*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 45128 ***

TRANSCRIBER'S NOTE.

Original printed spelling and grammar are retained, with exceptions
noted in the Transcriber's Endnotes. Small caps are changed to all
capital letters. Italics _are indicated by low lines_. Numerals
originally printed as subscripts are shown inline e.g. "F1".




 THE WORKS
 OF
 WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE.




 [Illustration]




 THE WORKS
 OF
 WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE

 EDITED BY

 WILLIAM GEORGE CLARK, M.A.
 FELLOW AND TUTOR OF TRINITY COLLEGE, AND PUBLIC ORATOR IN THE
 UNIVERSITY OF CAMBRIDGE;

 AND WILLIAM ALDIS WRIGHT, M.A.
 LIBRARIAN OF TRINITY COLLEGE, CAMBRIDGE.

 _VOLUME II._

 Cambridge and London:
 MACMILLAN AND CO.
 1863.




 CAMBRIDGE:
 PRINTED BY C. J. CLAY, M.A.
 AT THE UNIVERSITY PRESS.




CONTENTS.


                                          PAGE

 THE Preface                               vii

 MUCH ADO ABOUT NOTHING                      3

 Notes to Much Ado About Nothing            89

 LOVE’S LABOUR’S LOST                       97

 Notes to Love’s Labour’s Lost             191

 A MIDSUMMER-NIGHT’S DREAM                 199

 Notes to A Midsummer-Night’s Dream        273

 THE MERCHANT OF VENICE                    279

 Notes to The Merchant of Venice           369

 AS YOU LIKE IT                            375

 Notes to As You Like It                   462




PREFACE.


The five plays contained in this volume are here printed in the order
in which they occur in the Folios.

1. MUCH ADO ABOUT NOTHING. The first edition of this play is a
Quarto, of which the title is as follows:

 Much adoe about | Nothing. | _As it hath been sundrie times
 publikely_ | acted by the right honourable, the Lord | Chamberlaine
 his seruants. | _Written by William Shakespeare._ | London | Printed
 by V. S. for Andrew Wise, and | William Aspley. | 1600.

The First Folio edition of this play was obviously printed from a
copy of the Quarto belonging to the library of the theatre, and
corrected for the purposes of the stage. Some stage directions of
interest occur first in the Folio, but as regards the text, where the
Folio differs from the Quarto it differs almost always for the worse.
The alterations are due however to accident not design.

‘Davenant’s version,’ to which reference is made in the notes, is his
play ‘The Law against Lovers.’


2. LOVE’S LABOUR’S LOST was published for the first time in Quarto,
with the following title:

 A | Pleasant | Conceited Comedie | called, | Loues labors lost. | As
 it was presented before her Highnes | this last Christmas. | Newly
 corrected and augmented | _By W. Shakespere._ | Imprinted at London
 by _W. W._ | for _Cutbert Burby_. | 1598.

The Folio edition is a reprint of this Quarto, differing only in its
being divided into Acts, and, as usual, inferior in accuracy. The
second Quarto (Q2) is reprinted from the First Folio.

It bears the following title:

 Loues Labours lost. | A wittie and | pleasant | comedie, | As it was
 Acted by his Maiesties Seruants at | _the_ Blacke-Friers _and the_
 Globe. | _Written_ | By William Shakespeare. | London, | Printed by
 W. S. for _John Smethwicke_, and are to be | sold at his Shop in
 Saint _Dunstones_ Church-yard vnder the Diall. | 1631.


3. A MIDSUMMER-NIGHT’S DREAM. Of this play also the first edition
is a Quarto, bearing the following title:

 A | Midsommer nights | dreame. | As it hath beene sundry times
 pub|_lickcly acted, by the Right honoura_|ble, the Lord Chamberlaine
 his | _seruants_. | _Written by William Shakespeare._ | Imprinted at
 London, for _Thomas Fisher_, and are to | be soulde at his shoppe,
 at the Signe of the White Hart, | in _Fleetestreete_. 1600.

The copy of this Quarto in the Capell collection was formerly in
the possession of Theobald, and bears this note in his handwriting:
“Collated with the other Old Quarto with the same Title, printed
by James Roberts in 1600, L. T.” The results of the collation are
recorded in the margin. We have called this Q1.

In the same year another edition appeared, also in Quarto, with this
title:

 A | Midsommer nights | dreame. | As it hath beene sundry times
 pub|_likely acted, by the Right Honoura_|ble, the Lord Chamberlaine
 his | _seruants_. | _Written by William Shakespeare._ | _Printed by
 Iames Roberts_, 1600.

On comparing these two Quartos we find that they correspond page
for page, though not line for line, except in the first five pages
of sheet G. The printer’s errors in Fisher’s edition are corrected
in that issued by Roberts, and from this circumstance, coupled with
the facts that in the Roberts Quarto the ‘Exits’ are more frequently
marked, and that it was not entered at Stationers’ Hall, as Fisher’s
edition was, we infer that the Roberts Quarto was a pirated reprint
of Fisher’s, probably for the use of the players. This may account
for its having been followed by the First Folio. Fisher’s edition,
though carelessly printed, contains on the whole the best readings,
and may have been taken from the author’s manuscript.

The First Folio edition was printed from Roberts’s Quarto, which we
have quoted as Q2.


4. THE MERCHANT OF VENICE. Two Quarto editions of this play were
published in the same year; (1) that generally known as the ‘Roberts
Quarto,’ our Q1, bearing the following title-page:

 The | excellent [History of the Mer|_chant of Venice._| With the
 extreme cruelty of _Shylocke_ | the Iew towards the saide Merchant,
 in cut|_ting a iust pound of his flesh. And the obtaining_ | of
 _Portia,_ by the choyse of | _three Caskets_.| Written by W.
 Shakespeare. | Printed by _J. Roberts_, 1600.

and (2) that known as the ‘Heyes Quarto,’ which we have called Q2,
whose title-page is as follows:

 The most excellent | Historie of the _Merchant_ | _of Venice_. |
 With the extreame crueltie of _Shylocke_ the Iewe | towards the sayd
 Merchant, in cutting a iust pound | of his flesh: and the obtayning
 of _Portia _| by the choyse of three | chests. | _As it hath beene
 diuers times acted by the Lord_ | _Chamberlaine his Servants_.|
 Written by William Shakespeare. At London, | Printed by I. R. for
 Thomas Heyes, | and are to be sold in Paules Church-yard, at the |
 signe of the Greene Dragon. | 1600. |

Different opinions have been entertained as to the respective
priority of these two editions. Johnson and Capell both speak of the
Heyes Quarto as the first. On the other hand, in the title-page of
the Roberts Quarto, now at Devonshire House, J. P. Kemble, to whom
the whole collection of Dramas belonged, has written ‘First edition.’
‘Collated and perfect, J. P. K. 1798.’ And on the opposite page
he has copied the following ‘entry on the Stationers’ Registers.’
‘July 22, 1598. (James Roberts) A booke of the Merchaunt of Venyse,
otherwise called the Jewe of Venyse. Provided that it be not printed
by the said James Roberts or any other whatsoever without leave first
had from the ryght honourable, the Lord Chamberlen—39. b.’ This
shows that he had examined the question. He possessed moreover a copy
of the Heyes Quarto, also collated by him and found perfect.

Mr Bolton Corney in _Notes and Queries_ (2nd ser. Vol. X. p. 21),
has shown that there is at least a strong probability in favour of
the precedence of the Roberts Quarto. We have therefore decided to
call the Roberts Quarto Q1, and the Heyes Q2.

In a critical point of view the question is of little or no
consequence. After a minute comparison of the two, we have come
to the conclusion that neither was printed from the other. We are
indebted sometimes to one and sometimes to the other for the true
reading, where it is very improbable that the printer should have
hit upon the correction. For example, Act II. Sc. 8, line 39, the
Roberts Quarto, sig. E. 1. recto, has ‘Slubber not business...’ while
the Heyes Quarto, sig. D. 4. recto, has ‘Slumber....’ On the other
hand, Act III. Sc. 1, line 6, the Heyes Quarto, sig. F. 2. recto,
has ‘gossip report,’ the true reading, while the Roberts Quarto,
sig. F. 2. verso, has ‘gossips report.’ Other instances might be
brought to prove that neither edition is printed from the other. But
there is reason to think that they were printed from the same MS.
Their agreement in spelling and punctuation and in manifest errors
is too close to admit of any other hypothesis. We incline to believe
that this common MS. was a transcript made from the author’s. It is
certain, for instance, that the MS. had ‘veiling an Indian beauty’
(Act III. Sc. 2, line 99), and it is equally certain that ‘beauty’
was not the word Shakespeare meant. Other examples of common errors
derived from the MS. will be found in our footnotes, and our readers
may investigate the question for themselves.

Q1 seems to have been printed by a more accurate printer or
‘overseen’ by a more accurate corrector than Q2, and therefore
_cœteris paribus_ we have preferred the authority of Q1.

The First Folio text is a reprint of the Heyes Quarto, which had
doubtless belonged to the theatre library, and, as in other cases,
had had some stage directions inserted.

The third Quarto, Q3, is also reprinted from Q2. It was published
with the following title-page:

 The most excellent | Historie of the Merchant | of Venice. | With
 the extreame crueltie of _Shylocke_ | the Iewe towards the said
 Merchant, in | cutting a just pound of his flesh: and the obtaining
 of PORTIA by the choice | _of three Chests_. | As it hath beene
 divers times acted by the | _Lord Chamberlaine his Servants_. |
 Written by William Shakespeare. | London, | Printed by _M.P._ for
 _Laurence Hayes_, and are to be sold | at his Shop on Fleetbridge.
 1637.

The so-called Fourth Quarto differs from Q3 only in having a new
title-page. We might have suppressed ‘Q4’ altogether, but having
made the collation we allow the record to stand. The title-page of
Q4 is as follows:

 The most excellent | Historie | of the | Merchant of Venice: | With
 the extreame cruelty of _Shylocke_ | the _Jew_ towards the said
 Merchant, in cutting a | just pound of his flesh; and the obtaining
 | of _Portia_ by the choyce of three Chests. | As it hath beene
 diverse times acted by the | _Lord Chamberlaine his Servants_. |
 Written by William Shakespeare. | London: | Printed for _William
 Leake_, and are to be solde at his shop at the | signe of the Crown
 in _Fleetstreet_, between the two | Temple Gates. 1652.

The ‘Lansdowne version,’ which we have quoted in the notes, is the
adaptation of _The Merchant of Venice_, published by Lord Lansdowne
in 1701 under the title of _The Jew of Venice_.


5. AS YOU LIKE IT was printed for the first time in the First
Folio; at least if any previous edition was ever published, no copy
of it is known to be extant. This alone, of all the plays contained
in the present volume, is divided into scenes in the Folio. In this
play an unusual number of certain and probable emendations are due to
the Second Folio.

The ‘De Quincey (or ‘Quincy’) MS.’ is an annotated copy of the Fourth
Folio, quoted by Mr Grant White and Mr Halliwell.

In addition to those mentioned in the preface to the first volume,
to whom we beg here to repeat our acknowledgments, we have to
thank the Countess of Ellesmere and the Duke of Devonshire for the
liberality with which they have thrown open to us the treasures of
their libraries. We have to thank the Duke of Devonshire also for
the interest which he has taken in our work and the help he has been
kind enough to render in person. And on the same score we owe a debt
of gratitude to Dr Kingsley, Mr Howard Staunton, Mr H. J. Roby, and
Professor Craik, whose excellent volume _The English of Shakespeare_
is too well known to need any commendation from us.

One act of kindness deserves an especial record. Dr Leo of Berlin,
who had himself prepared an edition of _Coriolanus_, was meditating a
complete edition of Shakespeare on the plan we have adopted, but gave
up the scheme when he found we had anticipated him. Reading in the
preface to our first volume an expression of regret that there was no
index to Mr Sidney Walker’s _Shakespeare Criticisms_, Dr Leo copied
out and sent us an index which he had made for his own use. It has
been of the greatest service to us, and we here beg to thank him most
cordially for his generous aid.

 W. G. C.
 W. A. W.

Mr Glover’s removal from Cambridge having compelled him to relinquish
his part as Editor, Mr Wright, who was already engaged on the
Glossary, has taken his place. This arrangement will, it is hoped,
continue to the end.

 W. G. C.




MUCH ADO ABOUT NOTHING.




DRAMATIS PERSONÆ[1].


 DON PEDRO, prince of Arragon.
 DON JOHN, his bastard brother.
 CLAUDIO, a young lord of Florence.
 BENEDICK, a young lord of Padua.
 LEONATO, governor of Messina.
 ANTONIO, his brother.
 BALTHASAR, attendant on Don Pedro.
 CONRADE,  follower of Don John.
 BORACHIO,    ”         ”   ”
 FRIAR FRANCIS.
 DOGBERRY, a constable.
 VERGES, a headborough.
 A Sexton.
 A Boy.

 HERO, daughter to Leonato[2].
 BEATRICE, niece to Leonato.
 MARGARET, gentlewoman attending on Hero.
 URSULA,        ”          ”         ”

 Messengers, Watch, Attendants, &c.

SCENE—_Messina._


~~~~~
 Footnotes:

 1: DRAMATIS PERSONÆ.] First given by Rowe.

 2: See note (I).
~~~~~




MUCH ADO ABOUT NOTHING.




ACT I.


SCENE I. _Before_ LEONATO’S _house_.

 _Enter_ LEONATO, HERO, _and_ BEATRICE, _with a_ Messenger.

_Leon._ I learn in this letter that Don Peter of Arragon
comes this night to Messina.

_Mess._ He is very near by this: he was not three leagues
off when I left him.

_Leon._ How many gentlemen have you lost in this action?             5

_Mess._ But few of any sort, and none of name.

_Leon._ A victory is twice itself when the achiever brings
home full numbers. I find here that Don Peter hath bestowed
much honour on a young Florentine called Claudio.

_Mess._ Much deserved on his part, and equally remembered           10
by Don Pedro: he hath borne himself beyond the
promise of his age; doing, in the figure of a lamb, the feats
of a lion: he hath indeed better bettered expectation than
you must expect of me to tell you how.

_Leon._ He hath an uncle here in Messina will be very               15
much glad of it.

_Mess._ I have already delivered him letters, and there
appears much joy in him; even so much, that joy could not
show itself modest enough without a badge of bitterness.

_Leon._ Did he break out into tears?                                20

_Mess._ In great measure.

_Leon._ A kind overflow of kindness: there are no faces
truer than those that are so washed. How much better is
it to weep at joy than to joy at weeping!

_Beat._ I pray you, is Signior Mountanto returned from              25
the wars or no?

_Mess._ I know none of that name, lady: there was none
such in the army of any sort.

_Leon._ What is he that you ask for, niece?

_Hero._ My cousin means Signior Benedick of Padua.                  30

_Mess._ O, he’s returned; and as pleasant as ever he was.

_Beat._ He set up his bills here in Messina and challenged
Cupid at the flight; and my uncle’s fool, reading the challenge,
subscribed for Cupid, and challenged him at the
bird-bolt. I pray you, how many hath he killed and eaten            35
in these wars? But how many hath he killed? for, indeed,
I promised to eat all of his killing.

_Leon._ Faith, niece, you tax Signior Benedick too much;
but he’ll be meet with you, I doubt it not.

_Mess._ He hath done good service, lady, in these wars.             40

_Beat._ You had musty victual, and he hath help to eat
it: he is a very valiant trencher-man; he hath an excellent
stomach.

_Mess._ And a good soldier too, lady.

_Beat._ And a good soldier to a lady: but what is he to             45
a lord?

_Mess._ A lord to a lord, a man to a man; stuffed with
all honourable virtues.

_Beat._ It is so, indeed; he is no less than a stuffed
man: but for the stuffing,—well, we are all mortal.                 50

_Leon._ You must not, sir, mistake my niece. There is a
kind of merry war betwixt Signior Benedick and her: they
never meet but there’s a skirmish of wit between them.

_Beat._ Alas, he gets nothing by that! In our last conflict
four of his five wits went halting off, and now is the              55
whole man governed with one: so that if he have wit enough
to keep himself warm, let him bear it for a difference between
himself and his horse; for it is all the wealth that he hath
left, to be known a reasonable creature. Who is his companion
now? He hath every month a new sworn brother.                       60

_Mess._ Is’t possible?

_Beat._ Very easily possible: he wears his faith but as the
fashion of his hat; it ever changes with the next block.

_Mess._ I see, lady, the gentleman is not in your books.

_Beat._ No; an he were, I would burn my study. But,                 65
pray you, who is his companion? Is there no young squarer
now that will make a voyage with him to the devil?

_Mess._ He is most in the company of the right noble
Claudio.

_Beat._ O Lord, he will hang upon him like a disease:               70
he is sooner caught than the pestilence, and the taker runs
presently mad. God help the noble Claudio! if he have
caught the Benedick, it will cost him a thousand pound ere
a’ be cured.

_Mess._ I will hold friends with you, lady.                         75

_Beat._ Do, good friend.

_Leon._ You will never run mad, niece.

_Beat._ No, not till a hot January.

_Mess._ Don Pedro is approached.

 _Enter_ DON PEDRO, DON JOHN, CLAUDIO, BENEDICK, _and_
 BALTHASAR.

_D. Pedro._ Good Signior Leonato, you are come to meet              80
your trouble: the fashion of the world is to avoid cost, and
you encounter it.

_Leon._ Never came trouble to my house in the likeness
of your Grace: for trouble being gone, comfort should
remain; but when you depart from me, sorrow abides, and             85
happiness takes his leave.

_D. Pedro._ You embrace your charge too willingly. I
think this is your daughter.

_Leon._ Her mother hath many times told me so.

_Bene._ Were you in doubt, sir, that you asked her?                 90

_Leon._ Signior Benedick, no; for then were you a child.

_D. Pedro._ You have it full, Benedick: we may guess
by this what you are, being a man. Truly, the lady fathers
herself. Be happy, lady; for you are like an honourable
father.                                                             95

_Bene._ If Signior Leonato be her father, she would not
have his head on her shoulders for all Messina, as like him
as she is.

_Beat._ I wonder that you will still be talking, Signior
Benedick: nobody marks you.                                        100

_Bene._ What, my dear Lady Disdain! are you yet living?

_Beat._ Is it possible disdain should die while she hath
such meet food to feed it, as Signior Benedick? Courtesy
itself must convert to disdain, if you come in her presence.

_Bene._ Then is courtesy a turncoat. But it is certain I           105
am loved of all ladies, only you excepted: and I would I
could find in my heart that I had not a hard heart; for,
truly, I love none.

_Beat._ A dear happiness to women: they would else have
been troubled with a pernicious suitor. I thank God and            110
my cold blood, I am of your humour for that: I had rather
hear my dog bark at a crow than a man swear he loves me.

_Bene._ God keep your ladyship still in that mind! so some
gentleman or other shall ’scape a predestinate scratched face.

_Beat._ Scratching could not make it worse, an ’twere such         115
a face as yours were.

_Bene._ Well, you are a rare parrot-teacher.

_Beat._ A bird of my tongue is better than a beast of yours.

_Bene._ I would my horse had the speed of your tongue,
and so good a continuer. But keep your way, i’ God’s               120
name; I have done.

_Beat._ You always end with a jade’s trick: I know you
of old.

_D. Pedro._ That is the sum of all, Leonato. Signior
Claudio and Signior Benedick, my dear friend Leonato               125
hath invited you all. I tell him we shall stay here at the
least a month; and he heartily prays some occasion may
detain us longer. I dare swear he is no hypocrite, but
prays from his heart.

_Leon._ If you swear, my lord, you shall not be forsworn.          130
[_To Don John_] Let me bid you welcome, my lord: being
reconciled to the prince your brother, I owe you all duty.

_D. John._ I thank you: I am not of many words, but
I thank you.

_Leon._ Please it your Grace lead on?                              135

_D. Pedro._ Your hand, Leonato; we will go together.

 [_Exeunt all except Benedick and Claudio._

_Claud._ Benedick, didst thou note the daughter of
Signior Leonato?

_Bene._ I noted her not; but I looked on her.

_Claud._ Is she not a modest young lady?                           140

_Bene._ Do you question me, as an honest man should do,
for my simple true judgement; or would you have me speak
after my custom, as being a professed tyrant to their sex?

_Claud._ No; I pray thee speak in sober judgement.

_Bene._ Why, i’faith, methinks she’s too low for a high           145
praise, too brown for a fair praise, and too little for a great
praise: only this commendation I can afford her, that were
she other than she is, she were unhandsome; and being no
other but as she is, I do not like her.

_Claud._ Thou thinkest I am in sport: I pray thee tell             150
me truly how thou likest her.

_Bene._ Would you buy her, that you inquire after her?

_Claud._ Can the world buy such a jewel?

_Bene._ Yea, and a case to put it into. But speak you this
with a sad brow? or do you play the flouting Jack, to tell us      155
Cupid is a good hare-finder, and Vulcan a rare carpenter?
Come, in what key shall a man take you, to go in the song?

_Claud._ In mine eye she is the sweetest lady that ever
I looked on.

_Bene._ I can see yet without spectacles, and I see no             160
such matter: there’s her cousin, an she were not possessed
with a fury, exceeds her as much in beauty as the first of
May doth the last of December. But I hope you have no
intent to turn husband, have you?

_Claud._ I would scarce trust myself, though I had sworn           165
the contrary, if Hero would be my wife.

_Bene._ Is’t come to this? In faith, hath not the world
one man but he will wear his cap with suspicion? Shall I
never see a bachelor of threescore again? Go to, i’faith;
an thou wilt needs thrust thy neck into a yoke, wear the           170
print of it, and sigh away Sundays. Look; Don Pedro is
returned to seek you.

 _Re-enter_ DON PEDRO.

_D. Pedro._ What secret hath held you here, that you
followed not to Leonato’s?

_Bene._ I would your Grace would constrain me to tell.             175

_D. Pedro._ I charge thee on thy allegiance.

_Bene._ You hear, Count Claudio: I can be secret as a
dumb man; I would have you think so; but, on my allegiance,
mark you this, on my allegiance.  He is in love.
With who? now that is your Grace’s part. Mark how                  180
short his answer is;—With Hero, Leonato’s short daughter.

_Claud._ If this were so, so were it uttered.

_Bene._ Like the old tale, my lord: ‘it is not so, nor
’twas not so, but, indeed, God forbid it should be so.’

_Claud._ If my passion change not shortly, God forbid it           185
should be otherwise.

_D. Pedro._ Amen, if you love her; for the lady is very
well worthy.

_Claud._ You speak this to fetch me in, my lord.

_D. Pedro._ By my troth, I speak my thought.                       190

_Claud._ And, in faith, my lord, I spoke mine.

_Bene._ And, by my two faiths and troths, my lord, I
spoke mine.

_Claud._ That I love her, I feel.

_D. Pedro._ That she is worthy, I know.                            195

_Bene._ That I neither feel how she should be loved, nor
know how she should be worthy, is the opinion that fire
cannot melt out of me: I will die in it at the stake.

_D. Pedro._ Thou wast ever an obstinate heretic in the
despite of beauty.                                                 200

_Claud._ And never could maintain his part but in the
force of his will.

_Bene._ That a woman conceived me, I thank her; that
she brought me up, I likewise give her most humble thanks:
but that I will have a recheat winded in my forehead, or           205
hang my bugle in an invisible baldrick, all women shall pardon
me. Because I will not do them the wrong to mistrust
any, I will do myself the right to trust none; and the fine
is, for the which I may go the finer, I will live a bachelor.

_D. Pedro._ I shall see thee, ere I die, look pale with love.      210

_Bene._ With anger, with sickness, or with hunger, my
lord; not with love: prove that ever I lose more blood with
love than I will get again with drinking, pick out mine eyes
with a ballad-maker’s pen, and hang me up at the door of
a brothel-house for the sign of blind Cupid.                       215

_D. Pedro._ Well, if ever thou dost fall from this faith,
thou wilt prove a notable argument.

_Bene._ If I do, hang me in a bottle like a cat, and shoot
at me; and he that hits me, let him be clapped on the
shoulder, and called Adam.                                         220

_D. Pedro._ Well, as time shall try:
‘In time the savage bull doth bear the yoke.’

_Bene._ The savage bull may; but if ever the sensible
Benedick bear it, pluck off the bull’s horns, and set them
in my forehead: and let me be vilely painted; and in such          225
great letters as they write ‘Here is good horse to hire,’ let
them signify under my sign ‘Here you may see Benedick
the married man.’

_Claud._ If this should ever happen, thou wouldst be
horn-mad.                                                          230

_D. Pedro._ Nay, if Cupid have not spent all his quiver
in Venice, thou wilt quake for this shortly.

_Bene._ I look for an earthquake too, then.

_D. Pedro._ Well, you will temporize with the hours. In
the meantime, good Signior Benedick, repair to Leonato’s:          235
commend me to him, and tell him I will not fail him at
supper; for indeed he hath made great preparation.

_Bene._ I have almost matter enough in me for such an
embassage; and so I commit you—

_Claud._ To the tuition of God: From my house, if I                240
had it,—

_D. Pedro._ The sixth of July: Your loving friend, Benedick.

_Bene._ Nay, mock not, mock not. The body of your discourse
is sometime guarded with fragments, and the guards                 245
are but slightly basted on neither: ere you flout old ends
any further, examine your conscience: and so I leave you.

 [_Exit._

_Claud._ My liege, your highness now may do me good.

_D. Pedro._ My love is thine to teach: teach it but how,
And thou shalt see how apt it is to learn                          250
Any hard lesson that may do thee good.

_Claud._ Hath Leonato any son, my lord?

_D. Pedro._ No child but Hero; she’s his only heir.
Dost thou affect her, Claudio?

_Claud._                       O, my lord,
When you went onward on this ended action,                         255
I look’d upon her with a soldier’s eye,
That liked, but had a rougher task in hand
Than to drive liking to the name of love:
But now I am return’d and that war-thoughts
Have left their places vacant, in their rooms                      260
Come thronging soft and delicate desires,
All prompting me how fair young Hero is,
Saying, I liked her ere I went to wars.

_D. Pedro._ Thou wilt be like a lover presently,
And tire the hearer with a book of words.                          265
If thou dost love fair Hero, cherish it;
And I will break with her and with her father,
And thou shalt have her. Was’t not to this end
That thou began’st to twist so fine a story?

_Claud._ How sweetly you do minister to love,                      270
That know love’s grief by his complexion!
But lest my liking might too sudden seem,
I would have salved it with a longer treatise.

_D. Pedro._ What need the bridge much broader than the flood?
The fairest grant is the necessity.                                275
Look, what will serve is fit: ’tis once, thou lovest,
And I will fit thee with the remedy.
I know we shall have revelling to-night:
I will assume thy part in some disguise,
And tell fair Hero I am Claudio;                                   280
And in her bosom I’ll unclasp my heart,
And take her hearing prisoner with the force
And strong encounter of my amorous tale:
Then after to her father will I break;
And the conclusion is, she shall be thine.                         285
In practice let us put it presently.       [_Exeunt._


~~~~~
 Linenotes: _Much Ado About Nothing_, I, 1.

 SCENE I. Before L.’s house] Capell. A court before L.’s house. Pope.

 Enter...] See note (I).

 1, 8: _Peter_] Q Ff. _Pedro_ Rowe.

 8: _numbers_] _number_ F4.

 35: _bird-bolt_] Theobald. _but-bolt_ Id. conj. _burbolt_ Q Ff.

 37: _promised_] _promise_ F4.

 39: _be_] om. F3 F4.

     _meet_] _met_ Capell.

 40: _these_] Q F1. _those_ F2 F3 F4.

 41: Beat.] Mes. F2.

     _victual_] Capell. _vittaile_ Q. _victuall_ F1 F2 F3.
     _victuals_ F4.

     _eat_] F3 F4. _eate_ Q F2. _ease_ F1.

 42: _he is_] Q. _he’s_ Ff.

 50: _stuffing,—well,_] Theobald (Davenant’s version). _stuffing
 well,_ Q Ff.

 57: _warm_] _from harm_ Warburton.

 58: _wealth_] _wearth_ Hanmer.

 65, 161, 170 and passim. _an_] Theobald. _and_ Q Ff. _if_ Pope.

 73: _Benedick_] _Benedict_ Q F1.

 74: _a’_] _a_ Q1. _he_ F1. _it_ F2 F3 F4.

 77: _never_] Q. _ne’re_ Ff.

 79: Enter ... Don John] Enter ... John the Bastard. Q Ff.

 80: SCENE II. Pope.

 80, 81: _you are...trouble:_] Ff. _are you...trouble:_ Q. _are
 you...trouble?_ Collier.

 87: _too_] Q F1. _more_ F2 F3 F4. _most_ Rowe.

 90: _sir_] Q. om. Ff.

 92: _we_] _you_ Rowe (ed. 2).

 110: _pernicious_] _pertinacious_ Grey conj.

 116: _were_] om. Collier MS.

 120: _i’_] Capell. _a_ Q Ff. _o’_ Warburton.

 124: _That...all, Leonato._] _That...all: Leonato,_ Q. _This...all:
 Leonato,_ Ff. _This...all: Don John,_ Hanmer. See note (II).

 126: _tell him_] Q F1 F2. _tell you_ F3 F4.

 131, 132: Q Ff place a comma after _lord_ and a colon or semicolon
 after _brother_.

 136: [Exeunt...] Exeunt. Manent ... Q. [Exeunt. Manet... Ff.

 137: SCENE III. Pope.

 143: _their_] _her_ Capell conj.

 144: _pray thee_] Q F1 _prethee_ F2 F3 F4.

 145: _a high_] _a hie_ Q F1 F2. _an high_ F3 F4.

 154: _into_] _in too_ Hanmer.

 158, 159: _ever I_] _I ever_ Pope.

 162: _with a_] _with such a_ Rowe (ed. 2).

 167: _this? In faith_] Q Ff. _this, in faith?_ Pope.

 172: Re-enter Don Pedro.] Hanmer. Enter Don Pedro, John the bastard.
 Q Ff.

 173: SCENE IV. Pope.

 174: _Leonato’s_] Rowe (ed. 2). _Leonatoes_ Q F1 F2. _Leonato_ F3
 F4. _Leonato’s house_ Pope.

 177: _can_] _cannot_ F4.

 180: _With who?_] Q F1. _With whom?_ F2 F3 F4.

 181: _his_] _the_ Collier MS.

 182, 183: Claud. _If ... were it._ Bene. _Uttered like the old tale
 ..._ Johnson conj. See note (III).

 193: _spoke_] Q. _speake_ F1 F2. _speak_ F3 F4.

 205: _recheat_] _rechate_ Q Ff.

 219: _hits_] _first hits_ Collier MS.

 248: SCENE V. Pope.

 249: _to teach_] _to use_ S. Walker conj.

 267: _I will_] _I’ll_ Pope.

 267, 268: _and with her father, And thou shalt have her_] Q. Omitted
 in Ff. restored by Theobald.

 269: _story_] _string_ Lettsom conj.

 270: _you do_] Q. _do you_ Ff.

 275: _grant_] _plea_ Hanmer. _ground_ Collier MS.

     _grant is_] _garant’s_ Anon. conj.

     _is_] Q F1 F2. _in_ F3 F4.

     _the] to_ Hayley conj.

 282: _the_] _a_ F4.

 286: _presently_] _instantly_ Capell conj. MS.
~~~~~


SCENE II. _A room in_ LEONATO’S _house_.

 _Enter_ LEONATO _and_ ANTONIO, _meeting_.

_Leon._ How now, brother! Where is my cousin, your
son? hath he provided this music?

_Ant._ He is very busy about it. But, brother, I can tell
you strange news, that you yet dreamt not of.

_Leon._ Are they good?                                               5

_Ant._ As the event stamps them: but they have a good
cover; they show well outward. The prince and Count
Claudio, walking in a thick-pleached alley in mine orchard,
were thus much overheard by a man of mine: the prince
discovered to Claudio that he loved my niece your daughter,         10
and meant to acknowledge it this night in a dance;
and if he found her accordant, he meant to take the present
time by the top, and instantly break with you of it.

_Leon._ Hath the fellow any wit that told you this?

_Ant._ A good sharp fellow: I will send for him; and                15
question him yourself.

_Leon._ No, no; we will hold it as a dream till it appear
itself: but I will acquaint my daughter withal, that she may
be the better prepared for an answer, if peradventure this be
true. Go you and tell her of it. [_Enter attendants._] Cousins,     20
you know what you have to do. O, I cry you mercy,
friend; go you with me, and I will use your skill. Good
cousin, have a care this busy time.      [_Exeunt._


~~~~~
 Linenotes: _Much Ado About Nothing_, I, 2.

 SCENE II.] Capell.

 A room in L.’s house] Capell. See note (IV).

 Enter...] Enter L. and an old man brother to L. Q Ff. Re-enter A.
 and L. Pope.

 4: _strange_] Q. om. Ff.

 6: _event_] F2 F3 F4 _events_ Q F1.

 8: _mine orchard_] Q. _my orchard_ Ff.

 9: _thus much_] Q. _thus_ Ff.

 12: _he meant_] Q F1 F2 F3. _meant_ F4.

 18: _withal_] Theobald. _withall_ Q F1 F2. _with all_ F3 F4.

 19: _an_]Q F1. om. F2 F3 F4.

 20: Enter attendants] Edd. Several cross the stage here. Theobald.
 Enter several persons, bearing things for the Banquet. Capell.

 23: _cousin_] _cousins_ Steevens.
~~~~~


SCENE III. _The same._

 _Enter_ DON JOHN _and_ CONRADE.

_Con._ What the good-year, my lord! why are you thus
out of measure sad?

_D. John._ There is no measure in the occasion that
breeds; therefore the sadness is without limit.

_Con._ You should hear reason.                                       5

_D. John._ And when I have heard it, what blessing
brings it?

_Con._ If not a present remedy, at least a patient sufferance.

_D. John._ I wonder that thou, being (as thou sayest thou
art) born under Saturn, goest about to apply a moral medicine       10
to a mortifying mischief. I cannot hide what I am: I
must be sad when I have cause, and smile at no man’s jests;
eat when I have stomach, and wait for no man’s leisure;
sleep when I am drowsy, and tend on no man’s business;
laugh when I am merry, and claw no man in his humour.               15

_Con._ Yea, but you must not make the full show of this
till you may do it without controlment. You have of late
stood out against your brother, and he hath ta’en you newly
into his grace; where it is impossible you should take true
root but by the fair weather that you make yourself: it is          20
needful that you frame the season for your own harvest.

_D. John._ I had rather be a canker in a hedge than a rose
in his grace; and it better fits my blood to be disdained of
all than to fashion a carriage to rob love from any: in this,
though I cannot be said to be a flattering honest man, it           25
must not be denied but I am a plain-dealing villain. I am
trusted with a muzzle, and enfranchised with a clog; therefore
I have decreed not to sing in my cage. If I had my
mouth, I would bite; if I had my liberty, I would do my
liking: in the meantime let me be that I am, and seek not           30
to alter me.

_Con._ Can you make no use of your discontent?

_D. John._ I make all use of it, for I use it only.
Who comes here?

 _Enter_ BORACHIO.

What news, Borachio?                                                35

_Bora._ I came yonder from a great supper: the prince
your brother is royally entertained by Leonato; and I can
give you intelligence of an intended marriage.

_D. John._ Will it serve for any model to build mischief
on? What is he for a fool that betroths himself to unquietness?     40

_Bora._ Marry, it is your brother’s right hand.

_D. John._ Who? the most exquisite Claudio?

_Bora._ Even he.

_D. John._ A proper squire! And who, and who? which                 45
way looks he?

_Bora._ Marry, on Hero, the daughter and heir of Leonato.

_D. John._ A very forward March-chick! How came you
to this?

_Bora._ Being entertained for a perfumer, as I was                  50
smoking a musty room, comes me the prince and Claudio,
hand in hand, in sad conference: I whipt me behind the
arras; and there heard it agreed upon, that the prince
should woo Hero for himself, and having obtained her, give
her to Count Claudio.                                               55

_D. John._ Come, come, let us thither: this may prove food
to my displeasure. That young start-up hath all the glory
of my overthrow: if I can cross him any way, I bless myself
every way. You are both sure, and will assist me?

_Con._ To the death, my lord.                                       60

_D. John._ Let us to the great supper: their cheer is the
greater that I am subdued. Would the cook were of my
mind! Shall we go prove what’s to be done?

_Bora._ We’ll wait upon your lordship.      [_Exeunt._


~~~~~
 Linenotes: _Much Ado About Nothing_, I. 3.

 SCENE III.] Capell. SCENE VI. Pope.

 1: _good-year_] _good-yeere_ Q. _good yeere_ F1 F2. _good year_
 F3 F4. _good-jer_ Theobald. _goujeres_ Hanmer. _goujere_ Steevens.

 4: _breeds_] _breeds it._ Theobald.

 7: _brings_] Q. _bringeth_ Ff.

 8: _at least_] Q. _yet_ Ff.

 10: _moral_] _morall_ Q F1. _mortall_ F2 F3 F4.

 16: _the full_] _full_ S. Walker conj. who would print
 lines 16–21 as verses, ending _this...controlement ...
 brother...grace...root...yourself...season...harvest._

 17: _of late_] _till of late_ Collier MS.

 19: _true_] Q. om. Ff.

 23: _in his grace_] _by his grace_ Johnson conj. _in his garden_ Id.
 conj. (withdrawn).

 27: _muzzle_] _mussell_ Q F1 F2 F3. _muzzel_ F4.

 33: _I make_] Q. _I will make_ Ff.

 36: _came_] _come_ Capell conj.

 47: _on_] Ff. _one_ Q.

 48: _came_] Q F1. _come_ F2 F3 F4.

 49: _to this?_] _to know this?_ Johnson.

 52: _whipt me_] Q. _whipt_ Ff.

 59: _me?_] Ff. _me._ Q.
~~~~~




ACT II.


SCENE I. _A hall in_ LEONATO’S _house_.

 _Enter_ LEONATO, ANTONIO, HERO, BEATRICE, _and others_.

_Leon._ Was not Count John here at supper?

_Ant._ I saw him not.

_Beat._ How tartly that gentleman looks! I never can
see him but I am heart-burned an hour after.

_Hero._ He is of a very melancholy disposition.                      5

_Beat._ He were an excellent man that were made just
in the midway between him and Benedick: the one is too
like an image and says nothing, and the other too like my
lady’s eldest son, evermore tattling.

_Leon._ Then half Signior Benedick’s tongue in Count                10
John’s mouth, and half Count John’s melancholy in Signior
Benedick’s face,—

_Beat._ With a good leg and a good foot, uncle, and
money enough in his purse, such a man would win any
woman in the world, if a’ could get her good-will.                  15

_Leon._ By my troth, niece, thou wilt never get thee a
husband, if thou be so shrewd of thy tongue.

_Ant._ In faith, she’s too curst.

_Beat._ Too curst is more than curst: I shall lessen God’s
sending that way; for it is said, ‘God sends a curst cow            20
short horns;’ but to a cow too curst he sends none.

_Leon._ So, by being too curst, God will send you no horns.

_Beat._ Just, if he send me no husband; for the which
blessing I am at him upon my knees every morning and
evening. Lord, I could not endure a husband with a beard            25
on his face: I had rather lie in the woollen.

_Leon._ You may light on a husband that hath no beard.

_Beat._ What should I do with him? dress him in my
apparel, and make him my waiting-gentlewoman? He that
hath a beard is more than a youth; and he that hath no              30
beard is less than a man: and he that is more than a youth
is not for me; and he that is less than a man, I am not for
him: therefore I will even take sixpence in earnest of the
bear-ward, and lead his apes into hell.

_Leon._ Well, then, go you into hell?                               35

_Beat._ No, but to the gate; and there will the devil meet
me, like an old cuckold, with horns on his head, and say
‘Get you to heaven, Beatrice, get you to heaven; here’s no
place for you maids:’ so deliver I up my apes, and away
to Saint Peter for the heavens; he shows me where the               40
bachelors sit, and there live we as merry as the day is long.

_Ant._ [_To Hero_] Well, niece, I trust you will be ruled
by your father.

_Beat._ Yes, faith; it is my cousin’s duty to make courtesy,
and say, ‘Father, as it please you.’ But yet for all                45
that, cousin, let him be a handsome fellow, or else make
another courtesy, and say, ‘Father, as it please me.’

_Leon._ Well, niece, I hope to see you one day fitted with
a husband.

_Beat._ Not till God make men of some other metal than              50
earth. Would it not grieve a woman to be overmastered
with a piece of valiant dust? to make an account of her life
to a clod of wayward marl? No, uncle, I’ll none: Adam’s
sons are my brethren; and, truly, I hold it a sin to match
in my kindred.                                                      55

_Leon._ Daughter, remember what I told you: if the
prince do solicit you in that kind, you know your answer.

_Beat._ The fault will be in the music, cousin, if you be
not wooed in good time: if the prince be too important, tell
him there is measure in every thing, and so dance out the           60
answer. For, hear me, Hero: wooing, wedding, and repenting,
is as a Scotch jig, a measure, and a cinque pace:
the first suit is hot and hasty, like a Scotch jig, and full as
fantastical; the wedding, mannerly-modest, as a measure,
full of state and ancientry; and then comes repentance, and,        65
with his bad legs, falls into the cinque pace faster and
faster, till he sink into his grave.

_Leon._ Cousin, you apprehend passing shrewdly.

_Beat._ I have a good eye, uncle; I can see a church by
daylight.                                                           70

_Leon._ The revellers are entering, brother: make good
room.                        [_All put on their masks._

 _Enter_ DON PEDRO, CLAUDIO, BENEDICK, BALTHASAR, DON JOHN,
 BORACHIO, MARGARET, URSULA, _and others, masked_.

_D. Pedro._ Lady, will you walk about with your friend?

_Hero._ So you walk softly, and look sweetly, and say
nothing, I am yours for the walk; and especially when I             75
walk away.

_D. Pedro._ With me in your company?

_Hero._ I may say so, when I please.

_D. Pedro._ And when please you to say so?

_Hero._ When I like your favour; for God defend the                 80
lute should be like the case!

_D. Pedro._ My visor is Philemon’s roof; within the house
is Jove.

_Hero._ Why, then, your visor should be thatched.

_D. Pedro._ Speak low, if you speak love.                           85

 [_Drawing her aside._

_Balth._ Well, I would you did like me.

_Marg._ So would not I, for your own sake; for I have
many ill qualities.

_Balth._ Which is one?

_Marg._ I say my prayers aloud.                                     90

_Balth._ I love you the better: the hearers may cry, Amen.

_Marg._ God match me with a good dancer!

_Balth._ Amen.

_Marg._ And God keep him out of my sight when the
dance is done! Answer, clerk.                                       95

_Balth._ No more words: the clerk is answered.

_Urs._ I know you well enough; you are Signior Antonio.

_Ant._ At a word, I am not.

_Urs._ I know you by the waggling of your head.

_Ant._ To tell you true, I counterfeit him.                        100

_Urs._ You could never do him so ill-well; unless you
were the very man. Here’s his dry hand up and down:
you are he, you are he.

_Ant._ At a word, I am not.

_Urs._ Come, come, do you think I do not know you by               105
your excellent wit? can virtue hide itself? Go to, mum,
you are he: graces will appear, and there’s an end.

_Beat._ Will you not tell me who told you so?

_Bene._ No, you shall pardon me.

_Beat._ Nor will you not tell me who you are?                      110

_Bene._ Not now.

_Beat._ That I was disdainful, and that I had my good
wit out of the ‘Hundred Merry Tales’:—well, this was
Signior Benedick that said so.

_Bene._ What’s he?                                                 115

_Beat._ I am sure you know him well enough.

_Bene._ Not I, believe me.

_Beat._ Did he never make you laugh?

_Bene._ I pray you, what is he?

_Beat._ Why, he is the prince’s jester: a very dull fool;          120
only his gift is in devising impossible slanders: none but
libertines delight in him; and the commendation is not in
his wit, but in his villany; for he both pleases men and
angers them, and then they laugh at him and beat him. I
am sure he is in the fleet: I would he had boarded me.             125

_Bene._ When I know the gentleman, I’ll tell him what
you say.

_Beat._ Do, do: he’ll but break a comparison or two on
me; which, peradventure not marked or not laughed at,
strikes him into melancholy; and then there’s a partridge          130
wing saved, for the fool will eat no supper that night.
[_Music._] We must follow the leaders.

_Bene._ In every good thing.

_Beat._ Nay, if they lead to any ill, I will leave them at
the next turning.                                                  135

 [_Dance. Then exeunt all except Don John, Borachio, and Claudio._

_D. John._ Sure my brother is amorous on Hero, and
hath withdrawn her father to break with him about it. The
ladies follow her, and but one visor remains.

_Bora._ And that is Claudio: I know him by his bearing.

_D. John._ Are not you Signior Benedick?                           140

_Claud._ You know me well; I am he.

_D. John._ Signior, you are very near my brother in his
love: he is enamoured on Hero; I pray you, dissuade him
from her: she is no equal for his birth: you may do the
part of an honest man in it.                                       145

_Claud._ How know you he loves her?

_D. John._ I heard him swear his affection.

_Bora._ So did I too; and he swore he would marry her
to-night.

_D. John._ Come, let us to the banquet.                            150

 [_Exeunt Don John and Borachio._

_Claud._ Thus answer I in name of Benedick,
But hear these ill news with the ears of Claudio.
’Tis certain so; the prince wooes for himself.
Friendship is constant in all other things
Save in the office and affairs of love:                            155
Therefore all hearts in love use their own tongues;
Let every eye negotiate for itself,
And trust no agent; for beauty is a witch,
Against whose charms faith melteth into blood.
This is an accident of hourly proof,                               160
Which I mistrusted not. Farewell, therefore, Hero!

 _Re-enter_ BENEDICK.

_Bene._ Count Claudio?

_Claud._ Yea, the same.

_Bene._ Come, will you go with me?

_Claud._ Whither?                                                  165

_Bene._ Even to the next willow, about your own business,
county. What fashion will you wear the garland of? about
your neck, like an usurer’s chain? or under your arm, like
a lieutenant’s scarf? You must wear it one way, for the
prince hath got your Hero.                                         170

_Claud._ I wish him joy of her.

_Bene._ Why, that’s spoken like an honest drovier: so
they sell bullocks. But did you think the prince would
have served you thus?

_Claud._ I pray you, leave me.                                     175

_Bene._ Ho! now you strike like the blind man: ’twas
the boy that stole your meat, and you’ll beat the post.

_Claud._ If it will not be, I’ll leave you.      [_Exit._

_Bene._ Alas, poor hurt fowl! now will he creep into
sedges. But, that my Lady Beatrice should know me, and             180
not know me! The prince’s fool! Ha? It may be I go
under that title because I am merry. Yea, but so I am
apt to do myself wrong; I am not so reputed: it is the base,
though bitter, disposition of Beatrice that puts the world
into her person, and so gives me out. Well, I’ll be revenged       185
as I may.

 _Re-enter_ DON PEDRO.

_D. Pedro._ Now, signior, where’s the count? did you
see him?

_Bene._ Troth, my lord, I have played the part of Lady
Fame. I found him here as melancholy as a lodge in a               190
warren: I told him, and I think I told him true, that your
grace had got the good will of this young lady; and I offered
him my company to a willow-tree, either to make him a garland,
as being forsaken, or to bind him up a rod, as being
worthy to be whipped.                                              195

_D. Pedro._ To be whipped! What’s his fault?

_Bene._ The flat transgression of a school-boy, who,
being overjoyed with finding a birds’ nest, shows it his
companion, and he steals it.

_D. Pedro._ Wilt thou make a trust a transgression?                200
The transgression is in the stealer.

_Bene._ Yet it had not been amiss the rod had been
made, and the garland too; for the garland he might have
worn himself, and the rod he might have bestowed on you,
who, as I take it, have stolen his birds’ nest.                    205

_D. Pedro._ I will but teach them to sing, and restore
them to the owner.

_Bene._ If their singing answer your saying, by my
faith, you say honestly.

_D. Pedro._ The Lady Beatrice hath a quarrel to you:               210
the gentleman that danced with her told her she is much
wronged by you.

_Bene._ O, she misused me past the endurance of a
block! an oak but with one green leaf on it would have
answered her; my very visor began to assume life and               215
scold with her. She told me, not thinking I had been
myself, that I was the prince’s jester, that I was duller
than a great thaw; huddling jest upon jest, with such impossible
conveyance, upon me, that I stood like a man at
a mark, with a whole army shooting at me. She speaks               220
poniards, and every word stabs: if her breath were as terrible
as her terminations, there were no living near her;
she would infect to the north star. I would not marry
her, though she were endowed with all that Adam had
left him before he transgressed: she would have made               225
Hercules have turned spit, yea, and have cleft his club to
make the fire too. Come, talk not of her: you shall find
her the infernal Ate in good apparel. I would to God
some scholar would conjure her; for certainly, while she is
here, a man may live as quiet in hell as in a sanctuary;           230
and people sin upon purpose, because they would go
thither; so, indeed, all disquiet, horror, and perturbation
follows her.

_D. Pedro._ Look, here she comes.

 _Enter_ CLAUDIO, BEATRICE, HERO, _and_ LEONATO.

_Bene._ Will your grace command me any service to the              235
world’s end? I will go on the slightest errand now to the
Antipodes that you can devise to send me on; I will fetch
you a toothpicker now from the furthest inch of Asia;
bring you the length of Prester John’s foot; fetch you a
hair off the great Cham’s beard; do you any embassage to           240
the Pigmies; rather than hold three words’ conference
with this harpy. You have no employment for me?

_D. Pedro._ None, but to desire your good company.

_Bene._ O God, sir, here’s a dish I love not: I cannot
endure my Lady Tongue.                   [_Exit._                  245

_D. Pedro._ Come, lady, come; you have lost the heart
of Signior Benedick.

_Beat._ Indeed, my lord, he lent it me awhile; and I
gave him use for it, a double heart for his single one:
marry, once before he won it of me with false dice, therefore      250
your Grace may well say I have lost it.

_D. Pedro._ You have put him down, lady, you have
put him down.

_Beat._ So I would not he should do me, my lord, lest I
should prove the mother of fools. I have brought Count             255
Claudio, whom you sent me to seek.

_D. Pedro._ Why, how now, count! wherefore are you
sad?

_Claud._ Not sad, my lord.

_D. Pedro._ How then? sick?                                        260

_Claud._ Neither, my lord.

_Beat._ The count is neither sad, nor sick, nor merry,
nor well; but civil count, civil as an orange, and something
of that jealous complexion.

_D. Pedro._ I’ faith, lady, I think your blazon to be true;        265
though, I’ll be sworn, if he be so, his conceit is false.
Here, Claudio, I have wooed in thy name, and fair Hero
is won: I have broke with her father, and his good will
obtained: name the day of marriage, and God give thee
joy!                                                               270

_Leon._ Count, take of me my daughter, and with her
my fortunes: his Grace hath made the match, and all
grace say Amen to it.

_Beat._ Speak, count, ’tis your cue.

_Claud._ Silence is the perfectest herald of joy: I were           275
but little happy, if I could say how much. Lady, as you
are mine, I am yours: I give away myself for you, and
dote upon the exchange.
_Beat._ Speak, cousin; or, if you cannot, stop his mouth
with a kiss, and let not him speak neither.                        280

_D. Pedro._ In faith, lady, you have a merry heart.

_Beat._ Yea, my lord; I thank it, poor fool, it keeps on
the windy side of care. My cousin tells him in his ear
that he is in her heart.

_Claud._ And so she doth, cousin.                                  285

_Beat._ Good Lord, for alliance! Thus goes every one
to the world but I, and I am sun-burnt; I may sit in a
corner, and cry heigh-ho for a husband!

_D. Pedro._ Lady Beatrice, I will get you one.

_Beat._ I would rather have one of your father’s getting.          290
Hath your Grace ne’er a brother like you? Your father
got excellent husbands, if a maid could come by them.

_D. Pedro._ Will you have me, lady?

_Beat._ No, my lord, unless I might have another for
working-days: your Grace is too costly to wear every day.          295
But, I beseech your Grace, pardon me: I was born to
speak all mirth and no matter.

_D. Pedro._ Your silence most offends me, and to be
merry best becomes you; for, out of question, you were
born in a merry hour.                                              300

_Beat._ No, sure, my lord, my mother cried; but then
there was a star danced, and under that was I born.
Cousins, God give you joy!

_Leon._ Niece, will you look to those things I told
you of?                                                            305

_Beat._ I cry you mercy, uncle. By your Grace’s
pardon.                [_Exit._

_D. Pedro._ By my troth, a pleasant-spirited lady.

_Leon._ There’s little of the melancholy element in her,
my lord: she is never sad but when she sleeps; and not             310
ever sad then; for I have heard my daughter say, she hath
often dreamed of unhappiness, and waked herself with
laughing.

_D. Pedro._ She cannot endure to hear tell of a husband.

_Leon._ O, by no means: she mocks all her wooers out               315
of suit.

_D. Pedro._ She were an excellent wife for Benedick.

_Leon._ O Lord, my lord, if they were but a week married,
they would talk themselves mad.

_D. Pedro._ County Claudio, when mean you to go to                 320
church?

_Claud._ To-morrow, my lord: time goes on crutches
till love have all his rites.

_Leon._ Not till Monday, my dear son, which is hence a
just seven-night; and a time too brief, too, to have all           325
things answer my mind.

_D. Pedro._ Come, you shake the head at so long a
breathing: but, I warrant thee, Claudio, the time shall not
go dully by us. I will, in the interim, undertake one of
Hercules’ labours; which is, to bring Signior Benedick and         330
the Lady Beatrice into a mountain of affection the one
with the other. I would fain have it a match; and I doubt
not but to fashion it, if you three will but minister such
assistance as I shall give you direction.

_Leon._ My lord, I am for you, though it cost me ten               335
nights’ watchings.

_Claud._ And I, my lord.

_D. Pedro._ And you too, gentle Hero?

_Hero._ I will do any modest office, my lord, to help
my cousin to a good husband.                                       340

_D. Pedro._ And Benedick is not the unhopefullest husband
that I know. Thus far can I praise him; he is of a
noble strain, of approved valour, and confirmed honesty.
I will teach you how to humour your cousin, that she shall
fall in love with Benedick; and I, with your two helps,            345
will so practise on Benedick, that, in despite of his quick
wit and his queasy stomach, he shall fall in love with
Beatrice. If we can do this, Cupid is no longer an archer:
his glory shall be ours, for we are the only love-gods. Go
in with me, and I will tell you my drift.      [_Exeunt._          350


~~~~~
 Linenotes: _Much Ado About Nothing_, II. 1.

 ACT II. See note (V).

 SCENE I. A hall...] Theobald. L.’s House. Pope. See note (VI).

 Enter...] Enter L., his brother, his wife, Hero his daughter and
 Beatrice his niece and a kinsman. Q Ff. (and kinsman F3 F4). See
 note (I).

 15: _a’_] Collier. _a_ Q. _he_ Ff.

 26: _the woollen_] _woollen_ Rowe (ed. 2).

 27: _on_] Q. _upon_ Ff.

 34: _bear-ward_] Collier. _Berrord_ Q F1 F2. _Bearherd_ F3 F4.

 35: _hell?_] Hanmer. _hell._ Q Ff. _hell,_—Theobald.

 35–41: Put in the margin as spurious by Warburton.

 37: _horns_] _his horns_ F4.

 40: _Peter for the heavens;_] Pope. _Peter: for the heavens,_ Q Ff.
 _Peter. for the heavens!_ Staunton.

 44, 47: _courtesy_] _cursie_ Q. _curtsie_ Ff.

 45: _Father_] Q. om. Ff.

 47: _please_] Q F1. _pleases_ F2 F3 F4.

 52: _an account_] Q. _account_ Ff.

 53: _wayward_] _cold wayward_ F3 F4.

 54: _my_] om. F3 F4.

 59: _important_] _importunate_ Rowe (ed. 2).

 61: _hear_] _here_ Q.

 62: _as_] om. Rowe.

 65: _ancientry_] _aunchentry_ Q F1 F2. _anchentry_ F3 F4.

 67: _sink_] _sincke_ Q. _sinkes_ F1 F2. _sinks_ F3 F4. _sink
 apace_ Collier MS. See note (V).

 72: All...masks] L. and his company mask. Capell.

 73: SCENE II. Pope.

     Enter...masked.] Enter Prince, Pedro, Claudio, and Benedicke,
     and Balthasar, or dumb John. Q. Enter...John, Maskers with a
     drum. Ff.

 82–85: Printed as two verses by Grant White.

 83: _Jove_] Q. _Love_ F1. _love_ F2 F3 F4.

 84, 85: Hero..._thatch’d_. D. Pedro..._love_] Hero..._thatch’d.
 Speak...speak, Jove._ Anon. conj.

 85: D. Pedro] Marg. Heath conj. [Drawing her aside] Capell.

 86, 89, 91: These lines are given to Benedick in Q Ff. Theobald
 gives them to Balthasar.

 87: Marg.] Mas. F4. See note (VIII.)

 90: Marg.] Mask. F4.

 91: [Turning off in quest of another. Capell.

 96: [Parting different ways. Capell.

 101: _ill-well_] Theobald. _ill well_ Q Ff. _ill Will_ Rowe. _ill,
 well_ Pope.

 106: _mum,_] _mumme,_ Q Ff. _mummer,_ Anon. conj.

 107: [Mixing with the company. Capell.

 110: _not tell_] Q F1. _tell_ F2 F3 F4.

 116: Beat.] om. F2.

 121: _impossible_] _impassible_ Warburton.

 123: _pleases_] Q. _pleaseth_ Ff.

 131: [Music] Musick within. Theobald. [Musick begins: Dance forming.
 Capell.

 135: [Dance......Claudio] Dance. Exeunt. Q. [Exeunt. Musicke for the
 dance. Ff. [Exeunt. Manent Don. J., B. and C. Warburton. [Dance: and
 exeunt D. Ped. and Leo. conversing...Capell.

 136: SCENE III. Pope.

 146: _you_] _ye_ Theobald.

 152: _these_] _this_ F3 F4.

 156: _their_] _your_ Hanmer.

 158: _for_] om. Pope.

 161: _therefore_] _then_ Pope.

 167: _county_] Q. _Count_ Ff.

     _of_] Q F4. _off_ F1 F2 F3.

 168: _an_] _a_ F4.

 172: _drovier_] Q Ff. _drover_ Rowe (ed. 2)

 176: _Ho! now_] _Ho now_ Q F1. _Ho no!_ F2 F3. _No no!_ F4.

 179: _fowl_] _foule_ Q. _fowle_ F1. _soule_ F2. _soul_ F3 F4.

 181: _Ha?_] F2 F3 F4. _hah,_ Q. _Hah?_ F1.

 182: _Yea_] Q F1. _you_ F2. _yet_ F3 F4.

 182, 3: _so...wrong;_] _so; (but...wrong)_ Capell.

 183: _base,_] _bare_ Anon. conj.

 184: _though bitter_] _the bitter_ Steevens (Johnson conj.). _tough,
 bitter_ Jackson conj. _through-bitter_ Anon. conj.

     _world_] _word_ F3 F4.

 187: SCENE IV. Pope.

     Re-enter Don Pedro.] Enter the Prince. Ff. Enter the Prince,
     Hero, Leonato, John and Borachio, and Conrade. Q.

 191: _I told_] Q. _told_ Ff.

 192: _good_] Q. om. Ff.

     _this_] _his_ S. Walker conj.

 194: _up_] Q. om. Ff.

 198, 205: _birds’_] _birds_ Q Ff. _bird’s_ Rowe (ed. 2).

 214: _but with_] _with but_ Capell conj.

 217: _that_] Q. _and that_ Ff.

 218: _impossible_] _impassable_ Theobald (Warburton). See note
 (IX). _impetuous_ Hanmer. _importable_ Johnson conj. _imposeable_
 Becket conj. _unportable _ Collier MS. _impitiable_ Jackson.

 222: _her terminations_] Q. _terminations_ Ff. _her minations_ S.
 Walker conj.

 223: _to the north_] _the north_ Warburton conj.

 225: _left_] _lent_ Collier MS.

 228: _the infernal_] _in the infernal_ F3 F4.

 233: _follows_] _follow_ Pope.

 235: SCENE V. Pope.

 240: _off_] _of_ Collier. See note (X).

 242: _You have_] _Have you_ Collier MS.

 245: _my Lady Tongue._] Q. _this_ _Lady Tongue_ F1. _this lady’s
 tongue_ F2 F3 F4.

 249: _his_] Q. _a_ Ff.

 263: _civil count_] _civil, count_ Theobald.

 264: _that jealous_] Q. _a jealous_ Ff. _as jealous a_ Collier MS.

 266: _I’ll_] Q F1. _I_ F2 F3 F4.

 268, 269: _and his...obtained:_] Pope. _and his...obtained,_ Q Ff.
 _and, his...obtained,_ Collier.

 284: _her_] Q. _my_ Ff.

 287: _to_] _through_ Jackson conj.

     _world_] _wood_ Johnson conj.

 288: _heigh-ho for a husband!_] See note (XI).

 299: _of_] Ff. _a_ Q. _o’_ Edd. conj.

 302: _was I_] Q F1 F2. _I was_ F3 F4.

 308: SCENE VI. Pope.

     _pleasant-spirited_] Theobald. _pleasant spirited_ Q Ff.

 311: _ever_] _even_ Anon. conj.

 312: _unhappiness_] _an happiness_ Theobald.

 320: _County_] _Countie_ Q. _Counte_ F1. _Count_ F2 F3 F4.

 326: _my_] Q. om. Ff. _our_ Collier MS.

 331: _mountain_] _mooting_ Johnson conj.

     _mountain of affection_] _mounting affection of_ Becket conj.

 331, 332: _the...the_] _th’...th’_ Q Ff.

 333: _but_] om. Pope.

 350: _in_] om. F3 F4.
~~~~~


SCENE II. _The same._

 _Enter_ DON JOHN _and_ BORACHIO.

_D. John._ It is so; the Count Claudio shall marry the
daughter of Leonato.

_Bora._ Yea, my lord; but I can cross it.

_D. John._ Any bar, any cross, any impediment will be
medicinable to me: I am sick in displeasure to him; and              5
whatsoever comes athwart his affection ranges evenly with
mine. How canst thou cross this marriage?

_Bora._ Not honestly, my lord; but so covertly that no
dishonesty shall appear in me.

_D. John._ Show me briefly how.                                     10

_Bora._ I think I told your lordship, a year since, how
much I am in the favour of Margaret, the waiting gentlewoman
to Hero.

_D. John._ I remember.

_Bora._ I can, at any unseasonable instant of the night,            15
appoint her to look out at her lady’s chamber window.

_D. John._ What life is in that, to be the death of this
marriage?

_Bora._ The poison of that lies in you to temper. Go you
to the prince your brother; spare not to tell him that he           20
hath wronged his honour in marrying the renowned Claudio
—whose estimation do you mightily hold up—to a contaminated
stale, such a one as Hero.

_D. John._ What proof shall I make of that?

_Bora._ Proof enough to misuse the prince, to vex Claudio,          25
to undo Hero, and kill Leonato. Look you for any
other issue?

_D. John._ Only to despite them, I will endeavour any
thing.

_Bora._ Go, then; find me a meet hour to draw Don Pedro             30
and the Count Claudio alone: tell them that you know that
Hero loves me; intend a kind of zeal both to the prince and
Claudio, as,—in love of your brother’s honour, who hath
made this match, and his friend’s reputation, who is thus
like to be cozened with the semblance of a maid,—that you           35
have discovered thus. They will scarcely believe this without
trial: offer them instances; which shall bear no less likelihood
than to see me at her chamber-window; hear me call
Margaret, Hero; hear Margaret term me Claudio; and
bring them to see this the very night before the intended           40
wedding,—for in the meantime I will so fashion the matter
that Hero shall be absent,—and there shall appear such
seeming truth of Hero’s disloyalty, that jealousy shall be
called assurance and all the preparation overthrown.

_D. John._ Grow this to what adverse issue it can, I will           45
put it in practice. Be cunning in the working this, and thy
fee is a thousand ducats.

_Bora._ Be you constant in the accusation, and my cunning
shall not shame me.

_D. John._ I will presently go learn their day of marriage.         50

 [_Exeunt._


~~~~~
 Linenotes: _Much Ado About Nothing_, II. 2.

 SCENE II.] SCENE VII. Pope.

 The same] Edd. Scene changes. Pope. Scene changes to another
 apartment in L.’s house. Theobald.

 30: _Don_] Q. _on_ Ff.

 33: _in love_] Q. _in a love_ Ff.

 33–35: _as,—in...maid,—that_] Capell, _(as in...match)...maid,
 that_ Q Ff.

 36: _scarcely_] _hardly_ Rowe.

 39: _Claudio_] _Borachio_ Pope, ed. 2 (Theobald). See note (XII).

 41: _so_] om. F3 F4.

 43: _truth_] Q. _truths_ Ff. _proofs_ Collier MS.

     _Hero’s_] _her_ Capell.

 48: _you_] Q, Capell. _thou_ Ff.
~~~~~


SCENE III. LEONATO’S _orchard_.

 _Enter_ BENEDICK.

_Bene._ Boy!

 _Enter_ Boy.

_Boy._ Signior?

_Bene._ In my chamber-window lies a book: bring it
hither to me in the orchard.

_Boy._ I am here already, sir.                                       5

_Bene._ I know that; but I would have thee hence, and
here again. [_Exit Boy._] I do much wonder that one man,
seeing how much another man is a fool when he dedicates
his behaviours to love, will, after he hath laughed at such
shallow follies in others, become the argument of his own           10
scorn by falling in love: and such a man is Claudio. I have
known when there was no music with him but the drum and
the fife; and now had he rather hear the tabor and the pipe:
I have known when he would have walked ten mile a-foot
to see a good armour; and now will he lie ten nights awake,         15
carving the fashion of a new doublet. He was wont to speak
plain and to the purpose, like an honest man and a soldier;
and now is he turned orthography; his words are a very
fantastical banquet,—just so many strange dishes. May I
be so converted, and see with these eyes? I cannot tell; I          20
think not: I will not be sworn but love may transform me
to an oyster; but I’ll take my oath on it, till he have made
an oyster of me, he shall never make me such a fool. One
woman is fair, yet I am well; another is wise, yet I am
well; another virtuous, yet I am well: but till all graces          25
be in one woman, one woman shall not come in my grace.
Rich she shall be, that’s certain; wise, or I’ll none; virtuous,
or I’ll never cheapen her; fair, or I’ll never look on
her; mild, or come not near me; noble, or not I for an
angel; of good discourse, an excellent musician, and her            30
hair shall be of what colour it please God. Ha! the prince
and Monsieur Love! I will hide me in the arbour.

 [_Withdraws._

 _Enter_ DON PEDRO, CLAUDIO, _and_ LEONATO.

_D. Pedro._ Come, shall we hear this music?

_Claud._ Yea, my good lord. How still the evening is,
As hush’d on purpose to grace harmony!                              35

_D. Pedro._ See you where Benedick hath hid himself?

_Claud._ O, very well, my lord: the music ended,
We’ll fit the kid-fox with a pennyworth.

 _Enter_ BALTHASAR _with Music_.

_D. Pedro._ Come, Balthasar, we’ll hear that song again.

_Balth._ O, good my lord, tax not so bad a voice                    40
To slander music any more than once.

_D. Pedro._ It is the witness still of excellency
To put a strange face on his own perfection.
I pray thee, sing, and let me woo no more.

_Balth._ Because you talk of wooing, I will sing;                   45
Since many a wooer doth commence his suit
To her he thinks not worthy, yet he wooes,
Yet will he swear he loves.

_D. Pedro._                 Nay, pray thee, come;
Or, if thou wilt hold longer argument,
Do it in notes.

_Balth._        Note this before my notes;                          50
There’s not a note of mine that’s worth the noting.

_D. Pedro._ Why, these are very crotchets that he speaks;
Note, notes, forsooth, and nothing.        [_Air._

_Bene._ Now, divine air! now is his soul ravished! Is it
not strange that sheeps’ guts should hale souls out of men’s        55
bodies? Well, a horn for my money, when all’s done.

The Song.

_Balth._ Sigh no more, ladies, sigh no more,
  Men were deceivers ever,
One foot in sea and one on shore,
  To one thing constant never:                                      60
Then sigh not so, but let them go,
  And be you blithe and bonny,
Converting all your sounds of woe
  Into Hey nonny, nonny.

Sing no more ditties, sing no moe,                                  65
  Of dumps so dull and heavy;
The fraud of men was ever so,
  Since summer first was leavy:
    Then sigh not so, &c.

_D. Pedro._ By my troth, a good song.                               70

_Balth._ And an ill singer, my lord.

_D. Pedro._ Ha, no, no, faith; thou singest well enough
for a shift.

_Bene._ An he had been a dog that should have howled
thus, they would have hanged him: and I pray God his                75
bad voice bode no mischief. I had as lief have heard the
night-raven, come what plague could have come after it.

_D. Pedro._ Yea, marry, dost thou hear, Balthasar? I
pray thee, get us some excellent music; for to-morrow night
we would have it at the Lady Hero’s chamber-window.                 80

_Balth._ The best I can, my lord.

_D. Pedro._ Do so: farewell. [_Exit Balthasar_.] Come
hither, Leonato. What was it you told me of to-day,
that your niece Beatrice was in love with Signior
Benedick?                                                           85

_Claud._ O, ay: stalk on, stalk on; the fowl sits. I did
never think that lady would have loved any man.

_Leon._ No, nor I neither; but most wonderful that she
should so dote on Signior Benedick, whom she hath in all
outward behaviours seemed ever to abhor.                            90

_Bene._ Is’t possible? Sits the wind in that corner?

_Leon._ By my troth, my lord, I cannot tell what to
think of it, but that she loves him with an enraged affection;
it is past the infinite of thought.

_D. Pedro._ May be she doth but counterfeit.                        95

_Claud._ Faith, like enough.

_Leon._ O God, counterfeit! There was never counterfeit
of passion came so near the life of passion as she discovers it.

_D. Pedro._ Why, what effects of passion shows she?

_Claud._ Bait the hook well; this fish will bite.                  100

_Leon._ What effects, my lord? She will sit you, you
heard my daughter tell you how.

_Claud._ She did, indeed.

_D. Pedro._ How, how, I pray you? You amaze me: I
would have thought her spirit had been invincible against          105
all assaults of affection.

_Leon._ I would have sworn it had, my lord; especially
against Benedick.

_Bene._ I should think this a gull, but that the white-bearded
fellow speaks it: knavery cannot, sure, hide himself               110
in such reverence.

_Claud._ He hath ta’en the infection: hold it up.

_D. Pedro._ Hath she made her affection known to
Benedick?

_Leon._ No; and swears she never will: that’s her                  115
torment.

_Claud._ ’Tis true, indeed; so your daughter says: ‘Shall
I,’ says she, ‘that have so oft encountered him with scorn,
write to him that I love him?’                                     120

_Leon._ This says she now when she is beginning to
write to him; for she’ll be up twenty times a night; and
there will she sit in her smock till she have writ a sheet of
paper: my daughter tells us all.

_Claud._ Now you talk of a sheet of paper, I remember              125
a pretty jest your daughter told us of.

_Leon._ O, when she had writ it, and was reading it
over, she found Benedick and Beatrice between the sheet?

_Claud._ That.

_Leon._ O, she tore the letter into a thousand halfpence;          130
railed at herself, that she should be so immodest to write
to one that she knew would flout her; ‘I measure him,’
says she, ‘by my own spirit; for I should flout him, if he
writ to me; yea, though I love him, I should.’

_Claud._ Then down upon her knees she falls, weeps,                135
sobs, beats her heart, tears her hair, prays, curses; ‘O
sweet Benedick! God give me patience!’

_Leon._ She doth indeed; my daughter says so: and the
ecstasy hath so much overborne her, that my daughter is
sometime afeard she will do a desperate outrage to herself:        140
it is very true.

_D. Pedro._ It were good that Benedick knew of it by
some other, if she will not discover it.

_Claud._ To what end? He would make but a sport of
it, and torment the poor lady worse.                               145

_D. Pedro._ An he should, it were an alms to hang him.
She’s an excellent sweet lady; and, out of all suspicion, she
is virtuous.

_Claud._ And she is exceeding wise.

_D. Pedro._ In every thing but in loving Benedick.                 150

_Leon._ O, my lord, wisdom and blood combating in so
tender a body, we have ten proofs to one that blood hath
the victory. I am sorry for her, as I have just cause, being
her uncle and her guardian.

_D. Pedro._ I would she had bestowed this dotage on                155
me: I would have daffed all other respects, and made her
half myself. I pray you, tell Benedick of it, and hear what
a’ will say.

_Leon._ Were it good, think you?

_Claud._ Hero thinks surely she will die; for she says she         160
will die, if he love her not; and she will die, ere she make
her love known; and she will die, if he woo her, rather than
she will bate one breath of her accustomed crossness.

_D. Pedro._ She doth well: if she should make tender of
her love, ’tis very possible he’ll scorn it; for the man, as       165
you know all, hath a contemptible spirit.

_Claud._ He is a very proper man.

_D. Pedro._ He hath indeed a good outward happiness.

_Claud._ Before God! and in my mind, very wise.

_D. Pedro._ He doth indeed show some sparks that are               170
like wit.

_Claud._ And I take him to be valiant.

_D. Pedro._ As Hector, I assure you: and in the managing
of quarrels you may say he is wise; for either he avoids
them with great discretion, or undertakes them with a most         175
Christian-like fear.

_Leon._ If he do fear God, a’ must necessarily keep
peace: if he break the peace, he ought to enter into a quarrel
with fear and trembling.

_D. Pedro._ And so will he do; for the man doth fear               180
God, howsoever it seems not in him by some large jests he
will make. Well, I am sorry for your niece. Shall we go
seek Benedick, and tell him of her love?

_Claud._ Never tell him, my lord: let her wear it out
with good counsel.                                                 185

_Leon._ Nay, that’s impossible: she may wear her heart
out first.

_D. Pedro._ Well, we will hear further of it by your
daughter: let it cool the while. I love Benedick well; and
I could wish he would modestly examine himself, to see             190
how much he is unworthy so good a lady.

_Leon._ My lord, will you walk? dinner is ready.

_Claud._ If he do not dote on her upon this, I will never
trust my expectation.

_D. Pedro._ Let there be the same net spread for her;              195
and that must your daughter and her gentlewomen carry.
The sport will be, when they hold one an opinion of another’s
dotage, and no such matter: that’s the scene that I
would see, which will be merely a dumb-show. Let us send
her to call him in to dinner.                                      200

 [_Exeunt Don Pedro, Claudio, and Leonato._

_Bene._ [_Coming forward_] This can be no trick: the conference
was sadly borne. They have the truth of this from
Hero. They seem to pity the lady: it seems her affections
have their full bent. Love me! why, it must be requited.
I hear how I am censured: they say I will bear myself              205
proudly, if I perceive the love come from her; they say too
that she will rather die than give any sign of affection. I
did never think to marry: I must not seem proud: happy
are they that hear their detractions, and can put them to
mending. They say the lady is fair,—’tis a truth, I can            210
bear them witness; and virtuous,—’tis so, I cannot reprove
it; and wise, but for loving me,—by my troth, it is no
addition to her wit, nor no great argument of her folly, for I
will be horribly in love with her. I may chance have some
odd quirks and remnants of wit broken on me, because I             215
have railed so long against marriage: but doth not the appetite
alter? a man loves the meat in his youth that he
cannot endure in his age. Shall quips and sentences and
these paper bullets of the brain awe a man from the career
of his humour? No, the world must be peopled. When I               220
said I would die a bachelor, I did not think I should live
till I were married. Here comes Beatrice. By this day!
she’s a fair lady: I do spy some marks of love in her.

 _Enter_ BEATRICE.

_Beat._ Against my will I am sent to bid you come in to
dinner.                                                            225

_Bene._ Fair Beatrice, I thank you for your pains.

_Beat._ I took no more pains for those thanks than you
take pains to thank me: if it had been painful, I would not
have come.

_Bene._ You take pleasure, then, in the message?                   230

_Beat._ Yea, just so much as you may take upon a
knife’s point, and choke a daw withal. You have no
stomach, signior: fare you well.             [_Exit._

_Bene._ Ha! ‘Against my will I am sent to bid you come
in to dinner;’ there’s a double meaning in that. ‘I took           235
no more pains for those thanks than you took pains to thank
me;’ that’s as much as to say, Any pains that I take for
you is as easy as thanks. If I do not take pity of her, I am
a villain; if I do not love her, I am a Jew. I will go get
her picture.                [_Exit._                               240


~~~~~
 Linenotes: _Much Ado About Nothing_, II. 3.

 SCENE III.] SCENE VIII. Pope.

 Enter Benedick.] Collier. Enter Benedick alone. Q Ff. Enter B. and a
 Boy. Rowe. Enter B. and a Boy following. Staunton.

 1: Enter Boy.] Collier, om. Q Ff.

 7: [Exit Boy.] Exit. Q. Ff (after line 5).

 18: _orthography_] Ff. _ortography_ Q. _orthographer_ Rowe (ed. 2).
 _orthographist_ Capell conj.

 22: _an_] _and_ Q.

 27–30: See note (XIII).

 29: _I_] Q. om. Ff.

 33: SCENE IX. Pope.

 Enter......Leonato] Capell. Enter prince, Leonato, Claudio, Musicke.
 Q. Enter Prince, L., C. and Jacke Wilson. Ff.

 38: _kid-fox_] _cade fox_ Hanmer. _hid fox_ Warburton.

     Enter...Music] Q. om. Ff.

 40: _tax_] _task_ Capell conj.

 41, 42: F1 repeats these lines in the turn of the page.

 45–56: Put into the margin as spurious by Pope.

 53: _nothing_] Q Ff. _noting_ Theobald.

 65: _moe_] Q F1. _more_ F2 F3 F4.

 66: _Of_] _Or_ Collier MS.

 67: _fraud...was_] Q. _fraud...were_ Ff. _frauds...were_ Pope.

 68: _leavy_] _leafy_ Pope.

 72: _no, no_] _ne no_ F4.

     _no, faith;_] _no; faith,_ Collier.

 74: _An_] Capell. _And_ Q Ff. _If_ Pope.

 76: _lief_] _live_ Q.

 79: _us_] om. Rowe.

     _night_] om. Pope.

 82: [Exit B.] Exeunt Bal. and Musick. Capell. See note (XIV).

 93, 94: _it,...affection;_] _it,...affection,_ Q Ff.
 _it;...affection,_ Pope. _it;...affection,—_ Capell.

 94: _infinite_] _definite_ Warburton.

 100: _this_] Q F1. _the_ F2 F3 F4.

 102: _tell you_] _tell_ Capell.

 124: _paper_] _paper full_ Collier MS.

 126: _us of_] _of us_ Q.

 127: _was_] om. F3 F4.

 128: _over_] _ever_ F2.

     _sheet?_] Capell. _sheet._ Q Ff. _sheets._ Collier MS.

 133: _for_] om. Rowe.

 136: _prays, curses_] _prays, cries_ Collier MS. _curses, prays_
 Halliwell.

 140: _afeard_] Q Ff. _afraid_ Rowe.

 144: _make but_] Q. _but make_ Ff.

 146: _alms_] _alms-deed_ Collier MS.

 156: _daffed_] Johnson. _daft_ Q Ff. _dofft_ Pope. _dafft_ Theobald.

 158: _a’_] _a_ Q. _he_ Ff.

 166: _contemptible_] _contemptuous_ Hanmer.

 169: _Before_] Q. _’Fore_ Ff.

 172: Claud.] Q. Leon. Ff.

 174: _say_] Q. _see_ Ff.

 175: _most_] Q. om. Ff.

 177–182: Leon. _If he...make._] Put into the margin as spurious by
 Pope.

 177: _a’ must_] _a must_ Q Ff. _he must_ Rowe.

 183: _seek_] Q. _see_ Ff.

 184: _wear_] _wait_ Rowe (ed. I).

 190: _see_] _shew_ Rowe (ed. I).

 191: _unworthy_] Q. _unworthy to have_ Ff.

 196: _gentlewomen_] Q. _gentlewoman_ Ff.

 197: _one an opinion of another’s_] _an opinion of one another’s_
 Pope.

 200: _in to_] Q F4. _into_ F1 F2 F3. _to_ Rowe (ed. I).

 201: SCENE X. Pope.

 204: _their_] Q. _the_ Ff.

 214: _have_] _to have_ Rowe.

 215: _remnants_] Q F1. _remains_ F2 F3 F4.

 217: _youth...age_] _age...youth_ Collier MS.

 224: _in to_] _into_ F3.

 225: _dinner_] See note (XV).

 232: _knife’s_] Pope. _knives_ Q Ff.

     _choke_] _not choke_ Collier MS.

 235: _in to_] _into_ F1.

 238: _is_] _are_ Hanmer.
~~~~~




ACT III.


SCENE I. LEONATO’S _garden_.

 _Enter_ HERO, MARGARET, _and_ URSULA.

_Hero._ Good Margaret, run thee to the parlour;
There shalt thou find my cousin Beatrice
Proposing with the prince and Claudio:
Whisper her ear, and tell her, I and Ursula
Walk in the orchard, and our whole discourse                         5
Is all of her; say that thou overheard’st us;
And bid her steal into the pleached bower,
Where honeysuckles, ripen’d by the sun,
Forbid the sun to enter; like favourites,
Made proud by princes, that advance their pride                     10
Against that power that bred it: there will she hide her,
To listen our propose. This is thy office;
Bear thee well in it, and leave us alone.

_Marg._ I’ll make her come, I warrant you, presently.

 [_Exit._

_Hero._ Now, Ursula, when Beatrice doth come,                       15
As we do trace this alley up and down,
Our talk must only be of Benedick.
When I do name him, let it be thy part
To praise him more than ever man did merit:
My talk to thee must be, how Benedick                               20
Is sick in love with Beatrice. Of this matter
Is little Cupid’s crafty arrow made,
That only wounds by hearsay.

 _Enter_ BEATRICE, _behind_.

                             Now begin;
For look where Beatrice, like a lapwing, runs
Close by the ground, to hear our conference.                        25

_Urs._ The pleasant’st angling is to see the fish
Cut with her golden oars the silver stream,
And greedily devour the treacherous bait:
So angle we for Beatrice; who even now
Is couched in the woodbine coverture.                               30
Fear you not my part of the dialogue.

