuously are placed,


I will not fail your ladyship. Good morrow, gentle lady.


When a mans servant shall play the cur with him,


look you, it goes hard: one that I brought up of a


puppy; one that I saved from drowning, when three or


four of his blind brothers and sisters went to it.


I have taught him, even as one would say precisely,


thus I would teach a dog. I was sent to deliver


him as a present to Mistress Silvia from my master;


and I came no sooner into the dining-chamber but he


steps me to her trencher and steals her capons leg:


O, tis a foul thing when a cur cannot keep himself


in all companies! I would have, as one should say,


one that takes upon him to be a dog indeed, to be,


as it were, a dog at all things. If I had not had


more wit than he, to take a fault upon me that he did,


I think verily he had been hanged fort; sure as I


live, he had suffered fort; you shall judge. He


thrusts me himself into the company of three or four


gentlemanlike dogs under the dukes table: he had


not been there--bless the mark!--a pissing while, but


all the chamber smelt him. Out with the dog! says


one: What cur is that? says another: Whip him


out says the third: Hang him up says the duke.


I, having been acquainted with the smell before,


knew it was Crab, and goes me to the fellow that


whips the dogs: Friend, quoth I, you mean to whip


the dog? Ay, marry, do I, quoth he. You do him


the more wrong, quoth I; twas I did the thing you


wot of. He makes me no more ado, but whips me out


of the chamber. How many masters would do this for


his servant? Nay, Ill be sworn, I have sat in the


stocks for puddings he hath stolen, otherwise he had


been executed; I have stood on the pillory for geese


he hath killed, otherwise he had suffered fort.


Thou thinkest not of this now. Nay, I remember the


trick you served me when I took my leave of Madam


Silvia: did not I bid thee still mark me and do as I


do? when didst thou see me heave up my leg and make


water against a gentlewomans farthingale? didst


And will employ thee in some service presently.


Where have you been these two days loitering?


Marry, sir, I carried Mistress Silvia the dog you bade me.


Marry, she says your dog was a cur, and tells you


currish thanks is good enough for such a present.


No, indeed, did she not: here have I brought him


What, didst thou offer her this from me?


Ay, sir: the other squirrel was stolen from me by


the hangman boys in the market-place: and then I


offered her mine own, who is a dog as big as ten of


yours, and therefore the gift the greater.


Go get thee hence, and find my dog again,


Away, I say! stayst thou to vex me here?


A slave, that still an end turns me to shame!


That can with some discretion do my business,


For tis no trusting to yond foolish lout,


But chiefly for thy face and thy behavior,


Witness good bringing up, fortune and truth:


Therefore know thou, for this I entertain thee.


Go presently and take this ring with thee,


It seems you loved not her, to leave her token.


Because methinks that she loved you as well


She dreams of him that has forgot her love;


You dote on her that cares not for your love.


Well, give her that ring and therewithal


This letter. Thats her chamber. Tell my lady


I claim the promise for her heavenly picture.


Your message done, hie home unto my chamber,


Where thou shalt find me, sad and solitary.


Alas, poor Proteus! thou hast entertaind


This ring I gave him when he parted from me,


To plead for that which I would not obtain,


To carry that which I would have refused,


To praise his faith which I would have dispraised.


But cannot be true servant to my master,


Yet will I woo for him, but yet so coldly


As, heaven it knows, I would not have him speed.


Gentlewoman, good day! I pray you, be my mean


To bring me where to speak with Madam Silvia.


What would you with her, if that I be she?


If you be she, I do entreat your patience


To hear me speak the message I am sent on.


Go give your master this: tell him from me,


One Julia, that his changing thoughts forget,


Would better fit his chamber than this shadow.


I will not look upon your masters lines:


I know they are stuffd with protestations


And full of new-found oaths; which he will break


Madam, he sends your ladyship this ring.


The more shame for him that he sends it me;


For I have heard him say a thousand times


Though his false finger have profaned the ring,


Mine shall not do his Julia so much wrong.


I thank you, madam, that you tender her.


Poor gentlewoman! my master wrongs her much.


That I have wept a hundred several times.


Belike she thinks that Proteus hath forsook her.


I think she doth; and thats her cause of sorrow.


She hath been fairer, madam, than she is:


When she did think my master loved her well,


She, in my judgment, was as fair as you:


But since she did neglect her looking-glass


The air hath starved the roses in her cheeks


And pinchd the lily-tincture of her face,


When all our pageants of delight were playd,


Our youth got me to play the womans part,


Which served me as fit, by all mens judgments,


Therefore I know she is about my height.


That my poor mistress, moved therewithal,


Wept bitterly; and would I might be dead


If I in thought felt not her very sorrow!


Here, youth, there is my purse; I give thee this


For thy sweet mistress sake, because thou lovest her.


And she shall thank you fort, if eer you know her.


A virtuous gentlewoman, mild and beautiful


I hope my masters suit will be but cold,


Since she respects my mistress love so much.


Here is her picture: let me see; I think,


And yet the painter flatterd her a little,


Her hair is auburn, mine is perfect yellow:


If that be all the difference in his love,


Her eyes are grey as glass, and so are mine:


Ay, but her foreheads low, and mines as high.


What should it be that he respects in her


If this fond Love were not a blinded god?


Come, shadow, come and take this shadow up,


For tis thy rival. O thou senseless form,


Thou shalt be worshippd, kissd, loved and adored!


My substance should be statue in thy stead.


Ill use thee kindly for thy mistress sake,


That used me so; or else, by Jove I vow,


I should have scratchd out your unseeing eyes


To make my master out of love with thee!


That Silvia, at Friar Patricks cell, should meet me.


She will not fail, for lovers break not hours,


Fear not: the forest is not three leagues off;


Sir Proteus, what says Silvia to my suit?


And yet she takes exceptions at your person.


Ill wear a boot, to make it somewhat rounder.


[Aside]  But love will not be spurrd to what


Nay then, the wanton lies; my face is black.


But pearls are fair; and the old saying is,


Black men are pearls in beauteous ladies eyes.


[Aside]  Tis true; such pearls as put out


For I had rather wink than look on them.


But well, when I discourse of love and peace?


[Aside]  But better, indeed, when you hold your peace.


[Aside]  She needs not, when she knows it cowardice.


[Aside]  True; from a gentleman to a fool.


[Aside]  That such an ass should owe them.


Tis true; for Friar Laurence met them both,


As he in penance wanderd through the forest;


Him he knew well, and guessd that it was she,


But, being maskd, he was not sure of it;


At Patricks cell this even; and there she was not;


These likelihoods confirm her flight from hence.


Therefore, I pray you, stand not to discourse,


But mount you presently and meet with me


That leads towards Mantua, whither they are fled:


Dispatch, sweet gentlemen, and follow me.


That flies her fortune when it follows her.


Ill after, more to be revenged on Eglamour


And I will follow, more for Silvias love


Than hate of Eglamour that goes with her.


And I will follow, more to cross that love


Than hate for Silvia that is gone for love.


SCENE III. The frontiers of Mantua. The forest.


Be patient; we must bring you to our captain.


A thousand more mischances than this one


Have learnd me how to brook this patiently.


Where is the gentleman that was with her?