_Hero._ Then go we near her, that her ear lose nothing
Of the false sweet bait that we lay for it.
 [_Approaching the bower._
No, truly, Ursula, she is too disdainful;
I know her spirits are as coy and wild                              35
As haggerds of the rock.

_Urs._                   But are you sure
That Benedick loves Beatrice so entirely?

_Hero._ So says the prince and my new-trothed lord.

_Urs._ And did they bid you tell her of it, madam?

_Hero._ They did entreat me to acquaint her of it;                  40
But I persuaded them, if they loved Benedick,
To wish him wrestle with affection,
And never to let Beatrice know of it.

_Urs._ Why did you so? Doth not the gentleman
Deserve as full as fortunate a bed                                  45
As ever Beatrice shall couch upon?

_Hero._ O god of love! I know he doth deserve
As much as may be yielded to a man:
But Nature never framed a woman’s heart
Of prouder stuff than that of Beatrice;                             50
Disdain and scorn ride sparkling in her eyes,
Misprising what they look on; and her wit
Values itself so highly, that to her
All matter else seems weak: she cannot love,
Nor take no shape nor project of affection,                         55
She is so self-endeared.

_Urs._                   Sure, I think so;
And therefore certainly it were not good
She knew his love, lest she make sport at it.

_Hero._ Why, you speak truth. I never yet saw man,
How wise, how noble, young, how rarely featured,                    60
But she would spell him backward: if fair-faced,
She would swear the gentleman should be her sister;
If black, why, Nature, drawing of an antique,
Made a foul blot; if tall, a lance ill-headed;
If low, an agate very vilely cut;                                   65
If speaking, why, a vane blown with all winds;
If silent, why, a block moved with none.
So turns she every man the wrong side out;
And never gives to truth and virtue that
Which simpleness and merit purchaseth.                              70

_Urs._ Sure, sure, such carping is not commendable.

_Hero._ No, not to be so odd, and from all fashions,
As Beatrice is, cannot be commendable:
But who dare tell her so? If I should speak,
She would mock me into air; O, she would laugh me                   75
Out of myself, press me to death with wit!
Therefore let Benedick, like cover’d fire,
Consume away in sighs, waste inwardly:
It were a better death than die with mocks,
Which is as bad as die with tickling.                               80

_Urs._ Yet tell her of it: hear what she will say.

_Hero._ No; rather I will go to Benedick,
And counsel him to fight against his passion.
And, truly, I’ll devise some honest slanders
To stain my cousin with: one doth not know                          85
How much an ill word may empoison liking.

_Urs._ O, do not do your cousin such a wrong!
She cannot be so much without true judgement,—
Having so swift and excellent a wit
As she is prized to have,—as to refuse                              90
So rare a gentleman as Signior Benedick.

_Hero._ He is the only man of Italy,
Always excepted my dear Claudio.

_Urs._ I pray you, be not angry with me, madam,
Speaking my fancy: Signior Benedick,                                95
For shape, for bearing, argument and valour,
Goes foremost in report through Italy.

_Hero._ Indeed, he hath an excellent good name.

_Urs._ His excellence did earn it, ere he had it.
When are you married, madam?                                       100

_Hero._ Why, every day, to-morrow. Come, go in:
I’ll show thee some attires; and have thy counsel
Which is the best to furnish me to-morrow.

_Urs._ She’s limed, I warrant you: we have caught her, madam.

_Hero._ If it prove so, then loving goes by haps:                  105
Some Cupid kills with arrows, some with traps.

 [_Exeunt Hero and Ursula._

_Beat._ [_Coming forward_] What fire is in mine ears?
        Can this be true?
  Stand I condemn’d for pride and scorn so much?
Contempt, farewell! and maiden pride, adieu!
  No glory lives behind the back of such.                          110
And, Benedick, love on; I will requite thee,
  Taming my wild heart to thy loving hand:
If thou dost love, my kindness shall incite thee
    To bind our loves up in a holy band;
For others say thou dost deserve, and I                            115
Believe it better than reportingly.       [_Exit._


~~~~~
 Linenotes: _Much Ado About Nothing_, III. 1.

 SCENE I. Enter... Ursula.] Enter H. and two Gentlewomen, M. and
 Ursley. Q.

 1: _to_] _into_ Pope.

 4: _Ursula_] _Ursley_ Q.

 9: _like_] _like to_ Pope.

 12: _listen our propose_] Q. _listen our purpose_ F1. _listen to
 our purpose_ F2 F3 F4.

 14: _warrant you_] Q F1. _warrant_ F2 F3 F4.

 23: Enter B. behind.] Steevens (after line 23). Enter B. Q (after
 line 25) Ff. Enter B. running towards the arbour. Theobald. Enter B.
 stealing in behind. Collier MS.

 29: _even_] _e’en_ Pope.

 33: _false sweet_] _false-sweet_ S. Walker conj.

 34: _she is_] _she’s_ Pope.

 42: _wrestle_] _wrastle_ Q Ff.

 45: _as full as_] Q F1 F2. _as full, as_ F3 F4.

 51: _eyes_] Q F1. _eye_ F2 F3 F4.

 58: _she_] _sheele_ Q.

 62: _She would_] _She’d_ Pope.

 63: _antique_] Q. _anticke_ F1.

 65: _agate_] _agot_ Q Ff. _aglet_ Theobald (Warburton).

 72: _not_] _for_ Rowe. _nor_ Capell.

 75: _She would_] _she’d_ Pope.

     _air_] _an air_ Rowe (ed. I).

 79: _better death than_] _better death, then_ Q. _better death, to_
 F1. _better death, to_ F2 F3 F4.

 80: _as die_] _as ’tis to die_ Pope.

 89: _swift_] _sweet_ Rowe.

 91: _Signior_] om. Pope.

 96: _bearing, argument_] F4. _bearing argument_ Q F1 F2 F3.

     _for bearing, argument_] _forbearing argument_ Jackson conj.

 101: _every day_] _in a day_ Collier MS.

 103: _me to-morrow_] _me,—to-morrow!_ Anon. conj.

 104: _limed_] Q. _tane_ Ff. _ta’en_ Rowe.

 106: _Cupid kills_] Q F1 F2. _Cupids kills_ F3. _Cupid kill_ F4.

 107: _mine_] _my_ F4.

 110: _behind the back_] _but in the lack_ Collier MS.
~~~~~


SCENE II. _A room in_ LEONATO’S _house_.

 _Enter_ DON PEDRO, CLAUDIO, BENEDICK, _and_ LEONATO.

_D. Pedro._ I do but stay till your marriage be consummate,
and then go I toward Arragon.

_Claud._ I’ll bring you thither, my lord, if you’ll vouchsafe
me.

_D. Pedro._ Nay, that would be as great a soil in the new            5
gloss of your marriage, as to show a child his new coat and
forbid him to wear it. I will only be bold with Benedick
for his company; for, from the crown of his head to the
sole of his foot, he is all mirth: he hath twice or thrice cut
Cupid’s bow-string, and the little hangman dare not shoot at        10
him; he hath a heart as sound as a bell, and his tongue is
the clapper, for what his heart thinks his tongue speaks.

_Bene._ Gallants, I am not as I have been.

_Leon._ So say I: methinks you are sadder.

_Claud._ I hope he be in love.                                      15

_D. Pedro._ Hang him, truant! there’s no true drop of
blood in him, to be truly touched with love: if he be sad,
he wants money.

_Bene._ I have the toothache.

_D. Pedro._ Draw it.                                                20

_Bene._ Hang it!

_Claud._ You must hang it first, and draw it afterwards.

_D. Pedro._ What! sigh for the toothache?

_Leon._ Where is but a humour or a worm.

_Bene._ Well, every one can master a grief but he that              25
has it.

_Claud._ Yet say I, he is in love.

_D. Pedro._ There is no appearance of fancy in him, unless
it be a fancy that he hath to strange disguises; as, to
be a Dutchman to-day, a Frenchman to-morrow; or in the              30
shape of two countries at once, as, a German from the waist
downward, all slops, and a Spaniard from the hip upward,
no doublet. Unless he have a fancy to this foolery, as it
appears he hath, he is no fool for fancy, as you would have
it appear he is.                                                    35

_Claud._ If he be not in love with some woman, there is
no believing old signs: a’ brushes his hat o’ mornings; what
should that bode?

_D. Pedro._ Hath any man seen him at the barber’s?

_Claud._ No, but the barber’s man hath been seen with               40
him; and the old ornament of his cheek hath already stuffed
tennis-balls.

_Leon._ Indeed, he looks younger than he did, by the
loss of a beard.

_D. Pedro._ Nay, a’ rubs himself with civet: can you                45
smell him out by that?

_Claud._ That’s as much as to say, the sweet youth’s in love.

_D. Pedro._ The greatest note of it is his melancholy.

_Claud._ And when was he wont to wash his face?

_D. Pedro._ Yea, or to paint himself? for the which, I              50
hear what they say of him.

_Claud._ Nay, but his jesting spirit; which is now crept
into a lute-string, and now governed by stops.

_D. Pedro._ Indeed, that tells a heavy tale for him: conclude,
conclude he is in love.                                             55

_Claud._ Nay, but I know who loves him.

_D. Pedro._ That would I know too: I warrant, one that
knows him not.

_Claud._ Yes, and his ill conditions; and, in despite of
all, dies for him.                                                  60

_D. Pedro._ She shall be buried with her face upwards.

_Bene._ Yet is this no charm for the toothache. Old signior,
walk aside with me: I have studied eight or nine wise
words to speak to you, which these hobby-horses must not
hear.          [_Exeunt Benedick and Leonato._                      65

_D. Pedro._ For my life, to break with him about Beatrice.

_Claud._ ’Tis even so. Hero and Margaret have by this
played their parts with Beatrice; and then the two bears
will not bite one another when they meet.

 _Enter_ DON JOHN.

_D. John._ My lord and brother, God save you!                       70

_D. Pedro._ Good den, brother.

_D. John._ If your leisure served, I would speak with you.

_D. Pedro._ In private?

_D. John._ If it please you: yet Count Claudio may
hear; for what I would speak of concerns him.                       75

_D. Pedro._ What’s the matter?

_D. John._ [_To Claudio_] Means your lordship to be married
to-morrow?

_D. Pedro._ You know he does.

_D. John._ I know not that, when he knows what I know.              80

_Claud._ If there be any impediment, I pray you discover
it.

_D. John._ You may think I love you not: let that appear
hereafter, and aim better at me by that I now will
manifest. For my brother, I think he holds you well, and            85
in dearness of heart hath holp to effect your ensuing
marriage,—surely suit ill spent and labour ill bestowed.

_D. Pedro._ Why, what’s the matter?

_D. John._ I came hither to tell you; and, circumstances
shortened, for she has been too long a talking of, the lady         90
is disloyal.

_Claud._ Who, Hero?

_D. John._ Even she; Leonato’s Hero, your Hero, every
man’s Hero.

_Claud._ Disloyal?                                                  95

_D. John._ The word is too good to paint out her wickedness;
I could say she were worse: think you of a worse
title, and I will fit her to it. Wonder not till further warrant:
go but with me to-night, you shall see her chamber-window
entered, even the night before her wedding-day: if                 100
you love her then, to-morrow wed her; but it would better
fit your honour to change your mind.

_Claud._ May this be so?

_D. Pedro._ I will not think it.

_D. John._ If you dare not trust that you see, confess             105
not that you know: if you will follow me, I will show you
enough; and when you have seen more, and heard more,
proceed accordingly.

_Claud._ If I see any thing to-night why I should not
marry her to-morrow, in the congregation, where I should           110
wed, there will I shame her.

_D. Pedro._ And, as I wooed for thee to obtain her, I
will join with thee to disgrace her.

_D. John._ I will disparage her no farther till you are my
witnesses: bear it coldly but till midnight, and let the issue     115
show itself.

_D. Pedro._ O day untowardly turned!

_Claud._ O mischief strangely thwarting!

_D. John._ O plague right well prevented! so will you
say when you have seen the sequel.      [_Exeunt._                 120


~~~~~
 Linenotes: _Much Ado About Nothing_, III. 2.

 SCENE II. A room...] Capell.

 2: _go I_] _I go_ F3 F4.

 10: _hangman_] _henchman_ Upton conj. _twangman_ Becket conj.

 15: _be_] _is_ Pope.

 21, 22: Omitted by Tieck.

 21: Bene.] Leon. Anon. conj.

 24: _Where_] _Which_ Rowe.

 25: _can_] Pope. _cannot_ Q Ff.

 30–33: _or in the...doublet_] Q. omitted in Ff, restored by Pope
 (ed. 2).

 33: _no doublet_] _all doublet_ Mason conj.

 35: _appear_] Q. _to appear_ Ff.

 37: _a’_] _a_ Q Ff. _he_ Rowe.

     _o’ mornings_] Pope (ed. I). _a mornings_ Q Ff. _a-mornings_
     Pope (ed. 2).

 45: _a’_] _a_ Q Ff. _he_ Rowe.

 48: D. Pedro.] Prin. Ff. Bene. Q.

 53: _now governed_] _governed_ Anon. conj. _new-governed_ S. Walker
 conj.

 54: _conclude, conclude_] Q. _conclude_ Ff.

 61: _face_] _heels_ Theobald. _feet_ Mason conj.

     _upwards_] _downwards_ Grey conj.

 70: SCENE III. Pope.

 76: D. Pedro.] Claudio. Capell conj.

 85, 86: _brother,...heart hath_] Rowe. _brother (I think...heart)
 hath_ Q Ff.

 90: _has_] Q. _hath_ Ff.

 99: _to-night_,] Q omits the comma.

 101: _her then_,] Hanmer. _her, then_ Q Ff.

 110: _her to-morrow_,] Rowe. Q Ff. omit the comma. _her; to-morrow_,
 Capell.

 115: _midnight_] Q. _night_ Ff.

 119, 120: _so...sequel._] Printed as a verse by Rowe.

 120: _when you have_] _when have_ F2.
~~~~~


SCENE III. _A street._

 _Enter_ DOGBERRY _and_ VERGES _with the Watch_.

_Dog._ Are you good men and true?

_Verg._ Yea, or else it were pity but they should suffer
salvation, body and soul.

_Dog._ Nay, that were a punishment too good for them,
if they should have any allegiance in them, being chosen             5
for the prince’s watch.

_Verg._ Well, give them their charge, neighbour Dogberry.

_Dog._ First, who think you the most desartless man to
be constable?

_First Watch._ Hugh Otecake, sir, or George Seacole;                10
for they can write and read.

_Dog._ Come hither, neighbour Seacole. God hath blessed
you with a good name: to be a well-favoured man is the
gift of fortune; but to write and read comes by nature.

_Sec. Watch._ Both which, master constable,—                        15

_Dog._ You have: I knew it would be your answer. Well,
for your favour, sir, why, give God thanks, and make no
boast of it; and for your writing and reading, let that appear
when there is no need of such vanity. You are thought
here to be the most senseless and fit man for the constable         20
of the watch; therefore bear you the lantern. This is your
charge: you shall comprehend all vagrom men; you are to
bid any man stand, in the prince’s name.

_Sec. Watch._ How if a’ will not stand?

_Dog._ Why, then, take no note of him, but let him go;              25
and presently call the rest of the watch together, and thank
God you are rid of a knave.

_Verg._ If he will not stand when he is bidden, he is
none of the prince’s subjects.

_Dog._ True, and they are to meddle with none but the               30
prince’s subjects. You shall also make no noise in the
streets; for for the watch to babble and to talk is most
tolerable and not to be endured.

_Watch._ We will rather sleep than talk: we know what
belongs to a watch.                                                 35

_Dog._ Why, you speak like an ancient and most quiet
watchman; for I cannot see how sleeping should offend:
only, have a care that your bills be not stolen. Well, you
are to call at all the ale-houses, and bid those that are
drunk get them to bed.                                              40

_Watch._ How if they will not?

_Dog._ Why, then, let them alone till they are sober: if
they make you not then the better answer, you may say
they are not the men you took them for.

_Watch._ Well, sir.                                                 45

_Dog._ If you meet a thief, you may suspect him, by
virtue of your office, to be no true man; and, for such kind
of men, the less you meddle or make with them, why, the
more is for your honesty.

_Watch._ If we know him to be a thief, shall we not                 50
lay hands on him?

_Dog._ Truly, by your office, you may; but I think they
that touch pitch will be defiled: the most peaceable way
for you, if you do take a thief, is to let him show himself
what he is, and steal out of your company.                          55

_Verg._ You have been always called a merciful man,
partner.

_Dog._ Truly, I would not hang a dog by my will, much
more a man who hath any honesty in him.

_Verg._ If you hear a child cry in the night, you must              60
call to the nurse and bid her still it.

_Watch._ How if the nurse be asleep and will not hear
us?

_Dog._ Why, then, depart in peace, and let the child wake
her with crying; for the ewe that will not hear her lamb            65
when it baes will never answer a calf when he bleats.

_Verg._ ’Tis very true.

_Dog._ This is the end of the charge:—you, constable,
are to present the prince’s own person: if you meet the
prince in the night, you may stay him.                              70

_Verg._ Nay, by’r lady, that I think a’ cannot.

_Dog._ Five shillings to one on’t, with any man that
knows the statues, he may stay him: marry, not without the
prince be willing; for, indeed, the watch ought to offend no
man; and it is an offence to stay a man against his will.           75

_Verg._ By’r lady, I think it be so.

_Dog._ Ha, ah, ha! Well, masters, good night: an there
be any matter of weight chances, call up me: keep your
fellows’ counsels and your own; and good night. Come,
neighbour.                                                          80

_Watch._ Well, masters, we hear our charge: let us go
sit here upon the church-bench till two, and then all to
bed.

_Dog._ One word more, honest neighbours. I pray you,
watch about Signior Leonato’s door; for the wedding being           85
there to-morrow, there is a great coil to-night. Adieu: be
vigitant, I beseech you.      [_Exeunt Dogberry and Verges._

 _Enter_ BORACHIO _and_ CONRADE.

_Bora._ What, Conrade!

_Watch._ [_Aside_] Peace! stir not.

_Bora._ Conrade, I say!                                             90

_Con._ Here, man; I am at thy elbow.

_Bora._ Mass, and my elbow itched; I thought there
would a scab follow.

_Con._ I will owe thee an answer for that: and now forward
with thy tale.                                                      95

_Bora._ Stand thee close, then, under this pent-house,
for it drizzles rain; and I will, like a true drunkard, utter
all to thee.

_Watch._ [_Aside_] Some treason, masters: yet stand close.

_Bora._ Therefore know I have earned of Don John a                 100
thousand ducats.

_Con._ Is it possible that any villany should be so dear?

_Bora._ Thou shouldst rather ask, if it were possible any
villany should be so rich; for when rich villains have need
of poor ones, poor ones may make what price they will.             105

_Con._ I wonder at it.

_Bora._ That shows thou art unconfirmed. Thou knowest
that the fashion of a doublet, or a hat, or a cloak, is
nothing to a man.

_Con._ Yes, it is apparel.                                         110

_Bora._ I mean, the fashion.

_Con._ Yes, the fashion is the fashion.

_Bora._ Tush! I may as well say the fool’s the fool.
But seest thou not what a deformed thief this fashion is?

_Watch._ [_Aside_] I know that Deformed; a’ has been a             115
vile thief this seven year; a’ goes up and down like a gentleman:
I remember his name.

_Bora._ Didst thou not hear somebody?

_Con._ No; ’twas the vane on the house.

_Bora._ Seest thou not, I say, what a deformed thief this          120
fashion is? how giddily a’ turns about all the hot bloods
between fourteen and five-and-thirty? sometimes fashioning
them like Pharaoh’s soldiers in the reeky painting,
sometime like god Bel’s priests in the old church-window, sometime
like the shaven Hercules in the smirched worm-eaten                125
tapestry, where his codpiece seems as massy as his club?

_Con._ All this I see; and I see that the fashion wears
out more apparel than the man. But art not thou thyself
giddy with the fashion too, that thou hast shifted out of
thy tale into telling me of the fashion?                           130

_Bora._ Not so, neither: but know that I have to-night
wooed Margaret, the Lady Hero’s gentlewoman, by the
name of Hero: she leans me out at her mistress’ chamber-window,
bids me a thousand times good night,—I tell this
tale vilely:—I should first tell thee how the prince, Claudio      135
and my master, planted and placed and possessed by my
master Don John, saw afar off in the orchard this amiable
encounter.

_Con._ And thought they Margaret was Hero?

_Bora._ Two of them did, the prince and Claudio; but               140
the devil my master knew she was Margaret; and partly
by his oaths, which first possessed them, partly by the dark
night, which did deceive them, but chiefly by my villany,
which did confirm any slander that Don John had made,
away went Claudio enraged; swore he would meet her, as             145
he was appointed, next morning at the temple, and there,
before the whole congregation, shame her with what he saw
o’er night, and send her home again without a husband.

_First Watch._ We charge you, in the prince’s name,
stand!                                                             150

_Sec. Watch._ Call up the right master constable. We
have here recovered the most dangerous piece of lechery
that ever was known in the commonwealth.

_First Watch._ And one Deformed is one of them: I
know him; a’ wears a lock.                                         155

_Con._ Masters, masters,—

_Sec. Watch._ You’ll be made bring Deformed forth, I
warrant you.

_Con._ Masters,—?

_First Watch._ Never speak: we charge you let us obey              160
you to go with us.

_Bora._ We are like to prove a goodly commodity, being
taken up of these men’s bills.

_Con._ A commodity in question, I warrant you. Come,
we’ll obey you.             [_Exeunt._                             165

~~~~~
 Linenotes: _Much Ado About Nothing_, III. 3.

 SCENE III.] Capell. SCENE IV. Pope. om. Q Ff.

 Enter D. and Verges...] Enter D. and his compartner... Q Ff.

 8: _desartless_] _disartless_ F4.

 10: _George_] _Francis_ Halliwell. See note (XVI).

 19: _no_] _more_ Warburton.

 21: _lantern_] _lantherne_ Q F1 F2. _lanthorn_ F3 F4.

 24: _a’_] _he_ Rowe.

 32: _to talk_] Q. _talk_ Ff.

 34, 41, 50, 62, 81: Watch.] Watch 2. Rowe.

 39: _those_] Q. _them_ Ff.

 55: _your_] Q F1 F2. _his_ F3 F4.

 66: _he bleats_] Q F1 F2. _it bleats_ F3 F4.

 71: _a’_] _a_ Q F1 F2 F3. _I_ F4. _he_ Pope.

 73: _statues_] F1. _statutes_ Q F2 F3 F4.

 79: _fellows’_] Hanmer. _fellowes_ Q F1 F2. _fellows_ F3 F4.
 _fellow’s_ Rowe.

     _counsels] counsel_ F4.

 87: _vigitant_] Q F1. _vigilant_ F2 F3 F4.

 88: SCENE V. Pope.

 89: [Aside.] Rowe.

 95: _with_] om. Rowe (ed. 1).

 100: _Don_] _Dun_ Q.

 104: _villany_] _villain_ Warburton.

     _rich_] _cheap_ Theobald conj.

 115, 116: _a’...a’_] _a...a_ Q Ff. _he...he_ Pope. See note (XVII).

 116: _this seven year_] Q. _this seven years_ Ff. _these seven
 years_ Warburton. _these seven year_ Steevens.

 119: _vane_] Q F2 F3 F4. _vaine_ F1. _rain_ S. Walker conj. See
 note (XVIII).

 122: _sometimes_] Q Ff. _sometime_ Steevens.

 123: _reeky_] _rechie_ Q Ff.

 123, 124: _sometime_] Q F1 F2. _sometimes_ F3 F4.

 124: _god_] _the god_ Pope.

 124, 125: _sometime_] Q F1 F3 F4. _somtime_ F2. _sometimes_ Rowe.

 127: _and I see_] Q. _and see_ Ff.

 129: _too_] om. Rowe.

 137: _afar_] _far_ Pope.

 139: _they_] Q. _thy_ Ff.

 147: _saw_] _had seen_ Capell.

 149: [Starting out upon them. Capell.

 153: _the_] Q F1 F2. _a_ F3 F4.

 159–161: Con. _Masters,_—First Watch. _Never...us._] Theobald.
 Con. _Masters, never...us._ Q Ff.
~~~~~


SCENE IV. HERO’S _apartment_.

 _Enter_ HERO, MARGARET, _and_ URSULA.

_Hero._ Good Ursula, wake my cousin Beatrice, and desire
her to rise.

_Urs._ I will, lady.

_Hero._ And bid her come hither.

_Urs._ Well.              [_Exit._                                   5

_Marg._ Troth, I think your other rabato were better.

_Hero._ No, pray thee, good Meg, I’ll wear this.

_Marg._ By my troth’s not so good; and I warrant
your cousin will say so.

_Hero._ My cousin’s a fool, and thou art another: I’ll              10
wear none but this.

_Marg._ I like the new tire within excellently, if the
hair were a thought browner; and your gown’s a most rare
fashion, i’ faith. I saw the Duchess of Milan’s gown that
they praise so.                                                     15

_Hero._ O, that exceeds, they say.

_Marg._ By my troth’s but a night-gown in respect of
yours,—cloth o’ gold, and cuts, and laced with silver, set
with pearls, down sleeves, side sleeves, and skirts, round
underborne with a bluish tinsel: but for a fine, quaint,            20
graceful and excellent fashion, yours is worth ten on’t.

_Hero._ God give me joy to wear it! for my heart is exceeding
heavy.

_Marg._ ’Twill be heavier soon by the weight of a man.

_Hero._ Fie upon thee! art not ashamed?                             25

_Marg._ Of what, lady? of speaking honourably? Is
not marriage honourable in a beggar? Is not your lord
honourable without marriage? I think you would have me
say, ‘saving your reverence, a husband:’ an bad thinking do
not wrest true speaking, I’ll offend nobody: is there any           30
harm in ‘the heavier for a husband’? None, I think, an it
be the right husband and the right wife; otherwise ’tis light,
and not heavy: ask my Lady Beatrice else; here she comes.

 _Enter_ BEATRICE.

_Hero._ Good morrow, coz.

_Beat._ Good morrow, sweet Hero.                                    35

_Hero._ Why, how now? do you speak in the sick tune?

_Beat._ I am out of all other tune, methinks.

_Marg._ Clap’s into ‘Light o’ love;’ that goes without a
burden: do you sing it, and I’ll dance it.

_Beat._ Ye light o’ love, with your heels! then, if your            40
husband have stables enough, you’ll see he shall lack no
barns.

_Marg._ O illegitimate construction! I scorn that with
my heels.

_Beat._ ’Tis almost five o’clock, cousin; ’tis time you             45
were ready. By my troth, I am exceeding ill: heigh-ho!

_Marg._ For a hawk, a horse, or a husband?

_Beat._ For the letter that begins them all, H.

_Marg._ Well, an you be not turned Turk, there’s no
more sailing by the star.                                           50

_Beat._ What means the fool, trow?

_Marg._ Nothing I; but God send every one their heart’s
desire!

_Hero._ These gloves the count sent me; they are an
excellent perfume.                                                  55

_Beat._ I am stuffed, cousin; I cannot smell.

_Marg._ A maid, and stuffed! there’s goodly catching
of cold.

_Beat._ O, God help me! God help me! how long have
you professed apprehension?                                         60

_Marg._ Even since you left it. Doth not my wit become
me rarely?

_Beat._ It is not seen enough, you should wear it in
your cap. By my troth, I am sick.

_Marg._ Get you some of this distilled Carduus Benedictus,          65
and lay it to your heart: it is the only thing for a
qualm.

_Hero._ There thou prickest her with a thistle.

_Beat._ Benedictus! why Benedictus? you have some
moral in this Benedictus.                                           70

_Marg._ Moral! no, by my troth, I have no moral meaning;
I meant, plain holy-thistle. You may think perchance
that I think you are in love: nay, by’r lady, I am not such
a fool to think what I list; nor I list not to think what I
can; nor, indeed, I cannot think, if I would think my heart         75
out of thinking, that you are in love, or that you will be in
love, or that you can be in love. Yet Benedick was such
another, and now is he become a man: he swore he would
never marry; and yet now, in despite of his heart, he eats
his meat without grudging: and how you may be converted,            80
I know not; but methinks you look with your eyes as other
women do.

_Beat._ What pace is this that thy tongue keeps?

_Marg._ Not a false gallop.

 _Re-enter_ URSULA.

_Urs._ Madam, withdraw: the prince, the count, Signior              85
Benedick, Don John, and all the gallants of the town, are
come to fetch you to church.

_Hero._ Help to dress me, good coz, good Meg, good
Ursula.                [_Exeunt._


~~~~~
 Linenotes: _Much Ado About Nothing_, III. 4.

 SCENE IV.] Capell. SCENE VI. Pope.

 Hero’s apartment.] Theobald.

 6: _rabato_] Hanmer. _rebato_ Q Ff.

 8: _troth’s_] _troth it’s_ Rowe (ed. 2).

 17: _troth’s_] _troth it’s_ Pope. See note (XIX).

 18: _o’ gold_] Capell. _a gold_ Q Ff. _of gold_ Pope.

 19: _pearls, down sleeves_] _pearls down the sleeves_ Steevens conj.

     _skirts, round_] Q F1 F2. _skirts, round,_ F3 F4. _skirts
     round,_ Hanmer. _skirts round_ Dyce.

 29: _say, ‘saving...husband:’_] See note (XX).

     _an_] _and_ Ff. & Q. _if_ Pope.

 34: SCENE VII. Pope.

 38: _Clap’s_] Q. _Claps_ Ff. _Clap us_ Rowe (ed. 2).

 38, 40: _o’ love_] Rowe (ed. 2). _a love_ Q Ff.

 40: _Ye_] Q Ff. _Yes,_ Rowe. _Yea,_ Steevens (Capell conj.).

 41: _see_] Q. _look_ Ff.

 57: _goodly_] Q F1 F2. _a goodly_ F3 F4.

 65: _this_] _the_ Capell conj.

 76: _of thinking_] _with thinking_ Pope. _o’ thinking_ Capell.

 79: _eats_] _eats not_ Johnson conj.

 83: _that_] om. F4.
~~~~~


SCENE V. _Another room in_ LEONATO’S _house_.

 _Enter_ LEONATO, _with_ DOGBERRY _and_ VERGES.

_Leon._ What would you with me, honest neighbour?

_Dog._ Marry, sir, I would have some confidence with
you that decerns you nearly.

_Leon._ Brief, I pray you; for you see it is a busy time
with me.                                                             5

_Dog._ Marry, this it is, sir.

_Verg._ Yes, in truth it is, sir.

_Leon._ What is it, my good friends?

_Dog._ Goodman Verges, sir, speaks a little off the matter:
an old man, sir, and his wits are not so blunt as, God              10
help, I would desire they were; but, in faith, honest as the
skin between his brows.

_Verg._ Yes, I thank God I am as honest as any man
living that is an old man and no honester than I.

_Dog._ Comparisons are odorous: palabras, neighbour                 15
Verges.

_Leon._ Neighbours, you are tedious.

_Dog._ It pleases your worship to say so, but we are the
poor duke’s officers; but truly, for mine own part, if I were
as tedious as a king, I could find in my heart to bestow it         20
all of your worship.

_Leon._ All thy tediousness on me, ah?

_Dog._ Yea, an ’twere a thousand pound more than ’tis;
for I hear as good exclamation on your worship as of any
man in the city; and though I be but a poor man, I am               25
glad to hear it.

_Verg._ And so am I.

_Leon._ I would fain know what you have to say.

_Verg._ Marry, sir, our watch to-night, excepting your
worship’s presence, ha’ ta’en a couple of as arrant knaves          30
as any in Messina.

_Dog._ A good old man, sir; he will be talking: as they
say, When the age is in, the wit is out: God help us! it is
a world to see. Well said, i’ faith, neighbour Verges: well,
God’s a good man; an two men ride of a horse, one must              35
ride behind. An honest soul, i’ faith, sir; by my troth he
is, as ever broke bread; but God is to be worshipped; all
men are not alike; alas, good neighbour!

_Leon._ Indeed, neighbour, he comes too short of you.

_Dog._ Gifts that God gives.                                        40

_Leon._ I must leave you.

_Dog._ One word, sir: our watch, sir, have indeed comprehended
two aspicious persons, and we would have them
this morning examined before your worship.

_Leon._ Take their examination yourself, and bring it               45
me: I am now in great haste, as it may appear unto you.

_Dog._ It shall be suffigance.

_Leon._ Drink some wine ere you go: fare you well.

 _Enter a_ Messenger.

_Mess._ My lord, they stay for you to give your daughter
to her husband.                                                     50

_Leon._ I’ll wait upon them: I am ready.

 [_Exeunt Leonato and Messenger._

_Dog._ Go, good partner, go, get you to Francis Seacole;
bid him bring his pen and inkhorn to the gaol: we are now
to examination these men.

_Verg._ And we must do it wisely.                                   55

_Dog._ We will spare for no wit, I warrant you; here’s
that shall drive some of them to a noncome: only get the
learned writer to set down our excommunication, and meet
me at the gaol.              [_Exeunt._


~~~~~
 Linenotes: _Much Ado About Nothing_, III. 5.

 SCENE V.] SCENE VIII. Pope.

 Enter...] Enter Leonato, and the Constable, and the Headborough. Q
 Ff.

 4: _it is_] _’tis_ F4.

 9: _off_] Steevens (Capell conj.). _of_ Q Ff.

 11: _honest_] _as honest_ Rowe (ed. 2).

 23: _an ’twere a thousand pound_] Capell. _and ’t twere a thousand
 pound_ Q. _and ’twere a thousand times_ Ff. _and twice a thousand
 times_ Pope.

 30: _ha’_] _ha_ Q. _have_ Ff. _hath_ Pope.

 35: _God’s_] _he’s_ Pope.

     _an_] Pope. _and_ Q Ff.

     _ride of a horse_] Q F1. _ride of horse_ F2. _rides an horse_
     F3 F4. _ride an horse_ Rowe (ed 2).

 42: _our watch, sir,_] om. _sir_ F4.

 43: _aspicious_] _auspicious_ Rowe (ed. 2).

 46: _it_] Q. om. Ff.

 47: [Exit Q Ff.

 48: Enter...] Rowe.

 51: [Exeunt L. and M.] Capell. [Ex. Leon. Pope.

 54: _examination_] Q. _examine_ Ff.

     _these_] Q. _those_ Ff.

 56: _you_] om. Pope.

 57: _that_] _that_ [touching his forehead. Johnson.

 57: _to a noncome_] Q Ff. _to non-come_ Pope. _to a non-com_ Capell.
~~~~~




ACT IV.


SCENE I. _A church._

 _Enter_ DON PEDRO, DON JOHN, LEONATO, FRIAR FRANCIS,
 CLAUDIO, BENEDICK, HERO, BEATRICE, _and attendants_.

_Leon._ Come, Friar Francis, be brief; only to the plain
form of marriage, and you shall recount their particular
duties afterwards.

_Friar._ You come hither, my lord, to marry this lady.

_Claud._ No.                                                         5

_Leon._ To be married to her: friar, you come to marry
her.

_Friar._ Lady, you come hither to be married to this
count.

_Hero._ I do.                                                       10

_Friar._ If either of you know any inward impediment
why you should not be conjoined, I charge you, on your
souls, to utter it.

_Claud._ Know you any, Hero?

_Hero._ None, my lord.                                              15

_Friar._ Know you any, count?

_Leon._ I dare make his answer, none.

_Claud._ O, what men dare do! what men may do! what
men daily do, not knowing what they do!

_Bene._ How now! interjections? Why, then, some be                  20
of laughing, as, ah, ha, he!

_Claud._ Stand thee by, Friar. Father, by your leave:
Will you with free and unconstrained soul
Give me this maid, your daughter?

_Leon._ As freely, son, as God did give her me.                     25

_Claud._ And what have I to give you back, whose worth
May counterpoise this rich and precious gift?

_D. Pedro._ Nothing, unless you render her again.

_Claud._ Sweet prince, you learn me noble thankfulness.
There, Leonato, take her back again:                                30
Give not this rotten orange to your friend;
She’s but the sign and semblance of her honour.
Behold how like a maid she blushes here!
O, what authority and show of truth
Can cunning sin cover itself withal!                                35
Comes not that blood as modest evidence
To witness simple virtue? Would you not swear,
All you that see her, that she were a maid,
By these exterior shows? But she is none:
She knows the heat of a luxurious bed;                              40
Her blush is guiltiness, not modesty.

_Leon._ What do you mean, my lord?

_Claud._                           Not to be married,
Not to knit my soul to an approved wanton.

_Leon._ Dear my lord, if you, in your own proof,
Have vanquish’d the resistance of her youth,                        45
And made defeat of her virginity,—

_Claud._ I know what you would say: if I have known her,
You will say she did embrace me as a husband,
And so extenuate the ’forehand sin:
No, Leonato,                                                        50
I never tempted her with word too large;
But, as a brother to his sister, show’d
Bashful sincerity and comely love.

_Hero._ And seem’d I ever otherwise to you?

_Claud._ Out on thee! Seeming! I will write against it:             55
You seem to me as Dian in her orb,
As chaste as is the bud ere it be blown;
But you are more intemperate in your blood
Than Venus, or those pamper’d animals
That rage in savage sensuality.                                     60

_Hero._ Is my lord well, that he doth speak so wide?

_Leon._ Sweet prince, why speak not you?

_D. Pedro._                              What should I speak?
I stand dishonour’d, that have gone about
To link my dear friend to a common stale.

_Leon._ Are these things spoken, or do I but dream?                 65

_D. John._ Sir, they are spoken, and these things are true.

_Bene._ This looks not like a nuptial.

_Hero._                                True! O God!

_Claud._ Leonato, stand I here?
Is this the prince? is this the prince’s brother?
Is this face Hero’s? are our eyes our own?                          70

_Leon._ All this is so: but what of this, my lord?

_Claud._ Let me but move one question to your daughter;
And, by that fatherly and kindly power
That you have in her, bid her answer truly.

_Leon._ I charge thee do so, as thou art my child.                  75

_Hero._ O, God defend me! how am I beset!
What kind of catechising call you this?

_Claud._ To make you answer truly to your name.

_Hero._ Is it not Hero? Who can blot that name
With any just reproach?

_Claud._           Marry, that can Hero;                            80
Hero itself can blot out Hero’s virtue.
What man was he talk’d with you yesternight
Out at your window betwixt twelve and one?
Now, if you are a maid, answer to this.

_Hero._ I talk’d with no man at that hour, my lord.                 85

_D. Pedro._ Why, then are you no maiden. Leonato,
I am sorry you must hear: upon mine honour,
Myself, my brother, and this grieved count
Did see her, hear her, at that hour last night
Talk with a ruffian at her chamber-window;                          90
Who hath indeed, most like a liberal villain,
Confess’d the vile encounters they have had
A thousand times in secret.

_D. John._ Fie, fie! they are not to be named, my lord,
Not to be spoke of;                                                 95
There is not chastity enough in language,
Without offence to utter them. Thus, pretty lady,
I am sorry for thy much misgovernment.

_Claud._ O Hero, what a Hero hadst thou been,
If half thy outward graces had been placed                         100
About thy thoughts and counsels of thy heart!
But fare thee well, most foul, most fair! farewell,
Thou pure impiety and impious purity!
For thee I’ll lock up all the gates of love,
And on my eyelids shall conjecture hang,                           105
To turn all beauty into thoughts of harm,
And never shall it more be gracious.

_Leon._ Hath no man’s dagger here a point for me?

 [_Hero swoons._

_Beat._ Why, how now, cousin! wherefore sink you down?

_D. John._ Come, let us go. These things, come thus to light,      110
Smother her spirits up.

 [_Exeunt Don Pedro, Don John, and Claudio._

_Bene._ How doth the lady?

_Beat._                    Dead, I think. Help, uncle!
Hero! why, Hero! Uncle! Signior Benedick! Friar!

_Leon._ O Fate! take not away thy heavy hand.
Death is the fairest cover for her shame                           115
That may be wish’d for.

_Beat._            How now, cousin Hero!

_Friar._ Have comfort, lady.

_Leon._ Dost thou look up?

_Friar._ Yea, wherefore should she not?

_Leon._ Wherefore! Why, doth not every earthly thing               120
Cry shame upon her? Could she here deny
The story that is printed in her blood?
Do not live, Hero; do not ope thine eyes:
For, did I think thou wouldst not quickly die,
Thought I thy spirits were stronger than thy shames,               125
Myself would, on the rearward of reproaches,
Strike at thy life. Grieved I, I had but one?
Chid I for that at frugal nature’s frame?
O, one too much by thee! Why had I one?
Why ever wast thou lovely in my eyes?                              130
Why had I not with charitable hand
Took up a beggar’s issue at my gates,
Who smirched thus and mired with infamy,
I might have said, ‘No part of it is mine;
This shame derives itself from unknown loins’?                     135
But mine, and mine I loved, and mine I praised,
And mine that I was proud on, mine so much
That I myself was to myself not mine,
Valuing of her,—why, she, O, she is fallen
Into a pit of ink, that the wide sea                               140
Hath drops too few to wash her clean again,
And salt too little which may season give
To her foul-tainted flesh!

_Bene._                    Sir, sir, be patient.
For my part, I am so attired in wonder,
I know not what to say.                                            145

_Beat._ O, on my soul, my cousin is belied!

_Bene._ Lady, were you her bedfellow last night?

_Beat._ No, truly, not; although, until last night,
I have this twelvemonth been her bedfellow.

_Leon._ Confirm’d, confirm’d! O, that is stronger made             150
Which was before barr’d up with ribs of iron!
Would the two princes lie, and Claudio lie,
Who loved her so, that, speaking of her foulness,
Wash’d it with tears? Hence from her! let her die.

_Friar._ Hear me a little;                                         155
For I have only been silent so long,
And given way unto this course of fortune,
By noting of the lady: I have mark’d
A thousand blushing apparitions
To start into her face; a thousand innocent shames                 160
In angel whiteness beat away those blushes;
And in her eye there hath appear’d a fire,
To burn the errors that these princes hold
Against her maiden truth. Call me a fool;
Trust not my reading nor my observations,                          165
Which with experimental seal doth warrant
The tenour of my book; trust not my age,
My reverence, calling, nor divinity,
If this sweet lady lie not guiltless here
Under some biting error.

_Leon._                  Friar, it cannot be.                      170
Thou seest that all the grace that she hath left
Is that she will not add to her damnation
A sin of perjury; she not denies it:
Why seek’st thou, then, to cover with excuse
That which appears in proper nakedness?                            175

_Friar._ Lady, what man is he you are accused of?

_Hero._ They know that do accuse me; I know none:
If I know more of any man alive
Than that which maiden modesty doth warrant,
Let all my sins lack mercy! O my father,                           180
Prove you that any man with me conversed
At hours unmeet, or that I yesternight
Maintain’d the change of words with any creature,
Refuse me, hate me, torture me to death!

_Friar._ There is some strange misprision in the princes.          185

_Bene._ Two of them have the very bent of honour;
And if their wisdoms be misled in this,
The practice of it lives in John the bastard,
Whose spirits toil in frame of villanies.

_Leon._ I know not. If they speak but truth of her,                190
These hands shall tear her; if they wrong her honour,
The proudest of them shall well hear of it.
Time hath not yet so dried this blood of mine,
Nor age so eat up my invention,
Nor fortune made such havoc of my means,                           195
Nor my bad life reft me so much of friends,
But they shall find, awaked in such a kind,
Both strength of limb and policy of mind,
Ability in means and choice of friends,
To quit me of them throughly.

_Friar._                      Pause awhile,                        200
And let my counsel sway you in this case.
Your daughter here the princes left for dead:
Let her awhile be secretly kept in,
And publish it that she is dead indeed;
Maintain a mourning ostentation,                                   205
And on your family’s old monument
Hang mournful epitaphs, and do all rites
That appertain unto a burial.

_Leon._ What shall become of this? what will this do?

_Friar._ Marry, this, well carried, shall on her behalf            210
Change slander to remorse; that is some good:
But not for that dream I on this strange course,
But on this travail look for greater birth.
She dying, as it must be so maintain’d,
Upon the instant that she was accused,                             215
Shall be lamented, pitied, and excused
Of every hearer: for it so falls out,
That what we have we prize not to the worth
Whiles we enjoy it; but being lack’d and lost,
Why, then we rack the value, then we find                          220
The virtue that possession would not show us
Whiles it was ours. So will it fare with Claudio:
When he shall hear she died upon his words,
The idea of her life shall sweetly creep
Into his study of imagination;                                     225
And every lovely organ of her life
Shall come apparell’d in more precious habit,
More moving-delicate and full of life,
Into the eye and prospect of his soul,
Than when she lived indeed; then shall he mourn,                   230
If ever love had interest in his liver,
And wish he had not so accused her,
No, though he thought his accusation true.
Let this be so, and doubt not but success
Will fashion the event in better shape                             235
Than I can lay it down in likelihood.
But if all aim but this be levell’d false,
The supposition of the lady’s death
Will quench the wonder of her infamy:
And if it sort not well, you may conceal her,                      240
As best befits her wounded reputation,
In some reclusive and religious life,
Out of all eyes, tongues, minds, and injuries.

_Bene._ Signior Leonato, let the Friar advise you:
And though you know my inwardness and love                         245
Is very much unto the prince and Claudio,
Yet, by mine honour, I will deal in this
As secretly and justly as your soul
Should with your body.

_Leon._                Being that I flow in grief,
The smallest twine may lead me.                                    250

_Friar._ ’Tis well consented: presently away;
  For to strange sores strangely they strain the cure.
Come, lady, die to live: this wedding-day
  Perhaps is but prolong’d: have patience and endure.

 [_Exeunt all but Benedick and Beatrice._

_Bene._ Lady Beatrice, have you wept all this while?               255

_Beat._ Yea, and I will weep a while longer.

_Bene._ I will not desire that.

_Beat._ You have no reason; I do it freely.

_Bene._ Surely I do believe your fair cousin is wronged.

_Beat._ Ah, how much might the man deserve of me                   260
that would right her!

_Bene._ Is there any way to show such friendship?

_Beat._ A very even way, but no such friend.

_Bene._ May a man do it?

_Beat._ It is a man’s office, but not yours.                       265

_Bene._ I do love nothing in the world so well as you:
is not that strange?

_Beat._ As strange as the thing I know not. It were as
possible for me to say I loved nothing so well as you: but
believe me not; and yet I lie not; I confess nothing, nor I        270
deny nothing. I am sorry for my cousin.

_Bene._ By my sword, Beatrice, thou lovest me.

_Beat._ Do not swear, and eat it.

_Bene._ I will swear by it that you love me; and I will
make him eat it that says I love not you.                          275

_Beat._ Will you not eat your word?

_Bene._ With no sauce that can be devised to it. I
protest I love thee.

_Beat._ Why, then, God forgive me!

_Bene._ What offence, sweet Beatrice?                              280

_Beat._ You have stayed me in a happy hour: I was
about to protest I loved you.

_Bene._ And do it with all thy heart.

_Beat._ I love you with so much of my heart, that none
is left to protest.                                                285

_Bene._ Come, bid me do any thing for thee.

_Beat._ Kill Claudio.

_Bene._ Ha! not for the wide world.

_Beat._ You kill me to deny it. Farewell.

_Bene._ Tarry, sweet Beatrice.                                     290

_Beat._ I am gone, though I am here: there is no love
in you: nay, I pray you, let me go.

_Bene._ Beatrice,—

_Beat._ In faith, I will go.

_Bene._ We’ll be friends first.                                    295

_Beat._ You dare easier be friends with me than fight
with mine enemy.

_Bene._ Is Claudio thine enemy?

_Beat._ Is he not approved in the height a villain, that
hath slandered, scorned, dishonoured my kinswoman? O               300
that I were a man! What, bear her in hand until they
come to take hands; and then, with public accusation, uncovered
slander, unmitigated rancour,—O God, that I were
a man! I would eat his heart in the market-place.

_Bene._ Hear me, Beatrice,—                                        305

_Beat._ Talk with a man out at a window! A proper
saying!

_Bene._ Nay, but, Beatrice,—

_Beat._ Sweet Hero! She is wronged, she is slandered,
she is undone.                                                     310

_Bene._ Beat—

_Beat._ Princes and counties! Surely, a princely testimony,
a goodly count, Count Comfect; a sweet gallant,
surely! O that I were a man for his sake! or that I had
any friend would be a man for my sake! But manhood is              315
melted into courtesies, valour into compliment, and men
are only turned into tongue, and trim ones too: he is now
as valiant as Hercules that only tells a lie, and swears it.
I cannot be a man with wishing, therefore I will die a
woman with grieving.                                               320

_Bene._ Tarry, good Beatrice. By this hand, I love thee.

_Beat._ Use it for my love some other way than swearing
by it.

_Bene._ Think you in your soul the Count Claudio hath
wronged Hero?                                                      325

_Beat._ Yea, as sure as I have a thought or a soul.

_Bene._ Enough, I am engaged; I will challenge him. I
will kiss your hand, and so I leave you. By this hand,
Claudio shall render me a dear account. As you hear of
me, so think of me. Go, comfort your cousin: I must say            330
she is dead: and so, farewell.         [_Exeunt._


~~~~~
 Linenotes: _Much Ado About Nothing_, IV. 1.

 SCENE I. and attendants.] om. Q Ff. Guests and attendants. Grant
 White.

 4: _lady._] _lady?_ Rowe (ed. 2).

 6: _her: friar,_] Q F1. _her, friar,_ F2 F3 F4. _her, friar;_
 Rowe (ed. 2).

 9: _count._] _count?_ Rowe (ed. 2).

 19: _not knowing what they do!_] Q. omitted in Ff.

 42–44: S. Walker proposes to make four lines ending
 _lord?...soul...lord,...proof._

 43: _Not to knit_] Q F1. _Not knit_ F2 F3 F4. _Nor knit_
 Steevens conj. _Not to be...soul_ as one line, Steevens (Tyrwhitt
 conj.).

 44: _Dear_] _Dear, dear_ Capell.

     _proof_] _approof_ Theobald.

 48: _You will_] _You’ll_ Pope.

 55: _thee! Seeming_] Grant White. _thee seeming_ Q Ff. _thy seeming_
 Pope. _the seeming_ Knight.

     _write_] _rate_ Warburton conj.

 56: _You...orb_] Becket would put in inverted commas.

     _seem_] _seem’d_ Hanmer.

     _Dian_] _Diane_ Q F1 F2. _Diana_ F3 F4.

 60: _rage_] _range_ Collier MS.

 61: _wide_] _wild_ Collier MS.

 62: Leon.] Claud. Tieck.

 75: _do so_] Q F2. _doe_ F1. _to do_ F3 F4.

 78: F2 F3 F4 give this line to _Leonato;_ Theobald restored it to
 _Claudio_.

 81: _itself_] _herself_ Rowe.

 86: _are you_] Q. _you are_ Ff.

 91: _most like a liberal_] _like an illiberal_ Hanmer. _like a most
 liberal_ Anon. conj.

 94: _Fie, fie_] _Fie_ Hanmer, dividing the lines, _A thousand...are
 Not...spoke of._

 95: _spoke_] Q. _spoken_ Ff.

 97: _Thus_] _Thou_ Collier MS.

 101: _thy thoughts_] Q Ff. _the thoughts_ Rowe.

 108: [Hero swoons] Hanmer.

 111: [Exeunt...] Rowe. om. Q Ff.

 112: SCENE II. Pope.

 118: _look up_] _still look up_ Steevens conj.

 120: _Why, doth not_] Theobald. _Why doth not_ Q Ff.

 125: _shames_] _shame’s_ F3 F4.

 126: _rearward_] F3 F4. _rereward_ Q. _reward_ F1. _reareward_
 F2. _hazard_ Collier MS. _re-word_ Brae conj.

 128: _frame_] _’fraine _ Warburton. _hand_ Hanmer. _frown_ Collier
 MS.

 129: _O,_] Q F1. om. F2 F3 F4. _I’ve_ Rowe.

 131: _I not_] _not I_ Rowe.

 133: _smirched_] Q. _smeered_ F1 F2 F3. _smeer’d_ F4.

 136, 137: _and...and...And_] _as...as...As_ Warburton.

 140: _ink,_] _ink!_ Capell.

 143: _foul-tainted_] _foule tainted_ Q Ff. _soul-tainted_ Collier MS.

 143–145: _Sir, sir...to say_] Printed as prose in Q Ff, as verse by
 Pope.

 152: _Would the two princes lie, and Claudio lie_] Q. _Would the
 princes lie and Claudio lie_ F1. _Would the prince lie and Claudio
 would he lie_ F2 F3 F4.

 155–158: _Hear me......mark’d_] See note (XXI).

 156: _been silent_] _silent been_ Grant White.

 157: _course_] _cross_ Collier MS.

 159, 160: _apparitions To start into_] Q F1 F2 F3. _apparitions
 To_ _start in_ F4. _apparitions start Into_ Reed.

 161: _beat_] _beate_ Q. _beare_ F1 F2. _bear_ F3 F4.

 165: _observations_] _observation_ Hanmer.

 167: _tenour_] Theobald. _tenure_ Q Ff.

     _book_] _books_ Heath conj.

 168: _reverence, calling_] _reverend calling_ Collier MS.

 170: _biting_] _blighting_ Collier MS.

     _Friar_] om. Hanmer.

 185: _princes_] Q F1. _prince_ F2 F3 F4.

 186: _bent_] _bend_ Becket conj.

 188: _lives_] _lies_ S. Walker conj.

 189: _frame of_] _fraud and_ Collier MS.

 192: _of it_] _it_ F3 F4.

 197: _kind_] _cause_ Capell conj. MS.

 200: _throughly_] _thoroughly_ F4.

 202: _princes left for dead_] Theobald. _princesse (left for dead)_
 Q Ff.

 217: _it so_] _so it_ F4.

 219: _Whiles_] _Whilst_ Pope.

     _lack’d and lost_] _lost and lack’d_ Collier MS.

 220: _rack_] _reck_ Johnson (ed. 1).

 222: _Whiles_] _Whilst_ Rowe. _Whist_ Warburton.

 224: _life_] _love_ Pope.

 228: _moving-delicate_] Capell. _moving delicate,_ Q F1. _moving,
 delicate,_ F2 F3 F4.

 249: _I flow in grief_] _I flow In grief, alas,_ Hanmer. _alas, I
 flow in grief_ Capell.

 254: [Exeunt...] Exit. Q Ff.

 255: SCENE III. Pope.

 273: _swear_] Q. _swear by_ it Ff.

 289: _it_] Q. om. Ff.

 290: [He seizes her. Halliwell.

 299: _he_] Rowe. _a_ Q Ff.

 311: _Beat—_] Theolbald _Beat?_ Q F1. _Bett?_ F2 F3. _But?_ F4.
 _But—_ Rowe. _But, Beatrice—_ Steevens conj.

 312: _counties_] _counts_ Rowe (ed. 2).

 313: _count, Count Comfect_] _counte, counte comfect_ Q. _count,
 comfect_ F1. _count-comfect_ F2 F3 F4. _Count—confect_ Grant
 White.

 316: _courtesies_] _cursies_ Q F1. _curtsies_ F2. _curtesies_ F3
 F4. _courtesy_ Collier MS. _curses_ Grant White conj.

 317: _tongue_] _tongues_ Hanmer.

 328: _I leave_] Q. _leave_ Ff.

 329: _a dear_] Q F1. _dear_ F2 F3 F4.
~~~~~


SCENE II. _A prison._

 _Enter_ DOGBERRY, VERGES, _and_ Sexton, _in gowns; and the_
 Watch, _with_ CONRADE _and_ BORACHIO.

_Dog._ Is our whole dissembly appeared?

_Verg._ O, a stool and a cushion for the sexton.

_Sex._ Which be the malefactors?

_Dog._ Marry, that am I and my partner.

_Verg._ Nay, that’s certain; we have the exhibition to               5
examine.

_Sex._ But which are the offenders that are to be examined?
let them come before master constable.

_Dog._ Yea, marry, let them come before me. What is
your name, friend?                                                  10

_Bora._ Borachio.

_Dog._ Pray, write down, Borachio. Yours, sirrah?

_Con._ I am a gentleman, sir, and my name is Conrade.

_Dog._ Write down, master gentleman Conrade. Masters,
do you serve God?                                                   15

_Con._   Yea, sir, we hope.
_Bora._   ”    ”    ”  ”

_Dog._ Write down, that they hope they serve God:
and write God first; for God defend but God should go before
such villains! Masters, it is proved already that you
are little better than false knaves; and it will go near to be      20
thought so shortly. How answer you for yourselves?

_Con._ Marry, sir, we say we are none.

_Dog._ A marvellous witty fellow, I assure you; but
I will go about with him. Come you hither, sirrah; a word
in your ear: sir, I say to you, it is thought you are false         25
knaves.

_Bora._ Sir, I say to you we are none.

_Dog._ Well, stand aside. ’Fore God, they are both in
a tale. Have you writ down, that they are none?

_Sex._ Master constable, you go not the way to examine:             30
you must call forth the watch that are their accusers.

_Dog._ Yea, marry, that’s the eftest way. Let the
watch come forth. Masters, I charge you, in the prince’s
name, accuse these men.

_First Watch._ This man said, sir, that Don John, the               35
prince’s brother, was a villain.

_Dog._ Write down, Prince John a villain. Why, this is
flat perjury, to call a prince’s brother villain.

_Bora._ Master constable,—

_Dog._ Pray thee, fellow, peace: I do not like thy look,            40
I promise thee.

_Sex._ What heard you him say else?

_Sec. Watch._ Marry, that he had received a thousand
ducats of Don John for accusing the Lady Hero wrongfully.           45

_Dog._ Flat burglary as ever was committed.

_Verg._ Yea, by mass, that it is.

_Sex._ What else, fellow?

_First Watch._ And that Count Claudio did mean, upon
his words, to disgrace Hero before the whole assembly, and          50
not marry her.

_Dog._ O villain! thou wilt be condemned into everlasting
redemption for this.

_Sex._ What else?

_Watch._ This is all.                                               55

_Sex._ And this is more, masters, than you can deny.
Prince John is this morning secretly stolen away; Hero was
in this manner accused, in this very manner refused, and
upon the grief of this suddenly died. Master Constable, let
these men be bound, and brought to Leonato’s: I will go             60
before and show him their examination.      [_Exit._

_Dog._ Come, let them be opinioned.

_Verg._ Let them be in the hands—

_Con._ Off, coxcomb!

_Dog._ God’s my life, where’s the sexton? let him write             65
down, the prince’s officer, coxcomb. Come, bind them.
Thou naughty varlet!

_Con._ Away! you are an ass, you are an ass.

_Dog._ Dost thou not suspect my place? dost thou not
suspect my years? O that he were here to write me down              70
an ass! But, masters, remember that I am an ass; though
it be not written down, yet forget not that I am an ass.
No, thou villain, thou art full of piety, as shall be proved
upon thee by good witness. I am a wise fellow; and, which
is more, an officer; and, which is more, a householder; and,        75
which is more, as pretty a piece of flesh as any is in Messina;
and one that knows the law, go to; and a rich fellow enough,
go to; and a fellow that hath had losses; and one that hath
two gowns, and every thing handsome about him. Bring
him away. O that I had been writ down an ass!       [_Exeunt._      80


~~~~~
 Linenotes: _Much Ado About Nothing_, IV. 2.

 SCENE II.] Capell. SCENE IV. Pope.

 A prison] Theobald.

 Enter...] Enter the Constables, Borachio, and the Towne Clearke in
 gownes. Q Ff. See note (XXI).

 1: Dog.] Capell. Keeper Q Ff. Town-Clerk. Rowe. See note (XXI).

 2: Verg.] Capell. Cowley. Q F1 F2 F3. Cowly. F4. Dog. Rowe. See
 note (XXI).

     _a cushion_] Q F1. _cushion_ F2 F3 F4.

 4: Dog.] Capell. Andrew. Q Ff. Verg. Rowe. See note (XXI).

 16–19: _Yea, sir...villains_] Omitted in Ff, restored by Theobald.

 20: _go_] _grow_ Rowe (ed. 2).

 25: _ear: sir,_] _ear sir,_ Q F1 F2 F3. _ear sir;_ F4.

 30: _constable_] _Town Clerk_ Rowe.

 31: _forth_] Q Ff. om. Rowe.

 32: _eftest_] _easiest_ Rowe. _deftest_ Theobald.

 39: _constable_] _Town Clerk_ Rowe.

 44: _for accusing_] _for the accusing_ Rowe (ed. 2).

 47: _by mass_] Q. _by th’ masse_ Ff.

 60: _Leonato’s_] _Leonatoes_ Q. _Leonato_ Ff.

 63, 64: VERG. _Let them be in the hands—_ CON. _Off, coxcomb!_]
 Malone. Couley. _Let them be in the hands of Coxcombe_ Q. Sex.
 _Let...coxcombe_ Ff. Conr. _Let...coxcomb_ Theobald. Con. _Let
 us...Coxcomb_ Hanmer. Sexton. _Let them be in hand._ Conr. _Off,
 Coxcomb!_ Warburton. Ver. _Let them be in bands._ Con. _Off,
 coxcomb!_ Capell. _Let them be in band—_ Steevens. _Let them bind
 their hands_ Tyrwhitt conj. (withdrawn). Ver. _Let them be in the
 hands of—_ Con. _Coxcomb!_ Malone conj. Ver. _Let them be bound._
 Con. _Hands off, Coxcomb!_ Collier MS. See note (XXII).

 66, 67: _bind them. Thou_] _bind them; thou_ F3 F4. _bind them
 thou_ Q F1 F2.

 68: Con.] Rowe. Couley. Q F1 F2 F3. Cowley. F4.

 76: _is_] Q. om. Ff.

 78: _losses_] _leases_ Collier MS. _lawsuits_ Anon. (N. and Q.) conj.

 80: [Exeunt.] Pope. [Exit. Q Ff.
~~~~~




ACT V.


SCENE I. _Before_ LEONATO’S _house_.

 _Enter_ LEONATO _and_ ANTONIO.

_Ant._ If you go on thus, you will kill yourself;
And ’tis not wisdom thus to second grief
Against yourself.

_Leon._           I pray thee, cease thy counsel,
Which falls into mine ears as profitless
As water in a sieve: give not me counsel;                            5
Nor let no comforter delight mine ear
But such a one whose wrongs do suit with mine.
Bring me a father that so loved his child,
Whose joy of her is overwhelm’d like mine,
And bid him speak of patience;                                      10
Measure his woe the length and breadth of mine,
And let it answer every strain for strain,
As thus for thus, and such a grief for such,
In every lineament, branch, shape, and form:
If such a one will smile, and stroke his beard,                     15
Bid sorrow wag, cry ‘hem!’ when he should groan,
Patch grief with proverbs, make misfortune drunk
With candle-wasters; bring him yet to me,
And I of him will gather patience.
But there is no such man: for, brother, men                         20
Can counsel and speak comfort to that grief
Which they themselves not feel; but, tasting it,
Their counsel turns to passion, which before
Would give preceptial medicine to rage,
Fetter strong madness in a silken thread,                           25
Charm ache with air, and agony with words:
No, no; ’tis all men’s office to speak patience
To those that wring under the load of sorrow,
But no man’s virtue nor sufficiency,
To be so moral when he shall endure                                 30
The like himself. Therefore give me no counsel:
My griefs cry louder than advertisement.

_Ant._ Therein do men from children nothing differ.

_Leon._ I pray thee, peace. I will be flesh and blood;
For there was never yet philosopher                                 35
That could endure the toothache patiently,
However they have writ the style of gods,
And made a push at chance and sufferance.

_Ant._ Yet bend not all the harm upon yourself;
Make those that do offend you suffer too.                           40

_Leon._ There thou speak’st reason: nay, I will do so.
My soul doth tell me Hero is belied;
And that shall Claudio know; so shall the prince,
And all of them that thus dishonour her.

_Ant._ Here comes the prince and Claudio hastily.                   45

 _Enter_ DON PEDRO _and_ CLAUDIO.

_D. Pedro._ Good den, good den.

_Claud._                        Good day to both of you.

_Leon._ Hear you, my lords,—

_D. Pedro._                   We have some haste, Leonato.

_Leon._ Some haste, my lord! well, fare you well, my lord:
Are you so hasty now? well, all is one.

_D. Pedro._ Nay, do not quarrel with us, good old man.              50

_Ant._ If he could right himself with quarrelling,
Some of us would lie low.

_Claud._                  Who wrongs him?

_Leon._ Marry, thou dost wrong me; thou dissembler, thou:—
Nay, never lay thy hand upon thy sword:
I fear thee not.

_Claud._   Marry, beshrew my hand,                                  55
If it should give your age such cause of fear:
In faith, my hand meant nothing to my sword.

_Leon._  Tush, tush, man; never fleer and jest at me:
I speak not like a dotard nor a fool,
As, under privilege of age, to brag                                 60
What I have done being young, or what would do,
Were I not old. Know, Claudio, to thy head,
Thou hast so wrong’d mine innocent child and me,
That I am forced to lay my reverence by,
And, with grey hairs and bruise of many days,                       65
Do challenge thee to trial of a man.
I say thou hast belied mine innocent child;
Thy slander hath gone through and through her heart,
And she lies buried with her ancestors;
O, in a tomb where never scandal slept,                             70
Save this of hers, framed by thy villany!

_Claud._ My villany?

_Leon._              Thine, Claudio; thine, I say.

_D. Pedro._ You say not right, old man.

_Leon._                                 My lord, my lord,
I’ll prove it on his body, if he dare,

Despite his nice fence and his active practice,                     75
His May of youth and bloom of lustihood.

_Claud._ Away! I will not have to do with you.

_Leon._ Canst thou so daff me? Thou hast kill’d my child:
If thou kill’st me, boy, thou shalt kill a man.

_Ant._ He shall kill two of us, and men indeed:                     80
But that’s no matter; let him kill one first;
Win me and wear me; let him answer me.
Come, follow me, boy; come, sir boy, come, follow me:
Sir boy, I’ll whip you from your foining fence;
Nay, as I am a gentleman, I will.                                   85

_Leon._ Brother,—

_Ant._ Content yourself. God knows I loved my niece;
And she is dead, slander’d to death by villains,
That dare as well answer a man indeed
As I dare take a serpent by the tongue:                             90
Boys, apes, braggarts, Jacks, milksops!

_Leon._                                 Brother Antony,—

_Ant._ Hold you content. What, man! I know them, yea,
And what they weigh, even to the utmost scruple,—
Scambling, out-facing, fashion-monging boys,
That lie, and cog, and flout, deprave, and slander,                 95
Go antiquely, and show outward hideousness,
And speak off half a dozen dangerous words,
How they might hurt their enemies, if they durst;
And this is all.

_Leon._ But, brother Antony,—

_Ant._                         Come, ’tis no matter:               100
Do not you meddle; let me deal in this.

_D. Pedro._ Gentlemen both, we will not wake your patience.
My heart is sorry for your daughter’s death:
But, on my honour, she was charged with nothing
But what was true, and very full of proof.                         105

_Leon._ My lord, my lord,—

_D. Pedro._ I will not hear you.

_Leon._ No? Come, brother; away! I will be heard.

_Ant._ And shall, or some of us will smart for it.

 [_Exeunt Leonato and Antonio._

_D. Pedro._ See, see; here comes the man we went to seek.          110

 _Enter_ BENEDICK.

_Claud._ Now, signior, what news?

_Bene._ Good day, my lord.

_D. Pedro._ Welcome, signior: you are almost come to
part almost a fray.

_Claud._ We had like to have had our two noses snapped             115
off with two old men without teeth.

_D. Pedro._ Leonato and his brother. What thinkest
thou? Had we fought, I doubt we should have been too
young for them.

_Bene._ In a false quarrel there is no true valour. I came         120
to seek you both.

_Claud._ We have been up and down to seek thee; for
we are high-proof melancholy, and would fain have it
beaten away. Wilt thou use thy wit?

_Bene._ It is in my scabbard: shall I draw it?                     125

_D. Pedro._ Dost thou wear thy wit by thy side?

_Claud._ Never any did so, though very many have been
beside their wit. I will bid thee draw, as we do the minstrels;
draw, to pleasure us.

_D. Pedro._ As I am an honest man, he looks pale. Art              130
thou sick, or angry?

_Claud._ What, courage, man! What though care killed
a cat, thou hast mettle enough in thee to kill care.

_Bene._ Sir, I shall meet your wit in the career, an you
charge it against me. I pray you choose another subject.           135

_Claud._ Nay, then, give him another staff: this last was
broke cross.

_D. Pedro._ By this light, he changes more and more: I
think he be angry indeed.

_Claud._ If he be, he knows how to turn his girdle.                140

_Bene._ Shall I speak a word in your ear?

_Claud._ God bless me from a challenge!

_Bene._ [_Aside to Claudio_] You are a villain; I jest not:
I will make it good how you dare, with what you dare, and
when you dare. Do me right, or I will protest your                 145
cowardice. You have killed a sweet lady, and her death
shall fall heavy on you. Let me hear from you.

_Claud._ Well, I will meet you, so I may have good cheer.

_D. Pedro._ What, a feast, a feast?

_Claud._ I’ faith, I thank him; he hath bid me to a calf’s-head    150
and a capon; the which if I do not carve most curiously,
say my knife’s naught. Shall I not find a woodcock
too?

_Bene._ Sir, your wit ambles well; it goes easily.

_D.Pedro._ I’ll tell thee how Beatrice praised thy wit             155
the other day. I said, thou hadst a fine wit: ‘True,’ said
she, ‘a fine little one.’ ‘No,’ said I, ‘a great wit:’ ‘Right,’
says she, ‘a great gross one.’ ‘Nay,’ said I, ‘a good wit:’
‘Just,’ said she, ‘it hurts nobody.’ ‘Nay,’ said I, ‘the
gentleman is wise:’ ‘Certain,’ said she, ‘a wise gentleman.’       160
‘Nay,’ said I, ‘he hath the tongues:’ ‘That I believe,’
said she, ‘for he swore a thing to me on Monday
night, which he forswore on Tuesday morning; there’s a
double tongue; there’s two tongues.’ Thus did she, an hour
together, trans-shape thy particular virtues: yet at last she      165
concluded with a sigh, thou wast the properest man in Italy.

_Claud._ For the which she wept heartily, and said she
cared not.

_D. Pedro._ Yea, that she did; but yet, for all that, an
if she did not hate him deadly, she would love him dearly:         170
the old man’s daughter told us all.

_Claud._ All, all; and, moreover, God saw him when he
was hid in the garden.

_D. Pedro._ But when shall we set the savage bull’s
horns on the sensible Benedick’s head?                             175

_Claud._ Yea, and text underneath, ‘Here dwells Benedick
the married man’?

_Bene._ Fare you well, boy: you know my mind. I
will leave you now to your gossip-like humour: you break
jests as braggarts do their blades, which, God be thanked,         180
hurt not. My lord, for your many courtesies I thank you:
I must discontinue your company: your brother the bastard
is fled from Messina: you have among you killed a sweet
and innocent lady. For my Lord Lackbeard there, he and
I shall meet: and till then peace be with him.      [_Exit._       185

_D. Pedro._ He is in earnest.

_Claud._ In most profound earnest; and, I’ll warrant
you, for the love of Beatrice.

_D. Pedro._ And hath challenged thee.

_Claud._ Most sincerely.                                           190

_D. Pedro._ What a pretty thing man is when he goes in
his doublet and hose, and leaves off his wit!

_Claud._ He is then a giant to an ape: but then is an
ape a doctor to such a man.

_D. Pedro._ But, soft you, let me be: pluck up, my heart,          195
and be sad. Did he not say, my brother was fled?

 _Enter_ DOGBERRY, VERGES, _and the_ Watch, _with_ CONRADE _and_
 BORACHIO.

_Dog._ Come, you, sir: if justice cannot tame you, she
shall ne’er weigh more reasons in her balance: nay, an you
be a cursing hypocrite once, you must be looked to.

_D. Pedro._ How now? two of my brother’s men bound!                200
Borachio one!

_Claud._ Hearken after their offence, my lord.

_D. Pedro._ Officers, what offence have these men done?

_Dog._ Marry, sir, they have committed false report;
moreover, they have spoken untruths; secondarily, they             205
are slanders; sixth and lastly, they have belied a lady;
thirdly, they have verified unjust things; and, to conclude,
they are lying knaves.

_D. Pedro._ First, I ask thee what they have done; thirdly,
I ask thee what’s their offence; sixth and lastly, why             210
they are committed; and, to conclude, what you lay to
their charge.

_Claud._ Rightly reasoned, and in his own division; and,
by my troth, there’s one meaning well suited.

_D. Pedro._ Who have you offended, masters, that you are           215
thus bound to your answer? this learned constable is too
cunning to be understood: what’s your offence?

_Bora._ Sweet prince, let me go no farther to mine answer:
do you hear me, and let this count kill me. I have
deceived even your very eyes: what your wisdoms could              220
not discover, these shallow fools have brought to light;
who, in the night, overheard me confessing to this man,
how Don John your brother incensed me to slander the
Lady Hero; how you were brought into the orchard, and
saw me court Margaret in Hero’s garments: how you disgraced        225
her, when you should marry her: my villany they
have upon record; which I had rather seal with my death
than repeat over to my shame. The lady is dead upon
mine and my master’s false accusation; and, briefly, I desire
nothing but the reward of a villain.                               230

_D. Pedro._ Runs not this speech like iron through your blood?

_Claud._ I have drunk poison whiles he utter’d it.

_D. Pedro._ But did my brother set thee on to this?

_Bora._ Yea, and paid me richly for the practice of it.

_D. Pedro._ He is composed and framed of treachery:                235
And fled he is upon this villany.

_Claud._ Sweet Hero! now thy image doth appear
In the rare semblance that I loved it first.

_Dog._ Come, bring away the plaintiffs: by this time our
sexton hath reformed Signior Leonato of the matter: and,           240
masters, do not forget to specify, when time and place shall
serve, that I am an ass.

_Verg._ Here, here comes master Signior Leonato, and
the sexton too.

 _Re-enter_ LEONATO _and_ ANTONIO, _with the_ Sexton.

_Leon._ Which is the villain? let me see his eyes,                 245
That, when I note another man like him,
I may avoid him: which of these is he?

_Bora._ If you would know your wronger, look on me.

_Leon._ Art thou the slave that with thy breath hast kill’d
Mine innocent child?

_Bora._              Yea, even I alone.                            250

_Leon._ No, not so, villain; thou beliest thyself:
Here stand a pair of honourable men;
A third is fled, that had a hand in it.
I thank you, princes, for my daughter’s death:
Record it with your high and worthy deeds:                         255
’Twas bravely done, if you bethink you of it.

_Claud._ I know not how to pray your patience;
Yet I must speak. Choose your revenge yourself;
Impose me to what penance your invention
Can lay upon my sin: yet sinn’d I not                              260
But in mistaking.

_D. Pedro._       By my soul, nor I:
And yet, to satisfy this good old man,
I would bend under any heavy weight
That he’ll enjoin me to.

_Leon._ I cannot bid you bid my daughter live;                     265
That were impossible: but, I pray you both,
Possess the people in Messina here
How innocent she died; and if your love
Can labour ought in sad invention,
Hang her an epitaph upon her tomb,                                 270
And sing it to her bones, sing it to-night:
To-morrow morning come you to my house;
And since you could not be my son-in-law,
Be yet my nephew: my brother hath a daughter,
Almost the copy of my child that’s dead,                           275
And she alone is heir to both of us:
Give her the right you should have given her cousin,
And so dies my revenge.

_Claud._                O noble sir,
Your over-kindness doth wring tears from me!
I do embrace your offer; and dispose                               280
For henceforth of poor Claudio.

_Leon._ To-morrow, then, I will expect your coming;
To-night I take my leave. This naughty man
Shall face to face be brought to Margaret,
Who I believe was pack’d in all this wrong,                        285
Hired to it by your brother.

_Bora._                      No, by my soul, she was not;
Nor knew not what she did when she spoke to me;
But always hath been just and virtuous
In any thing that I do know by her.

_Dog._ Moreover, sir, which indeed is not under white              290
and black, this plaintiff here, the offender, did call me
ass: I beseech you, let it be remembered in his punishment.
And also, the watch heard them talk of one Deformed:
they say he wears a key in his ear, and a lock
hanging by it; and borrows money in God’s name, the                295
which he hath used so long and never paid, that now men
grow hard-hearted, and will lend nothing for God’s sake:
pray you, examine him upon that point.

_Leon._ I thank thee for thy care and honest pains.

_Dog._ Your worship speaks like a most thankful and                300
reverend youth; and I praise God for you.

_Leon._ There’s for thy pains.

_Dog._ God save the foundation!

_Leon._ Go, I discharge thee of thy prisoner, and I thank
thee.                                                              305

_Dog._ I leave an arrant knave with your worship; which
I beseech your worship to correct yourself, for the example
of others. God keep your worship! I wish your worship
well; God restore you to health! I humbly give you leave
to depart; and if a merry meeting may be wished, God               310
prohibit it! Come, neighbour.

 [_Exeunt Dogberry and Verges._

_Leon._ Until to-morrow morning, lords, farewell.

_Ant._ Farewell, my lords: we look for you to-morrow.

_D. Pedro._ We will not fail.

_Claud._                      To-night I’ll mourn with Hero.

_Leon._ [_To the Watch_] Bring you these fellows on.
    We’ll talk with Margaret,                                      315
How her acquaintance grew with this lewd fellow.

 [_Exeunt, severally._


~~~~~
 Linenotes: _Much Ado About Nothing_, V. 1.

 SCENE I. Before L.’s house] Pope.

 6: _comforter_] Q. _comfort_ F1. _comfort els_ F2. _comfort else_
 F3 F4.

 7: _do_] _doe_ Q. _doth_ Ff.

 10: _speak_] _speak to me_ Hanmer.

 16: _Bid sorrow wag, cry ‘hem!’_] Capell. _And sorrow, wagge, crie
 hem_ Q F1 F2. _And hallow, wag, cry hem_ F3. _And hollow, wag,
 cry hem_ F4. _And sorrow wage; cry, hem_ Theobald. _And sorrow
 waive, cry hem_ Hanmer. _And, sorrow wag! cry; hem_ Johnson. _And
 sorrow gagge; cry hem_ Tyrwhitt conj. _And sorrowing, cry hem_ Heath
 conj. _Cry, sorrow, wag! and hem_ Steevens (Johnson conj.). _In
 sorrow wag; cry hem_ Malone. _And sorry wag, cry hem_ Steevens conj.
 _And, sorrow waggery, hem_ Ritson conj. _And sorrow-wagg’d cry hem_
 Becket conj. _And_—_sorrow wag!_—_cry hem_ Dyce. _Call sorrow joy,
 cry hem_ Collier MS. _Say, sorrow, wag; cry hem_ S. Walker conj.
 _And sorrow’s wag, cry hem_ Grant White. _And sorrow away! cry hem_
 Halliwell conj. _At sorrow wink, cry hem_ Anon. conj.

 18: _candle-wasters_] _caudle-waters_ Jackson conj.

     _yet_] _you_ Collier MS.

 21: _speak_] Q F1 F2. _give_ F3 F4.

 38: _push_] Q Ff. _pish_ Rowe (ed. 2).

 45: SCENE II. Pope.

 52: _wrongs him_] _wrongeth him_ Hanmer. _wrongs him, sir?_ Capell.

 53: _Marry, thou_] _marry, Thou, thou_ Steevens. _who? Marry thou_
 S. Walker conj.

 63: _mine_] Q. _my_ Ff.

 67: _mine_] _my_ Pope.

 78: _daff_] _doffe_ Warburton.

 83: _come, sir boy, come, follow me_] Q Ff. _come boy, follow me_
 Pope. _come sir boy, follow me_ Capell.

 91: _braggarts, Jacks_] _Jacks, braggarts_ Hanmer.

 94: _monging_] Q F1. _mongring_ F2 F3 F4.

 96: _and_] om. Spedding conj.

     _outward_] _an outward_ Rowe.

 97: _off_] Theobald, _of_ Q Ff.

 102: _wake_] _rack_ Hanmer. _wrack_ Warburton. _waste_ Talbot conj.

     _patience_] _passions_ Anon. conj.

 105: _what_] om. F2 F3 F4.

 106–109: Printed as three lines ending _No!...shall,...it._ by
 Hanmer.

 107: Enter Benedick. Ff.

 108: _No?_] Capell. _No_ Q F1. _No!_ F2 F3 F4.

     _Come_] om. Steevens.

 109: Enter Ben. Q.

     [Exeunt...] Exeunt ambo. Q Ff (after the preceding line).

 110: _we_] _he_ F3 F4.

 114: _almost_] om. Rowe (ed. 2).

 115: _like_] _likt_ Q F1.

 120: _a_] om. F3 F4.

 143: [Aside to Claudio] Edd. See note (XXIII).

 149: _a feast, a feast?_] Q F1. _a feast?_ F2 F3 F4.

 150: _I’ faith_] _Ay, faith,_ Capell conj.

     _a calf’s-head_] Malone. _a calves head_ Q F1 F2. _calves
     heads_ F3 F4.

 151: _a capon_] _a cap-on_ Capell. _capers_ Collier MS.

 156: _True_] _Right_ Rowe (ed. 2).

     _said_] Q. _saies_ F1 F2 F3 _says_ F4.

 157: _Right_] _Just_ Rowe (ed. 2).

 158: _says she_] _said she_ Pope.

 159: _said she_] _says she_ Steevens.

 160, 161: _a wise gentleman_] _a wise gentle man_ Johnson conj.

 164: _there’s_] _theirs_ Q.

 169: _an_] Hanmer. _and_ Q Ff.

 172: _God_] _who_ Collier MS.

 174: _savage_] Q F1 F2. _salvage_ F3 F4.

 175: _on_] _one_ Q.

 184: _lady. For_] _lady: for_ Q F1 F2 F3. _lady, for_ F4. _lady
 for_ Rowe.

 185: [Exit.] Rowe.

 189: _thee._] _thee?_ Pope.

 193: SCENE IV. Pope.

 195: _let me be_] Q F1. _let me see_ F2 F3 F4. _let be_ Capell.

     _let me be: pluck_] _let me pluck_ Malone conj.

 197: SCENE IV. Hanmer.

 Enter...] Hanmer. Enter Constables, C. and B. Q (after 192). Enter
 Constable, C. and B. Ff (after 192).

 198: _weigh more_] _more weigh_ S. Walker conj.

     _an_] _if_ Pope.

 211: _you lay_] _lay you_ F4.

 215: _Who_] Q F1. _Whom_ F2 F3 F4.

 222: _overheard_] _heard_ F4.

 232: _whiles_] _while_ Rowe.

 234: _Yea, and...of it_] _Yea; And...on’t_ S. Walker conj.

     _and_] om. Pope.

     _richly_] _rich_ F2 F3 F4.

 235: _and framed_] om. F3 F4.

 240: _reformed_] _informed_ F3 F4.

 245: SCENE V. Pope.

 Re-enter...] Capell. Enter Leonato. Q Ff. Enter L. and Sexton.
 Theobald.

 249: _Art thou_] Q. _Art thou thou_ F1. _Art thou, art thou_ F2
 F3 F4.

 259: _Impose_] _Expose_ Hanmer.

     _me to_] _to me_ Capell conj.

 264: _to_] _too_ F3 F4.

 265: _I cannot bid you bid my daughter live_] Q F1. _I cannot bid
 you daughter live_ F2. _I cannot bid your daughter live_ F3. _You
 cannot bid my daughter live_ F4. _You cannot bid my daughter live
 again_ Rowe. _I cannot bid you cause my daughter live_ Collier MS.

 285: _pack’d_] _packt_ Q Ff. _pact_ Collier.

 306: _arrant_] _errant_ F4.

 311: [Exeunt D. and V.] Edd. Exeunt D., V. and Watch. Capell.
 Exeunt. Ff (after line 312). om. Q.

 315: [To the Watch.] Edd.
~~~~~


SCENE II. LEONATO’S _garden_.

 _Enter_ BENEDICK _and_ MARGARET, _meeting_.

_Bene._ Pray thee, sweet Mistress Margaret, deserve well
at my hands by helping me to the speech of Beatrice.

_Marg._ Will you, then, write me a sonnet in praise of
my beauty?

_Bene._ In so high a style, Margaret, that no man living             5
shall come over it; for, in most comely truth, thou deservest
it.

_Marg._ To have no man come over me! why, shall I
always keep below stairs?

_Bene._ Thy wit is as quick as the greyhound’s mouth;               10
it catches.

_Marg._ And yours as blunt as the fencer’s foils, which
hit, but hurt not.

_Bene._ A most manly wit, Margaret; it will not hurt a
woman: and so, I pray thee, call Beatrice: I give thee the          15
bucklers.

_Marg._ Give us the swords; we have bucklers of our own.

_Bene._ If you use them, Margaret, you must put in the
pikes with a vice; and they are dangerous weapons for maids.

_Marg._ Well, I will call Beatrice to you, who I think              20
hath legs.

_Bene._ And therefore will come.       [_Exit Margaret._

 [_Sings_]    The god of love,
              That sits above,
         And knows me, and knows me,                                25
           How pitiful I deserve,—

I mean in singing; but in loving, Leander the good swimmer,
Troilus the first employer of panders, and a whole
bookful of these quondam carpet-mongers, whose names
yet run smoothly in the even road of a blank verse, why,            30
they were never so truly turned over and over as my poor
self in love. Marry, I cannot show it in rhyme; I have
tried: I can find out no rhyme to ‘lady’ but ‘baby,’ an
innocent rhyme; for ‘scorn,’ ‘horn,’ a hard rhyme; for
‘school,’ ‘fool,’ a babbling rhyme; very ominous endings:           35
no, I was not born under a rhyming planet, nor I cannot
woo in festival terms.

 _Enter_ BEATRICE.

Sweet Beatrice, wouldst thou come when I called thee?

_Beat._ Yea, signior, and depart when you bid me.

_Bene._ O, stay but till then!                                      40

_Beat._ ‘Then’ is spoken; fare you well now: and yet,
ere I go, let me go with that I came; which is, with knowing
what hath passed between you and Claudio.

_Bene._ Only foul words; and thereupon I will kiss thee.

_Beat._ Foul words is but foul wind, and foul wind is but           45
foul breath, and foul breath is noisome; therefore I will
depart unkissed.

_Bene._ Thou hast frighted the word out of his right
sense, so forcible is thy wit. But I must tell thee plainly,
Claudio undergoes my challenge; and either I must shortly           50
hear from him, or I will subscribe him a coward. And, I
pray thee now, tell me for which of my bad parts didst
thou first fall in love with me?

_Beat._ For them all together; which maintained so politic
a state of evil, that they will not admit any good part to          55
intermingle with them. But for which of my good parts
did you first suffer love for me?

_Bene._ Suffer love,—a good epithet! I do suffer love
indeed, for I love thee against my will.

_Beat._ In spite of your heart, I think; alas, poor heart!         60
If you spite it for my sake, I will spite it for yours; for I
will never love that which my friend hates.

_Bene._ Thou and I are too wise to woo peaceably.

_Beat._ It appears not in this confession: there’s not one
wise man among twenty that will praise himself.                     65

_Bene._ An old, an old instance, Beatrice, that lived in
the time of good neighbours. If a man do not erect in this
age his own tomb ere he dies, he shall live no longer in
monument than the bell rings and the widow weeps.

_Beat._ And how long is that, think you?                            70

_Bene._ Question: why, an hour in clamour, and a quarter
in rheum: therefore is it most expedient for the wise, if Don
Worm, his conscience, find no impediment to the contrary,
to be the trumpet of his own virtues, as I am to myself. So
much for praising myself, who, I myself will bear witness,          75
is praiseworthy: and now tell me, how doth your cousin?

_Beat._ Very ill.

_Bene._ And how do you?

_Beat._ Very ill too.

_Bene._ Serve God, love me, and mend. There will I                  80
leave you too, for here comes one in haste.

 _Enter_ URSULA.

_Urs._ Madam, you must come to your uncle. Yonder’s
old coil at home: it is proved my Lady Hero hath been
falsely accused, the prince and Claudio mightily abused;
and Don John is the author of all, who is fled and gone.            85
Will you come presently?

_Beat._ Will you go hear this news, signior?

_Bene._ I will live in thy heart, die in thy lap, and be
buried in thy eyes; and moreover I will go with thee to
thy uncle’s.               [_Exeunt._                               90


~~~~~
 Linenotes: _Much Ado About Nothing_, V. 2.

 SCENE II.] Capell. SCENE VI. Pope.

 Leonato’s garden.] Reed. L.’s house. Pope. See note (XXIV).

 8, 9: _me! why, shall...stairs?_] _me, why shal...staires._ Q. _me,
 why, shall...staires?_ Ff.

 9: _keep below_] _keep above_ Theobald. _keep men below_ Steevens
 conj. _keep them below_ Singer conj.

 23: [Sings.] Pope.

 23–26: Printed as prose in Q Ff, as verse by Capell.

 29: _names_] Q F3 F4. _name_ F1 F2.

 31: _over and over_] Q F1. _over_ F2 F3 F4.

 32: _it in_] Q F3 F4. _it_ F1 F2.

 33: _baby_] _babie_ Q F1. _badie_ F2 F3. _bady_ F4. _baudy_ Rowe.

 34: _innocent_] Q F1. _innocents_ F2 F3 F4. _innocent’s_ Rowe.

 36: _nor_] Q. _for_ Ff.

 37: Enter Beatrice] Ff. Enter B. Q (after line 38).

 38: SCENE VII. Pope.

     _called_] _call_ Rowe.

 42: _came_] _came_ for Pope. See note (XXVI).

 48: _his_] _its_ Rowe.

 54: _all together_] _altogether_ Hanmer.

     _maintained_] _maintain_ Capell conj.

 57: _first_] om. Rowe.

 64: _this_] _that_ Hanmer.

 69: _monument_] Q. _monuments_ Ff.

     _bell rings_] Q. _bells ring_ Ff.

 71: _Question:_] _Question_, Q Ff. _Question?_ Pope. om. Hanmer.

 72: _rheum_] _thewme_ F3. _thewm_ F4.

     _is it_] _it is_ F4.

 74: _myself. So_] _myself so_ Q Ff.

 81: Enter U.] Q. Enter U. Ff (after line 79).

 88: _in thy lap_] _on thy lip_ Brae conj.

 90: _uncle’s_] _uncle_ Rowe.
~~~~~

SCENE III. _A church._

 _Enter_ DON PEDRO, CLAUDIO, _and three or four with tapers_.

_Claud._ Is this the monument of Leonato?

_A Lord._ It is, my lord.

_Claud._ [_Reading out of a scroll_]

 Done to death by slanderous tongues
    Was the Hero that here lies:
 Death, in guerdon of her wrongs,                                    5
    Gives her fame which never dies.
 So the life that died with shame
 Lives in death with glorious fame.

Hang thou there upon the tomb,
Praising her when I am dumb.                                        10

Now, music, sound, and sing your solemn hymn.

 SONG.

 Pardon, goddess of the night,
 Those that slew thy virgin knight;
 For the which, with songs of woe,
 Round about her tomb they go.                                      15
    Midnight, assist our moan;
    Help us to sigh and groan,
        Heavily, heavily:
    Graves, yawn, and yield your dead,
    Till death be uttered,                                          20
        Heavily, heavily.

_Claud._ Now, unto thy bones good night!
Yearly will I do this rite.

_D. Pedro._ Good morrow, masters; put your torches out:
    The wolves have prey’d; and look, the gentle day,               25
Before the wheels of Phœbus, round about
    Dapples the drowsy east with spots of grey.
Thanks to you all, and leave us: fare you well.

_Claud._ Good morrow, masters: each his several way.

_D. Pedro._ Come, let us hence, and put on other weeds;             30
And then to Leonato’s we will go.

_Claud._ And Hymen now with luckier issue speed’s
Than this for whom we render’d up this woe.       [_Exeunt._


~~~~~
 Linenotes: _Much Ado About Nothing_, V. 3.

 SCENE III.] Capell. SCENE VIII. Pope.

 2: A Lord.] Lord. Q Ff. Atten. Rowe.

 3: Claud. [Reading...] Capell. Epitaph. Q Ff.

 3: _by_] _with_ Capell (corrected in MS.).

 9: [Affixing it. Capell.

 10: _dumb_] Ff. _dead_ Q.

 13: _thy_] _the_ Rowe.

     _knight_] _bright_ Collier MS.

 15: _they_] _we_ Collier MS.

 20: _Till_] _Until_ Hanmer.

 21: _Heavily, heavily_] Q. _Heavenly, heavenly_ Ff.

 22: Claud.] Rowe. Lo. Q Ff.

 23: _rite_] Pope. _right_ Q Ff.

 29: _his several way_] _his way can tell_ Collier MS.

 32: _speed’s_] Theobald (Thirlby conj.). _speeds_ Q F1 _speed_ F2
 F3 F4.

 33: _whom_] _which_ Hanmer.
~~~~~


SCENE IV. _A room in_ LEONATO’S _house_.

 _Enter_ LEONATO, ANTONIO, BENEDICK, BEATRICE, MARGARET,
 URSULA, FRIAR FRANCIS, _and_ HERO.

_Friar._ Did I not tell you she was innocent?

_Leon._ So are the prince and Claudio, who accused her
Upon the error that you heard debated:
But Margaret was in some fault for this,
Although against her will, as it appears                             5
In the true course of all the question.

_Ant._ Well, I am glad that all things sort so well.

_Bene._ And so am I, being else by faith enforced
To call young Claudio to a reckoning for it.

_Leon._ Well, daughter, and you gentlewomen all,                    10
Withdraw into a chamber by yourselves,
And when I send for you, come hither mask’d.
 [_Exeunt Ladies._
The prince and Claudio promised by this hour
To visit me. You know your office, brother:
You must be father to your brother’s daughter,                      15
And give her to young Claudio.

_Ant._ Which I will do with confirm’d countenance.

_Bene._ Friar, I must entreat your pains, I think.

_Friar._ To do what, signior?

_Bene._ To bind me, or undo me; one of them.                        20
Signior Leonato, truth it is, good signior,
Your niece regards me with an eye of favour.

_Leon._ That eye my daughter lent her: ’tis most true.

_Bene._ And I do with an eye of love requite her.

_Leon._ The sight whereof I think you had from me,                  25
From Claudio, and the prince: but what’s your will?

_Bene._ Your answer, sir, is enigmatical:
But, for my will, my will is, your good will
May stand with ours, this day to be conjoin’d
In the state of honourable marriage:                                30
In which, good friar, I shall desire your help.

_Leon._ My heart is with your liking.

_Friar._                              And my help.
Here comes the prince and Claudio.

 _Enter_ DON PEDRO _and_ CLAUDIO, _and two or three others_.

_D. Pedro._ Good morrow to this fair assembly.

_Leon._ Good morrow, prince; good morrow, Claudio:                  35
We here attend you. Are you yet determin’d
To-day to marry with my brother’s daughter?

_Claud._ I’ll hold my mind, were she an Ethiope.

_Leon._ Call her forth, brother; here’s the friar ready.
 [_Exit Antonio._
_D. Pedro._ Good morrow, Benedick. Why, what’s the matter,          40
That you have such a February face,
So full of frost, of storm, and cloudiness?

_Claud._ I think he thinks upon the savage bull.
Tush, fear not, man; we’ll tip thy horns with gold,
And all Europa shall rejoice at thee;                               45
As once Europa did at lusty Jove,
When he would play the noble beast in love.

_Bene._ Bull Jove, sir, had an amiable low;
And some such strange bull leap’d your father’s cow,
And got a calf in that same noble feat                              50
Much like to you, for you have just his bleat.

_Claud._ For this I owe you: here comes other reckonings.

 _Re-enter_ ANTONIO, _with the_ Ladies _masked_.

Which is the lady I must seize upon?

_Ant._ This same is she, and I do give you her.

_Claud._ Why, then she’s mine. Sweet, let me see your face.         55

_Leon._ No, that you shall not, till you take her hand
Before this friar, and swear to marry her.

_Claud._ Give me your hand: before this holy friar,
I am your husband, if you like of me.

_Hero._ And when I lived, I was your other wife:                    60
 [_Unmasking._
And when you loved, you were my other husband.

_Claud._ Another Hero!

_Hero._                Nothing certainer:
One Hero died defiled; but I do live,
And surely as I live, I am a maid.

_D. Pedro._ The former Hero! Hero that is dead!                     65

_Leon._ She died, my lord, but whiles her slander lived.

_Friar._ All this amazement can I qualify;
When after that the holy rites are ended,
I’ll tell you largely of fair Hero’s death:
Meantime let wonder seem familiar,                                  70
And to the chapel let us presently.

_Bene._ Soft and fair, friar. Which is Beatrice?

_Beat._ [_Unmasking_] I answer to that name. What is your will?

_Bene._ Do not you love me?

_Beat._                     Why, no; no more than reason.

_Bene._ Why, then your uncle, and the prince, and Claudio           75
Have been deceived; they swore you did.

_Beat._ Do not you love me?

_Bene._                     Troth, no; no more than reason.

_Beat._ Why, then my cousin, Margaret, and Ursula
Are much deceived; for they did swear you did.

_Bene._ They swore that you were almost sick for me.                80

_Beat._ They swore that you were well-nigh dead for me.

_Bene._ ’Tis no such matter. Then you do not love me?

_Beat._ No, truly, but in friendly recompense.

_Leon._ Come, cousin, I am sure you love the gentleman.

_Claud._ And I’ll be sworn upon’t that he loves her;                85
For here’s a paper, written in his hand,
A halting sonnet of his own pure brain,
Fashion’d to Beatrice.

_Hero._                And here’s another,
Writ in my cousin’s hand, stolen from her pocket,
Containing her affection unto Benedick.                             90

_Bene._ A miracle! here’s our own hands against our
hearts. Come, I will have thee; but, by this light, I take
thee for pity.

_Beat._ I would not deny you; but, by this good day, I
yield upon great persuasion; and partly to save your life,          95
for I was told you were in a consumption.

_Bene._ Peace! I will stop your mouth.       [_Kissing her._

_D. Pedro._ How dost thou, Benedick, the married man?

_Bene._ I’ll tell thee what, prince; a college of wit-crackers
cannot flout me out of my humour. Dost thou think I care           100
for a satire or an epigram? No: if a man will be beaten
with brains, a’ shall wear nothing handsome about him. In
brief, since I do purpose to marry, I will think nothing to
any purpose that the world can say against it; and therefore
never flout at me for what I have said against it; for man         105
is a giddy thing, and this is my conclusion. For thy part,
Claudio, I did think to have beaten thee; but in that thou art
like to be my kinsman, live unbruised, and love my cousin.

_Claud._ I had well hoped thou wouldst have denied Beatrice,
that I might have cudgelled thee out of thy single life,           110
to make thee a double-dealer; which, out of question, thou
wilt be, if my cousin do not look exceeding narrowly to thee.

_Bene._ Come, come, we are friends: let’s have a dance
ere we are married, that we may lighten our own hearts,
and our wives’ heels.                                              115

_Leon._ We’ll have dancing afterward.

_Bene._ First, of my word; therefore play, music. Prince,
thou art sad; get thee a wife, get thee a wife: there is no
staff more reverend than one tipped with horn.

 _Enter a_ Messenger.

_Mess._ My lord, your brother John is ta’en in flight,             120
And brought with armed men back to Messina.

_Bene._ Think not on him till to-morrow: I’ll devise thee
brave punishments for him. Strike up, pipers.       [_Dance._

 [_Exeunt._


~~~~~
 Linenotes: _Much Ado About Nothing_, V. 4.

 SCENE IV.] SCENE IX. Pope.

 ...Margaret] om. Reed (1793).

 7: _sort_] _sorts_ Q.

 10: _you_] Q F1. _yong_ F2. _young_ F3 F4.

 12: [Exeunt Ladies.] Q Ff (after line 16). Capell (after line 17).
 Dyce (after line 14).

 23: Leon.] Q F1. Old. F2 F3 F4. Ant. Rowe.

 30: _In the_] Q F1. _I’th_ F2 F3 F4.

     _state_] _estate_ Johnson.

 31: _friar,_] om. F3 F4.

 33: _Here...Claudio_] Q. omitted in Ff.

 34: SCENE X. Pope.

     and...others] and...other. Q. with attendants. Ff.

 45: _all Europa_] Q F1 F2. _so all Europe_ F3 F4. _all our
 Europe_ Steevens conj.

 50: _And got_] Q F3 F4. _A got_ F1 F2.

 52: SCENE XI. Pope.

     _comes_] Q Ff. _come_ Rowe.

 Re-enter...] Enter brother, Hero, Beatrice, Margaret, Ursula. Q Ff.

 54: This line is given to _Leonato_ in Q Ff, to _Antonio_ first by
 Theobald.

 58: _hand: before......friar,_] Pope. _hand before...friar,_ Q Ff.

 60: [Unmasking.] Rowe.

 63: _defiled_] Q. om. Ff. _belied_ Collier MS.

 69: _you_] _thee_ F3 F4.

 74: _Why, no_] _Why_ F3 F4. _No_ Steevens.

 75, 76: Printed as Prose in Ff.

 76: _they swore_] Q Ff. _for they did swear_ Hanmer. _for they
 swore_ Capell.

 77: _Troth_] om. Steevens.

 79: _did swear_] _swore_ Collier MS.

 80: _that_] Q. om. Ff.

 81: _that_] Q. om. Ff.

 82: _such_] Q. om. Ff.

 94: _not_] _yet_ Theobald, _now_ Hanmer.

 96: _I was told_] Q F1 F2 _as I told_ F3 F4 _as I was told_ Rowe.

 97: Given to Leonato in Q Ff, corrected by Theobald.

     [Kissing her.] Theobald.

 99: _wit-crackers_] _witte-crackers_ Q F1 F2. _witty-crackers_ F3
 F4.

 102: _a’_] _a_ Q Ff, Collier. _he_ Rowe.

 103: _purpose_] _propose_ Reed (1803).

 105: _what_] Q F3 F4. om. F1 F2.

 112: _do_] _no_ F4.

 116: _afterward_] Q F2. _afterwards_ F2 F3 F4.

 117: _play,_] Pope. _play_ Q Ff.

 118: _there is no_] _No_ S. Walker conj., making a verse.

 122: _thee_] _the,_ F4.
~~~~~




NOTES.


NOTE I.

DRAMATIS PERSONÆ. Rowe and Pope included in the list of Dramatis
Personæ, ‘Innogen, wife to Leonato.’ At the beginning of the first
scene the Quarto and the Folios have, ‘Enter Leonato Governour of
Messina, Innogen his wife, &c.’ and at the beginning of Act II. Sc.
I, ‘Enter Leonato, his brother, his wife, &c.’ But as no reference is
made to such a character throughout the play, Theobald was doubtless
right in striking the name out. The author probably, as Theobald
observed, had designed such a character in his first sketch, and
afterwards saw reason to omit it. It is impossible to conceive that
Hero’s mother should have been present during the scenes in which the
happiness and honour of her daughter were at issue, without taking a
part, or being once referred to.


NOTE II.

I. 1. 124. The punctuation which we have adopted seems to be the only
one which will make sense of this passage without altering the text.
We must suppose that, during the ‘skirmish of wit’ between Benedick
and Beatrice, from line 96 to 123, Don Pedro and Leonato have been
talking apart and making arrangements for the visit of the Prince and
his friends, the one pressing his hospitable offers and the other,
according to the manners of the time, making a show of reluctance to
accept them.


NOTE III.

I. 1. 182, 183. Johnson was not satisfied with his own conjecture,
and supposed something to be omitted relating to Hero’s consent or
to Claudio’s marriage; ‘something which Claudio and Pedro concur in
wishing.’


NOTE IV.

I. 2. 1. We take this opportunity of reminding the reader that when
no authority is given for the place of the scene, we generally follow
the words of Capell. He, however, more frequently expands than alters
the directions given by Pope. At the beginning of the next scene he
puts, unnecessarily, ‘Another room in Leonato’s house.’ The stage was
left vacant for an instant, but there is nothing to indicate a change
of place.


NOTE V.

II. 1. 1. Mr Spedding, in _The Gentleman’s Magazine_, June 1850,
proposed to rearrange the Acts thus:

 Act II.  to begin at what is now Act I. Sc. 2,
 Act III. . . . . . . . . . . . . Act II. Sc. 3,
 Act IV.  . . . . . . . . . . . . Act III. Sc. 4,

Act V. remaining as it is.

We have not felt ourselves at liberty in such cases as this to desert
the authority of the Folio.


NOTE VI.

II. 1. Scene, a hall in Leonato’s house. It may be doubted whether
the author did not intend this scene to take place in the garden
rather than within doors. The banquet, of which Don John speaks, line
150, would naturally occupy the hall or great chamber. Don Pedro at
the close of the scene says, ‘Go _in_ with me, &c.’ If the dance, at
line 135, were intended to be performed before the spectators, the
stage might be supposed to represent a smooth lawn as well as the
floor of a hall. On the other hand, the word ‘entering,’ at line 70,
rather points to the scene as being within doors.


NOTE VII.

II. 1. 67. The conjecture of the MS. corrector of Mr Collier’s
Folio, which seems to have suggested itself independently to Capell
(_Notes_, Vol. II. p. 121), is supported by a passage in Marston’s
_Insatiate Countesse_, Act II. (Vol. III. p. 125, ed. Halliwell):

             ‘Thinke of me as of the man
 Whose dancing dayes you see are not yet done.

 _Len._ Yet you sinke a pace, sir.’


NOTE VIII.

II. 1. 87. Mr Halliwell mentions that _Mar._ is altered to _Mask._ in
the third Folio. This is not the case in Capell’s copy of it.


NOTE IX.

II. 1. 218. In the copy before us of Theobald’s first edition, which
belonged to Warburton, the latter has written ‘Mr Warburton’ after
the note in which the reading ‘impassable,’ adopted by Theobald,
is suggested and recommended, thus claiming it as his own. We have
accepted his authority in this and other instances.


NOTE X.

II. 1. 237. _bring you the length of Prester John’s foot: fetch
you a hair off the great Cham’s beard._ Though ‘of’ and ‘off’ are
frequently interchanged in the old copies, yet, as in this place both
Quarto and Folios are consistent in reading ‘of’ in the first clause
and ‘off’ in the second, we follow them.


NOTE XI.

II. 1. 284. The old copies here give us no help in determining
whether Beatrice is meant to cry, ‘Heigh-ho for a husband,’ or
merely, ‘Heigh-ho,’ and wish for a husband. Most editors seem by
their punctuation to adopt the latter view. We follow Staunton in
taking the former. It probably was the burden of a song. At all
events it was so well-known as to be almost proverbial. It is again
alluded to III. 4. 48.


NOTE XII.

II. 2. 39. The substitution of ‘Borachio’ for ‘Claudio’ does not
relieve the difficulty here. Hero’s supposed offence would not be
enhanced by calling one lover by the name of the other. The word
‘term,’ moreover, is not the one which would be used to signify the
calling a person by his own proper name. It is not clearly explained
how Margaret could, consistently with the ‘just and virtuous’
character which Borachio claims for her in the fifth act, lend
herself to the villain’s plot. Perhaps the author meant that Borachio
should persuade her to play, as children say, at being Hero and
Claudio.


NOTE XIII.

II. 3. 27–30. _wise, or I’ll none; virtuous, or I’ll never cheapen
her; fair, or I’ll never look on her._ Pope erroneously remarks,
‘these words added out of the edition of 1623.’ They are found in the
Quarto, all the Folios, and Rowe. Warburton enhances the blunder by
including the next clause also, ‘mild, or come not near me.’


NOTE XIV.

II. 3. 81. We have adhered to the old stage direction in this place,
because it is not certain that any musicians accompanied Balthasar.
The direction of the Quarto at line 38, ‘Enter Balthasar with
musicke,’ may only mean that the singer had a lute with him. In the
direction of the Folios, at line 33, only ‘Jacke Wilson’ is mentioned.


NOTE XV.

II. 3. 225. Mr Halliwell says that we ought to change ‘dinner’
to ‘supper’ here and at line 235, in order to make the action
consistent, as we find from line 34 that it is evening: ‘How still
the evening is, &c.’ Such inaccuracies are characteristic of
Shakespeare, and this cannot well have been due to the printer or
copier.


NOTE XVI.

III. 3. 10. _George Seacole._ For ‘George’ Mr Halliwell reads
‘Francis.’ But ‘Francis Seacole,’ mentioned III. 5. 52, is the
sexton, and, as it would appear, town-clerk also, too high a
functionary to be employed as a common watchman. If the same person
had been intended, the error would have been analogous to that in the
_Merry Wives of Windsor_, where Master Page is christened ‘Thomas’ in
one place and ‘George’ in another.


NOTE XVII.

III. 3. 115, 116. Here Rowe, contrary to his custom, does not alter
‘a’ into ‘he.’ We do not in all cases notice these perpetually
recurring variations.


NOTE XVIII.

III. 3. 119. Mr Halliwell says that he has found ‘raine’ for ‘vaine’
in one copy of the first Folio.


NOTE XIX.

III. 4. 8, 17. The recurrence of this phrase makes it almost certain
that the omission of ‘it’ is not a printer’s error, but an authentic
instance of the omission of the third personal pronoun. So the first,
or second, is omitted in III. 4. 51; ‘What means the fool, trow?’ For
other instances, see Sidney Walker’s _Criticisms_, Vol. I. p. 77 sqq.
And compare note XI, _Measure for Measure_.


NOTE XX.

III. 4. 29. _say, ‘saving your reverence, a husband.’_ The Quarto and
Folios punctuate thus: _say, saving your reverence a husband_. Modern
editions have _say, saving your reverence, ‘a husband.’_ But surely
Margaret means that Hero was so prudish as to think that the mere
mention of the word ‘husband’ required an apology.


NOTE XXI.

IV. 1. 154–157. _Hear me...mark’d._ This commencement of the Friar’s
speech comes at the bottom of page, sig. G. i. (r) of the Quarto. The
type appears to have been accidentally dislocated, and the passage
was then set up as prose. The Folio follows the Quarto except that
it puts a full stop instead of a comma after ‘markt.’ Some words
were probably lost in the operation, giving the Friar’s reason for
remaining silent, viz. that he might find out the truth. The whole
passage would therefore stand as follows:

 Hear me a little; for I have only been
 Silent so long and given way unto
 This course of fortune . . . . .
 By noting of the lady I have mark’d, &c.

The usual punctuation:

 And given way unto this course of fortune,
 By noting of the lady: I have mark’d, &c.

makes but indifferent sense.

 ‘I have only been silent’ may mean ‘I alone have been silent.’


NOTE XXII.

IV. 2. 1. The Quarto and Folios agree, with slight differences of
spelling, in the stage direction given in the note. The Town Clerk is
clearly the same functionary as the Sexton mentioned in the second
line.

The first speech is given in the Quarto and Folios to ‘_Keeper_’—a
misprint for ‘_Kemp_’—the name of the famous actor who played
Dogberry. All the other speeches of Dogberry throughout the scene,
except two, are given to ‘_Kemp_,’ those of Verges to ‘_Cowley_’
or ‘_Couley_.’ Both Willam Kempt (i. e. Kempe or Kemp) and Richard
Cowley are mentioned in the list of the ‘Principall Actors’ prefixed
to the first Folio. The speech of Dogberry, line 4, is assigned
to ‘_Andrew_,’ which is supposed to be a nickname of Kemp, who so
often played the part of ‘Merry Andrew.’ That in lines 14, 15, is
given in the Quarto to ‘_Ke._’ and in the Folios to ‘_Kee._’ or
_Keep._,’ a repetition of the error in line 1. The retention of these
names in the successive printed copies, as well as that of ‘_Jack
Wilson_’ in a former scene, shows the extreme carelessness with
which the original MS. had been revised for the press in the first
instance, and supplies a measure of the editorial care to which the
several Folios were submitted. All that is known about these actors
is collected in a volume edited by Mr Collier for the Shakespeare
Society.


NOTE XXIII.

IV. 2. 63, 64. Verg. _Let them be in the hands._ Con. _Off coxcomb!_
The reading of the Quarto is ‘_Couley_. Let them be in the hands of
coxcombe.’ In the Folio, ‘_Sex._’ is substituted for ‘_Couley_,’
without materially improving the sense. The first words may be a
corruption of a stage direction [_Let them bind them_] or [_Let them
bind their hands_].


NOTE XXIV.

V. 1. 143. We have introduced the words ‘[_Aside to Claudio_]’,
because it appears from what Don Pedro says, line 149, ‘What, a
feast, a feast?’ and, from the tone of his banter through the rest
of the dialogue, that he had not overheard more than Claudio’s reply
about ‘good cheer.’


NOTE XXV.

V. 2. 1. Scene, Leonato’s garden. It is clear from line 83, where
Ursula says, ‘Yonder’s old coil at home,’ that the scene is not
supposed to take place in Leonato’s house, but out of doors. We have
therefore, in this case, deserted our usual authorities, Pope and
Capell.


NOTE XXVI.

V. 2. 42. The same construction, i.e. the non-repetition of the
preposition, is found in Marston’s _Fawne_, Act I. Sc. 2: (Vol. II.
p. 24, ed. Halliwell), “With the same stratagem we still are caught.”




LOVE’S LABOUR’S LOST.




DRAMATIS PERSONÆ[1].


 FERDINAND, king of Navarre.
 BIRON,      lord attending on the King.
 LONGAVILLE,   ”     ”              ”
 DUMAIN,       ”     ”              ”
 BOYET,   lord attending on the Princess of France.
 _Mercade_,     ”     ”                ”
 DON ADRIANO DE ARMADO, a fantastical Spaniard.
 SIR NATHANIEL, a curate.
 HOLOFERNES, a schoolmaster.
 DULL, a constable.
 COSTARD, a clown.
 MOTH[2], page to Armado.
 A Forester.

 The PRINCESS of France.
 ROSALINE,  lady attending on the Princess.
 MARIA,       ”     ”                ”
 KATHARINE,   ”     ”                ”
 JAQUENETTA, a country wench.

 Lords, Attendants, &c.

SCENE—_Navarre_.


~~~~~
 Footnotes:

 1: DRAMATIS PERSONÆ] first given by Rowe. See note (I)

 2: MOTH] MOTE. Grant White conj.
~~~~~




LOVE’S LABOUR’S LOST[3].




~~~~~
 Footnote:

 3: See note (II).
~~~~~




ACT I.


SCENE I. _The king of Navarre’s park_

 _Enter_ FERDINAND, _king of_ NAVARRE, BIRON, LONGAVILLE, _and_
 DUMAIN.

_King._  Let fame, that all hunt after in their lives,
Live register’d upon our brazen tombs,
And then grace us in the disgrace of death;
When, spite of cormorant devouring Time,
The endeavour of this present breath may buy                         5
That honour which shall bate his scythe’s keen edge,
And make us heirs of all eternity.
Therefore, brave conquerors,—for so you are,
That war against your own affections
And the huge army of the world’s desires,—                          10
Our late edict shall strongly stand in force:
Navarre shall be the wonder of the world;
Our court shall be a little Academe,
Still and contemplative in living art.
You three, Biron, Dumain, and Longaville,                           15
Have sworn for three years’ term to live with me
My fellow-scholars, and to keep those statutes
That are recorded in this schedule here:
Your oaths are pass’d; and now subscribe your names,
That his own hand may strike his honour down                        20
That violates the smallest branch herein:
If you are arm’d to do as sworn to do,
Subscribe to your deep oaths, and keep it too.

_Long._  I am resolved; ’tis but a three years’ fast:
The mind shall banquet, though the body pine:                       25
Fat paunches have lean pates; and dainty bits
Make rich the ribs, but bankrupt quite the wits.

_Dum._  My loving lord, Dumain is mortified:
The grosser manner of these world’s delights
He throws upon the gross world’s baser slaves:                      30
To love, to wealth, to pomp, I pine and die;
With all these living in philosophy.

_Biron._ I can but say their protestation over;
So much, dear liege, I have already sworn,
That is, to live and study here three years.                        35
But there are other strict observances;
As, not to see a woman in that term,
Which I hope well is not enrolled there;
And one day in a week to touch no food,
And but one meal on every day beside,                               40
The which I hope is not enrolled there;
And then, to sleep but three hours in the night,
And not be seen to wink of all the day,—
When I was wont to think no harm all night,
And make a dark night too of half the day,—                         45
Which I hope well is not enrolled there:
O, these are barren tasks, too hard to keep,
Not to see ladies, study, fast, not sleep!

_King._ Your oath is pass’d to pass away from these.

_Biron._  Let me say no, my liege, an if you please:                50
I only swore to study with your grace,
And stay here in your court for three years’ space.

_Long._  You swore to that, Biron, and to the rest.

_Biron._  By yea and nay, sir, then I swore in jest.
What is the end of study? let me know.                              55

_King._  Why, that to know, which else we should not know.

_Biron._  Things hid and barr’d, you mean, from common sense?

_King._  Ay, that is study’s god-like recompense.

_Biron._  Come on, then; I will swear to study so,
To know the thing I am forbid to know:                              60
As thus,—to study where I well may dine,
  When I to feast expressly am forbid;
Or study where to meet some mistress fine,
  When mistresses from common sense are hid;
Or, having sworn too hard a keeping oath,                           65
Study to break it, and not break my troth.
If study’s gain be thus, and this be so,
Study knows that which yet it doth not know:
Swear me to this, and I will ne’er say no.

_King._  These be the stops that hinder study quite,                70
And train our intellects to vain delight.

_Biron._  Why, all delights are vain; but that most vain,
Which, with pain purchased, doth inherit pain:
As, painfully to pore upon a book
  To seek the light of truth; while truth the while                 75
Doth falsely blind the eyesight of his look:
  Light, seeking light, doth light of light beguile:
So, ere you find where light in darkness lies,
Your light grows dark by losing of your eyes.
Study me how to please the eye indeed,                              80
  By fixing it upon a fairer eye;
Who dazzling so, that eye shall be his heed,
  And give him light that it was blinded by.
Study is like the heaven’s glorious sun,
  That will not be deep-search’d with saucy looks:                  85
Small have continual plodders ever won,
  Save base authority from others’ books.
These earthly godfathers of heaven’s lights,
  That give a name to every fixed star,
Have no more profit of their shining nights                         90
  Than those that walk and wot not what they are.
Too much to know, is to know nought but fame;
And every godfather can give a name.

_King._  How well he’s read, to reason against reading!

_Dum._ Proceeded well, to stop all good proceeding!                 95

_Long._  He weeds the corn, and still lets grow the weeding.

_Biron._  The spring is near, when green geese are a-breeding.

_Dum._  How follows that?

_Biron._                  Fit in his place and time.

_Dum._  In reason nothing.

_Biron._                   Something, then, in rhyme.

_King._ Biron is like an envious sneaping frost,                   100
  That bites the first-born infants of the spring.

_Biron._ Well, say I am; why should proud summer boast,
  Before the birds have any cause to sing?
Why should I joy in any abortive birth?
At Christmas I no more desire a rose                               105
Than wish a snow in May’s new-fangled shows;
But like of each thing that in season grows.
So you, to study now it is too late,
Climb o’er the house to unlock the little gate.

_King._  Well, sit you out: go home, Biron: adieu.                 110

_Biron._  No, my good lord; I have sworn to stay with you:
And though I have for barbarism spoke more
  Than for that angel knowledge you can say,
Yet confident I’ll keep what I have swore,
  And bide the penance of each three years’ day.                   115
Give me the paper; let me read the same;
And to the strict’st decrees I’ll write my name.

_King._  How well this yielding rescues thee from shame!

_Biron_ [_reads_]. ‘Item, That no woman shall come within a
mile of my court,’—Hath this been proclaimed?                      120

_Long._  Four days ago.

_Biron._  Let’s see the penalty. [_Reads_] ‘on pain of
losing her tongue.’ Who devised this penalty?

_Long._  Marry, that did I.

_Biron._  Sweet lord, and why?                                     125

_Long._  To fright them hence with that dread penalty.

_Biron._  A dangerous law against gentility!

[_Reads_] ‘Item, If any man be seen to talk with a woman within
the term of three years, he shall endure such public shame as the rest
of the court can possibly devise.’                                 130

This article, my liege, yourself must break;
  For well you know here comes in embassy
The French king’s daughter with yourself to speak,—
  A maid of grace and complete majesty,—
About surrender up of Aquitaine                                    135
  To her decrepit, sick, and bedrid father:
Therefore this article is made in vain,
  Or vainly comes the admired princess hither.

_King._ What say you, lords? why, this was quite forgot.

_Biron._ So study evermore is overshot:                            140
While it doth study to have what it would,
It doth forget to do the thing it should;
And when it hath the thing it hunteth most,
’Tis won as towns with fire, so won, so lost.

_King._ We must of force dispense with this decree;                145
She must lie here on mere necessity.

_Biron._ Necessity will make us all forsworn
  Three thousand times within this three years’ space;
For every man with his affects is born,
  Not by might master’d, but by special grace:                     150
If I break faith, this word shall speak for me,
I am forsworn on ‘mere necessity.’
So to the laws at large I write my name:        [_Subscribes_
  And he that breaks them in the least degree
Stands in attainder of eternal shame:                              155
  Suggestions are to other as to me;
But I believe, although I seem so loth,
I am the last that will last keep his oath.
But is there no quick recreation granted?

_King._ Ay, that there is. Our court, you know, is haunted         160
  With a refined traveller of Spain;
A man in all the world’s new fashion planted,
  That hath a mint of phrases in his brain;
One whom the music of his own vain tongue
  Doth ravish like enchanting harmony;                             165
A man of complements, whom right and wrong
  Have chose as umpire of their mutiny:
This child of fancy, that Armado hight,
  For interim to our studies, shall relate.
In high-born words, the worth of many a knight                     170
  From tawny Spain, lost in the world’s debate.
How you delight, my lords, I know not, I;
But, I protest, I love to hear him lie,
And I will use him for my minstrelsy.

_Biron._ Armado is a most illustrious wight.                       175
A man of fire-new words, fashion’s own knight.

_Long._ Costard the swain and he shall be our sport;
And, so to study, three years is but short.

 _Enter_ DULL _with a letter, and_ COSTARD.

_Dull._ Which is the Duke’s own person?

_Biron._ This, fellow: what wouldst?                               180

_Dull._ I myself reprehend his own person, for I am his
Grace’s tharborough: but I would see his own person in
flesh and blood.

_Biron._ This is he.

_Dull._ Signior Arme—Arme—commends you. There’s                    185
villany abroad: this letter will tell you more.

_Cost._ Sir, the contempts thereof are as touching me.

_King._ A letter from the magnificent Armado.

_Biron._ How low soever the matter, I hope in God for
high words.                                                        190

_Long._ A high hope for a low heaven: God grant us
patience!

_Biron._ To hear? or forbear laughing?

_Long._ To hear meekly, sir, and to laugh moderately;
or to forbear both.                                                195

_Biron._ Well, sir, be it as the style shall give us cause
to climb in the merriness.

_Cost._ The matter is to me, sir, as concerning Jaquenetta.
The manner of it is, I was taken with the manner.

_Biron._ In what manner?                                           200

_Cost._ In manner and form following, sir; all those
three: I was seen with her in the manor-house, sitting with
her upon the form, and taken following her into the park;
which, put together, is in manner and form following. Now,
sir, for the manner,—it is the manner of a man to speak to         205
a woman: for the form,—in some form.

_Biron._ For the following, sir?

_Cost._ As it shall follow in my correction: and God defend
the right!

_King._ Will you hear this letter with attention?                  210

_Biron._ As we would hear an oracle.

_Cost._ Such is the simplicity of man to hearken after
the flesh.

_King_ [_reads_]. ‘Great deputy, the welkin’s vicegerent, and sole
dominator of Navarre, my soul’s earth’s god, and body’s fostering  215
patron.’—

_Cost._ Not a word of Costard yet.

_King_ [_reads_]. ‘So it is,’—

_Cost._ It may be so: but if he say it is so, he is, in telling
true, but so.                                                      220

_King._ Peace!

_Cost._ Be to me, and every man that dares not fight!

_King._ No words!

_Cost._ Of other men’s secrets, I beseech you.

_King_ [_reads_]. ‘So it is, besieged with sable-coloured            225
melancholy, I did commend the black-oppressing humour to the most
wholesome physic of thy health-giving air; and, as I am a gentleman,
betook myself to walk. The time when. About the sixth hour; when
beasts most graze, birds best peck, and men sit down to that         229
nourishment which is called supper: so much for the time when. Now for
the ground which; which, I mean, I walked upon: it is ycleped thy
park. Then for the place where; where, I mean, I did encounter that
obscene and most preposterous event, that draweth from my snow-white
pen the ebon-coloured ink, which here thou viewest, beholdest,       234
surveyest, or seest: but to the place where,—it standeth north-north-
east and by east from the west corner of thy curious-knotted garden:
there did I see that low-spirited swain, that base minnow of thy
mirth,’—

_Cost._ Me?

_King_ [_reads_]. ‘that unlettered small-knowing soul,’—           240

_Cost._ Me?

_King_ [_reads_]. ‘that shallow vassal,’—

_Cost._ Still me?

_King_ [_reads_]. ‘which, as I remember, hight Costard,’

_Cost._ O, me!                                                     245

_King_ [_reads_]. ‘sorted and consorted, contrary to thy established
proclaimed edict and continent canon, which with,—O, with—
but with this I passion to say wherewith,’—

_Cost._ With a wench.

_King_ [_reads_] ‘with a child of our grandmother Eve, a female;   250
or, for thy more sweet understanding, a woman. Him I, as my
everesteemed duty pricks me on, have sent to thee, to receive the meed
of punishment, by thy sweet Grace’s officer, Anthony Dull; a man of
good repute, carriage, bearing, and estimation.’

_Dull._ Me, an’t shall please you; I am Anthony Dull.              255

_King_ [_reads_]. ‘For Jaquenetta,—so is the weaker vessel called
which I apprehended with the aforesaid swain,—I keep her as a vessel
of thy law’s fury; and shall, at the least of thy sweet notice, bring
her to trial. Thine, in all compliments of devoted and heart-burning
heat of duty.            DON ADRIANO DE ARMADO.’                   260

_Biron._ This is not so well as I looked for, but the best
that ever I heard.

_King._ Ay, the best for the worst. But, sirrah, what
say you to this?

_Cost._ Sir, I confess the wench.                                  265

_King._ Did you hear the proclamation?

_Cost._ I do confess much of the hearing it, but little of
the marking of it.

_King._ It was proclaimed a year’s imprisonment, to be
taken with a wench.                                                270

_Cost._ I was taken with none, sir: I was taken with a
damsel.

_King._ Well, it was proclaimed damsel.

_Cost._ This was no damsel neither, sir; she was a virgin.

_King._ It is so varied too; for it was proclaimed virgin.         275

_Cost._ If it were, I deny her virginity: I was taken with
a maid.

_King._ This maid will not serve your turn, sir.

_Cost._ This maid will serve my turn, sir.

_King._ Sir, I will pronounce your sentence: you shall             280
fast a week with bran and water.

_Cost._ I had rather pray a month with mutton and porridge.

_King._ And Don Armado shall be your keeper.
My Lord Biron, see him deliver’d o’er:                             285
And go we, lords, to put in practice that
Which each to other hath so strongly sworn.

 [_Exeunt King, Longaville, and Dumain._

_Biron._ I’ll lay my head to any good man’s hat,
These oaths and laws will prove an idle scorn.
Sirrah, come on.                                                   290

_Cost._ I suffer for the truth, sir; for true it is, I was
taken with Jaquenetta, and Jaquenetta is a true girl; and,
therefore, welcome the sour cup of prosperity! Affliction
may one day smile again; and till then, sit thee down,
sorrow!                                                            295

 [_Exeunt._


~~~~~
 Linenotes: _Love’s Labour’s Lost_, I, 1.

 SCENE I. The king...park] See note (III).

 Biron] F2 F3 F4. Berowne Qq F1 and passim.

 3: _And...death_] Put in the margin as spurious by Pope.

 13: _Academe_] Q2 F2. _Achademe_ Q1 F1. _Academy_ F3 F4.

 18: _schedule_] _sedule_ Q1. _scedule_ Q2 Ff.

 23: _oaths_] _oath_ Steevens. See note (IV).

     _keep it too_] _keepe it to_ Qq F1 _keep them to_ F2. _keep
     them too_ F3 F4.

 27: _bankrupt quite_] _bancrout quite_ Q1. _bankerout_ Ff.
 _banquerout_ Q2. _quite_ restored by Pope, and again rejected by
 Theobald.

 29: _these_] _this_ Collier MS.

 31: _pomp_] _pome_ Q1.

 62: _feast...forbid_] Theobald. _fast...forbid_ Qq Ff.
 _fast...fore-bid_ Theobald conj.

 65: _hard a keeping_] _hard-a-keeping_ Hanmer.

 67: _thus_] Qq Ff. _this_ Pope.

 72: _Why,_] Pope. _Why?_ Qq Ff.

     _but_] Q1. _and_ Ff Q2.

 77: _of light_] Qq F1. om. F2 F3 F4.

 83: _it was_] _was it_ Steevens.

 87: _base_] _bare_ S. Walker conj.

     _others’_] _other_ Rowe (ed. 1).

 92: _nought but fame;_] _nought: but feign;_ Warburton. _nought but
 shame;_ Id. conj.

 103: _any_] Qq Ff. _an_ Pope.

 106: _in_] _on_ Capell.

     _new-fangled_] _new-spangled_ Grey conj.

     _shows_] F3 F4. _showes_ Qq F1 F2. _earth_ Theobald.
     _mirth_ S. Walker conj. Malone supposes a line to be lost after
     line 103.

 108: _So you, to study_] _Go you to study_, Anon. conj. _But you’ll
 to study,_ Lettsom conj.

     _to study_] _by study_ Collier MS.

 109: _Climb o’er the house to unlock the little gate_] Q1 _That
 were to climb o’er the house to unlock the gate_ Ff Q2. _Climb o’er
 the house-top to unlock the gate_ Collier MS. _That were to climb
 the house o’er to unlock the gate_ Grant White.

 110: _sit_] Qq F2 F3 F4. _fit_ F1. _set_ Malone conj. See note
 (V).

 114: _I’ll keep what_] _I’ll keep to what_ Collier MS.

     _swore_] F2 F3 F4. _sworne_ Qq F1.

 117: _strict’st_] F2 F3 F4. _strictest_ Qq F1.

 123: _this penalty?_] _this?_ Steevens, reading _On...this?_ as a
 verse.

 127: Biron] Theobald. Qq Ff continue this line to Longaville.

     _gentility_] _gentletie_ Q1. _garrulity_ Theobald conj.
     _scurrility_ Staunton conj.

 130: _can possibly_] Pope. _can possible_ Q1. _shall possibly_ Ff
 Q2.

 136: _bedrid_] _bedred_ Q1.

 138: _hither_] _rather_ Collier MS.

 146: _She_] _We_ Capell.

 147: _us all_] _us both_ Q2.

 151: _speak_] Q1. _break_ Ff Q2. _plead_ Collier MS.

 153: [Subscribes.] Subscribes and gives back the paper. Capell.

 156: _Other_] Q1. _others_ Ff Q2.

 158: _will last_] _last will_ S. Walker conj.

 161: _refined_] Qq F1. _conceited_ F2 F3 F4.

 162: _world’s_] _world’s_ Qq F1. _world_ F2 F3 F4.

     _world’s...planted_] _world-new fashions flaunted_ Collier MS.

 164: _One whom_] F2 F3 F4. _on who_ Q1. _one who_ F1 Q2.

 176: _fire-new_] _fire, new_ F1.

 178: _is_] _are_ Pope.

     Enter......Costard] Malone. Enter a Constable with Costard with
     a letter. Qq Ff.

 179: _Duke’s_] Qq Ff. _King’s_ Theobald.

 182: _tharborough_] _farborough_ Q1.

 191: _heaven_] _having_ Theobald. _haven_ Jackson conj. _hearing_
 Collier MS.

 193: _laughing_] Capell. _hearing_ Qq Ff.

 194: _and_] om. Rowe (ed. 2).

 197: _climb_] F3 F4. _clime_ Qq F1 F2. _chime_ Collier MS.

 199: _with the manner_] _with the manor_ Hanmer. _in the manner_
 Warburton.

 205: _it is_] Qq F1. _is_ F2 F3 F4. _in_ Rowe (ed. 2).

 220: _true, but so_] _true: but so_ Qq Ff. _true, but so, so_ Hanmer.

 237: _minnow_] Qq Ff. _minion_ or _minim_ Anon. conj.

 239, 241, 243: _Me?...Me?...me?_] Ff Q2. _Mee?...Mee?...mee._ Q1.
 _Me...Me...me._ Hanmer.

 242: _vassal_] _vessel_ Collier MS.

 247: _which_] _with,_ Theobald.

 251: _sweet_] Qq F1. om. F2 F3 F4.

 252: _meed_] _need_ Warburton.

 253: _thy_] Qq F1. _the_ F2 F3 F4.

 257: _keep_] Qq F2 F3 F4. _keeper_ F1.

     _vessel_] _vassal_ Theobald.

 260: _Adriano_] Qq. _Adriana_ Ff.

 271: _I...I_] _It...I_ F2.

 272, 273, 274: _damsel_] Q1, except in line 241 _demsel. damosell_
 Ff Q2.

 287: [Exeunt...] Exeunt. F2 F3 F4. om. Qq F1.

 288: _good man’s hat_] _man’s good hat_ Capell conj. _goodman’s hat_
 Anon. conj.

 290: Given to Constable in Collier MS.

 293: _prosperity_] _prosperie_ Q1.

 294: _till then, sit thee_] Q1. _untill then sit_ Ff Q2. _untill
 then set thee_ Collier MS.
~~~~~


SCENE II.  _The same._

 _Enter_ ARMADO _and_ MOTH.

_Arm._ Boy, what sign is it when a man of great spirit
grows melancholy?

_Moth._ A great sign, sir, that he will look sad.

_Arm._ Why, sadness is one and the self-same thing,
dear imp.                                                            5

_Moth._ No, no; O Lord, sir, no.

_Arm._ How canst thou part sadness and melancholy,
my tender juvenal?

_Moth._ By a familiar demonstration of the working,
my tough senior.                                                    10

_Arm._ Why tough senior? why tough senior?

_Moth._ Why tender juvenal? why tender juvenal?

_Arm._ I spoke it, tender juvenal, as a congruent epitheton
appertaining to thy young days, which we may
nominate tender.                                                    15

_Moth._ And I, tough senior, as an appertinent title to
your old time, which we may name tough.

_Arm._ Pretty and apt.

_Moth._ How mean you, sir? I pretty, and my saying
apt? or I apt, and my saying pretty?                                20

_Arm._ Thou pretty, because little.

_Moth._ Little pretty, because little. Wherefore apt?

_Arm._ And therefore apt, because quick.

_Moth._ Speak you this in my praise, master?

_Arm._ In thy condign praise.                                       25

_Moth._ I will praise an eel with the same praise.

_Arm._ What, that an eel is ingenious?

_Moth._ That an eel is quick.

_Arm._ I do say thou art quick in answers: thou heatest
my blood.                                                           30

_Moth._ I am answered, sir.

_Arm._ I love not to be crossed.

_Moth._ [_Aside_] He speaks the mere contrary; crosses
love not him.

_Arm._ I have promised to study three years with the                35
Duke.

_Moth._ You may do it in an hour, sir.

_Arm._ Impossible.

_Moth._ How many is one thrice told?

_Arm._ I am ill at reckoning; it fitteth the spirit of a            40
tapster.

_Moth._ You are a gentleman and a gamester, sir.

_Arm._ I confess both: they are both the varnish of a
complete man.

_Moth._ Then, I am sure, you know how much the gross                45
sum of deuce-ace amounts to.

_Arm._ It doth amount to one more than two.

_Moth._ Which the base vulgar do call three.

_Arm._ True.

_Moth._ Why, sir, is this such a piece of study? Now                50
here is three studied, ere ye’ll thrice wink: and how easy it
is to put years to the word three, and study three years in
two words, the dancing horse will tell you.

_Arm._ A most fine figure!

_Moth._ To prove you a cipher.                                      55

_Arm._ I will hereupon confess I am in love: and as it
is base for a soldier to love, so am I in love with a base
wench. If drawing my sword against the humour of affection
would deliver me from the reprobate thought of it, I
would take Desire prisoner, and ransom him to any French            60
courtier for a new-devised courtesy. I think scorn to sigh:
methinks I should outswear Cupid. Comfort me, boy:
what great men have been in love?

_Moth._ Hercules, master.

_Arm._ Most sweet Hercules! More authority, dear                    65
boy, name more; and, sweet my child, let them be men of
good repute and carriage.

_Moth._ Samson, master: he was a man of good carriage,
great carriage, for he carried the town-gates on his
back like a porter: and he was in love.                             70

_Arm._ O well-knit Samson! strong-jointed Samson! I
do excel thee in my rapier as much as thou didst me in
carrying gates. I am in love too. Who was Samson’s
love, my dear Moth?

_Moth._ A woman, master.                                            75

_Arm._ Of what complexion?

_Moth._ Of all the four, or the three, or the two, or one
of the four.

_Arm._ Tell me precisely of what complexion.

_Moth._ Of the sea-water green, sir.                                80

_Arm._ Is that one of the four complexions?

_Moth._ As I have read, sir; and the best of them too.

_Arm._ Green, indeed, is the colour of lovers; but to
have a love of that colour, methinks Samson had small
reason for it. He surely affected her for her wit.                  85

_Moth._ It was so, sir; for she had a green wit.

_Arm._ My love is most immaculate white and red.

_Moth._ Most maculate thoughts, master, are masked
under such colours.

_Arm._ Define, define, well-educated infant.                        90

_Moth._ My father’s wit, and my mother’s tongue, assist
me!

_Arm._ Sweet invocation of a child; most pretty and
pathetical!

_Moth._ If she be made of white and red,                            95
  Her faults will ne’er be known;
For blushing cheeks by faults are bred,
  And fears by pale white shown:
Then if she fear, or be to blame,
  By this you shall not know;                                      100
For still her cheeks possess the same
  Which native she doth owe.

A dangerous rhyme, master, against the reason of white
and red.

_Arm._ Is there not a ballad, boy, of the King and the             105
Beggar?

_Moth._ The world was very guilty of such a ballad
some three ages since: but, I think, now ’tis not to be
found; or, if it were, it would neither serve for the writing
nor the tune.                                                      110

_Arm._ I will have that subject newly writ o’er, that I
may example my digression by some mighty precedent.
Boy, I do love that country girl that I took in the park
with the rational hind Costard: she deserves well.

_Moth._ [_Aside_] To be whipped; and yet a better love             115
than my master.

_Arm._ Sing, boy; my spirit grows heavy in love.

_Moth._ And that’s great marvel, loving a light wench.

_Arm._ I say, sing.

_Moth._ Forbear till this company be past.                         120

 _Enter_ DULL, COSTARD, _and_ JAQUENETTA.

_Dull._ Sir, the duke’s pleasure is, that you keep Costard
safe: and you must suffer him to take no delight nor no
penance; but a’ must fast three days a week. For this
damsel, I must keep her at the park: she is allowed for
the day-woman. Fare you well.                                      125

_Arm._ I do betray myself with blushing. Maid.

_Jaq._ Man.

_Arm._ I will visit thee at the lodge.

_Jaq._ That’s hereby.

_Arm._ I know where it is situate.                                 130

_Jaq._ Lord, how wise you are!

_Arm._ I will tell thee wonders.

_Jaq._ With that face?

_Arm._ I love thee.

_Jaq._ So I heard you say.                                         135

_Arm._ And so, farewell.

_Jaq._ Fair weather after you!

_Dull._ Come, Jaquenetta, away!

 [_Exeunt Dull and Jaquenetta._

_Arm._ Villain, thou shalt fast for thy offences ere thou
be pardoned.                                                       140

_Cost._ Well, sir, I hope, when I do it, I shall do it on a
full stomach.

_Arm._ Thou shalt be heavily punished.

_Cost._ I am more bound to you than your fellows, for
they are but lightly rewarded.                                     145

_Arm._ Take away this villain; shut him up.

_Moth._ Come, you transgressing slave; away!

_Cost._ Let me not be pent up, sir: I will fast, being loose.

_Moth._ No, sir; that were fast and loose: thou shalt to
prison.                                                            150

_Cost._ Well, if ever I do see the merry days of desolation
that I have seen, some shall see.

_Moth._ What shall some see?

_Cost._ Nay, nothing, Master Moth, but what they look
upon. It is not for prisoners to be too silent in their words;     155
and therefore I will say nothing: I thank God I have as
little patience as another man; and therefore I can be quiet.

 [_Exeunt Moth and Costard._

_Arm._ I do affect the very ground, which is base, where
her shoe, which is baser, guided by her foot, which is basest,
doth tread. I shall be forsworn, which is a great argument         160
of falsehood, if I love. And how can that be true love
which is falsely attempted? Love is a familiar; Love is
a devil: there is no evil angel but Love. Yet was Samson
so tempted, and he had an excellent strength; yet was
Solomon so seduced, and he had a very good wit. Cupid’s            165
butt-shaft is too hard for Hercules’ club; and therefore too
much odds for a Spaniard’s rapier. The first and second
cause will not serve my turn; the passado he respects not,
the duello he regards not: his disgrace is to be called boy;
but his glory is to subdue men. Adieu, valour! rust, rapier!       170
be still, drum! for your manager is in love; yea, he loveth.
Assist me some extemporal god of rhyme, for I am sure I
shall turn sonnet. Devise, wit; write, pen; for I am for
whole volumes in folio.           [_Exit._


~~~~~
 Linenotes: _Love’s Labour’s Lost_, I, 2.

 SCENE II.] SCENE III. Pope.

 The same. Armado’s house. Pope. See note (III).

 Enter Armado...] Enter Armado a Braggart... F2.

 10, 11, 16: _senior_] _signeor_ Q1. _signeur_ F1.

 13: _epitheton_] F2 F3 F4. _apethaton_ Q1. _apathaton._ F1 Q2.

 22: _Little pretty_] _Little! pretty_ Theobald.

 23: _apt_] om. Q2.

 27: _ingenious_] Q1 F4. _ingenuous_ F1 Q2 F2 F3.

 33: [Aside.] Hanmer.

     _the mere contrary_] Qq F1. _the clean contrary_ F2 F3 F4.
     _contrary_ Hanmer.

 36: _Duke_] _King_ Theobald.

 40: _fitteth_] Q1 _fits_ Ff Q2.

 48: _do_] Q1. om. Ff Q2.

 51: _here is_] Q1. _here’s_ Ff Q2.

     _ye’ll_] _Yele_ Q1. _You’ll_ FF Q2.

 51, 52: _it is_] _is it_ Warburton.

 55: [Aside. Hanmer.

 86: _green wit_] See note (VI).

 87: _My_] _Me_ Q2.

 88: _maculate_] Q1 _immaculate_ Ff Q2.

 94: _pathetical_] _poetical_ Collier MS.

 97: _blushing_] F2 F3 F4. _blush-in_ Qq F1.

 107: _very guilty_] Qq Ff. _guilty_ Rowe.

 114: _rational_] _irrational_ Hanmer.

 115: [Aside.] Hanmer.

 116: _master_] _master deserves_ Hanmer.

 117: _love_] F2 F3 F4. _loue_ Qq. _ioue_ F1.

 120: Enter...] Enter Clown, Constable, and Wench. Qq Ff. Enter C.,
 D., J. and Maid. Rowe.

 122: _suffer him to_] Q1. _let him_ Ff Q2.

 123: _a’_] Q1. _hee_ F1 Q2. _he_ F2 F3 F4.

 125: [Exit. Ff Q2. om. Q1.

 133: _that_] Q1 F2 F3 F4. _what_ F1 Q2.

 138: Dull.] Theobald. Clo. Qq F1. om. F2 F3 F4.

     [Exeunt D. and J.] Exeunt. Qq Ff.

 139: Arm.] Ar. Q1. Clo. F1. Brag. Q2. Con. F2 F3 F4.

 148: _will fast_] _will be fast_ F2 F3 F4.

 155: _not_] om. Q2.

     _too_] Q1. om. Ff Q2.

     _words_] _wards_ Johnson conj.

 163: _was Samson_] _was Sampson_ Q1. _Sampson was_ Ff Q2.

 165: _Solomon_] F3 F4. _Salomon_ Qq F1 F2.

 169: _duello_] _duella._ Q1.

 171: _manager_] _Armiger_ Collier MS.

 173: _sonnet_] Ff Qq. _sonneteer_ Hanmer. _sonneter_ Capell. _a
 sonnet_ Amyot conj. _sonnet-maker_ Collier MS. _sonnets_ Grant White.

 174: [Exit.] Q1. Exit Finis actus primus. F1 Q2. Finis actus
 primi. F2 F3 F4.
~~~~~




ACT II.


SCENE I. _The same._

 _Enter the_ Princess of France, ROSALINE, MARIA, KATHARINE,
 BOYET, Lords, _and other_ Attendants.

_Boyet._ Now, madam, summon up your dearest spirits:
Consider who the king your father sends;
To whom he sends; and what’s his embassy:
Yourself, held precious in the world’s esteem,
To parley with the sole inheritor                                    5
Of all perfections that a man may owe,
Matchless Navarre; the plea of no less weight
Than Aquitaine, a dowry for a queen.
Be now as prodigal of all dear grace.
As Nature was in making graces dear,                                10
When she did starve the general world beside,
And prodigally gave them all to you.

_Prin._ Good Lord Boyet, my beauty, though but mean,
Needs not the painted flourish of your praise:
Beauty is bought by judgement of the eye,
Not utter’d by base sale of chapmen’s tongues:
I am less proud to hear you tell my worth
Than you much willing to be counted wise
In spending your wit in the praise of mine.
But now to task the tasker: good Boyet,                             20
You are not ignorant, all-telling fame
Doth noise abroad, Navarre hath made a vow,
Till painful study shall outwear three years,
No woman may approach his silent court:
Therefore to’s seemeth it a needful course,                         25
Before we enter his forbidden gates,
To know his pleasure; and in that behalf,
Bold of your worthiness, we single you
As our best-moving fair solicitor.
Tell him, the daughter of the King of France,                       30
On serious business, craving quick dispatch,
Importunes personal conference with his Grace:
Haste, signify so much; while we attend,
Like humble-visaged suitors, his high will.

_Boyet._ Proud of employment, willingly I go.                       35

_Prin._ All pride is willing pride, and yours is so.
 [_Exit Boyet._
Who are the votaries, my loving lords,
That are vow-fellows with this virtuous duke?

_First Lord._ Lord Longaville is one.

_Prin._                               Know you the man?

_Mar._ I know him, madam: at a marriage-feast,                      40
Between Lord Perigort and the beauteous heir
Of Jaques Falconbridge, solemnized
In Normandy, saw I this Longaville:
A man of sovereign parts he is esteem’d;
Well fitted in arts, glorious in arms:                              45
Nothing becomes him ill that he would well.
The only soil of his fair virtue’s gloss,
If virtue’s gloss will stain with any soil,
Is a sharp wit match’d with too blunt a will;
Whose edge hath power to cut, whose will still wills                50
It should none spare that come within his power.

_Prin._ Some merry mocking lord, belike; is’t so?

_Mar._ They say so most that most his humours know.

_Prin._ Such short-lived wits do wither as they grow.
Who are the rest?                                                   55

_Kath._ The young Dumain, a well-accomplish’d youth,
Of all that virtue love for virtue loved:
Most power to do most harm, least knowing ill;
For he hath wit to make an ill shape good,
And shape to win grace, though he had no wit.                       60
I saw him at the Duke Alençon’s once;
And much too little of that good I saw
Is my report to his great worthiness.

_Ros._ Another of these students at that time
Was there with him, if I have heard a truth.                        65
Biron they call him; but a merrier man,
Within the limit of becoming mirth,
I never spent an hour’s talk withal:
His eye begets occasion for his wit;
For every object that the one doth catch,                           70
The other turns to a mirth-moving jest,
Which his fair tongue, conceit’s expositor,
Delivers in such apt and gracious words,
That aged ears play truant at his tales,
And younger hearings are quite ravished;                            75
So sweet and voluble is his discourse.

_Prin._ God bless my ladies! are they all in love,
That every one her own hath garnished
With such bedecking ornaments of praise?

_First Lord._ Here comes Boyet.

 _Re-enter_ BOYET.

_Prin._                         Now, what admittance, lord?         80

_Boyet._ Navarre had notice of your fair approach;
And he and his competitors in oath
Were all address’d to meet you, gentle lady,
Before I came. Marry, thus much I have learnt:
He rather means to lodge you in the field,                          85
Like one that comes here to besiege his court,
Than seek a dispensation for his oath,
To let you enter his unpeeled house.
Here comes Navarre.

 _Enter_ King, LONGAVILLE, DUMAIN, BIRON, _and_ Attendants.

_King._ Fair princess, welcome to the court of Navarre.             90

_Prin._ ‘Fair’ I give you back again; and ‘welcome’ I
have not yet: the roof of this court is too high to be yours;
and welcome to the wide fields too base to be mine.

_King._ You shall be welcome, madam, to my court.

_Prin._ I will be welcome, then: conduct me thither.                95

_King._ Hear me, dear lady; I have sworn an oath.

_Prin._ Our Lady help my lord! he’ll be forsworn.

_King._ Not for the world, fair madam, by my will.

_Prin._ Why, will shall break it; will, and nothing else.

_King._ Your ladyship is ignorant what it is.                      100

_Prin._ Were my lord so, his ignorance were wise,
Where now his knowledge must prove ignorance.
I hear your grace hath sworn out house-keeping:
’Tis deadly sin to keep that oath, my lord,
And sin to break it.                                               105
But pardon me, I am too sudden-bold:
To teach a teacher ill beseemeth me.
Vouchsafe to read the purpose of my coming,
And suddenly resolve me in my suit.

_King._ Madam, I will, if suddenly I may.                          110

_Prin._ You will the sooner, that I were away;
For you’ll prove perjured, if you make me stay.

_Biron._ Did not I dance with you in Brabant once?

_Ros._ Did not I dance with you in Brabant once?

_Biron._ I know you did.                                           115

_Ros._ How needless was it, then, to ask the question!

_Biron._ You must not be so quick.

_Ros._ ’Tis ’long of you that spur me with such questions.

_Biron._ Your wit’s too hot, it speeds too fast, ’twill tire.

_Ros._ Not till it leave the rider in the mire.                    120

_Biron._ What time o’ day?

_Ros._ The hour that fools should ask.

_Biron._ Now fair befall your mask!

_Ros._ Fair fall the face it covers!

_Biron._ And send you many lovers!                                 125

_Ros._ Amen, so you be none.

_Biron._ Nay, then will I be gone.

_King._ Madam, your father here doth intimate
The payment of a hundred thousand crowns;
Being but the one half of an entire sum                            130
Disbursed by my father in his wars.
But say that he or we, as neither have,
Received that sum, yet there remains unpaid
A hundred thousand more; in surety of the which,
One part of Aquitaine is bound to us,                              135
Although not valued to the money’s worth.
If, then, the king your father will restore
But that one-half which is unsatisfied,
We will give up our right in Aquitaine,
And hold fair friendship with his Majesty.                         140
But that, it seems, he little purposeth,
For here he doth demand to have repaid
A hundred thousand crowns; and not demands,
On payment of a hundred thousand crowns,
To have his title live in Aquitaine;                               145
Which we much rather had depart withal,
And have the money by our father lent,
Than Aquitaine so gelded as it is.
Dear princess, were not his requests so far
From reason’s yielding, your fair self should make                 150
A yielding, ’gainst some reason, in my breast,
And go well satisfied to France again.

_Prin._ You do the king my father too much wrong,
And wrong the reputation of your name,
In so unseeming to confess receipt                                 155
Of that which hath so faithfully been paid.

_King._ I do protest I never heard of it;
And if you prove it, I’ll repay it back,
Or yield up Aquitaine.

_Prin._                We arrest your word.
Boyet, you can produce acquittances                                160
For such a sum from special officers
Of Charles his father.

_King._                Satisfy me so.

_Boyet._ So please your Grace, the packet is not come,
Where that and other specialties are bound:
To-morrow you shall have a sight of them.                          165

_King._ It shall suffice me: at which interview
All liberal reason I will yield unto.
Meantime receive such welcome at my hand
As honour, without breach of honour, may
Make tender of to thy true worthiness:                             170
You may not come, fair princess, in my gates;
But here without you shall be so received
As you shall deem yourself lodged in my heart,
Though so denied fair harbour in my house.
Your own good thoughts excuse me, and farewell:                    175
To-morrow shall we visit you again.

_Prin._ Sweet health and fair desires consort your Grace!

_King._ Thy own wish wish I thee in every place!

 [_Exit._

_Biron._ Lady, I will commend you to mine own heart.

_Ros._ Pray you, do my commendations; I would be                   180
glad to see it.

_Biron._ I would you heard it groan.

_Ros._ Is the fool sick?

_Biron._ Sick at the heart.

_Ros._ Alack, let it blood.                                        185

_Biron._ Would that do it good?

_Ros._ My physic says ‘ay’.

_Biron._ Will you prick’t with your eye?

_Ros._ No point, with my knife.

_Biron._ Now, God save thy life!                                   190

_Ros._ And yours from long living!

_Biron._ I cannot stay thanksgiving.       [_Retiring._

_Dum._ Sir, I pray you, a word: what lady is that same?

_Boyet._ The heir of Alençon, Katharine her name.

_Dum._ A gallant lady. Monsieur, fare you well.      [_Exit._      195

_Long._ I beseech you a word: what is she in the white?

_Boyet._ A woman sometimes, an you saw her in the light.

_Long._ Perchance light in the light. I desire her name.

_Boyet._ She hath but one for herself; to desire that were a shame.

_Long._ Pray you, sir, whose daughter?                             200

_Boyet._ Her mother’s, I have heard.

_Long._ God’s blessing on your beard!

_Boyet._ Good sir, be not offended.
She is an heir of Falconbridge.

_Long._ Nay, my choler is ended.                                   205
She is a most sweet lady.

_Boyet._ Not unlike, sir, that may be.       [_Exit Long._

_Biron._ What’s her name in the cap?

_Boyet._ Rosaline, by good hap.

_Biron._ Is she wedded or no?                                      210

_Boyet._ To her will, sir, or so.

_Biron._ You are welcome, sir: adieu.

_Boyet._ Farewell to me, sir, and welcome to you.

 [_Exit Biron._

_Mar._ That last is Biron, the merry mad-cap lord:
Not a word with him but a jest.

_Boyet._                        And every jest but a word.         215

_Prin._ It was well done of you to take him at his word.

_Boyet._ I was as willing to grapple as he was to board.

_Mar._ Two hot sheeps, marry.

_Boyet._                      And wherefore not ships?
No sheep, sweet lamb, unless we feed on your lips.

_Mar._ You sheep, and I pasture: shall that finish the jest?       220

_Boyet._ So you grant pasture for me.       [_Offering to kiss her._

_Mar._                                Not so, gentle beast:
My lips are no common, though several they be.

_Boyet._ Belonging to whom?

_Mar._                      To my fortunes and me.

_Prin._ Good wits will be jangling; but, gentles, agree:
This civil war of wits were much better used                       225
On Navarre and his book-men; for here ’tis abused.

_Boyet._ If my observation, which very seldom lies,
By the heart’s still rhetoric disclosed with eyes,
Deceive me not now, Navarre is infected.

_Prin._ With what?                                                 230

_Boyet._ With that which we lovers entitle affected.

_Prin._ Your reason?

_Boyet._ Why, all his behaviours did make their retire
To the court of his eye, peeping thorough desire:
His heart, like an agate, with your print impress’d,               235
Proud with his form, in his eye pride express’d:
His tongue, all impatient to speak and not see,
Did stumble with haste in his eyesight to be;
All senses to that sense did make their repair,
To feel only looking on fairest of fair:                           240
Methought all his senses were lock’d in his eye,
As jewels in crystal for some prince to buy;
Who, tendering their own worth from where they were glass’d,
Did point you to buy them, along as you pass’d:
His face’s own margent did quote such amazes,                      245
That all eyes saw his eyes enchanted with gazes.
I’ll give you Aquitaine, and all that is his,
An you give him for my sake but one loving kiss.

_Prin._ Come to our pavilion: Boyet is disposed.

_Boyet._ But to speak that in words which his eye hath disclosed.  250
I only have made a mouth of his eye,
By adding a tongue which I know will not lie.

_Ros._ Thou art an old love-monger, and speakest skilfully.

_Mar._ He is Cupid’s grandfather, and learns news of him.

_Ros._ Then was Venus like her mother; for her father is
          but grim.                                                255

_Boyet._ Do you hear, my mad wenches?

_Mar._                                No.

_Boyet._                                  What then, do you see?

_Ros._ Ay, our way to be gone.

_Boyet._                       You are too hard for me.

 [_Exeunt._


~~~~~
 Linenotes: _Love’s Labour’s Lost_, II, 1.

 ACT II.] om. Q1. Actus secunda F1 F2. Actus secundus. Q2 F3
 F4.

 Enter...] Rowe. Enter the Princesse of France with three attending
 Ladies and three Lords. Qq Ff.

 1: _dearest_] _clearest_ Collier MS.

 2: _who_] Qq F1. _whom_ F2 F3 F4.

 13: Prin.] F2 F3 F4. Queen. Qq F1.

     _Lord_] _L._ Qq Ff.

     _beauty, though_] _thought_ Q2.

 19: _your wit in the praise_] Qq F1. _thus your wit in praise_ F2
 F3 F4.

 21: _You ..._] Prin. _You ..._ F1 Q2.

 25: _to ’s seemeth_] Qq Ff. _to us_ _seemeth_ Rowe (ed. 2). _to us
 seems_ Pope.

 32: _Importunes_] _Importuous_ Q1.

 34: _visaged_] Ff Q2. _visage_ Q1.

 36: [Exit B.] Dyce. Exit. Q1 F1 (after line 34).

 37, 38: Printed as prose in Qq Ff. First as verse by Rowe (ed. 2).

 39: First Lord. _Lord Longaville_] Capell. Lor. _Longavill._ Qq Ff.

     _you_] _ye_ Warburton.

 40: Mar.] Rowe. 1 Lady. Qq Ff. Lord. Hanmer.

     _I know_] _I knew_ F2 F3 F4.

 40–43: _madam: at...solemnized In_] Capell. _madam at...solemnized.
 In_ Qq Ff.

 43: _In Normandy,_] Mar. _In Normandy_ Hanmer.

 44: _of sovereign parts_] Ff Q2. _of soveraigne peerelsse_ Q1.
 _of— sovereign, peerless_ Malone conj. _a sovereign pearl_ Steevens
 conj. _of his sovereign peerless_ Jackson conj.

 45: _Well fitted in arts_] Qq F1. _Well fitted in the arts_ F2 F3
 F4. _In arts well fitted_ Grant White conj.

 47, 48: _gloss...gloss_] _glose ...glose_ Q1.

 51: _none spare_] _spare none_ Rowe (ed. 2).

 52: _merry mocking_] _merry-mocking_ Rowe.

 55: _Who...rest?_] omitted by Rowe (ed. 1).

 58: _power to do most_] _powerful to do_ Hanmer.

 60: _he_] _she_ F1 Q2.

 61: _Alençon’s_] _Alansoes _ Qq F1. _Alanzoes_ F2 F3 F4.
 _Alanson’s_ Rowe.

 64: _these_] _the_ Q2.

 65: _if_] Q1. _as_ Ff Q2.

     _if...a truth_] _as...a youth_ Theobald conj.

 69: _his wit_] Qq F1. _wit_ F2 F3 F4.

 76: _voluble_] _valuable_ Rowe (ed. 2).

 80: First Lord.] Lord. Q1. Ma. Ff Q2.

 84: _much_] om. F2 F3 F4.

 88: _unpeeled_] Q1. _unpeopled_ Ff Q2. See note (VII).

 89: [The Ladies mask. Capell.

 90: SCENE II. Pope.

     King.] Navar. Qq Ff.

     ...and Attendants] Rowe. om. Qq Ff.

 93: _wide_] _wild_ Reed (ed. 1803).

 99: _it; will_] Capell. _it will,_ Qq Ff. _it’s will_, Rowe (ed. 2).

 105: _And sin_] _Not sin_ Hanmer.

 105, 106: _And...sudden-bold_] As one line in Q1.

 114: Ros.] Rosa. Ff Q2. Kather. Q1. See note (VIII).

 115–117: As two verses ending _then,...quick._ in Capell.

 116, 118, 120, 122, 124, 126: Ros.] Rosa, Ff Q3. Kath. Q1.

 129: _a_] _one_ Rowe (ed. 1)

 134: _the which_] _which_ Capell.

 138: _unsatisfied_] _but satisfied_ Q2.

 142: _repaid_] _repaie_ F1 Q2.

 143: _A_] Q1. _An_ Ff Q2.

     _demands_] _remembers_ Rowe.

 144: _On_] Theobald. _One_ Qq Ff.

     _a_] Q1 F1 F2 F3. _an_ Q2 F4.

 147: _father_] _fathers_ Q2.

 158: _And if_] _An if_ Delius conj.

 167: _I will_] Q1. _would I_ Ff Q2.

 171: _in_] Ff Q2. _within_ Q1.

 174: _fair_] Q1. _farther_ Ff Q2. _free_ Collier MS.

 176: _shall we_] Q1. _we shall_ Ff Q2.

 178: [Exit.] Qq Ff. [Exeunt King and his train. Capell.

 179: _mine own_] Q2. _my none_ Q1. _my own_ Ff. _my_ Capell.

 179, 182, 184, 186, 188, 190: Biron.] Ber. Q1. Boy. Ff Q2.

 180: _Pray_] _Now, pray _ Capell, reading as verse.

 183–192: Put in the margin as spurious by Pope.

 183: _fool_] _foole_ Q1. _soule_ F1 Q2 F2. _soul_ F3 F4.

 189: _No point,_] _No poynt,_ (in italics) Qq Ff. _ No,_ (rom.)
 _point,_ (ital.) Capell.

 192: Biron.] Ber. Qq F1. Bir. F2 F3 F4.

     [Retiring.] Capell. [Exit. Qq Ff.

     Enter Dumaine. Qq Ff.

 194: _Katharine_] Singer (Capell conj.). _Rosalin_ Qq Ff.

 195: Enter Longavile. F2 F3 F4.

 197: _sometimes_] _sometime_ Q2.

     _an_] _and_ Q1. if Ff Q2.

 197–203: _A woman......offended._] Put in the margin by Pope.

 202: _on your_] Qq. _a your_ Ff.

 205: _Nay, my choler is ended_] omitted by Pope.

 207: Enter Berowne. Qq Ff.

 208–226: _What’s ... abused_] Put in the margin by Pope.

 209: _Rosaline_] Singer (Anon. N. and Q. conj.). _Katherine_ Qq Ff.

 212: _You_] Ff Q2. _O you_ Q1. See note (IX).

 213: [Exit Biron.] Q1. [Exit. Ff Q2. [The Ladies unmask. Capell.

 218: Mar. _Two hot sheeps, marry._ Boyet. _And...ships?_] Rowe (ed.
 2). Lady Ka. _Two hot sheepes marie._ Bo. _And...shipps?_ Q1. La.
 Ma. _Two hot sheeps marie: And wherefore not ships?_ Ff Q2. See
 note (VIII).

 221: [Offering...] Capell.

 224: _but, gentles, agree_] Theobald. _but gentles agree_ Qq Ff.

 227, 229: Punctuated as in Theobald, _observation (which...eyes.
 Deceave..._ Q1. _observation (which...eyes) Deceive_ Ff Q2.

 230–252: Prin. _With-what?...lie._] Put in the margin by Pope.

 233: _did_] Q1. _doc_ Ff Q2.

     _their_] _the_ Q2.

 234: _thorough_] _through_ Q2.

 240: _feel only_] _feed on by_ Jackson conj.

 243: _where_] Q1. _whence_ Ff Q2.

 244: _point you_] Q1. _point out_ Ff Q2.

 245: _quote_] Q2. _coate_ Q1 F1 F2. _coat_ F3 F4.

 247: _and_] om. Q2.

 249: _disposed._] _disposed_— Warburton.
~~~~~




ACT III.

SCENE I. _The same._

 _Enter_ ARMADO _and_ MOTH.