Go thou with her to the west end of the wood;


There is our captain: well follow him thats fled;


Come, I must bring you to our captains cave:


This shadowy desert, unfrequented woods,


I better brook than flourishing peopled towns:


And to the nightingales complaining notes


Leave not the mansion so long tenantless,


Lest, growing ruinous, the building fall


Thou gentle nymph, cherish thy forlorn swain!


What halloing and what stir is this to-day?


These are my mates, that make their wills their law,


They love me well; yet I have much to do


Withdraw thee, Valentine: whos this comes here?


Madam, this service I have done for you,


Though you respect not aught your servant doth,


That would have forced your honour and your love;


Vouchsafe me, for my meed, but one fair look;


And less than this, I am sure, you cannot give.


[Aside]  How like a dream is this I see and hear!


Love, lend me patience to forbear awhile.


By thy approach thou makest me most unhappy.


[Aside]  And me, when he approacheth to your presence.


I would have been a breakfast to the beast,


Rather than have false Proteus rescue me.


O, Heaven be judge how I love Valentine,


And full as much, for more there cannot be,


What dangerous action, stood it next to death,


O, tis the curse in love, and still approved,


When women cannot love where theyre beloved!


When Proteus cannot love where hes beloved.


Read over Julias heart, thy first best love,


For whose dear sake thou didst then rend thy faith


Into a thousand oaths; and all those oaths


Thou hast no faith left now, unless thoudst two;


And thats far worse than none; better have none


Than plural faith which is too much by one:


Nay, if the gentle spirit of moving words


Ill woo you like a soldier, at arms end,


And love you gainst the nature of love,--force ye.


Ruffian, let go that rude uncivil touch,


Thou common friend, thats without faith or love,


For such is a friend now; treacherous man!


Thou hast beguiled my hopes; nought but mine eye


Could have persuaded me: now I dare not say


I have one friend alive; thou wouldst disprove me.


Who should be trusted, when ones own right hand


I am sorry I must never trust thee more,


But count the world a stranger for thy sake.


The private wound is deepest: O time most accurst,


Mongst all foes that a friend should be the worst!


And once again I do receive thee honest.


Is nor of heaven nor earth, for these are pleased.


By penitence the Eternals wraths appeased:


And, that my love may appear plain and free,


All that was mine in Silvia I give thee.


Why, boy! why, wag! how now! whats the matter?


O good sir, my master charged me to deliver a ring


to Madam Silvia, which, out of my neglect, was never done.


But how camest thou by this ring? At my depart


And Julia herself hath brought it hither.


Behold her that gave aim to all thy oaths,


How oft hast thou with perjury cleft the root!


O Proteus, let this habit make thee blush!


Be thou ashamed that I have took upon me


Women to change their shapes than men their minds.


But constant, he were perfect. That one error


Fills him with faults; makes him run through all the sins:


More fresh in Julias with a constant eye?


Let me be blest to make this happy close;


Twere pity two such friends should be long foes.


Bear witness, Heaven, I have my wish for ever.


Forbear, forbear, I say! it is my lord the duke.


Your grace is welcome to a man disgraced,


Thurio, give back, or else embrace thy death;


Come not within the measure of my wrath;


Do not name Silvia thine; if once again,


Verona shall not hold thee. Here she stands;


Take but possession of her with a touch:


I dare thee but to breathe upon my love.


I hold him but a fool that will endanger


I claim her not, and therefore she is thine.


To make such means for her as thou hast done


And leave her on such slight conditions.


And think thee worthy of an empress love:


Know then, I here forget all former griefs,


Cancel all grudge, repeal thee home again,


Plead a new state in thy unrivalld merit,


To which I thus subscribe: Sir Valentine,


Take thou thy Silvia, for thou hast deserved her.


I thank your grace; the gift hath made me happy.


I now beseech you, for your daughters sake,


To grant one boom that I shall ask of you.


I grant it, for thine own, whateer it be.


These banishd men that I have kept withal


Forgive them what they have committed here


And let them be recalld from their exile:


And fit for great employment, worthy lord.


Thou hast prevaild; I pardon them and thee:


Dispose of them as thou knowst their deserts.


Come, let us go: we will include all jars


With triumphs, mirth and rare solemnity.


With our discourse to make your grace to smile.


I think the boy hath grace in him; he blushes.


I warrant you, my lord, more grace than boy.


Please you, Ill tell you as we pass along,


That you will wonder what hath fortuned.


Come, Proteus; tis your penance but to hear


That done, our day of marriage shall be yours;


One feast, one house, one mutual happiness.


If you shall chance, Camillo, to visit Bohemia, on


the like occasion whereon my services are now on


foot, you shall see, as I have said, great


difference betwixt our Bohemia and your Sicilia.


I think, this coming summer, the King of Sicilia


means to pay Bohemia the visitation which he justly owes him.


Wherein our entertainment shall shame us we will be


Verily, I speak it in the freedom of my knowledge:


we cannot with such magnificence--in so rare--I know


not what to say. We will give you sleepy drinks,


that your senses, unintelligent of our insufficience,


may, though they cannot praise us, as little accuse


You pay a great deal too dear for whats given freely.


Believe me, I speak as my understanding instructs me


and as mine honesty puts it to utterance.


Sicilia cannot show himself over-kind to Bohemia.


They were trained together in their childhoods; and


there rooted betwixt them then such an affection,


which cannot choose but branch now. Since their


more mature dignities and royal necessities made


separation of their society, their encounters,


though not personal, have been royally attorneyed


with interchange of gifts, letters, loving


embassies; that they have seemed to be together,


though absent, shook hands, as over a vast, and


embraced, as it were, from the ends of opposed


winds. The heavens continue their loves!


I think there is not in the world either malice or


matter to alter it. You have an unspeakable


comfort of your young prince Mamillius: it is a


gentleman of the greatest promise that ever came


I very well agree with you in the hopes of him: it


is a gallant child; one that indeed physics the


subject, makes old hearts fresh: they that went on


crutches ere he was born desire yet their life to


Yes; if there were no other excuse why they should


If the king had no son, they would desire to live


Enter LEONTES, HERMIONE, MAMILLIUS, POLIXENES, CAMILLO, and Attendants


Nine changes of the watery star hath been


The shepherds note since we have left our throne


Would be find up, my brother, with our thanks;


Go hence in debt: and therefore, like a cipher,


With one We thank you many thousands moe


I am questiond by my fears, of what may chance


Or breed upon our absence; that may blow


No sneaping winds at home, to make us say


This is put forth too truly: besides, I have stayd


Well part the time betweens then; and in that


There is no tongue that moves, none, none i the world,


So soon as yours could win me: so it should now,


Were there necessity in your request, although


Do even drag me homeward: which to hinder


To you a charge and trouble: to save both,


I had thought, sir, to have held my peace until


You have drawn oaths from him not to stay. You, sir,


Charge him too coldly. Tell him, you are sure


The by-gone day proclaimd: say this to him,


To tell, he longs to see his son, were strong:


But let him say so then, and let him go;


But let him swear so, and he shall not stay,


Yet of your royal presence Ill adventure


You take my lord, Ill give him my commission


To let him there a month behind the gest


Prefixd fors parting: yet, good deed, Leontes,


I love thee not a jar o the clock behind


Not like a guest; so you shall pay your fees


When you depart, and save your thanks. How say you?