_Arm._ Warble, child; make passionate my sense of
hearing.

_Moth._ Concolinel.           [_Singing._

_Arm._ Sweet air! Go, tenderness of years; take this
key, give enlargement to the swain, bring him festinately            5
hither: I must employ him in a letter to my love.

_Moth._ Master, will you win your love with a French
brawl?

_Arm._ How meanest thou? brawling in French?

_Moth._ No, my complete master: but to jig off a tune at            10
the tongue’s end, canary to it with your feet, humour it with
turning up your eyelids, sigh a note and sing a note, sometime
through the throat, as if you swallowed love with singing
love, sometime through the nose, as if you snuffed up
love by smelling love; with your hat penthouse-like o’er the        15
shop of your eyes; with your arms crossed on your thin-belly
doublet, like a rabbit on a spit; or your hands in your
pocket, like a man after the old painting; and keep not too
long in one tune, but a snip and away. These are complements,
these are humours; these betray nice wenches, that                  20
would be betrayed without these; and make them men of
note—do you note me?—that most are affected to these.

_Arm._ How hast thou purchased this experience?

_Moth._ By my penny of observation.

_Arm._ But O,—but O,—                                               25

_Moth._ ‘The hobby-horse is forgot.’

_Arm._ Callest thou my love ‘hobby-horse’?

_Moth._ No, master; the hobby-horse is but a colt, and
your love perhaps a hackney. But have you forgot your
love?                                                               30

_Arm._ Almost I had.

_Moth._ Negligent student! learn her by heart.

_Arm._ By heart and in heart, boy.

_Moth._ And out of heart, master: all those three I will
prove.                                                              35

_Arm._ What wilt thou prove?

_Moth._ A man, if I live; and this, by, in, and without,
upon the instant: by heart you love her, because your heart
cannot come by her; in heart you love her, because your
heart is in love with her; and out of heart you love her,           40
being out of heart that you cannot enjoy her.

_Arm._ I am all these three.

_Moth._ And three times as much more, and yet nothing
at all.

_Arm._ Fetch hither the swain: he must carry me a letter.           45

_Moth._ A message well sympathized; a horse to be ambassador
for an ass.

_Arm._ Ha, ha! what sayest thou?

_Moth._ Marry, sir, you must send the ass upon the
horse, for he is very slow-gaited. But I go.                        50

_Arm._ The way is but short: away!

_Moth._ As swift as lead, sir.

_Arm._ The meaning, pretty ingenious?
Is not lead a metal heavy, dull, and slow?

_Moth._ Minimè, honest master; or rather, master, no.               55

_Arm._ I say lead is slow.

_Moth._                    You are too swift, sir, to say so:
Is that lead slow which is fired from a gun?

_Arm._ Sweet smoke of rhetoric!
He reputes me a cannon; and the bullet, that’s he:
I shoot thee at the swain.

_Moth._                    Thump, then, and I flee.      [_Exit._  60

_Arm._ A most acute juvenal; volable and free of grace!
By thy favour, sweet welkin, I must sigh in thy face:
Most rude melancholy, valour gives thee place.
My herald is return’d.

 _Re-enter_ MOTH _with_ COSTARD.

_Moth._ A wonder, master! here’s a Costard broken in a shin.        65

_Arm._ Some enigma, some riddle: come, thy l’envoy; begin.

_Cost._ No egma, no riddle, no l’envoy; no salve in the
mail, sir: O, sir, plantain, a plain plantain! no l’envoy, no
l’envoy; no salve, sir, but a plantain!

_Arm._ By virtue, thou enforcest laughter; thy silly                70
thought my spleen; the heaving of my lungs provokes me
to ridiculous smiling. O, pardon me, my stars! Doth the
inconsiderate take salve for l’envoy, and the word l’envoy
for a salve?

_Moth._ Do the wise think them other? is not l’envoy a salve?       75

_Arm._ No, page: it is an epilogue or discourse, to make plain
Some obscure precedence that hath tofore been sain.
I will example it:
          The fox, the ape, and the humble-bee,
          Were still at odds, being but three.                      80
There’s the moral. Now the l’envoy.

_Moth._ I will add the l’envoy. Say the moral again.

_Arm._ The fox, the ape, the humble-bee,
Were still at odds, being but three.

_Moth._ Until the goose came out of door,                           85
And stay’d the odds by adding four.
Now will I begin your moral, and do you follow with my
l’envoy.
          The fox, the ape, and the humble-bee,
          Were still at odds, being but three.                      90

_Arm._ Until the goose came out of door,
Staying the odds by adding four.

_Moth._ A good l’envoy, ending in the goose: would you
desire more?

_Cost._ The boy hath sold him a bargain, a goose, that’s flat.      95
Sir, your pennyworth is good, an your goose be fat.
To sell a bargain well is as cunning as fast and loose:
Let me see; a fat l’envoy; ay, that’s a fat goose.

_Arm._ Come hither, come hither. How did this argument begin?

_Moth._ By saying that a Costard was broken in a shin.             100
Then call’d you for the l’envoy.

_Cost._ True, and I for a plantain: thus came your argument in;
Then the boy’s fat l’envoy, the goose that you bought;
And he ended the market.

_Arm._ But tell me; how was there a Costard broken in              105
a shin?

_Moth._ I will tell you sensibly.

_Cost._ Thou hast no feeling of it, Moth: I will speak
that l’envoy:
      I Costard, running out, that was safely within,              110
      Fell over the threshold, and broke my shin.

_Arm._ We will talk no more of this matter.

_Cost._ Till there be more matter in the shin.

_Arm._ Sirrah Costard, I will enfranchise thee.

_Cost._ O, marry me to one Frances: I smell some                   115
l’envoy, some goose, in this.

_Arm._ By my sweet soul, I mean setting thee at
liberty, enfreedoming thy person: thou wert immured, restrained,
captivated, bound.

_Cost._ True, true; and now you will be my purgation,              120
and let me loose.

_Arm._ I give thee thy liberty, set thee from durance;
and, in lieu thereof, impose on thee nothing but this: bear
this significant [_giving a letter_] to the country maid Jaquenetta:
there is remuneration; for the best ward of mine                   125
honour is rewarding my dependents. Moth, follow.       [_Exit._

_Moth._ Like the sequel, I. Signior Costard, adieu.

_Cost._ My sweet ounce of man’s flesh! my incony Jew!

 [_Exit Moth._

Now will I look to his remuneration. Remuneration! O,
that’s the Latin word for three farthings: three farthings—        130
remuneration.—‘What’s the price of this inkle?’—‘One
penny.’—‘No, I’ll give you a remuneration:’ why, it carries
it. Remuneration! why, it is a fairer name than French
crown. I will never buy and sell out of this word.

 _Enter_ BIRON.

_Biron._ O, my good knave Costard! exceedingly well met.           135

_Cost._ Pray you, sir, how much carnation ribbon may a
man buy for a remuneration?

_Biron._ What is a remuneration?

_Cost._ Marry, sir, halfpenny farthing.

_Biron._ Why, then, three-farthing worth of silk.                  140

_Cost._ I thank your worship: God be wi’ you!

_Biron._ Stay, slave; I must employ thee:
As thou wilt win my favour, good my knave,
Do one thing for me that I shall entreat.

_Cost._ When would you have it done, sir?                          145

_Biron._ This afternoon.

_Cost._ Well, I will do it, sir: fare you well.

_Biron._ Thou knowest not what it is.

_Cost._ I shall know, sir, when I have done it.

_Biron._ Why, villain, thou must know first.                       150

_Cost._ I will come to your worship to-morrow morning.

_Biron._ It must be done this afternoon. Hark, slave, it
is but this:
The princess comes to hunt here in the park,
And in her train there is a gentle lady;                           155
When tongues speak sweetly, then they name her name,
And Rosaline they call her: ask for her;
And to her white hand see thou do commend
This seal’d-up counsel. There’s thy guerdon; go.

 [_Giving him a shilling._

_Cost._ Gardon, O sweet gardon! better than remuneration,          160
a ’leven-pence farthing better: most sweet gardon! I
will do it, sir, in print. Gardon! Remuneration!          [_Exit._

_Biron._ And I, forsooth, in love! I, that have been
love’s whip;
A very beadle to a humorous sigh;                                  165
A critic, nay, a night-watch constable;
A domineering pedant o’er the boy;
Than whom no mortal so magnificent!
This wimpled, whining, purblind, wayward boy;
This senior-junior, giant-dwarf, Dan Cupid;                        170
Regent of love-rhymes, lord of folded arms,
The anointed sovereign of sighs and groans,
Liege of all loiterers and malcontents,
Dread prince of plackets, king of codpieces,
Sole imperator and great general                                   175
Of trotting ’paritors:—O my little heart!—
And I to be a corporal of his field,
And wear his colours like a tumbler’s hoop!
What! I love! I sue! I seek a wife!
A woman, that is like a German clock,                              180
Still a-repairing, ever out of frame,
And never going aright, being a watch,
But being watch’d that it may still go right!
Nay, to be perjured, which is worst of all;
And, among three, to love the worst of all;                        185
A wightly wanton with a velvet brow,
With two pitch-balls stuck in her face for eyes;
Ay, and, by heaven, one that will do the deed,
Though Argus were her eunuch and her guard:
And I to sigh for her! to watch for her!                           190
To pray for her! Go to; it is a plague
That Cupid will impose for my neglect
Of his almighty dreadful little might.
Well, I will love, write, sigh, pray, sue and groan:
Some men must love my lady, and some Joan.          [_Exit._       195


~~~~~
 Linenotes: _Love’s Labour’s Lost_, III, 1.

 ACT III.] Actus Tertius. F1 Q2. Actus Tertia. F2 F3 F4. om.
 Q1.

 SCENE I.] Rowe. SCENE II. Capell, following Theobald, who
 continues Act I.

 Enter Armado and Moth.] Enter Braggart and his boy. Q1. Enter
 Braggart and Boy: Song. Ff Q2.

 7: _Master_] Q1. om. Ff Q2.

 11: _your_] Q1. _the_ Ff Q2.

 12: _eyelids_] Q1. _eye_ Ff Q2.

     _sometime_] _something_ Rowe (ed. 1). _sometimes_ Pope.

 13: _as if_] Theobald. _if_ Qq Ff.

     _singing love, sometime_] Theobald. _singing love sometime_
     Q1. _singing, love sometime_ Ff Q2.

 14: _through the nose_] F2 F3 F4. _through: nose_ Qq F1.

 16, 17: _thin-belly_] F3 F4. _thinbellies_ Q1. _thinbellie_ F1
 Q2. _thinebelly_ F2.

     _thin-belly doublet_] _thin belly-doublet_ Steevens. _thin
     belly’s doublet_ Collier.

 19 _complements_] _’complishments_ Hanmer.

 21: _them men of note—do you note me?—that_] Hanmer. _them men of
 note: do you note men that_ Qq Ff. _the men of note: do you note
 men, that_ Theobald. _them men of note (do you note men?) that_
 Malone.

 24: _penny_] Hanmer. _penne_ Q1 F1 F2. _pen_ Q2 F3 F4. _paine_
 Collier MS. _ken_ Becket conj.

 37: _and this,_] Theobald, _(and this)_ Qq Ff.

     _without_] _out of_ Pope.

 38, 39: _by heart...by her_] omitted by Rowe.

 45: Arm.] Boy. Q2.

 46: _message] messenger_ Collier MS.

 53: _The_] Q1. _Thy_ Ff Q.

     _ingenious_] _ingenuous_ Q2.

 57: _so_] _so, so soon_ Johnson conj.

 60: _flee_] _fly_ Rowe.

 61: _volable_] Q1. _voluble_ Ff Q2.

     _free_] _fair_ Collier MS.

 63: _Most rude_] _moist-eyed_ Collier MS.

 65: SCENE II. Pope.

 65–121: Moth. _A wonder...loose_] Put in the margin by Pope.

 66: _come, thy_] Qq F1. _no_ F2 F3 F4.

 66, 67: _l’envoy; begin_] Capell. _lenvoy begin_ Qq Ff.

 67, 68: _in the mail_] _in thee male_ Qq F1. _in the male_ F2 F3
 F4. _in the vale_ Johnson conj. _in the matter_ Capell. _à the mal_
 Becket conj. _in them all_ Knight (Tyrwhitt conj.).

 68: _O,_] Q1 F3 F4. _Or_ F1 Q2 F2.

     _plain_] _pline_ Q1.

 69: _no salve_] Qq F1. _or salve_ F2 F3 F4.

 71: _my lungs_] _thy lungs_ Edd. conj.

 73: _word_] Qq F1. _world_ F2 F3 F4.

 76: _page_] _Moth_ Rowe (ed. 1).

 77: _sain_] _saine_ Q1. _faine_ F1 Q2 F2. _fain_ F3 F4.

 78–86: _I will...four_] omitted in Ff Q2.

 86, 92: _adding_] _making_ Collier MS.

 91: Arm.] Qq F1 Pag. F2 F3 F4.

 101: _the_] _a_ F3 F4.

 110: _I Costard_] _Costard_ Warburton.

 114: _Sirrah Costard_] _Marry, Costard_ Knight conj. _Sirrah
 Costard, marry,_ Collier MS.

 118: _immured_] F2 F3 F4. _emured_ Qq F1.

 121: _loose_] _be loose_ Collier MS.

 122: _set thee from_] _set thee free from_ Collier MS.

 126: _honour_] Q1. _honours_ Ff Q2.

 128: _Jew_] _jewel_ Warburton.

 131: _inkle_] _yncle_ Qq Ff.

     _One penny_] _i. d._ Qq F1 F2. _i. de._ F3 F4. _Five
     farthings_ Rowe (ed. 1). _A penny_ Rowe (ed. 2).

 132, 133: _carries it. Remuneration!_] Theobald, _carries it
 remuneration_ Qq F1 F2. _carries it’s remuneration_ F3 F4.

 133: _French_] Q1. _a French_ Ff Q2.

 135: SCENE III. Pope.

 138: _What_] _O what_ Q1.

 140: _three-farthing worth_] Q1. _three farthings worth_ Ff Q2.

 140, 142, 146, 148, 163: Each of these lines begins with _O_ in Qq
 Ff. See note (IX).

 143: _win_] om. Q2.

 150: _know_] _know it_ F3 F4.

 154: _princess_] _princes_ Q2.

 159: [Giving ...shilling] Edd.

 161: _a ’leven-pence_] _a levenpence_ Qq Ff. _elevenpence_ Rowe.

 162: _in print_] _in point_ Anon. conj. ap. Halliwell.

     _Gardon_] Qq F1. _guerdon_ F2 F3 F4.

 163–168: Q1 prints as three lines ending
 _whip...constable...magnificent;_ Ff Q2 as six lines ending
 _love...whip...criticke...constable...boy...magnificent_.

 165: _a humorous_] _an amorous_ Hanmer.

 168: _so_] _more_ Rowe.

 169: _wimpled_] _whimp’ring_ Hanmer.

 170: _senior-junior_] Hanmer (Anon. conj. apud Theobald), _signior
 Junios_ Qq Ff. _signior Juno’s_ Rowe (ed. 2). _signior Junio_ Pope.
 _Signior Julio’s_ Upton conj.

     _dwarf_] _dwarfe_ F1.

     _Dan_] Q1. _Don_ Ff Q2.

 177: _field_] _file_ Theobald (Warburton).

 179: _What! I love! I sue!_] _What? I love! I sue! what?_ Hanmer.
 _What? what? I love! I sue!_ Johnson. _What? I! I love! I sue!_
 Malone (Tyrwhitt conj.).

 180: _German clock_] F2 F3 F4. _Jermane Cloake_ Q1. _Germane
 Cloake_ F1. _Germaine Cloake_ Q2.

 182: _aright_] _right_ Capell.

     _being a_] Qq F1. _being but_ F2 F3 F4.

 186: _wightly_] Edd. _whitley_ Qq F1 F2. _whitely_ F3 F4.
 _witty_ Collier MS. _whiteless_ Porson conj. See note (X).

 194: _sue and groan_] F2 F3 F4. _shue, grone_ Q1 F1. _sue
 grone_ Q2. _sue, watch, groan_ Lettsom conj.
~~~~~




ACT IV.


SCENE I. _The same._

 _Enter the_ Princess, _and her train, a_ Forester, BOYET,
 ROSALINE, MARIA, _and_ KATHARINE.

_Prin._ Was that the king, that spurred his horse so hard
Against the steep uprising of the hill?

_Boyet._ I know not; but I think it was not he.

_Prin._ Whoe’er a’ was, a’ showed a mounting mind.
Well, lords, to-day we shall have our dispatch:                      5
On Saturday we will return to France.
Then, forester, my friend, where is the bush
That we must stand and play the murderer in?

_For._ Hereby, upon the edge of yonder coppice;
A stand where you may make the fairest shoot.                       10

_Prin._ I thank my beauty, I am fair that shoot,
And thereupon thou speak’st the fairest shoot.

_For._ Pardon me, madam, for I meant not so.

_Prin._ What, what? first praise me, and again say no?
O short-lived pride! Not fair? alack for woe!                       15

_For._ Yes, madam, fair.

_Prin._                  Nay, never paint me now:
Where fair is not, praise cannot mend the brow.
Here, good my glass, take this for telling true:
Fair payment for foul words is more than due.

_For._ Nothing but fair is that which you inherit.                  20

_Prin._ See, see, my beauty will be saved by merit!
O heresy in fair, fit for these days!
A giving hand, though foul, shall have fair praise.
But come, the bow: now mercy goes to kill,
And shooting well is then accounted ill.                            25
Thus will I save my credit in the shoot:
Not wounding, pity would not let me do’t;
If wounding, then it was to show my skill,
That more for praise than purpose meant to kill.
And, out of question, so it is sometimes,                           30
Glory grows guilty of detested crimes,
When, for fame’s sake, for praise, an outward part,
We bend to that the working of the heart;
As I for praise alone now seek to spill
The poor deer’s blood, that my heart means no ill.                  35

_Boyet._ Do not curst wives hold that self-sovereignty
Only for praise sake, when they strive to be
Lords o’er their lords?

_Prin._ Only for praise: and praise we may afford
To any lady that subdues a lord.                                    40

_Boyet._ Here comes a member of the commonwealth.

 _Enter_ COSTARD.

_Cost._ God dig-you-den all! Pray you, which is the
head lady?

_Prin._ Thou shalt know her, fellow, by the rest that
have no heads.                                                      45

_Cost._ Which is the greatest lady, the highest?

_Prin._ The thickest and the tallest.

_Cost._ The thickest and the tallest! it is so; truth is truth.
An your waist, mistress, were as slender as my wit,
One o’ these maids’ girdles for your waist should be fit.           50
Are not you the chief woman? you are the thickest here.

_Prin._ What’s your will, sir? what’s your will?

_Cost._ I have a letter from Monsieur Biron to one Lady Rosaline.

_Prin._ O, thy letter, thy letter! he’s a good friend of mine:
Stand aside, good bearer. Boyet, you can carve;                     55
Break up this capon.

_Boyet._             I am bound to serve.
This letter is mistook, it importeth none here;
It is writ to Jaquenetta.

_Prin._                   We will read it, I swear.
Break the neck of the wax, and every one give ear.

_Boyet_ [_reads_]. By heaven, that thou art fair, is most infallible;
60 true, that thou art beauteous; truth itself, that thou art lovely.
More fairer than fair, beautiful than beauteous, truer than truth
itself, have commiseration on thy heroical vassal! The magnanimous
and most illustrate king Cophetua set eye upon the pernicious and
indubitate beggar Zenelophon; and he it was that might rightly say,
Veni, vidi, 65 vici; which to annothanize in the vulgar,—O base and
obscure vulgar!—videlicet, He came, saw, and overcame: he came, one;
saw, two; overcame, three. Who came? the king: why did he come? to
see: why did he see? to overcome: to whom came he? to the beggar:
what saw he? the beggar: who overcame he? the beggar. The conclusion
70 is victory: on whose side? the king’s. The captive is enriched:
on whose side? the beggar’s. The catastrophe is a nuptial: on whose
side? the king’s: no, on both in one, or one in both. I am the king;
for so stands the comparison: thou the beggar; for so witnesseth thy
lowliness. Shall I command thy love? I may: shall I 75 enforce thy
love? I could: shall I entreat thy love? I will. What shalt thou
exchange for rags? robes; for tittles? titles; for thyself? me. Thus,
expecting thy reply, I profane my lips on thy foot, my eyes on thy
picture, and my heart on thy every part. Thine, in the dearest design
of industry,             DON ADRIANO DE ARMADO.                     80

Thus dost thou hear the Nemean lion roar
    ’Gainst thee, thou lamb, that standest as his prey.
Submissive fall his princely feet before,
    And he from forage will incline to play:
But if thou strive, poor soul, what art thou then?                  85
Food for his rage, repasture for his den.

_Prin._ What plume of feathers is he that indited this letter?
What vane? what weathercock? did you ever hear better?

_Boyet._ I am much deceived but I remember the style.

_Prin._ Else your memory is bad, going o’er it erewhile.            90

_Boyet._ This Armado is a Spaniard, that keeps here in court;
A phantasime, a Monarcho, and one that makes sport
To the prince and his bookmates.

_Prin._                          Thou fellow, a word:
Who gave thee this letter?

_Cost._                    I told you; my lord.

_Prin._ To whom shouldst thou give it?

_Cost._                                From my lord to my lady.     95

_Prin._ From which lord to which lady?

_Cost._ From my lord Biron, a good master of mine,
To a lady of France that he call’d Rosaline.

_Prin._ Thou hast mistaken his letter. Come, lords, away.

[_To Ros._] Here, sweet, put up this: ’twill be thine another      100
day.      [_Exeunt Princess and train._

_Boyet._ Who is the suitor? who is the suitor?

_Ros._                               Shall I teach you to know?

_Boyet._ Ay, my continent of beauty.

_Ros._                             Why, she that bears the bow.
Finely put off!

_Boyet._ My lady goes to kill horns; but, if thou marry,
Hang me by the neck, if horns that year miscarry.                  105
Finely put on!

_Ros._ Well, then, I am the shooter.

_Boyet._                            And who is your deer?

_Ros._ If we choose by the horns, yourself come not near.
Finely put on, indeed!

_Mar._ You still wrangle with her, Boyet, and she strikes
           at the brow.                                            110

_Boyet._ But she herself is hit lower: have I hit her now?

_Ros._ Shall I come upon thee with an old saying, that
was a man when King Pepin of France was a little boy, as
touching the hit it?

_Boyet._ So I may answer thee with one as old, that was            115
a woman when Queen Guinover of Britain was a little
wench, as touching the hit it.

_Ros._ Thou canst not hit it, hit it, hit it,
Thou canst not hit it, my good man.

_Boyet._ An I cannot, cannot, cannot,                              120
An I cannot, another can.

 [_Exeunt Ros. and Kath._

_Cost._ By my troth, most pleasant: how both did fit it!

_Mar._ A mark marvellous well shot, for they both did hit it.

_Boyet._ A mark! O, mark but that mark! A mark, says my lady!
Let the mark have a prick in’t, to mete at, if it may be.          125

_Mar._ Wide o’ the bow-hand! i’ faith, your hand is out.

_Cost._ Indeed, a’ must shoot nearer, or he’ll ne’er hit the clout.

_Boyet._ An if my hand be out, then belike your hand is in.

_Cost._ Then will she get the upshoot by cleaving the pin.

_Mar._ Come, come, you talk greasily; your lips grow foul.         130

_Cost._ She’s too hard for you at pricks, sir: challenge her to bowl.

_Boyet._ I fear too much rubbing. Good night, my good
         owl.              [ _Exeunt Boyet and Maria._

_Cost._ By my soul, a swain! a most simple clown!
Lord, Lord, how the ladies and I have put him down!
O’ my troth, most sweet jests! most incony vulgar wit!             135
When it comes so smoothly off, so obscenely, as it were, so fit.
Armado o’ th’ one side,—O, a most dainty man!
To see him walk before a lady and to bear her fan!
To see him kiss his hand! and how most sweetly a’ will swear!
And his page o’ t’ other side, that handful of wit!                140
Ah, heavens, it is a most pathetical nit!
Sola, sola!             [_Shout-within._

 [_Exit Costard, running._


~~~~~
 Linenotes: _Love’s Labour’s Lost_, IV, 1.

 ACT IV.] ACT III. Theobald.

     enter...] Enter the Princesse, a Forrester, her Ladyes, and her
     Lordes. Qq Ff.

 2: _uprising_] _unrising_ F2 F3 F4.

 3: Boy.] Ff Q2. For. Q2.

 6: _on_] _ore_ Q1.

 9: _Hereby_] _Hardby_ Hanmer.

     _coppice_] _copse_ S. Walker conj.

 11–40: _I thank...lord_] Put in the margin by Pope.

 13: _madam_] om. F3 F4.

 14: _and again_] Q1 _and then again_ F1 Q2. _then again_ F2 F3
 F4.

 22: _fair_] _faith_ Collier MS.

 23: _fair_] _the_ F3 F4.

 27: _do’t_] _doote_ Q1.

 32: _for praise_] _to praise_ F2 F3 F4.

 35: _deer’s_] _Deere_ F2.

     _that_] _tho’_ Warburton conj.

 40: _a_] _her_ Rowe.

 42–52: _God...will_] Put in the margin by Pope.

 49, 50: _your waist...my wit...your waist_] _my waste...your
 wit...my waste_ Warburton.

 49: _my wit_] _your wit_ Johnson conj.

 64: _illustrate_] _illustrious_ Q2.

 65: _Zenelophon_] _Penelophon_ Collier.

 66: _annothanize_] Qq F1. _anatomize_ F2 F3 F4. _annotanize_
 Knight.

 67: _videlicet_] _is_ Capell.

     _saw_] F2 F3 F4. _see_ Qq F1.

     _saw_] Rowe. _see_ Qq Ff.

 68: _overcame_] Q2 F3 F4. _covercame_ Q1 F1 F2.

 70: _who overcame he?_] Qq Ff. _who overcame him?_ Rowe (ed. 1).
 _whom overcame he?_ Hanmer.

 71: _the king’s_] Q2 F3 F4. _the king_ Q1 F1.

     _captive_] _captivitie_ Q2.

 80: _Adriano_] Q2. _Adriana_ Q1 Ff. _Armado_] F2 F3 F4.
 _Armatho_ Qq F1.

 87: _feathers_] _feather_ F2 F3 F4.

 92: _phantasime_] Qq F1. _phantasme_ F2 F3 F4. _phantasma_
 Capell conj.

     _Monarcho_] _monorcho_ Q2.

     _Monarcho_] _mammuccio_ Hanmer. {Transcriber's Note: this
     linenote has been copied here from the original book's ADDENDA.}

 99: _lords_] _ladies_ Johnson conj.

 100: Exeunt...] Exeunt. Ff Q2. om. Q1.

 101–142: _Who is... sola._] Put in the margin by Pope.

 101: _suitor...suitor_] Steevens (Farmer conj.). _shooter_ Qq Ff.

 108: _the_] om. F2 F3 F4.

 119: [Exit. Q1.

 120: _An_] _And_ Q1. om. Ff Q2.

 121: [Exeunt R. and K.] Capell. [Exit. Ff. Q2.

 123: _hit it_] F4. _hit_ Qq F1 F2 F3.

 129: _pin_] F2 F3 F4. _is in_ Qq F1.

 137: _Armado o’ th’ one_] Rowe (ed. 2). _Armatho ath toothen_ Q1.
 _Armathor ath to the_ F1 Q2. _Armado ath to_ F2 F3 F4. _Armado
 o’ th’ to_ Grant White.

 139: After this line Collier MS. inserts _Looking babies in her eyes
 his passion to declare._

 140: _o’ t’ other_] _at other_ Qq Ff.

     _of wit_] _of small wit_ Collier MS.

 141: _a most_] F2 F3 F4. _most_ Qq F1.

 142: [Shout within.] F4. Shot within. Q1. Shoote within. F1.
 Shoote with him. Q2. Showte within. F2.
 ~~~~~


SCENE II. _The same._

 _Enter_ HOLOFERNES, SIR NATHANIEL, _and_ DULL.

_Nath._ Very reverend sport, truly; and done in the
testimony of a good conscience.

_Hol._ The deer was, as you know, sanguis, in blood; ripe
as the pomewater, who now hangeth like a jewel in the ear
of caelo, the sky, the welkin, the heaven; and anon falleth          5
like a crab on the face of terra, the soil, the land, the earth.

_Nath._ Truly, Master Holofernes, the epithets are
sweetly varied, like a scholar at the least: but, sir, I assure
ye, it was a buck of the first head.

_Hol._ Sir Nathaniel, haud credo.                                   10

_Dull._ ’Twas not a haud credo; ’twas a pricket.

_Hol._ Most barbarous intimation! yet a kind of insinuation,
as it were, in via, in way, of explication; facere, as it
were, replication, or, rather, ostentare, to show, as it were,
his inclination, after his undressed, unpolished, uneducated,       15
unpruned, untrained, or, rather, unlettered, or, ratherest,
unconfirmed fashion, to insert again my haud credo for a deer.

_Dull._ I said the deer was not a haud credo; ’twas a
pricket.

_Hol._ Twice-sod simplicity, bis coctus!                            20
O thou monster Ignorance, how deformed dost thou look!

_Nath._ Sir, he hath never fed of the dainties that are
        bred in a book;
he hath not eat paper, as it were; he hath not drunk ink:
his intellect is not replenished; he is only an animal, only
sensible in the duller parts:                                       25
And such barren plants are set before us, that we thankful
         should be,
Which we of taste and feeling are, for those parts that do
         fructify in us more than he.
For as it would ill become me to be vain, indiscreet, or a fool,
So were there a patch set on learning, to see him in a school:
But omne bene, say I; being of an old father’s mind,                30
Many can brook the weather that love not the wind.

_Dull._ You two are book-men: can you tell me by your wit
What was a month old at Cain’s birth, that’s not five
           weeks old as yet?

_Hol._ Dictynna, goodman Dull; Dictynna, goodman Dull.

_Dull._ What is Dictynna?                                           35

_Nath._ A title to Phœbe, to Luna, to the moon.

_Hol._ The moon was a month old when Adam was no more,
And raught not to five weeks when he came to five-score.
The allusion holds in the exchange.

_Dull._ ’Tis true indeed; the collusion holds in the exchange.      40

_Hol._ God comfort thy capacity! I say, the allusion
holds in the exchange.

_Dull._ And I say, the pollusion holds in the exchange;
for the moon is never but a month old: and I say beside             45
that, ’twas a pricket that the princess killed.

_Hol._ Sir Nathaniel, will you hear an extemporal epitaph
on the death of the deer? And, to humour the ignorant,
call I the deer the princess killed a pricket.

_Nath._ Perge, good Master Holofernes, perge; so it                 50
shall please you to abrogate scurrility.

_Hol._ I will something affect the letter, for it argues
facility.

The preyful princess pierced and prickd a pretty pleasing pricket;  54
  Some say a sore; but not a sore, till now made sore with shooting.
The dogs did yell: put L to sore, then sorel jumps from thicket;
  Or pricket sore, or else sorel; the people fall a-hooting.
If sore be sore, then L to sore makes fifty sores one sorel.
Of one sore I an hundred make by adding but one more L.

_Nath._ A rare talent!                                              60

_Dull._ [_Aside_] If a talent be a claw, look how he claws
him with a talent.

_Hol._ This is a gift that I have, simple, simple; a foolish
extravagant spirit, full of forms, figures, shapes, objects,
ideas, apprehensions, motions, revolutions: these are begot         65
in the ventricle of memory, nourished in the womb of pia
mater, and delivered upon the mellowing of occasion. But
the gift is good in those in whom it is acute, and I am
thankful for it.

_Nath._ Sir, I praise the Lord for you: and so may my               70
parishioners; for their sons are well tutored by you, and
their daughters profit very greatly under you: you are a
good member of the commonwealth.

_Hol._ Mehercle, if their sons be ingenuous, they shall
want no instruction; if their daughters be capable, I will          75
put it to them: but vir sapit qui pauca loquitur; a soul
feminine saluteth us.

 _Enter_ JAQUENETTA _and_ COSTARD.

_Jaq._ God give you good morrow, master Parson.

_Hol._ Master Parson, quasi pers-on.  An if one
should be pierced, which is the one?                                80

_Cost._ Marry, master schoolmaster, he that is likest to
a hogshead.

_Hol._ Piercing a hogshead! a good lustre of conceit in
a turf of earth; fire enough for a flint, pearl enough for a
swine: ’tis pretty; it is well.                                     85

_Jaq._ Good master Parson, be so good as read me this
letter: it was given me by Costard, and sent me from Don
Armado: I beseech you, read it.

_Hol._ Fauste, precor gelida quando pecus omne sub
umbra Ruminat,—and so forth. Ah, good old Mantuan!                  90
I may speak of thee as the traveller doth of Venice;
            Venetia, Venetia,
            Chi non ti vede non ti pretia.
Old Mantuan, old Mantuan! who understandeth thee not,
loves thee not. Ut, re, sol, la, mi, fa. Under pardon, sir,         95
what are the contents? or rather, as Horace says in his—
What, my soul, verses?

_Nath._ Ay, sir, and very learned.

_Hol._ Let me hear a staff, a stanze, a verse; lege, domine.

_Nath._ [_reads_]

If love make me forsworn, how shall I swear to love?               100
    Ah, never faith could hold, if not to beauty vow’d!
Though to myself forsworn, to thee I’ll faithful prove;
    Those thoughts to me were oaks, to thee like osiers bow’d.
Study his bias leaves, and makes his book thine eyes,
    Where all those pleasures live that art would comprehend:      105
If knowledge be the mark, to know thee shall suffice;
    Well learned is that tongue that well can thee commend;
All ignorant that soul that sees thee without wonder;
    Which is to me some praise that I thy parts admire:
Thy eye Jove’s lightning bears, thy voice his dreadful thunder,    110
    Which, not to anger bent, is music and sweet fire.
Celestial as thou art, O, pardon love this wrong,
That sings heaven’s praise with such an earthly tongue.

_Hol._ You find not the apostrophas, and so miss the
accent: let me supervise the canzonet. Here are only numbers       115
ratified; but, for the elegancy, facility, and golden
cadence of poesy, caret. Ovidius Naso was the man: and
why, indeed, Naso, but for smelling out the odoriferous
flowers of fancy, the jerks of invention? Imitari is nothing:
so doth the hound his master, the ape his keeper, the tired        120
horse his rider. But, damosella virgin, was this directed
to you?

_Jaq._ Ay, sir, from one Monsieur Biron, one of the
strange queen’s lords.

_Hol._ I will overglance the superscript: ‘To the snow-white       125
hand of the most beauteous Lady Rosaline.’ I will look
again on the intellect of the letter, for the nomination of
the party writing to the person written unto: ‘Your ladyship’s
in all desired employment, BIRON.’ Sir Nathaniel, this
Biron is one of the votaries with the king; and here he hath       130
framed a letter to a sequent of the stranger queen’s, which
accidentally, or by the way of progression, hath miscarried.
Trip and go, my sweet; deliver this paper into the royal
hand of the king: it may concern much. Stay not thy
compliment; I forgive thy duty: adieu.                             135

_Jaq._ Good Costard, go with me. Sir, God save your life!

_Cost._ Have with thee, my girl.      [_Exeunt Cost. and Jaq._

_Nath._ Sir, you have done this in the fear of God, very
religiously; and, as a certain father saith,—

_Hol._ Sir, tell not me of the father; I do fear colourable        140
colours. But to return to the verses: did they please
you, Sir Nathaniel?

_Nath._ Marvellous well for the pen.

_Hol._ I do dine to-day at the father’s of a certain pupil
of mine; where, if, before repast, it shall please you to          145
gratify the table with a grace, I will, on my privilege I
have with the parents of the foresaid child or pupil, undertake
your ben venuto; where I will prove those verses to
be very unlearned, neither savouring of poetry, wit, nor
invention: I beseech your society.                                 150

_Nath._ And thank you too; for society, saith the text,
is the happiness of life.

_Hol._ And, certes, the text most infallibly concludes
it. [_To Dull_] Sir, I do invite you too; you shall not say
me nay: pauca verba. Away! the gentles are at their game,          155
and we will to our recreation.         [_Exeunt._


~~~~~
 Linenotes: _Love’s Labour’s Lost_, IV, 2.

 3: Hol.] Ped. Qq Ff.

     _sanguis, in blood_] _in sanguis, blood_ Capell.

 4: _the_] Q1. _a_ Ff Q2.

 24: _animal_] _animal, not to think_ Collier MS.

 26, 27: Printed as prose in Qq Ff, first as verse by Hanmer.

 27: _Which we of taste and feeling are, for those..._] See note
 (XI).

     _do_] Q1 Ff. om. Q2.

 28: _indiscreet_] _indistreell_ Q1.

 29: _see_] _set_ Collier MS.

 32: _me_] Q1. om. Ff Q2.

 34: _Dictynna_] Rowe. _Dictisima_ Q1 F1 F2 F3. _Dictissima_ Q2
 F4. _Doctissime...Dictynna_ Collier MS.

 35: _Dictynna_] _Dictinna_ F2 F3 F4. _Dictima_ Qq F1.

 36: _title_] _tittle_ F2.

 38: _raught_] _rought_ Q1. _wrought_ Ff Q2.

 44: _pollusion_] Q2 F3 F4. _polusion_ Q1 F1 F2. _pollution_
 Rowe (ed. 2).

 47: _epitaph_] _epigram_ Capell conj. MS.

 48: _ignorant_] _ignorault_ Q1.

 49: _call I_] Edd. _call’d_ Qq Ff. _I have call’d_ Rowe. _I will
 call_ Singer. _I call_ Collier MS.

     _a_] _the_ Q2.

 51: _scurrility_] _squirilitie_ Q1.

 54: _preyful_] _prayfull_ Qq F1. _praysfull_ F2.

 54–59: Printed as twelve lines in Qq Ff.

 56, 58: _L_] _ell_ Qq Ff.

 56: _jumps_] _jumpt_ Pope.

 58: _one sorel_] Edd. _o sorell_ Q1. _O sorell_ Q2 Ff. _of sorel_
 Warburton. _O sore L_ Capell.

 63: Hol.] Nath. Qq Ff. See note (XII).

 66, 67: _pia mater_] Rowe. _primater_ Qq Ff.

 68: _in whom_] _whom_ Q1.

 70: _my_] _our_ Rowe (ed. I).

 74: _ingenuou_] Q2 F3 F4. _ingenous_ Q1. _ingennous_ F1 F2.
 _ingenious_ Capell.

 76: _sapit_] Q2 F2 F3 F4. _sapis_ Q1 F1.

 78: _parson_] F2 F3 F4. _person_ Qq F1.

 79: _pers-on_] _pers-one_ Steevens.

 79–85: Put in the margin by Pope.

 81: _likest_] Ff Q2. _liklest_ Q1.

 83: _Piercing_] Edd. _Of persing_ Qq Ff. See note (XVII).

     _lustre_] _cluster_ F3 F4.

 86: _Parson_] Qq Ff.

 89: _Fauste, precor gelida quando pecus omne_] F2 F3 F4. _Facile
 precor gellida quando pecas omnia_ Q1 F1. _Facile precor gleida
 quando peccas omnia_ Q2.

 92, 93: _Venetia,.....ti.....ti pretia_] Edd. (from Florio’s ‘Second
 Frutes.’) _Vinegia...te...ei non te pregia_ Theobald. _Vemchie,
 vencha, que non te vnde, que non te perreche_ Q1 F1. _Vemchie,
 vencha...perroche_ Q2. _Vemchie, vencha...piaech_ F2 F3 F4,
 Rowe, Pope.

 95: _loves thee not_] Q1. om. Ff Q2.

 99: _stanze_] F1 Q2. _stauze_ Q1. _stanza_ F2 F3 F4.

 101: _Ah_] _O_ ‘Passionate Pilgrim.’

 102: _faithful_] _constant_ Ib.

 103: _were_] _like_ Ib.

 105: _would_] _can_ Ib.

 110: _bears_] _seems_ Ib.

 112: _pardon love this_] _do not love that_ Ib.

 113: _That sings_] _To sing_ Ib. _That sings the_ S. Walker conj.

 115: _canzonet_] Theobald. _cangenet_ Qq Ff.

 115–122: _Here...you_] Theobald continues to Holofernes. In Qq Ff
 they are given to Nathaniel.

 117: _caret_] _carent_ Nicholson conj.

 119: _invention? imitari_] Theobald. _invention imitarie_ Qq Ff.
 _invention? imitating_ Collier MS.

 120: _tired_] _tyred_ Qq Ff. _try’d_ Theobald. _’tired_ Capell.
 _trained_ Heath conj.

 123, 124: _one of the strange queen’s lords_] _to one of the strange
 queen’s ladies_ Theobald.

 125–129: _I will...Biron_] given to Nathaniel in Qq Ff. See note
 (XII).

 128: _writing_] Rowe. _written_ Qq Ff.

 129: _in_] _it_ Q2.

     _Sir Nathaniel_] Capell. _Sir Holofernes_ Qq Ff. om. Theobald.

 129–135: Given to Dull by Rowe.

 133: _royal_] om. Ff Q2.

 137: [Exeunt...] _Exit._ Qq Ff.

 145: _before_] Q1. _being_ Ff Q2.

     _repast_] _request_ Heath conj.

 147: _or_] Qq F1 F2. _and_ F3 F4.

 148: _ben venuto_] Rowe (ed. 2). _bien venuto_ Q1 F2 F3 F4.
 _bien vonuto_ F1 Q2. _bien venu too_ Edd conj.
~~~~~


SCENE III. _The same._

 _Enter_ BIRON, _with a paper_.

_Biron._ The king he is hunting the deer; I am coursing
myself: they have pitched a toil; I am toiling in a pitch,—
pitch that defiles: defile! a foul word. Well, set thee
down, sorrow! for so they say the fool said, and so say I,
and I the fool: well proved, wit! By the Lord, this love is          5
as mad as Ajax: it kills sheep; it kills me, I a sheep: well
proved again o’ my side! I will not love: if I do, hang me;
i’ faith, I will not. O, but her eye,—by this light, but for
her eye, I would not love her; yes, for her two eyes. Well,
I do nothing in the world but lie, and lie in my throat. By         10
heaven, I do love: and it hath taught me to rhyme, and to
be melancholy; and here is part of my rhyme, and here my
melancholy. Well, she hath one o’ my sonnets already: the
clown bore it, the fool sent it, and the lady hath it: sweet
clown, sweeter fool, sweetest lady! By the world, I would           15
not care a pin, if the other three were in. Here comes one
with a paper: God give him grace to groan!      [_Stands aside._

 _Enter the_ King, _with a paper_.

_King._ Ay me!

_Biron._ [_Aside_] Shot, by heaven! Proceed, sweet Cupid:
thou hast thumped him with thy bird-bolt under the left             20
pap. In faith, secrets!

_King_ [_reads_].

So sweet a kiss the golden sun gives not
  To those fresh morning drops upon the rose,
As thy eye-beams, when their fresh rays have smote
  The night of dew that on my cheeks down flows:                    25
Nor shines the silver moon one half so bright
  Through the transparent bosom of the deep,
As doth thy face through tears of mine give light;
  Thou shinest in every tear that I do weep:
No drop but as a coach doth carry thee;                             30
  So ridest thou triumphing in my woe.
Do but behold the tears that swell in me,
  And they thy glory through my grief will show:
But do not love thyself; then thou wilt keep
My tears for glasses, and still make me weep.                       35
O queen of queens! how far dost thou excel,
No thought can think, nor tongue of mortal tell.

How shall she know my griefs? I’ll drop the paper:—
Sweet leaves, shade folly. Who is he comes here?
 [_Steps aside._
What, Longaville! and reading! Listen, ear.                         40

_Biron._ Now, in thy likeness, one more fool appear!

 _Enter_ LONGAVILLE, _with a paper_.

_Long._ Ay me, I am forsworn!

_Biron._ Why, he comes in like a perjure, wearing
papers.

_King._ In love, I hope: sweet fellowship in shame!                 45

_Biron._ One drunkard loves another of the name.

_Long._ Am I the first that have been perjured so?

_Biron._ I could put thee in comfort. Not by two that I know:
Thou makest the triumviry, the corner-cap of society.
The shape of Love’s Tyburn that hangs up simplicity.                50

_Long._ I fear these stubborn lines lack power to move.
O sweet Maria, empress of my love!
These numbers will I tear, and write in prose.

_Biron._ O, rhymes are guards on wanton Cupid’s hose:
Disfigure not his slop.

_Long._                 This same shall go.      [_Reads._          55

Did not the heavenly rhetoric of thine eye,
  ’Gainst whom the world cannot hold argument,
Persuade my heart to this false perjury?
  Vows for thee broke deserve not punishment.
A woman I forswore; but I will prove,                               60
  Thou being a goddess, I forswore not thee:
My vow was earthly, thou a heavenly love;
  Thy grace being gain’d cures all disgrace in me.
Vows are but breath, and breath a vapour is:
  Then thou, fair sun, which on my earth dost shine,                65
Exhalest this vapour-vow; in thee it is:
  If broken then, it is no fault of mine:
If by me broke, what fool is not so wise
To lose an oath to win a paradise?

_Biron._ This is the liver-vein, which makes flesh a deity,         70
A green goose a goddess: pure, pure idolatry.
God amend us, God amend! we are much out o’ the way.

_Long._ By whom shall I send this?—Company! stay.

 [_Steps aside._

_Biron._ All hid, all hid, an old infant play.
Like a demigod here sit I in the sky,                               75
And wretched fools’ secrets heedfully o’er-eye.
More sacks to the mill! O heavens, I have my wish!

 _Enter_ DUMAIN _with a paper_.

Dumain transform’d! four woodcocks in a dish!

_Dum._ O most divine Kate!

_Biron._ O most profane coxcomb!                                    80

_Dum._ By heaven, the wonder in a mortal eye!

_Biron._ By earth, she is not, corporal, there you lie.

_Dum._ Her amber hairs for foul hath amber quoted.

_Biron._ An amber-colour’d raven was well noted.

_Dum._ As upright as the cedar.

_Biron._                        Stoop, I say;                       85
Her shoulder is with child.

_Dum._                      As fair as day.

_Biron._ Ay, as some days; but then no sun must shine.

_Dum._ O that I had my wish!

_Long._                      And I had mine!

_King._ And I mine too, good Lord!

_Biron._ Amen, so I had mine: is not that a good word?              90

_Dum._ I would forget her; but a fever she
Reigns in my blood, and will remember’d be.

_Biron._ A fever in your blood! why, then incision
Would let her out in saucers: sweet misprision!

_Dum._ Once more I’ll read the ode that I have writ.                95

_Biron._ Once more I’ll mark how love can vary wit.

_Dum._ [_reads_]

On a day—alack the day!—
Love, whose month is ever May,
Spied a blossom passing fair
Playing in the wanton air:                                         100
Through the velvet leaves the wind,
All unseen, can passage find;
That the lover, sick to death,
Wish himself the heaven’s breath.
Air, quoth he, thy cheeks may blow;                                105
Air, would I might triumph so!
But, alack, my hand is sworn
Ne’er to pluck thee from thy thorn;
Vow, alack, for youth unmeet,
Youth so apt to pluck a sweet!                                     110
Do not call it sin in me,
That I am forsworn for thee;
Thou for whom Jove would swear
Juno but an Ethiope were;
And deny himself for Jove,                                         115
Turning mortal for thy love.
This will I send and something else more plain,
That shall express my true love’s fasting pain.
O, would the king, Biron, and Longaville,
Were lovers too! Ill, to example ill,                              120
Would from my forehead wipe a perjured note;
For none offend where all alike do dote.

_Long._ [_advancing_]. Dumain, thy love is far from charity,
That in love’s grief desirest society:
You may look pale, but I should blush, I know,                     125
To be o’erheard and taken napping so.

_King_ [_advancing_]. Come, sir, you blush; as his your case is such;
You chide at him, offending twice as much;
You do not love Maria; Longaville
Did never sonnet for her sake compile,                             130
Nor never lay his wreathed arms athwart
His loving bosom, to keep down his heart.
I have been closely shrouded in this bush
And mark’d you both and for you both did blush:
I heard your guilty rhymes, observed your fashion,                 135
Saw sighs reek from you, noted well your passion:
Ay me! says one; O Jove! the other cries;
One, her hairs were gold, crystal the other’s eyes:
You would for paradise break faith and troth;      [_To Long._
And Jove, for your love, would infringe an oath.      [_To Dum._   140
What will Biron say when that he shall hear
Faith infringed, which such zeal did swear?
How will he scorn! how will he spend his wit!
How will he triumph, leap and laugh at it!
For all the wealth that ever I did see,                            145
I would not have him know so much by me.

_Biron._ Now step I forth to whip hypocrisy.       [_Advancing._
Ah, good my liege, I pray thee, pardon me!
Good heart, what grace hast thou, thus to reprove
These worms for loving, that art most in love?                     150
Your eyes do make no coaches; in your tears
There is no certain princess that appears;
You’ll not be perjured, ’tis a hateful thing;
Tush, none but minstrels like of sonneting!
But are you not ashamed? nay, are you not,                         155
All three of you, to be thus much o’ershot?
You found his mote; the king your mote did see;
But I a beam do find in each of three.
O, what a scene of foolery have I seen,
Of sighs, of groans, of sorrow and of teen!                        160
O me, with what strict patience have I sat,
To see a king transformed to a gnat!
To see great Hercules whipping a gig,
And profound Solomon to tune a jig,
And Nestor play at push-pin with the boys,                         165
And critic Timon laugh at idle toys!
Where lies thy grief, O, tell me, good Dumain?
And, gentle Longaville, where lies thy pain?
And where my liege’s? all about the breast:
A caudle, ho!

_King._       Too bitter is thy jest.                              170
Are we betray’d thus to thy over-view?

_Biron._ Not you to me, but I betray’d by you:
I, that am honest; I, that hold it sin
To break the vow I am engaged in;
I am betray’d, by keeping company                                  175
With men like you, men of inconstancy.
When shall you see me write a thing in rhyme?
Or groan for love? or spend a minute’s time
In pruning me? When shall you hear that I
Will praise a hand, a foot, a face, an eye,                        180
A gait, a state, a brow, a breast, a waist,
A leg, a limb?—

_King._          Soft! whither away so fast?
A true man or a thief that gallops so?

_Biron._ I post from love: good lover, let me go.

 _Enter_ JAQUENETTA _and_ COSTARD.

_Jaq._ God bless the king!

_King._                    What present hast thou there?           185

_Cost._ Some certain treason.

_King._                       What makes treason here?

_Cost._ Nay, it makes nothing, sir.

_King._                             If it mar nothing neither,
The treason and you go in peace away together.

_Jaq._ I beseech your Grace, let this letter be read:
Our parson misdoubts it; ’twas treason, he said.                   190

_King._ Biron, read it over.        [_Giving him the paper._
Where hadst thou it?

_Jaq._ Of Costard.

_King._ Where hadst thou it?

_Cost._ Of Dun Adramadio, Dun Adramadio.                           195

 [_Biron tears the letter._

_King._ How now! what is in you? why dost thou tear it?

_Biron._ A toy, my liege, a toy: your Grace needs not fear it.

_Long._ It did move him to passion, and therefore let’s hear it.

_Dum._ It is Biron’s writing, and here is his name.

 [_Gathering up the pieces._

_Biron._ [_To Costard_] Ah, you whoreson loggerhead!
            you were born to do me shame.                          200
Guilty, my lord, guilty! I confess, I confess.

_King._ What?

_Biron._ That you three fools lack’d me fool to make up the mess:
He, he, and you, and you, my liege, and I,
Are pick-purses in love, and we deserve to die.                    205
O, dismiss this audience, and I shall tell you more.

_Dum._ Now the number is even.

_Biron._                       True, true; we are four.
Will these turtles be gone?

_King._                     Hence, sirs; away!

_Cost._ Walk aside the true folk, and let the traitors stay.

 [_Exeunt Costard and Jaquenetta._

_Biron._ Sweet lords, sweet lovers, O, let us embrace!             210
  As true we are as flesh and blood can be:
The sea will ebb and flow, heaven show his face;
  Young blood doth not obey an old decree:
We cannot cross the cause why we were born;
Therefore of all hands must we be forsworn.                        215

_King._ What, did these rent lines show some love of thine?

_Biron._ Did they, quoth you? Who sees the heavenly Rosaline,
That, like a rude and savage man of Inde,
  At the first opening of the gorgeous east,
Bows not his vassal head and strucken blind                        220
  Kisses the base ground with obedient breast?
What peremptory eagle-sighted eye
  Dares look upon the heaven of her brow,
That is not blinded by her majesty?

_King._ What zeal, what fury hath inspired thee now?               225
My love, her mistress, is a gracious moon;
  She an attending star, scarce seen a light.

_Biron._ My eyes are then no eyes, nor I Biron:
  O, but for my love, day would turn to night!
Of all complexions the cull’d sovereignty                          230
  Do meet, as at a fair, in her fair cheek;
Where several worthies make one dignity,
  Where nothing wants that want itself doth seek.
Lend me the flourish of all gentle tongues,—
  Fie, painted rhetoric! O, she needs it not:                      235
To things of sale a seller’s praise belongs,
  She passes praise; then praise too short doth blot.
A wither’d hermit, five-score winters worn,
  Might shake off fifty, looking in her eye:
Beauty doth varnish age, as if new-born,                           240
  And gives the crutch the cradle’s infancy:
O, ’tis the sun that maketh all things shine.

_King._ By heaven, thy love is black as ebony.

_Biron._ Is ebony like her? O wood divine!
  A wife of such wood were felicity.                               245
O, who can give an oath? where is a book?
  That I may swear beauty doth beauty lack,
If that she learn not of her eye to look:
  No face is fair that is not full so black.

_King._ O paradox! Black is the badge of hell,                     250
  The hue of dungeons and the school of night;
And beauty’s crest becomes the heavens well.

_Biron._ Devils soonest tempt, resembling spirits of light.
O, if in black my lady’s brows be deck’d,
  It mourns that painting and usurping hair                        255
Should ravish doters with a false aspect;
  And therefore is she born to make black fair.
Her favour turns the fashion of the days,
  For native blood is counted painting now;
And therefore red, that would avoid dispraise,                     260
  Paints itself black, to imitate her brow.

_Dum._ To look like her are chimney-sweepers black.

_Long._ And since her time are colliers counted bright.

_King._ And Ethiopes of their sweet complexion crack.

_Dum._ Dark needs no candles now, for dark is light.               265

_Biron._ Your mistresses dare never come in rain,
For fear their colours should be wash’d away.

_King._ ’Twere good, yours did; for, sir, to tell you plain,
I ’ll find a fairer face not wash’d to-day.

_Biron._ I’ll prove her fair, or talk till doomsday here.          270

_King._ No devil will fright thee then so much as she.

_Dum._ I never knew man hold vile stuff so dear.

_Long._ Look, here’s thy love: my foot and her face see.

_Biron._ O, if the streets were paved with thine eyes,
Her feet were much too dainty for such tread!                      275

_Dum._ O vile! then, as she goes, what upward lies
The street should see as she walk’d overhead.

_King._ But what of this? are we not all in love?

_Biron._ Nothing so sure; and thereby all forsworn.

_King._ Then leave this chat; and, good Biron, now prove           280
Our loving lawful, and our faith not torn.

_Dum._ Ay, marry, there; some flattery for this evil.

_Long._ O, some authority how to proceed;
Some tricks, some quillets, how to cheat the devil.

_Dum._ Some salve for perjury.

_Biron._                       ’Tis more than need.                285
Have at you, then, affection’s men at arms.
Consider what you first did swear unto,
To fast, to study, and to see no woman;
Flat treason ’gainst the kingly state of youth.
Say, can you fast? your stomachs are too young;                    290
And abstinence engenders maladies.
And where that you have vow’d to study, lords,
In that each of you have forsworn his book,
Can you still dream and pore and thereon look?
For when would you, my Lord, or you, or you,                       295
Have found the ground of study’s excellence
Without the beauty of a woman’s face?
From women’s eyes this doctrine I derive;
They are the ground, the books, the academes
From whence doth spring the true Promethean fire.                  300
Why, universal plodding prisons up
The nimble spirits in the arteries,
As motion and long-during action tires
The sinewy vigour of the traveller.
Now, for not looking on a woman’s face,                            305
You have in that forsworn the use of eyes
And study too, the causer of your vow;
For where is any author in the world
Teaches such beauty as a woman’s eye?
Learning is but an adjunct to ourself                              310
And where we are our learning likewise is
Then when ourselves we see in ladies’ eyes.
Do we not likewise see our learning there?
O, we have made a vow to study, lords,
And in that vow we have forsworn our books                         315
For when would you, my liege, or you, or you,
In leaden contemplation have found out
Such fiery numbers as the prompting eyes
Of beauty’s tutors have enrich’d you with?
Other slow arts entirely keep the brain;                           320
And therefore, finding barren practisers,
Scarce show a harvest of their heavy toil:
But love, first learned in a lady’s eyes,
Lives not alone immured in the brain;
But, with the motion of all elements,                              325
Courses as swift as thought in every power,
And gives to every power a double power,
Above their functions and their offices.
It adds a precious seeing to the eye;
A lover’s eyes will gaze an eagle blind;                           330
A lover’s ear will hear the lowest sound,
When the suspicious head of theft is stopp’d:
Love’s feeling is more soft and sensible
Than are the tender horns of cockled snails;
Love’s tongue proves dainty Bacchus gross in taste:                335
For valour, is not Love a Hercules,
Still climbing trees in the Hesperides?
Subtle as Sphinx; as sweet and musical
As bright Apollo’s lute, strung with his hair;
And when Love speaks, the voice of all the gods                    340
Make heaven drowsy with the harmony.
Never durst poet touch a pen to write
Until his ink were temper’d with Love’s sighs;
O, then his lines would ravish savage ears,
And plant in tyrants mild humility.                                345
From women’s eyes this doctrine I derive:
They sparkle still the right Promethean fire;
They are the books, the arts, the academes,
That show, contain and nourish all the world:
Else none at all in ought proves excellent.                        350
Then fools you were these women to forswear;
Or keeping what is sworn, you will prove fools.
For wisdom’s sake, a word that all men love;
Or for love’s sake, a word that loves all men;
Or for men’s sake, the authors of these women;                     355
Or women’s sake, by whom we men are men;
Let us once lose our oaths to find ourselves,
Or else we lose ourselves to keep our oaths.
It is religion to be thus forsworn,
For charity itself fulfils the law,                                360
And who can sever love from charity?

_King._ Saint Cupid, then! and, soldiers, to the field!

_Biron._ Advance your standards, and upon them, lords;
Pell-mell, down with them! but be first advised,
In conflict that you get the sun of them.                          365

_Long._ Now to plain-dealing; lay these glozes by:
Shall we resolve to woo these girls of France?

_King._ And win them too: therefore let us devise
Some entertainment for them in their tents.

_Biron._ First, from the park let us conduct them thither;         370
Then homeward every man attach the hand
Of his fair mistress: in the afternoon
We will with some strange pastime solace them,
Such as the shortness of the time can shape;
For revels, dances, masks and merry hours                          375
Forerun fair Love, strewing her way with flowers.

_King._ Away, away! no time shall be omitted
That will betime, and may by us be fitted.

_Biron._ Allons! allons! Sow’d cockle reap’d no corn;
And justice always whirls in equal measure:                        380
Light wenches may prove plagues to men forsworn;
If so, our copper buys no better treasure.      [_Exeunt._


~~~~~
 Linenotes: _Love’s Labour’s Lost_, IV, 3.

 SCENE III.] SCENE IV. Pope. ACT IV. Capell.

 1: _he_] om. Rowe (ed. 2).

 2: _a pitch_] _pitch_ Hanmer.

 3: _set_] Qq Ff. _sit_ Hanmer.

 5: _and I the fool_] _and ay the fool_ Grant White, _am I the fool_
 Anon. conj.

 6: _I a sheep_] _ay a sheep_ Grant White.

 9: _love her_] _love_ Rowe (ed. 2).

 12, 13: _melancholy_] _mallichollie_ Qq Ff.

 17: [Stands aside.] [retiring. Capell, and at line 21 [Gets up into
 a tree. id.

 24: _smote_] _smot_ Qq Ff.

 25: _night of dew_] Qq Ff. _dew of night_ Singer (Musgrave conj.).

 34: _wilt_] _will_ Q1.

 36: _dost thou_] Qq Ff. _thou dost_ Singer (Collier MS.).

 43: _perjure_] _perjurd_ F2.

 49: _triumviry_] Rowe (ed. 2). _triumphery_ Qq F1 F2. _triumphry_
 F3 F4. _triumvirate_ Rowe (ed. 1).

 55: _slop_] Theobald. _shop_ Qq Ff. _shape_ Egerton MS.

 57: _cannot_] _could not_ ‘Passionate Pilgrim.’

 59: _deserve_] _deserves_ Q2.

 62: _earthly_] _earthy_ F3 F4.

 64: _Vows are but breath_] _My vow was breath_ ‘Passionate Pilgrim.’

 65: _which on my earth dost_] _that on this earth doth_ Ib.

 66: _Exhalest_] _Exhale_ Ib.

 67: _If broken then,_] Q1 Ff. _If broken, then_ Q2 ‘Passionate
 Pilgrim.’

 69: _lose_] F4. _loose_ Qq F1 F2 F3. _breake_ ‘Passionate
 Pilgrim.’

 71: _idolatry_] _ydotarie_ Q1.

 72: _God amend!_] _God amend us!_ Collier MS.

     [Enter Dumaine. Qq Ff.

 76: _fools’_] _souls’_ S. Walker conj.

 77: [Enter Dumaine, with a paper.] Dyce.

 81: _wonder_] _woonder_ Q1.

     _in_] Q1. _of_ Ff Q2.

 82: _not, corporal_] _but corporal_ Theobald. _most corporal_
 Collier MS.

 83: _hairs_] _hair_ Capell conj.

     _for foul...quoted_] _fourfold...coated_] Jackson conj.

     _hath_] _have_ Rowe.

     _quoted_] _coted_ Qq Ff.

 85, 86: _Stoop...child._ As one line in Qq Ff. Corrected by Theobald.

 89: _I_] Johnson. om. Qq Ff.

 97: [reads] reads his sonnet Qq Ff.

 98: _month is ever May_] Q1. _month is every May_ Ff Q2. _every
 month is May_ Anon conj.

     _is_] _was_ ‘England’s Helicon.’

 101: _velvet leaves the_] _velvet, leaves the_ Qq F1 F2 F3.
 _velvet leaves, the_ F4.

 102: _can_] _’gan_ Theobald, _gan_ ‘England’s Helicon’ and ‘the
 Passionate Pilgrim.’

 103 _lover_] _shepheard_ ‘England’s Helicon.’

 104: _Wish_] Qq F1. _wish’d_ F2 F3 F4. ‘Passionate Pilgrim.’

 105: _may blow_] _to blow_ F3 F4.

 106: _Air._] _Ah!_ Johnson conj.

 107: _alack_] _alas_ ‘Passionate Pilgrim,’ and ‘England’s Helicon.’

     _is_] _hath_ Ib.

 108: _thorn_] Rowe (ed. 2) (from ‘England’s Helicon’), _throne_ Qq
 Ff, ‘Passionate Pilgrim.’

 111, 112: _Do...thee_] om. ‘Passionate Pilgrim,’ and ‘England’s
 Helicon.’

 113: _Thou_] _Thee_ Singer.

     _whom Jove_] _whom ev’n Jove_ Rowe (ed. 2). _whose love Jove_
     S. Walker conj. (withdrawn). _whom great Jove_ Collier MS.

 118: _fasting_] _fest’ring_ Theobald conj. _lasting_ Capell.

 126: _o’erheard_] _ore-hard_ Q1.

 127: _you blush;_] _do, blush;_ Capell conj. _blush you:_ Collier
 MS. _your blush:_ S. Walker conj.

 128: _chide_] _chid_ F2.

 129: _Maria:_] _Maria?_ Qq F1 F2. _Maria,_ F3 F4.

 137: _Ay_] _Ah_ Rowe (ed. 1).

 138: _One, her_] _One her_ Q1. _On her_ F1 Q2. _Her_ F2 F3 F4.
 _One’s_ S. Walker conj.

 139: [To Long.] Johnson.

 140: [To Dum.] Johnson.

 142: _Faith_] Qq F1. _A faith_ F2 F3 F4. _Of faith_ or _Faith
 so,_ or _Such faith_ S. Walker conj. _Faiths_ Delius conj. See note
 (XIII).

     _zeal_] _a zeal_ F2.

 144: _leap_] _geap_ Warburton.

 145: _I_] _eye_ Capell conj.

 147: [Advancing.] Coming from his tree. Capell.

 150: _art_] Qq F1. _are_ F2 F3 F4.

 151: _coaches; in_] Hanmer. _coaches in_ Rowe (ed. 2). _couches in_
 Qq Ff. _loaches in_ Grey conj.

 157: _mote...mote_] Rowe. _moth...moth_ Qq Ff.

 162: _gnat_] _knot_ Theobald. _sot_ Johnson conj. _knott_ Collins
 conj. _quat_ Becket conj.

 164: _to tune_] Q1. _tuning_ Ff Q2.

 166: _toys_] _toyles_ Q2.

 170: _caudle_] Q1. _candle_ Ff Q2.

 172: _to me...by you_] Capell. _by me...to you_ Qq Ff. _by me...by
 you_ Theobald.

 176: _men like you, men of inconstancy_] Dyce (S. Walker conj.).
 _men like men of inconstancy_ Qq F1. _men, like men of strange
 inconstancy_ F2 F3 F4 (_strang_ F2). _vane-like men of strange
 inconstancy_ Hanmer (Warburton). _moon-like men of strange
 inconstancy_ Steevens (Mason conj.). _men, like men of such
 inconstancy_ Tieck conj. _men-like women of inconstancy_ Collier
 conj. _men like you, men all inconstancy_ Lettsom conj. _men like
 women for inconstancy_ Anon. conj.

 178: _love_] _Love_ Q1. (Duke of Devonshire’s copy). _Ione_ Q1.
 _Ioane_ Qq F1 F2. _Joan_ F3 F4. See note (XIV).

 179–182: _In pruning......limb?_] Printed as prose in Qq Ff,
 corrected by Rowe (ed. 2).

 185: _present_] _presentment_ Singer. _peasant_ Collier MS.

     [Offering a paper. Capell.

 188: _away_] om. F2 F3 F4.

 190: _parson_] _person_ Qq Ff.

     _’twas_] Q1. _it was_ Ff Q2.

 191: [Giving...paper.] Capell. [He reads the letter. Qq Ff.

 195: [Biron...letter.] Capell.

 196: _is in_] Qq F1 F2. _mean_ F3 F4.

 199: [Gathering...] Capell.

 201: _lord_] _liege_ Capell (corrected in MS.).

 204: _and you, and you_] _and you_ Reed (1803).

 207, 208: _True...gone?_] Printed as one line in Qq Ff.

 209: [Exeunt...] Exit. F2. om. Q1 F1.

 212: _show_] _shew_ Q1. _will shew_ Ff Q2.

 214: _were_] Q1 F3 F4. _are_ F1 Q2 F2.

 217: _quoth you_] om. Capell.

 220: _strucken_] F4. _strooken_ Qq F1 F2 F3.

 237: _then_] _and_ Capell.

 244: _wood_] Rowe (ed. 1). _word_ Qq Ff. See note (XV).

 250: _Black is_] _Black as_ F3 F4.

 251: _school_] F3 F4. _schoole_ Qq F1. F2. _scowl_ Theobald
 (Warburton). _stole_ Hanmer (Theobald conj.). _soul_ Thirlby conj.
 _soil_ Dyce conj. _shade_ Collier MS. _scroll, shroud,_ or _seal_
 Halliwell conj. _suit_ Edd. conj. See note (XVI).

 252: Given to Biron by Hanmer.

     _crest_] _dress_ Hanmer. _crete_ Warburton. _craye_ Edwards
     conj. _cresset_ Becket conj. _best_ Collier MS.

 254: _brows_] _brow_ F4.

 255: _and_] F4. om. Qq F1. _an_ F2 F3.

     _usurping_] _usurped_ Hanmer.

 258: _the days_] _these days_ Collier MS.

 262: _black_] _blake_ Q1.

 264: _crack_] Q2 F3 F4. _crake_ Q1 F1 F2.

     _sweet_] _swart_ Anon. conj.

 267: _their_] _her_ Q2.

 276: _lies_] _lyes?_ Qq Ff.

 279: _Nothing_] F2 F3 F4. _O nothing_ Qq F1. See note (IX).

 285: _’Tis_] S. Walker conj. _O_ Id. conj. _O tis_ Qq Ff. See note
 (XVII).

 286: _affection’s men_] _affections men_ Qq F1 F2. _affections,
 men_ F3 F4.

 289: _’gainst_] _against_ Q2.

 293: _have_] _hath_ Rowe (ed. 2).

 295: See note (XVIII).

 301: _prisons_] Theobald. _poysons_ Qq Ff.

 304: _sinewy_] _sinnowy_ Qq Ff.

 309: _beauty_] _duty_ Warburton. _learning_ Collier MS.

 312, 313: _eyes, Do_] F2 F3 F4. _eyes With our selves Do_ Qq F1.

 318: _numbers_] _notions_ Hanmer.

 319: _beauty’s_] _beautis_ Q1. _beauties_ Ff. Q2. _beauteous_
 Hanmer.

 332: _head_] _hand_ Griffith conj. _heed_ Anon. conj.

     _theft_] _thrift_ Theobald.

 335: _dainty Bacchus_] F2 F3 F4. _dainty, Bacchus_ Qq. F1.

 336: _valour_] _savour_ Theobald. _flavour_ Griffith conj.

 338: _Sphinx_] _a Sphinx_ F3 F4.

 339: This line printed twice in F2.

 340: _speaks,......gods_] _speaks (the voice of all) the gods_
 Tyrwhitt conj.

 340, 341: _the voice......heaven_] _the voice makes all the gods Of
 heaven_ Farmer conj.

 341: _Make_] _Makes_ Hanmer. _Mark,_ Theobald (Warburton). _Wakes
 drowsy heaven_ Becket conj. _Wakes heaven, drowsy_ Jackson conj. See
 note (XIX).

     _the_] _its_ Steevens conj.

 343: _sighs_] _tears_ Griffith conj.

 345: _humility_] _humanity_ Griffith conj.

 354: _that loves all men_] _that moves all men_ Hanmer. _all women
 love_ Warburton. _that joyes all men_ Heath conj. _that leads all
 men_ Mason conj.

 355: _men’s_] _man’s_ Anon. conj.

     _authors_] Capell. _author_ Qq Ff.

     _women_] _words_ Farmer conj.

 356: _Or_] _For_ Warburton conj. transposing lines 355, 356.

     _women’s_] _womans_ F4.

 357: _Let us_] F2 F3 F4. _Lets us_ Q1. _Let’s_ F1 Q2.

 357, 358: _lose...lose_] F4. _loose...loose_ Qq F1 F2 F3.

 363: _standards_] _standars_ Q1.

 365: _conflict_] _conflish_ F2.

 376: _her_] _his_ Capell conj.

 378: _betime_] Rowe (ed. 2) _be time_ Qq Ff. _betide_ Staunton conj.

 379: _Allons! allons_] Theobald (Warburton). _Alone, alone_ Qq Ff.
~~~~~




ACT V.


SCENE I. _The same._

 _Enter_ HOLOFERNES, SIR NATHANIEL, _and_ DULL.

_Hol._ Satis quod sufficit.

_Nath._ I praise God for you, sir: your reasons at dinner
have been sharp and sententious; pleasant without scurrility,
witty without affection, audacious without impudency, learned
without opinion, and strange without heresy. I did converse          5
this quondam day with a companion of the king’s, who
is intituled, nominated, or called, Don Adriano de Armado.

_Hol._ Novi hominem tanquam te: his humour is lofty,
his discourse peremptory, his tongue filed, his eye ambitious,
his gait majestical, and his general behaviour vain, ridiculous,    10
and thrasonical. He is too picked, too spruce, too affected,
too odd, as it were, too peregrinate, as I may call it.

_Nath._ A most singular and choice epithet.

 [_Draws out his table-book._

_Hol._ He draweth out the thread of his verbosity finer
than the staple of his argument. I abhor such fanatical             15
phantasimes, such insociable and point-devise companions;
such rackers of orthography, as to speak dout, fine, when
he should say doubt; det, when he should pronounce debt,
—d, e, b, t, not d, e, t: he clepeth a calf, cauf; half, hauf;
neighbour vocatur nebour; neigh abbreviated ne. This is             20
abhominable,—which he would call abbominable: it insinuateth
me of insanie: ne intelligis, domine? to make
frantic, lunatic.

_Nath._ Laus Deo, bene intelligo.

_Hol._ Bon, bon, fort bon, Priscian! a little scratched,            25
’twill serve.

_Nath._ Videsne quis venit?

_Hol._ Video, et gaudeo.

 _Enter_ ARMADO, MOTH, _and_ COSTARD.

_Arm._ Chirrah!             [_To Moth._

_Hol._ Quare chirrah, not sirrah?                                   30

_Arm._ Men of peace, well encountered.

_Hol._ Most military sir, salutation.

_Moth._ [_Aside to Costard_] They have been at a great
feast of languages, and stolen the scraps.

_Cost._ O, they have lived long on the alms-basket of               35
words. I marvel thy master hath not eaten thee for a
word; for thou art not so long by the head as honorificabi-
litudinitatibus: thou art easier swallowed than a flap-dragon.

_Moth._ Peace! the peal begins.

_Arm._ [_To Hol._] Monsieur, are you not lettered?                  40

_Moth._ Yes, yes; he teaches boys the horn-book.
What is a, b, spelt backward, with the horn on his head?

_Hol._ Ba, pueritia, with a horn added.

_Moth._ Ba, most silly sheep with a horn. You hear his
learning.                                                           45

_Hol._ Quis, quis, thou consonant?

_Moth._ The third of the five vowels, if you repeat them;
or the fifth, if I.

_Hol._ I will repeat them,—a, e, i,—

_Moth._ The sheep: the other two concludes it,—o, u.                50

_Arm._ Now, by the salt wave of the Mediterraneum, a
sweet touch, a quick venue of wit,—snip, snap, quick and
home! it rejoiceth my intellect: true wit!

_Moth._ Offered by a child to an old man; which is wit-old.

_Hol._ What is the figure? what is the figure?                      55

_Moth._ Horns.

_Hol._ Thou disputest like an infant: go, whip thy gig.

_Moth._ Lend me your horn to make one, and I will whip
about your infamy circum circa,—a gig of a cuckold’s horn.

_Cost._ An I had but one penny in the world, thou                   60
shouldst have it to buy gingerbread: hold, there is the very
remuneration I had of thy master, thou halfpenny purse of
wit, thou pigeon-egg of discretion. O, an the heavens
were so pleased that thou wert but my bastard, what a
joyful father wouldst thou make me! Go to; thou hast it             65
ad dunghill, at the fingers’ ends, as they say.

_Hol._ O, I smell false Latin; dunghill for unguem.

_Arm._ Arts-man, preambulate, we will be singuled
from the barbarous. Do you not educate youth at the
charge-house on the top of the mountain?                            70

_Hol._ Or mons, the hill.

_Arm._ At your sweet pleasure, for the mountain.

_Hol._ I do, sans question.

_Arm._ Sir, it is the king’s most sweet pleasure and affection
to congratulate the princess at her pavilion in the                 75
posteriors of this day, which the rude multitude call the
afternoon.

_Hol._ The posterior of the day, most generous sir, is
liable, congruent and measurable for the afternoon: the
word is well culled, chose, sweet and apt, I do assure you,         80
sir, I do assure.

_Arm._ Sir, the king is a noble gentleman, and my familiar,
I do assure ye, very good friend: for what is inward
between us, let it pass. I do beseech thee, remember thy
courtesy; I beseech thee, apparel thy head: and among               85
other important and most serious designs, and of great import
indeed, too, but let that pass: for I must tell thee, it
will please his Grace, by the world, sometime to lean upon
my poor shoulder, and with his royal finger, thus, dally with
my excrement, with my mustachio; but, sweet heart, let              90
that pass. By the world, I recount no fable: some certain
special honours it pleaseth his greatness to impart to Armado,
a soldier, a man of travel, that hath seen the world;
but let that pass. The very all of all is,—but, sweet heart,
I do implore secrecy,—that the king would have me present           95
the princess, sweet chuck, with some delightful ostentation,
or show, or pageant, or antique, or firework. Now, understanding
that the curate and your sweet self are good at
such eruptions and sudden breaking out of mirth, as it
were, I have acquainted you withal, to the end to crave            100
your assistance.

_Hol._ Sir, you shall present before her the Nine Worthies.
Sir, as concerning some entertainment of time, some show
in the posterior of this day, to be rendered by our assistants,
at the king’s command, and this most gallant, illustrate,          105
and learned gentleman, before the princess; I say
none so fit as to present the Nine Worthies.

_Nath._ Where will you find men worthy enough to present
them?

_Hol._ Joshua, yourself; myself and this gallant gentleman,        110
Judas Maccabæus; this swain, because of his great limb
or joint, shall pass Pompey the Great; the page, Hercules,—

_Arm._ Pardon, sir; error: he is not quantity enough for
that Worthy’s thumb: he is not so big as the end of his club.

_Hol._ Shall I have audience? he shall present Hercules            115
in minority: his enter and exit shall be strangling a snake;
and I will have an apology for that purpose.

_Moth._ An excellent device! so, if any of the audience
hiss, you may cry, “Well done, Hercules! now thou crushest
the snake!” that is the way to make an offence gracious,           120
though few have the grace to do it.

_Arm._ For the rest of the Worthies?—

_Hol._ I will play three myself.

_Moth._ Thrice-worthy gentleman!

_Arm._ Shall I tell you a thing?                                   125

_Hol._ We attend.

_Arm._ We will have, if this fadge not, an antique. I
beseech you, follow.

_Hol._ Via, goodman Dull! thou hast spoken no word
all this while.                                                    130

_Dull._ Nor understood none neither, sir.

_Hol._ Allons! we will employ thee.

_Dull._ I’ll make one in a dance, or so; or I will play
On the tabor to the Worthies, and let them dance the hay.

_Hol._ Most dull, honest Dull! To our sport, away!                 135

 [_Exeunt._


~~~~~
 Linenotes: _Love’s Labour’s Lost_, V, 1.

 ACT V.] Actus Quartus Ff Q2.

 1: _quod_] Rowe. _quid_ Qq Ff.

 2: _sir_] om. Q2.

 4: _affection_] Qq F1. _affectation_ F2 F3 F4.

 8: _hominem_] F3 F4. _hominum_ Qq F1 F2.

     _tanquam_] _tanquem_ Rowe.

 11: _picked_] _piqued_ Becket conj.

 13: [Draws...] F3 F4. Draw... Qq F1 F2.

 17: _orthography_] _ortagriphie_ Q1 F1. _ortographie_ Q2.
 _ortagriphy_ F2. _ortagraphy_ F3 F4.

 21: _he_] _we_ F3 F4.

     _abbominable_] Q1. _abhominable_ F1 F2. _abominable_ F3 F4.

 22: _me_] Qq Ff. _to me_ Hanmer. _men_ Farmer conj. _one_ Collier MS.

     _insanie_] Theobald (Warburton conj.). _infamie_ Qq Ff.
     _insanity_ Warburton. _insanire_ S. Walker conj. _insania_
     Collier MS.

     _ne_] _nonne_ Johnson conj.

 22: _make_] _be mad_ Johnson conj. _wax_ Dyce conj.

 24: _bene_] _bone_ Theobald.

 25: _Bon, bon, fort bon, Priscian!_] Edd. _bome boon for boon
 prescian;_ Qq Ff. _Bone?—bone for bene; Priscian_ Theobald. See
 note (XX).

     _scratched_] _scratcht_ Qq F1. _scarch_ F2 F3. _search_ F4.
     _scratch_ Pope.

 26: SCENE II. Pope.

 34: _stolen_] _stole_ F2 F3 F4.

     _the_] om. Q2.

 47: _third_] Theobald. _last_ Qq Ff.

 51: _wave_] _wane_ Q1.

 57: _disputest_] F4. _disputes_ Qq F1. _disputes’t_ F2 F3.

 59: _circum circa_] Theobald. _unum cita_ Qq Ff. _manu cita_ Anon.
 conj.

 66, 67: _dunghill...dunghill_] _dungil...dunghel_ Qq F1 F2 F3.
 _dunghil...dunghel_ F4.

 68: _preambulate_] Edd. _preambulat_ Qq Ff. _prœambula_ Theobald.

     _singuled_] Q1. _singled_ Ff Q2.

 70: _charge-house_] _church-house_ Theobald conj. _large house_
 Collier MS.

 74: _most_] om. Q2.

 80: _chose_] Qq F2. _choise_ F2. _choice_ F3 F4.

     _you_] om. Q2.

 83: _very_] _my very_ Rowe.

 84: _remember_] _refrain_ Capell. _remember not_ Malone.

     _thy_] _my_ Jackson conj.

 86: _important_] _importunt_ Q1. _importunate_ Ff Q2.

 95: _secrecy_] F2 F3 F4. _secretie_ Q1. _secrecie_ F1 Q2.
 _secretly_ Rowe.

 99: _breaking out_] _breakings-out_ Capell.

 103: _Sir_] Rowe. _Sir Holofernes_ Qq Ff. _Sir_ [To Nathaniel.]
 Hanmer. _Sir Nathaniel_ Capell.

 104: _rendered_] _rended_ Q1.

     _assistants_] Qq Ff. _assistance_ Heath conj.

 105: _at_] om. Qq F1. _at_ F2 F3 F4.

 106: _gentleman_] _gentleman’s_ Capell conj.

 110: _myself and_] om. Rowe. _myself or_ Capell. _myself David_
 Nicholson conj. See note (XXI).

     _gentleman_] _man_ Theobald.

 112: _pass_] _pass for_ Capell. _pass as_ Edd. conj.

     _the page_] _and the page_ Rowe.

 121: _do_] _know_ Hanmer.

 127: _antique. I beseech you_] _antick, I beseech you, to_ Collier
 MS.

 132: _Allons_] _alone_ Qq Ff.

 133, 134: Printed as verse first by Dyce (S. Walker conj.).

 133: _or I will_] _or will_ F3 F4.
~~~~~


SCENE II.  _The same._

 _Enter the_ Princess, KATHARINE, ROSALINE, _and_ MARIA.

_Prin._ Sweet hearts, we shall be rich ere we depart,
If fairings come thus plentifully in:
A lady wall’d about with diamonds!
Look you what I have from the loving king.

_Ros._ Madam, came nothing else along with that?                     5

_Prin._ Nothing but this! yes, as much love in rhyme
As would be cramm’d up in a sheet of paper,
Writ o’ both sides the leaf, margent and all,
That he was fain to seal on Cupid’s name.

_Ros._ That was the way to make his godhead wax,                    10
For he hath been five thousand years a boy.

_Kath._ Ay, and a shrewd unhappy gallows too.

_Ros._ You’ll ne’er be friends with him; a’ kill’d your sister.

_Kath._ He made her melancholy, sad, and heavy;
And so she died: had she been light, like you,                      15
Of such a merry, nimble, stirring spirit,
She might ha’ been a grandam ere she died:
And so may you; for a light heart lives long.

_Ros._ What’s your dark meaning, mouse, of this light word?

_Kath._ A light condition in a beauty dark.                         20

_Ros._ We need more light to find your meaning out.

_Kath._ You’ll mar the light by taking it in snuff;
Therefore I’ll darkly end the argument.

_Ros._ Look, what you do, you do it still i’ th’ dark.

_Kath._ So do not you, for you are a light wench.                   25

_Ros._ Indeed I weigh not you, and therefore light.

_Kath._ You weigh me not?—O, that’s you care not for me.

_Ros._ Great reason; for ‘past cure is still past care.’

_Prin._ Well bandied both; a set of wit well play’d.
But, Rosaline, you have a favour too:                               30
Who sent it? and what is it?

_Ros._                       I would you knew:
An if my face were but as fair as yours,
My favour were as great; be witness this.
Nay, I have verses too, I thank Biron:
The numbers true; and, were the numbering too,                      35
I were the fairest goddess on the ground:
I am compared to twenty thousand fairs.
O, he hath drawn my picture in his letter!

_Prin._ Any thing like?

_Ros._ Much in the letters; nothing in the praise.                  40

_Prin._ Beauteous as ink; a good conclusion.

_Kath._ Fair as a text B in a copy-book.

_Ros._ ’Ware pencils, ho! let me not die your debtor,
My red dominical, my golden letter:
O that your face were not so full of O’s!                           45

_Kath._ A pox of that jest! and I beshrew all shrows.

_Prin._ But, Katharine, what was sent to you from fair Dumain?

_Kath._ Madam, this glove.

_Prin._                    Did he not send you twain?

_Kath._ Yes, madam, and, moreover,
Some thousand verses of a faithful lover,                           50
A huge translation of hypocrisy,
Vilely compiled, profound simplicity.

_Mar._ This and these pearls to me sent Longaville:
The letter is too long by half a mile.

_Prin._ I think no less. Dost thou not wish in heart                55
The chain were longer and the letter short?

_Mar._ Ay, or I would these hands might never part.

_Prin._ We are wise girls to mock our lovers so.

_Ros._ They are worse fools to purchase mocking so.
That same Biron I’ll torture ere I go:                              60
O that I knew he were but in by the week!
How I would make him fawn, and beg, and seek,
And wait the season, and observe the times,
And spend his prodigal wits in bootless rhymes,
And shape his service wholly to my hests,                           65
And make him proud to make me proud that jests!
So perttaunt-like would I o’ersway his state,
That he should be my fool, and I his fate.

_Prin._ None are so surely caught, when they are catch’d,
As wit turn’d fool: folly, in wisdom hatch’d,                       70
Hath wisdom’s warrant and the help of school,
And wit’s own grace to grace a learned fool.

_Ros._ The blood of youth burns not with such excess
As gravity’s revolt to wantonness.

_Mar._ Folly in fools bears not so strong a note                    75
As foolery in the wise, when wit doth dote;
Since all the power thereof it doth apply
To prove, by wit, worth in simplicity.

_Prin._ Here comes Boyet, and mirth is in his face.

 _Enter_ BOYET.

_Boyet._ O, I am stabb’d with laughter! Where’s her Grace?          80

_Prin._ Thy news, Boyet?

_Boyet._                 Prepare, madam, prepare!
Arm, wenches, arm! encounters mounted are
Against your peace: Love doth approach disguised,
Armed in arguments; you’ll be surprised:
Muster your wits; stand in your own defence;                        85
Or hide your heads like cowards, and fly hence.

_Prin._ Saint Denis to Saint Cupid! What are they
That charge their breath against us? say, scout, say.

_Boyet._ Under the cool shade of a sycamore
I thought to close mine eyes some half an hour;                     90
When, lo! to interrupt my purposed rest,
Toward that shade I might behold addrest
The king and his companions: warily
I stole into a neighbour thicket by,
And overheard what you shall overhear;                              95
That, by and by, disguised they will be here.
Their herald is a pretty knavish page,
That well by heart hath conn’d his embassage:
Action and accent did they teach him there;
‘Thus must thou speak,’ and ‘thus thy body bear:’                  100
And ever and anon they made a doubt
Presence majestical would put him out;
‘For,’ quoth the king, ‘an angel shalt thou see;
Yet fear not thou, but speak audaciously.’
The boy replied, ‘An angel is not evil;                            105
I should have fear’d her, had she been a devil.’
With that, all laugh’d, and clapp’d him on the shoulder,
Making the bold wag by their praises bolder:
One rubb’d his elbow thus, and fleer’d and swore
A better speech was never spoke before;                            110
Another, with his finger and his thumb,
Cried, ‘Via! we will do’t, come what will come;’
The third he caper’d, and cried, ‘All goes well;’
The fourth turn’d on the toe, and down he fell.
With that, they all did tumble on the ground,                      115
With such a zealous laughter, so profound,
That in this spleen ridiculous appears,
To check their folly, passion’s solemn tears.

_Prin._ But what, but what, come they to visit us?

_Boyet._ They do, they do; and are apparell’d thus,                120
Like Muscovites or Russians, as I guess.
Their purpose is to parle, to court and dance;
And every one his love-feat will advance
Unto his several mistress, which they’ll know
By favours several which they did bestow.                          125

_Prin._ And will they so? the gallants shall be task’d;
For, ladies, we will every one be mask’d;
And not a man of them shall have the grace,
Despite of suit, to see a lady’s face.
Hold, Rosaline, this favour thou shalt wear,                       130
And then the king will court thee for his dear;
Hold, take thou this, my sweet, and give me thine,
So shall Biron take me for Rosaline.
And change you favours too; so shall your loves
Woo contrary, deceived by these removes.                           135

_Ros._ Come on, then; wear the favours most in sight.

_Kath._ But in this changing what is your intent?

_Prin._ The effect of my intent is to cross theirs:
They do it but in mocking merriment;
And mock for mock is only my intent.                               140
Their several counsels they unbosom shall
To loves mistook, and so be mock’d withal
Upon the next occasion that we meet,
With visages display’d, to talk and greet.

_Ros._ But shall we dance, if they desire us to’t?                 145

_Prin._ No, to the death, we will not move a foot:
Nor to their penn’d speech render we no grace;
But while ’tis spoke each turn away her face.

_Boyet._ Why, that contempt will kill the speaker’s heart,
And quite divorce his memory from his part.                        150

_Prin._ Therefore I do it; and I make no doubt
The rest will ne’er come in, if he be out.
There’s no such sport as sport by sport o’erthrown;
To make theirs ours, and ours none but our own:
So shall we stay, mocking intended game,                           155
And they, well mock’d, depart away with shame.

 [_Trumpets sound within._

_Boyet._ The trumpet sounds: be mask’d; the maskers
           come.                [_The Ladies mask._

 _Enter Blackamoors with music_; MOTH; _the_ King, BIRON,
 LONGAVILLE, _and_ DUMAIN, _in Russian habits, and masked_.

_Moth._ All hail, the richest beauties on the earth!—

_Boyet._ Beauties no richer than rich taffeta.

_Moth._ A holy parcel of the fairest dames                         160
 [_The Ladies turn their backs to him._
That ever turn’d their—backs—to mortal views!

_Biron._ [_Aside to Moth_]  Their eyes, villain, their eyes.

_Moth._ That ever turn’d their eyes to mortal views!—
Out—

_Boyet._ True; out indeed.

_Moth._ Out of your favours, heavenly spirits, vouchsafe           165
Not to behold—

_Biron._ [_Aside to Moth_] Once to behold, rogue.

_Moth._ Once to behold with your sun-beamed eyes,
—with your sun-beamed eyes—

_Boyet._ They will not answer to that epithet;                     170
You were best call it ‘daughter-beamed eyes.’

_Moth._ They do not mark me, and that brings me out.

_Biron._ Is this your perfectness? be gone, you rogue!

 [_Exit Moth._

_Ros._ What would these strangers? know their minds, Boyet:
If they do speak our language, ’tis our will                       175
That some plain man recount their purposes:
Know what they would.

_Boyet._ What would you with the princess?

_Biron._ Nothing but peace and gentle visitation.

_Ros._ What would they, say they?                                  180

_Boyet._ Nothing but peace and gentle visitation.

_Ros._ Why, that they have; and bid them so be gone.

_Boyet._ She says, you have it, and you may be gone.

_King._ Say to her, we have measured many miles
To tread a measure with her on this grass.                         185

_Boyet._ They say, that they have measured many a mile
To tread a measure with you on this grass.

_Ros._ It is not so. Ask them how many inches
Is in one mile: if they have measured many,
The measure then of one is easily told.                            190

_Boyet._ If to come hither you have measured miles,
And many miles, the princess bids you tell
How many inches doth fill up one mile.

_Biron._ Tell her, we measure them by weary steps.

_Boyet._ She hears herself.

_Ros._                      How many weary steps,                  195
Of many weary miles you have o’ergone,
Are number’d in the travel of one mile?

_Biron._ We number nothing that we spend for you:
Our duty is so rich, so infinite,
That we may do it still without accompt.                           200
Vouchsafe to show the sunshine of your face,
That we, like savages, may worship it.

_Ros._ My face is but a moon, and clouded too.

_King._ Blessed are clouds, to do as such clouds do!
Vouchsafe, bright moon, and these thy stars, to shine,             205
Those clouds removed, upon our watery eyne.

_Ros._ O vain petitioner! beg a greater matter;
Thou now request’st but moonshine in the water.

_King._ Then, in our measure do but vouchsafe one change.
Thou bid’st me beg: this begging is not strange.                   210

_Ros._ Play, music, then! Nay, you must do it soon.
 [_Music plays._
Not yet! no dance! Thus change I like the moon.

_King._ Will you not dance?  How come you thus estranged?

_Ros._ You took the moon at full, but now she’s changed.

_King._ Yet still she is the moon, and I the man.                  215
The music plays; vouchsafe some motion to it.

_Ros._ Our ears vouchsafe it.

_King._                       But your legs should do it.

_Ros._ Since you are strangers, and come here by chance,
We’ll not be nice: take hands. We will not dance.

_King._ Why take we hands, then?

_Ros._                           Only to part friends:             220
Curtsey, sweet hearts; and so the measure ends.

_King._ More measure of this measure; be not nice.

_Ros._ We can afford no more at such a price.

_King._ Prize you yourselves: what buys your company?

_Ros._ Your absence only.

_King._                   That can never be.                       225

_Ros._ Then cannot we be bought: and so, adieu;
Twice to your visor, and half once to you.

_King._ If you deny to dance, let’s hold more chat.

_Ros._ In private, then.

_King._                  I am best pleased with that.

 [_They converse apart._

_Biron._ White-handed mistress, one sweet word with thee.          230

_Prin._ Honey, and milk, and sugar; there is three.

_Biron._ Nay then, two treys, an if you grow so nice,
Metheglin, wort, and malmsey: well run, dice!
There’s half-a-dozen sweets.

_Prin._                      Seventh sweet, adieu:
Since you can cog, I’ll play no more with you.                     235

_Biron._  One word in secret.

_Prin._                       Let it not be sweet.

_Biron._ Thou grievest my gall.

_Prin._                         Gall! bitter.

_Biron._                                      Therefore meet.

 [_They converse apart._

_Dum._ Will you vouchsafe with me to change a word?

_Mar._ Name it.

_Dum._          Fair lady,—

_Mar._                       Say you so? Fair lord,—
Take that for your fair lady.

_Dum._                        Please it you,                       240
As much in private, and I’ll bid adieu. [_They converse apart._

_Kath._ What, was your vizard made without a tongue?

_Long._ I know the reason, lady, why you ask.

_Kath._ O for your reason! quickly, sir; I long.

_Long._ You have a double tongue within your mask,                 245
And would afford my speechless vizard half.

_Kath._ Veal, quoth the Dutchman. Is not ‘veal’ a calf?

_Long._ A calf, fair lady!

_Kath._                    No, a fair lord calf.

_Long._ Let’s part the word.

_Kath._                      No, I’ll not be your half:
Take all, and wean it; it may prove an ox.                         250

_Long._ Look, how you butt yourself in these sharp mocks!
Will you give horns, chaste lady? do not so.

_Kath._ Then die a calf, before your horns do grow.

_Long._ One word in private with you, ere I die.

_Kath._ Bleat softly, then; the butcher hears you cry.             255

 [_They converse apart._

_Boyet._  The tongues of mocking wenches are as keen
  As is the razor’s edge invisible,
Cutting a smaller hair than may be seen;
  Above the sense of sense; so sensible
Seemeth their conference; their conceits have wings                260
Fleeter than arrows, bullets, wind, thought, swifter things.

_Ros._ Not one word more, my maids; break off, break off.

_Biron._ By heaven, all dry-beaten with pure scoff!

_King._ Farewell, mad wenches; you have simple wits.

_Prin._ Twenty adieus, my frozen Muscovits.                        265
 [_Exeunt King, Lords, and Blackamoors._
Are these the breed of wits so wonder’d at?

_Boyet._ Tapers they are, with your sweet breaths puff’d out.

_Ros._ Well-liking wits they have; gross, gross; fat, fat.

_Prin._ O poverty in wit, kingly-poor flout!
Will they not, think you, hang themselves to-night?                270
  Or ever, but in vizards, show their faces?
This pert Biron was out of countenance quite.

_Ros._ O, they were all in lamentable cases!
The king was weeping-ripe for a good word.

_Prin._ Biron did swear himself out of all suit.                   275

_Mar._ Dumain was at my service, and his sword:
  No point, quoth I; my servant straight was mute.

_Kath._ Lord Longaville said, I came o’er his heart;
And trow you what he call’d me?

_Prin._                         Qualm, perhaps.

_Kath._ Yes, in good faith.

_Prin._                     Go, sickness as thou art!              280

_Ros._ Well, better wits have worn plain statute-caps.
But will you hear? the king is my love sworn.

_Prin._ And quick Biron hath plighted faith to me.

_Kath._ And Longaville was for my service born.

_Mar._ Dumain is mine, as sure as bark on tree.                    285

_Boyet._ Madam, and pretty mistresses, give ear:
Immediately they will again be here
In their own shapes; for it can never be
They will digest this harsh indignity.

_Prin._ Will they return?

_Boyet._                  They will, they will, God knows,         290
And leap for joy, though they are lame with blows:
Therefore change favours; and, when they repair,
Blow like sweet roses in this summer air.

_Prin._ How blow? how blow? speak to be understood.

_Boyet._ Fair ladies mask’d are roses in their bud;                295
Dismask’d, their damask sweet commixture shown,
Are angels vailing clouds, or roses blown.

_Prin._ Avaunt, perplexity! What shall we do,
If they return in their own shapes to woo?

_Ros._ Good madam, if by me you’ll be advised,                     300
Let’s mock them still, as well known as disguised:
Let us complain to them what fools were here,
Disguised like Muscovites, in shapeless gear;
And wonder what they were and to what end
Their shallow shows and prologue vilely penn’d,                    305
And their rough carriage so ridiculous,
Should be presented at our tent to us.

_Boyet._ Ladies, withdraw: the gallants are at hand.

_Prin._  Whip to our tents, as roes run o’er land.

 [_Exeunt Princess, Rosaline, Katharine, and Maria._

 _Re-enter_ the King, BIRON, LONGAVILLE, _and_ DUMAIN, _in
 their proper habits_.

_King._  Fair sir, God save you! Where’s the princess?             310

_Boyet._  Gone to her tent. Please it your Majesty
Command me any service to her thither?

_King._  That she vouchsafe me audience for one word.

_Boyet._  I will; and so will she, I know, my lord.       [_Exit._

_Biron._  This fellow pecks up wit as pigeons pease,               315
And utters it again when God doth please:
He is wit’s pedler, and retails his wares
At wakes and wassails, meetings, markets, fairs;
And we that sell by gross, the Lord doth know,
Have not the grace to grace it with such show.                     320
This gallant pins the wenches on his sleeve;
Had he been Adam, he had tempted Eve;
A’ can carve too, and lisp: why, this is he
That kiss’d his hand away in courtesy;
This is the ape of form, monsieur the nice,                        325
That, when he plays at tables, chides the dice
In honourable terms: nay, he can sing
A mean most meanly; and in ushering,
Mend him who can: the ladies call him sweet;
The stairs, as he treads on them, kiss his feet:                   330
This is the flower that smiles on every one,
To show his teeth as white as whale’s bone;
And consciences, that will not die in debt,
Pay him the due of honey-tongued Boyet.

_King._  A blister on his sweet tongue, with my heart,             335
That put Armado’s page out of his part!

_Biron._  See where it comes! Behaviour, what wert thou
Till this madman show’d thee? and what art thou now?

 _Re-enter the_ Princess, _ushered by_ BOYET; ROSALINE, MARIA,
 _and_ KATHARIN..

_King._  All hail, sweet madam, and fair time of day!

_Prin._ ‘Fair’ in ‘all hail’ is foul, as I conceive.               340

_King._  Construe my speeches better, if you may.

_Prin._  Then wish me better; I will give you leave.

_King._  We came to visit you, and purpose now
  To lead you to our court; vouchsafe it then.

_Prin._  This field shall hold me; and so hold your vow:           345
  Nor God, nor I, delights in perjured men.

_King._  Rebuke me not for that which you provoke:
  The virtue of your eye must break my oath.

_Prin._  You nickname virtue; vice you should have spoke;
  For virtue’s office never breaks men’s troth.                    350
Now by my maiden honour yet as pure
  As the unsullied lily I protest,
A world of torments though I should endure,
  I would not yield to be your house’s guest;
So much I hate a breaking cause to be                              355
Of heavenly oaths, vow’d with integrity.

_King._  O, you have lived in desolation here,
  Unseen, unvisited, much to our shame.

_Prin._  Not so, my lord; it is not so, I swear;
  We have had pastimes here and pleasant game:                     360
A mess of Russians left us but of late.

_King._  How, madam! Russians!

_Prin._                        Ay, in truth, my lord;
Trim gallants, full of courtship and of state.

_Ros._  Madam, speak true. It is not so, my lord:
My lady, to the manner of the days,                                365
In courtesy gives undeserving praise.
We four indeed confronted were with four
In Russian habit: here they stay’d an hour,
And talk’d apace; and in that hour, my lord,
They did not bless us with one happy word.                         370
I dare not call them fools; but this I think,
When they are thirsty, fools would fain have drink.

_Biron._  This jest is dry to me. Fair gentle sweet,
Your wit makes wise things foolish: when we greet,
With eyes best seeing, heaven’s fiery eye,                         375
By light we lose light: your capacity
Is of that nature that to your huge store
Wise things seem foolish and rich things but poor.

_Ros._ This proves you wise and rich, for in my eye,—

_Biron._  I am a fool, and full of poverty.                        380

_Ros._  But that you take what doth to you belong,
It were a fault to snatch words from my tongue.

_Biron._  O, I am yours, and all that I possess!

_Ros._  All the fool mine?

_Biron._                   I cannot give you less.

_Ros._  Which of the vizards was it that you wore?                 385

_Biron._  Where? when? what vizard? why demand you this?

_Ros._  There, then, that vizard; that superfluous case
That hid the worse, and show’d the better face.

_King._ We are descried; they’ll mock us now downright.

_Dum._  Let us confess, and turn it to a jest.                     390

_Prin._  Amazed, my lord? why looks your highness sad?

_Ros._  Help, hold his brows! he’ll swound! Why look you pale?
Sea-sick, I think, coming from Muscovy.

_Biron._ Thus pour the stars down plagues for perjury.
  Can any face of brass hold longer out?                           395
Here stand I: lady, dart thy skill at me;
  Bruise me with scorn, confound me with a flout;
Thrust thy sharp wit quite through my ignorance;
  Cut me to pieces with thy keen conceit;
And I will wish thee never more to dance,                          400
  Nor never more in Russian habit wait.
O, never will I trust to speeches penn’d,
  Nor to the motion of a schoolboy’s tongue;
Nor never come in vizard to my friend;
  Nor woo in rhyme, like a blind harper’s song!                    405
Taffeta phrases, silken terms precise,
  Three-piled hyperboles, spruce affectation,
Figures pedantical; these summer-flies
  Have blown me full of maggot ostentation:
I do forswear them; and I here protest,                            410
  By this white glove,—how white the hand, God knows!—
Henceforth my wooing mind shall be express’d
  In russet yeas, and honest kersey noes:
And, to begin, wench,—so God help me, la!—
My love to thee is sound, sans crack or flaw.                      415

_Ros._ Sans sans, I pray you.

_Biron._                      Yet I have a trick
Of the old rage:—bear with me, I am sick;
I’ll leave it by degrees. Soft, let us see:
Write, ‘Lord have mercy on us’ on those three;
They are infected; in their hearts it lies;                        420
They have the plague, and caught it of your eyes;
These lords are visited; you are not free,
For the Lord’s tokens on you do I see.

_Prin._ No, they are free that gave these tokens to us.

_Biron._ Our states are forfeit: seek not to undo us.              425

_Ros._  It is not so; for how can this be true,
That you stand forfeit, being those that sue?

_Biron._  Peace! for I will not have to do with you.

_Ros._  Nor shall not, if I do as I intend.

_Biron._  Speak for yourselves; my wit is at an end.               430

_King._ Teach us, sweet madam, for our rude transgression
Some fair excuse.

_Prin._           The fairest is confession.
Were not you here but even now disguised?

_King._ Madam, I was.

_Prin._               And were you well advised?

_King._ I was, fair madam.

_Prin._                    When you then were here,                435
What did you whisper in your lady’s ear?

_King._ That more than all the world I did respect her.

_Prin._ When she shall challenge this, you will reject her.

_King._ Upon mine honour, no.

_Prin._                       Peace, peace! forbear:
Your oath once broke, you force not to forswear.                   440

_King._ Despise me, when I break this oath of mine.

_Prin._ I will: and therefore keep it. Rosaline,
What did the Russian whisper in your ear?

_Ros._ Madam, he swore that he did hold me dear
As precious eyesight, and did value me                             445
Above this world; adding thereto, moreover,
That he would wed me, or else die my lover.

_Prin._ God give thee joy of him! the noble lord
Most honourably doth uphold his word.

_King._ What mean you, madam? by my life, my troth,                450
I never swore this lady such an oath.

_Ros._ By heaven, you did; and to confirm it plain,
You gave me this: but take it, sir, again.

_King._ My faith and this the princess I did give:
I knew her by this jewel on her sleeve.                            455

_Prin._ Pardon me, sir, this jewel did she wear;
And Lord Biron, I thank him, is my dear.
What, will you have me, or your pearl again?

_Biron._ Neither of either; I remit both twain.
I see the trick on’t: here was a consent,                          460
Knowing aforehand of our merriment,
To dash it like a Christmas comedy:
Some carry-tale, some please-man, some slight zany,
Some mumble-news, some trencher-knight, some Dick,
That smiles his cheek in years, and knows the trick                465
To make my lady laugh when she’s disposed,
Told our intents before; which once disclosed,
The ladies did change favours; and then we,
Following the signs, woo’d but the sign of she.
Now, to our perjury to add more terror,                            470
We are again forsworn, in will and error.
Much upon this it is: and might not you       [_To Boyet._
Forestall our sport, to make us thus untrue?
Do not you know my lady’s foot by the squier,
  And laugh upon the apple of her eye?                             475
And stand between her back, sir, and the fire,
  Holding a trencher, jesting merrily?
You put our page out: go, you are allow’d;
Die when you will, a smock shall be your shroud.
You leer upon me, do you? there’s an eye                           480
Wounds like a leaden sword.

_Boyet._                    Full merrily
Hath this brave manage, this career, been run.

_Biron._ Lo, he is tilting straight! Peace! I have done.

 _Enter_ COSTARD.

Welcome, pure wit! thou part’st a fair fray.

_Cost._ O Lord, sir, they would know                               485
Whether the three Worthies shall come in or no.

_Biron._ What, are there but three?

_Cost._                             No, sir; but it is vara fine,
For every one pursents three.

_Biron._                      And three times thrice is nine.

_Cost._ Not so, sir; under correction, sir; I hope it is not so.
You cannot beg us, sir, I can assure you, sir; we know what
             we know:                                              490

I hope, sir, three times thrice, sir,—

_Biron._ Is not nine.

_Cost._ Under correction, sir, we know whereuntil it doth
amount.

_Biron._ By Jove, I always took three threes for nine.             495

_Cost._ O Lord, sir, it were pity you should get your living
by reckoning, sir.

_Biron._ How much is it?

_Cost._ O Lord, sir, the parties themselves, the actors, sir,
will show whereuntil it doth amount: for mine own part, I          500
am, as they say, but to parfect one man in one poor man,
Pompion the Great, sir.

_Biron._ Art thou one of the Worthies?

_Cost._ It pleased them to think me worthy of Pompion
the Great: for mine own part, I know not the degree of             505
the Worthy, but I am to stand for him.

_Biron._ Go, bid them prepare.

_Cost._ We will turn it finely off, sir; we will take some
          care.                                   [_Exit._

_King._ Biron, they will shame us: let them not approach.

_Biron._ We are shame-proof, my lord: and ’tis some policy         510
To have one show worse than the king’s and his company.

_King._ I say they shall not come.

_Prin._ Nay, my good lord, let me o’errule you now:
That sport best pleases that doth least know how:
Where zeal strives to content, and the contents                    515
Dies in the zeal of that which it presents:
Their form confounded makes most form in mirth,
When great things labouring perish in their birth.

_Biron._ A right description of our sport, my lord.

 _Enter_ ARMADO.

_Arm._ Anointed, I implore so much expense of thy royal            520
sweet breath as will utter a brace of words.

 [_Converses apart with the King, and delivers him a paper._

_Prin._ Doth this man serve God?

_Biron._ Why ask you?

_Prin._ He speaks not like a man of God’s making.

_Arm._ That is all one, my fair, sweet, honey monarch;             525
for, I protest, the schoolmaster is exceeding fantastical;
too too vain, too too vain: but we will put it, as they say,
to fortuna de la guerra. I wish you the peace of mind,
most royal couplement!                              [_Exit._

_King._ Here is like to be a good presence of Worthies.            530
He presents Hector of Troy; the swain, Pompey the Great;
the parish curate, Alexander; Armado’s page, Hercules;
the pedant, Judas Maccabæus:
And if these four Worthies in their first show thrive,
These four will change habits, and present the other five.         535

_Biron._ There is five in the first show.

_King._ You are deceived; ’tis not so.

_Biron._ ‘The pedant, the braggart, the hedge-priest, the
fool and the boy:—
Abate throw at novum, and the whole world again                    540
Cannot pick out five such, take each one in his vein.

_King._ The ship is under sail, and here she comes amain.

 _Enter_ COSTARD, _for Pompey_.

_Cost._ I Pompey am,—

_Boyet._               You lie, you are not he.

_Cost._ I Pompey am,—

_Boyet._               With libbard’s head on knee.

_Biron._ Well said, old mocker: I must needs be friends
           with thee.                                              545

_Cost._ I Pompey am, Pompey surnamed the Big,—

_Dum._ The Great.

_Cost._ It is, ‘Great,’ sir:—

                              Pompey surnamed the Great;
That oft in field, with targe and shield, did make my foe to sweat:
And travelling along this coast, I here am come by chance,         550
And lay my arms before the legs of this sweet lass of France.

If your ladyship would say, ‘Thanks, Pompey,’ I had done.

_Prin._ Great thanks, Great Pompey.

_Cost._ ’Tis not so much worth; but I hope I was perfect:
I made a little fault in ‘Great.’                                  555

_Biron._ My hat to a halfpenny, Pompey proves the best
Worthy.

 _Enter_ SIR NATHANIEL, _for Alexander_.

_Nath._ When in the world I lived, I was the world’s commander;
By east, west, north, and south, I spread my conquering might:
My scutcheon plain declares that I am Alisander,—                  560

_Boyet._ Your nose says, no, you are not; for it stands too right.

_Biron._ Your nose smells ‘no’ in this, most tender-smelling knight.

_Prin._ The conqueror is dismay’d. Proceed, good Alexander.

_Nath._ When in the world I lived, I was the world’s commander,—

_Boyet._ Most true, ’tis right; you were so, Alisander.            565

_Biron._ Pompey the Great,—

_Cost._ Your servant, and Costard.

_Biron._ Take away the conqueror, take away Alisander.

_Cost._ [_To Sir Nath._] O, sir, you have overthrown Alisander
the conqueror! You will be scraped out of the painted              570
cloth for this: your lion, that holds his poll-axe sitting on
a close-stool, will be given to Ajax: he will be the ninth
Worthy. A conqueror, and afeard to speak! run away for
shame, Alisander. [_Nath. retires._] There, an’t shall please
you; a foolish mild man; an honest man, look you, and              575
soon dashed. He is a marvellous good neighbour, faith,
and a very good bowler: but, for Alisander,—alas, you see
how ’tis,—a little o’erparted. But there are Worthies a-coming
will speak their mind in some other sort.

_Prin._ Stand aside, good Pompey.                                  580

 _Enter_ HOLOFERNES, _for Judas; and_ MOTH, _for Hercules_.

_Hol._ Great Hercules is presented by this imp,
  Whose club kill’d Cerberus, that three-headed canis;
And when he was a babe, a child, a shrimp,
  Thus did he strangle serpents in his manus.
Quoniam he seemeth in minority,
Ergo I come with this apology.                                     585

Keep some state in thy exit, and vanish. [_Moth retires._

Judas I am,-

_Dum._ A Judas!

_Hol._ Not Iscariot, sir.

Judas I am, ycliped Maccabæus.                                     590

_Dum._ Judas Maccabæus dipt is plain Judas.

_Biron._ A kissing traitor. How art thou proved Judas?

_Hol._ Judas I am,—

_Dum._ The more shame for you, Judas.                              595

_Hol._ What mean you, sir?

_Boyet._ To make Judas hang himself.

_Hol._ Begin, sir; you are my elder.

_Biron._ Well followed: Judas was hanged on an elder.

_Hol._ I will not be put out of countenance.                       600

_Biron._ Because thou hast no face.

_Hol._ What is this?

_Boyet._ A cittern-head.

_Dum._ The head of a bodkin.

_Biron._ A Death’s face in a ring.                                 605

_Long._ The face of an old Roman coin, scarce seen.

_Boyet._ The pommel of Cæsar’s falchion.

_Dum._ The carved-bone face on a flask.

_Biron._ Saint George’s half-cheek in a brooch.

_Dum._ Ay, and in a brooch of lead.                                610

_Biron._ Ay, and worn in the cap of a tooth-drawer.
And now forward; for we have put thee in countenance.

_Hol._ You have put me out of countenance.

_Biron._ False: we have given thee faces.

_Hol._ But you have out-faced them all.                            615

_Biron._ An thou wert a lion, we would do so.

_Boyet._ Therefore, as he is an ass, let him go.
And so adieu, sweet Jude! nay, why dost thou stay?

_Dum._ For the latter end of his name.

_Biron._ For the ass to the Jude; give it him:—Jud-as, away!       620

_Hol._ This is not generous, not gentle, not humble.

_Boyet._ A light for Monsieur Judas! it grows dark, he
           may stumble.               [_Hol. retires._

_Prin._ Alas, poor Maccabæus, how hath he been baited!

 _Enter_ ARMADO, _for Hector_.

_Biron._ Hide thy head, Achilles: here comes Hector in
arms.                                                              625

_Dum._ Though my mocks come home by me, I will now
be merry.

_King._ Hector was but a Troyan in respect of this.

_Boyet._ But is this Hector?

_King._ I think Hector was not so clean-timbered.                  630

_Long._ His leg is too big for Hector’s.

_Dum._ More calf, certain.

_Boyet._ No; he is best indued in the small.

_Biron._ This cannot be Hector.

_Dum._ He’s a god or a painter; for he makes faces.                635

_Arm._ The armipotent Mars, of lances the almighty,
Gave Hector a gift,—

_Dum._ A gilt nutmeg.

_Biron._ A lemon.

_Long._ Stuck with cloves.                                         640

_Dum._ No, cloven.

_Arm._ Peace!—

The armipotent Mars, of lances the almighty,
    Gave Hector a gift, the heir of Ilion;
A man so breathed, that certain he would fight; yea                645
    From morn till night, out of his pavilion.
I am that flower,—

_Dum._         That mint.

_Long._                   That columbine.

_Arm._ Sweet Lord Longaville, rein thy tongue.                     650

_Long._ I must rather give it the rein, for it runs against
Hector.

_Dum._ Ay, and Hector’s a greyhound.

_Arm._ The sweet war-man is dead and rotten; sweet
chucks, beat not the bones of the buried: when he breathed,
he was a man. But I will forward with my device. [_To the
Princess_] Sweet royalty, bestow on me the sense of hearing.       655

_Prin._ Speak, brave Hector: we are much delighted.

_Arm._ I do adore thy sweet Grace’s slipper.

_Boyet._ [_Aside to Dum._] Loves her by the foot.

_Dum._ [_Aside to Boyet_] He may not by the yard.

_Arm._ This Hector far surmounted Hannibal,—                       660

_Cost._ The party is gone, fellow Hector, she is gone;
she is two months on her way.

_Arm._ What meanest thou?

_Cost._ Faith, unless you play the honest Troyan, the
poor wench is cast away: she’s quick; the child brags in           665
her belly already: ’tis yours.

_Arm._ Dost thou infamonize me among potentates? thou
shalt die.

_Cost._ Then shall Hector be whipped for Jaquenetta that
is quick by him, and hanged for Pompey that is dead by him.        670

_Dum._ Most rare Pompey!

_Boyet._ Renowned Pompey!

_Biron._ Greater than great, great, great, great Pompey!
Pompey the Huge!

_Dum._ Hector trembles.                                            675

_Biron._ Pompey is moved. More Ates, more Ates! stir
them on! stir them on!

_Dum._ Hector will challenge him.

_Biron._ Ay, if a’ have no more man’s blood in’s belly
than will sup a flea.                                              680

_Arm._ By the north pole, I do challenge thee.

_Cost._ I will not fight with a pole, like a northern man:
I’ll slash; I’ll do it by the sword. I bepray you, let me
borrow my arms again.

_Dum._ Room for the incensed Worthies!                             685

_Cost._ I’ll do it in my shirt.

_Dum._ Most resolute Pompey!

_Moth._ Master, let me take you a button-hole lower. Do
you not see Pompey is uncasing for the combat? What
mean you? You will lose your reputation.                           690

_Arm._ Gentlemen and soldiers, pardon me; I will not
combat in my shirt.

_Dum._ You may not deny it: Pompey hath made the
challenge.

_Arm._ Sweet bloods, I both may and will.                          695

_Biron._ What reason have you for’t?

_Arm._ The naked truth of it is, I have no shirt; I go
woolward for penance.

_Boyet._ True, and it was enjoined him in Rome for want
of linen: since when, I’ll be sworn, he wore none but a            700
dish-clout of Jaquenetta’s, and that a’ wears next his heart for a
favour.

 _Enter_ MARCADE.

_Mar._ God save you, madam!

_Prin._ Welcome, Marcade;
But that thou interrupt’st our merriment.                          705

_Mar._ I am sorry, madam; for the news I bring
Is heavy in my tongue. The king your father—

_Prin._ Dead, for my life!

_Mar._ Even so; my tale is told.

_Biron._ Worthies, away! the scene begins to cloud.                710

_Arm._ For mine own part, I breathe free breath. I have
seen the day of wrong through the little hole of discretion,
and I will right myself like a soldier.       [_Exeunt Worthies._

_King._ How fares your majesty?

_Prin._ Boyet, prepare; I will away to-night.                      715

_King._ Madam, not so; I do beseech you, stay.

_Prin._ Prepare, I say. I thank you, gracious lords,
For all your fair endeavours; and entreat,
Out of a new-sad soul, that you vouchsafe
In your rich wisdom to excuse, or hide,                            720
The liberal opposition of our spirits,
If over-boldly we have borne ourselves
In the converse of breath: your gentleness
Was guilty of it. Farewell, worthy lord!
A heavy heart bears not a nimble tongue:                           725
Excuse me so, coming too short of thanks
For my great suit so easily obtain’d.

_King._ The extreme parts of time extremely forms
All causes to the purpose of his speed;
And often, at his very loose, decides                              730
That which long process could not arbitrate:
And though the mourning brow of progeny
Forbid the smiling courtesy of love
The holy suit which fain it would convince;
Yet, since love’s argument was first on foot,                      735
Let not the cloud of sorrow justle it
From what it purposed; since, to wail friends lost
Is not by much so wholesome-profitable
As to rejoice at friends but newly found.

_Prin._ I understand you not: my griefs are double.                740

_Biron._ Honest plain words best pierce the ear of grief;
And by these badges understand the king.
For your fair sakes have we neglected time,
Play’d foul play with our oaths: your beauty, ladies,
Hath much deform’d us, fashioning our humours                      745
Even to the opposed end of our intents:
And what in us hath seem’d ridiculous,—
As love is full of unbefitting strains;
All wanton as a child, skipping, and vain;
Form’d by the eye, and therefore, like the eye,                    750
Full of strange shapes, of habits and of forms,
Varying in subjects as the eye doth roll
To every varied object in his glance:
Which parti-coated presence of loose love
Put on by us, if, in your heavenly eyes,                           755
Have misbecomed our oaths and gravities,
Those heavenly eyes, that look into these faults,
Suggested us to make. Therefore, ladies,
Our love being yours, the error that love makes
Is likewise yours: we to ourselves prove false,                    760
By being once false for ever to be true
To those that make us both,—fair ladies, you:
And even that falsehood, in itself a sin,
Thus purifies itself, and turns to grace.

_Prin._ We have received your letters full of love:                765
Your favours, the ambassadors of love;
And, in our maiden council, rated them
At courtship, pleasant jest and courtesy,
As bombast and as lining to the time:
But more devout than this in our respects                          770
Have we not been; and therefore met your loves
In their own fashion, like a merriment.

_Dum._ Our letters, madam, show’d much more than jest.

_Long._ So did our looks.

_Ros._                    We did not quote them so.

_King._ Now, at the latest minute of the hour,                     775
Grant us your loves.

_Prin._               A time, methinks, too short
To make a world-without-end bargain in.
No, no, my lord, your grace is perjured much,
Full of dear guiltiness; and therefore this:—
If for my love, as there is no such cause,                         780
You will do aught, this shall you do for me:
Your oath I will not trust; but go with speed
To some forlorn and naked hermitage,
Remote from all the pleasures of the world;
There stay until the twelve celestial signs                        785
Have brought about the annual reckoning.
If this austere insociable life
Change not your offer made in heat of blood;
If frosts and fasts, hard lodging and thin weeds
Nip not the gaudy blossoms of your love,                           790
But that it bear this trial, and last love;
Then, at the expiration of the year,
Come challenge me, challenge me by these deserts,
And, by this virgin palm now kissing thine,
I will be thine; and till that instant shut                        795
My woeful self up in a mourning house,
Raining the tears of lamentation
For the remembrance of my father’s death.
If this thou do deny, let our hands part,
Neither intitled in the other’s heart.                             800

_King._ If this, or more than this, I would deny,
To flatter up these powers of mine with rest,
The sudden hand of death close up mine eye!
Hence ever then my heart is in thy breast.

_Biron._ And what to me, my love? and what to me?                  805

_Ros._ You must be purged too, your sins are rack’d,
You are attaint with faults and perjury:
Therefore if you my favour mean to get,
A twelvemonth shall you spend, and never rest,
But seek the weary beds of people sick.                            810

_Dum._ But what to me, my love? but what to me?
A wife?

_Kath._ A beard, fair health, and honesty;
With three-fold love I wish you all these three.

_Dum._ O, shall I say, I thank you, gentle wife?

_Kath._ Not so, my lord; a twelvemonth and a day                   815
I’ll mark no words that smooth-faced wooers say:
Come when the king doth to my lady come;
Then, if I have much love, I’ll give you some.

_Dum._ I’ll serve thee true and faithfully till then.

_Kath._ Yet swear not, lest ye be forsworn again.                  820

_Long._ What says Maria?

_Mar._                   At the twelvemonth’s end
I’ll change my black gown for a faithful friend.

_Long._ I’ll stay with patience; but the time is long.

_Mar._ The liker you; few taller are so young.

_Biron._ Studies my lady? mistress, look on me;                    825
Behold the window of my heart, mine eye,
What humble suit attends thy answer there:
Impose some service on me for thy love.

_Ros._ Oft have I heard of you, my Lord Biron,
Before I saw you; and the world’s large tongue                     830
Proclaims you for a man replete with mocks,
Full of comparisons and wounding flouts,
Which you on all estates will execute
That lie within the mercy of your wit.
To weed this wormwood from your fruitful brain,                    835
And therewithal to win me, if you please,
Without the which I am not to be won,
You shall this twelvemonth term from day to day
Visit the speechless sick, and still converse
With groaning wretches; and your task shall be,                    840
With all the fierce endeavour of your wit
To enforce the pained impotent to smile.

_Biron._ To move wild laughter in the throat of death?
It cannot be; it is impossible:
Mirth cannot move a soul in agony.                                 845

_Ros._ Why, that’s the way to choke a gibing spirit,
Whose influence is begot of that loose grace
Which shallow laughing hearers give to fools:
A jest’s prosperity lies in the ear
Of him that hears it, never in the tongue                          850
Of him that makes it: then, if sickly ears,
Deaf’d with the clamours of their own dear groans,
Will hear your idle scorns, continue then,
And I will have you and that fault withal;
But if they will not, throw away that spirit,                      855
And I shall find you empty of that fault,
Right joyful of your reformation.

_Biron._ A twelvemonth! well; befall what will befall,
I’ll jest a twelvemonth in an hospital.

_Prin._ [_To the King_] Ay, sweet my Lord; and so I take
              my leave.                                            860

_King._ No, madam; we will bring you on your way.

_Biron._ Our wooing doth not end like an old play;
Jack hath not Jill: these ladies’ courtesy
Might well have made our sport a comedy.

_King._ Come, sir, it wants a twelvemonth and a day,               865
And then ’twill end.

_Biron._             That’s too long for a play.

 _Re-enter_ ARMADO.

_Arm._ Sweet Majesty, vouchsafe me,—

_Prin._ Was not that Hector?

_Dum._ The worthy knight of Troy.

_Arm._ I will kiss thy royal finger, and take leave. I             870
am a votary; I have vowed to Jaquenetta to hold the
plough for her sweet love three years. But, most esteemed
greatness, will you hear the dialogue that the two learned
men have compiled in praise of the owl and the cuckoo? it
should have followed in the end of our show.                       875

_King._ Call them forth quickly; we will do so.

_Arm._ Holla! approach.

 _Re-enter_ HOLOFERNES, NATHANIEL, MOTH, COSTARD, _and
 others_.

This side is Hiems, Winter, this Ver, the Spring; the one
maintained by the owl, the other by the cuckoo. Ver,
begin.                                                             880

THE SONG.

SPRING. When daisies pied and violets blue
  And lady-smocks all silver-white
And cuckoo-buds of yellow hue
  Do paint the meadows with delight,
The cuckoo then, on every tree,                                    885
Mocks married men; for thus sings he,
              Cuckoo;
Cuckoo, cuckoo: O word of fear,
Unpleasing to a married ear!

When shepherds pipe on oaten straws,                               890
  And merry larks are ploughmen’s clocks,
When turtles tread, and rooks, and daws,
  And maidens bleach their summer smocks,
The cuckoo then, on every tree,
Mocks married men; for thus sings he,                              895
              Cuckoo;
Cuckoo, cuckoo: O word of fear,
Unpleasing to a married ear!

WINTER. When icicles hang by the wall,
  And Dick the shepherd blows his nail,                            900
And Tom bears logs into the hall,
  And milk comes frozen home in pail,
When blood is nipp’d and ways be foul,
Then nightly sings the staring owl,
                Tu-whit;                                           905
Tu-who, a merry note,
While greasy Joan doth keel the pot.

When all aloud the wind doth blow,
And coughing drowns the parson’s saw,
And birds sit brooding in the snow,                                910
And Marian’s nose looks red and raw,
When roasted crabs hiss in the bowl,
Then nightly sings the staring owl,
                Tu-whit;
Tu-who, a merry note,                                              915
While greasy Joan doth keel the pot.

_Arm._ The words of Mercury are harsh after the songs
of Apollo. You that way,—we this way.          [_Exeunt._


~~~~~
 Linenotes: _Love’s Labour’s Lost_, V, 2.

 SCENE II.] SCENE III. Pope. ACT V. SCENE I. Capell.

 3, 4: These two lines to be transposed. S. Walker conj.

 3: _A lady_] _All ladies_ Lettsom conj.

 8: _o’_] _a_ Q1. _on_ Ff Q2.

 11: _years_] _yeare_ Q1.

 12: _shrewd_] _shrowd_ Q1.

 13: _ne’er_] _neare_ Q1.

 17: _ha’_] _a_ Qq F1 F2. _have_ F3 F4.

     _a grandam_] _Grandam_ Q1.

 28: _cure...care_] Theobald (Thirlby conj.). _care...cure_ Qq Ff.

 41: _as_] om. Rowe.

 42: _B_] _R_ Collier MS.

 43: _’Ware_] See note (XXII).

     _pencils_] Rowe. _pensalls_ Q1. _pensals_ F1. _pensils_ Q2
     F2 F3 F4.

     _ho!_] Hanmer. _How?_ Qq Ff.

 45: _not so_] Q1. om. Ff Q2.

 46: Kath.] Theobald. Prin. QQ Ff.

     _I_] om. Capell.

     _beshrew_] _beshrow_ Q1.

 47: _Katharine,_] om. S. Walker conj.

     _to you from fair_] _you from_ Ritson conj.

 49: _moreover_] _sent moreover_ Capell.

 51: _hypocrisy_] _apocrypha_ Warburton conj. (withdrawn).

 53: _pearls_] _pearle_ Q1.

 58: _mock...so_] _make...sport_ Anon. conj.

     _so_] _for’t_ Theobald.

 65: _wholly to my hests_] Dyce (S. Walker conj.). _wholly to my
 device_ Qq F1. _all to my behests_ F2 F3 F4.

 65, 66: _hests...jests_] _behest...jest_ Capell conj. MS.

 66: _that_] Qq F1. _with_ F2 F3 F4.

 67: _perttaunt-like_] Q1. _pertaunt-like_ Ff Q2. _pedant-like_
 Theobald. _portent-like_ Hanmer. _pageant-like_ Capell. _scoffingly_
 Douce conj. _potent-like_ Singer. _potently_ Collier MS.
 _persaunt-like_ Grant White. _pert-taunt-like_ Anon. conj.

 70: _fool:_] Q1 F4. _foole?_ F1 Q2 F2 F3.

 72: _own_] _one_ Q2.

 74: _wantonness_] F3 F4. _wantonesse_ F2. _wantons be_ Qq F1.

 79: _is_] Q1. om. Ff Q2.

 80: _stabb’d_] _stable_ Q1.

 82: _encounters_] _encounterers_ Collier MS.

 88: _their breath_] _the breach_ Collier MS.

 89: _sycamore_] _siccamone_ Q1.

 93: _companions: warily_] Ff Q2. _companions warely,_ Q1.

 96: _they_] _thy_ Q1.

 103: _shalt_] _shall_ F2.

 118: _folly, passion’s solemn_] Theobald. _follie pashions solembe_
 Q1. _folly passions solemne_ F1 Q2. _folly passions, solemn_
 F2 F3 F4. _folly, passions, solemn_ Pope. _folly with passion’s
 solemn_ Hanmer. _folly, passions sudden_ Collier MS. _folly’s
 passion, solemn_ Staunton conj.

 120: After this line S. Walker thinks a line may have been lost.

 121: _as_] Qq F1. _or_ F2. _and_ F3 F4.

 122: _parle, to_] Capell. _parlee, to_ Qq F1 F2. _parlee_ F3 F4.

 123: _love-feat_] Q1 Ff. _love-seat_ Q2. _love-suit_ Dyce (S.
 Walker conj.).

 134: _you_] Q1. _your_ Ff Q2.

     _too_] _two_ Q1.

 139: _mocking merriment_] Ff Q2. _mockerie merement_ Q1.

 148: _her_] F2 F3 F4. _his_ Qq F1.

 149: _speaker’s_] Q1. _keepers_ Ff Q2.

 152: _ne’er_] _ne’re_ F2 F3 F4. _ere_ Qq F1.

 156: Trumpets...] Sound Trom. Q1. Sound. Ff Q2.

 157: Enter...] Enter Black-moores with musicke, the Boy with a
 speach, and the rest of the Lords disguysed. Qq Ff.

 159: Boyet.] Theobald. Berow. Q1. Ber. F1 Q2. Bir. F2 F3 F4.

 160: The Ladies...] This stage direction, printed in Roman type,
 comes after line 162 in Qq Ff.

 163: _ever_] _even_ Q1.

 164: Boyet.] Qq F1. Bir. F2 F3 F4.

 165: _spirits_] Qq F1. _spirit_ F2 F3 F4.

 170: Boyet.] Qq F1. Bir. F2 F3 F4.

 173: [Exit Moth.] Moth withdraws. Capell. om. Qq Ff.

 174: _strangers_] _stranges_ Q1.

 175: _they_] _thy_ F2.

 177: _would._] Pope. _would?_ Qq Ff.

 178: _princess_] F4. _princes_ Qq F1 F2 F3.

 181, 182: These two lines omitted in Rowe (ed. 1).

 185: _her on this_] Q1. _you on the_ Ff Q2.

 187: _this_] _the_ Rowe (ed. 2).

 193: _doth_] _do_ Johnson.

 208: _request’st_] Theobald. _requests_ Qq Ff.

 209: _do but vouchsafe_] Q1. _vouchsafe but_ Ff Q2.

 212: _Not yet! no dance!_] _Not yet no dance:_ QQ Ff. _Not yet? no
 dance?_ Pope. _Not yet? no dance:_ Hanmer.

 215: King. _Yet...man_] omitted by Capell (Theobald conj.).

     _the man_] _to man it_ Jackson conj.

 216: _The music_...] given to Rosaline in Qq Ff, corrected by
 Theobald.

 220: _we_] Q1. _you_ Ff Q2.

 224: _Prize_] F4. _Prise_ Qq F1 F2 F3. _Price_ Rowe (ed. 1).

     _you yourselves_] Q1. _yourselves_ F1 Q2. _yourselves then_
     F2 F3 F4.

 229, 237, 241: [They converse apart.] Capell.

 232: _an_] Q1 F1. _and_ Q2 F2 F3 F4. See note (XXIII).

 237: _Gall! bitter_] _Gall, bitter_ Q1 Ff. _Gall bitter_ Q2.
 _Gall’s bitter_ Hanmer.

 240: _Take that_] Q1. _take you that_ Ff Q2.

 242, 244, 247, 248, 249, 253, 255: Kath.] Rowe. Mar. Qq Ff.

 247: _Veal_] See note (XXIV).

 251: _butt_] _but to_ F2 F3 F4.

 257: _invisible_] _invincible_ Theobald.

 259: _sense; so sensible_] Punctuated thus by Pope. _sence so
 sensible_, Q1 _sence so sensible:_ Ff Q2.

 261: _bullets_] om. Capell.

 263: _pure_] _pure pure_ Capell.

 264: _Farewell_] _Adieu_ Capell.

 265: Exeunt...] Exeunt. F1, after line 264. om. Q1.

 269: _wit, kingly-poor_] _wit, kingly poor_ Qq Ff. _wit, kill’d by
 pure_ Collier MS. _wit, stung by poor_ Singer. _wit, poor-liking_
 Staunton conj.

 273: _O_] F2 F3 F4. om. Qq F1 _I_ (for _Ay_) Edd. conj.

 275: _suit_] _sooth or truth_ Grey conj.

 289: _digest_] Qq F1 F4. _disgest_ F2 F3.

 295: _their_] _the_ Warburton.

 296, 297: _Dismask’d...blown_] _Or angel-veiling clouds: are roses
 blown, Dismaskt,...shewn_ Theobald (Warburton conj.). _Or angels
 veil’d in clouds;...shewn_ Warburton.

 297: _Are...blown_] _Are angels, (val’d the clouds)...blown_ Becket
 conj. _Are angels veil’d in clouds of roses blown_ Peck conj.

     _vailing_] Ff Q2. _varling_ Q1.

 307: _tent_] _tents_ Capell conj.

 309: _roes run o’er_] _roes runs ore_ Q1. _roes runnes ore_ F1 Q2
 F2. _roes runs ore the_ F3. _roes run o’er the_ F4. _roes run
 over_ Steevens.

     SCENE VII. Pope. ACT V. Theobald.

     Re-enter...] Enter the King and the rest. Qq Ff.

 312: _thither_], Q1. om. Ff Q2. See note (XXV).

 315: _pecks_] Q1. _pickes_ Ff Q2.

     _pigeons_] _pigeon_ Rowe.

 316: _God_] Q1. _Jove_ Ff Q2.

 323: _A’_] _A_ Q1. _He_ Ff Q2.

 324: _his hand away_] Q1. _away his hand_ Ff Q2.

 328: _meanly_] _manly_ Rowe (ed. 2). _mainly_ Pope.

 331: _flower that_] _fleerer_ Theobald conj. (withdrawn).

 332: _whale’s_] _whales_ Qq F1. _whale his_ F2 F3 F4.

 333: _not_] om. F4.

 334: _due_] Q1. _dutie_ F1. _duty_ Q2. F2 F3 F4.

 337: _it_] _he_ Collier MS.

 337–342: _See...leave_] Put in the margin by Pope.

 338: _madman_] _man_ Theobald.

 341: _Construe...speeches_] _Consture...spaches_ Q1.

 343: SCENE VIII. Pope.

     _came_] _come_ Pope.

 346: _delights_] _delight_ Rowe.

 348: _must break_] _makes break_ Hanmer. _made break_ Warburton conj.

 350: _men’s_] F3 F4. _mens_ Q1. _men_ F1 Q2 F2.

 352: _unsullied_] F2 F3 F4. _unsallied_ Qq F1.

 356: _oaths_] _oath_ Q2.

 365: _the days_] _these days_ Collier MS.

 368: _Russian_] Q1 F2 F3 F4. _Russia_ F1 Q2.

 373: _Fair_] F2 F3 F4. om. Qq F1.

 374: _wit makes_] F2 F3 F4. _wits makes_ Qq F1. _wits make_
 Anon. conj.

 379: _for_] _but_ Capell conj.

 385: _was it_] _what it_ F1.

 390: Dum.] Duman. Q1. Du. F1 Q2. Duk. F2 F3 F4.

 392: _swound_] F2 F3 F4. _sound_ Qq F1. _swoon_ Pope.

 396: _I: lady,_] _I, lady_ Qq F1 F2. _I, lady,_ F3 F4. _I,
 lady:_ Capell.

 404: _vizard_] Qq F1 F2. _vizards_ F3 F4.

 405: _rhyme_] _rime_ Qq Ff. _time_ Rowe.

 407: _affectation_] Rowe. _affection_ Qq Ff.

 415: _sans_] _sance_ Q1 (ital.).

 421: _it_] om. Q2.

 433: _not you_] Q1. _you not_ Ff Q2.

 439: _mine_] _my_ F4.

 446: _thereto_] Qq F1. _there_ F2 F3 F4.

 454: _the_] _to th’_ F3 F4.

 463: _slight zany_] _sleight saine_ Q1.

 465: _smiles his_] _smiles, his_ Q1. _smites his_ Jackson conj.

     _years_] _jeers_ Theobald. _fleers_ Hanmer. _tears_ Jackson conj.

 472: _Much...and_] Boyet. _Much_...Biron. _And_ Johnson conj.

     _it is_] F2 F3 F4. _tis_ Qq F1.

     [To Boyet.] Rowe.

 474: _not you_] _you not_ Q2.

     _squier_] Qq F1 F2 F3. _square_ F4. _squire_ Capell.

 478: _allow’d_] F3 F4. _aloude_ Q1. _alowd_ F1 Q2. _allowd_ F2.

 481: _merrily_] _merely_ Q1.

 482: _Hath this brave manage_] Theobald. _hath this brave nuage_
 Q1. _hath this brave manager_ Ff Q2. _Brave manager, hath this_
 Pope.

 484: _part’st_] _prat’st_ F3 F4. _partest_ Pope.

 487: _vara_] _very_ Rowe (ed. 2).

 488: _pursents_] _presents_ Rowe (ed. 2).

 490: _beg_] _bag_ Becket conj.

 491: _hope, sir_] _hope_ F3 F4.

 501: _they_] _thy_ Q1.

     _parfect_] Q1. _perfect_ Ff Q2. _persent_ Collier. _pursent_
     Grant White (S. Walker conj.).

     _in_] _e’en_ Malone.

 504: _Pompion_] Rowe (ed. 2). _Pompey_ Qq Ff.

 510, 511: Printed as verse in Q1, as prose in Ff Q2.

 511: _king’s_] _king_ F3 F4.

 514: _least_] Ff Q2. _best_ Q1.

 515, 516: _contents Dies...presents_] Qq Ff. _content
 Dies...presents_ Rowe (ed. 1). _content Dies in the zeal of that it
 doth present_ Hanmer. _contents Die in the zeal of him which them
 presents_ Johnson conj. _contents Die in the zeal of them which
 it presents_ Steevens. _discontent Dies in the zeal of them which
 it present_ Staunton. _content Lies in the zeal of those which
 it present_ Mason conj. _contents Die in the zeal of them which
 it presents_ Malone. _contents Lie in the fail of that which it
 presents_ Singer. _contents Dyes with the zeal of that which it
 presents_ Keightley conj.

 517: _Their_] _There_ Capell. _The_ Knight.

 521: [Converses...] Capell.

 524: _He_] Ff Q2. _A_ Q1.

     _God’s_] Ff Q2. _God his_ Q1.

 525: _That is_] Q1. _That’s_ Ff Q2.

 528: _de la guerra_] Theobald. _delaguar_ Qq Ff. _della guerra_
 Hanmer. See note (XXVI).

 529: _couplement_] _complement_ Q2.

 534, 535: Printed as prose in Qq Ff, as verse in Rowe (ed. 2).

 540: _Abate_] Qq F1. _A bare_ F2 F3 F4. _A fair_ Heath conj.
 _Abate a_ Malone. _A bait_ Jackson conj.

     _novum_] _novem_ Hanmer.

 541: _pick_] Q1. _prick_ Ff Q2.

     _in his_] Q1. _in’s_ Ff Q2.

     [Seats brought forth.] Capell.

 542: Flourish. Enter, arm’d and accouter’d, his Scutcheon born
 before him, Costard for Pompey. Capell.

 543: [Costard prostrates himself. Staunton conj.

     Boyet] F2 F3 F4. Bero. Q1. Ber. F1 Q2.

 551: [Does his obeisance to the Princess. Capell.

 553: Prin.] F2 F3 F4. Lady. Q1. La. F1 Q2.

 562: _this,_] _his_ Q1. _this_ Ff Q2.

 563: _Alexander_] _Alisander_ Capell.

 573: _afeard_] Q1. _afraid_ Ff Q2.

 574: [Nath. retires.] Capell.

 576: _faith_] Q1. _insooth_ Ff Q2.

 578. _’tis,_] Johnson. _’tis_ Q1 Ff. _it’s_ Q2.

 579: [Exit Curat. Q1. Exit Cu. F1 Q2. Exit Clo. F2 F3 F4
 (after line 580).

 580: Prin.] Quee. Q1. Qu. F1 Q2. Clo. F2 F3 F4.

 581: _Hercules is_] _Hercules’_ S. Walker conj.

 582: _canis_] Rowe. _canus_ Qq Ff.

 587: [Moth retires.] Exit Boy. Qq Ff. [Moth does his obeisance and
 retires. Capell.

 593: _proved_] F2. _proud_ Q1. _prou’d_ F1 Q2.

 600: _out of_] Q1 Ff. _of_ Q2.

 607: _falchion_] _fauchion_ Q1. _faulchion_ Ff Q2.

 617: _as he is an ass,_] Q2 F3 F4. _as he is, an ass,_ Q1 F1
 F2.

 623: _hath he_] _he hath_ Pope.

 626: _by_] _to_ Hanmer.

 628: _Troyan_] Qq Ff. _Trojan_ Rowe, and line 664.

 631: _Hector’s_] Q1. _Hector_ Ff Q2.

 633: _in_] _with_ F3 F4.

 638: _A gilt nutmeg_] Ff Q2. _A gift nutmeg_ Q1 _Gift! a nutmeg_
 Capell.

 642: _Peace!_] om. Ff Q2.

 645: _fight; yea_] Qq Ff. _fight ye,_ Rowe (ed. 2).

 647: _mint_] _pink_ Capell conj.

 653, 654: _when he breathed...man_] Q1 om. Ff Q2.

 655: [Biron steps to Costard and whispers him. Capell.

 661: _The party is gone_] Printed in italics as a stage direction by
 Qq Ff.

 677: _on! stir_] Rowe. _or stir_ Qq Ff.

 683: _bepray_] Q1. _pray_ Ff Q2.

 687: [stripping. Capell.

 688: [coming up to Arm. and whispering him. Capell.

 699: Boyet.] Moth. (to the lords aside). Capell.

 701: _a’ wears_] _a wears_ Q1. _he wears_ Ff Q2.

 702: Marcade.] Qq Ff. Macard. Rowe. Mercade. Capell.

 704: _Marcade_] _good Mercade_ Capell, reading 703, 704 as a verse.

 705: _interrupt’st_] _interrupptest_ Q1. _interruptest_ Ff Q2.

 705–707: Printed as prose in Qq Ff.

 706, 707: _bring Is heavy in_] _bring; ’Tis heavy on_ Capell.

 712: _day_] _days_ Warburton’s note.

     _wrong_] _right_ Warburton.

 718: _entreat,_] _entreat:_ Q1. _entreats:_ Ff. _intreats:_ Q2.

 725: _not_] _but_ Collier MS.

     _a nimble_] Theobald, _a humble_ Qq F1. _an humble_ F2 F3
     F4.

 726: _too short_] Q1. _so short_ Ff Q2.

 728: _parts....forms_] _parts....form_ Rowe (ed. 1). _past...forms_
 Theobald. _haste....forms_ Singer. _dart....forms_ Staunton conj.
 _parting time expressly forms_ Collier MS.

 731: _process_] _process of time_ F3 F4.

 734: _it would_] _would it_ Johnson conj.

 738: _wholesome-profitable_] _holdsome profitable_ Q1.

 740: _are double_] Qq Ff. _are deaf_ Capell. _are dull_ Collier MS.
 _hear dully_ Staunton conj.

 740–742: Prin. _I...double._ Biron. _Honest...And by..._] Prin.
 _I...grief._ King. _And by..._ Johnson conj.

 741: _ear_] _care_ Q1. _ears_ F1. _eares_ Q2 F2. _cares_ F3 F4.

 748: _strains_] _strangeness_ Collier MS.

 751: _strange_] Capell. _straying_ Qq Ff. _stray_ Coleridge conj.

 756: _Have_] _’T hath_ Capell.

     _misbecomed_] _misbecombd_ Q1. _misbecom’d_ Ff. _misbecomm’d_
     Q2.

 762: _make_] _make them_ Pope.

 763: _a sin_] _so base_ Collier MS.

 766: _the_] om. Q1.

 770: _this in our_] Hanmer. _this our_ Q1. _these are our_ Ff Q2.
 _these are your_ Tyrwhitt conj. _this (save our...)_ Warburton.

 771: _been_] _seen_ Tyrwhitt conj.

 786: _the_] Q1. _their_ Ff Q2.

 793: _me by_] _by_ F3 F4.

 795: _instant_] Ff Q2. _instance_ Q1.

 800: _intitled_] F1 F2 F3 Q2. _intiled_ Q1. _intituled_ F4.

 802: _flatter_] _fetter_ Hanmer (Warburton).

 804: _Hence ever_] Ff. _Hence herrite_ Q1.

 805–810: Included in brackets by Theobald at the suggestion of
 Thirlby and Warburton, and omitted by Hanmer. See note (XVIII).

 806: _rack’d_] _rank_ Rowe. _reck’d_ Becket conj.

 807: _faults_] _fault_ F2 F3 F4.

 812: _A wife?..._] Dyce. Kath. _A wife? a beard, faire health,
 and..._ Qq Ff. Kath. _A wife, a beard (fair youth) and..._ Theobald.
 Kath. _No wife: a beard, fair health, and..._ Hanmer.

 828: _thy_] Q1. _my_ Ff. Q2.

 829: _have_] _had_ Collier MS.

 833: _estates_] _estetes_ Q1.

     _execute_] _exercise_ Collier MS.

 835: _fruitful_] _fructful_ Q1.

 852: _dear_] _dere_ Johnson conj. _drear_ Jackson conj. _dire_
 Collier MS.

 853: _then_] _them_ Collier MS.

 860: [To the King] Breaking Converse with the King and curtsying.
 Capell.

 868: _not_] om. Q2.

 872: _years_] _yeare_ Q1. _year_ Capell.

 877: Re-enter...] Enter all. Qq Ff.

 882, 883: Theobald. In Ff Qq the order is 883, 882.

 883: _cuckoo-buds_] _cowslip-buds_ Farmer conj. _crocus-buds_
 Whalley conj.

 884: _with delight_] _much-bedight_ Warburton.

 903: _foul_] _full_ Q1.

 905, 906: _Tu-whit; Tu-who_] Qq Ff. _Tu-who; Tu-whit, tu-who_ Capell.

 917: Arm.] Brag. Ff Q2. om. Q1.

 917, 918: _The words...Apollo_] In Q1 printed in larger type.

 918: _You that way,—we this way._] om. Q1.
~~~~~




NOTES.


NOTE I.

DRAMATIS PERSONÆ. Biron is spell ‘Berowne,’ Longaville ‘Longavill,’
in Q1 F1 Q2; Mercade ‘Marcade,’ in Qq Ff. Armado is written
sometimes ‘Armatho.’ Mr Grant White suggests that Moth should be
written ‘Mote,’ as it was clearly so pronounced. See note (VI).
‘Boyet’ is made to rhyme with ‘debt’ in V. 2. 334; ‘Longaville’ with
‘ill’ in IV. 3. 119, and with ‘mile’ in V. 2. 53; ‘Rosaline’ with
‘thine,’ IV. 3. 217. Costard, in the old stage directions, is called
‘Clown.’


NOTE II.

Mason says, ‘I believe the title of this play should be ‘Love’s
Labours Lost,’ but it is clear, from the form in which it is written
in the running title of Qq F1 F2 ‘Loves Labour’s Lost,’ that the
full name was intended to be ‘Love’s Labour is Lost.’ On the title
pages however of Q1 and Q2 it is written respectively ‘Loues labors
lost,’ and ‘Loues Labours lost.’ It is called by Meres (1598) ‘Love
Labour Lost,’ and by Tofte ‘Love’s Labour Lost,’ which is in favour
of the ordinary spelling.


NOTE III.

As the scene through the play is in the King of Navarre’s park, and
as it is perfectly obvious when the action is near the palace and
when near the tents of the French princess, we have not thought it
necessary to specify the several changes.


NOTE IV.

I. 1. 23. This is an instance of the lax grammar of the time which
permitted the use of a singular pronoun referring to a plural
substantive, and vice versa, as in _The Two Noble Kinsmen_, Act I.
Sc. 1;

 ‘You cannot read it there; there, through my tears,
 Like wrinkled pebbles in a glassy stream,
 You may behold _’em_.’


NOTE V.

I. 1. 110. Singer says that in a copy of F1 which he used, the
reading is ‘sit.’


NOTE VI.

I. 2. 86. There is probably an allusion in the words, ‘for she had
a green wit,’ to the ‘green withes,’ with which Samson was bound.
In Shakespeare’s time, ‘mote’ was frequently written ‘moth,’ as in
IV. 3. 157 of this play, and in _Much Ado about Nothing_ (II. 3) the
same variety of spelling gives rise to an obscure pun, ‘Note notes,
forsooth, and nothing.’ Compare, also, _As You Like It_, III. 3. 5.


NOTE VII.

II. 1. 88. We have retained in this passage the reading of the
first Quarto, ‘unpeeled,’ in preference to the ‘unpeopled’ of the
second Quarto and the Folios, which is evidently only a conjectural
emendation, and does not furnish a better sense than many other words
which might be proposed. In the same way, in Act III. Sc. 1, line 61,
we have followed the first Quarto in reading ‘volable’ instead of
‘voluble,’ as it has direct reference to Moth’s last words ‘thump,
then, and I flee,’ and is in better keeping with the Euphuistic
language of the speaker.


NOTE VIII.

In II. 1. 114 sqq. the speakers are ‘Berowne’ and ‘Kather.’ in Q1.
This is followed by Capell, who justifies it as follows: ‘When the
King and his lords enter, the ladies mask, and continue mask’d ’till
they go: Biron, while the letter is reading, seeks his mistress;
accosts Catharine instead of her, finds his error, and leaves her:
the King’s exit gives him an opportunity to make another attempt,
and he then lights on the right but without knowing her; makes a
third by enquiry, and is baffled in that too, for he describes
Maria, and is told she is Catharine.’ In this and other scenes
the characters are so confused in the old copies that they can be
determined only by the context, in this play a very unsafe guide.


NOTE IX.

II. 1. 212. In this line, as well as in III. 1. 140, 142, &c. and IV.
3. 279, the ‘O’ is superfluous and appears to have crept into the
text from the last letter of the stage direction ‘Bero.’ In the first
instance in which this occurs the first Quarto stands alone, and the
error is corrected in the second Quarto and the Folios, and we have
therefore ventured to make the same correction in the other cases.


NOTE X.

III. 1. 186. As ‘wightly,’ in the sense of ‘nimble,’ has no
etymological connection with ‘white,’ we have thought it best to
retain the spelling which is least likely to mislead.


NOTE XI.

IV. 2. 27. _Which we of taste and feeling are, for those..._ In Qq
Ff this passage stands as follows: ‘which we taste and feeling, are
for those parts that do fructify in us more than he,’ except that
Q1 F4 put a comma after ‘taste’ and Q2 omits ‘do.’ Theobald,
on Warburton’s suggestion, reads, ‘parts (which we taste and feel
_ingradare_) that do, &c.’ Hanmer is the first to print it as verse,
reading,

‘And such barren plants are set before us, that we thankful should be,
For those parts which we taste and feel do fructify in us more than he.’

Johnson proposes, ‘When we taste and feeling are for those parts,
&c.’ Tyrwhitt conjectured, ‘Which we of taste and feeling are, &c.’
and is followed by Collier and several modern editors. This reading
appears to make the best sense with the least alteration. In Collier
MS. we find ‘which we having taste and feeling &c.’


NOTE XII.

IV. 2. 63, 70, 74. In Qq Ff these three speeches are incorrectly
assigned to Nath., Hol. and Nath. respectively, whereas the third
evidently belongs to Holofernes. Similarly the speeches beginning
with lines 79, 83, 89, 99 are assigned to Nath. instead of Hol., and
vice versâ line 99 which properly belongs to Nath. is given to Hol.
Again 115–122 and 125–129 are given to Nath. in consequence of which
‘Sir Nathaniel,’ in line 129, was written ‘Sir Holofernes,’ a title
to which the pedant had no claim. The mistake probably arose from the
stage direction ‘Ped.’ being confounded with ‘Per.,’ that is, Person
or Parson. Besides, in line 114, the ‘Ped.’ of F1 is changed in the
later folios to ‘Pedro.’


NOTE XIII.

IV. 3. 142. In Q1 this line stands at the top of the page. The
catch-word on the preceding page is ‘Fayth,’ shewing that the word
omitted, whatever it be, was not the first in the line.


NOTE XIV.

IV. 3. 178. By the kind permission of the Duke of Devonshire, we
have collated the copy of the first Quarto, which is in his Grace’s
library, with that which is in the Capell collection. Besides the
important difference mentioned in the foot-note, the following are
found:

 E. 3. (r) line 5, paper (Capell) p a d e r (Devonshire).
 E. 3. (v) line 12, corporall (Capell) croporall (Devonshire).
 I. 3. (r) line 22, then w i (Capell) then w (Devonshire).


NOTE XV.

IV. 3. 244. Theobald’s note is: _‘O_ word _divine!_ This is the
reading of all the editions that I have seen; but both Dr Thirlby and
Mr Warburton concurred in reading (as I had likewise conjectured) _O_
wood _divine!_’

‘Wood,’ however, is the reading of Rowe’s first edition. It was
perhaps only a happy misprint, as it is altered to ‘word’ in the
second.


NOTE XVI.

IV. 3. 251. As ‘suiter’ was pronounced and sometimes written
‘shooter’ (IV. 1. 101), so probably ‘suit’ was sometimes written
‘shoote,’ a word easily corrupted into ‘schoole.’


NOTE XVII.

IV. 3. 285. Although it is not necessary to omit a syllable on
account of the metre, as Mr Sidney Walker seems to have thought, we
have adopted one of his conjectures for the reason mentioned in note
(IX). A similar error, which has hitherto escaped notice, seems to
occur in IV. 2. 83, where the word ‘Of,’ which in the original MS.
was part of the stage direction ‘Holof.’, has crept into the text.
If this hypothesis be true, it follows that the frequently recurring
error of ‘_Nath._’ for ‘_Hol._’ is not due to the author himself, but
to an unskilful corrector.


NOTE XVIII.

IV. 3. 295. Mr Dyce omits lines 295–300, _For when would you...true
Promethean fire_; and lines 308–315, _For where is...forsworn
our books_, which are repeated in substance, and, to some extent
verbatim, in the latter part of the speech.

There can be no doubt that two drafts of the speech have been blended
together, and that the author meant to cancel a portion of it; but as
there also can be no doubt that the whole came from his pen, we do
not venture to correct the printer’s error. We would ‘lose no drop
of the immortal man.’ The error is indeed a very instructive one. It
goes to prove that the first Quarto was printed from the author’s
original MS.; that the author had not made a ‘foul copy’ of his work;
and that he had not an opportunity of revising the proof sheets as
they passed through the press.

For the same reason we have retained V. 2. 805–810.


NOTE XIX.

IV. 3. 341. We have here retained ‘make,’ because the inaccuracy
is so natural, that it probably came from the pen of the author.
It escaped correction in all the Quartos and Folios, as well as in
Rowe’s and Pope’s editions.


NOTE XX.

V. 1. 24, 25. The reading which we have given in the text, and which
had occurred to us before we discovered that Capell had hit upon
nearly the same conjecture, comes nearer to the words and punctuation
of the Quartos and Folios than Theobald’s, which, since his time, has
been the received reading. Sir Nathaniel is not represented elsewhere
as an ignoramus who would be likely to say ‘bone’ for ‘bene.’
Holofernes patronizingly calls him ‘Priscian,’ but, pedagogue-like,
will not admit his perfect accuracy. ‘A little scratched’ is
a phrase familiar to the schoolmaster, from his daily task of
correcting his pupils’ ‘latines.’

Capell’s conjecture, given in his _Notes_, Vol. I. p. 44 of the
Various Readings, is ‘Nath. _Laus Deo bone intelligo._ Hol. _Bone!
bon, fort bon; Priscian._’ In his printed text he follows Theobald.

Some corruption is still left in line 22: _insanie: ne intelligis_.
Perhaps we should read _insano fare: intelligis..._


NOTE XXI.

V. 1. 110. There is some corruption in this passage, which cannot
with certainty be removed. In the subsequent scene five ‘worthies’
only are presented, viz. Hector by Armado, Pompey by Costard,
Alexander by Nathaniel, Hercules by the Page, and Judas Maccabæus by
Holofernes.


NOTE XXII.

V. 2. 43. Johnson says ‘The former editions read _Were pencils_,’ and
attributes the restoration of _Ware_ to Hanmer. Mr Halliwell repeats
the assertion. In reality, all the editions read _Ware_.


NOTE XXIII.

V. 2. 232. Mr Sidney Walker, in his _Criticisms_, Vol. II. p. 153,
remarks that, ‘_and if_ (he means _an if_) is always in the old plays
printed ‘_and if_.’ Here is an instance to the contrary. See also Mr
Lettsom’s note, _l. c._ _And_, not _an_, seems to be printed in nine
cases out of ten, whatever the following word be.


NOTE XXIV.

V. 2. 247. ‘Dutchman’ here, as usual, means ‘German.’ The word
alluded to is ‘Viel,’ a word which would be likely to be known from
the frequent use which the sailors from Hamburg or Bremen would have
cause to make of the phrase ‘zu viel’ in their bargains with the
London shopkeepers.


NOTE XXV.

V. 2. 312. Mr Collier says that in some copies of Q1 ‘thither’ is
omitted.


NOTE XXVI.

V. 2. 528. The modern editors who have followed Hanmer’s reading
‘della,’ in preference to Theobald’s ‘de la,’ have forgotten that
Armado is a Spaniard, not an Italian.




A

MIDSUMMER-NIGHT’S DREAM.




DRAMATIS PERSONÆ[1].

 THESEUS, Duke of Athens.
 EGEUS, father to Hermia.
 LYSANDER,  in love with Hermia.
 DEMETRIUS,  ”  ”     ”     ”
 PHILOSTRATE, master of the revels to Theseus
 QUINCE, a carpenter.
 SNUG, a joiner.
 BOTTOM, a weaver.
 FLUTE, a bellows-mender.
 SNOUT, a tinker.
 STARVELING, a tailor.

 HIPPOLYTA, queen of the Amazons, betrothed to Theseus.
 HERMIA, daughter to Egeus, in love with Lysander.
 HELENA, in love with Demetrius.

 OBERON, king of the fairies.
 TITANIA, queen of the fairies.
 PUCK, or Robin Goodfellow.
 PEASEBLOSSOM, fairy.
 COBWEB,         ”
 MOTH,           ”
 MUSTARDSEED,    ”

 Other fairies attending their King and Queen. Attendants on Theseus
 and Hippolyta.

SCENE—_Athens, and a wood near it._


~~~~~
 Footnote:

 1: DRAMATIS PERSONÆ] first given by Rowe.
~~~~~




A

MIDSUMMER-NIGHT’S DREAM.




ACT I.


SCENE I. _Athens._ _The palace of_ THESEUS.

 _Enter_ THESEUS, HIPPOLYTA, PHILOSTRATE, _and_ Attendants.

_The._ Now, fair Hippolyta, our nuptial hour
Draws on apace; four happy days bring in
Another moon: but, O, methinks, how slow
This old moon wanes! she lingers my desires,
Like to a step-dame, or a dowager,                                   5
Long withering out a young man’s revenue.

_Hip._ Four days will quickly steep themselves in night;
Four nights will quickly dream away the time;
And then the moon, like to a silver bow
New-bent in heaven, shall behold the night                          10
Of our solemnities.

_The._              Go, Philostrate,
Stir up the Athenian youth to merriments;
Awake the pert and nimble spirit of mirth:
Turn melancholy forth to funerals;
The pale companion is not for our pomp.       [_Exit Philostrate._  15
Hippolyta, I woo’d thee with my sword,
And won thy love, doing thee injuries;
But I will wed thee in another key,
With pomp, with triumph and with revelling.

 _Enter_ EGEUS, HERMIA, LYSANDER, _and_ DEMETRIUS.

_Ege._ Happy be Theseus, our renowned duke!                         20

_The._ Thanks, good Egeus: what’s the news with thee?

_Ege._ Full of vexation come I, with complaint
Against my child, my daughter Hermia.
Stand forth, Demetrius. My noble lord,
This man hath my consent to marry her.                              25
Stand forth, Lysander: and, my gracious duke,
This man hath bewitch’d the bosom of my child:
Thou, thou, Lysander, thou hast given her rhymes,
And interchanged love-tokens with my child:
Thou hast by moonlight at her window sung,                          30
With feigning voice, verses of feigning love;
And stolen the impression of her fantasy
With bracelets of thy hair, rings, gawds, conceits,
Knacks, trifles, nosegays, sweetmeats, messengers
Of strong prevailment in unharden’d youth:                          35
With cunning hast thou filch’d my daughter’s heart;
Turn’d her obedience, which is due to me,
To stubborn harshness: and, my gracious duke,
Be it so she will not here before your Grace
Consent to marry with Demetrius,                                    40
I beg the ancient privilege of Athens,
As she is mine, I may dispose of her:
Which shall be either to this gentleman
Or to her death, according to our law
Immediately provided in that case.                                  45

_The._ What say you, Hermia? be advised, fair maid:
To you your father should be as a god;
One that composed your beauties; yea, and one
To whom you are but as a form in wax
By him imprinted and within his power                               50
To leave the figure or disfigure it.
Demetrius is a worthy gentleman.

_Her._ So is Lysander.

_The._                 In himself he is;
But in this kind, wanting your father’s voice,
The other must be held the worthier.                                55

_Her._ I would my father look’d but with my eyes.

_The._ Rather your eyes must with his judgement look.

_Her._ I do entreat your Grace to pardon me.
I know not by what power I am made bold,
Nor how it may concern my modesty,                                  60
In such a presence here to plead my thoughts;
But I beseech your Grace that I may know
The worst that may befall me in this case,
If I refuse to wed Demetrius.

_The._ Either to die the death, or to abjure                        65
For ever the society of men.
Therefore, fair Hermia, question your desires;
Know of your youth, examine well your blood,
Whether, if you yield not to your father’s choice,
You can endure the livery of a nun;                                 70
For aye to be in shady cloister mew’d,
To live a barren sister all your life,
Chanting faint hymns to the cold fruitless moon.
Thrice-blessed they that master so their blood,
To undergo such maiden pilgrimage;                                  75
But earthlier happy is the rose distill’d,
Than that which, withering on the virgin thorn,
Grows, lives, and dies in single blessedness.