My prisoner? or my guest? by your dread Verily,


To be your prisoner should import offending;


But your kind hostess. Come, Ill question you


Of my lords tricks and yours when you were boys:


Two lads that thought there was no more behind


We were as twinnd lambs that did frisk i the sun,


And bleat the one at the other: what we changed


Was innocence for innocence; we knew not


And our weak spirits neer been higher reard


With stronger blood, we should have answerd heaven


Boldly not guilty; the imposition cleard


Temptations have since then been born tos; for


In those unfledged days was my wife a girl;


Your precious self had then not crossd the eyes


Of this make no conclusion, lest you say


The offences we have made you do well answer,


If you first sinnd with us and that with us


You did continue fault and that you slippd not


Hermione, my dearest, thou never spokest


What! have I twice said well? when wast before?


I prithee tell me; crams with praise, and makes


As fat as tame things: one good deed dying tongueless


Slaughters a thousand waiting upon that.


Our praises are our wages: you may rides


With one soft kiss a thousand furlongs ere


With spur we beat an acre. But to the goal:


My last good deed was to entreat his stay:


What was my first? it has an elder sister,


Or I mistake you: O, would her name were Grace!


But once before I spoke to the purpose: when?


Three crabbed months had sourd themselves to death,


Ere I could make thee open thy white hand


And clap thyself my love: then didst thou utter


Why, lo you now, I have spoke to the purpose twice:


To mingle friendship far is mingling bloods.


I have tremor cordis on me: my heart dances;


But not for joy; not joy. This entertainment


May a free face put on, derive a liberty


From heartiness, from bounty, fertile bosom,


And well become the agent; t may, I grant;


But to be paddling palms and pinching fingers,


As now they are, and making practised smiles,


As in a looking-glass, and then to sigh, as twere


The mort o the deer; O, that is entertainment


My bosom likes not, nor my brows! Mamillius,


They say it is a copy out of mine. Come, captain,


We must be neat; not neat, but cleanly, captain:


And yet the steer, the heifer and the calf


Upon his palm!--How now, you wanton calf!


Thou wantst a rough pash and the shoots that I have,


That will say anything but were they false


As oer-dyed blacks, as wind, as waters, false


As dice are to be wishd by one that fixes


No bourn twixt his and mine, yet were it true


To say this boy were like me. Come, sir page,


Look on me with your welkin eye: sweet villain!


Most dearst! my collop! Can thy dam?--mayt be?--


Affection! thy intention stabs the centre:


Thou dost make possible things not so held,


Communicatest with dreams;--how can this be?--


And fellowst nothing: then tis very credent


Thou mayst co-join with something; and thou dost,


And that beyond commission, and I find it,


What cheer? how ist with you, best brother?


You look as if you held a brow of much distraction


How sometimes nature will betray its folly,


Its tenderness, and make itself a pastime


Of my boys face, methoughts I did recoil


Twenty-three years, and saw myself unbreechd,


In my green velvet coat, my dagger muzzled,


Lest it should bite its master, and so prove,


How like, methought, I then was to this kernel,


This squash, this gentleman. Mine honest friend,


You will! why, happy man bes dole! My brother,


Are you so fond of your young prince as we


Hes all my exercise, my mirth, my matter,


Now my sworn friend and then mine enemy,


My parasite, my soldier, statesman, all:


And with his varying childness cures in me


Officed with me: we two will walk, my lord,


And leave you to your graver steps. Hermione,


How thou lovest us, show in our brothers welcome;


We are yours i the garden: shalls attend you there?


To your own bents dispose you: youll be found,


Though you perceive me not how I give line.


How she holds up the neb, the bill to him!


And arms her with the boldness of a wife


Exeunt POLIXENES, HERMIONE, and Attendants


Go, play, boy, play: thy mother plays, and I


Play too, but so disgraced a part, whose issue


Will hiss me to my grave: contempt and clamour


Or I am much deceived, cuckolds ere now;


And many a man there is, even at this present,


Now while I speak this, holds his wife by the arm,


That little thinks she has been sluiced ins absence


And his pond fishd by his next neighbour, by


Sir Smile, his neighbour: nay, theres comfort int


Whiles other men have gates and those gates opend,


As mine, against their will. Should all despair


That have revolted wives, the tenth of mankind


Would hang themselves. Physic fort there is none;


Where tis predominant; and tis powerful, think it,


From east, west, north and south: be it concluded,


Have the disease, and feelt not. How now, boy!


Why thats some comfort. What, Camillo there?


Go play, Mamillius; thourt an honest man.


Camillo, this great sir will yet stay longer.


You had much ado to make his anchor hold:


He would not stay at your petitions: made


Theyre here with me already, whispering, rounding


When I shall gust it last. How camet, Camillo,


At the queens bet: good should be pertinent


But, so it is, it is not. Was this taken


For thy conceit is soaking, will draw in


More than the common blocks: not noted, ist,


But of the finer natures? by some severals


Of head-piece extraordinary? lower messes


Perchance are to this business purblind? say.


Business, my lord! I think most understand


To satisfy your highness and the entreaties


The entreaties of your mistress! satisfy!


Let that suffice. I have trusted thee, Camillo,


With all the nearest things to my heart, as well


My chamber-councils, wherein, priest-like, thou


Hast cleansed my bosom, I from thee departed


If thou inclinest that way, thou art a coward,


From course required; or else thou must be counted


That seest a game playd home, the rich stake drawn,


I may be negligent, foolish and fearful;


But that his negligence, his folly, fear,


Sometime puts forth. In your affairs, my lord,


Not weighing well the end; if ever fearful


To do a thing, where I the issue doubted,


Against the non-performance, twas a fear


Which oft infects the wisest: these, my lord,


Are such allowd infirmities that honesty


Is never free of. But, beseech your grace,


Be plainer with me; let me know my trespass


But thats past doubt, you have, or your eye-glass


Is thicker than a cuckolds horn,--or heard,--


Cannot be mute,--or thought,--for cogitation


Resides not in that man that does not think,--


My wife is slippery? If thou wilt confess,


To have nor eyes nor ears nor thought, then say


Before her troth-plight: sayt and justifyt.


My sovereign mistress clouded so, without


My present vengeance taken: shrew my heart,


You never spoke what did become you less


Is leaning cheek to cheek? is meeting noses?


Kissing with inside lip? stopping the career


Of laughing with a sigh?--a note infallible


Of breaking honesty--horsing foot on foot?


Skulking in corners? wishing clocks more swift?


Hours, minutes? noon, midnight? and all eyes


Blind with the pin and web but theirs, theirs only,


That would unseen be wicked? is this nothing?


Why, then the world and all thats int is nothing;


The covering sky is nothing; Bohemia nothing;


My wife is nothing; nor nothing have these nothings,


I say thou liest, Camillo, and I hate thee,


Pronounce thee a gross lout, a mindless slave,


Canst with thine eyes at once see good and evil,


Inclining to them both: were my wifes liver


Infected as her life, she would not live


Why, he that wears her like a medal, hanging


Had servants true about me, that bare eyes


To see alike mine honour as their profits,


Their own particular thrifts, they would do that


Which should undo more doing: ay, and thou,


Have benched and reared to worship, who mayst see


Plainly as heaven sees earth and earth sees heaven,


How I am galled,--mightst bespice a cup,


I could do this, and that with no rash potion,


But with a lingering dram that should not work


Believe this crack to be in my dread mistress,


To appoint myself in this vexation, sully


Which to preserve is sleep, which being spotted


Is goads, thorns, nettles, tails of wasps,


Give scandal to the blood o the prince my son,


Who I do think is mine and love as mine,


Without ripe moving tot? Would I do this?