_Her._ So will I grow, so live, so die, my lord,
Ere I will yield my virgin patent up                                80
Unto his lordship, whose unwished yoke
My soul consents not to give sovereignty.

_The._ Take time to pause; and, by the next new moon,—
The sealing-day betwixt my love and me,
For everlasting bond of fellowship,—                                85
Upon that day either prepare to die
For disobedience to your father’s will,
Or else to wed Demetrius, as he would;
Or on Diana’s altar to protest
For aye austerity and single life.                                  90

_Dem._ Relent, sweet Hermia: and, Lysander, yield
Thy crazed title to my certain right.

_Lys._ You have her father’s love, Demetrius;
Let me have Hermia’s: do you marry him.

_Ege._ Scornful Lysander! true, he hath my love,                    95
And what is mine my love shall render him.
And she is mine, and all my right of her
I do estate unto Demetrius.

_Lys._ I am, my lord, as well derived as he,
As well possess’d; my love is more than his;                       100
My fortunes every way as fairly rank’d,
If not with vantage, as Demetrius’;
And, which is more than all these boasts can be,
I am beloved of beauteous Hermia:
Why should not I then prosecute my right?                          105
Demetrius, I’ll avouch it to his head,
Made love to Nedar’s daughter, Helena,
And won her soul; and she, sweet lady, dotes,
Devoutly dotes, dotes in idolatry,
Upon this spotted and inconstant man.                              110

_The._ I must confess that I have heard so much,
And with Demetrius thought to have spoke thereof;
But, being over-full of self-affairs,
My mind did lose it. But, Demetrius, come;
And come, Egeus; you shall go with me,                             115
I have some private schooling for you both.
For you, fair Hermia, look you arm yourself
To fit your fancies to your father’s will;
Or else the law of Athens yields you up,—
Which by no means we may extenuate,—                               120
To death, or to a vow of single life.
Come, my Hippolyta: what cheer, my love?
Demetrius and Egeus, go along:
I must employ you in some business
Against our nuptial, and confer with you                           125
Of something nearly that concerns yourselves.

_Ege._ With duty and desire we follow you.

 [_Exeunt all but Lysander and Hermia._

_Lys._ How now, my love! why is your cheek so pale?
How chance the roses there do fade so fast?

_Her._ Belike for want of rain, which I could well                 130
Beteem them from the tempest of my eyes.

_Lys._ Ay me! for aught that I could ever read,
Could ever hear by tale or history,
The course of true love never did run smooth;
But, either it was different in blood,—                            135

_Her._ O cross! too high to be enthrall’d to low.

_Lys._ Or else misgraffed in respect of years,—

_Her._ O spite! too old to be engaged to young.

_Lys._ Or else it stood upon the choice of friends,—

_Her._ O hell! to choose love by another’s eyes.                   140

_Lys._ Or, if there were a sympathy in choice,
War, death, or sickness did lay siege to it,
Making it momentany as a sound,
Swift as a shadow, short as any dream;
Brief as the lightning in the collied night,                       145
That, in a spleen, unfolds both heaven and earth,
And ere a man hath power to say ‘Behold!’
The jaws of darkness do devour it up:
So quick bright things come to confusion.

_Her._ If then true lovers have been ever cross’d,                 150
It stands as an edict in destiny:
Then let us teach our trial patience,
Because it is a customary cross,
As due to love as thoughts and dreams and sighs,
Wishes and tears, poor fancy’s followers.                          155

_Lys._ A good persuasion: therefore, hear me, Hermia.
I have a widow aunt, a dowager
Of great revenue, and she hath no child:
From Athens is her house remote seven leagues;
And she respects me as her only son.                               160
There, gentle Hermia, may I marry thee;
And to that place the sharp Athenian law
Cannot pursue us. If thou lovest me, then,
Steal forth thy father’s house to-morrow night;
And in the wood, a league without the town,                        165
Where I did meet thee once with Helena,
To do observance to a morn of May,
There will I stay for thee.

_Her._                      My good Lysander!
I swear to thee, by Cupid’s strongest bow,
By his best arrow with the golden head,                            170
By the simplicity of Venus’ doves,
By that which knitteth souls and prospers loves,
And by that fire which burn’d the Carthage queen,
When the false Troyan under sail was seen,
By all the vows that ever men have broke,                          175
In number more than ever women spoke,
In that same place thou hast appointed me,
To-morrow truly will I meet with thee.

_Lys._ Keep promise, love. Look, here comes Helena.

 _Enter_ HELENA.

_Her._ God speed fair Helena! whither away?                        180

_Hel._ Call you me fair? that fair again unsay.
Demetrius loves your fair: O happy fair!
Your eyes are lode-stars; and your tongue’s sweet air
More tuneable than lark to shepherd’s ear.
When wheat is green, when hawthorn buds appear.                    185
Sickness is catching: O, were favour so,
Yours would I catch, fair Hermia, ere I go;
My ear should catch your voice, my eye your eye,
My tongue should catch your tongue’s sweet melody.
Were the world mine, Demetrius being bated,                        190
The rest I’d give to be to you translated.
O, teach me how you look; and with what art
You sway the motion of Demetrius’ heart!

_Her._ I frown upon him, _yet_ he loves me still.

_Hel._ O that your frowns would teach my smiles such skill!        195

_Her._ I give him curses, yet he gives me love.

_Hel._ O that my prayers could such affection move!

_Her._ The more I hate, the more he follows me.

_Hel._ The more I love, the more he hateth me.

_Her._ His folly, Helena, is no fault of mine.                     200

_Hel._ None, but your beauty: would that fault were mine!

_Her._ Take comfort: he no more shall see my face;
Lysander and myself will fly this place.
Before the time I did Lysander see,
Seem’d Athens as a paradise to me:                                 205
O, then, what graces in my love do dwell,
That he hath turn’d a heaven unto a hell!

_Lys._ Helen, to you our minds we will unfold:
To-morrow night, when Phœbe doth behold
Her silver visage in the watery glass,                             210
Decking with liquid pearl the bladed grass,
A time that lovers’ flights doth still conceal,
Through Athens’ gates have we devised to steal.

_Her._ And in the wood, where often you and I
Upon faint primrose-beds were wont to lie,                         215
Emptying our bosoms of their counsel sweet,
There my Lysander and myself shall meet;
And thence from Athens turn away our eyes,
To seek new friends and stranger companies.
Farewell, sweet playfellow: pray thou for us;                      220
And good luck grant thee thy Demetrius!
Keep word, Lysander: we must starve our sight
From lovers’ food till morrow deep midnight.

_Lys._ I will, my Hermia.       [_Exit Herm._
                               Helena, adieu:
As you on him, Demetrius dote on you!      [_Exit._                225

_Hel._ How happy some o’er other some can be!
Through Athens I am thought as fair as she.
But what of that? Demetrius thinks not so;
He will not know what all but he do know:
And as he errs, doting on Hermia’s eyes,                           230
So I, admiring of his qualities:
Things base and vile, holding no quantity,
Love can transpose to form and dignity:
Love looks not with the eyes, but with the mind;
And therefore is wing’d Cupid painted blind:                       235
Nor hath Love’s mind of any judgement taste;
Wings, and no eyes, figure unheedy haste:
And therefore is Love said to be a child,
Because in choice he is so oft beguiled.
As waggish boys in game themselves forswear,                       240
So the boy Love is perjured every where:
For ere Demetrius look’d on Hermia’s eyne,
He hail’d down oaths that he was only mine;
And when this hail some heat from Hermia felt,
So he dissolved, and showers of oaths did melt.                    245
I will go tell him of fair Hermia’s flight:
Then to the wood will he to-morrow night
Pursue her; and for this intelligence
If I have thanks, it is a dear expense:
But herein mean I to enrich my pain,                               250
To have his sight thither and back again.       [_Exit._


~~~~~
 Linenotes: _A Midsummer-Night’s Dream_, I, 1.

 SC. I. Enter...] Enter Theseus, Hippolita, with others. Qq Ff.

 4: _wanes_] _waues_ Q1.

 6: _withering out_] _wintering on_ Warburton. _lithering out_ Becket
 conj.

 7: _night_] Q1. _nights_ Q2 Ff.

 8: _nights_] Q1 Ff. _daies_ Q2.

 10: _New-bent_] Rowe. _Now bent_ Qq Ff.

 15: [Exit Ph.] Theobald.

 19: _revelling_] _revelry_ Holt White conj.

 24, 26: _Stand forth, Demetrius...Stand forth, Lysander_] Printed in
 Qq Ff as stage directions. Corrected by Rowe.

 27: _This man hath bewitch’d_] Qq F1. _This hath bewitch’d_ F2 F3
 F4.

     _bewitch’d_] _witch’d_ Theobald.

 38: _harshness_] _hardness_ Collier MS.

 51: _leave_] _’leve_ Warburton. _lave_ Becket conj.

 69: _if you yield not_] _not yielding_ Pope.

 76: _earthlier happy_] _earlier happy_ Pope conj. _earthly happier_
 Capell.

 81: _whose unwished_] Qq F1. _to whose unwished_ F2 F3. _to whose
 unwish’d_ F4.

 87: _your_] _you_ F2.

 94: _Hermia’s_] _Hermia_ Tyrwhitt conj.

 98: _unto_] _upon_ Hanmer.

 101: _fortunes_] _fortune’s_ Rowe.

 102: _Demetrius’_] Pope. _Demetrius_ Qq Ff.

 107: _Nedar’s_] _Nestor’s_ S. Walker conj.

 125: _nuptial_] Qq F1. _nuptialls_ F2 F3 F4.

 127: [Exeunt...] Exeunt. Manet L. and M. Qq Ff.

 128: SCENE II. Pope.

 130: _which I could_] _yet could I_ Becket conj.

 131: _my_] Qq. _mine_ Ff.

 132: _Ay me! for aught that I could ever_] _Eigh me; for ought that
 I could ever_ Qq. _For ought that ever I could_ F1. _Hermia for
 ought that ever I could_ F2 F3 F4. _Ay me! for aught that ever I
 could_ Dyce.

 136: _low_] Theobald. _love_ Qq Ff.

     _too...low_] _to be enthrall’d! too high, too low_ Becket conj.

 138: _to young_] _too young_ F4.

 139: _friends_] Qq. _merit_ Ff. _men_ Collier MS.

 140: _eyes_] Qq. _eie_ F1. _eye_ F2 F3 F4.

 143: _momentany_] Qq. _momentary_ Ff.

 146: _spleen_] _shene_ Becket conj.

 148: _do_] _to_ F3 F4.

 154: _due_] _dewe_ Q1.

 159: _remote_] Qq. _remov’d_ Ff.

 167: _observance to a_] Qq. _observance for a_ Ff. _observance to
 the_ Pope.

 168–178: Her. _My good......with thee_] Her. _My good Lysander!_
 Lys. _I swear...spoke._ Her. _In that...with thee_ Warburton.

 172: _loves_] Q1. _love_ Q2 Ff.

 180: SCENE III. Pope.

 182: _your fair_] Qq. _you fair_ Ff. _you, fair_ Rowe (ed. 2).

 186: _so_] Qq Ff. _so!_ Theobald.

 187: _Yours would I_] Hanmer. _Your words I_ Qq F1. _Your words
 Ide_ F2 F3 F4.

 191: _I’d_] Hanmer. _ile_ Q1. _Ile_ Q2 F1 F2. _I’le_ F3 F4.

 200: _folly, Helena, is no fault_] Q1. _folly, Helena, is none_
 Q2 Ff. _fault, Oh Helena, is none_ Hanmer. _fault, fair Helena, is
 none_ Collier MS.

 205: _as_] Q1. _like_ Q2 Ff.

 206: _do_] _must_ Collier MS.

 207: _unto a_] Q1. _into_ Q2 Ff.

 213: _gates_] Qq F1 F2. _gate_ F3 F4.

 216: _sweet_] Theobald. _sweld_ Qq Ff.

 219: _stranger companies_] Theobald. _strange companions_ Qq Ff.

 225: _dote_] Qq. _dotes_ Ff.

 229: _do_] Qq. _doth_ Ff.

 237: _haste_] _hast_ F4.

 239: _he is so oft_] Q1 _he is oft_ Q2. _he is often_ F1. _he
 often is_ F2 F3 F4.

 240: _in game themselves_] _themselves in game_ F3 F4.

 244: _this_] Q1 Ff. _his_ Q2.

 245: _So_] _Lo,_ Capell.

 248: _this_] Qq. _his_ Ff.

 249: _a dear expense_] _dear recompense_ Collier MS.
~~~~~


SCENE II. _The same._ QUINCE’S _house_.

 _Enter_ QUINCE, SNUG, BOTTOM, FLUTE, SNOUT, _and_
 STARVELING.

_Quin._ Is all our company here?

_Bot._ You were best to call them generally, man by
man, according to the scrip.

_Quin._ Here is the scroll of every man’s name, which is
thought fit, through all Athens, to play in our interlude before     5
fore the duke and the duchess, on his wedding-day at night.

_Bot._ First, good Peter Quince, say what the play treats
on; then read the names of the actors; and so grow to a
point.

_Quin._ Marry, our play is, The most lamentable comedy,             10
and most cruel death of Pyramus and Thisby.

_Bot._ A very good piece of work, I assure you, and a
merry. Now, good Peter Quince, call forth your actors by
the scroll. Masters, spread yourselves.

_Quin._ Answer as I call you. Nick Bottom, the weaver.              15

_Bot._ Ready. Name what part I am for, and proceed.

_Quin._ You, Nick Bottom, are set down for Pyramus.

_Bot._ What is Pyramus? a lover, or a tyrant?

_Quin._ A lover, that kills himself most gallant for love.

_Bot._ That will ask some tears in the true performing of           20
it: if I do it, let the audience look to their eyes; I will move
storms, I will condole in some measure. To the rest: yet
my chief humour is for a tyrant: I could play Ercles rarely,
or a part to tear a cat in, to make all split.

The raging rocks                                                    25
And shivering shocks
Shall break the locks
    Of prison-gates;
And Phibbus’ car
Shall shine from far,                                               30
And make and mar
    The foolish Fates.

This was lofty! Now name the rest of the players. This
is Ercles’ vein, a tyrant’s vein; a lover is more condoling.

_Quin._ Francis Flute, the bellows-mender.                          35

_Flu._ Here, Peter Quince.

_Quin._ Flute, you must take Thisby on you.

_Flu._ What is Thisby? a wandering knight?

_Quin._ It is the lady that Pyramus must love.

_Flu._ Nay, faith, let not me play a woman; I have a                40
beard coming.

_Quin._ That’s all one: you shall play it in a mask, and
you may speak as small as you will.

_Bot._ An I may hide my face, let me play Thisby too, I’ll
speak in a monstrous little voice, ‘Thisne, Thisne;’ ‘Ah            45
Pyramus, my lover dear! thy Thisby dear, and lady dear!’

_Quin._ No, no; you must play Pyramus: and, Flute,
you Thisby.

_Bot._ Well, proceed.

_Quin._ Robin Starveling, the tailor.                               50

_Star._ Here, Peter Quince.

_Quin._ Robin Starveling, you must play Thisby’s mother.
Tom Snout, the tinker.

_Snout._ Here, Peter Quince.

_Quin._ You, Pyramus’ father: myself, Thisby’s father:              55
Snug, the joiner; you, the lion’s part: and, I hope, here is
a play fitted.

_Snug._ Have you the lion’s part written? pray you, if
it be, give it me, for I am slow of study.

_Quin._ You may do it extempore, for it is nothing but              60
roaring.

_Bot._ Let me play the lion too: I will roar, that I will
do any man’s heart good to hear me; I will roar, that I
will make the duke say, ‘Let him roar again, let him roar
again.’                                                             65

_Quin._ An you should do it too terribly, you would fright
the duchess and the ladies, that they would shriek; and
that were enough to hang us all.

_All._ That would hang us, every mother’s son.

_Bot._ I grant you, friends, if that you should fright the          70
ladies out of their wits, they would have no more discretion
but to hang us: but I will aggravate my voice so, that I
will roar you as gently as any sucking dove; I will roar
you an ’twere any nightingale.

_Quin._ You can play no part but Pyramus; for Pyramus               75
is a sweet-faced man; a proper man, as one shall see
in a summer’s day; a most lovely, gentleman-like man:
therefore you must needs play Pyramus.

_Bot._ Well, I will undertake it. What beard were I
best to play it in?                                                 80

_Quin._ Why, what you will.

_Bot._ I will discharge it in either your straw colour
beard, your orange-tawny beard, your purple-in-grain
beard, or your French crown colour beard, your perfect
yellow.                                                             85

_Quin._ Some of your French crowns have no hair at
all, and then you will play barefaced. But, masters, here
are your parts: and I am to entreat you, request you, and
desire you, to con them by to-morrow night; and meet me
in the palace wood, a mile without the town, by moonlight;          90
there will we rehearse, for if we meet in the city, we shall
be dogged with company, and our devices known. In the
meantime I will draw a bill of properties, such as our play
wants. I pray you, fail me not.

_Bot._ We will meet; and there we may rehearse most obscenely       95
and courageously. Take pains; be perfect: adieu.

_Quin._ At the duke’s oak we meet.

_Bot._ Enough; hold or cut bow-strings.       [_Exeunt._


~~~~~
 Linenotes: _A Midsummer-Night’s Dream_, I, 2.

 SCENE II.] SCENE IV. Pope.

 Quince’s house.] Capell. Changes to a cottage. Theobald.

 3: _according to_] Q1 Ff. _according_ Q2.

 6: _the duchess_] _duchess_ Pope (ed. 2).

 8, 9: _grow to a point_] Qq. _grow on to a point_ F1 F2 F3. _grow
 on to appoint_ F4. _go on to a point_ Warburton. _go on to appoint_
 Collier MS.

 19: _gallant_] Qq. _gallantly_ Ff.

 22: _storms_] _stones_ Collier MS.

 24: _cat_] _cap_ Warburton.

     _in, to_] _in two_ ed. 1661.

 25–32: Printed as prose in Qq Ff.

 26: _And_] _With_ Farmer conj.

 37: _Flute,_] Q1. om. Q2 Ff.

 45: See note (I).

 56: _and, I hope, here_] Qq. _and I hope there_ Ff. _I hope there_
 Rowe (ed. 2).

 59: _it be_] _be_ F1.

 66: _An_] _And_ Q1. _If_ Q2 Ff.

 70: _friends_] _friend_ F4.

     _if_] Qq. _if that_ Ff.

 73: _roar you_] Qq. _roar_ Ff.

 84: _colour_] Qq. _colour’d_ Ff.

     _perfect_] Ff. _perfit_ Qq.

 91: _will we_] Q1. _we will_ Q2 Ff.

 95: _most_] Q1. _more_ Q2 Ff.

     _obscenely_] _obscurely_ Grey conj. (withdrawn).

 96: _Take...adieu_] given by Singer to Quince.

     _pains_] Qq F1. _paine_ F2 F3 F4.

     _perfect_] Ff. _perfit_ Qq.
~~~~~




ACT II.

SCENE I. _A wood near Athens._


 _Enter, from opposite sides, a_ Fairy, _and_ PUCK.

_Puck._ How now, spirit! whither wander you?

_Fai._ Over hill, over dale,
    Thorough bush, thorough brier,
Over park, over pale,
    Thorough flood, thorough fire,                                   5
I do wander every where,
Swifter than the moon’s sphere;
And I serve the fairy queen,
To dew her orbs upon the green.

        The cowslips tall her pensioners be:                        10
        In their gold coats spots you see;
        Those be rubies, fairy favours,
        In those freckles live their savours:
I must go seek some dewdrops here,
And hang a pearl in every cowslip’s ear.                            15
Farewell, thou lob of spirits; I’ll be gone:
Our queen and all her elves come here anon.

_Puck._ The king doth keep his revels here to-night:
Take heed the queen come not within his sight;
For Oberon is passing fell and wrath,                               20
Because that she as her attendant hath
A lovely boy, stolen from an Indian king;
She never had so sweet a changeling:
And jealous Oberon would have the child
Knight of his train, to trace the forests wild;                     25
But she perforce withholds the loved boy,
Crowns him with flowers, and makes him all her joy:
And now they never meet in grove or green,
By fountain clear, or spangled starlight sheen,
But they do square, that all their elves for fear                   30
Creep into acorn-cups and hide them there.

_Fai._ Either I mistake your shape and making quite,
Or else you are that shrewd and knavish sprite
Call’d Robin Goodfellow: are not you he
That frights the maidens of the villagery;                          35
Skim milk, and sometimes labour in the quern,
And bootless make the breathless housewife churn;
And sometime make the drink to bear no barm;
Mislead night-wanderers, laughing at their harm?
Those that Hobgoblin call you, and sweet Puck,                      40
You do their work, and they shall have good luck:
Are not you he?

_Puck._         Thou speak’st aright;
I am that merry wanderer of the night.
I jest to Oberon, and make him smile,
When I a fat and bean-fed horse beguile,                            45
Neighing in likeness of a filly foal:
And sometime lurk I in a gossip’s bowl,
In very likeness of a roasted crab;
And when she drinks, against her lips I bob
And on her wither’d dewlap pour the ale.                            50
The wisest aunt, telling the saddest tale,
Sometime for three-foot stool mistaketh me;
Then slip I from her bum, down topples she,
And ‘tailor’ cries, and falls into a cough;
And then the whole quire hold their hips and laugh;                 55
And waxen in their mirth, and neeze, and swear
A merrier hour was never wasted there.
But, room, fairy! here comes Oberon.

_Fai._ And here my mistress. Would that he were gone!

 _Enter, from one side_, OBERON, _with his train; from the other_,
 TITANIA, _with hers_.

_Obe._ Ill met by moonlight, proud Titania.                         60

_Tita._ What, jealous Oberon! Fairies, skip hence:
I have forsworn his bed and company.

_Obe._ Tarry, rash wanton: am not I thy lord?

_Tita._ Then I must be thy lady: but I know
When thou hast stolen away from fairy land,                         65
And in the shape of Corin sat all day,
Playing on pipes of corn, and versing love
To amorous Phillida. Why art thou here,
Come from the farthest steppe of India?
But that, forsooth, the bouncing Amazon,                            70
Your buskin’d mistress and your warrior love,
To Theseus must be wedded, and you come
To give their bed joy and prosperity.

_Obe._ How canst thou thus for shame, Titania,
Glance at my credit with Hippolyta,                                 75
Knowing I know thy love to Theseus?
Didst thou not lead him through the glimmering night
From Perigenia, whom he ravished?
And make him with fair Ægle break his faith,
With Ariadne and Antiopa?                                           80

_Tita._ These are the forgeries of jealousy:
And never, since the middle summer’s spring,
Met we on hill, in dale, forest, or mead,
By paved fountain or by rushy brook,
Or in the beached margent of the sea,                               85
To dance our ringlets to the whistling wind,
But with thy brawls thou hast disturb’d our sport.
Therefore the winds, piping to us in vain,
As in revenge, have suck’d up from the sea
Contagious fogs; which falling in the land,                         90
Have every pelting river made so proud,
That they have overborne their continents:
The ox hath therefore stretch’d his yoke in vain,
The ploughman lost his sweat; and the green corn
Hath rotted ere his youth attain’d a beard:                         95
The fold stands empty in the drowned field,
And crows are fatted with the murrion flock;
The nine men’s morris is fill’d up with mud;
And the quaint mazes in the wanton green,
For lack of tread, are undistinguishable:                          100
The human mortals want their winter here;
No night is now with hymn or carol blest:
Therefore the moon, the governess of floods,
Pale in her anger, washes all the air,
That rheumatic diseases do abound:                                 105
And thorough this distemperature we see
The seasons alter: hoary-headed frosts
Fall in the fresh lap of the crimson rose;
And on old Hiems’ thin and icy crown
An odorous chaplet of sweet summer buds                            110
Is, as in mockery, set: the spring, the summer,
The childing autumn, angry winter, change
Their wonted liveries; and the mazed world,
By their increase, now knows not which is which:
And this same progeny of evils comes                               115
From our debate, from our dissension;
We are their parents and original.

_Obe._ Do you amend it, then; it lies in you:
Why should Titania cross her Oberon?
I do but beg a little changeling boy,                              120
To be my henchman.

_Tita._            Set your heart at rest:
The fairy land buys not the child of me.
His mother was a votaress of my order:
And, in the spiced Indian air, by night,
Full often hath she gossip’d by my side;                           125
And sat with me on Neptune’s yellow sands,
Marking the embarked traders on the flood;
When we have laugh’d to see the sails conceive
And grow big-bellied with the wanton wind;
Which she, with pretty and with swimming gait                      130
Following,—her womb then rich with my young squire,—
Would imitate, and sail upon the land,
To fetch me trifles, and return again,
As from a voyage, rich with merchandise.
But she, being mortal, of that boy did die;                        135
And for her sake do I rear up her boy;
And for her sake I will not part with him.

_Obe._ How long within this wood intend you stay?

_Tita._ Perchance till after Theseus’ wedding-day.
If you will patiently dance in our round,                          140
And see our moonlight revels, go with us;
If not, shun me, and I will spare your haunts.

_Obe._ Give me that boy, and I will go with thee.

_Tita._ Not for thy fairy kingdom. Fairies, away!
We shall chide downright, if I longer stay.                        145

 [_Exit Titania with her train._

_Obe._ Well, go thy way: thou shalt not from this grove
Till I torment thee for this injury.
My gentle Puck, come hither. Thou rememberest
Since once I sat upon a promontory,
And heard a mermaid, on a dolphin’s back,                          150
Uttering such dulcet and harmonious breath,
That the rude sea grew civil at her song,
And certain stars shot madly from their spheres,
To hear the sea-maid’s music.

_Puck._                       I remember.

_Obe._ That very time I saw, but thou couldst not,                 155
Flying between the cold moon and the earth,
Cupid all arm’d: a certain aim he took
At a fair vestal throned by the west,
And loosed his love-shaft smartly from his bow,
As it should pierce a hundred thousand hearts:                     160
But I might see young Cupid’s fiery shaft
Quench’d in the chaste beams of the watery moon,
And the imperial votaress passed on,
In maiden meditation, fancy-free.
Yet mark’d I where the bolt of Cupid fell:                         165
It fell upon a little western flower,
Before milk-white, now purple with love’s wound,
And maidens call it love-in-idleness.
Fetch me that flower; the herb I shew’d thee once:
The juice of it on sleeping eye-lids laid                          170
Will make or man or woman madly dote
Upon the next live creature that it sees.
Fetch me this herb; and be thou here again
Ere the leviathan can swim a league.

_Puck._ I’ll put a girdle round about the earth                    175
In forty minutes.                               [_Exit._

_Obe._            Having once this juice,
I’ll watch Titania when she is asleep,
And drop the liquor of it in her eyes.
The next thing then she waking looks upon,
Be it on lion, bear, or wolf, or bull,                             180
On meddling monkey, or on busy ape,
She shall pursue it with the soul of love:
And ere I take this charm from off her sight,
As I can take it with another herb,
I’ll make her render up her page to me.                            185
But who comes here? I am invisible;
And I will overhear their conference.

 _Enter_ DEMETRIUS, HELENA _following him_.

_Dem._ I love thee not, therefore pursue me not.
Where is Lysander and fair Hermia?
The one I’ll slay, the other slayeth me.                           190
Thou told’st me they were stolen unto this wood;
And here am I, and wode within this wood,
Because I cannot meet my Hermia.
Hence, get thee gone, and follow me no more.

_Hel._ You draw me, you hard-hearted adamant;                      195
But yet you draw not iron, for my heart
Is true as steel: leave you your power to draw,
And I shall have no power to follow you.

_Dem._ Do I entice you? do I speak you fair?
Or, rather, do I not in plainest truth                             200
Tell you, I do not nor I cannot love you?

_Hel._ And even for that do I love you the more.
I am your spaniel; and, Demetrius,
The more you beat me, I will fawn on you:
Use me but as your spaniel, spurn me, strike me,                   205
Neglect me, lose me; only give me leave,
Unworthy as I am, to follow you.
What worser place can I beg in your love,—
And yet a place of high respect with me,—
Than to be used as you use your dog?                               210

_Dem._ Tempt not too much the hatred of my spirit;
For I am sick when I do look on thee.

_Hel._ And I am sick when I look not on you.

_Dem._ You do impeach your modesty too much,
To leave the city, and commit yourself                             215
Into the hands of one that loves you not;
To trust the opportunity of night
And the ill counsel of a desert place
With the rich worth of your virginity.

_Hel._ Your virtue is my privilege: for that                       220
It is not night when I do see your face,
Therefore I think I am not in the night;
Nor doth this wood lack worlds of company,
For you in my respect are all the world:
Then how can it be said I am alone,                                225
When all the world is here to look on me?

_Dem._ I’ll run from thee and hide me in the brakes,
And leave thee to the mercy of wild beasts.

_Hel._ The wildest hath not such a heart as you.
Run when you will, the story shall be changed:                     230
Apollo flies, and Daphne holds the chase;
The dove pursues the griffin; the mild hind
Makes speed to catch the tiger; bootless speed,
When cowardice pursues, and valour flies.

_Dem._ I will not stay thy questions; let me go:                   235
Or, if thou follow me, do not believe
But I shall do thee mischief in the wood.

_Hel._ Ay, in the temple, in the town, the field,
You do me mischief. Fie, Demetrius!
Your wrongs do set a scandal on my sex:                            240
We cannot fight for love, as men may do;
We should be woo’d, and were not made to woo.      [_Exit Dem._
I’ll follow thee, and make a heaven of hell,
To die upon the hand I love so well.              [_Exit._

_Obe._ Fare thee well, nymph: ere he do leave this grove,          245
Thou shalt fly him, and he shall seek thy love.

 _Re-enter_ PUCK.

Hast thou the flower there? Welcome, wanderer.

_Puck._ Ay, there it is.

_Obe._                   I pray thee, give it me.
I know a bank where the wild thyme blows,
Where oxlips and the nodding violet grows;                         250
Quite over-canopied with luscious woodbine,
With sweet musk-roses, and with eglantine:
There sleeps Titania sometime of the night,
Lull’d in these flowers with dances and delight;
And there the snake throws her enamell’d skin,                     255
Weed wide enough to wrap a fairy in:
And with the juice of this I’ll streak her eyes,
And make her full of hateful fantasies.
Take thou some of it, and seek through this grove:
A sweet Athenian lady is in love                                   260
With a disdainful youth: anoint his eyes;
But do it when the next thing he espies
May be the lady: thou shalt know the man
By the Athenian garments he hath on.
Effect it with some care that he may prove                         265
More fond on her than she upon her love:
And look thou meet me ere the first cock crow.

_Puck._ Fear not, my lord, your servant shall do so.

 [_Exeunt._


~~~~~
 Linenotes: _A Midsummer-Night’s Dream_, II, 1.

 [_Scene i._ Enter...] Enter a Fairie at one doore, and Robin
 goodfellow at another. Qq Ff.

 3, 5: _Thorough...thorough, Thorough...thorough_] Q1.
 _Through...through, Through...through_ Q2 Ff.

 7: _moon’s sphere_] _moony sphere_ Grant White (Steevens conj.).

 9: _orbs_] _herbs_ Grey conj.

 10: _tall_] _all_ Collier MS.

 11: _coats_] _cups_ Collier MS.

 14: _here_] _here and there_ Capell.

 30: _square_] _jar_ Peck conj. _sparre_ Id. conj.

 32: _Either_] _Or_ Pope.

 33: _sprite_] Q1. _spirit_ Q2 Ff.

 34: _not you_] Q1. _you not_ Q2 Ff.

 35: _frights_] _fright_ F3 F4.

     _villagery_] _villageree_ Q1. _villagree_ Q2 F1 F2 F3.
     _vilagree_ F4.

 36–39. _Skim...labour...make...make...Mislead_] Qq Ff.
 _Skims...labours...makes...makes...Misleads_ Collier.

 42: _Thou_] _I am—thou_ Johnson. _Fairy, thou_ Collier (Collier
 MS.).

     _speak’st_] _speakest_ Q1. _speakest me_ Capell.

 46: _filly_] Q1. _silly_ Q2 Ff.

 50: _dewlap_] Rowe (ed. 2). _dewlop_ Qq Ff.

 54: _tailor_] _rails or_ Capell. _tail-sore_ Anon. ap. Capell conj.

 54, 55: _cough...laugh_] _coffe...loffe_ Qq Ff.

 56: _waxen_] _yexen_ Singer (Farmer conj.).

 58: _room_] _make room_ Pope.

     _fairy_] _faëry_ Johnson conj.

     _room, fairy! here_] _fairy, room, for here_ Seymour conj.

 59: _he_] Qq F1. _we_ F2 F3 F4.

 60: SCENE II. Pope.

     Enter...] Enter the King of Fairies at one door with his
     traine, and the Queen at another with hers. Qq Ff.

 61: _Fairies, skip_] Theobald. _Fairy, skip_ Qq Ff. _Fairies, keep_
 Harness conj. _Fairies, trip_ Dyce conj.

 65: _hast_] Qq. _wast_ Ff.

 69: _steppe_] Q1. _steepe_ Q2 Ff.

 77: _through the glimmering_] _glimmering through the_ Warburton.

 78: _Perigenia_] _Perigune_ Theobald. _Perigyne_ Hanmer. _Perigouna_
 Grant White (North’s Plutarch).

 79: _Ægle_] Rowe. _Eagles_ Qq Ff.

 80: _Antiopa_] _Atiopa_ F1.

 82: _the_] _that_ Hanmer (Warburton).

 85: _in_] _on_ Pope.

     _pelting_] Qq. _petty_ Ff.

 91: _Have_] Rowe (ed. 2). _Hath_ Qq Ff.

 95: _his_] _its_ Pope.

 97: _murrion_] _murrain_ Warburton.

 99: _in_] _on_ Collier MS.

 101: _want...here;_] _want;...here,_ Knight (Anon. conj.).
 _chant,—...here;_ Grant White conj.

     _winter here_] F3 F4. _winter heere_ Qq F1 F2. _winter
     chear_ Theobald conj. (withdrawn). _winters heryed_ Warburton.
     _wonted year_ Johnson conj. _winter gere Brae_ conj.

 101–114: Johnson proposes to arrange in the following order: 101,
 107–114, 102–104, 106, 105.

 106: _thorough_] Q1 F2 F3. _through_ Q2 F1 F4.

 107: _hoary_] Q1 F3 F4. _hoared_ Q2 F1 F2.

 109: _thin_] Halliwell (Tyrwhitt conj.). _chinne_ Qq F1 F2. _chin_
 F3 F4. _chill_ Grey conj.

 112: _childing_] _chiding_ Pope.

 113: _mazed_] _amazed_ Rowe.

 114: _increase_] _inverse_ Hanmer. _inchase_ Warburton.

 115: _evils comes_] F2 F3. _evils, Comes_ Qq F1. _evil comes_ F4.

 122: _The fairy_] _Thy fairy_ Collier MS.

 123: _votaress_] _votresse_ Qq Ff.

 127: _on_] Qq F1 F2. _of_ F3 F4.

 131: _Following,—her...squire,—_] _Following (her womb...squire)_
 Qq Ff. (_Following...squire_) Steevens (Kenrick conj.). _Follying
 (her...squire)_ Theobald (Warburton). _Her fellowing womb..._ Becket
 conj.

     _rich_] _ripe_ Collier MS.

 136: _do I_] Q1. _I do_ Q2 Ff.

 144: _fairy_] om. Steevens (Farmer conj.).

     _Fairies_] _Elves_ Pope.

 149: _once_] Qq F1. om. F2 F3 F4. _that_ Rowe.

 155: _saw_] Q1. _say_ Q2 Ff.

 157: _all arm’d_] _alarm’d_ Theobald (Warburton).

 158: _the_] Ff. om. Qq.

 160: _should_] _would_ F4.

 162: _Quench’d_] _Quench_ F3 F4.

 163: _votaress_] _votresse_ Qq Ff.

 172: _it sees_] _is seen_ Collier MS.

 175: _I’ll_] _I’d_ Collier MS.

     _round_] Q1. om. Q2 Ff.

 177: _when_] _whence_ Q2.

 179: _then_] Q1. _when_ Q2 Ff. _which_ Rowe.

 181: _on meddling_] _or meddling_ Rowe.

 183: _from off_] _from of_ Q1 _off from_ Q2 Ff.

 188: SCENE III. Pope.

 190: _slay......slayeth_] Theobald (Thirlby conj.). _stay...stayeth_
 Qq Ff.

 191: _unto_] Qq. _into_ Ff.

 192: _wode...wood_] Hanmer. _wodde...wood_ Q1. _wood...wood_ Q2 Ff.

 197: _you_] om. F3 F4.

 201: _nor_] Ff. _not_ Qq. _and_ Pope.

 202: _you_] Q1. _thee_ Q2 Ff.

 206: _lose_] _loathe_ Anon. ap. Halliwell conj.

 208: _can_] _can can_ F2.

 210: _use_] Qq. _do_ Ff. _do use_ Reed.

 220, 221: _privilege: for that It is_] Qq Ff. _privilege for that.
 It is_ Malone (Tyrwhitt conj.).

 235: _questions_] _question_ Steevens conj.

 238: _the field_] Q1. _and field_ Q2 Ff.

 242: [Exit Dem.] om. Qq Ff. Demetrius breaks from her and exit.
 Capell.

 243: _I’ll_] _Ile_ Qq. _I_ Ff.

 244: [Exit] Q2 Ff. om. Q1.

 245: SCENE IV. Pope.

 246: Re-enter Puck] Enter Pucke. Qq Ff (after line 247).

 247: _Hast thou...wanderer_] _Welcome wanderer; hast thou the flower
 there_] Jackson conj.

 249: _where_] _whereon_ Pope.

 250: _oxlips_] Q1. _oxslips_ Q2 Ff. _the oxslips_ Rowe. _oxslip_
 Pope. _oxlip_ Theobald.

     _oxlips...violets_] _violets...ox-lip_ Keightley conj.

 251: _Quite_] om. Pope.

     _over-canopied_] _overcanopi’d_ Q1. _overcanoped_ Q2.
     _over-cannoped_ Ff. _O’er cannopy’d_ Pope.

     _luscious_] Ff. _lushious_ Qq. _lush_ Steevens (Theobald conj.).

 253–256: Keightley proposes to arrange, 255, 256, 253, 254, and
 would insert a line after 254, e.g. ‘_Upon her will I steal there as
 she lies_’.

 253: _sometime_] _some time_ Rowe.

 254: _flowers_] _bowers_ Grant White (Collier MS.).

     _with_] _from_ Hanmer.

 256: _wrap_] F2 F3 F4. _wrappe_ Q1. _rap_ Q2 F1.

 257: _And_] _There_ Hanmer.

 266: _fond on_] _fond of_ Rowe.

 268: [Exeunt.] Qq. [Exit. Ff.
~~~~~


SCENE II. _Another part of the wood._

 _Enter_ TITANIA, _with her train_.

_Tita._ Come, now a roundel and a fairy song;
Then, for the third part of a minute, hence;
Some to kill cankers in the musk-rose buds;
Some war with rere-mice for their leathern wings,
To make my small elves coats; and some keep back                     5
The clamorous owl, that nightly hoots and wonders
At our quaint spirits. Sing me now asleep;
Then to your offices, and let me rest.

SONG.

_Fir. Fairy._  You spotted snakes with double tongue.
  Thorny hedgehogs, be not seen;                                    10
Newts and blind-worms, do no wrong,
  Come not near our fairy queen.

CHORUS.

      Philomel, with melody
      Sing in our sweet lullaby;
Lulla, lulla, lullaby, lulla, lulla, lullaby:                       15
            Never harm,
            Nor spell, nor charm,
      Come our lovely lady nigh;
      So, good night, with lullaby.

_Fir. Fairy._  Weaving spiders, come not here;                      20
  Hence, you long-legg’d spinners, hence!
Beetles black, approach not near;
  Worm nor snail, do no offence.

CHORUS.

Philomel, with melody, &c.

_Sec. Fairy._ Hence, away! now all is well:                         25
One aloof stand sentinel.

 [_Exeunt Fairies. Titania sleeps._

 _Enter_  OBERON, _and squeezes the flower on Titania’s eyelids_.

_Obe._ What thou seest when thou dost wake,
Do it for thy true-love take;
Love and languish for his sake:
Be it ounce, or cat, or bear,                                       30
Pard, or boar with bristled hair,
In thy eye that shall appear
When thou wakest, it is thy dear:
Wake when some vile thing is near.      [_Exit._

 _Enter_ LYSANDER _and_ HERMIA.

_Lys._ Fair love, you faint with wandering in the wood;             35
    And to speak troth, I have forgot our way:
We’ll rest us, Hermia, if you think it good,
    And tarry for the comfort of the day.

_Her._ Be it so, Lysander: find you out a bed;
For I upon this bank will rest my head.                             40

_Lys._ One turf shall serve as pillow for us both;
One heart, one bed, two bosoms, and one troth.

_Her._ Nay, good Lysander; for my sake, my dear,
Lie further off yet, do not lie so near.

_Lys._ O, take the sense, sweet, of my innocence!                   45
Love takes the meaning in love’s conference.
I mean, that my heart unto yours is knit,
So that but one heart we can make of it:
Two bosoms interchained with an oath;
So then two bosoms and a single troth.                              50
Then by your side no bed-room me deny;
For lying so, Hermia, I do not lie.

_Her._ Lysander riddles very prettily:
Now much beshrew my manners and my pride,
If Hermia meant to say Lysander lied.                               55
But, gentle friend, for love and courtesy
Lie further off; in human modesty,
Such separation as may well be said
Becomes a virtuous bachelor and a maid,
So far be distant; and, good night, sweet friend:                   60
Thy love ne’er alter till thy sweet life end!

_Lys._ Amen, amen, to that fair prayer, say I;
And then end life when I end loyalty!
Here is my bed: sleep give thee all his rest!

_Her._ With half that wish the wisher’s eyes be press’d!            65

 [_They sleep._

 _Enter_ PUCK.

_Puck._ Through the forest have I gone,
But Athenian found I none,
On whose eyes I might approve
This flower’s force in stirring love.
Night and silence.—Who is here?                                     70
Weeds of Athens he doth wear:
This is he, my master said,
Despised the Athenian maid;
And here the maiden, sleeping sound,
On the dank and dirty ground.                                       75
Pretty soul! she durst not lie
Near this lack-love, this kill-courtesy.
Churl, upon thy eyes I throw
All the power this charm doth owe.
When thou wakest, let love forbid                                   80
Sleep his seat on thy eyelid:
So awake when I am gone;
For I must now to Oberon.      [_Exit._

 _Enter_ DEMETRIUS _and_ HELENA, _running_.

_Hel._ Stay, though thou kill me, sweet Demetrius.

_Dem._ I charge thee, hence, and do not haunt me thus.              85

_Hel._ O, wilt thou darkling leave me? do not so.

_Dem._ Stay, on thy peril: I alone will go.       [_Exit._

_Hel._ O, I am out of breath in this fond chase!
The more my prayer, the lesser is my grace.
Happy is Hermia, wheresoe’er she lies;                              90
For she hath blessed and attractive eyes.
How came her eyes so bright? Not with salt tears:
If so, my eyes are oftener wash’d than hers.
No, no, I am as ugly as a bear;
For beasts that meet me run away for fear:                          95
Therefore no marvel though Demetrius
Do, as a monster, fly my presence thus.
What wicked and dissembling glass of mine
Made me compare with Hermia’s sphery eyne?
But who is here? Lysander! on the ground!                          100
Dead? or asleep? I see no blood, no wound.
Lysander, if you live, good sir, awake.

_Lys._ [_Awaking_] And run through fire I will for thy sweet sake.
Transparent Helena! Nature shows art,
That through thy bosom makes me see thy heart.                     105
Where is Demetrius? O, how fit a word
Is that vile name to perish on my sword!

_Hel._ Do not say so, Lysander; say not so.
What though he love your Hermia? Lord, what though?
Yet Hermia still loves you: then be content.                       110

_Lys._ Content with Hermia! No; I do repent
The tedious minutes I with her have spent.
Not Hermia but Helena I love:
Who will not change a raven for a dove?
The will of man is by his reason sway’d;                           115
And reason says you are the worthier maid.
Things growing are not ripe until their season:
So I, being young, till now ripe not to reason;
And touching now the point of human skill,
Reason becomes the marshal to my will,                             120
And leads me to your eyes; where I o’erlook
Love’s stories, written in love’s richest book.

_Hel._ Wherefore was I to this keen mockery born?
When at your hands did I deserve this scorn?
Is’t not enough, is’t not enough, young man,                       125
That I did never, no, nor never can,
Deserve a sweet look from Demetrius’ eye,
But you must flout my insufficiency?
Good troth, you do me wrong, good sooth, you do,
In such disdainful manner me to woo.                               130
But fare you well: perforce I must confess
I thought you lord of more true gentleness.
O, that a lady, of one man refused,
Should of another therefore be abused!          [_Exit._

_Lys._ She sees not Hermia. Hermia, sleep thou there:              135
And never mayst thou come Lysander near!
For as a surfeit of the sweetest things
The deepest loathing to the stomach brings,
Or as the heresies that men do leave
Are hated most of those they did deceive,                          140
So thou, my surfeit and my heresy,
Of all be hated, but the most of me!
And, all my powers, address your love and might
To honour Helen and to be her knight!           [_Exit._

_Her._ [_Awaking_] Help me, Lysander, help me! do thy best         145
To pluck this crawling serpent from my breast!
Ay me, for pity! what a dream was here!
Lysander, look how I do quake with fear:
Methought a serpent eat my heart away,
And you sat smiling at his cruel prey.                             150
Lysander! what, removed? Lysander! lord!
What, out of hearing? gone? no sound, no word?
Alack, where are you? speak, an if you hear;
Speak, of all loves! I swoon almost with fear.
No? then I well perceive you are not nigh:                         155
Either death or you I’ll find immediately.       [_Exit._


~~~~~
 Linenotes: _A Midsummer-Night’s Dream_, II, 2.

 SCENE II.] Capell. SCENE V. Pope. SCENE III. Steevens.

 2: _for_] _’fore_ Theobald. _in_ Heath conj.

     _a minute_] _the midnight_ Warburton.

 7: _spirits_] _sports_ Hanmer (Warburton).

 9: Fir. Fairy.] Capell. Fairies sing. Qq Ff.

 13, 24: CHORUS.] Capell. om. Qq Ff.

 14: _in our_] Qq. _in your_ Ff. _now your_ Collier MS.

 20: Fir. Fairy.] 1. Fai. Q1. 1. Fairy. Q2. _2. Fairy_ Ff.

 21: _spinners_] Q1 Ff. _spinders_ Q2.

 25: Sec. Fairy.] 2. Fai. Qq. 1. Fairy. Ff.

 26: [Exeunt Fairies.] Rowe. om. Qq Ff.

     Titania sleeps.] Shee sleepes. F1. om. Qq.

     Enter...eyelids.] Capell. Enter Oberon. Qq Ff.

 32: _that_] _what_ Pope.

 34: [Exit.] Rowe. om. Qq Ff.

 35: SCENE VI. Pope.

     _wood_] Q1. _woods_ Q2 Ff.

 38: _comfort_] _comfor_ Q1.

 39: _Be it_] Q2 Ff _Bet it_ Q1. _Be ’t_ Pope.

 45, 46: _innocence!...conference_] _conference!...innocence_
 Warburton.

 46: _takes_] _take_ Tyrwhitt conj.

     _conference_] _confidence_ Collier MS.

 47: _is_] _it_ Q1.

 48: _we can_] Qq. _can you_ Ff. _can we_ Capell.

 49: _interchained_] Qq. _interchanged_ Ff.

 57, 119: _human_] F4. _humane_ Qq F1 F2 F3.

 65: [They sleep.] Ff. om. Qq.

 67: _found_] Q1. _find_ Q2 Ff.

 77: _Near this lack-love, this kill-courtesy_] _Near to this
 lack-love, this kill-curtesie_ Pope. _Near to this kill-courtesie_
 Theobald. _Near to this lack-love kill-curtesie_ Warburton. _Near
 this lack-love, kill-courtesy_ Steevens. _Nearer this lack-love,
 this kill-courtesy_ S. Walker conj.

 84: SCENE VII. Pope.

     _Stay_] Qq F1. _Say_ F2 F3 F4.

 87: [Exit.] Exit Demetrius. Ff. om. Qq.

 96: _marvel_] _mavaile_ F2.

 100: _Lysander!_ Capell. _Lysander_ Qq Ff.

 104: _Helena_] _Helen_ Pope.

     _Nature shows_] _Nature shewes_ Qq. _Nature her shewes_ F1.
     _Nature here shews_ F2 F3 F4. _Nature shews her_ Singer
     (Malone conj.).

 105: _thy heart_] _my heart_ S. Walker conj.

 106: _is_] Qq F1. om. F2 F3 F4.

 113: _I love_] Q1. _now I love_ Q2 Ff.

 118: _ripe not_] _not ripe_ Rowe (ed. 2).

 122: _Love’s stories_] _Love-stories_ S. Walker conj.

 127: _Demetrius’_] Rowe (ed. 2). _Demetrius_ Qq Ff. _Demetrius’s_
 Rowe (ed. 1).

 138: _the stomach_] Qq F1. _a stomach_ F2 F3 F4.

 140: _they_] Qq. _that_ Ff.

 143: _your_] _their_ Collier MS.

 147: _Ay me_] _Ah me_ Capell.

 150: _you_] Qq. _yet_ Ff.

 154: _swoon_] _swoune_ Q1. _swound_ Q2 F2 F3 F4. _sound_ F1.

 156: _Either_] _Or_ Pope.
~~~~~




ACT III.

SCENE I.  _The wood. Titania lying asleep._

 _Enter_ QUINCE, SNUG, BOTTOM, FLUTE, SNOUT, _and_
 STARVELING.

_Bot._ Are we all met?

_Quin._ Pat, pat; and here’s a marvellous convenient
place for our rehearsal. This green plot shall be our stage,
this hawthorn-brake our tiring-house; and we will do it in
action as we will do it before the duke.                             5

_Bot._ Peter Quince,—

_Quin._ What sayest thou, bully Bottom?

_Bot._ There are things in this comedy of Pyramus and
Thisby that will never please. First, Pyramus must draw
a sword to kill himself; which the ladies cannot abide.             10
How answer you that?

_Snout._ By’r lakin, a parlous fear.

_Star._ I believe we must leave the killing out, when all
is done.

_Bot._ Not a whit: I have a device to make all well.                15
Write me a prologue; and let the prologue seem to say, we
will do no harm with our swords, and that Pyramus is not
killed indeed; and, for the more better assurance, tell them
that I Pyramus am not Pyramus, but Bottom the weaver:
this will put them out of fear.                                     20

_Quin._ Well, we will have such a prologue; and it shall
be written in eight and six.

_Bot._ No, make it two more; let it be written in eight
and eight.

_Snout._ Will not the ladies be afeard of the lion?                 25

_Star._ I fear it, I promise you.

_Bot._ Masters, you ought to consider with yourselves:
to bring in,—God shield us!—a lion among ladies, is a
most dreadful thing; for there is not a more fearful wild-fowl
than your lion living; and we ought to look to ’t.                  30

_Snout._ Therefore another prologue must tell he is not
a lion.

_Bot._ Nay, you must name his name, and half his face
must be seen through the lion’s neck; and he himself must
speak through, saying thus, or to the same defect,—‘Ladies,’        35
—or, ‘Fair ladies,—I would wish you,’—or, ‘I would
request you,’—or, ‘I would entreat you,—not to fear, not
to tremble: my life for yours. If you think I come hither
as a lion, it were pity of my life: no, I am no such thing; I
am a man as other men are:’ and there indeed let him                40
name his name, and tell them plainly, he is Snug the joiner.

_Quin._ Well, it shall be so. But there is two hard
things; that is, to bring the moonlight into a chamber;
for, you know, Pyramus and Thisby meet by moonlight.

_Snout._ Doth the moon shine that night we play our play?           45

_Bot._ A calendar, a calendar! look in the almanac; find
out moonshine, find out moonshine.

_Quin._ Yes, it doth shine that night.

_Bot._ Why, then may you leave a casement of the great
chamber window, where we play, open, and the moon may               50
shine in at the casement.

_Quin._ Ay; or else one must come in with a bush of
thorns and a lantern, and say he comes to disfigure, or to
present, the person of moonshine. Then, there is another
thing: we must have a wall in the great chamber; for                55
Pyramus and Thisby, says the story, did talk through the
chink of a wall.

_Snout._ You can never bring in a wall. What say
you, Bottom?

_Bot._ Some man or other must present wall: and let him             60
have some plaster, or some loam, or some rough-cast about
him, to signify wall; and let him hold his fingers thus, and
through that cranny shall Pyramus and Thisby whisper.

_Quin._ If that may be, then all is well. Come, sit
down, every mother’s son, and rehearse your parts. Pyramus,         65
you begin: when you have spoken your speech, enter
into that brake: and so every one according to his cue.

 _Enter_ PUCK _behind_.

_Puck._ What hempen home-spuns have we swaggering here,
So near the cradle of the fairy queen?
What, a play toward! I’ll be an auditor;                            70
An actor too perhaps, if I see cause.

_Quin._ Speak, Pyramus. Thisby, stand forth.

_Bot._ Thisby, the flowers of odious savours sweet,—

_Quin._ Odours, odours.

_Bot._ —— odours savours sweet:                                     75
So hath thy breath, my dearest Thisby dear.
But hark, a voice! stay thou but here awhile,
And by and by I will to thee appear.      [_Exit._

_Puck._ A stranger Pyramus than e’er play’d here.       [_Exit._

_Flu._ Must I speak now?                                            80

_Quin._ Ay, marry, must you; for you must understand he
goes but to see a noise that he heard, and is to come again.

_Flu._ Most radiant Pyramus, most lily-white of hue,
  Of colour like the red rose on triumphant brier,
Most brisky juvenal, and eke most lovely Jew,                       85
  As true as truest horse, that yet would never tire,
I’ll meet thee, Pyramus, at Ninny’s tomb.

_Quin._ ‘Ninus’ tomb,’ man: why, you must not speak
that yet; that you answer to Pyramus: you speak all your
part at once, cues and all. Pyramus enter: your cue is              90
past; it is, ‘never tire.’

_Flu._ O,—As true as truest horse, that yet would never tire.

 _Re-enter_ PUCK, _and_ BOTTOM _with an ass’s head_.

_Bot._ If I were fair, Thisby, I were only thine.

_Quin._ O monstrous! O strange! we are haunted. Pray,
masters! fly, masters! Help!                                        95

 [_Exeunt Quince, Snug, Flute, Snout, and Starveling._

_Puck._ I’ll follow you, I’ll lead you about a round,
Through bog, through bush, through brake, through brier:
Sometime a horse I’ll be, sometime a hound,
A hog, a headless bear, sometime a fire;
And neigh, and bark, and grunt, and roar, and burn,                100
Like horse, hound, hog, bear, fire, at every turn.       [_Exit._

_Bot._ Why do they run away? this is a knavery of
them to make me afeard.

 _Re-enter_ SNOUT.

_Snout._ O Bottom, thou art changed! what do I see on
thee?                                                              105

_Bot._ What do you see? you see an ass-head of your
own, do you?                                    [_Exit Snout._

 _Re-enter_ QUINCE.

_Quin._ Bless thee, Bottom! bless thee! thou art
translated.                                     [_Exit._

_Bot._ I see their knavery: this is to make an ass of me;          110
to fright me, if they could. But I will not stir from this
place, do what they can: I will walk up and down here, and
I will sing, that they shall hear I am not afraid.       [_Sings._

The ousel cock so black of hue,
  With orange-tawny bill,                                          115
The throstle with his note so true,
  The wren with little quill;

_Tita._ [_Awaking_] What angel wakes me from my flowery bed?

_Bot._ [_Sings_

The finch, the sparrow, and the lark,
  The plain-song cuckoo gray,                                      120
Whose note full many a man doth mark,
  And dares not answer nay;—

for, indeed, who would set his wit to so foolish a bird? who
would give a bird the lie, though he cry ‘cuckoo’ never so?

_Tita._ I pray thee, gentle mortal, sing again:                    125
Mine ear is much enamour’d of thy note;
So is mine eye enthralled to thy shape;
And thy fair virtue’s force perforce doth move me
On the first view to say, to swear, I love thee.

_Bot._ Methinks, mistress, you should have little reason           130
for that: and yet, to say the truth, reason and love keep
little company together now-a-days; the more the pity,
that some honest neighbours will not make them friends.
Nay, I can gleek upon occasion.

_Tita._ Thou art as wise as thou art beautiful.                    135

_Bot._ Not so, neither: but if I had wit enough to get
out of this wood, I have enough to serve mine own turn.

_Tita._ Out of this wood do not desire to go:
Thou shalt remain here, whether thou wilt or no.
I am a spirit of no common rate:                                   140
The summer still doth tend upon my state;
And I do love thee: therefore, go with me;
I’ll give thee fairies to attend on thee;
And they shall fetch thee jewels from the deep,
And sing, while thou on pressed flowers dost sleep:                145
And I will purge thy mortal grossness so,
That thou shalt like an airy spirit go.
Peaseblossom! Cobweb! Moth! and Mustardseed!

 _Enter_ PEASEBLOSSOM, COBWEB, MOTH, _and_ MUSTARDSEED.

_First Fai._ Ready.

_Sec. Fai._         And I.

_Third Fai._               And I.

_Fourth Fai._                     And I.

_All._                                   Where shall we go?

_Tita._ Be kind and courteous to this gentleman;                   150
Hop in his walks, and gambol in his eyes;
Feed him with apricocks and dewberries,
With purple grapes, green figs, and mulberries;
The honey-bags steal from the humble-bees,
And for night-tapers crop their waxen thighs,                      155
And light them at the fiery glow-worm’s eyes,
To have my love to bed and to arise;
And pluck the wings from painted butterflies
To fan the moonbeams from his sleeping eyes:
Nod to him, elves, and do him courtesies.                          160

_First Fai._ Hail, mortal!

_Sec. Fai._ Hail!

_Third Fai._ Hail!

_Fourth Fai._ Hail!

_Bot._ I cry your worships mercy, heartily: I beseech              165
your worship’s name.

_Cob._ Cobweb.

_Bot._ I shall desire you of more acquaintance, good
Master Cobweb: if I cut my finger, I shall make bold with
you. Your name, honest gentleman?                                  170

_Peas._ Peaseblossom.

_Bot._ I pray you, commend me to Mistress Squash,
your mother, and to Master Peascod, your father. Good
Master Peaseblossom, I shall desire you of more acquaintance
too. Your name, I beseech you, sir?                                175

_Mus._ Mustardseed.

_Bot._ Good Master Mustardseed, I know your patience
well: that same cowardly, giant-like ox-beef hath devoured
many a gentleman of your house: I promise you
your kindred hath made my eyes water ere now. I desire             180
your more acquaintance, good Master Mustardseed.

_Tita._ Come, wait upon him; lead him to my bower.
  The moon methinks looks with a watery eye;
And when she weeps, weeps every little flower,
  Lamenting some enforced chastity.                                185
  Tie up my love’s tongue, bring him silently.       [_Exeunt._


~~~~~
 Linenotes: _A Midsummer-Night’s Dream_, III, 1.

 SCENE I. Titania lying asleep.] om. Qq Ff.

 Enter...] Enter the Clowns. Qq Ff.

 2: _Pat, pat_] Qq F1. _Par, pat_ F2 F3 F4.

     _marvellous_] _marvailes_ Q1. _marvels_ Capell. See note
     (II).

 12: _By’r lakin_] _Berlakin_ Q1. _Berlaken_ Q2 Ff.

 15: _device_] _devise_ Q1.

 18: _the more better_] _the better_ Rowe (ed. 2). _more better_ Pope.

 23, 24: _eight and eight_] _eighty eight_ Anon. ap. Halliwell conj.
 MS.

 25: _afeard_] _afraid_ Rowe (ed. 2).

 27: _yourselves_] Ff. _your selfe_ Qq.

 30: _to ’t_] _toote_ Q1. _to it_ Q2 Ff.

 35: _defect_] _deffect_ Q2.

 41: _them_] Qq. _him_ Ff.

 45: Snout.] Sn. Qq F1. Snug. F2 F3 F4.

 47: Enter Pucke. Ff.

 49: Bot.] Cet. Q1.

 49, 50: _great chamber window_] _great-chamber_ Anon. conj.

 58: Snout.] Sno. Q1. Sn. Q2 F1. Snu. F2. Snug. F3 F4.

 61: _loam_] _lime_ Collier MS.

 62: _and_] Delius (Collier MS.). _or_ Qq Ff.

 68: SCENE II. Pope.

     Enter Puck behind.] Enter Robin. Qq Ff.

 71: _too perhaps_] _to perhappes_ Q1.

 73, 75, 93: Bot.] Pir. Qq Ff.

 73: _flowers_] _flower_ Pope.

     _of_] _have_ Collier (Collier MS.).

     _savours_] _savour’s_ Rowe.

 74: _Odours, odours_] Ff. _Odours, odorous_ Qq.

 76: _hath_] _that_ Rowe (ed. 1). _doth_ Rowe (ed. 2).

     Malone supposes two lines to be lost here.

 77: _awhile_] _a whit_ Theobald.

 79: Puck.] Ff. Quin. Qq.

     [Exit.] Capell.

 80, 83, 92: Flu.] This. Qq Ff.

 81, 88, 94: Quin.] Pet. Qq Ff.

 85: _juvenal_] _juvenile_ Rowe (ed. 2).

 92: Re-enter...head.] Capell. om. Qq Ff.

 93: _were fair, Thisby_] _were, fair Thisby_ Collier (Malone conj.).

 95: [Exeunt......] om. Qq. The Clownes all Exit. F1. The Clowns all
 Exeunt. F2 F3 F4.

 96: _about_] _’bout_ S. Walker conj.

 97: _Through bog,_] _Through bog, through mire_ Johnson conj.
 _Through bog, through burn_ Ritson conj.

 99: _headless_] _heedless_ Delius conj.

 101: Enter Piramus with the Asse head. Ff. om. Qq.

 104, 105: _see on thee?_] _see on thee? an ass’s head?_ Johnson conj.

 113: _I will_] _will_ F3 F4.

 114: _ousel_] _woosel_ Qq Ff.

 117: _with little_] Qq. _and little_ Ff.

 127–129: As in Q1. In Q2 Ff line 129, _On the first view_, &c.
 precedes 127, _So is mine eye..._

 130: _mistress_] _mistresse_ Qq F1. _maistresse_ F2 F3.
 _maistress_ F4.

 145: _dost_] _doth_ F3 F4.

 148: _Peaseblossom...Mustardseed!_] Qq. Enter
 Pease-blossom...Mustardseede and foure fairies. Ff (as a stage
 direction).

     _Moth_] _Mote_ Grant White.

 149: SCENE III. Pope.

     Enter...] Enter foure Fairyes. Q1 (Fairies) Q2.

     First Fai. _Ready..._ All. _Where shall we go?_] Capell.
     Fairies. _Ready; and I, and I, and I. Where shall we go?_ Qq
     Ff. 1. Fai. _Ready._ 2. Fai. _And I._ 3. Fai. _And I._ 4. Fai.
     _Where shall we go?_ Steevens (Farmer conj.).

 154: _The honey-bags_] _Their honey-bags_ Collier MS.

 161–164: First Fai. _Hail, mortal..._ Fourth Fai. _Hail!_] Capell.
 1. Fai. _Haile, mortall, haile._ 2. Fai. _Haile._ 3: Fai. _Haile_ Qq
 Ff.

 168: _you of_] Qq Ff. _of you_ Rowe.

 174: _you of_] Qq. _of you_ Ff.

 176: After this line F1 inserts Peas. Pease-blossome (in italics):
 omitted in F2 F3 F4.

 177: _your patience_] _your parentage_ Hanmer. _your passions_
 Farmer conj. _you passing_ Mason conj.

 180: _hath_] _have_ Capell conj.

 181: _your more_] F3 F4. _you more_ Qq F1 F2. _more of your_
 Rowe. _you, more_ Capell. _you of more_ Collier MS.

 184: _weeps, weeps_] Q1. _weepes, weepe_ Q2 Ff.

 186: _love’s_] Pope. _lovers_ Qq Ff.

     _love’s tongue,_] _lover’s tongue and_ Collier MS.
~~~~~


SCENE II. _Another part of the wood._

 _Enter_ OBERON.

_Obe._ I wonder if Titania be awaked;
Then, what it was that next came in her eye,
Which she must dote on in extremity.

 _Enter_ PUCK.

Here comes my messenger.
                         How now, mad spirit!
What night-rule now about this haunted grove?                        5

_Puck._ My mistress with a monster is in love.
Near to her close and consecrated bower,
While she was in her dull and sleeping hour,
A crew of patches, rude mechanicals,
That work for bread upon Athenian stalls,                           10
Were met together to rehearse a play,
Intended for great Theseus’ nuptial-day.
The shallowest thick-skin of that barren sort,
Who Pyramus presented, in their sport
Forsook his scene, and enter’d in a brake:                          15
When I did him at this advantage take,
An ass’s nole I fixed on his head:
Anon his Thisbe must be answered,
And forth my mimic comes. When they him spy,
As wild geese that the creeping fowler eye,                         20
Or russet-pated choughs, many in sort,
Rising and cawing at the gun’s report,
Sever themselves and madly sweep the sky,
So, at his sight, away his fellows fly;
And, at our stamp, here o’er and o’er one falls;                    25
He murder cries, and help from Athens calls.
Their sense thus weak, lost with their fears thus strong,
Made senseless things begin to do them wrong;
For briers and thorns at their apparel snatch;
Some sleeves, some hats, from yielders all things catch.            30
I led them on in this distracted fear,
And left sweet Pyramus translated there:
When in that moment, so it came to pass,
Titania waked, and straightway loved an ass.

_Obe._ This falls out better than I could devise.                   35
But hast thou yet latch’d the Athenian’s eyes
With the love-juice, as I did bid thee do?

_Puck._ I took him sleeping,—that is finish’d too,—
And the Athenian woman by his side;
That, when he waked, of force she must be eyed.                     40

 _Enter_ HERMIA _and_ DEMETRIUS.

_Obe._ Stand close: this is the same Athenian.

_Puck._ This is the woman, but not this the man.

_Dem._ O, why rebuke you him that loves you so?
Lay breath so bitter on your bitter foe.

_Her._ Now I but chide; but I should use thee worse,                45
For thou, I fear, hast given me cause to curse.
If thou hast slain Lysander in his sleep,
Being o’er shoes in blood, plunge in the deep,
And kill me too.
The sun was not so true unto the day                                50
As he to me: would he have stolen away
From sleeping Hermia? I’ll believe as soon
This whole earth may be bored, and that the moon
May through the centre creep, and so displease
Her brother’s noontide with the Antipodes.                          55
It cannot be but thou hast murder’d him;
So should a murderer look, so dead, so grim.

_Dem._ So should the murder’d look; and so should I,
Pierced through the heart with your stern cruelty:
Yet you, the murderer, look as bright, as clear,                    60
As yonder Venus in her glimmering sphere.

_Her._ What’s this to my Lysander? where is he?
Ah, good Demetrius, wilt thou give him me?

_Dem._ I had rather give his carcass to my hounds.

_Her._ Out, dog! out, cur! thou drivest me past the bounds          65
Of maiden’s patience. Hast thou slain him, then?
Henceforth be never number’d among men!
O, once tell true, tell true, even for my sake!
Durst thou have look’d upon him being awake,
And hast thou kill’d him sleeping? O brave touch!                   70
Could not a worm, an adder, do so much?
An adder did it; for with doubler tongue
Than thine, thou serpent, never adder stung.

_Dem._ You spend your passion on a misprised mood:
I am not guilty of Lysander’s blood;                                75
Nor is he dead, for aught that I can tell.

_Her._ I pray thee, tell me then that he is well.

_Dem._ An if I could, what should I get therefore?

_Her._ A privilege, never to see me more.
And from thy hated presence part I so:                              80
See me no more, whether he be dead or no.       [_Exit._

_Dem._ There is no following her in this fierce vein:
Here therefore for a while I will remain.
So sorrow’s heaviness doth heavier grow
For debt that bankrupt sleep doth sorrow owe;                       85
Which now in some slight measure it will pay,
If for his tender here I make some stay.

 [_Lies down and sleeps._

_Obe._ What hast thou done? thou hast mistaken quite,
And laid the love-juice on some true-love’s sight:
Of thy misprision must perforce ensue                               90
Some true love turn’d, and not a false turn’d true.

_Puck._ Then fate o’er-rules, that, one man holding troth,
A million fail, confounding oath on oath.

_Obe._ About the wood go swifter than the wind,
And Helena of Athens look thou find:                                95
All fancy-sick she is and pale of cheer,
With sighs of love, that costs the fresh blood dear:
By some illusion see thou bring her here:
I’ll charm his eyes against she do appear.

_Puck._ I go, I go; look how I go,                                 100
Swifter than arrow from the Tartar’s bow.      [_Exit._

_Obe._ Flower of this purple dye,
Hit with Cupid’s archery,
Sink in apple of his eye.
When his love he doth espy,                                        105
Let her shine as gloriously
As the Venus of the sky.
When thou wakest, if she be by,
Beg of her for remedy.

 _Re-enter_ PUCK.

_Puck._ Captain of our fairy band,                                 110
Helena is here at hand;
And the youth, mistook by me,
Pleading for a lover’s fee.
Shall we their fond pageant see?
Lord, what fools these mortals be!                                 115

_Obe._ Stand aside: the noise they make
Will cause Demetrius to awake.

_Puck._ Then will two at once woo one;
That must needs be sport alone;
And those things do best please me                                 120
That befal preposterously.

 _Enter_ LYSANDER _and_ HELENA.

_Lys._ Why should you think that I should woo in scorn?
Scorn and derision never come in tears:
Look, when I vow, I weep; and vows so born,
  In their nativity all truth appears.                             125
How can these things in me seem scorn to you,
Bearing the badge of faith, to prove them true?

_Hel._ You do advance your cunning more and more.
  When truth kills truth, O devilish-holy fray!
These vows are Hermia’s: will you give her o’er?                   130
  Weigh oath with oath, and you will nothing weigh:
Your vows to her and me, put in two scales,
Will even weigh; and both as light as tales.

_Lys._ I had no judgement when to her I swore.

_Hel._ Nor none, in my mind, now you give her o’er.                135

_Lys._ Demetrius loves her, and he loves not you.

_Dem._ [_Awaking_] O Helen, goddess, nymph, perfect, divine!
To what, my love, shall I compare thine eyne?
Crystal is muddy. O, how ripe in show
Thy lips, those kissing cherries, tempting grow!                   140
That pure congealed white, high Taurus’ snow,
Fann’d with the eastern wind, turns to a crow
When thou hold’st up thy hand: O, let me kiss
This princess of pure white, this seal of bliss!

_Hel._ O spite! O hell! I see you all are bent                     145
To set against me for your merriment:
If you were civil and knew courtesy,
You would not do me thus much injury.
Can you not hate me, as I know you do,
But you must join in souls to mock me too?                         150
If you were men, as men you are in show,
You would not use a gentle lady so;
To vow, and swear, and superpraise my parts,
When I am sure you hate me with your hearts.
You both are rivals, and love Hermia;                              155
And now both rivals, to mock Helena:
A trim exploit, a manly enterprise,
To conjure tears up in a poor maid’s eyes
With your derision! none of noble sort
Would so offend a virgin, and extort                               160
A poor soul’s patience, all to make you sport.

_Lys._ You are unkind, Demetrius; be not so;
For you love Hermia; this you know I know:
And here, with all good will, with all my heart,
In Hermia’s love I yield you up my part;                           165
And yours of Helena to me bequeath,
Whom I do love, and will do till my death.

_Hel._ Never did mockers waste more idle breath.

_Dem._ Lysander, keep thy Hermia; I will none:
If e’er I loved her, all that love is gone.                        170
My heart to her but as guest-wise sojourn’d,
And now to Helen is it home return’d,
There to remain.

_Lys._           Helen, it is not so.

_Dem._ Disparage not the faith thou dost not know,
Lest, to thy peril, thou aby it dear.                              175
Look, where thy love comes; yonder is thy dear.

 _Re-enter_ HERMIA.

_Her._ Dark night, that from the eye his function takes,
The ear more quick of apprehension makes;
Wherein it doth impair the seeing sense,
It pays the hearing double recompense.                             180
Thou art not by mine eye, Lysander, found;
Mine ear, I thank it, brought me to thy sound.
But why unkindly didst thou leave me so?

_Lys._ Why should he stay, whom love doth press to go?

_Her._ What love could press Lysander from my side?                185

_Lys._ Lysander’s love, that would not let him bide,
Fair Helena, who more engilds the night
Than all yon fiery oes and eyes of light.
Why seek’st thou me? could not this make thee know,
The hate I bear thee made me leave thee so?                        190

_Her._ You speak not as you think: it cannot be.

_Hel._ Lo, she is one of this confederacy!
Now I perceive they have conjoin’d all three
To fashion this false sport, in spite of me.
Injurious Hermia! most ungrateful maid!                            195
Have you conspired, have you with these contrived
To bait me with this foul derision?
Is all the counsel that we two have shared,
The sisters’ vows, the hours that we have spent,
When we have chid the hasty-footed time                            200
For parting us,—O, is all forgot?
All school-days’ friendship, childhood innocence?
We, Hermia, like two artificial gods,
Have with our needles created both one flower,
Both on one sampler, sitting on one cushion,                       205
Both warbling of one song, both in one key;
As if our hands, our sides, voices, and minds,
Had been incorporate. So we grew together,
Like to a double cherry, seeming parted;
But yet an union in partition,                                     210
Two lovely berries moulded on one stem;
So, with two seeming bodies, but one heart;
Two of the first, like coats in heraldry,
Due but to one, and crowned with one crest.
And will you rent our ancient love asunder,                        215
To join with men in scorning your poor friend?
It is not friendly, ’tis not maidenly:
Our sex, as well as I, may chide you for it,
Though I alone do feel the injury.

_Her._ I am amazed at your passionate words.                       220
I scorn you not: it seems that you scorn me.

_Hel._ Have you not set Lysander, as in scorn,
To follow me and praise my eyes and face?
And made your other love, Demetrius,
Who even but now did spurn me with his foot,                       225
To call me goddess, nymph, divine and rare,
Precious, celestial? Wherefore speaks he this
To her he hates? and wherefore doth Lysander
Deny your love, so rich within his soul,
And tender me, forsooth, affection,                                230
But by your setting on, by your consent?
What though I be not so in grace as you,
So hung upon with love, so fortunate,
But miserable most, to love unloved?
This you should pity rather than despise.                          235

_Her._ I understand not what you mean by this.

_Hel._ Ay, do, persever, counterfeit sad looks,
Make mouths upon me when I turn my back;
Wink each at other; hold the sweet jest up:
This sport, well carried, shall be chronicled.                     240
If you have any pity, grace, or manners,
You would not make me such an argument.
But fare ye well: ’tis partly my own fault;
Which death or absence soon shall remedy.

_Lys._ Stay, gentle Helena; hear my excuse:                        245
My love, my life, my soul, fair Helena!

_Hel._ O excellent!

_Her._              Sweet, do not scorn her so.

_Dem._ If she cannot entreat, I can compel.

_Lys._ Thou canst compel no more than she entreat:
Thy threats have no more strength than her weak prayers.           250
Helen, I love thee; by my life, I do:
I swear by that which I will lose for thee,
To prove him false that says I love thee not.

_Dem._ I say I love thee more than he can do.

_Lys._ If thou say so, withdraw, and prove it too.                 255

_Dem._ Quick, come!

_Her._              Lysander, whereto tends all this?

_Lys._ Away, you Ethiope!

_Dem._                    No, no; he’ll ...
Seem to break loose; take on as you would follow,
But yet come not: you are a tame man, go!

_Lys._ Hang off, thou cat, thou burr! vile thing, let loose,       260
Or I will shake thee from me like a serpent!

_Her._ Why are you grown so rude? what change is this?
Sweet love,—

_Lys._         Thy love! out, tawny Tartar, out!
Out, loathed medicine! hated potion, hence!

_Her._ Do you not jest?

_Hel._                  Yes, sooth; and so do you.                 265

_Lys._ Demetrius, I will keep my word with thee.

_Dem._ I would I had your bond, for I perceive
A weak bond holds you: I’ll not trust your word.

_Lys._ What, should I hurt her, strike her, kill her dead?
Although I hate her, I’ll not harm her so.                         270

_Her._ What, can you do me greater harm than hate?
Hate me! wherefore? O me! what news, my love!
Am not I Hermia? are not you Lysander?
I am as fair now as I was erewhile.
Since night you loved me; yet since night you left me:             275
Why, then you left me,—O, the gods forbid!—
In earnest, shall I say?

_Lys._                   Ay, by my life;
And never did desire to see thee more.
Therefore be out of hope, of question, of doubt;
Be certain, nothing truer; ’tis no jest                            280
That I do hate thee, and love Helena.

_Her._ O me! you juggler! you canker-blossom!
You thief of love! what, have you come by night
And stolen my love’s heart from him?

_Hel._                               Fine, i’faith!
Have you no modesty, no maiden shame,                              285
No touch of bashfulness? What, will you tear
Impatient answers from my gentle tongue?
Fie, fie! you counterfeit, you puppet, you!

_Her._ Puppet? why so? ay, that way goes the game.
Now I perceive that she hath made compare                          290
Between our statures; she hath urged her height;
And with her personage, her tall personage,
Her height, forsooth, she hath prevail’d with him.
And are you grown so high in his esteem,
Because I am so dwarfish and so low?                               295
How low am I, thou painted maypole? speak;
How low am I? I am not yet so low
But that my nails can reach unto thine eyes.

_Hel._ I pray you, though you mock me, gentlemen,
Let her not hurt me: I was never curst;                            300
I have no gift at all in shrewishness;
I am a right maid for my cowardice:
Let her not strike me. You perhaps may think,
Because she is something lower than myself,
That I can match her.

_Her._                Lower! hark, again.                          305

_Hel._ Good Hermia, do not be so bitter with me
I evermore did love you, Hermia,
Did ever keep your counsels, never wrong’d you;
Save that, in love unto Demetrius,
I told him of your stealth unto this wood.                         310
He follow’d you; for love I follow’d him;
But he hath chid me hence, and threaten’d me
To strike me, spurn me, nay, to kill me too:
And now, so you will let me quiet go,
To Athens will I bear my folly back,                               315
And follow you no further: let me go:
You see how simple and how fond I am.

_Her._ Why, get you gone: who is’t that hinders you?

_Hel._ A foolish heart, that I leave here behind.

_Her._ What, with Lysander?

_Hel._                      With Demetrius.                        320

_Lys._ Be not afraid; she shall not harm thee, Helena.

_Dem._ No, sir, she shall not, though you take her part.

_Hel._ O, when she’s angry, she is keen and shrewd!
She was a vixen when she went to school;
And though she be but little, she is fierce.                       325

_Her._ Little again! nothing but low and little!
Why will you suffer her to flout me thus?
Let me come to her.

_Lys._              Get you gone, you dwarf;
You minimus, of hindering knot-grass made;
You bead, you acorn.

_Dem._               You are too officious                         330
In her behalf that scorns your services.
Let her alone: speak not of Helena;
Take not her part; for, if thou dost intend
Never so little show of love to her,
Thou shalt aby it.

_Lys._             Now she holds me not;                           335
Now follow, if thou darest, to try whose right,
Of thine or mine, is most in Helena.

_Dem._ Follow! nay, I’ll go with thee, cheek by jole.

 [_Exeunt Lysander and Demetrius._

_Her._ You, mistress, all this coil is ’long of you:
Nay, go not back.

_Hel._            I will not trust you, I,                         340
Nor longer stay in your curst company.
Your hands than mine are quicker for a fray,
My legs are longer though, to run away.             [_Exit._

_Her._ I am amazed, and know not what to say.      [_Exit._

_Obe._ This is thy negligence: still thou mistakest,               345
Or else committ’st thy knaveries wilfully.

_Puck._ Believe me, king of shadows, I mistook.
Did not you tell me I should know the man
By the Athenian garments he had on?
And so far blameless proves my enterprise,                         350
That I have ’nointed an Athenian’s eyes;
And so far am I glad it so did sort,
As this their jangling I esteem a sport.

_Obe._ Thou see’st these lovers seek a place to fight:
Hie therefore, Robin, overcast the night;                          355
The starry welkin cover thou anon
With drooping fog, as black as Acheron;
And lead these testy rivals so astray,
As one come not within another’s way.
Like to Lysander sometime frame thy tongue,                        360
Then stir Demetrius up with bitter wrong;
And sometime rail thou like Demetrius;
And from each other look thou lead them thus.
Till o’er their brows death-counterfeiting sleep
With leaden legs and batty wings doth creep:                       365
Then crush this herb into Lysander’s eye;
Whose liquor hath this virtuous property,
To take from thence all error with his might,
And make his eyeballs roll with wonted sight.
When they next wake, all this derision                             370
Shall seem a dream and fruitless vision;
And back to Athens shall the lovers wend,
With league whose date till death shall never end.
Whiles I in this affair do thee employ,
I’ll to my queen and beg her Indian boy;                           375
And then I will her charmed eye release
From monster’s view, and all things shall be peace.

_Puck._ My fairy lord, this must be done with haste,
For night’s swift dragons cut the clouds full fast,
And yonder shines Aurora’s harbinger;                              380
At whose approach, ghosts, wandering here and there,
Troop home to churchyards: damned spirits all,
That in crossways and floods have burial,
Already to their wormy beds are gone;
For fear lest day should look their shames upon,                   385
They wilfully themselves exile from light,
And must for aye consort with black-brow’d night.

_Obe._ But we are spirits of another sort:
I with the morning’s love have oft made sport;
And, like a forester, the groves may tread,                        390
Even till the eastern gate, all fiery-red,
Opening on Neptune with fair blessed beams,
Turns into yellow gold his salt green streams.
But, notwithstanding, haste; make no delay:
We may effect this business yet ere day.     [_Exit._              395

_Puck._   Up and down, up and down,
          I will lead them up and down:
          I am fear’d in field and town:
          Goblin, lead them up and down.
Here comes one.                                                    400

 _Re-enter_ LYSANDER.

_Lys._ Where art thou, proud Demetrius? speak thou now.

_Puck._ Here, villain; drawn and ready. Where art thou?

_Lys._ I will be with thee straight.

_Puck._                              Follow me, then,
To plainer ground.      [_Exit Lysander, as following the voice._

 _Re-enter_ DEMETRIUS.

_Dem._             Lysander! speak again:
Thou runaway, thou coward, art thou fled?                          405
Speak! In some bush? Where dost thou hide thy head?

_Puck._ Thou coward, art thou bragging to the stars,
Telling the bushes that thou look’st for wars,
And wilt not come? Come, recreant; come, thou child;
I’ll whip thee with a rod: he is defiled                           410
That draws a sword on thee.

_Dem._                      Yea, art thou there?

_Puck._ Follow my voice: we’ll try no manhood here.

 [_Exeunt._

 _Re-enter_ LYSANDER.

_Lys._ He goes before me and still dares me on:
When I come where he calls, then he is gone.
The villain is much lighter-heel’d than I:                         415
I follow’d fast, but faster he did fly;
That fallen am I in dark uneven way,
And here will rest me. [_Lies down._] Come, thou gentle day!
For if but once thou show me thy grey light,
I’ll find Demetrius, and revenge this spite.       [_Sleeps._      420

 _Re-enter_ PUCK _and_ DEMETRIUS.

_Puck._ Ho, ho, ho! Coward, why comest thou not?

_Dem._ Abide me, if thou darest; for well I wot
Thou runn’st before me, shifting every place,
And darest not stand, nor look me in the face.
Where art thou now?

_Puck._             Come hither: I am here.                        425

_Dem._ Nay, then, thou mock’st me. Thou shalt buy this dear,
If ever I thy face by daylight see:
Now, go thy way. Faintness constraineth me
To measure out my length on this cold bed.
By day’s approach look to be visited.  [_Lies down and sleeps._    430

 _Re-enter_ HELENA.

_Hel._ O weary night, O long and tedious night,
  Abate thy hours! Shine comforts from the east,
That I may back to Athens by daylight,
  From these that my poor company detest:
And sleep, that sometimes shuts up sorrow’s eye,                   435
Steal me awhile from mine own company.

 [_Lies down and sleeps._

_Puck._ Yet but three? Come one more;
        Two of both kinds makes up four.
        Here she comes, curst and sad:
        Cupid is a knavish lad,                                    440
        Thus to make poor females mad.

 _Re-enter_ HERMIA.

_Her._ Never so weary, never so in woe;
  Bedabbled with the dew, and torn with briers;
I can no further crawl, no further go;
  My legs can keep no pace with my desires.                        445
Here will I rest me till the break of day.
Heavens shield Lysander, if they mean a fray!

 [_Lies down and sleeps._

_Puck._         On the ground
                Sleep sound:
                I’ll apply                                         450
                To your eye,
          Gentle lover, remedy.
 [_Squeezing the juice on Lysander’s eyes._
                When thou wakest,
                Thou takest
                True delight                                       455
                In the sight
          Of thy former lady’s eye:
          And the country proverb known,
          That every man should take his own,
          In your waking shall be shown:                           460
                Jack shall have Jill;
                Nought shall go ill;
The man shall have his mare again, and all shall be well.

 [_Exit._


~~~~~
 Linenotes: _A Midsummer-Night’s Dream_, III, 2.

 SCENE II.] SCENE IV. Pope.

 Enter Oberon.] Enter King of Fairies and Robin Goodfellow. Qq. Enter
 King of Fairies (Pharies F1), solus Ff.

 3: Enter Puck.] Ff. om. Qq.

 4: _spirit_] _sprite_ Pope.

 5: _haunted_] _gaunted_ F1.

 6, 7: _love. Near...bower,_] Rowe. _love, Neare...bower._ Q1 _love,
 Neere...bower,_ Q2 Ff.

 13: _thick-skin_] _thick-skull_ Hanmer.

 17: _nole_] _nowl_ Johnson.

 19: _mimic_] _Mimmick_ F1 F2 F3. _Mimick_ F4. _Minnick_ Q1.
 _Minnock_ Q2. _mammock_ Ritson conj.

 21: _russet-pated_] Q1 F4. _russed-pated_ Q2 F1 F2 F3.

 25: _our stamp_] _a stump_ Johnson (Theobald conj.).

 30: _yielders_] F3 F4. _yeelders_ Qq F1 F2.

 36: _latch’d_] _latcht_ Q1 F3 F4. _lacht_ Q2 F1 F2. _lech’d_
 Hanmer. _laced_ Anon. conj.

 40: _waked_] _wak’t_ Qq Ff. _wakes_ Pope.

 41: SCENE V. Pope.

 48, 49: _Being...too_] Printed as one line in Qq Ff. Corrected by
 Rowe (ed. 2).

 48: _the deep_] _knee deep_ Phelps (Coleridge conj.).

 52: _From_] _Frow_ Q1.

 54: _displease_] _disease_ Hanmer.

 55: _with the_] _i’ th’_ Warburton.

 57: _dead_] _dread_ Pope.

 58: _murder’d_] _murthered_ Q1. _murdered_ Q2. _murderer_ Ff.

 60: _look_] _looke_ Qq. _looks_ Ff.

 64: _I had_] Q1. _Ide_ Q2. _I’de_ Ff. _I’d_ Rowe. _I’ad_ Pope.

 65: _bounds_] _bonds_ Q2.

 68: _tell true, tell true_] Q1. _tell true_ Q2 F1. _tell true,
 and_ F2 F3 F4.

 69: _have_] Qq. _a_ Ff.

 70: _touch_] _tutch_ Qq Ff.

 72: _An_] _And_ F2.

 74: _on_] _in_ Steevens conj.

     _on a misprised mood_] _in a misprised flood_ Collier MS.

 80, 81: _part I so: See me no more, whether_] Pope. _part I: see me
 no more; Whether_ Qq Ff.

 85: _sleep_] Rowe. _slippe_ Q1. _slip_ Q2 Ff.

 87: [Lies down and sleeps.] Collier. [Ly doune. Q1. [Lie downe. Q2
 Ff.

 88: SCENE VI. Pope.

 94: Obe.] Ob. Qq F1 F3 F4. Rob. F2.

 97: _costs_] Qq Ff. _cost_ Hanmer.

 99: _do_] Qq. _doth_ Ff.

 100: _look_] _look, master,_ Hanmer.

 101: [Exit] Q2 Ff. om. Q1.

 109: _her_] _her,_ Q1.

 122: SCENE VII. Pope.

 123: _come_] Qq. _comes_ Ff.

 137: [Awaking.] om. Qq. Awa. Ff (at the end of line 136).

 143, 144: _O...white, this_] _This...white—O_ Becket conj.

 144: _princess_] _pureness_ Hanmer. _impress_ Collier MS.

 145: _all are_] Qq. _are all_ Ff.

 150: _you must join in souls_] _you must join in flouts_ Hanmer.
 _must join insolents_ Warburton. _you must join in soul_ Mason conj.
 _you must join, ill souls,_ Tyrwhitt conj.

 151: _were_] Qq. _are_ Ff.

 164: _here_] _heare_ Q1.

 166: _of_] _in_ Collier (Collier MS.).

 167: _will do_] _will love_ Edd. conj.

     _till_] Q1. _to_ Q2 Ff.

 171: _to her_] _with her_ Johnson.

 172: _is it_] Q1. _it is_ Q2 Ff.

 173: _There_] _There ever_ Pope.

     _Helen,_] Q1. om. Q2 Ff.

 175: _aby_] Q1. _abide_ Q2 Ff.

     _dear_] _here_ S. Walker conj.

 177: SCENE VIII. Pope.

 182: _thy_] Qq. _that_ Ff.

 188: _oes_] _orbs_ Grey conj.

 190: _bear_] F4. _bare_ Qq F1 F2 F3.

 199: _sisters’_] _sisters_ Qq Ff. _sister_ Capell.

 201: _O, is all_] Qq F1. _O, and is all_ F2 F3 F4. _O, is all
 now_ Malone. _O, now is all_ Reed. _O, is it all_ Spedding conj.

 202: _school-days’_] _school-day_ Capell.

     _childhood_] _childhoods_ F3 F4.

 204: _Have...created both_] _Created with our needles both_ Pope.
 See note (V).

     _needles_] _neelds_ Steevens.

 210: _yet_] om. F3 F4.

     _an_] Qq F4. _a_ F1 F2 F3.

 211: _lovely_] _loving_ Collier MS.

 213: _first, like_] Theobald (Folkes conj.). _first life_ Qq Ff.

 213, 214: Omitted in Collier MS.

 215: _rent_] _rend_ Rowe.

 218: _for it_] _for’t_ S. Walker conj.

 220: _I am amazed at your passionate words_] Ff. _I am amazed at
 your words_ Qq. _Helen, I am amazed at your words_ Pope.

 237: _Ay, do, persever_] _I do, persever_ Q2 Ff. _I doe. Persever_
 Q1. _Ay, do, persevere_ Rowe.

 238: _Make mouths_] _Make mows_ Steevens.

 241: _have_] _had_ Collier (Collier MS.).

 243: _my_] Q1. _mine_ Q2 Ff.

 246: _my life_] Qq F1. omitted in F2 F3 F4.

 250: _prayers_] Theobald. _praise_ Qq Ff. _prays_ Capell (Theobald
 conj.).

 257: _Ethiope_] _Ethiope you_ Heath conj.

 257, 258: _No, no; He’ll...Seem to break loose_] Edd. _No, no; heele
 Seeme to breake loose_ Q1. _No, no, hee’l seeme to breake loose_
 (as one line) Q2. _No, no, sir, seem to break loose_ (as one line)
 Ff. _No, no he’ll seem To break away_ Pope. _No, no; he’ll not
 come.—Seem to break loose_ Capell. _No, no; he’ll—sir, Seem to
 break loose_ Malone. _No, no; sir:—he will Seem to break loose_
 Steevens. _No, no, he’ll not stir: Seem to break loose_ Jackson
 conj. See note (III).

 258: _you_] _he_ Pope.

 260: _burr_] _bur_ Qq F1. _but_ F2 F3 F4.

 264: _hated_] Pope. _O hated_ Qq Ff.

     _potion_] Q1. _poison_ Q2 Ff.

 271: _hate_] _harm_ F4.

 272: _news_] _means_ Singer (Collier MS.)

 279: _of doubt_] _doubt_ Pope. om. Anon conj.

 282: _juggler! you_] _jugler, you! you_ Capell.

 289: _why so?_] Qq Ff. _why, so:_ Theobald.

     _way goes_] _ways go_ Rowe.

 292: _tall personage_] _tall parsonage_ Q2.

 299: _gentlemen_] _gentleman_ Q1.

 304: _she is_] Qq F1 F2 F3. _she’s_ F4.

 320: Hel.] Her. F1 F2.

 321: _shall_] _will_ F4.

     _Helena_] _Helen_ Anon. conj.

 323: _she’s_] Q2 Ff. _she is_ Q1.

 329: _You minimus_] _You minim, you_ Theobald conj.

 335: _aby_] Q1. _abie_ Q2. _abide_ Ff.

 337: _Of_] _Or_ Theobald. See note (IV).

     _Of...mine_] _Of mine or thine_ Malone conj.

 340: _you, I_] _you_ Rowe (ed. 1).

 344: _I...say_] omitted in Ff.

     [Exit.] Exit pursuing Helena. Malone.

 345: SCENE IX. Pope.

     Enter Oberon and Puck. Ff.

 346: _wilfully_] Qq. _willingly_ Ff.

 349: _had_] Q1. _hath_ Q2 Ff.

 351: _’nointed_] _nointed_ Qq Ff.

 352: _so did_] _did so_ Rowe.

 357: _fog_] _fogs_ Warburton.

 368: _his_] _its_ Rowe.

 374: _employ_] _imploy_ Q1 F4. _apply_ Q2. _imply_ F1 F2 F3.

 379: _night’s swift_] Q1. _night swift_ Q2. _night-swift_ F1.
 _nights-swift_ F2 F3 F4.

 386: _exile_] _exil’d_ Theobald conj., making Oberon’s speech begin
 with this line.

 389: _morning’s love_] Qq F1. _morning love_ F2 F3 F4.
 _morning-love_ Rowe (ed. 1). _morning-light_ Id. (ed. 2).

 392: _fair blessed_] _far-blessing_ Hanmer (Warburton).

 393: _salt green_] _sea-green_ Grey conj.

 394: _notwithstanding,_] Q1. _not-withstanding_ Q2 Ff.

 396, 437, 448: Puck.] Puck [sings]. Anon. conj.

 406: _Speak! In some bush?_] Capell. _Speak in some bush._ Qq.
 _Speak in some bush:_ Ff.

 413: Re-enter...] om. Qq Ff.

 414: _calls, then he is_] Q1. _call’s then he’s_ Q2 F1. _calls
 me, then he’s_ F2 F3 F4.

 416: [Shifting places. Ff.

 418: [Lies down.] Lie down. Ff. om. Qq.

 420: [Sleeps.] Capell.

 421: _Ho, ho, ho!_] _Ho, ho; ho, ho!_ Capell.

 425: _now_] Q1. om. Q2 Ff.

 426: _buy_] Qq Ff. _’by_ Collier (Johnson conj.).

 430: [Lies...] Capell.

 431: SCENE X. Pope.

 432: _Shine comforts_] Q2 Ff. _Shine comforts,_ Q1. _Shine,
 comforts,_ Theobald.

 435: _sometimes_] Qq F3 F4. _sometime_ F1 F2.

 436: [Lies...] Sleep. Qq Ff.

 437: _three?_] _three here?_ Hanmer.

 438: _makes_] Qq F1 F2 F4. _make_ F3.

 439: _comes_] _cometh_ Hanmer.

 442: Re-enter...] Enter H. after line 440. F1 F2.

 447: _Heavens_] _Heaven_ Anon. conj.

     [Lies...] om. Qq Ff.

 449: _Sleep_] _Sleep thou_ Capell. _Sleep you_ Seymour conj.

 451: _To your eye_] Rowe. _your eye_ Qq Ff.

 452: [Squeezing...] Rowe.

 454: _Thou_] _Then thou_ Seymour conj. _See thou_ Tyrwhitt conj.

     _takest_] Qq F1 F4. _rak’st_ F2 F3.

 463: _well_] _still_ Steevens conj.

     [They sleep all the Act. Ff.
~~~~~




ACT IV.


SCENE I. _The same._ LYSANDER, DEMETRIUS, HELENA,
_and_ HERMIA _lying asleep_.

 _Enter_ TITANIA _and_ BOTTOM; PEASEBLOSSOM, COBWEB, MOTH,
 MUSTARDSEED, _and other_ Fairies _attending_; OBERON _behind
 unseen_.

_Tita._ Come, sit thee down upon this flowery bed,
        While I thy amiable cheeks do coy,
And stick musk-roses in thy sleek smooth head,
        And kiss thy fair large ears, my gentle joy.

_Bot._ Where’s Peaseblossom?                                         5

_Peas._ Ready.

_Bot._ Scratch my head, Peaseblossom. Where’s Mounsieur
Cobweb?

_Cob._ Ready.

_Bot._ Mounsieur Cobweb, good mounsieur, get you your               10
weapons in your hand, and kill me a red-hipped humble-bee
on the top of a thistle; and, good mounsieur, bring me
the honey-bag. Do not fret yourself too much in the action,
mounsieur; and, good mounsieur, have a care the honey-bag
break not; I would be loth to have you overflown with a             15
honey-bag, signior. Where’s Mounsieur Mustardseed.

_Mus._ Ready.

_Bot._ Give me your neaf, Mounsieur Mustardseed.
Pray you, leave your courtesy, good mounsieur.

_Mus._ What’s your will?                                            20

_Bot._ Nothing, good mounsieur, but to help Cavalery
Cobweb to scratch. I must to the barber’s, mounsieur; for
methinks I am marvellous hairy about the face; and I am
such a tender ass, if my hair do but tickle me, I must scratch.

_Tita._ What, wilt thou hear some music, my sweet love?             25

_Bot._ I have a reasonable good ear in music. Let’s
have the tongs and the bones.

_Tita._ Or say, sweet love, what thou desirest to eat.

_Bot._ Truly, a peck of provender: I could munch your
good dry oats. Methinks I have a great desire to a bottle           30
of hay: good hay, sweet hay, hath no fellow.

_Tita._ I have a venturous fairy that shall seek
The squirrel’s hoard, and fetch thee new nuts.

_Bot._ I had rather have a handful or two of dried peas.
But, I pray you, let none of your people stir me: I have an         35
exposition of sleep come upon me.

_Tita._ Sleep thou, and I will wind thee in my arms.
Fairies, be gone, and be all ways away.      [_Exeunt Fairies._
So doth the woodbine the sweet honeysuckle
Gently entwist; the female ivy so                                   40
Enrings the barky fingers of the elm.
O, how I love thee! how I dote on thee!       [_They sleep._

 _Enter_ PUCK.

_Obe._ [_Advancing_] Welcome, good Robin. See’st thou
             this sweet sight?
Her dotage now I do begin to pity:
For, meeting her of late behind the wood,                           45
Seeking sweet favours for this hateful fool,
I did upbraid her, and fall out with her;
For she his hairy temples then had rounded
With coronet of fresh and fragrant flowers;
And that same dew, which sometime on the buds                       50
Was wont to swell, like round and orient pearls,
Stood now within the pretty flowerets’ eyes,
Like tears, that did their own disgrace bewail.
When I had at my pleasure taunted her,
And she in mild terms begg’d my patience,                           55
I then did ask of her her changeling child;
Which straight she gave me, and her fairy sent
To bear him to my bower in fairy land.
And now I have the boy, I will undo
This hateful imperfection of her eyes:                              60
And, gentle Puck, take this transformed scalp
From off the head of this Athenian swain;
That, he awaking when the other do,
May all to Athens back again repair,
And think no more of this night’s accidents,                        65
But as the fierce vexation of a dream.
But first I will release the fairy queen.
          Be as thou wast wont to be;
          See as thou wast wont to see:
          Dian’s bud o’er Cupid’s flower                            70
          Hath such force and blessed power.
Now, my Titania; wake you, my sweet queen.

_Tita._ My Oberon! what visions have I seen!
Methought I was enamour’d of an ass.

_Obe._ There lies your love.

_Tita._                      How came these things to pass?         75
O, how mine eyes do loathe his visage now!

_Obe._ Silence awhile. Robin, take off this head.
Titania, music call; and strike more dead
Than common sleep of all these five the sense.

_Tita._ Music, ho! music, such as charmeth sleep!                   80

 [_Music, still._

_Puck._ Now, when thou wakest, with thine own fool’s eyes peep.

_Obe._ Sound, music! Come, my queen, take hands with me,
And rock the ground whereon these sleepers be.
Now thou and I are new in amity,
And will to-morrow midnight solemnly                                85
Dance in Duke Theseus’ house triumphantly,
And bless it to all fair prosperity:
There shall the pairs of faithful lovers be
Wedded, with Theseus, all in jollity.

_Puck._ Fairy king, attend, and mark:                               90
I do hear the morning lark.

_Obe._ Then, my queen, in silence sad,
Trip we after the night’s shade:
We the globe can compass soon,
Swifter than the wandering moon.                                    95

_Tita._ Come, my lord; and in our flight,
Tell me how it came this night,
That I sleeping here was found
With these mortals on the ground.                      [_Exeunt._

 [_Horns winded within._

 _Enter_ THESEUS, HIPPOLYTA, EGEUS, _and train_.

_The._ Go, one of you, find out the forester;                      100
For now our observation is perform’d;
And since we have the vaward of the day,
My love shall hear the music of my hounds.
Uncouple in the western valley; let them go:
Dispatch, I say, and find the forester.       [_Exit an Attend._   105
We will, fair queen, up to the mountain’s top,
And mark the musical confusion
Of hounds and echo in conjunction.

_Hip._ I was with Hercules and Cadmus once,
When in a wood of Crete they bay’d the bear                        110
With hounds of Sparta: never did I hear
Such gallant chiding; for, besides the groves,
The skies, the fountains, every region near
Seem’d all one mutual cry: I never heard
So musical a discord, such sweet thunder.                          115

_The._ My hounds are bred out of the Spartan kind,
So flew’d, so sanded; and their heads are hung
With ears that sweep away the morning dew;
Crook-knee’d, and dew-lapp’d like Thessalian bulls;
Slow in pursuit, but match’d in mouth like bells,                  120
Each under each. A cry more tuneable
Was never holla’d to, nor cheer’d with horn,
In Crete, in Sparta, nor in Thessaly:
Judge when you hear. But, soft! what nymphs are these?

_Ege._ My lord, this is my daughter here asleep;                   125
And this, Lysander; this Demetrius is;
This Helena, old Nedar’s Helena:
I wonder of their being here together.

_The._ No doubt they rose up early to observe
The rite of May; and, hearing our intent,                          130
Came here in grace of our solemnity.
But speak, Egeus; is not this the day
That Hermia should give answer of her choice?

_Ege._ It is, my lord.

_The._ Go, bid the huntsmen wake them with their horns.            135
 [_Horns and shout within. Lys., Dem., Hel., and
                       Her., wake and start up._
Good morrow, friends. Saint Valentine is past:
Begin these wood-birds but to couple now?

_Lys._ Pardon, my lord.

_The._                  I pray you all, stand up.
I know you two are rival enemies:
How comes this gentle concord in the world,                        140
That hatred is so far from jealousy,
To sleep by hate, and fear no enmity?

_Lys._ My lord, I shall reply amazedly,
Half sleep, half waking: but as yet, I swear,
I cannot truly say how I came here;                                145
But, as I think,—for truly would I speak,
And now I do bethink me, so it is,—
I came with Hermia hither: our intent
Was to be gone from Athens, where we might,
Without the peril of the Athenian law.                             150

_Ege._ Enough, enough, my lord; you have enough:
I beg the law, the law, upon his head.
They would have stolen away; they would, Demetrius,
Thereby to have defeated you and me,
You of your wife and me of my consent,                             155
Of my consent that she should be your wife.

_Dem._ My lord, fair Helen told me of their stealth,
Of this their purpose hither to this wood;
And I in fury hither follow’d them,
Fair Helena in fancy following me.                                 160
But, my good lord, I wot not by what power,—
But by some power it is,—my love to Hermia,
Melted as the snow, seems to me now
As the remembrance of an idle gaud,
Which in my childhood I did dote upon;                             165
And all the faith, the virtue of my heart,
The object and the pleasure of mine eye,
Is only Helena. To her, my lord,
Was I betroth’d ere I saw Hermia:
But, like in sickness, did I loathe this food;                     170
But, as in health, come to my natural taste,
Now I do wish it, love it, long for it,
And will for evermore be true to it.

_The._ Fair lovers, you are fortunately met:
Of this discourse we more will hear anon.                          175
Egeus, I will overbear your will;
For in the temple, by and _by,_ with us
These couples shall eternally be knit:
And, for the morning now is something worn,
Our purposed hunting shall be set aside.                           180
Away with us to Athens! three and three,
We’ll hold a feast in great solemnity.
Come, Hippolyta.       [_Exeunt The., Hip., Ege., and train._

_Dem._ These things seem small and undistinguishable,
Like far-off mountains turned into clouds.                         185

_Her._ Methinks I see these things with parted eye,
When every thing seems double.

_Hel._                         So methinks:
And I have found Demetrius like a jewel,
Mine own, and not mine own.

_Dem._                      Are you sure
That we are awake? It seems to me                                  190
That yet we sleep, we dream. Do not you think
The Duke was here, and bid us follow him?

_Her._ Yea; and my father.

_Hel._                     And Hippolyta.

_Lys._  And he did bid us follow to the temple.

_Dem._  Why, then, we are awake: let’s follow him;                 195
And by the way let us recount our dreams.           [_Exeunt._

_Bot._ [_Awaking_] When my cue comes, call me, and I
will answer: my next is, ‘Most fair Pyramus.’ Heigh-ho!
Peter Quince! Flute, the bellows-mender! Snout, the
tinker! Starveling! God’s my life, stolen hence, and left          200
me asleep! I have had a most rare vision. I have had a
dream, past the wit of man to say what dream it was: man
is but an ass, if he go about to expound this dream. Methought
I was—there is no man can tell what. Methought
I was.—and methought I had,—but man is but a patched               205
fool, if he will offer to say what methought I had. The eye
of man hath not heard, the ear of man hath not seen, man’s
hand is not able to taste, his tongue to conceive, nor his
heart to report, what my dream was. I will get Peter Quince
to write a ballad of this dream: it shall be called Bottom’s       210
Dream, because it hath no bottom; and I will sing it in the
latter end of a play, before the Duke: peradventure, to make
it the more gracious, I shall sing it at her death.       [_Exit._


~~~~~
 Linenotes: _A Midsummer-Night’s Dream_, IV, 1.

 ACT IV.] See note (VI).

 Enter...] Enter Queen of Fairies, and Clown, and Fairies, and the
 King behind them. Qq Ff.

 7: _Mounsieur_] Qq Ff. _Monsieur_ Rowe. See note (VII).

 10: _get you_] Q1. _get_ Q2 Ff.

 18: _your_] _thy_ Pope.

     _neaf_] _neafe_ Qq F1. _newfe_ F2. _newse_ F3. _news_ F4.

     _Mustardseed_] Qq F1 F2. _Mustard_ F3 F4.

 21: _Cavalery_] Qq F1. _Cavalero_ F2 F3 F4.

 22: _Cobweb_] _Peas-blossom_ Grey conj.

 23: _marvellous_] _marvailes_ Q1 _marvels_ Capell. See note (II).

 24: _do_] _doth_ Rowe (ed. 2).

 25: _some_] _some some_ Q2.

 26: _Let’s_] Q1. _Let us_ Q2 Ff.

 27: _tongs_] _tongues_ F2.

     Musick Tongs, Rural Musick. Ff. om. Q1.

 32, 33: Printed in Q2 Ff as three lines ending
 _fairy...hoard...nuts._

 33: _hoard_] Q2 Ff. om. Q1.

     _thee_] _thee thence_ Hanmer. _thee the_ S. Walker conj.

 38: _all ways_] Theobald. _alwaies_ Qq F1. _alwayes_ F2 F3.
 _always_ F4. _a while_ Hanmer.

     _all ways away_] _away—away_ Upton conj. _always i’ th’ way_
     Heath conj.

 39: Qq and Ff punctuate _woodbine,...honisuckle,...entwist;_

     _woodbine_] _woodrine_ Upton conj. _weedbind_ Steevens conj.

 40: _entwist; the female_] _entwist the maple;_ Warburton conj.

 40, 41: _entwist;......Enrings_] _entwist,...Enring,_ Capell.

 46: _favours_] Q1 F4. _savours_ Q2 F1 F2 F3.

 52: _flowerets’_] _flouriets_ Qq Ff.

 57: _fairy_] Qq Ff. _fairies_ Dyce.

 62: _this_] _the_ Johnson.

 63: _other_] _others_ Rowe.

 68: _Be_] Qq. _Be thou_ Ff.

 70: _o’er_] Theobald (Thirlby conj.). _or_ Qq Ff.

 76: _do_] Q1 F2 F3 F4. _doth_ Q2 F1.

     _his_] Q1. _this_ Q2 Ff.

 77: _this_] Qq. _his_ Ff.

 79: _sleep of all these five_] Theobald (Thirlby conj.). _sleepe:
 of all these, fine_ Qq F1 F2. _sleep; of all these find_ F3 F4.
 _sleep. Of all these fine_ Rowe (ed. 2).

 80: _ho!_] _howe_ Q1.

 81: _Now, when thou wakest_] Q1. _When thou wak’st_ Q2 F1. _When
 thou awak’st_ F2 F3 F4.

 87: _fair prosperity_] Q1. _fair posterity_ Q2 Ff. _far posterity_
 Hanmer.

 88: _the_] Qq F1. _these_ F2 F3 F4.

 90: _Fairy_] Qq. _Faire_ F1 F2. _Fair_ F3 F4.

 92: _sad_] _fade_ Theobald.

 93: _the night’s_] Rowe. _the nights_ Q2 Ff. _nights_ Q1.

 98: After this line Ff give the stage direction [Sleepers lye still.

 99: [Horns......within.] [Winde horne. Q1. [Winde hornes. Q2 Ff.

 100. SCENE II. Pope.

 104: _let them_] om. Pope.

 110: _bear_] Qq Ff. _boar_ Hanmer.

 113: _fountains_] _mountains_ Anon. ap. Theobald conj.

 114: _Seem’d_] F2 F3 F4. _Seeme_ Qq F1.

 119: _Thessalian_] _Thessalonian_ F4.

 125: _is_] om. Q1.

 127: _Nedar’s_] _Nestor’s_ S. Walker conj.

 128: _of their_] Q1. _of this_ Q2 Ff. _at their_ Pope.

 130: _rite_] Pope. _right_ Qq Ff.

 136: [He and the rest kneel to Theseus. Capell.

 141: _is_] _is is_ F1.

 149, 150: _might,...law._] _might...lawe,_ Q1. _might be...law._
 Q2 Ff. _might,...law,—_ Dyce. _might Be without peril...law._
 Hanmer.

 160: _following_] Q1. _followed_ Q2 Ff.

 162–164: Qq and Ff end the lines at _love...snow...gaud._

 163: _Melted as_] _Is melted as_ Pope. _Melted as doth_ Capell. _All
 melted as_ Anon. conj.

 169: _saw Hermia_] Steevens. _see Hermia_ Qq Ff. _did see Hermia_
 Rowe (ed. 1). _Hermia saw_ Rowe (ed. 2).

 170: _in sickness_] Steevens (Farmer conj.). _a sickness_ Qq Ff.

 172: _I do_] Q1. _do I_ Q2 Ff.

 175: _more will hear_] Q1. _will hear more_ Q2. _shall hear more_
 Ff.

 183: _Come, Hippolyta_] _Come, my Hippolita_ Capell.

 184: Dem.] Lys. Capell conj.

     [Exeunt...] Exit Duke and Lords. Ff.

 188: _like_] om. Hanmer.

     _jewel_] _gemell_ Theobald (Warburton).

 189, 190: _Are you sure That we are awake?_] Qq. omitted in Ff.
 _But are you sure That we are well awake_ Capell. _But are you sure
 That we are now awake_ Steevens conj. _Are you sure That we are now
 awake_ Malone conj. _Are you sure That we are yet awake_ Anon. conj.

 194: _did bid_] Q1. _bid_ Q2 Ff.

 195, 196: Printed as prose in Qq Ff, as verse in Rowe (ed. 2).

 196: _let us_] Q2 Ff. _lets_ Q1.

 197: SCENE III. Pope.

     [Awaking] Bottom wakes. Ff. om. Qq.

 201: _I have had a dream_] Qq. _I had a dream_ Ff.

 203: _to_] om. Q1.

 205: _a patched_] Ff. _patcht a_ Qq. {Transcriber's Note: this
 linenote has been copied here from the original book's ADDENDA.}

 212: _a play_] _the play_ Hanmer. _our play_ S. Walker conj.

 213: _at her_] _after_ Theobald. _at Thisby’s_ Collier MS.
~~~~~


SCENE II. _Athens._ QUINCE’S _house_.

 _Enter_ QUINCE, FLUTE, SNOUT, _and_ STARVELING.

_Quin._ Have you sent to Bottom’s house? is he come
home yet?

_Star._ He cannot be heard of. Out of doubt he is
transported.

_Flu._  If he come not, then the play is marred: it goes             5
not forward, doth it?

_Quin._  It is not possible: you have not a man in all
Athens able to discharge Pyramus but he.

_Flu._  No, he hath simply the best wit of any handicraft
man in Athens.                                                      10

_Quin._  Yea, and the best person too; and he is a very
paramour for a sweet voice.

_Flu._  You must say ‘paragon’: a paramour is, God
bless us, a thing of naught.

 _Enter_ SNUG.

_Snug._  Masters, the Duke is coming from the temple,               15
and there is two or three lords and ladies more married: if
our sport had gone forward, we had all been made men.

_Flu._  O sweet bully Bottom! Thus hath he lost sixpence
a day during his life; he could not have scaped sixpence
a day: an the Duke had not given him sixpence a                     20
day for playing Pyramus, I’ll be hanged; he would have
deserved it: sixpence a day in Pyramus, or nothing.

 _Enter_ BOTTOM.

_Bot._  Where are these lads? where are these hearts?

_Quin._ Bottom! O most courageous day! O most
happy hour!                                                         25

_Bot._ Masters, I am to discourse wonders: but ask me
not what; for if I tell you, I am no true Athenian. I will
tell you every thing, right as it fell out.

_Quin._  Let us hear, sweet Bottom.

_Bot._ Not a word of me. All that I will tell you is,               30
that the Duke hath dined. Get your apparel together, good
strings to your beards, new ribbons to your pumps; meet
presently at the palace; every man look o’er his part; for
the short and the long is, our play is preferred. In any
case, let Thisby have clean linen; and let not him that             35
plays the lion pare his nails, for they shall hang out for the
lion’s claws. And, most dear actors, eat no onions nor
garlic, for we are to utter sweet breath; and I do not doubt
but to hear them say, it is a sweet comedy. No more
words: away! go, away!                      [_Exeunt._              40


~~~~~
 Linenotes: _A Midsummer-Night’s Dream_, IV, 2.

 SCENE II.] SCENE IV. Pope.

 1: Enter...] Enter Quince, Flute, Thisby, and the rabble. Qq. Enter
 Quince, Flute, Thisby, Snout, and Starveling. Ff.

 3: Star.] Ff. Flute. Qq.

 5, 6: _goes not_] Qq F1 F2. _goes_ F3 F4.

 11: Quin.] Snout. Halliwell conj.

 13: Flu.] Quin. Anon. conj.

 14: _naught_] F2 F3 F4. _nought_ Qq F1.

 19: _scaped_] _scraped_ Grey conj.

 27: _no_] Ff. _not_ Qq.

 28: _right_] Qq. om. Ff.

 30: _All that_] _all_ Rowe.

 34: _preferred_] _proffered_ Theobald conj.

 38, 39: _doubt but_] Qq F1 F2. _doubt_ F3 F4.

 40: _go, away!_] _go away_ Qq Ff.
~~~~~




ACT V.


SCENE I. _Athens. The palace of_ THESEUS.

 _Enter_ THESEUS, HIPPOLYTA, PHILOSTRATE, Lords, _and_ Attendants.

_Hip._ ’Tis strange, my Theseus, that these lovers speak of.

_The._ More strange than true: I never may believe
These antique fables, nor these fairy toys.
Lovers and madmen have such seething brains,
Such shaping fantasies, that apprehend                               5
More than cool reason ever comprehends.
The lunatic, the lover and the poet
Are of imagination all compact:
One sees more devils than vast hell can hold,
That is, the madman: the lover, all as frantic,                     10
Sees Helen’s beauty in a brow of Egypt:
The poet’s eye, in a fine frenzy rolling,
Doth glance from heaven to earth, from earth to heaven;
And as imagination bodies forth
The forms of things unknown, the poet’s pen                         15
Turns them to shapes, and gives to airy nothing
A local habitation and a name.
Such tricks hath strong imagination,
That, if it would but apprehend some joy,
It comprehends some bringer of that joy;                            20
Or in the night, imagining some fear,
How easy is a bush supposed a bear!

_Hip._ But all the story of the night told over,
And all their minds transfigured so together,
More witnesseth than fancy’s images,                                25
And grows to something of great constancy;
But, howsoever, strange and admirable.

_The._ Here come the lovers, full of joy and mirth.

 _Enter_ LYSANDER, DEMETRIUS, HERMIA, _and_ HELENA.

Joy, gentle friends! joy and fresh days of love
Accompany your hearts!

_Lys._            More than to us                                   30
Wait in your royal walks, your board, your bed!

_The._ Come now; what masques, what dances shall we have,
To wear away this long age of three hours
Between our after-supper and bed-time?
Where is our usual manager of mirth?                                35
What revels are in hand? Is there no play,
To ease the anguish of a torturing hour?
Call Philostrate.

_Phil._      Here, mighty Theseus.

_The._ Say, what abridgement have you for this evening?
What masque? what music? How shall we beguile                       40
The lazy time, if not with some delight?

_Phil._ There is a brief how many sports are ripe:
Make choice of which your highness will see first.

 [_Giving a paper._

_The._ [_reads_] The battle with the Centaurs, to be sung
By an Athenian eunuch to the harp.                                  45
We’ll none of that: that have I told my love,
In glory of my kinsman Hercules.
[_Reads_] The riot of the tipsy Bacchanals,
Tearing the Thracian singer in their rage.
That is an old device; and it was play’d                            50
When I from Thebes came last a conqueror.
[_Reads_] The thrice three Muses mourning for the death
Of Learning, late deceased in beggary.
That is some satire, keen and critical,
Not sorting with a nuptial ceremony.                                55
[_Reads_] A tedious brief scene of young Pyramus
And his love Thisbe; very tragical mirth.
Merry and tragical! tedious and brief!
That is, hot ice and wondrous strange snow.
How shall we find the concord of this discord?                      60

_Phil._ A play there is, my lord, some ten words long,
Which is as brief as I have known a play;
But by ten words, my lord, it is too long,
Which makes it tedious; for in all the play
There is not one word apt, one player fitted:                       65
And tragical, my noble lord, it is;
For Pyramus therein doth kill himself.
Which, when I saw rehearsed, I must confess,
Made mine eyes water; but more merry tears
The passion of loud laughter never shed.                            70

_The._ What are they that do play it?

_Phil._ Hard-handed men, that work in Athens here,
Which never labour’d in their minds till now;
And now have toil’d their unbreathed memories
With this same play, against your nuptial.                          75

_The._ And we will hear it.

_Phil._                     No, my noble lord;
It is not for you: I have heard it over,
And it is nothing, nothing in the world;
Unless you can find sport in their intents,
Extremely stretch’d and conn’d with cruel pain,                     80
To do you service.

_The._             I will hear that play;
For never any thing can be amiss,
When simpleness and duty tender it.
Go, bring them in: and take your places, ladies.

 [_Exit Philostrate._

_Hip._ I love not to see wretchedness o’ercharged,                  85
And duty in his service perishing.

_The._ Why, gentle sweet, you shall see no such thing.

_Hip._ He says they can do nothing in this kind.

_The._ The kinder we, to give them thanks for nothing.
Our sport shall be to take what they mistake:                       90
And what poor duty cannot do, noble respect
Takes it in might, not merit.
Where I have come, great clerks have purposed
To greet me with premeditated welcomes;
Where I have seen them shiver and look pale,                        95
Make periods in the midst of sentences,
Throttle their practised accent in their fears,
And, in conclusion, dumbly have broke off,
Not paying me a welcome. Trust me, sweet,
Out of this silence yet I pick’d a welcome;                        100
And in the modesty of fearful duty
I read as much as from the rattling tongue
Of saucy and audacious eloquence.
Love, therefore, and tongue-tied simplicity
In least speak most, to my capacity.                               105

 _Re-enter_ PHILOSTRATE.

_Phil._ So please your Grace, the Prologue is address’d.

_The._ Let him approach.       [_Flourish of trumpets._

 _Enter_ QUINCE _for the_ Prologue.

_Pro._ If we offend, it is with our good will.
  That you should think, we come not to offend,
But with good will. To show our simple skill,                      110
  That is the true beginning of our end.
Consider, then, we come but in despite.
  We do not come as minding to content you,
Our true intent is. All for your delight,
  We are not here. That you should here repent you,                115
The actors are at hand; and, by their show,
You shall know all, that you are like to know.

_The._ This fellow doth not stand upon points.

_Lys._ He hath rid his prologue like a rough colt; he
knows not the stop. A good moral, my lord: it is not               120
enough to speak, but to speak true.

_Hip._ Indeed he hath played on his prologue like a
child on a recorder; a sound, but not in government.

_The._ His speech was like a tangled chain; nothing impaired,
but all disordered. Who is next?                                   125

 _Enter_ PYRAMUS _and_ THISBE, WALL, MOONSHINE, _and_ LION.

_Pro._ Gentles, perchance you wonder at this show;
  But wonder on, till truth make all things plain.
This man is Pyramus, if you would know;
  This beauteous lady Thisby is certain.
This man, with lime and rough-cast, doth present                   130
  Wall, that vile Wall which did these lovers sunder;
And through Wall’s chink, poor souls, they are content
  To whisper. At the which let no man wonder.
This man, with lanthorn, dog, and bush of thorn,
  Presenteth Moonshine; for, if you will know,                     135
By moonshine did these lovers think no scorn
  To meet at Ninus’ tomb, there, there to woo.
This grisly beast, which Lion hight by name,
The trusty Thisby, coming first by night,
Did scare away, or rather did affright;                            140
And, as she fled, her mantle she did fall,
  Which Lion vile with bloody mouth did stain.
Anon comes Pyramus, sweet youth and tall,
  And finds his trusty Thisby’s mantle slain:
Whereat, with blade, with bloody blameful blade,                   145
  He bravely broach’d his boiling bloody breast;
And Thisby, tarrying in mulberry shade,
  His dagger drew, and died. For all the rest,
Let Lion, Moonshine, Wall, and lovers twain
At large discourse, while here they do remain.                     150

 [_Exeunt Prologue, Thisbe, Lion, and Moonshine._

_The._ I wonder if the lion be to speak.

_Dem._ No wonder, my lord: one lion may, when many
asses do.

_Wall._ In this same interlude it doth befall
That I, one Snout by name, present a wall;                         155
And such a wall, as I would have you think,
That had in it a crannied hole or chink,
Through which the lovers, Pyramus and Thisby,
Did whisper often very secretly.
This loam, this rough-cast, and this stone, doth show              160
That I am that same wall; the truth is so:
And this the cranny is, right and sinister,
Through which the fearful lovers are to whisper.

_The._ Would you desire lime and hair to speak better?

_Dem._ It is the wittiest partition that ever I heard discourse,   165
my lord.

_The._ Pyramus draws near the wall: silence!

 _Enter_ PYRAMUS.

_Pyr._ O grim-look’d night! O night with hue so black!
  O night, which ever art when day is not!
O night, O night! alack, alack, alack,                             170
  I fear my Thisby’s promise is forgot!
And them, O wall, O sweet, O lovely wall,
  That stand’st between her father’s ground and mine!
Thou wall, O wall, O sweet and lovely wall,
  Show me thy chink, to blink through with mine eyne!              175
 [_Wall holds up his fingers._
Thanks, courteous wall: Jove shield thee well for this!
  But what see I? No Thisby do I see.
O wicked wall, through whom I see no bliss!
  Cursed be thy stones for thus deceiving me!

_The._ The wall, methinks, being sensible, should curse            180
again.

_Pyr._ No, in truth, sir, he should not. ‘Deceiving me’
is Thisby’s cue: she is to enter now, and I am to spy her
through the wall. You shall see, it will fall pat as I told
you. Yonder she comes.                                             185

 _Enter_ THISBE.

_This._ O wall, full often hast thou heard my moans,
For parting my fair Pyramus and me!
My cherry lips have often kiss’d thy stones,
  Thy stones with lime and hair knit up in thee.

_Pyr._ I see a voice: now will I to the chink,                     190
  To spy an I can hear my Thisby’s face.
Thisby!

_This._ My love thou art, my love I think.

_Pyr._ Think what thou wilt, I am thy lover’s grace;
And, like Limander, am I trusty still.                             195

_This._ And I like Helen, till the Fates me kill.

_Pyr._ Not Shafalus to Procrus was so true.

_This._ As Shafalus to Procrus, I to you.

_Pyr._ O, kiss me through the hole of this vile wall!

_This._ I kiss the wall’s hole, not your lips at all.              200

_Pyr._ Wilt thou at Ninny’s tomb meet me straightway?

_This._ ‘Tide life, ’tide death, I come without delay.

 [_Exeunt Pyramus and Thisbe._

_Wall._ Thus have I, wall, my part discharged so;
And, being done, thus wall away doth go.               [_Exit._

_The._ Now is the mural down between the two neighbours.           205

_Dem._ No remedy, my lord, when walls are so wilful to
hear without warning.

_Hip._ This is the silliest stuff that ever I heard.

_The._ The best in this kind are but shadows; and the              210
worst are no worse, if imagination amend them.

_Hip._ It must be your imagination then, and not theirs.

_The._ If we imagine no worse of them than they of
themselves, they may pass for excellent men. Here come
two noble beasts in a man and a lion.                              215

 _Enter_ LION _and_ MOONSHINE.

_Lion._ You, ladies, you, whose gentle hearts do fear
  The smallest monstrous mouse that creeps on floor,
May now perchance both quake and tremble here,
  When lion rough in wildest rage doth roar.
Then know that I, one Snug the joiner, am                          220
A lion-fell, nor else no lion’s dam;
For, if I should as lion come in strife
Into this place, ’twere pity on my life.

_The._ A very gentle beast, and of a good conscience.

_Dem._ The very best at a beast, my lord, that e’er I saw.         225

_Lys._ This lion is a very fox for his valour.

_The._ True; and a goose for his discretion.

_Dem._ Not so, my lord; for his valour cannot carry his
discretion; and the fox carries the goose.

_The._ His discretion, I am sure, cannot carry his valour;         230
for the goose carries not the fox. It is well: leave it to his
discretion, and let us listen to the moon.

_Moon._ This lanthorn doth the horned moon present;—

_Dem._ He should have worn the horns on his head.

_The._ He is no crescent, and his horns are invisible              235
within the circumference.

_Moon._ This lanthorn doth the horned moon present;
Myself the man i’ the moon do seem to be.

_The._ This is the greatest error of all the rest: the man
should be put into the lantern. How is it else the man i’          240
the moon?

_Dem._ He dares not come there for the candle; for, you
see, it is already in snuff.

_Hip._ I am aweary of this moon: would he would
change!                                                            245

_The._ It appears, by his small light of discretion, that
he is in the wane; but yet, in courtesy, in all reason, we
must stay the time.

_Lys._ Proceed, Moon.

_Moon._ All that I have to say, is, to tell you that the           250
lanthorn is the moon; I, the man in the moon; this thorn-bush,
my thorn-bush; and this dog, my dog.

_Dem._ Why, all these should be in the lantern; for all
these are in the moon. But, silence! here comes Thisbe.

 _Enter_ THISBE.

_This._ This is old Ninny’s tomb. Where is my love?                255

_Lion._ [_Roaring_] Oh——            [_Thisbe runs off._

_Dem._ Well roared, Lion.

_The._ Well run, Thisbe.

_Hip._ Well shone, Moon. Truly, the moon shines with
a good grace.      [_The Lion shakes Thisbe’s mantle, and exit._   260

_The._ Well moused, Lion.

_Dem._ And then came Pyramus.

_Lys._ And so the lion vanished.

 _Enter_ PYRAMUS.

_Pyr._ Sweet Moon, I thank thee for thy sunny beams;
  I thank thee, Moon, for shining now so bright;                   265
For, by thy gracious, golden, glittering gleams,
  I trust to take of truest Thisby sight.
                    But stay, O spite!
                    But mark, poor knight,
                What dreadful dole is here!                        270
                    Eyes, do you see?
                    How can it be?
                O dainty duck! O dear!
                    Thy mantle good,
                    What, stain’d with blood!                      275
                Approach, ye Furies fell!
                    O Fates, come, come,
                    Cut thread and thrum;
                Quail, crush, conclude, and quell!

_The._ This passion, and the death of a dear friend,               280
would go near to make a man look sad.

_Hip._ Beshrew my heart, but I pity the man.

_Pyr._ O wherefore, Nature, didst thou lions frame?
  Since lion vile hath here deflower’d my dear:
Which is—no, no—which was the fairest dame                         285
  That lived, that loved, that liked, that look’d with cheer.
                Come, tears, confound;
                Out, sword, and wound
            The pap of Pyramus;
                Ay, that left pap,                                 290
                Where heart doth hop:    [_Stabs himself._
            Thus die I, thus, thus, thus.
                Now am I dead,
                Now am I fled;
            My soul is in the sky:                                 295
                Tongue, lose thy light;
                Moon, take thy flight:      [_Exit Moonshine._
            Now die, die, die, die, die.            [_Dies._

_Dem._ No die, but an ace, for him; for he is but one.

_Lys._ Less than an ace, man; for he is dead; he is nothing.       300

_The._ With the help of a surgeon he might yet recover,
and prove an ass.

_Hip._ How chance Moonshine is gone before Thisbe
comes back and finds her lover?                                    305

_The._ She will find him by starlight. Here she comes;
and her passion ends the play.

 _Re-enter_ THISBE.

_Hip._ Methinks she should not use a long one for such
a Pyramus: I hope she will be brief.

_Dem._ A mote will turn the balance, which Pyramus,                310
which Thisbe, is the better; he for a man, God warrant us;
she for a woman, God bless us.

_Lys._ She hath spied him already with those sweet eyes.

_Dem._ And thus she means, videlicet:—

_This._ Asleep, my love?                                           315
    What, dead, my dove?
O Pyramus, arise!
    Speak, speak. Quite dumb?
    Dead, dead? A tomb
Must cover thy sweet eyes.                                         320
    These lily lips,
    This cherry nose,
These yellow cowslip cheeks,
    Are gone, are gone:
    Lovers, make moan:                                             325
His eyes were green as leeks.
    O Sisters Three,
    Come, come to me,
With hands as pale as milk;
    Lay them in gore,                                              330
    Since you have shore
With shears his thread of silk.
    Tongue, not a word:
    Come, trusty sword;
Come, blade, my breast imbrue:      [_Stabs herself._              335
    And, farewell, friends;
    Thus Thisby ends:
Adieu, adieu, adieu.                        [_Dies._

_The._ Moonshine and Lion are left to bury the dead.

_Dem._ Ay, and Wall too.                                           340

_Bot._ [_Starting up_] No, I assure you; the wall is down
that parted their fathers. Will it please you to see the
epilogue, or to hear a Bergomask dance between two of
our company?

_The._ No epilogue, I pray you; for your play needs no             345
excuse. Never excuse; for when the players are all dead,
there need none to be blamed. Marry, if he that writ it
had played Pyramus and hanged himself in Thisbe’s garter,
it would have been a fine tragedy: and so it is, truly; and
very notably discharged. But, come, your Bergomask: let            350
your epilogue alone.                        [_A dance._
The iron tongue of midnight hath told twelve:
Lovers, to bed; ’tis almost fairy time.
I fear we shall out-sleep the coming morn,
As much as we this night have overwatch’d.                         355
This palpable-gross play hath well beguiled
The heavy gait of night. Sweet friends, to bed.
A fortnight hold we this solemnity,
In nightly revels and new jollity.              [_Exeunt._

 _Enter_ PUCK.

_Puck._  Now the hungry lion roars,                                360
    And the wolf behowls the moon;
Whilst the heavy ploughman snores,
    All with weary task fordone.
Now the wasted brands do glow,
    Whilst the screech-owl, screeching loud,                       365
Puts the wretch that lies in woe
    In remembrance of a shroud.
Now it is the time of night,
    That the graves, all gaping wide,
Every one lets forth his sprite,                                   370
  In the church-way paths to glide:
And we fairies, that do run
  By the triple Hecate’s team,
From the presence of the sun,
  Following darkness like a dream,                                 375
Now are frolic: not a mouse
Shall disturb this hallow’d house:
I am sent with broom before,
To sweep the dust behind the door.

 _Enter_ OBERON _and_ TITANIA _with their train_.

_Obe._ Through the house give glimmering light,                    380
  By the dead and drowsy fire:
Every elf and fairy sprite
  Hop as light as bird from brier;
And this ditty, after me,
Sing, and dance it trippingly.                                     385

_Tita._ First, rehearse your song by rote,
To each word a warbling note:
Hand in hand, with fairy grace,
Will we sing, and bless this place.

 [_Song and dance._

_Obe._ Now, until the break of day,                                390
Through this house each fairy stray.
To the best bride-bed will we,
Which by us shall blessed be;
And the issue there create
Ever shall be fortunate.                                           395
So shall all the couples three
Ever true in loving be;
And the blots of Nature’s hand
Shall not in their issue stand;
Never mole, hare lip, nor scar,                                    400
Nor mark prodigious, such as are
Despised in nativity,
Shall upon their children be.
With this field-dew consecrate,
Every fairy take his gait;                                         405
And each several chamber bless,
Through this palace, with sweet peace,
Ever shall in safety rest,
And the owner of it blest.
Trip away; make no stay;                                           410
Meet me all by break of day.

 [_Exeunt Oberon, Titania, and train._

_Puck._ If we shadows have offended,
Think but this, and all is mended,
That you have but slumber’d here,
While these visions did appear.                                    415
And this weak and idle theme,
No more yielding but a dream,
Gentles, do not reprehend:
If you pardon, we will mend.
And, as I am an honest Puck,                                       420
If we have unearned luck
Now to scape the serpent’s tongue,
We will make amends ere long;
Else the Puck a liar call:
So, good night unto you all.                                       425
Give me your hands, if we be friends,
And Robin shall restore amends.       [_Exit._


~~~~~
 Linenotes: _A Midsummer-Night’s Dream_, V, 1.

 Enter...] see note (VIII).

 5, 6: _apprehend More than_] Theobald. _apprehend more Than_ Qq Ff.

 5–8: Printed in Q1 as three lines, ending
 _more...lunatic...compact._

 6: _cool_] _cooler_ Pope.

 10: _That is, the madman:_] _The madman. While_ Pope.

 12, 13: Q1 ends these lines with _glance...and as_, Q2 F1 with
 _glance...heaven_.

 14–18: These five lines printed as four in Qq Ff, ending
 _things...shapes...habitation...imagination._

 16: _shapes_] _shape_ Pope.

     _airy_] Q2. _ayery_ Q1. _aire_ F1 F3. _ayre_ F2. _air_ F4.

 19: _if it would_] _if he would_ Rowe (ed. 2).

 21: _Or_] _So_ Hanmer.

 21, 22: _Or...bear!_] Grant White conjectures that these lines are
 interpolated.

 29: _days of love_] F2 F3 F4. _days Of love_ Qq F1.

 30, 31: _More......bed!_] Printed as prose in Qq F1, as verse first
 in Q2.

 31: _Wait in_] _Wait on_ Rowe.

 33, 34: The lines end _between...manager_ in Q1. Corrected in Q2.

 34: _our_] Ff. _or_ Qq.

 38: _Philostrate_] Qq. _Egeus_ Ff.

 38, 42, 61: Phil.] Qq. Ege. Ff.

 42: _There_] _Here_ Anon. ap. Halliwell conj.

     _ripe_] Q1. _rife_ Q2 Ff.

 43: [Giving a paper.] Theobald.

 44: The. [reads] The. Qq. Lys. Ff. See note (IX).

     _Centaurs_] _centaur_ F4.

 58–60: Printed as prose in Qq Ff.

 59: _That is...snow_] omitted by Pope.

     _ice_] _Ise_ Q1.

     _and wondrous strange snow_] _and wond’rous scorching snow_
     Hanmer. _a wondrous strange shew_ Warburton. _and wondrous
     strange black snow_ Capell (Upton conj.). _and wonderous strong
     snow_ Mason conj. _and wondrous seething snow_ Collier (Collier
     MS.). _and wondrous swarthy snow_ Staunton conj. _and wondrous
     staining snow_ Nicholson conj.

 61: _there is_] _it is_ Hanmer. _this is_ Collier (Collier MS.).

 66–70: Qq F1 end the lines
 _Pyramus,...saw...water...laughter...shed._ Corrected in F2.

 75: _nuptial_] Qq F1. _nuptials_ F2 F3 F4.

 76, 77: Qq Ff end these lines _hear it...heard._ Corrected by Rowe
 (ed. 2).

 79: Johnson supposes a line to be lost after _intents_.

 80: _conn’d_] _penn’d_ Kenrick conj.

 81, 82: _I...thing_] As one line in Qq Ff. Corrected by Rowe (ed. 2).

 91: _poor duty_] _poor willing duty_ Theobald. _poor duty meaning_
 Spedding conj.

     _do_] _do aright_ Seymour conj. _do, yet would_ Coleridge conj.

 91, 92: _noble respect Takes_] _Noble respect takes_ Theobald.

 92: _it in might, not_] _not in might, but_ Johnson conj. _it in
 mind, not_ Spedding conj.

 105: Re-enter...] Enter... Theobald. Enter Philomon. Pope.

 106: Phil.] Qq. Egeus. Ff.

 107: Flourish of trumpets.] Flor. Trum. Ff. om. Qq.

 108: SCENE II. Pope.

     Enter Quince for the Prologue] Rowe. Enter the Prologue. Qq.
     Enter the Prologue. Quince. F1 F2. Enter Prologue. Quince. F3
     F4.

 114–117: Pope alters the punctuation here.

 118: _points_] _his points_ Collier (Collier MS.).

 120: _A good_] Dem. _A good_ Edd. conj.

 122: _his_] Ff. _this_ Qq.

 123: _a recorder_] Qq F1. _the recorder_ F2 F3 F4.

 124: _chain_] _skein_ Anon. conj.

 125: _next_] Qq F1. _the next_ F2 F3 F4.

 125: [Tawyer with a trumpet before them. Ff. See note (X).

     Enter...] Enter... as in dumb show. Capell.

 130: _lime_] _loam_ Capell conj. MS.

 131: _that_] Qq F1. _the_ F2 F3 F4.

 138: _grisly_] _grizy_ F1.

     _Lion hight by name_] _by name Lion hight_ Theobald.

 139: Malone conjectures that a line has been lost after _night._

 141: _did fall_] _let fall_ Pope.

 144: _trusty_] Qq. om. F1. _gentle_ F2 F3 F4.

 147: _And Thisby, tarrying_] Qq Ff. _And, Thisby tarrying_ Malone.

     _in_] _in the_ F3 F4.

 150: [Exeunt...] Exit Lyon, Thisby, and Moonshine. Qq (after line
 153). Exit all but Wall. Ff (which repeat the stage direction of Qq).

 155: _Snout_] Ff. _Flute_ Qq.

 158: _Pyramus_] _Pyr’mus_ Theobald.

     _Thisby_] _This-be_ Theobald.

 160: _loam_] F3 F4. _lome_ Qq. _loame_ F1 F2. _lime_ Reed. See
 note (XI).

 172: _O sweet, O_] Qq. _thou sweet and_ Ff. _O sweet and_ Pope.

 173: _stand’st_] Q1. _stands_ Q2 Ff.

 175: [Wall...fingers.] Capell.

 183: _now_] Qq. om. Ff.

 184: _it will fall pat...comes_ Enter Thisbe.] Qq. _it will fall._
 [Enter Thisbie.] _Pat...comes_ Ff.

 189: _hair_] _hayire_ Q1.

     _up in thee_] Ff. _now againe_ Qq.

 190: _see_] Qq F1. _heare_ F2 F3 F4.

 191: _hear_] Qq F1. _see_ F2 F3 F4.

 193: _love thou art, my love_] Qq Ff. _love! thou art, my love_,
 Theobald.

 195: _Limander_] _Limandea_ Pope.

 196: _I_] Qq F2. om. F1 F3 F4.

 202: [Exeunt P. and T.] Dyce.

 204: [Exit.] Exit Clow. Ff. om. Qq. [Exeunt Wall, P. and T. Capell.

 205: The.] Duk. Qq Ff.

     _mural down_] Pope (ed. 2). _Moon used_ Qq. _morall downe_ Ff.
     _mure all down_ Hanmer. _wall down_ Collier MS.

 208: _hear_] _rear_ Hanmer (Warburton). _disappear_ Heath conj.

 209: Hip.] Dutch. Qq Ff.

     _ever_] Q1. _ere_ Q2 Ff.

 214: _come_] Qq. _com_ F1. _comes_ F2 F3 F4.

 215: _beasts in, a man_] Rowe (ed. 2). _beasts, in a man_ Qq Ff.
 _beasts_—_in a moon_ Theobald conj. _beasts in, a moon-calf_ Farmer
 conj. _beasts in, a man in a lion_ Jackson conj.

 210: _one_] Ff. _as_ Qq.

 221: _A lion-fell_] Singer. _A lion fell_ Qq Ff. _No lion fell_
 Rowe. _A lion’s fell_ Dyce (Barron Field conj.).

 223: _on_] Qq. _of_ Ff. _o’_ Capell conj. MS.

     _my_] _your_ Collier MS.

 232: _listen_] Q1. _hearken_ Q2 Ff.

     _moon_] _man_ Anon. conj.

 235: _no_] _not_ Collier (Collier MS.).

 238: _do_] Qq. _doth_ Ff.

 244: _aweary_] Q1. _weary_ Q2 Ff.

 246: _his_] _this_ Pope.

 253, 254: _for all these_] Q1. _for they_ Q2 Ff.

 255: _old...tomb_] _ould...tumbe_ Q1.

     _Where is_] _wher’s_ Q2.

 256: [The Lion roares, Thisby runs off. Ff. om. Qq.

 260: _a_] om. Rowe (ed. 1).

     [The Lion......exit.] Capell. om. Ff Qq.

 261: _moused_] _mouz’d_ Qq Ff. _mouth’d_ Rowe.

 262, 263: _And then...vanished_] _and so...And then the moon
 vanishes_ Steevens (Farmer conj.). Mr Spedding conjectures that
 these lines should be transposed.

 266: _gleams_] Staunton (Knight conj.). _streams_ F2 F3 F4.
 _beames_ Qq F1.

 267: _take_] Qq. _taste_ Ff.

     _Thisby_] Qq. _Thisbies_ Ff.

 273: _dear_] _deare_ Qq. _Deere_ F1 F2. _Deer_ F3 F4.

 276: _ye_] Qq. _you_ Ff.

 280, 281: Printed as verse in Ff, ending _friend...sad._

 280: _and_] _on_ Collier MS.

 284: _dear_] _deare_ Qq. _deere_ F1 F2. _Deer_ F3 F4.

 291: [Stabs himself.] om. Qq Ff.

 296: _Tongue_] _Sun_ Halliwell conj.

     _lose_] Q2 Ff. _loose_ Q1.

 297: [Exit M.] Capell. om. Qq Ff.

 298: [Dies.] Capell. om. Qq Ff.

 303: _and prove_] Q2 Ff. _and yet prove_ Q1.

 304: _Moonshine_] _the Moon-shine_ F3 F4.

     _before Thisbe_] Rowe. _before? Thisby_ Qq Ff.

 310: _mote_] Steevens (Heath conj.). _moth_ Qq Ff.

 311, 312: _he for a man...God bless us_] Qq. omitted in Ff.

 311: _warrant_] _warnd_ Qq.

 314: _means_] Qq Ff. _moans_ Theobald.

 320: _thy_] _my_ F3 F4.

 321, 322: _These...nose_] _These lips lily, This nose cherry_ Farmer
 conj. _This lily lip, This cherry tip_ Collier (Collier MS.).

 321: _lips_] _brows_ Theobald.

 322: _nose_] _nip_ Grant White conj.

 330: _Lay_] _Love_ Theobald.

 332: _his_] _this_ F3 F4.

 335: [Stabs herself.] om. Qq Ff.

 341: Bot.] Ff. Lyon. Qq.

     [Starting up] Capell.

 347: _need_] _be_ Capell conj.

     _Marry_] _Mary_ Q1.

 348: _hanged_] Qq. _hung_ Ff.

 351: [A dance.] A dance and exeunt clowns. Capell. om. Qq Ff. Here a
 dance of clowns. Rowe.

 360: SCENE II. Capell. SCENE III. Pope.

     _lion_] Rowe. _lions_ Qq Ff.

 361: _behowls_] Theobald (Warburton). _beholds_ Qq Ff.

 363: _fordone_] _foredoone_ Q1. _foredone_ Q2 Ff.

 365: _screech-owl_] _scriech-owle_ Q1. _scritch-owle_ Q2 Ff.

 371: _church-way_] _churchyard_ Poole’s Eng. Parnassus.

 379: Enter...] Enter King and Queene of Fairies with all their
 traine. Q1. Enter... with their traine. Q2 Ff.

 380: _Through_] _Though_ Grant White.

     _the_] _this_ Warburton.

     _the house give_] _this house in_ Johnson conj.

 386: _your_] Q1. _this_ Q2 Ff.

 389: [Song and dance.] Capell.

 390–411: Given to _Oberon_ in Qq. Called _The Song_ in Ff and
 printed in italics. Restored to _Oberon_ by Johnson. See note
 (XII).

 403, 404: _be. With...consecrate,_] Qq Ff. _be, With...consecrate._
 Collier MS.

 408: _Ever shall in safety_] Qq Ff. _Ever shall it safely_ Rowe (ed.
 2). _E’er shall it in safety_ Malone. See note (XIII).

 408, 409: These lines are transposed by Staunton.

 410: _away;_] _away, then_ Hanmer.

 411: Exeunt...] Capell. om. Qq Ff.

 415: _these_] _this_ Q2.

 420: _I am_] _I’m_ Capell.

     _an_] om. F3 F4.
~~~~~




NOTES.


NOTE I.

I. 2. 45. It may be questioned whether the true reading is not
‘thisne, thisne;’ that is, ‘in this manner,’ a meaning which
‘thissen’ has in several dialects. See Halliwell’s _Arch. Dict._
‘So-ne’ is used in the same way in Suffolk.


NOTE II.

III. 1. 2. Capell appears to have considered the reading ‘marvailes’
of Q1 as representing the vulgar pronunciation of ‘marvellous,’ and
he therefore printed it ‘marvels,’ as in IV. 1. 23.


NOTE III.

III. 2. 257, 258. In this obscure passage we have thought it best to
retain substantially the reading of the Quartos. The Folios, though
they alter it, do not remove the difficulty, and we must conclude
that some words, perhaps a whole line, have fallen out of the text.


NOTE IV.

III 2. 337. We retain the reading of the old copies in preference to
Theobald’s plausible conjecture. A similar construction occurs in The
Tempest, II. 1. 27, ‘which, of he or Adrian, for a good wager, first
begins to crow?’


NOTE V.

III. 2. 204. Although Pope’s reading of this line was followed by
all editors down to Capell it is rendered extremely improbable by
the occurrence of the word ‘Have’ at the beginning of the line in
all the old copies, and could only have been suggested by what Pope
considered the exigencies of the metre. ‘Needles’ may have been
pronounced, as Steevens writes it, ‘neelds;’ but, if not, the line is
harmonious enough.


NOTE VI.

IV. 1. 1. Johnson says, ‘I see no good reason why the fourth Act
should begin here when there seems no interruption of the action;’
but he does not alter the arrangement of the Folios, which, in the
absence of any good reason to the contrary, we also follow.


NOTE VII.

IV. 1. 8, &c. We have retained throughout this scene the spelling
of the old copies ‘Mounsieur,’ as representing a pronunciation more
appropriate to Bottom, like ‘Cavalery’ a few lines lower down. We are
aware, however, that the word was generally so spelt.


NOTE VIII.

V. 1. In the Folios the stage direction is ‘Enter Theseus, Hippolita,
Egeus and his Lords,’ and the speeches which properly belong to
Philostrate as master of the revels are assigned to Egeus, with the
exception of that beginning ‘No, my noble lord, &c.’ In line 38 the
Quartos correctly read ‘Philostrate’ where the Folios have ‘Egeus.’
The confusion may have arisen, as Mr Grant White suggests, from the
two parts having been originally played by the same actor.


NOTE IX.

V. 1. 44–60. We have followed the Quartos in assigning this speech to
Theseus alone. In the Folios Lysander is represented as reading the
‘brief’ and Theseus as commenting upon it. Theobald first restored
the arrangement of the Quartos.


NOTE X.

V. 1. 125. The stage direction of the Folios is ‘Tawyer with a
trumpet before them,’ Tawyer being generally understood to be the
name of the trumpeter; but Mr Collier, on the strength of a note in
the corrected Folio ‘Enter Presenter,’ interprets ‘Tawyer’ as the
name of the actor who filled the part of Presenter and introduced the
characters of the play.


NOTE XI.

V. 1. 160. In the Variorum edition of 1821 ‘lime’ is given as the
reading of the Folios, and ‘lome’ of the Quartos, the fact being that
F1 F2 read ‘loame,’ and F3 F4 ‘loam.’


NOTE XII.

V. 1. 390–411. This speech, which in the Folios is made ‘The Song,’
was restored by Johnson to Oberon, following the Quartos. He adds,
‘But where then is the song?—I am afraid it is gone after many other
things of greater value. The truth is that two songs are lost. The
series of the scene is this: after the speech of Puck, Oberon enters,
and calls his fairies to a song, which song is apparently wanting in
all the copies. Next Titania leads another song which is indeed lost
like the former, though the editors have endeavoured to find it. Then
Oberon dismisses his fairies to the despatch of the ceremonies. The
songs, I suppose, were lost, because they were not inserted in the
players’ parts, from which the drama was printed.’


NOTE XIII.

V. 1. 408, 409. The difficulty in these two lines is at once removed
by transposing them, as was suggested by C. R. W. a correspondent in
the Illustrated London News. Mr Staunton was at one time inclined to
think that ‘Ever shall’ was a corruption of ‘Every hall,’ but he now
adheres to the solution above given. Malone incorrectly attributes to
Pope the reading which he himself adopts, ‘E’er shall it in safety
rest,’ Pope’s reading being ‘Ever shall in safety rest’ as in Rowe’s
second edition.




THE MERCHANT OF VENICE.




DRAMATIS PERSONÆ[1]


 The DUKE OF VENICE.
 The PRINCE OF MOROCCO[2], suitor to Portia.
 The PRINCE OF ARRAGON,      ”         ”
 ANTONIO, a merchant of Venice.
 BASSANIO, his friend, suitor likewise to Portia.
 SALANIO,    friend to Antonio and Bassanio.
 SALARINO,      ”         ”          ”
 GRATIANO,      ”         ”          ”
 SALERIO[3],    ”         ”          ”
 LORENZO, in love with Jessica.
 SHYLOCK, a rich Jew.
 TUBAL, a Jew, his friend.
 LAUNCELOT GOBBO, the clown, servant to Shylock.
 OLD GOBBO, father to Launcelot.
 LEONARDO, servant to Bassanio.
 BALTHASAR[4], servant to Portia.
 STEPHANO,        ”         ”

 PORTIA, a rich heiress.
 NERISSA, her waiting-maid.
 JESSICA, daughter to Shylock.

 Magnificoes of Venice, Officers of the Court of Justice, Gaoler,
 Servants to Portia, and other Attendants.

SCENE[5]—_Partly at Venice, and partly at Belmont, the seat of Portia,
on the Continent._


~~~~~
 Footnotes:

 1: DRAMATIS PERSONÆ] First given in Q3. See note (I).

 2: THE......MOROCCO] Morochus, a Prince. Q3 Q4. Morochius, a
 Moorish Prince. Rowe.

 3: SALERIO] See note (IX).

 4: BALTHASAR] Theobald, om. Q3 Q4.

 5: SCENE...] Rowe.
~~~~~




THE MERCHANT OF VENICE.




ACT 1.

SCENE I. _Venice. A street._

 _Enter_ ANTONIO, SALARINO, _and_ SALANIO.

_Ant._ In sooth, I know not why I am so sad:
It wearies me; you say it wearies you;
But how I caught it, found it, or came by it,
What stuff ’tis made of, whereof it is born,
I am to learn;                                                       5
And such a want-wit sadness makes of me,
That I have much ado to know myself.

_Salar._ Your mind is tossing on the ocean;
There, where your argosies with portly sail,
Like signiors and rich burghers on the flood,                       10
Or, as it were, the pageants of the sea,
Do overpeer the petty traffickers,
That curt’sy to them, do them reverence,
As they fly by them with their woven wings.

_Salan._ Believe me, sir, had I such venture forth,                 15
The better part of my affections would
Be with my hopes abroad. I should be still
Plucking the grass, to know where sits the wind;
Peering in maps for ports, and piers, and roads;
And every object that might make me fear                            20
Misfortune to my ventures, out of doubt
Would make me sad.

_Salar._           My wind, cooling my broth,
Would blow me to an ague, when I thought
What harm a wind too great at sea might do.
I should not see the sandy hour-glass run,                          25
But I should think of shallows and of flats,
And see my wealthy Andrew dock’d in sand
Vailing her high-top lower than her ribs
To kiss her burial. Should I go to church
And see the holy edifice of stone,                                  30
And not bethink me straight of dangerous rocks,
Which touching but my gentle vessel’s side,
Would scatter all her spices on the stream;
Enrobe the roaring waters with my silks;
And, in a word, but even now worth this,                            35
And now worth nothing? Shall I have the thought
To think on this; and shall I lack the thought,
That such a thing bechanced would make me sad?
But tell not me; I know, Antonio
Is sad to think upon his merchandise.                               40

_Ant._ Believe me, no: I thank my fortune for it,
My ventures are not in one bottom trusted,
Nor to one place; nor is my whole estate
Upon the fortune of this present year:
Therefore my merchandise makes me not sad.                          45

_Salar._ Why, then you are in love.

_Ant._                              Fie, fie!

_Salar._ Not in love neither? Then let us say you are sad,
Because you are not merry: and ’twere as easy
For you to laugh, and leap, and say you are merry,
Because you are not sad. Now, by two-headed Janus,                  50
Nature hath framed strange fellows in her time:
Some that will evermore peep through their eyes,
And laugh like parrots at a bag-piper;
And other of such vinegar aspect,
That they’ll not show their teeth in way of smile,                  55
Though Nestor swear the jest be laughable.

 _Enter_ BASSANIO, LORENZO, _and_ GRATIANO.

_Salan._ Here comes Bassanio, your most noble kinsman,
Gratiano, and Lorenzo. Fare ye well:
We leave you now with better company.

_Salar._ I would have stay’d till I had made you merry,             60
If worthier friends had not prevented me.

_Ant._  Your worth is very dear in my regard.
I take it, your own business calls on you,
And you embrace the occasion to depart.

_Salar._  Good morrow, my good lords.                               65

_Bass._  Good signiors both, when shall we laugh? say, when?
You grow exceeding strange: must it be so?

_Salar._  We’ll make our leisures to attend on yours.

 [_Exeunt Salarino and Salanio._

_Lor._  My Lord Bassanio, since you have found Antonio,
We two will leave you: but, at dinner-time,                         70
I pray you, have in mind where we must meet.

_Bass._  I will not fail you.

_Gra._  You look not well, Signior Antonio;
You have too much respect upon the world:
They lose it that do buy it with much care:                         75
Believe me, you are marvellously changed.

_Ant._  I hold the world but as the world, Gratiano;
A stage, where every man must play a part,
And mine a sad one.

_Gra._              Let me play the fool:
With mirth and laughter let old wrinkles come;                      80
And let my liver rather heat with wine
Than my heart cool with mortifying groans.
Why should a man, whose blood is warm within,
Sit like his grandsire cut in alabaster?
Sleep when he wakes, and creep into the jaundice                    85
By being peevish? I tell thee what, Antonio—,
I love thee, and it is my love that speaks,—
There are a sort of men, whose visages
Do cream and mantle like a standing pond;
And do a wilful stillness entertain,                                90
With purpose to be dress’d in an opinion
Of wisdom, gravity, profound conceit;
As who should say, ‘I am Sir Oracle,
And, when I ope my lips, let no dog bark!’
O my Antonio, I do know of these,                                   95
That therefore only are reputed wise
For saying nothing; when, I am very sure,
If they should speak, would almost damn those ears,
Which, hearing them, would call their brothers fools.
I’ll tell thee more of this another time:                          100
But fish not, with this melancholy bait,
For this fool gudgeon, this opinion.
Come, good Lorenzo. Fare ye well awhile:
I’ll end my exhortation after dinner.

_Lor._ Well, we will leave you, then, till dinner-time:            105
I must be one of these same dumb wise men,
For Gratiano never lets me speak.

_Gra._ Well, keep me company but two years moe,
Thou shalt not know the sound of thine own tongue.

_Ant._ Farewell: I’ll grow a talker for this gear.                 110

_Gra._ Thanks, i’faith; for silence is only commendable
In a neat’s tongue dried, and a maid not vendible.

 [_Exeunt Gratiano and Lorenzo._

_Ant._ Is that any thing now?

_Bass._ Gratiano speaks an infinite deal of nothing, more
than any man in all Venice. His reasons are as two grains          115
of wheat hid in two bushels of chaff: you shall seek all day
ere you find them: and when you have them, they are not
worth the search.

_Ant._ Well, tell me now, what lady is the same
To whom you swore a secret pilgrimage,                             120
That you to-day promised to tell me of?

_Bass._ ’Tis not unknown to you, Antonio,
How much I have disabled mine estate,
By something showing a more swelling port
Than my faint means would grant continuance:                       125
Nor do I now make moan to be abridged
From such a noble rate; but my chief care
Is, to come fairly off from the great debts,
Wherein my time, something too prodigal,
Hath left me gaged. To you, Antonio,                               130
I owe the most, in money and in love;
And from your love I have a warranty
To unburden all my plots and purposes
How to get clear of all the debts I owe.

_Ant._ I pray you, good Bassanio, let me know it;                  135
And if it stand, as you yourself still do,
Within the eye of honour, be assured,
My purse, my person, my extremest means,
Lie all unlock’d to your occasions.

_Bass._ In my school-days, when I had lost one shaft,              140
I shot his fellow of the self-same flight
The self-same way with more advised watch,
To find the other forth; and by adventuring both,
I oft found both: I urge this childhood proof,
Because what follows is pure innocence.                            145
I owe you much; and, like a wilful youth,
That which I owe is lost: but if you please
To shoot another arrow that self way
Which you did shoot the first, I do not doubt,
As I will watch the aim, or to find both,                          150
Or bring your latter hazard back again,
And thankfully rest debtor for the first.

_Ant._ You know me well; and herein spend but time
To wind about my love with circumstance;
And out of doubt you do me now more wrong                          155
In making question of my uttermost,
Than if you had made waste of all I have:
Then do but say to me what I should do,
That in your knowledge may by me be done,
And I am prest unto it: therefore, speak.                          160

_Bass._ In Belmont is a lady richly left;
And she is fair, and, fairer than that word,
Of wondrous virtues: sometimes from her eyes
I did receive fair speechless messages:
Her name is Portia; nothing undervalued                            165
To Cato’s daughter, Brutus’ Portia:
Nor is the wide world ignorant of her worth;
For the four winds blow in from every coast
Renowned suitors: and her sunny locks
Hang on her temples like a golden fleece;                          170
Which makes her seat of Belmont Colchos’ strond,
And many Jasons come in quest of her.
O my Antonio, had I but the means
To hold a rival place with one of them,
I have a mind presages me such thrift,                             175
That I should questionless be fortunate!

_Ant._ Thou know’st that all my fortunes are at sea;
Neither have I money, nor commodity
To raise a present sum: therefore go forth;
Try what my credit can in Venice do:                               180
That shall be rack’d, even to the uttermost,
To furnish thee to Belmont, to fair Portia.
Go, presently inquire, and so will I,
Where money is; and I no question make,
To have it of my trust, or for my sake.      [_Exeunt._            185


~~~~~
 Linenotes: _The Merchant of Venice_, I, 1.

 Enter...Salanio] See note (I).

 5, 6: So printed in Q3 Q4: as one line in Q1 Q2 Ff.

 10: _on_] _of_ Steevens (Capell conj.).

 13: _curt’sy_] _cursie_ Q1 Q2.

 19: _Peering_] _Piering_ Q1. _Piring_ Q2. _Prying_ Q3 Q4.

 24: _at sea might do_] _at sea, might do_ Q1. _might doe at sea_
 Q2 Ff Q3 Q4.

 27: _Andrew dock’d_] Rowe. _Andrew docks_ Qq Ff. _Arg’sy dock’d_
 Hanmer. _Andrew’s decks_ Collier conj. _Andrew, decks_ Delius.

 33: _her_] _the_ Q1. _my_ Anon. conj.

 46: _Why, then you are_] Q2 Ff Q3 Q4. _Then y’are_ Q1.

     _fie!_] _fie, away!_ Hanmer.

 47: _neither?_] Q1. _neither:_ Q2 F1 Q3 Q4. _neither!_ F2 F3
 F4.

     _let us_] _let’s_ Pope.

 48: _and_] om. Pope.

 54: _other_] _others_ Pope.

 56: Enter...] om. Q1. Dyce after line 64.

 58: _Fare ye well_] Q3 Q4 F3 F4. _Faryewell_ Q1 Q2 F1 F2.
 _Fare you well_ Capell.

 68: [Exeunt...] om. Rowe.

 69: Lor.] Lord. F2. Sola. Rowe.

     _you have_] _you’ve_ Pope.

 72: [Exit. Q1.

 78: _man_] _one_ Q1.

 82: _heart_] _heat_ F2 F3.

 84: _alabaster_] Pope. _alablaster_ Qq Ff.

 87: _it is_] Ff. _tis_ Qq.

 89: _cream_] _dreame_ Q1.

 93: _am Sir_] Qq. _am Sir an_ Ff.

 95: _these_] _those_ Q1.

 97: _when_] _who_ Rowe.

     _I am_] _I’m_ Pope.

 98: _would_] _’twould_ Collier (Collier MS.).

     _damn_] F4. _dam_ Q1 Q2. _damme_ F1 F2 F3. _dant_ Q3 Q4.

 102: _fool_] _fool’s_ Pope.

 103: _Fare ye well_] _farwell_ Q1.

 108: _moe_] _more_ Rowe.

 110: _Farewell_] _Farwell_ Q1. _Far you well_ Q2 F1. _Fare you
 well_ F2 Q3 Q4 F3 F4.

     _gear_] _jeer_ Chedworth conj. _fear_ Anon. ap. Halliwell conj.

 112: [Exeunt G. and L.] Exeunt Qq Ff.

 113: _Is...now?_] Rowe. _It is...now._ Qq Ff. _It is that:—any
 thing now._ Collier.

     _now_] _new_ Johnson conj.

 115: _as_] om. Ff.

 119: _the_] _this_ Hanmer.

 124: _something showing_] _shewing something_ Pope.

 125: _continuance_] _continuance of_ Chedworth conj.

 143: _the other forth_] _the other, forth_ Hanmer. _the first_
 Seymour conj. _him forth_ Lloyd conj.

 146: _wilful_] _witless_ Warburton. _wileful_ Becket conj.
 _wasteful_ Collier MS.

     _wilful youth_] _prodigal_ Lansdowne version.

 155: _do me now_] Qq. _doe_ F1. _do to me_ F2 F3 F4.

 160: _unto it_] _to serve you_ Mason conj.

 163: _sometimes_] _sometime,_ Theobald.

 164: _messages_] _messengers_ Mason conj.

 171: _strond_] _strand_ Johnson.

 172: _come_] _comes_ Q1.

 175: _presages me such_] _which so presages_ Seymour conj.

 178: _Neither_] _Nor_ Pope.
~~~~~


SCENE II. _Belmont._ _A room in_ PORTIA’S _house_.