Provided that, when hes removed, your highness


Will take again your queen as yours at first,


Even for your sons sake; and thereby for sealing


The injury of tongues in courts and kingdoms


Even so as I mine own course have set down:


Ill give no blemish to her honour, none.


Go then; and with a countenance as clear


As friendship wears at feasts, keep with Bohemia


And with your queen. I am his cupbearer:


Dot and thou hast the one half of my heart;


I will seem friendly, as thou hast advised me.


What case stand I in? I must be the poisoner


All that are his so too. To do this deed,


Promotion follows. If I could find example


Of thousands that had struck anointed kings


And flourishd after, Ild not dot; but since


Nor brass nor stone nor parchment bears not one,


Forsake the court: to dot, or no, is certain


To me a break-neck. Happy star, reign now!


My favour here begins to warp. Not speak?


As he had lost some province and a region


Loved as he loves himself: even now I met him


Wafting his eyes to the contrary and falling


A lip of much contempt, speeds from me and


So leaves me to consider what is breeding


How! dare not! do not. Do you know, and dare not?


For, to yourself, what you do know, you must.


And cannot say, you dare not. Good Camillo,


Your changed complexions are to me a mirror


Which shows me mine changed too; for I must be


I cannot name the disease; and it is caught


I have lookd on thousands, who have sped the better


By my regard, but killd none so. Camillo,--


As you are certainly a gentleman, thereto


Clerk-like experienced, which no less adorns


Our gentry than our parents noble names,


In whose success we are gentle,--I beseech you,


If you know aught which does behove my knowledge


A sickness caught of me, and yet I well!


I must be answerd. Dost thou hear, Camillo,


Which honour does acknowledge, whereof the least


Is not this suit of mine, that thou declare


Is creeping toward me; how far off, how near;


That I think honourable: therefore mark my counsel,


Which must be even as swiftly followd as


I mean to utter it, or both yourself and me


He thinks, nay, with all confidence he swears,


To vice you tot, that you have touchd his queen


Be yoked with his that did betray the Best!


A savour that may strike the dullest nostril


Where I arrive, and my approach be shunnd,


Nay, hated too, worse than the greatst infection


By all their influences, you may as well


The fabric of his folly, whose foundation


Is piled upon his faith and will continue


Avoid whats grown than question how tis born.


That lies enclosed in this trunk which you


Shall bear along impawnd, away to-night!


Your followers I will whisper to the business,


And will by twos and threes at several posterns


Clear them o the city. For myself, Ill put


My fortunes to your service, which are here


By this discovery lost. Be not uncertain;


Have utterd truth: which if you seek to prove,


I dare not stand by; nor shall you be safer


Than one condemnd by the kings own mouth, thereon


I saw his heart in s face. Give me thy hand:


Still neighbour mine. My ships are ready and


Is for a precious creature: as shes rare,


Must it be great, and as his persons mighty,


Must it be violent, and as he does conceive


In that be made more bitter. Fear oershades me:


Good expedition be my friend, and comfort


The gracious queen, part of his theme, but nothing


Of his ill-taen suspicion! Come, Camillo;


Thou bearst my life off hence: let us avoid.


The keys of all the posterns: please your highness


To take the urgent hour. Come, sir, away.


Youll kiss me hard and speak to me as if


Your brows are blacker; yet black brows, they say,


Become some women best, so that there be not


Too much hair there, but in a semicircle


I learnt it out of womens faces. Pray now


Nay, thats a mock: I have seen a ladys nose


That has been blue, but not her eyebrows.


The queen your mother rounds apace: we shall


Present our services to a fine new prince


One of these days; and then yould wanton with us,


Into a goodly bulk: good time encounter her!


What wisdom stirs amongst you? Come, sir, now


I am for you again: pray you, sit by us,


Come on, sit down: come on, and do your best


To fright me with your sprites; youre powerful at it.


Dwelt by a churchyard: I will tell it softly;


Enter LEONTES, with ANTIGONUS, Lords and others


Was he met there? his train? Camillo with him?


Behind the tuft of pines I met them; never


Saw I men scour so on their way: I eyed them


Alack, for lesser knowledge! how accursed


In being so blest! There may be in the cup


A spider steepd, and one may drink, depart,


And yet partake no venom, for his knowledge


The abhorrd ingredient to his eye, make known


How he hath drunk, he cracks his gorge, his sides,


Camillo was his help in this, his pander:


There is a plot against my life, my crown;


Alls true that is mistrusted: that false villain


Remain a pinchd thing; yea, a very trick


For them to play at will. How came the posterns


Which often hath no less prevaild than so


Give me the boy: I am glad you did not nurse him:


Though he does bear some signs of me, yet you


Bear the boy hence; he shall not come about her;


Away with him! and let her sport herself


With that shes big with; for tis Polixenes


And Ill be sworn you would believe my saying,


Look on her, mark her well; be but about


The justice of your bearts will thereto add


Praise her but for this her without-door form,


Which on my faith deserves high speech, and straight


The shrug, the hum or ha, these petty brands


Virtue itself: these shrugs, these hums and has,


When you have said shes goodly, come between


Ere you can say shes honest: but be t known,


From him that has most cause to grieve it should be,


The most replenishd villain in the world,


He were as much more villain: you, my lord,


Which Ill not call a creature of thy place,


Lest barbarism, making me the precedent,


Should a like language use to all degrees


Betwixt the prince and beggar: I have said


Shes an adulteress; I have said with whom:


But with her most vile principal, that shes


That vulgars give boldst titles, ay, and privy


Privy to none of this. How will this grieve you,


When you shall come to clearer knowledge, that


You thus have publishd me! Gentle my lord,


You scarce can right me throughly then to say


In those foundations which I build upon,


A school-boys top. Away with her! to prison!


He who shall speak for her is afar off guilty


With an aspect more favourable. Good my lords,


Commonly are; the want of which vain dew


Perchance shall dry your pities: but I have


That honourable grief lodged here which burns


Worse than tears drown: beseech you all, my lords,


With thoughts so qualified as your charities


Shall best instruct you, measure me; and so


Who ist that goes with me? Beseech your highness,


My plight requires it. Do not weep, good fools;


There is no cause: when you shall know your mistress


Has deserved prison, then abound in tears


I trust I shall. My women, come; you have leave.


Beseech your highness, call the queen again.


Be certain what you do, sir, lest your justice


Prove violence; in the which three great ones suffer,


I dare my life lay down and will dot, sir,


Please you to accept it, that the queen is spotless


I the eyes of heaven and to you; I mean,


Shes otherwise, Ill keep my stables where


I lodge my wife; Ill go in couples with her;


Than when I feel and see her no farther trust her;


Ay, every dram of womans flesh is false, If she be.


It is for you we speak, not for ourselves:


That will be damnd fort; would I knew the villain,


I would land-damn him. Be she honour-flawd,


I have three daughters; the eldest is eleven


The second and the third, nine, and some five;


Ill geld em all; fourteen they shall not see,


To bring false generations: they are co-heirs;


You smell this business with a sense as cold


As is a dead mans nose: but I do seet and feelt


Theres not a grain of it the face to sweeten


I had rather you did lack than I, my lord,


Upon this ground; and more it would content me


To have her honour true than your suspicion,


Commune with you of this, but rather follow


Our forceful instigation? Our prerogative


Calls not your counsels, but our natural goodness


Imparts this; which if you, or stupefied


Or seeming so in skill, cannot or will not


Relish a truth like us, inform yourselves


We need no more of your advice: the matter,


The loss, the gain, the ordering ont, is all


You had only in your silent judgment tried it,


Or thou wert born a fool. Camillos flight,


Which was as gross as ever touchd conjecture,


That lackd sight only, nought for approbation


But only seeing, all other circumstances


Made up to the deed, doth push on this proceeding:


Most piteous to be wild, I have dispatchd in post


Of stuffd sufficiency: now from the oracle


They will bring all; whose spiritual counsel had,


Shall stop or spur me. Have I done well?


Give rest to the minds of others, such as he


Come up to the truth. So have we thought it good


From our free person she should be confined,


Lest that the treachery of the two fled hence


Be left her to perform. Come, follow us;


We are to speak in public; for this business


Enter PAULINA, a Gentleman, and Attendants


No court in Europe is too good for thee;


To the contrary I have express commandment.


May hold together: on her frights and griefs,


Which never tender lady hath born greater,


She is something before her time deliverd.


Lusty and like to live: the queen receives


Much comfort int; says My poor prisoner,


These dangerous unsafe lunes i the king,


He must be told ont, and he shall: the office


Becomes a woman best; Ill taket upon me:


If I prove honey-mouthd let my tongue blister


If she dares trust me with her little babe,


Her advocate to the loudst. We do not know


How he may soften at the sight o the child:


Your honour and your goodness is so evident


A thriving issue: there is no lady living


So meet for this great errand. Please your ladyship


Acquaint the queen of your most noble offer;


But durst not tempt a minister of honour,


Ill use that tongue I have: if wit flow fromt


As boldness from my bosom, let t not be doubted


Madam, ift please the queen to send the babe,


I know not what I shall incur to pass it,


This child was prisoner to the womb and is


By law and process of great nature thence


Enter LEONTES, ANTIGONUS, Lords, and Servants


Nor night nor day no rest: it is but weakness


To bear the matter thus; mere weakness. If


The cause were not in being,--part o the cause,


Is quite beyond mine arm, out of the blank


And level of my brain, plot-proof; but she


I can hook to me: say that she were gone,


He straight declined, droopd, took it deeply,


Fastend and fixd the shame ont in himself,


Threw off his spirit, his appetite, his sleep,


And downright languishd. Leave me solely: go,


And in his parties, his alliance; let him be


Until a time may serve: for present vengeance,


Laugh at me, make their pastime at my sorrow:


They should not laugh if I could reach them, nor


Nay, rather, good my lords, be second to me:


Fear you his tyrannous passion more, alas,


Than the queens life? a gracious innocent soul,


Madam, he hath not slept tonight; commanded


I come to bring him sleep. Tis such as you,


That creep like shadows by him and do sigh


At each his needless heavings, such as you


Do come with words as medicinal as true,


Honest as either, to purge him of that humour


No noise, my lord; but needful conference


Away with that audacious lady! Antigonus,


I charged thee that she should not come about me:


Unless he take the course that you have done,


Commit me for committing honour, trust it,


When she will take the rein I let her run;


And, I beseech you, hear me, who profess


Myself your loyal servant, your physician,


Your most obedient counsellor, yet that dare


Less appear so in comforting your evils,


Than such as most seem yours: I say, I come


And would by combat make her good, so were I


Let him that makes but trifles of his eyes


First hand me: on mine own accord Ill off;


But first Ill do my errand. The good queen,


For she is good, hath brought you forth a daughter;


A mankind witch! Hence with her, out o door:


Than you are mad; which is enough, Ill warrant,


Will you not push her out? Give her the bastard.


Thou dotard! thou art woman-tired, unroosted


By thy dame Partlet here. Take up the bastard;


Takest up the princess by that forced baseness


So I would you did; then twere past all doubt


But one thats here, and thats himself, for he


The sacred honour of himself, his queens,


His hopeful sons, his babes, betrays to slander,


For, as the case now stands, it is a curse


The root of his opinion, which is rotten


Of boundless tongue, who late hath beat her husband


And now baits me! This brat is none of mine;


Hence with it, and together with the dam


And, might we lay the old proverb to your charge,


So like you, tis the worse. Behold, my lords,


Although the print be little, the whole matter


The trick ofs frown, his forehead, nay, the valley,


The pretty dimples of his chin and cheek,


The very mould and frame of hand, nail, finger:


And thou, good goddess Nature, which hast made it


So like to him that got it, if thou hast


The ordering of the mind too, mongst all colours


No yellow int, lest she suspect, as he does,


And, lozel, thou art worthy to be hangd,


That cannot do that feat, youll leave yourself


Not she which burns int. Ill not call you tyrant;


But this most cruel usage of your queen,


Than your own weak-hinged fancy, something savours


Out of the chamber with her! Were I a tyrant,


Where were her life? she durst not call me so,


I pray you, do not push me; Ill be gone.


A better guiding spirit! What needs these hands?


You, that are thus so tender oer his follies,


Thou, traitor, hast set on thy wife to this.


My child? away witht! Even thou, that hast


And see it instantly consumed with fire;


Even thou and none but thou. Take it up straight:


Within this hour bring me word tis done,


And by good testimony, or Ill seize thy life,


With what thou else callst thine. If thou refuse


And wilt encounter with my wrath, say so;


The bastard brains with these my proper hands


Shall I dash out. Go, take it to the fire;


These lords, my noble fellows, if they please,


Beseech your highness, give us better credit:


We have always truly served you, and beseech you


So to esteem of us, and on our knees we beg,


Past and to come, that you do change this purpose,


Which being so horrible, so bloody, must


Lead on to some foul issue: we all kneel.


I am a feather for each wind that blows:


Shall I live on to see this bastard kneel


Than curse it then. But be it; let it live.


It shall not neither. You, sir, come you hither;


You that have been so tenderly officious


To save this bastards life,--for tis a bastard,


And nobleness impose: at least thus much:


Ill pawn the little blood which I have left


To save the innocent: any thing possible.


It shall be possible. Swear by this sword


Mark and perform it, seest thou! for the fail


Death to thyself but to thy lewd-tongued wife,


Whom for this time we pardon. We enjoin thee,


As thou art liege-man to us, that thou carry


This female bastard hence and that thou bear it


To some remote and desert place quite out


Of our dominions, and that there thou leave it,


Without more mercy, to its own protection


And favour of the climate. As by strange fortune


It came to us, I do in justice charge thee,


On thy souls peril and thy bodys torture,


That thou commend it strangely to some place


Where chance may nurse or end it. Take it up.


I swear to do this, though a present death


Had been more merciful. Come on, poor babe:


Some powerful spirit instruct the kites and ravens


To be thy nurses! Wolves and bears, they say


Casting their savageness aside have done


Like offices of pity. Sir, be prosperous


In more than this deed does require! And blessing


From those you sent to the oracle are come


Being well arrived from Delphos, are both landed,


They have been absent: tis good speed; foretells


The truth of this appear. Prepare you, lords;


Our most disloyal lady, for, as she hath


Been publicly accused, so shall she have


My heart will be a burthen to me. Leave me,


The climates delicate, the air most sweet,


Fertile the isle, the temple much surpassing


For most it caught me, the celestial habits,


Methinks I so should term them, and the reverence


And the ear-deafening voice o the oracle,


Kin to Joves thunder, so surprised my sense.


Prove as successful to the queen,--O bet so!--


As it hath been to us rare, pleasant, speedy,


Turn all to the best! These proclamations,


Will clear or end the business: when the oracle,


Shall the contents discover, something rare


Even then will rush to knowledge. Go: fresh horses!


This sessions, to our great grief we pronounce,


Even pushes gainst our heart: the party tried


The daughter of a king, our wife, and one


Of us too much beloved. Let us be cleard


Proceed in justice, which shall have due course,


It is his highness pleasure that the queen


Appear in person here in court. Silence!


Enter HERMIONE guarded; PAULINA and Ladies attending


[Reads]            Hermione, queen to the worthy


Leontes, king of Sicilia, thou art here accused and


arraigned of high treason, in committing adultery


with Polixenes, king of Bohemia, and conspiring


with Camillo to take away the life of our sovereign


lord the king, thy royal husband: the pretence


whereof being by circumstances partly laid open,


thou, Hermione, contrary to the faith and allegiance


of a true subject, didst counsel and aid them, for


their better safety, to fly away by night.


But what comes from myself, it shall scarce boot me


Being counted falsehood, shall, as I express it,


Be so received. But thus: if powers divine


I doubt not then but innocence shall make


Tremble at patience. You, my lord, best know,


Who least will seem to do so, my past life


Hath been as continent, as chaste, as true,


Than history can pattern, though devised


And playd to take spectators. For behold me


A moiety of the throne a great kings daughter,


The mother to a hopeful prince, here standing


To prate and talk for life and honour fore


Who please to come and hear. For life, I prize it


As I weigh grief, which I would spare: for honour,


To your own conscience, sir, before Polixenes


Came to your court, how I was in your grace,


Have straind to appear thus: if one jot beyond


That way inclining, hardend be the hearts


Of all that hear me, and my nearst of kin


Through tis a saying, sir, not due to me.


Which comes to me in name of fault, I must not


With such a kind of love as might become


Which not to have done I think had been in me


To you and toward your friend, whose love had spoke,


Even since it could speak, from an infant, freely


I know not how it tastes; though it be dishd


And why he left your court, the gods themselves,


What you have undertaen to do ins absence.


You speak a language that I understand not:


My life stands in the level of your dreams,


And I but dreamd it. As you were past all shame,--


Those of your fact are so--so past all truth:


Which to deny concerns more than avails; for as


Thy brat hath been cast out, like to itself,


Shalt feel our justice, in whose easiest passage


The bug which you would fright me with I seek.


The crown and comfort of my life, your favour,


And first-fruits of my body, from his presence


I am barrd, like one infectious. My third comfort


Starrd most unluckily, is from my breast,


The innocent milk in its most innocent mouth,


Haled out to murder: myself on every post


Proclaimed a strumpet: with immodest hatred


The child-bed privilege denied, which longs


To women of all fashion; lastly, hurried


Here to this place, i the open air, before


I have got strength of limit. Now, my liege,


Tell me what blessings I have here alive,


That I should fear to die? Therefore proceed.


But yet hear this: mistake me not; no life,


I prize it not a straw, but for mine honour,


Which I would free, if I shall be condemnd


But what your jealousies awake, I tell you


Tis rigor and not law. Your honours all,


Is altogether just: therefore bring forth,


O that he were alive, and here beholding


His daughters trial! that he did but see


The flatness of my misery, yet with eyes


Re-enter Officers, with CLEOMENES and DION


You here shall swear upon this sword of justice,


Been both at Delphos, and from thence have brought


The seald-up oracle, by the hand deliverd


Of great Apollos priest; and that, since then,


You have not dared to break the holy seal


Polixenes blameless; Camillo a true subject; Leontes


a jealous tyrant; his innocent babe truly begotten;


and the king shall live without an heir, if that


The sessions shall proceed: this is mere falsehood.


The prince your son, with mere conceit and fear


Apollos angry; and the heavens themselves


This news is mortal to the queen: look down


Her heart is but oercharged; she will recover:


I have too much believed mine own suspicion:


Exeunt PAULINA and Ladies, with HERMIONE


My great profaneness gainst thine oracle!


New woo my queen, recall the good Camillo,


Whom I proclaim a man of truth, of mercy;


To bloody thoughts and to revenge, I chose


My friend Polixenes: which had been done,


But that the good mind of Camillo tardied


My swift command, though I with death and with


Not doing t and being done: he, most humane


And filld with honour, to my kingly guest


Unclaspd my practise, quit his fortunes here,


No richer than his honour: how he glisters


O, cut my lace, lest my heart, cracking it,


What studied torments, tyrant, hast for me?


What wheels? racks? fires? what flaying? boiling?


In leads or oils? what old or newer torture


Must I receive, whose every word deserves


Fancies too weak for boys, too green and idle


For girls of nine, O, think what they have done


And then run mad indeed, stark mad! for all


Thy by-gone fooleries were but spices of it.


That thou betraydst Polixenes,twas nothing;


That did but show thee, of a fool, inconstant


Thou wouldst have poisond good Camillos honour,


To have him kill a king: poor trespasses,


More monstrous standing by: whereof I reckon


The casting forth to crows thy baby-daughter


Would have shed water out of fire ere donet:


Nor ist directly laid to thee, the death


Of the young prince, whose honourable thoughts,


Thoughts high for one so tender, cleft the heart


That could conceive a gross and foolish sire


Blemishd his gracious dam: this is not, no,


Laid to thy answer: but the last,--O lords,


When I have said, cry woe! the queen, the queen,


I say shes dead; Ill sweart. If word nor oath


Prevail not, go and see: if you can bring


Heat outwardly or breath within, Ill serve you


As I would do the gods. But, O thou tyrant!


Do not repent these things, for they are heavier


Than all thy woes can stir; therefore betake thee


To nothing but despair. A thousand knees


Ten thousand years together, naked, fasting,


In storm perpetual, could not move the gods


Thou canst not speak too much; I have deserved


Howeer the business goes, you have made fault


All faults I make, when I shall come to know them,


I do repent. Alas! I have showd too much


To the noble heart. Whats gone and whats past help


Should be past grief: do not receive affliction


Of what you should forget. Now, good my liege


Sir, royal sir, forgive a foolish woman:


The love I bore your queen--lo, fool again!--


Ill speak of her no more, nor of your children;


Who is lost too: take your patience to you,


When most the truth; which I receive much better


Than to be pitied of thee. Prithee, bring me


One grave shall be for both: upon them shall


Our shame perpetual. Once a day Ill visit


The chapel where they lie, and tears shed there


Shall be my recreation: so long as nature


Will bear up with this exercise, so long


SCENE III. Bohemia. A desert country near the sea.


Enter ANTIGONUS with a Child, and a Mariner


Thou art perfect then, our ship hath touchd upon


We have landed in ill time: the skies look grimly


And threaten present blusters. In my conscience,


The heavens with that we have in hand are angry


Their sacred wills be done! Go, get aboard;


Look to thy bark: Ill not be long before


Too far i the land: tis like to be loud weather;


Besides, this place is famous for the creatures


May walk again: if such thing be, thy mother


Appeard to me last night, for neer was dream


So like a waking. To me comes a creature,


Sometimes her head on one side, some another;


So filld and so becoming: in pure white robes,


My cabin where I lay; thrice bowd before me,


And gasping to begin some speech, her eyes


Did this break-from her: Good Antigonus,


Since fate, against thy better disposition,


Hath made thy person for the thrower-out


Of my poor babe, according to thine oath,


There weep and leave it crying; and, for the babe


I prithee, callt. For this ungentle business


Put on thee by my lord, thou neer shalt see


Thy wife Paulina more. And so, with shrieks


I did in time collect myself and thought


This was so and no slumber. Dreams are toys:


Yet for this once, yea, superstitiously,


Apollo would, this being indeed the issue


Of King Polixenes, it should here be laid,


Either for life or death, upon the earth


Of its right father. Blossom, speed thee well!


There lie, and there thy character: there these;


Which may, if fortune please, both breed thee, pretty,


And still rest thine. The storm begins; poor wretch,


That for thy mothers fault art thus exposed


To loss and what may follow! Weep I cannot,


But my heart bleeds; and most accursed am I


To be by oath enjoind to this. Farewell!


The day frowns more and more: thourt like to have


The heavens so dim by day. A savage clamour!


Well may I get aboard! This is the chase:


I would there were no age between sixteen and


three-and-twenty, or that youth would sleep out the


rest; for there is nothing in the between but


getting wenches with child, wronging the ancientry,


stealing, fighting--Hark you now! Would any but


these boiled brains of nineteen and two-and-twenty


hunt this weather? They have scared away two of my


best sheep, which I fear the wolf will sooner find


than the master: if any where I have them, tis by


the seaside, browsing of ivy. Good luck, ant be thy


will what have we here! Mercy on s, a barne a very


pretty barne! A boy or a child, I wonder? A


pretty one; a very pretty one: sure, some scape:


waiting-gentlewoman in the scape. This has been


behind-door-work: they were warmer that got this


than the poor thing is here. Ill take it up for


pity: yet Ill tarry till my son come; he hallooed


What, art so near? If thoult see a thing to talk


on when thou art dead and rotten, come hither. What


I have seen two such sights, by sea and by land!


but I am not to say it is a sea, for it is now the


sky: betwixt the firmament and it you cannot thrust


I would you did but see how it chafes, how it rages,


how it takes up the shore! but thats not the


point. O, the most piteous cry of the poor souls!


sometimes to see em, and not to see em; now the


ship boring the moon with her main-mast, and anon


swallowed with yest and froth, as yould thrust a


land-service, to see how the bear tore out his


shoulder-bone; how he cried to me for help and said


his name was Antigonus, a nobleman. But to make an


end of the ship, to see how the sea flap-dragoned


it: but, first, how the poor souls roared, and the


sea mocked them; and how the poor gentleman roared


and the bear mocked him, both roaring louder than


Now, now: I have not winked since I saw these


sights: the men are not yet cold under water, nor


the bear half dined on the gentleman: hes at it


Would I had been by, to have helped the old man!


I would you had been by the ship side, to have


helped her: there your charity would have lacked footing.


Heavy matters! heavy matters! but look thee here,


boy. Now bless thyself: thou mettest with things


dying, I with things newborn. Heres a sight for


thee; look thee, a bearing-cloth for a squires


child! look thee here; take up, take up, boy;


opent. So, lets see: it was told me I should be


rich by the fairies. This is some changeling:


Youre a made old man: if the sins of your youth


are forgiven you, youre well to live. Gold! all gold!


This is fairy gold, boy, and twill prove so: up


witht, keep it close: home, home, the next way.


We are lucky, boy; and to be so still requires


nothing but secrecy. Let my sheep go: come, good


Go you the next way with your findings. Ill go see


if the bear be gone from the gentleman and how much


he hath eaten: they are never curst but when they


are hungry: if there be any of him left, Ill bury


Thats a good deed. If thou mayest discern by that


which is left of him what he is, fetch me to the


Marry, will I; and you shall help to put him i the ground.


Tis a lucky day, boy, and well do good deeds ont.


I, that please some, try all, both joy and terror


Of good and bad, that makes and unfolds error,


Oer sixteen years and leave the growth untried


Of that wide gap, since it is in my power


To oerthrow law and in one self-born hour


To plant and oerwhelm custom. Let me pass


The times that brought them in; so shall I do


To the freshest things now reigning and make stale


The glistering of this present, as my tale


Now seems to it. Your patience this allowing,


I turn my glass and give my scene such growing


As you had slept between: Leontes leaving,


The effects of his fond jealousies so grieving


I mentioned a son o the kings, which Florizel


I now name to you; and with speed so pace


Equal with wondering: what of her ensues


And what to her adheres, which follows after,


If ever you have spent time worse ere now;


If never, yet that Time himself doth say


SCENE II. Bohemia. The palace of POLIXENES.


I pray thee, good Camillo, be no more importunate:


tis a sickness denying thee any thing; a death to


It is fifteen years since I saw my country: though


I have for the most part been aired abroad, I


desire to lay my bones there. Besides, the penitent


king, my master, hath sent for me; to whose feeling


sorrows I might be some allay, or I oerween to


think so, which is another spur to my departure.


As thou lovest me, Camillo, wipe not out the rest of


thy services by leaving me now: the need I have of


thee thine own goodness hath made; better not to


have had thee than thus to want thee: thou, having


made me businesses which none without thee can


sufficiently manage, must either stay to execute


them thyself or take away with thee the very


services thou hast done; which if I have not enough


considered, as too much I cannot, to be more


thankful to thee shall be my study, and my profit


therein the heaping friendships. Of that fatal


country, Sicilia, prithee speak no more; whose very


naming punishes me with the remembrance of that


penitent, as thou callest him, and reconciled king,


my brother; whose loss of his most precious queen


and children are even now to be afresh lamented.


Say to me, when sawest thou the Prince Florizel, my


son? Kings are no less unhappy, their issue not


being gracious, than they are in losing them when


Sir, it is three days since I saw the prince. What


his happier affairs may be, are to me unknown: but I


have missingly noted, he is of late much retired


from court and is less frequent to his princely


exercises than formerly he hath appeared.


I have considered so much, Camillo, and with some


care; so far that I have eyes under my service which


look upon his removedness; from whom I have this


intelligence, that he is seldom from the house of a


most homely shepherd; a man, they say, that from


very nothing, and beyond the imagination of his


neighbours, is grown into an unspeakable estate.


I have heard, sir, of such a man, who hath a


daughter of most rare note: the report of her is


extended more than can be thought to begin from such a cottage.


Thats likewise part of my intelligence; but, I


fear, the angle that plucks our son thither. Thou


shalt accompany us to the place; where we will, not


appearing what we are, have some question with the


shepherd; from whose simplicity I think it not


uneasy to get the cause of my sons resort thither.


Prithee, be my present partner in this business, and


My best Camillo! We must disguise ourselves.


SCENE III. A road near the Shepherds cottage.


Why, then comes in the sweet o the year;


For the red blood reigns in the winters pale.


With heigh! the sweet birds, O, how they sing!


For a quart of ale is a dish for a king.


With heigh! with heigh! the thrush and the jay,


I have served Prince Florizel and in my time


wore three-pile; but now I am out of service:


My traffic is sheets; when the kite builds, look to


lesser linen. My father named me Autolycus; who


being, as I am, littered under Mercury, was likewise


a snapper-up of unconsidered trifles. With die and


drab I purchased this caparison, and my revenue is


the silly cheat. Gallows and knock are too powerful


on the highway: beating and hanging are terrors to


me: for the life to come, I sleep out the thought


Let me see: every leven wether tods; every tod


yields pound and odd shilling; fifteen hundred


I cannot dot without counters. Let me see; what am


I to buy for our sheep-shearing feast? Three pound


of sugar, five pound of currants, rice,--what will


this sister of mine do with rice? But my father


hath made her mistress of the feast, and she lays it


on. She hath made me four and twenty nose-gays for


the shearers, three-man-song-men all, and very good


ones; but they are most of them means and bases; but


one puritan amongst them, and he sings psalms to


horn-pipes. I must have saffron to colour the warden


pies; mace; dates?--none, thats out of my note;


nutmegs, seven; a race or two of ginger, but that I


may beg; four pound of prunes, and as many of


O, help me, help me! pluck but off these rags; and


Alack, poor soul! thou hast need of more rags to lay


O sir, the loathsomeness of them offends me more


than the stripes I have received, which are mighty


Alas, poor man! a million of beating may come to a


I am robbed, sir, and beaten; my money and apparel


taen from me, and these detestable things put upon


Indeed, he should be a footman by the garments he


has left with thee: if this be a horsemans coat,


it hath seen very hot service. Lend me thy hand,


O, good sir, softly, good sir! I fear, sir, my


Softly, dear sir; good sir, softly. You ha done me


Dost lack any money? I have a little money for thee.


No, good sweet sir; no, I beseech you, sir: I have


a kinsman not past three quarters of a mile hence,


unto whom I was going; I shall there have money, or


any thing I want: offer me no money, I pray you;


What manner of fellow was he that robbed you?


A fellow, sir, that I have known to go about with


troll-my-dames; I knew him once a servant of the


prince: I cannot tell, good sir, for which of his


virtues it was, but he was certainly whipped out of the court.


His vices, you would say; theres no virtue whipped


out of the court: they cherish it to make it stay


there; and yet it will no more but abide.


Vices, I would say, sir. I know this man well: he


process-server, a bailiff; then he compassed a


motion of the Prodigal Son, and married a tinkers


wife within a mile where my land and living lies;


and, having flown over many knavish professions, he


settled only in rogue: some call him Autolycus.


Out upon him! prig, for my life, prig: he haunts


Very true, sir; he, sir, he; thats the rogue that


Not a more cowardly rogue in all Bohemia: if you had


but looked big and spit at him, held have run.


I must confess to you, sir, I am no fighter: I am


false of heart that way; and that he knew, I warrant


Sweet sir, much better than I was; I can stand and


walk: I will even take my leave of you, and pace


Then fare thee well: I must go buy spices for our


Your purse is not hot enough to purchase your spice.


Ill be with you at your sheep-shearing too: if I


make not this cheat bring out another and the


shearers prove sheep, let me be unrolled and my name


These your unusual weeds to each part of you


Do give a life: no shepherdess, but Flora


Peering in Aprils front. This your sheep-shearing


To chide at your extremes it not becomes me:


O, pardon, that I name them! Your high self,


The gracious mark o the land, you have obscured


With a swains wearing, and me, poor lowly maid,


Most goddess-like prankd up: but that our feasts


In every mess have folly and the feeders


When my good falcon made her flight across


To me the difference forges dread; your greatness


Hath not been used to fear. Even now I tremble


Should pass this way as you did: O, the Fates!


How would he look, to see his work so noble


Vilely bound up? What would he say? Or how


Should I, in these my borrowd flaunts, behold


Nothing but jollity. The gods themselves,


Humbling their deities to love, have taken


Became a bull, and bellowd; the green Neptune


A ram, and bleated; and the fire-robed god,


Nor in a way so chaste, since my desires


Run not before mine honour, nor my lusts


Opposed, as it must be, by the power of the king:


With these forced thoughts, I prithee, darken not


The mirth o the feast. Or Ill be thine, my fair,


I be not thine. To this I am most constant,


Though destiny say no. Be merry, gentle;


Strangle such thoughts as these with any thing


That you behold the while. Your guests are coming:


Lift up your countenance, as it were the day


Address yourself to entertain them sprightly,


Enter Shepherd, Clown, MOPSA, DORCAS, and others, with POLIXENES and CAMILLO disguised


Fie, daughter! when my old wife lived, upon


This day she was both pantler, butler, cook,


Both dame and servant; welcomed all, served all;


Would sing her song and dance her turn; now here,


At upper end o the table, now i the middle;


On his shoulder, and his; her face o fire


With labour and the thing she took to quench it,


She would to each one sip. You are retired,


The hostess of the meeting: pray you, bid


These unknown friends tos welcome; for it is


A way to make us better friends, more known.


Come, quench your blushes and present yourself


That which you are, mistress o the feast: come on,


And bid us welcome to your sheep-shearing,


[To POLIXENES]                  Sir, welcome:


It is my fathers will I should take on me


Give me those flowers there, Dorcas. Reverend sirs,


For you theres rosemary and rue; these keep


A fair one are you--well you fit our ages


Not yet on summers death, nor on the birth


Are our carnations and streakd gillyvors,


Which some call natures bastards: of that kind


Our rustic gardens barren; and I care not


There is an art which in their piedness shares


But nature makes that mean: so, over that art


That nature makes. You see, sweet maid, we marry


Which does mend nature, change it rather, but


Then make your garden rich in gillyvors,


The dibble in earth to set one slip of them;


No more than were I painted I would wish


This youth should say twere well and only therefore


Desire to breed by me. Heres flowers for you;


The marigold, that goes to bed wi the sun


And with him rises weeping: these are flowers


Of middle summer, and I think they are given


To men of middle age. Youre very welcome.


I should leave grazing, were I of your flock,


I would I had some flowers o the spring that might


Become your time of day; and yours, and yours,


For the flowers now, that frighted thou letst fall


That come before the swallow dares, and take


The winds of March with beauty; violets dim,


The crown imperial; lilies of all kinds,


The flower-de-luce being one! O, these I lack,


To make you garlands of, and my sweet friend,


No, like a bank for love to lie and play on;


Not like a corse; or if, not to be buried,


But quick and in mine arms. Come, take your flowers:


In Whitsun pastorals: sure this robe of mine


Still betters what is done. When you speak, sweet.


Ild have you buy and sell so, so give alms,


Pray so; and, for the ordering your affairs,


To sing them too: when you do dance, I wish you


A wave o the sea, that you might ever do


And own no other function: each your doing,


Crowns what you are doing in the present deed,


Your praises are too large: but that your youth,


And the true blood which peepeth fairly throught,


Do plainly give you out an unstaind shepherd,


As little skill to fear as I have purpose


To put you tot. But come; our dance, I pray:


This is the prettiest low-born lass that ever


Ran on the green-sward: nothing she does or seems


But smacks of something greater than herself,


That makes her blood look out: good sooth, she is


Mopsa must be your mistress: marry, garlic,


Not a word, a word; we stand upon our manners.


Music. Here a dance of Shepherds and Shepherdesses


Pray, good shepherd, what fair swain is this


They call him Doricles; and boasts himself


He looks like sooth. He says he loves my daughter:


I think so too; for never gazed the moon