 _Enter_  PORTIA _and_ NERISSA.

_Por._  By my troth, Nerissa, my little body is aweary
of this great world.

_Ner._ You would be, sweet madam, if your miseries
were in the same abundance as your good fortunes are: and
yet, for aught I see, they are as sick that surfeit with too         5
much, as they that starve with nothing. It is no mean happiness,
therefore, to be seated in the mean: superfluity
comes sooner by white hairs; but competency lives longer.

_Por._  Good sentences, and well pronounced.

_Ner._  They would be better, if well followed.                     10

_Por._ If to do were as easy as to know what were good
to do, chapels had been churches, and poor men’s cottages
princes’ palaces. It is a good divine that follows his own
instructions: I can easier teach twenty what were good to be
done, than be one of the twenty to follow mine own teaching.        15
The brain may devise laws for the blood; but a hot temper
leaps o’er a cold decree: such a hare is madness the youth,
to skip o’er the meshes of good counsel the cripple. But
this reasoning is not in the fashion to choose me a husband.
O me, the word ‘choose’! I may neither choose whom I                20
would, nor refuse whom I dislike; so is the will of a living
daughter curbed by the will of a dead father. Is it not
hard, Nerissa, that I cannot choose one, nor refuse none?

_Ner._  Your father was ever virtuous; and holy men, at
their death, have good inspirations: therefore, the lottery,        25
that he hath devised in these three chests of gold, silver,
and lead,—whereof who chooses his meaning chooses you,—
will, no doubt, never be chosen by any rightly, but one
who shall rightly love. But what warmth is there in your
affection towards any of these princely suitors that are            30
already come?

_Por._ I pray thee, over-name them; and as thou namest
them, I will describe them; and, according to my description,
level at my affection.

_Ner._  First, there is the Neapolitan prince.                      35

_Por._ Ay, that’s a colt indeed, for he doth nothing but
talk of his horse; and he makes it a great appropriation to
his own good parts, that he can shoe him himself. I am
much afeard my lady his mother played false with a smith.

_Ner._  Then there is the County Palatine.                          40

_Por._ He doth nothing but frown; as who should say,
‘if you will not have me, choose:’ he hears merry tales,
and smiles not: I fear he will prove the weeping philosopher
when he grows old, being so full of unmannerly sadness in
his youth. I had rather be married to a death’s-head with           45
a bone in his mouth than to either of these. God defend
me from these two!

_Ner._ How say you by the French lord, Monsieur Le
Bon?

_Por._ God made him, and therefore let him pass for a               50
man. In truth, I know it is a sin to be a mocker: but, he!
—why, he hath a horse better than the Neapolitan’s; a
better bad habit of frowning than the Count Palatine: he is
every man in no man; if a throstle sing, he falls straight a
capering: he will fence with his own shadow: if I should            55
marry him, I should marry twenty husbands. If he would
despise me, I would forgive him; for if he love me to madness,
I shall never requite him.

_Ner._ What say you, then, to Falconbridge, the young
baron of England?                                                   60

_Por._ You know I say nothing to him; for he understands
not me, nor I him: he hath neither Latin, French,
nor Italian; and you will come into the court and swear
that I have a poor pennyworth in the English. He is a
proper man’s picture; but, alas, who can converse with a            65
dumbshow? How oddly he is suited! I think he bought
his doublet in Italy, his round hose in France, his bonnet
in Germany, and his behaviour every where.

_Ner._ What think you of the Scottish lord, his neighbour?

_Por._ That he hath a neighbourly charity in him; for he            70
borrowed a box of the ear of the Englishman, and swore he
would pay him again when he was able: I think the Frenchman
became his surety, and sealed under for another.

_Ner._ How like you the young German, the Duke of
Saxony’s nephew?                                                    75

_Por._ Very vilely in the morning, when he is sober; and
most vilely in the afternoon, when he is drunk: when he is
best, he is a little worse than a man; and when he is worst,
he is little better than a beast: an the worst fall that ever
fell, I hope I shall make shift to go without him.                  80

_Ner._ If he should offer to choose, and choose the right
casket, you should refuse to perform your father’s will, if
you should refuse to accept him.

_Por._ Therefore, for fear of the worst, I pray thee, set a
deep glass of Rhenish wine on the contrary casket; for, if          85
the devil be within and that temptation without, I know
he will choose it. I will do any thing, Nerissa, ere I’ll
be married to a sponge.

_Ner._ You need not fear, lady, the having any of these
lords: they have acquainted me with their determinations;           90
which is, indeed, to return to their home, and to trouble
you with no more suit, unless you may be won by some
other sort than your father’s imposition, depending on the
caskets.

_Por._ If I live to be as old as Sibylla, I will die as             95
chaste as Diana, unless I be obtained by the manner of my
father’s will. I am glad this parcel of wooers are so reasonable;
for there is not one among them but I dote on his
very absence; and I pray God grant them a fair departure.

_Ner._ Do you not remember, lady, in your father’s                 100
time, a Venetian, a scholar, and a soldier, that came hither
in company of the Marquis of Montferrat?

_Por._ Yes, yes, it was Bassanio; as I think he was so
called.

_Ner._ True, madam: he, of all the men that ever my                105
foolish eyes looked upon, was the best deserving a fair lady.

_Por._ I remember him well; and I remember him worthy
of thy praise.

 _Enter a_ Serving-man.

How now! what news?

_Serv._ The four strangers seek for you, madam, to take            110
their leave: and there is a forerunner come from a fifth, the
Prince of Morocco; who brings word, the prince his master
will be here to-night.

_Por._ If I could bid the fifth welcome with so good a
heart as I can bid the other four farewell, I should be glad       115
of his approach: if he have the condition of a saint and the
complexion of a devil, I had rather he should shrive me
than wive me.
Come, Nerissa. Sirrah, go before.
Whiles we shut the gates upon one wooer, another knocks
at the door.          [_Exeunt._                                   120


~~~~~
 Linenotes: _The Merchant of Venice_, I, 2.

 SCENE II. Belmont...house.] Capell. Three caskets are set out, one
 of gold, another of silver, and another of lead. Rowe.

 Enter...] Enter P. with her waiting woman N. Qq Ff (wating. Q3 Q4).

 1: _aweary_] _weary_ F3 F4.

 6, 7: _It is no mean happiness, therefore_] Qq. _It is no small
 happiness therefore_ F1 F2 F3. _therefore it is no small
 happiness_ F4. _therefore it is no mean happiness_ Theobald.

 13: _It_] _He_ Pope.

 15: _than be_] Ff. _then to be_ Qq.

 19: _reasoning_] Qq. _reason_ Ff.

     _in_] om. Mason conj.

     _the fashion_] Qq. _fashion_ Ff.

 20, 21: _whom...whom_] Ff. _who...who_ Qq.

 22: _Is it_] _it is_ F1.

 28: _will, no doubt, never_] Q2 Ff Q3 Q4. _no doubt you wil
 never_ Q1.

 29: _who_] Q1. _who you_ Q2 Ff Q3 Q4. _whom you_ Pope.

 32, 84: _pray thee_] _prethee_ Q1.

 36: _colt_] _dolt_ Theobald.

 37: _appropriation to_] _appropriation unto_ Q1. _approbation of_
 Collier (Collier MS.).

 38: _him_] om. Q1.

 39: _afeard_] Qq. _afraid_ Ff.

 40: _there is_] Q1. _is there_ Q2 Ff Q3 Q4.

 40, 52: _Palatine_] Q1. _Palentine_ Q2 Ff Q3 Q4.

 42: _if_] Q1. & Q2. _and_ Ff Q3 Q4.

 45: _be_] Qq. _to be_ Ff.

 49: _Bon_] _Boune_ Qq F1 F2. _Boun_ F3 F4.

 51: _a sin_] Qq F1. _sin_ F2 F3 F4.

 54: _throstle_] Pope, _trassell_ Qq F1. _tarssell_ F2. _tassell_
 F3 F4.

 58: _shall_] Qq. _should_ Ff.

 59: _you_] om. Capell (corrected in MS.).

 63: _will_] _may_ Pope.

 64: _the English_] _English_ Rowe.

 69: _Scottish_] Qq. _other_ Ff. _Irish_ Collier MS.

 71: _swore_] _sworne_ F2.

 79: _an the worst_] _and the worst_ Qq Ff. _and, the worst_ Hanmer.

 87: _I’ll_] _ile_ Q1. _I will_ Q2 Ff Q3 Q4.

 90: _determinations_] _determination_ Rowe.

 93: _your_] _you_ F2.

 99: _I pray God grant them_] Qq. _I wish them_ Ff. _wish them_ Rowe.

 101: _a scholar_] _scholler_ Q1.

 103: _he was so_] Q1. _so was he_ Q2 Ff Q3 Q4.

 109: _How now! what news?_] Qq. omitted in Ff.

 110: _seek for you_] Qq. _seek you_ Ff.

 114: _a_] Q1. om Q2 Ff Q3 Q4.

 118, 119: Printed as prose in Qq Ff; first as verse by Knight.

 120: _gates_] Q1. _gate_ Q2 Ff Q3 Q4.
~~~~~


SCENE III.  _Venice. A public place._

 _Enter_ BASSANIO _and_ SHYLOCK.

_Shy._ Three thousand ducats; well.

_Bass._ Ay, sir, for three months.

_Shy._ For three months; well.

_Bass._ For the which, as I told you, Antonio shall be
bound.                                                               5

_Shy._ Antonio shall become bound; well.

_Bass._ May you stead me? will you pleasure me? shall
I know your answer?

_Shy._ Three thousand ducats for three months, and
Antonio bound.                                                      10

_Bass._ Your answer to that.

_Shy._ Antonio is a good man.

_Bass._ Have you heard any imputation to the contrary?

_Shy._ Ho, no, no, no, no: my meaning, in saying he is
a good man, is to have you understand me, that he is sufficient.    15
Yet his means are in supposition: he hath an argosy
bound to Tripolis, another to the Indies; I understand,
moreover, upon the Rialto, he hath a third at Mexico, a
fourth for England, and other ventures he hath, squandered
abroad. But ships are but boards, sailors but men: there be         20
land-rats and water-rats, water-thieves and land-thieves, I
mean pirates; and then there is the peril of waters, winds,
and rocks. The man is, notwithstanding, sufficient. Three
thousand ducats; I think I may take his bond.

_Bass._ Be assured you may.                                         25

_Shy._ I will be assured I may; and, that I may be
assured, I will bethink me. May I speak with Antonio?

_Bass._ If it please you to dine with us.

_Shy._ Yes, to smell pork; to eat of the habitation
which your prophet the Nazarite conjured the devil into.            30
I will buy with you, sell with you, talk with you, walk with
you, and so following; but I will not eat with you, drink
with you, nor pray with you. What news on the Rialto?
Who is he comes here?

 _Enter_ ANTONIO.

_Bass._ This is Signior Antonio.                                    35

_Shy._ [_Aside_] How like a fawning publican he looks!
I hate him for he is a Christian;
But more for that in low simplicity
He lends out money gratis and brings down
The rate of usance here with us in Venice.                          40
If I can catch him once upon the hip,
I will feed fat the ancient grudge I bear him.
He hates our sacred nation; and he rails,
Even there where merchants most do congregate,
On me, my bargains, and my well-won thrift,                         45
Which he calls interest. Cursed be my tribe,
If I forgive him!

_Bass._           Shylock, do you hear?

_Shy._  I am debating of my present store;
And, by the near guess of my memory,
I cannot instantly raise up the gross                               50
Of full three thousand ducats. What of that?
Tubal, a wealthy Hebrew of my tribe,
Will furnish me. But soft! how many months
Do you desire? [_To Ant._] Rest you fair, good signior;
Your worship was the last man in our mouths.                        55

_Ant._  Shylock, although I neither lend nor borrow,
By taking nor by giving of excess,
Yet, to supply the ripe wants of my friend,
I’ll break a custom. Is he yet possess’d
How much ye would?

_Shy._             Ay, ay, three thousand ducats.                   60

_Ant._  And for three months.

_Shy._  I had forgot; three months, you told me so.
Well then, your bond; and let me see; but hear you;
Methought you said you neither lend nor borrow
Upon advantage.

_Ant._          I do never use it.                                  65

_Shy._  When Jacob grazed his uncle Laban’s sheep,—
This Jacob from our holy Abram was,
As his wise mother wrought in his behalf,
The third possessor; ay, he was the third,—

_Ant._  And what of him? did he take interest?                      70

_Shy._  No, not take interest; not, as you would say,
Directly interest: mark what Jacob did.
When Laban and himself were compromised
That all the eanlings which were streak’d and pied
Should fall as Jacob’s hire, the ewes, being rank,                  75
In the end of autumn turned to the rams;
And when the work of generation was
Between these woolly breeders in the act,
The skilful shepherd peel’d me certain wands,
And, in the doing of the deed of kind,                              80
He stuck them up before the fulsome ewes,
Who, then conceiving, did in eaning time
Fall parti-colour’d lambs, and those were Jacob’s.
This was a way to thrive, and he was blest:
And thrift is blessing, if men steal it not.                        85

_Ant._  This was a venture, sir, that Jacob served for;
A thing not in his power to bring to pass,
But sway’d and fashion’d by the hand of heaven.
Was this inserted to make interest good?
Or is your gold and silver ewes and rams?                           90

_Shy._  I cannot tell; I make it breed as fast:
But note me, signior.

_Ant._                Mark you this, Bassanio,
The devil can cite Scripture for his purpose.
An evil soul, producing holy witness,
Is like a villain with a smiling cheek;                             95
A goodly apple rotten at the heart:
O, what a goodly outside falsehood hath!

_Shy._ Three thousand ducats; ’tis a good round sum.
Three months from twelve; then, let me see; the rate—

_Ant._ Well, Shylock, shall we be beholding to you?                100

_Shy._ Signior Antonio, many a time and oft
In the Rialto you have rated me
About my moneys and my usances:
Still have I borne it with a patient shrug;
For sufferance is the badge of all our tribe.                      105
You call me misbeliever, cut-throat dog,
And spit upon my Jewish gaberdine,
And all for use of that which is mine own.
Well then, it now appears you need my help:
Go to, then; you come to me, and you say                           110
‘Shylock, we would have moneys:’ you say so;
You, that did void your rheum upon my beard,
And foot me as you spurn a stranger cur
Over your threshold: moneys is your suit.
What should I say to you? Should I not say                         115
‘Hath a dog money? is it possible
A cur can lend three thousand ducats?’ or
Shall I bend low and in a bondman’s key,
With bated breath and whispering humbleness,
Say this,—                                                         120
‘Fair sir, you spit on me on Wednesday last;
You spurn’d me such a day; another time
You call’d me dog; and for these courtesies
I’ll lend you thus much moneys’?

_Ant._ I am as like to call thee so again,                         125
To spit on thee again, to spurn thee too.
If thou wilt lend this money, lend it not
As to thy friends; for when did friendship take
A breed for barren metal of his friend?
But lend it rather to thine enemy;                                 130
Who if he break, thou mayst with better face
Exact the penalty.

_Shy._             Why, look you, how you storm!
I would be friends with you, and have your love,
Forget the shames that you have stain’d me with,
Supply your present wants, and take no doit                        135
Of usance for my moneys, and you’ll not hear me:
This is kind I offer.

_Bass._ This were kindness.

_Shy._                      This kindness will I show.
Go with me to a notary, seal me there
Your single bond; and, in a merry sport,                           140
If you repay me not on such a day,
In such a place, such sum or sums as are
Express’d in the condition, let the forfeit
Be nominated for an equal pound
Of your fair flesh, to be cut off and taken                        145
In what part of your body pleaseth me.

_Ant._ Content, i’faith: I’ll seal to such a bond,
And say there is much kindness in the Jew.

_Bass._ You shall not seal to such a bond for me:
I’ll rather dwell in my necessity.                                 150

_Ant._ Why, fear not, man; I will not forfeit it:
Within these two months, that’s a month before
This bond expires, I do expect return
Of thrice three times the value of this bond.

_Shy._ O father Abram, what these Christians are,                  155
Whose own hard dealings teaches them suspect
The thoughts of others! Pray you, tell me this;
If he should break his day, what should I gain
By the exaction of the forfeiture?
A pound of man’s flesh taken from a man                            160
Is not so estimable, profitable neither,
As flesh of muttons, beefs, or goats. I say,
To buy his favour, I extend this friendship:
If he will take it, so; if not, adieu;
And, for my love, I pray you wrong me not.                         165

_Ant._ Yes, Shylock, I will seal unto this bond.

_Shy._ Then meet me forthwith at the notary’s;
Give him direction for this merry bond;
And I will go and purse the ducats straight;
See to my house, left in the fearful guard                         170
Of an unthrifty knave; and presently
I will be with you.

_Ant._              Hie thee, gentle Jew.     [_Exit Shylock._
The Hebrew will turn Christian: he grows kind.

_Bass._ I like not fair terms and a villain’s mind.

_Ant._ Come on: in this there can be no dismay;                    175
My ships come home a month before the day.       [_Exeunt._


~~~~~
 Linenotes: _The Merchant of Venice_, I, 3.

 3: _months_] _mouths_ F2.

 14: _Ho,...no_] Qq F1. _No, no, no, no, no_ F2. _No, no, no, no_
 F3 F4.

 18: _Rialto_] _Ryalta_ Qq F1. _Ryalto_ F2 F3. _Royalto_ F4.

 19: _hath, squandered_] Theobald. _hath squandred_ Qq Ff.

 21: _land-rats_] _lands rats_ F2.

     _water-thieves and land-thieves_] _land thieves and water
     thieves_ Singer (Eccles conj.).

 29, 30: _to eat...into._] omitted by Johnson.

 33: _Rialto_] Q3 Q4. _Ryalto_ Q1 Q2 F2 F3 F4. _Ryalta_ F1.

 34: _is he_] om. Rowe.

 45: _well-won_] Q1 Q3 Q4. _well-wone_ Q2. _well-worne_ F1 F2
 F3. _well-worn_ F4.

 47: _Shylock_] _Shyloch_ Q1.

 56: _although_] Q1 _albeit_ Q2 Ff Q3 Q4.

 58: _ripe_] _rife_ Johnson conj.

 59, 60: _Is...would?_] Q2 Q3 Q4. _are you resolv’d How much he
 would have_ Q1. _is he yet possest How much he would_ Ff. _Is he
 yet possest, How much you would_ Theobald. _are you yet possess’d
 How much he would_ Collier MS. _Is he yet possess’d How much we
 would_ S. Walker conj.

 62: _you told_] _he told_ Hanmer.

 63: _and let_] _but let_ F3 F4.

 64: _Methought_] Q1 Q3 Q4. _Me thoughts_ Q2 Ff.

 73: _were_] _was_ Q3 Q4.

     _compromised_] _compremyzd_ Q1 Q2 F1. _comprimyz’d_ F2 F3.
     compremiz’d Q3 Q4. comprimis’d F4.

 74: _eanlings_] _eanelings_ Qq F1 F2 F3. _euelings_ F4.
 _ewelings_ Rowe. _yeanlings_ Pope.

 76: _In the end_] _In th’ end_ Q1. _In end_ Q2 Ff Q3 Q4.

 77: _And_] _Then_ Hanmer.

 79: _peel’d_] _pyld_ Q1 Q2. _pil’d_ Ff. _pyl’d_ Q3 Q4.

 82: _eaning_] _yeaning_ Rowe.

 89: _inserted_] _inferred_ Collier MS.

 91: _breed_] _breeds_ F2.

 96: _A_] _Or_ Johnson conj. (who would place line 97 before 94).

 97: _goodly outside_] _godly outside_ Rowe. _goodly outside’s_
 Warburton.

 99: _then, let me see; the rate—_] Edd. (Lloyd conj.). _then let me
 see the rate._ Qq Ff.

 100: _beholding_] _beholden_ Pope.

 102: _In_] _On_ Collier (Capell conj.)

 106: _call_] _call’d_ Collier MS.

 107: _spit_] F3 F4. _spet_ Qq F1 F2.

 111: _moneys_] _money_ Q1.

 117: _can_] Qq. _should_ Ff.

 120, 121: _Say...last_] As one line in Qq Ff.

 121: _spit_] Pope. _spet_ Qq Ff. _spat_ Rowe (ed. 2).

     _on Wednesday last_] _on wendsday last_ Q1 Q2. _last
     Wednesday_ Pope. _Wednesday last_ Capell.

 122: _You_] _Your_ F2.

     _day; another_] Ff. _day another_ Qq.

 126: _spit_] Rowe. _spet_ Qq Ff.

 128: _friends_] Qq F1. _friend_ F2 F3 F4.

 129: _breed for_] Qq. _breed of_ Ff. See note (II).

     _barren_] _bearing_ Theobald conj. (withdrawn). _sordid _
     Lansdowne version.

 132: _penalty_] Q1 Q3 Q4. _penaltie_ Q2. _penalties_ Ff.

 137: _This is_] _This, sure, is_ Hanmer.

 138: Bass.] Anth. Pope.

     _This were_] _Ay, this were_ Capell.

 146: _pleaseth_] Qq. _it pleaseth_ Ff. _it shall please_ Pope.

 147: _i’ faith_] _i faith_ Q1. _in faith_ Q2 Ff Q3 Q4.

 148: _the Jew_] _thee, Jew_ Capell conj. _a Jew_ Id. conj.

 156: _dealings teaches them_] Qq F1. _dealing teaches them_ F2 F3
 F4. _dealings teach them to_ Pope.

 170: _See_] _Look_ Capell (corrected in MS.).

     _fearful_] _fearless_ Warburton.

 172: _I will_] Hanmer. _Ile_ Qq Ff.

 173: _The_] Qq. _This_ Ff. Printed as prose in Qq Ff: first as verse
 by Pope.

     _kind_] _so kind_ Q1.

 174: _terms_] _teames_ F1.
~~~~~




ACT II.


SCENE I. _Belmont. A room in_ PORTIA’S _house_.

 _Flourish of cornets. Enter the_ PRINCE OF MOROCCO _and his train:_
 PORTIA, NERISSA, _and others attending_.

_Mor._ Mislike me not for my complexion,
The shadow’d livery of the burnish’d sun,
To whom I am a neighbour and near bred.
Bring me the fairest creature northward born,
Where Phœbus’ fire scarce thaws the icicles,                         5
And let us make incision for your love,
To prove whose blood is reddest, his or mine.
I tell thee, lady, this aspect of mine
Hath fear’d the valiant: by my love, I swear
The best-regarded virgins of our clime                              10
Have loved it too: I would not change this hue,
Except to steal your thoughts, my gentle queen.

_Por._ In terms of choice I am not solely led
By nice direction of a maiden’s eyes;
Besides, the lottery of my destiny                                  15
Bars me the right of voluntary choosing:
But if my father had not scanted me
And hedged me by his wit, to yield myself
His wife who wins me by that means I told you,
Yourself, renowned prince, then stood as fair                       20
As any comer I have look’d on yet
For my affection.

_Mor._            Even for that I thank you:
Therefore, I pray you, lead me to the caskets.
To try my fortune. By this scimitar
That slew the Sophy and a Persian prince                            25
That won three fields of Sultan Solyman,
I would outstare the sternest eyes that look,
Outbrave the heart most daring on the earth,
Pluck the young sucking cubs from the she-bear,
Yea, mock the lion when he roars for prey,                          30
To win thee, lady. But, alas the while!
If Hercules and Lichas play at dice
Which is the better man, the greater throw
May turn by fortune from the weaker hand:
So is Alcides beaten by his page;                                   35
And so may I, blind fortune leading me.
Miss that which one unworthier may attain,
And die with grieving.

_Por._                 You must take your chance;
And either not attempt to choose at all,
Or swear before you choose, if you choose wrong,                    40
Never to speak to lady afterward
In way of marriage: therefore be advised.

_Mor._ Nor will not. Come, bring me unto my chance.

_Por._ First, forward to the temple: after dinner
Your hazard shall be made.

_Mor._                     Good fortune then!                       45
To make me blest or cursed’st among men.

 [_Cornets, and exeunt._


~~~~~
 Linenotes: _The Merchant of Venice_, II, 1.

 Flourish...attending.] Enter Morochus a tawny Moore all in white
 and three or foure followers accordingly, with Portia, Nerrissa
 and their traine. Qq. Enter...traine. Flo. Cornets. F1. Enter
 Morochius...all white...traine. Flo. Cornets. F2 F3 F4.

 2: _burnish’d_] _burning_ Collier MS.

 4: _me_] om. Q1.

 11: _Have_] _Hath_ Q1.

 13: _solely_] Q3 Q4. _soly_ Q1 Q2 F2 F3. _solie_ F1. _soelly_
 F4.

 18: _wit_] _will_ Capell (Grey conj.).

 24: _scimitar_] _semitaur_ Q1. _symitare_ Q2 F1 Q3 Q4.
 _symitar_ F2 F3 F4.

 27: _outstare_] Q1. _ore-stare_ Q2 Ff Q3 Q4.

 30: _he_] Q1 Ff. _a_ Q2 Q3 Q4.

 31: _thee, lady_] Rowe (ed. 2). _the lady_ Qq Ff.

 35: _page_] Theobald. _rage_ Qq Ff.

 43: _Come...unto_] _Therefore...to_ Pope.

     _unto_] _to_ Q1.

 46: _blest_] _bless’t_ Steevens.
~~~~~


SCENE II. _Venice. A street._

 _Enter_ LAUNCELOT.

_Laun._ Certainly my conscience will serve me to run
from this Jew my master. The fiend is at mine elbow, and
tempts me, saying to me, ‘Gobbo, Launcelot Gobbo, good
Launcelot,’ or ‘good Gobbo,’ or ‘good Launcelot Gobbo,
use your legs, take the start, run away.’ My conscience              5
says, ‘No; take heed, honest Launcelot; take heed, honest
Gobbo,’ or, as aforesaid, ‘honest Launcelot Gobbo; do not
run; scorn running with thy heels.’ Well, the most courageous
fiend bids me pack: ‘Via!’ says the fiend; ‘away!’
says the fiend; ‘for the heavens, rouse up a brave mind,’           10
says the fiend, ‘and run.’ Well, my conscience, hanging
about the neck of my heart, says very wisely to me, ‘My
honest friend Launcelot, being an honest man’s son,’—or
rather an honest woman’s son;—for, indeed, my father did
something smack, something grow to, he had a kind of                15
taste;—well, my conscience says, ‘Launcelot, budge not.’
‘Budge,’ says the fiend. ‘Budge not,’ says my conscience.
‘Conscience,’ say I, ‘you counsel well;’ ‘Fiend,’ say I, ‘you
counsel well:’ to be ruled by my conscience, I should stay
with the Jew my master, who, God bless the mark, is a               20
kind of devil; and, to run away from the Jew, I should be
ruled by the fiend, who, saving your reverence, is the devil
himself. Certainly the Jew is the very devil incarnal;
and, in my conscience, my conscience is but a kind of hard
conscience, to offer to counsel me to stay with the Jew. The        25
fiend gives the more friendly counsel: I will run, fiend; my
heels are at your command; I will run.

 _Enter_  Old GOBBO, _with a basket_.

_Gob._ Master young man, you, I pray you, which is the
way to master Jew’s?

_Laun._ [_Aside_] O heavens, this is my true-begotten               30
father! who, being more than sand-blind, high-gravel blind,
knows me not: I will try confusions with him.

_Gob._ Master young gentleman, I pray you, which is
the way to master Jew’s?

_Laun._ Turn up on your right hand at the next turning,             35
but, at the next turning of all, on your left; marry, at the
very next turning, turn of no hand, but turn down indirectly
to the Jew’s house.

_Gob._ By God’s sonties, ’twill be a hard way to hit.
Can you tell me whether one Launcelot, that dwells with             40
him, dwell with him or no?

_Laun._ Talk you of young Master Launcelot? [_Aside_]
Mark me now; now will I raise the waters. Talk you of
young Master Launcelot?

_Gob._ No master, sir, but a poor man’s son: his father,            45
though I say it, is an honest exceeding poor man, and, God
be thanked, well to live.

_Laun._ Well, let his father be what a’ will, we talk of
young Master Launcelot.

_Gob._ Your worship’s friend, and Launcelot, sir.                   50

_Laun._ But I pray you, ergo, old man, ergo, I beseech
you, talk you of young Master Launcelot?

_Gob._ Of Launcelot, an’t please your mastership.

_Laun._ Ergo, Master Launcelot. Talk not of Master
Launcelot, father; for the young gentleman, according to            55
Fates and Destinies and such odd sayings, the Sisters
Three and such branches of learning, is indeed deceased;
or, as you would say in plain terms, gone to heaven.

_Gob._ Marry, God forbid! the boy was the very staff of
my age, my very prop.                                               60

_Laun._ Do I look like a cudgel or a hovel-post, a staff
or a prop? Do you know me, father?

_Gob._ Alack the day, I know you not, young gentleman:
but, I pray you, tell me, is my boy, God rest his
soul, alive or dead?                                                65

_Laun._ Do you not know me, father?

_Gob._ Alack, sir, I am sand-blind; I-know you not.

_Laun._ Nay, indeed, if you had your eyes, you might fail
of the knowing me: it is a wise father that knows his own
child. Well, old man, I will tell you news of your son:             70
give me your blessing: truth will come to light; murder
cannot be hid long; a man’s son may; but, at the length,
truth will out.

_Gob._ Pray you, sir, stand up: I am sure you are not
Launcelot, my boy.                                                  75

_Laun._ Pray you, let’s have no more fooling about it,
but give me your blessing: I am Launcelot, your boy that
was, your son that is, your child that shall be.

_Gob._ I cannot think you are my son.

_Laun._ I know not what I shall think of that: but                  80
I am Launcelot, the Jew’s man; and I am sure Margery
your wife is my mother.

_Gob._ Her name is Margery, indeed: I’ll be sworn, if
thou be Launcelot, thou art mine own flesh and blood.
Lord worshipped might he be! what a beard hast thou                 85
got! thou hast got more hair on thy chin than Dobbin my
fill-horse has on his tail.

_Laun._ It should seem, then, that Dobbin’s tail grows
backward: I am sure he had more hair of his tail than
I have of my face when I last saw him.                              90

_Gob._ Lord, how art thou changed! How dost thou
and thy master agree? I have brought him a present.
How ’gree you now?

_Laun._ Well, well: but, for mine own part, as I have
set up my rest to run away, so I will not rest till I have          95
run some ground. My master’s a very Jew: give him a
present! give him a halter: I am famished in his service;
you may tell every finger I have with my ribs. Father,
I am glad you are come: give me your present to one
Master Bassanio, who, indeed, gives rare new liveries: if          100
I serve not him, I will run as far as God has any ground.
O rare fortune! here comes the man: to him, father; for
I am a Jew, if I serve the Jew any longer.

 _Enter_ BASSANIO, _with_ LEONARDO _and other followers_.

_Bass._ You may do so; but let it be so hasted, that
supper be ready at the farthest by five of the clock. See          105
these letters delivered; put the liveries to making; and
desire Gratiano to come anon to my lodging.

 [_Exit a Servant._

_Laun._ To him, father.

_Gob._ God bless your worship!

_Bass._ Gramercy! wouldst thou aught with me?                      110

_Gob._ Here’s my son, sir, a poor boy,—

_Laun._ Not a poor boy, sir, but the rich Jew’s man;
that would, sir,—as my father shall specify,—

_Gob._ He hath a great infection, sir, as one would say,
to serve,—                                                         115

_Laun._ Indeed, the short and the long is, I serve the
Jew, and have a desire,—as my father shall specify,—

_Gob._ His master and he, saving your worship’s reverence,
are scarce cater-cousins,—

_Laun._ To be brief, the very truth is that the Jew,               120
having done me wrong, doth cause me,—as my father,
being, I hope, an old man, shall frutify unto you,—

_Gob._ I have here a dish of doves that I would bestow
upon your worship, and my suit is,—

_Laun._ In very brief, the suit is impertinent to myself,          125
as your worship shall know by this honest old man; and,
though I say it, though old man, yet poor man, my father.

_Bass._ One speak for both. What would you?

_Laun._ Serve you, sir.

_Gob._ That is the very defect of the matter, sir.                 130

_Bass._ I know thee well; thou hast obtain’d thy suit:
Shylock thy master spoke with me this day,
And hath preferr’d thee, if it be preferment
To leave a rich Jew’s service, to become
The follower of so poor a gentleman.                               135

_Laun._ The old proverb is very well parted between
my master Shylock and you, sir: you have the grace of
God, sir, and he hath enough.

_Bass._ Thou speak’st it well. Go, father, with thy son.
Take leave of thy old master and inquire                           140
My lodging out. Give him a livery
More guarded than his fellows’: see it done.

_Laun._ Father, in. I cannot get a service, no; I have
ne’er a tongue in my head. Well, if any man in Italy have
a fairer table which doth offer to swear upon a book, I            145
shall have good fortune. Go to, here’s a simple line of
life: here’s a small trifle of wives: alas, fifteen wives is
nothing! a’leven widows and nine maids is a simple coming-in
for one man: and then to ’scape drowning thrice,
and to be in peril of my life with the edge of a feather-bed;      150
here are simple scapes. Well, if Fortune be a woman, she’s
a good wench for this gear. Father, come; I’ll take my
leave of the Jew in the twinkling of an eye.

 [_Exeunt Launcelot and Old Gobbo._

_Bass._ I pray thee, good Leonardo, think on this:
These things being bought and orderly bestow’d,                    155
Return in haste, for I do feast to-night
My best-esteem’d acquaintance: hie thee, go.

_Leon._ My best endeavours shall be done herein.

 _Enter_ GRATIANO.

_Gra._ Where is your master?

_Leon._                      Yonder, sir, he walks.      [_Exit._

_Gra._ Signior Bassanio,—                                          160

_Bass._ Gratiano!

_Gra._ I have a suit to you.

_Bass._                      You have obtain’d it.

_Gra._ You must not deny me: I must go with you to
Belmont.

_Bass._ Why, then you must. But hear thee, Gratiano:               165
Thou art too wild, too rude, and bold of voice;
Parts that become thee happily enough,
And in such eyes as ours appear not faults;
But where thou art not known, why, there they show
Something too liberal. Pray thee, take pain                        170
To allay with some cold drops of modesty
Thy skipping spirit; lest, through thy wild behaviour,
I be misconstrued in the place I go to,
And lose my hopes.

_Gra._             Signior Bassanio, hear me:
If I do not put on a sober habit,                                  175
Talk with respect, and swear but now and then,
Wear prayer-books in my pocket, look demurely;
Nay more, while grace is saying, hood mine eyes
Thus with my hat, and sigh, and say ‘amen;’
Use all the observance of civility,                                180
Like one well studied in a sad ostent
To please his grandam, never trust me more.

_Bass._ Well, we shall see your bearing.

_Gra._ Nay, but I bar to-night: you shall not gauge me
By what we do to-night.

_Bass._                 No, that were pity:                        185
I would entreat you rather to put on
Your boldest suit of mirth, for we have friends
That purpose merriment. But fare you well:
I have some business.

_Gra._ And I must to Lorenzo and the rest:                         190
But we will visit you at supper-time.           [_Exeunt._


~~~~~
 Linenotes: _The Merchant of Venice_, II, 2.

 Enter L.] Enter the Clown alone. Qq Ff.

 1: _will_] _will not_ Halliwell.

 3, 4, 7: _Gobbo_] Q1. _Iobbe_ Q2 F1 F2 Q3 Q4. _Job_ F3 F4.

     _Launcelot_] _Launcelet_ Qq Ff.

 8: _running with_] _running; withe_ Anon. ap. Steevens conj.

     _courageous_] _contagious_ Collier MS.

 9: _Via_] Rowe. _fia_ Qq Ff.

 10: _for the_] _fore the_ Collier MS.

     _heavens._] _heavens:_ Capell. _haven_ Mason conj.

 19: _well_] _ill_ Q1.

 23: _incarnal_] Q1. _incarnation_ Q2 Ff Q3 Q4.

 24: _but_] om. Ff.

 27: _command_] Q1 _commandment_ Q2 Ff Q3 Q4.

 28: _young man_] _young-man_ Q2 Q3 Q4 F3 F4. _yong-man_ F1 F2.

 32: _confusions_] Q2 Ff Q3 Q4. _conclusions_ Q1.

 35: _up on_] Qq. _upon_ Ff.

 38: _to_] _unto_ Q1.

 39: _By_] F4. _Be_ Qq F1 F2 F3.

     _sonties_] _bonties_ Jackson conj.

 46: _say it_] Q1. _say’t_ Q2 Ff Q3 Q4.

 50: _Launcelot_] _Gobbo_ Farmer conj.

     _sir_] Qq. om. Ff.

 52: _Launcelot?_] _Launcelet?_ Q3 Q4 F4. _Launcelet._ Q1 Q2 F1
 F2 F3. See note (III).

 57: _is_] _in_ F2.

 62: _know_] _not know_ Dyce conj.

 71: _murder_] _muder_ Q2.

 72: _at the length_] Q1. _in the end_ Q2 Ff Q3 Q4.

 73: _will out_] Qq F1. _will not_ F2 F3 F4.

 85: _might_] om. Capell (corrected in MS.).

 87: _fill-horse_] Pope (ed. 2). _pil-horse_ Q1. _philhorse_ Q2 Ff
 Q3 Q4. _thill-horse_ Theobald.

 90: _of my_] Qq F1. F2. _on my_ F3 F4.

     _last_] _lost_ Q2 F1.

 93: _’gree_] _gree_ Q2 Ff Q3 Q4. _agree_ Q1.

 98: _my_] _your_ Anon. conj.

 101: _not him_] Qq Ff. _him not_ Rowe.

 103: Enter...] Enter B. with a follower or two. Qq Ff.

 107: [Exit...] om. Q2 Ff Q3 Q4. Exit one of his men. Q1.

 122: _frutify_] _fortify_ Lloyd conj.

 139: _speak’st_] _split’st_ Warburton conj.

 143: _no;_] _no?_ Rowe (ed. 2).

     _have_] _ha_ Q1.

 144: _head._] _head?_ Rowe (ed. 2).

     looking on his own hand. Hanmer.

     _head. Well,_] Q1. _head, wel:_ Q2. _head, well:_ F1 F2.
     _head: well,_ Q3 Q4. _head well:_ F3 F4.

 145: _doth_] Here Warburton thinks a line has been lost.

     _table which...book_] _table (which...book)_ Jackson conj.
     _table—why, it doth...book_ Kenrick conj.

     _book, I_] _book.—I_ Johnson (Heath conj.).

 146: _good_] _no good_ Malone conj.

     _fortune._] _fortune,—_ Tyrwhitt conj.

 148: _a’leven_] _a leven_ Q2 F1 F2 Q3 Q4. _a leaven_ F3 F4.
 _eleven_ Q1.

 149: _’scape_] _escape_ Q1.

 153: _of an eye_] Q1 om. Q2 Ff Q3 Q4.

     [Exeunt...] Exit Clown. Qq Ff.

 157: _go_] Q1. _goe_ Q2 F1 Q3 Q4. _gon_ F2. _gone_ F3 F4.

 159: SCENE III. Pope.

     [Exit.] Put after line 158 in Qq Ff.

 162: _a_] om. Q2.

 163: _You must_] _Nay, you must_ Hanmer, reading as verse.

 165: _thee_] _me_ Q3 Q4.

 168, 169: _faults; But...known,_] Ff Q3 Q4. _faults,
 But...knowne._ Q1. _faults But...knowne;_ Q2.

 170: _Pray thee_] _prethee_ Q1.

 173: _misconstrued_] _misconstred_ Qq. _misconsterd_ F1 F2 F3.
 _misconster’d_ F4.

 174: _hopes_] _hope_ Q3 Q4.

 175: _I_] om. F2.

 177: _pocket_] _pockets_ Rowe.

 188: _fare you well_] _faryewell_ Q1.
~~~~~


SCENE III. _The same. A room in_ SHYLOCK’S _house_.

 _Enter_ JESSICA _and_ LAUNCELOT.

_Jes._ I am sorry thou wilt leave my father so:
Our house is hell; and thou, a merry devil,
Didst rob it of some taste of tediousness.
But fare thee well; there is a ducat for thee:
And, Launcelot, soon at supper shalt thou see                        5
Lorenzo, who is thy new master’s guest:
Give him this letter; do it secretly;
And so farewell: I would not have my father
See me in talk with thee.

_Laun._ Adieu! tears exhibit my tongue. Most beautiful              10
pagan, most sweet Jew! if a Christian did not play
the knave, and get thee, I am much deceived. But, adieu:
these foolish drops do something drown my manly spirit:
adieu.

_Jes._ Farewell, good Launcelot.       [_Exit Launcelot._           15
Alack, what heinous sin is it in me
To be ashamed to be my father’s child!
But though I am a daughter to his blood,
I am not to his manners. O Lorenzo,
If thou keep promise, I shall end this strife,                      20
Become a Christian, and thy loving wife.       [_Exit._


~~~~~
 Linenotes: _The Merchant of Venice_, II, 3.

 SCENE III.] SCENE IV. Pope.

 Enter...] Enter J. and the Clown. Qq Ff.

 1: _I am_] _I’m_ Pope.

 9: _in talk_] Qq. _talk_ Ff.

 11: _did_] F2 F3 F4. _doe_ Qq F1.

 11, 12: _did...get thee_] _do...get thee—_ Steevens.

 13: _something_] Qq. _somewhat_ Ff.

 17: _child!_] _child?_ Rowe. _child,_ Qq Ff.
~~~~~


SCENE IV. _The same. A street._

 _Enter_ GRATIANO, LORENZO, SALARINO, _and_ SALANIO.

_Lor._ Nay, we will slink away in supper-time,
Disguise us at my lodging, and return
All in an hour.

_Gra._ We have not made good preparation.

_Salar._ We have not spoke us yet of torch-bearers.                  5

_Salan._ ’Tis vile, unless it may be quaintly order’d,
And better in my mind not undertook.

_Lor._ ’Tis now but four o’clock: we have two hours
To furnish us.

 _Enter_ LAUNCELOT, _with a letter_.

               Friend Launcelot, what’s the news?

_Laun._ An it shall please you to break up this, it shall           10
seem to signify.

_Lor._ I know the hand: in faith, ’tis a fair hand;
And whiter than the paper it writ on
Is the fair hand that writ.

_Gra._                      Love-news, in faith.

_Laun._ By your leave, sir.                                         15

_Lor._ Whither goest thou?

_Laun._ Marry, sir, to bid my old master the Jew to sup
to-night with my new master the Christian.

_Lor._ Hold here, take this: tell gentle Jessica
I will not fail her; speak it privately.                            20
Go, gentlemen,                      [_Exit Launcelot._
Will you prepare you for this masque to-night?
I am provided of a torch-bearer.

_Salar._ Ay, marry, I’ll be gone about it straight.

_Salan._ And so will I.

_Lor._                  Meet me and Gratiano                        25
At Gratiano’s lodging some hour hence.

_Salar._ ’Tis good we do so.       [_Exeunt Salar. and Salan._

_Gra._ Was not that letter from fair Jessica?

_Lor._ I must needs tell thee all. She hath directed
How I shall take her from her father’s house;                       30
What gold and jewels she is furnish’d with;
What page’s suit she hath in readiness.
If e’er the Jew her father come to heaven,
It will be for his gentle daughter’s sake:
And never dare misfortune cross her foot,                           35
Unless she do it under this excuse,
That she is issue to a faithless Jew.
Come, go with me; peruse this as thou goest:
Fair Jessica shall be my torch-bearer.          [_Exeunt._


~~~~~
 Linenotes: _The Merchant of Venice_, II, 4.

 SCENE IV.] SCENE V. Pope.

 5: _us yet_] _as yet_ F4.

 8: _o’_] _a_ Q1 F3 F4. _of_ Q2 F1 F2 Q3 Q4.

 9: Enter...] Ff. Enter L. Qq.

 10: _An it shall_] _And it shall_ Q2 Ff Q3 Q4. _If it_ Q1.

 10, 11: _it shall seem_] _shall it seeme._ F1.

 13: _whiter_] _whither_ F2.

 14: _Is_] Qq. _I_ Ff.

 21: _Go, gentlemen_] _go. Gentlemen_ Capell.

     [Exit L.] Exit Clown. Qq Ff, placing it after line 23.

 23: _you_] om. Q1.

     _this_] _th’_ Hanmer.
~~~~~


SCENE V. _The same. Before_ SHYLOCK’S _house_.

 _Enter_ SHYLOCK _and_ LAUNCELOT.

_Shy._ Well, thou shalt see, thy eyes shall be thy judge,
The difference of old Shylock and Bassanio:—
What, Jessica!—thou shalt not gormandise,
As thou hast done with me:—What, Jessica!—
And sleep and snore, and rend apparel out;—                          5
Why, Jessica, I say!

_Laun._              Why, Jessica!

_Shy._ Who bids thee call? I do not bid thee call.

_Laun._ Your worship was wont to tell me that I could
do nothing without bidding.

 _Enter_ JESSICA.

_Jes._ Call you? what is your will?                                 10

_Shy._ I am bid forth to supper, Jessica:
There are my keys. But wherefore should I go?
I am not bid for love; they flatter me:
But yet I’ll go in hate, to feed upon
The prodigal Christian. Jessica, my girl,                           15
Look to my house. I am right loath to go:
There is some ill a-brewing towards my rest,
For I did dream of money-bags to-night.

_Laun._ I beseech you, sir, go: my young master doth
expect your reproach.                                               20

_Shy._ So do I his.

_Laun._ And they have conspired together, I will not
say you shall see a masque; but if you do, then it was not
for nothing that my nose fell a-bleeding on Black-Monday
last at six o’clock i’ the morning, falling out that year on        25
Ash-Wednesday was four year, in the afternoon.

_Shy._ What, are there masques? Hear you me, Jessica:
Lock up my doors; and when you hear the drum,
And the vile squealing of the wry-neck’d fife,
Clamber not you up to the casements then,                           30
Nor thrust your head into the public street
To gaze on Christian fools with varnish’d faces;
But stop my house’s ears, I mean my casements:
Let not the sound of shallow foppery enter
My sober house. By Jacob’s staff, I swear                           35
I have no mind of feasting forth to-night:
But I will go. Go you before me, sirrah;
Say I will come.

_Laun._ I will go before, sir. Mistress, look out at window,
for all this;                                                       40
There will come a Christian by,
Will be worth a Jewess’ eye.        [_Exit._

_Shy._ What says that fool of Hagar’s offspring, ha?

_Jes._ His words were, ‘Farewell, mistress;’ nothing else.

_Shy._ The patch is kind enough, but a huge feeder;                 45
Snail-slow in profit, and he sleeps by day
More than the wild-cat: drones hive not with me;
Therefore I part with him; and part with him
To one that I would have him help to waste
His borrow’d purse. Well, Jessica, go in:                           50
Perhaps I will return immediately:
Do as I bid you; shut doors after you:
Fast bind, fast find,
A proverb never stale in thrifty mind.          [_Exit._

_Jes._ Farewell; and if my fortune be not crost,                    55
I have a father, you a daughter, lost.          [_Exit._


~~~~~
 Linenotes: _The Merchant of Venice_, II, 5.

 SCENE V.] SCENE VI. Pope.

 Enter S. and L.] Enter the Jew and Lancelet. Q1. Enter Jew and his
 man that was the Clown. Q2 Ff Q3 Q4.

 1: _shalt_] _shall_ F1 F2.

 7: _do_] Qq Ff. _did_ Rowe.

 8: _that_] Q1. om. Q2 Ff Q3 Q4.

 8, 9: Printed in Q2 Ff Q3 Q4 as two lines, ending _me...bidding._

 25: _i’ the_] _in the_ Q1. _ith_ Q2 F1 F2 Q3 Q4. _ith’_ F3.
 _i’ th’_ F4.

 27: _What, are there_] Q1. _What are there_ Q2 Q3 Q4. _What are
 their_ Ff. _What are these_ Pope.

     _you_] om. Q1.

 29: _squealing_] Q2 Ff Q3 Q4. _squeaking_ Q1.

     _wry-neck’d_] _wry-neck_ Chedworth conj.

 39: _I will go before_] _I’ll go before you_ S. Walker conj.

     _at_] _at a_ Q1.

 42: _Jewess’_] Pope. _Jewes_ Qq F1 F2. _Jew’s_ F3 F4.

 46: _and he_] Qq. _but he_ F1. _but_ F2 F3 F4.

 52, 53: _Do...find_] Q1; printed as one line in Q2 Ff Q3 Q4; bye
 Theobald as two lines, ending _bid you...find._

 52: _Do...bid you_] om. Pope.

     _doors_] _the doors_ Pope, who prints as one line _Shut...find._

 53: _Fast...fast_] _safe...safe_ Collier Ms.
~~~~~


SCENE VI. _The same._

 _Enter_ GRATIANO _and_ SALARINO, _masqued_.

_Gra._ This is the pent-house under which Lorenzo
Desired us to make stand.

_Salar._                  His hour is almost past.

_Gra._ And it is marvel he out-dwells his hour,
For lovers ever run before the clock.

_Salar._ O, ten times faster Venus’ pigeons fly                      5
To seal love’s bonds new-made, than they are wont
To keep obliged faith unforfeited!

_Gra._ That ever holds: who riseth from a feast
With that keen appetite that he sits down?
Where is the horse that doth untread again                          10
His tedious measures with the unbated fire
That he did pace them first? All things that are,
Are with more spirit chased than enjoy’d.
How like a younker or a prodigal
The scarfed bark puts from her native bay,                          15
Hugg’d and embraced by the strumpet wind!
How like the prodigal doth she return,
With over-weather’d ribs and ragged sails,
Lean, rent, and beggar’d by the strumpet wind!

_Salar._ Here comes Lorenzo: more of this hereafter.                20

 _Enter_ LORENZO.

_Lor._ Sweet friends, your patience for my long abode;
Not I, but my affairs, have made you wait:
When you shall please to play the thieves for wives,
I’ll watch as long for you then. Approach;
Here dwells my father Jew. Ho! who’s within?                        25

 _Enter_ JESSICA, _above, in boy’s clothes_.

_Jes._ Who are you? Tell me, for more certainty,
Albeit I’ll swear that I do know your tongue.

_Lor._ Lorenzo, and thy love.

_Jes._ Lorenzo, certain; and my love, indeed,
For who love I so much? And now who knows                           30
But you, Lorenzo, whether I am yours?

_Lor._ Heaven and thy thoughts are witness that thou art.

_Jes._ Here, catch this casket; it is worth the pains.
I am glad ’tis night, you do not look on me,
For I am much ashamed of my exchange:                               35
But love is blind, and lovers cannot see
The pretty follies that themselves commit;
For if they could, Cupid himself would blush
To see me thus transformed to a boy.

_Lor._ Descend, for you must be my torch-bearer.                    40

_Jes._ What, must I hold a candle to my shames?
They in themselves, good sooth, are too too light.
Why, ’tis an office of discovery, love;
And I should be obscured.

_Lor._                    So are you, sweet,
Even in the lovely garnish of a boy.                                45
But come at once;
For the close night doth play the runaway,
And we are stay’d for at Bassanio’s feast.

_Jes._ I will make fast the doors, and gild myself
With some more ducats, and be with you straight.                    50

 [_Exit above._

_Gra._ Now, by my hood, a Gentile, and no Jew.

_Lor._ Beshrew me but I love her heartily;
For she is wise, if I can judge of her;
And fair she is, if that mine eyes be true;
And true she is, as she hath proved herself;                        55
And therefore, like herself, wise, fair, and true,
Shall she be placed in my constant soul.

 _Enter_ JESSICA, _below_.

What, art thou come? On, gentlemen; away!
Our masquing mates by this time for us stay.

 [_Exit with Jessica and Salarino._

 _Enter_ ANTONIO.

_Ant._ Who’s there?                                                 60

_Gra._ Signior Antonio!

_Ant._ Fie, fie, Gratiano! where are all the rest?
’Tis nine o’clock: our friends all stay for you.
No masque to-night: the wind is come about;
Bassanio presently will go aboard:                                  65
I have sent twenty out to seek for you.

_Gra._ I am glad on’t: I desire no more delight
Than to be under sail and gone to-night.       [_Exeunt._


~~~~~
 Linenotes: _The Merchant of Venice_, II, 6.

 SCENE VI.] SCENE VII. Pope. Dyce makes no new scene here.

 Enter...] Enter the maskers, Gratiano and Salarino. Q1. Enter the
 maskers, Gratiano and Salerino. Q2 Q3 Q4. Enter the maskers,
 Gratiano and Salino. Ff.

 2: _to make_] om. Steevens.

     _stand_] Qq. _a stand_ Ff.

     _almost_] om. Grey conj.

 5: _pigeons_] _widgeons_ Warburton.

 6: _seal_] Qq. _steal_ Ff.

 14: _younker_] Rowe. _younger_ Qq Ff.

 17: _the_] Qq. _a_ Ff.

     _doth she_] Qq F1 F2. _she doth_ F3 F4. _doth he_ Steevens
     conj.

 18: _over-weather’d_] _over-wetherd_ Q1 Q2. _over-weatherd_ Q3
 Q4. _over-wither’d_ Ff.

 24: _I’ll...then_] _Then will I watch as long for you_ Jackson conj.

     _you then. Approach_] _you. Come then, approach_ Ritson conj.

     _Approach_] Qq Ff. _Come, approach_ Pope.

 25: _Ho!_] _Ho,_ Q1. _Howe_ Q2. _Hoa_ Ff. _Hoe_ Q3 Q4.

     _who’s_] _whose_ Qq.

 33: _it is_] _tis_ Q1.

 34: _I am_] _I’m_ Pope.

 41: _shames_] _shame_ F2.

 44: _are you_] Qq. _you are_ Ff.

 45: _lovely garnish of a_] _garnish of a lovely_ Collier MS.

 50: _more_] Ff. _mo_ Qq.

 51: _Gentile_] Q1 Q3 Q4 F2 F3 F4. _gentle_ Q2 F1.

 52: _Beshrew_] Q1 Ff. _Beshrow_ Q2 Q3 Q4.

 58: _gentlemen_] _gentleman_ Q2.

 59: [Exit...] Exit. Qq Ff.

 60: _Who’s there_] _Whose there_ Q2.

 61: _Fie, fie_] _Fie_ Pope.

 66: _I...you_] omitted in Q1.

 67, 68: Continued to Antonio in Q1.
~~~~~


SCENE VII. _Belmont. A room in_ PORTIA’S _house_.

 _Flourish of cornets. Enter_ PORTIA, _with the_ PRINCE OF MOROCCO,
 _and their trains_.

_Por._ Go draw aside the curtains, and discover
The several caskets to this noble prince.
Now make your choice.

_Mor._ The first, of gold, who this inscription bears,
‘Who chooseth me shall gain what many men desire;’                   5
The second, silver, which this promise carries,
‘Who chooseth me shall get as much as he deserves;’
This third, dull lead, with warning all as blunt,
‘Who chooseth me must give and hazard all he hath.’
How shall I know if I do choose the right?                          10

_Por._ The one of them contains my picture, prince:
If you choose that, then I am yours withal.

_Mor._ Some god direct my judgment! Let me see;
I will survey the inscriptions back again.
What says this leaden casket?                                       15
‘Who chooseth me must give and hazard all he hath.’
Must give,—for what? for lead? hazard for lead?
This casket threatens. Men that hazard all
Do it in hope of fair advantages:
A golden mind stoops not to shows of dross;                         20
I’ll then nor give nor hazard aught for lead.
What says the silver with her virgin hue?
‘Who chooseth me shall get as much as he deserves.’
As much as he deserves! Pause there, Morocco,
And weigh thy value with an even hand:                              25
If thou be’st rated by thy estimation,
Thou dost deserve enough; and yet enough
May not extend so far as to the lady:
And yet to be afeard of my deserving
Were but a weak disabling of myself.                                30
As much as I deserve! Why, that’s the lady:
I do in birth deserve her, and in fortunes,
In graces and in qualities of breeding;
But more than these, in love I do deserve.
What if I stray’d no further, but chose here?                       35
Let’s see once more this saying graved in gold;
‘Who chooseth me shall gain what many men desire.’
Why, that’s the lady; all the world desires her;
From the four corners of the earth they come,
To kiss this shrine, this mortal-breathing saint:                   40
The Hyrcanian deserts and the vasty wilds
Of wide Arabia are as throughfares now
For princes to come view fair Portia:
The watery kingdom, whose ambitious head
Spits in the face of heaven, is no bar                              45
To stop the foreign spirits; but they come,
As o’er a brook, to see fair Portia.
One of these three contains her heavenly picture.
Is’t like that lead contains her? ’Twere damnation
To think so base a thought: it were too gross                       50
To rib her cerecloth in the obscure grave.
Or shall I think in silver she’s immured,
Being ten times undervalued to tried gold?
O sinful thought! Never so rich a gem
Was set in worse than gold. They have in England                    55
A coin that bears the figure of an angel
Stamped in gold, but that’s insculp’d upon;
But here an angel in a golden bed
Lies all within. Deliver me the key:
Here do I choose, and thrive I as I may!                            60

_Por._ There, take it, prince; and if my form lie there,
Then I am yours.                [_He unlocks the golden casket._

_Mor._           O hell! what have we here?
A carrion Death, within whose empty eye
There is a written scroll! I’ll read the writing.       [_Reads._

All that glisters is not gold;                                      65
Often have you heard that told:
Many a man his life hath sold
But my outside to behold:
Gilded tombs do worms infold.
Had you been as wise as bold,                                       70
Young in limbs, in judgment old,
Your answer had not been inscroll’d:
Fare you well; your suit is cold.

        Cold, indeed; and labour lost:
        Then, farewell, heat, and welcome, frost!                   75
Portia, adieu. I have too grieved a heart
To take a tedious leave: thus losers part.

 [_Exit with his train. Flourish of cornets._

_Por._ A gentle riddance. Draw the curtains, go.
Let all of his complexion choose me so.         [_Exeunt._


~~~~~
 Linenotes: _The Merchant of Venice_, II, 7.

 SCENE VII.] SCENE III. Rowe. SCENE VIII. Pope.

 [Flourish of cornets.] Flourish. Capell. om. Qq Ff. See note (IV).

 Enter...] Enter Portia with Morrocho, and both their trains. Qq Ff.

 5: _many_] Qq. om. Ff.

 10: _How...right?_] This line is repeated in F1 F2.

 12: _withal_] _with all_ Collier.

 18: _threatens. Men_] Rowe. _threatens men_ Qq Ff.

 21: _nor give_] Qq Ff. _not give_ Rowe (ed. 2).

 24: _Morocco_] _Morrochius_ Pope.

 26: _thy_] _the_ F4.

 29: _afeard_] _afraid_ Q3 Q4.

 34: _deserve_] _deserve her_ Collier (Capell conj.).

 41: _vasty_] Q1. _vastie_ Q2 Q3 Q4. _vaste_ F1 F2. _vast_ F3
 F4.

 45: _Spits_] _Spets_ Qq Ff.

 51: _rib_] Q1 Ff. _ribb_ Q2 Q3 Q4.

 57: _Stamped_] Rowe (ed. 2). _Stampt_ Qq Ff.

 62: [He...casket.] om. Qq Ff.

 62–64: _O hell...scroll_] As in Capell. As two lines ending _Death
 ... scroll_ in Qq Ff.

 64: _I’ll...writing_] Qq F1. omitted in F2 F3 F4.

 69: _tombs do_] Capell (Johnson conj.). _timber do_ Q1 F2 F4.
 _timber doe_ Q2 F1 Q3 Q4. _wood may_ Pope.

 72: _Your_] _This_ Johnson conj.

     Here Holt White would repeat line 65, _All ... gold._

 77: [Exit...cornets.] Dyce. Exit. Qq Ff. See note (IV).
~~~~~


SCENE VIII. _Venice. A street._

 _Enter_ SALARINO _and_ SALANIO.

_Salar._ Why, man, I saw Bassanio under sail:
With him is Gratiano gone along;
And in their ship I am sure Lorenzo is not.

_Salan._ The villain Jew with outcries raised the Duke,
Who went with him to search Bassanio’s ship.                         5

_Salar._ He came too late, the ship was under sail:
But there the Duke was given to understand
That in a gondola were seen together
Lorenzo and his amorous Jessica:
Besides, Antonio certified the Duke                                 10
They were not with Bassanio in his ship.

_Salan._ I never heard a passion so confused,
So strange, outrageous, and so variable,
As the dog Jew did utter in the streets:
‘My daughter! O my ducats! O my daughter!                           15
Fled with a Christian! O my Christian ducats!
Justice! the law! my ducats, and my daughter!
A sealed bag, two sealed bags of ducats,
Of double ducats, stolen from me by my daughter!
And jewels, two stones, two rich and precious stones,               20
Stolen by my daughter! Justice! find the girl!
She hath the stones upon her, and the ducats!’

_Salar._ Why, all the boys in Venice follow him,
Crying, his stones, his daughter, and his ducats.

_Salan._ Let good Antonio look he keep his day,                     25
Or he shall pay for this.

_Salar._                  Marry, well remember’d.
I reason’d with a Frenchman yesterday,
Who told me, in the narrow seas that part
The French and English, there miscarried
A vessel of our country richly fraught:                             30
I thought upon Antonio when he told me;
And wish’d in silence that it were not his.

_Salan._ You were best to tell Antonio what you hear;
Yet do not suddenly, for it may grieve him.

_Salar._ A kinder gentleman treads not the earth.                   35
I saw Bassanio and Antonio part:
Bassanio told him he would make some speed
Of his return: he answer’d, ‘Do not so;
Slubber not business for my sake, Bassanio,
But stay the very riping of the time;                               40
And for the Jew’s bond which he hath of me,
Let it not enter in your mind of love:
Be merry; and employ your chiefest thoughts
To courtship, and such fair ostents of love
As shall conveniently become you there:’                            45
And even there, his eye being big with tears,
Turning his face, he put his hand behind him,
And with affection wondrous sensible
He wrung Bassanio’s hand; and so they parted.

_Salan._ I think he only loves the world for him.                   50
I pray thee, let us go and find him out,
And quicken his embraced heaviness
With some delight or other.

_Salar._                    Do we so.         [_Exeunt._


~~~~~
 Linenotes: _The Merchant of Venice_, II, 8.

 SCENE VIII.] SCENE IV. Rowe. SCENE IX. Pope. SCENE VII.
 Dyce. ACT III. SCENE I. Johnson conj.

 6: _came_] Qq. _comes_ Ff.

 8: _gondola_] Theobald. _gondylo_ Qq. _gondilo_ Ff. _gondalo_ Rowe.

 9: _amorous_] _armorous_ Q1.

 20: _two stones, two_] Qq F1. _two_ F2 F3 F4. _two stones,_
 Pope. _too—two_ Collier (Collier MS.).

 34: _do not_] _do’t not_ Heath conj.

     _for_] _lest_ Capell (corrected in MS.).

 39: _Slubber_] Q1 Ff. _Slumber_ Q2 Q3 Q4.

 42: _enter in....of_] _entertain....off_ Jackson conj.

     _mind of love_] _mind, of love_ Bennet Langton conj. _bond of
     love_ Staunton conj. See note (V).

 43: _employ_] _apply_ Collier (Collier MS.).

 52: _embraced_] _enraced_ Warburton. _entranced_ Johnson conj.
 (withdrawn). _impressed_ Jackson conj. _unbraced_ Anon. ap.
 Halliwell conj.
~~~~~


SCENE IX. _Belmont. A room in_ PORTIA’S _house_.

 _Enter_ NERISSA _with a_ Servitor.

_Ner._ Quick, quick, I pray thee; draw the curtain straight:
The Prince of Arragon hath ta’en his oath,
And comes to his election presently.

 _Flourish of cornets. Enter the_ PRINCE OF ARRAGON, PORTIA, _and
 their trains._

_Por._ Behold, there stand the caskets, noble prince:
If you choose that wherein I am contain’d,                           5
Straight shall our nuptial rites be solemnized:
But if you fail, without more speech, my lord,
You must be gone from hence immediately.

_Ar._ I am enjoin’d by oath to observe three things:
First, never to unfold to any one                                   10
Which casket ’twas I chose; next, if I fail
Of the right casket, never in my life
To woo a maid in way of marriage:
Lastly,
If I do fail in fortune of my choice,                               15
Immediately to leave you and be gone.

_Por._ To these injunctions every one doth swear
That comes to hazard for my worthless self.

_Ar._ And so have I address’d me. Fortune now
To my heart’s hope! Gold; silver; and base lead.                    20
‘Who chooseth me must give and hazard all he hath.’
You shall look fairer, ere I give or hazard.
What says the golden chest? ha! let me see:
‘Who chooseth me shall gain what many men desire.’
What many men desire! that ‘many’ may be meant                      25
By the fool multitude, that choose by show,
Not learning more than the fond eye doth teach;
Which pries not to the interior, but, like the martlet,
Builds in the weather on the outward wall,
Even in the force and road of casualty.                             30
I will not choose what many men desire,
Because I will not jump with common spirits,
And rank me with the barbarous multitudes.
Why, then to thee, thou silver treasure-house;
Tell me once more what title thou dost bear:                        35
‘Who chooseth me shall get as much as he deserves:’
And well said too; for who shall go about
To cozen fortune, and be honourable
Without the stamp of merit? Let none presume
To wear an undeserved dignity.                                      40
O, that estates, degrees and offices
Were not derived corruptly, and that clear honour
Were purchased by the merit of the wearer!
How many then should cover that stand bare!
How many be commanded that command!                                 45
How much low peasantry would then be glean’d
From the true seed of honour! and how much honour
Pick’d from the chaff and ruin of the times,
To be new-varnish’d! Well, but to my choice:
‘Who chooseth me shall get as much as he deserves.’                 50
I will assume desert. Give me a key for this,
And instantly unlock my fortunes here.

 [_He opens the silver casket._

_Por._ Too long a pause for that which you find there.

_Ar._ What’s here? the portrait of a blinking idiot,
Presenting me a schedule! I will read it.                           55
How much unlike art thou to Portia!
How much unlike my hopes and my deservings!
‘Who chooseth me shall have as much as he deserves.’
Did I deserve no more than a fool’s head?
Is that my prize? are my deserts no better?                         60

_Por._ To offend, and judge, are distinct offices,
And of opposed natures.

_Ar._                   What is here?

[_Reads_] The fire seven times tried this;
Seven times tried that judgement is,
That did never choose amiss.                                        65
Some there be that shadows kiss;
Such have but a shadow’s bliss:
There be fools alive, I wis,
Silver’d o’er; and so was this.
Take what wife you will to bed,                                     70
I will ever be your head:
So be gone: you are sped.
Still more fool I shall appear
By the time I linger here:
With one fool’s head I came to woo,                                 75
But I go away with two.
Sweet, adieu. I’ll keep my oath,
Patiently to bear my wroth.

 [_Exeunt Arragon and train._

_Por._ Thus hath the candle singed the moth.
O, these deliberate fools! when they do choose,                     80
They have the wisdom by their wit to lose.

_Ner._ The ancient saying is no heresy,
Hanging and wiving goes by destiny.

_Por._ Come, draw the curtain, Nerissa.

 _Enter a_ Servant.

_Serv._ Where is my lady?

_Por._                    Here: what would my lord?                 85

_Serv._ Madam, there is alighted at your gate
A young Venetian, one that comes before
To signify the approaching of his lord;
From whom he bringeth sensible regreets,
To wit, besides commends and courteous breath,                      90
Gifts of rich value. Yet I have not seen
So likely an ambassador of love:
A day in April never came so sweet,
To show how costly summer was at hand,
As this fore-spurrer comes before his lord.                         95

_Por._ No more, I pray thee: I am half afeard
Thou wilt say anon he is some kin to thee,
Thou spend’st such high-day wit in praising him.
Come, come, Nerissa; for I long to see
Quick Cupid’s post that comes so mannerly.                         100

_Ner._ Bassanio, lord Love, if thy will it be!       [_Exeunt._


~~~~~
 Linenotes: _The Merchant of Venice_, II, 9.

 SCENE IX.] SCENE V. Rowe. SCENE X. Pope. SCENE VIII. Dyce.

 3: Flourish of cornets.] Ff. om. Qq.

 Enter...] Enter Arragon, his traine and Portia. Qq Ff.

 7: _you_] Qq. _thou_ Ff.

 13–15: _marriage: Lastly, If I do_] Edd. _marriage: Lastly, if I
 do_ Qq Ff. _marriage: Last, if I_ Pope. _marriage; lastly, If I do_
 Capell.

 19, 20: _me. Fortune...hope!_] _me, fortune...hope:_ Qq Ff.

 22: After this line Mr Lloyd proposes to insert ‘_Who chooseth me
 shall get as much as he deserves:_’ see l. 35.

 25: _desire!_] _desire,_ Qq Ff.

     _’many’ may_] _may_ Pope.

 25, 26: _that...By the_] _by that many may be Meant the_ Grant White
 conj.

 26: _By the fool_] _Of the full_ Pope.

 28: _pries not to the_] _prize not the_ Collier MS.

 30: _road_] _rode_ Qq Ff.

 33: _multitudes_] _multitude_ S. Walker conj.

 39: _merit?_] Rowe. _merit,_ Qq Ff.

 42: _and_] om. Pope.

 46: _peasantry_] Q2 Q3 Q4. _pesantry_ Q1. _pleasantry_ Ff.

 46–48: _glean’d...Pick’d_] _pick’d...Glean’d_ Johnson conj.

 48: _chaff_] F4. _chaffe_ Q1 F1 F2 Q3 Q4 F3. _chaft_ Q2.

     _ruin_] _rowing_ or _rowen_ Steevens conj.

 49: _varnish’d_] _vernish’d_ Q1. _varnist_ Q2. _vanned_ Warburton.

 51: _for this_] om. Steevens (Ritson conj.).

 52: [He...casket.] Rowe. om. Qq Ff.

 57: _deservings_] _deserving_ F4.

 58: _have_] Qq Ff. _get_ Knight.

 60: _prize_] _price_ Capell conj.

 62: _is_] om. Q1.

 64: _judgement_] _judement_ Q2.

 68: _I wis_] See note (VI).

 70: _wife_] _wise_ Jackson conj.

 72: _be gone_] Qq F1. _be gone sir_ F2 F3 F4. _farewel, sir_
 Capell.

 73: _Still_] Q1. Arrag. _Still_ Q2 Q3 Q4. Ar. _Still_ Ff.

 78: _wroth_] Q3 Q4. _wroath_ Q1 Q2 Ff. _wrath_ Warburton. _roth_
 Dyce.

     [Exeunt...train.] Capell. [Exit. Rowe. om. Qq Ff.

 79: _moth_] Q1 F3 F4. _moath_ Q2 F1 F2 Q3 Q4.

 81: _the wisdom_] _their wisdome_ Q1.

 83: _goes_] _go_ Hanmer.

 84: Enter a Servant.] Rowe. Enter Messenger. Qq Ff.

 85: Por.] Ner. Tyrwhitt conj.

 90: _courteous_] _curious_ Q3 Q4.

 95: _fore-spurrer_] _fore-spurrier_ Capell (corrected in MS.).

 96: _afeard_] _afraid_ Pope.

 97: _Thou wilt_] _Thou’lt_ Pope.

 100: _Quick Cupid’s post_] _Cupid’s quick post_ Collier MS.

 101: _Bassanio, lord Love,_] Rowe. _Bassanio Lord, love_ Q1 Q2 F1
 F2 F3. _Bassanio, Lord, Love_ Q3 Q4. _Bassanio Lord, love,_ F4.
~~~~~




ACT III.


SCENE I. _Venice. A street._

 _Enter_ SALANIO _and_ SALARINO.

_Salan._ Now, what news on the Rialto?

_Salar._ Why, yet it lives there unchecked, that Antonio
hath a ship of rich lading wrecked on the narrow seas; the
Goodwins, I think they call the place; a very dangerous flat
and fatal, where the carcases of many a tall ship lie buried,        5
as they say, if my gossip Report be an honest woman of
her word.

_Salan._ I would she were as lying a gossip in that as ever
knapped ginger, or made her neighbours believe she wept
for the death of a third husband. But it is true, without           10
any slips of prolixity, or crossing the plain highway of talk,
that the good Antonio, the honest Antonio,——O that I
had a title good enough to keep his name company!—

_Salar._ Come, the full stop.

_Salan._ Ha! what sayest thou? Why, the end is, he                  15
hath lost a ship.

_Salar._ I would it might prove the end of his losses.

_Salan._ Let me say ‘amen’ betimes, lest the devil cross
my prayer, for here he comes in the likeness of a Jew.

 _Enter_ SHYLOCK.

How now, Shylock! what news among the merchants?                    20

_Shy._ You knew, none so well, none so well as you, of
my daughter’s flight.

_Salar._ That’s certain: I, for my part, knew the tailor
that made the wings she flew withal.

_Salan._ And Shylock, for his own part, knew the bird               25
was fledged; and then it is the complexion of them all to
leave the dam.

_Shy._ She is damned for it.

_Salar._ That’s certain, if the devil may be her judge.

_Shy._ My own flesh and blood to rebel!                             30

_Salar._ Out upon it, old carrion! rebels it at these years?

_Shy._ I say, my daughter is my flesh and blood.

_Salar._ There is more difference between thy flesh and
hers than between jet and ivory; more between your bloods
than there is between red wine and rhenish. But tell us, do         35
you hear whether Antonio have had any loss at sea or no?

_Shy._ There I have another bad match: a bankrupt, a
prodigal, who dare scarce show his head on the Rialto; a
beggar, that was used to come so smug upon the mart; let
him look to his bond: he was wont to call me usurer; let            40
him look to his bond: he was wont to lend money for a
Christian courtesy; let him look to his bond.

_Salar._ Why, I am sure, if he forfeit, thou wilt not take
his flesh: what’s that good for?

_Shy._ To bait fish withal: if it will feed nothing else, it        45
will feed my revenge. He hath disgraced me, and hindered
me half a million; laughed at my losses, mocked at my
gains, scorned my nation, thwarted my bargains, cooled my
friends, heated mine enemies; and what’s his reason? I am
a Jew. Hath not a Jew eyes? hath not a Jew hands, organs,           50
dimensions, senses, affections, passions? fed with the same
food, hurt with the same weapons, subject to the same
diseases, healed by the same means, warmed and cooled by the
same winter and summer, as a Christian is? If you prick
us, do we not bleed? if you tickle us, do we not laugh? if          55
you poison us, do we not die? and if you wrong us, shall
we not revenge? if we are like you in the rest, we will
resemble you in that. If a Jew wrong a Christian, what is
his humility? Revenge. If a Christian wrong a Jew, what
should his sufferance be by Christian example? Why, revenge.        60
The villany you teach me, I will execute; and it
shall go hard but I will better the instruction.

 _Enter a_ Servant.

_Serv._ Gentlemen, my master Antonio is at his house,
and desires to speak with you both.

_Salar._ We have been up and down to seek him.                      65

 _Enter_ TUBAL.

_Salan._ Here comes another of the tribe: a third cannot
be matched, unless the devil himself turn Jew.

 [_Exeunt Salan. Salar. and Servant._

_Shy._ How now, Tubal! what news from Genoa? hast
thou found my daughter?

_Tub._ I often came where I did hear of her, but cannot             70
find her.

_Shy._ Why, there, there, there, there! a diamond gone,
cost me two thousand ducats in Frankfort! The curse never
fell upon our nation till now; I never felt it till now: two
thousand ducats in that; and other precious, precious jewels.       75
I would my daughter were dead at my foot, and the
jewels in her ear! would she were hearsed at my foot, and
the ducats in her coffin! No news of them? Why, so:—
and I know not what’s spent in the search: why, thou loss
upon loss! the thief gone with so much, and so much to              80
find the thief; and no satisfaction, no revenge: nor no ill
luck stirring but what lights on my shoulders; no sighs but
of my breathing; no tears but of my shedding.

_Tub._ Yes, other men have ill luck too: Antonio, as I
heard in Genoa,—                                                    85

_Shy._ What, what, what? ill luck, ill luck?

_Tub._ Hath an argosy cast away, coming from Tripolis.

_Shy._ I thank God, I thank God! Is’t true, is’t true?

_Tub._ I spoke with some of the sailors that escaped the
wreck.                                                              90

_Shy._ I thank thee, good Tubal: good news, good
news! ha, ha! where? in Genoa?

_Tub._ Your daughter spent in Genoa, as I heard, in
one night fourscore ducats.

_Shy._ Thou stickest a dagger in me: I shall never see              95
my gold again: fourscore ducats at a sitting! fourscore
ducats.

_Tub._ There came divers of Antonio’s creditors in my
company to Venice, that swear he cannot choose but break.

_Shy._ I am very glad of it: I’ll plague him; I’ll torture         100
him: I am glad of it.

_Tub._ One of them showed me a ring that he had of
your daughter for a monkey.

_Shy._ Out upon her! Thou torturest me, Tubal: it
was my turquoise; I had it of Leah when I was a bachelor:          105
I would not have given it for a wilderness of monkeys.

_Tub._ But Antonio is certainly undone.

_Shy._ Nay, that’s true, that’s very true. Go, Tubal,
fee me an officer; bespeak him a fortnight before. I will
have the heart of him, if he forfeit; for, were he out of          110
Venice, I can make what merchandise I will. Go, go,
Tubal, and meet me at our synagogue; go, good Tubal; at
our synagogue, Tubal.           [_Exeunt._


~~~~~
 Linenotes: _The Merchant of Venice_, III, 1.

 6: _gossip Report_] Q2 Q3 Q4. _gossips report_ Q1 Ff.

 8: _as lying a_] _as a lying_ Q1.

 12: _honest Antonio_] _honest Antho._ F2 F3 F4.

 19: _my_] _thy_ Theobald (Warburton).

     Enter Shylock.] Q1. In Q2 Ff Q3 Q4 after line 20.

 21: _knew_] _know_ Q1.

 26: _fledged_] _fledg’d_ Q1 Ff. _flidge_ Q2 Q3 Q4. _fledge_
 Capell.

 31: _years_] _times_ Rowe (ed. 2).

 32: _blood_] Q1 Ff. _my blood_ Q2 Q3 Q4.

 35: _rhenish_] Rowe. _rennish_ Qq F1 F2. _rhennish_ F3 F4.

 36: _any loss at sea_] _at losse a sea_ Q1.

 37, 38: _a prodigal_] _for a prodigal_ Warburton.

 38: _dare_] _dares_ Rowe (ed. 2).

 39: _was used_] _us’d_ Rowe (ed. 2). _was wont_ Collier MS.

 47: _half_] _of half_ Warburton.

 49: _his reason_] Qq. _the reason_ Ff.

 53: _means_] _medicines_ Warburton conj.

 54: _winter and summer_] _summer and winter_ Hanmer.

 59: _humility? Revenge_] Rowe. _humility, revenge?_ Qq Ff.

 60: _by Christian_] _by a Christian_ F3 F4.

     _example? Why, revenge._] F4. _example, why revenge?_ Qq F1.
     _example?_ _why revenge_ F2 F3.

 62: Enter a Servant.] Enter a man from Anthonio. Qq Ff.

 67: [Exeunt...] Exeunt Gentlemen. Qq Ff.

 68: _Genoa_] _Genowa_ Qq F1 F2 F3. _Geneva_ F4.

 77: _would_] _O would_ Q1.

 78: _them? Why, so:_] _them, why so:_ Q1. _them, why so?_ Q2 Ff
 Q3 Q4.

 79: _what’s_] _whats_ Qq. _how much is_ Ff.

     _thou_] Qq F1. _then_ F2 F3 F4. _there!_ Lloyd conj.

 82: _lights on_] Q1. _lights a_ Q2 Ff Q3 Q4. _lights o’_ Rowe
 (ed. 2).

 82, 83: _but of_] Q1. _but a_ Q2 Ff Q3 Q4. _but o’_ Rowe (ed. 2).

 85: _heard in_] _heard, is in_ Q3 Q4.

     _Genoa_] _Genoway_ Q1. _Genowa_ Q2 F2 Q3 Q4 F3. _Genoua_
     F4.

 86: _What, what, what?_] _What, what,_ Rowe.

 88: _Is’t, is’t_] Q1. _Is it, is it_ Q2 Ff Q3 Q4.

 91: _thee_] _the_ Q1.

 92: _where_] Rowe. _heere_ Qq. _here_ Ff.

 93: _in_] Q1. om. Q2 Ff Q3 Q4.

 99: _to_] _unto_ Q1.

     _that swear_] _that swear that_ Q1.

 101: _of it_] _on’t_ Q1.

 108: _Tubal_] om. Pope.

 111: _I will. Go, go_] Pope. _I will go: go_ Q1. _I will: goe_ Q3
 F1. _I will: go_ F2 Q3 Q4 F3 F4.
~~~~~


SCENE II. _Belmont. A room in_ PORTIA’S _house_.

 _Enter_ BASSANIO, PORTIA, GRATIANO, NERISSA, _and_ Attendants.

_Por._ I pray you, tarry: pause a day or two
Before you hazard; for, in choosing wrong,
I lose your company: therefore forbear awhile.
There’s something tells me, but it is not love,
I would not lose you; and you know yourself,                         5
Hate counsels not in such a quality.
But lest you should not understand me well,—
And yet a maiden hath no tongue but thought,—
I would detain you here some month or two
Before you venture for me. I could teach you                        10
How to choose right, but I am then forsworn;
So will I never be: so may you miss me;
But if you do, you’ll make me wish a sin,
That I had been forsworn. Beshrew your eyes,
They have o’er-look’d me, and divided me;                           15
One half of me is yours, the other half yours.
Mine own, I would say; but if mine, then yours,
And so all yours! O, these naughty times
Put bars between the owners and their rights!
And so, though yours, not yours. Prove it so,                       20
Let fortune go to hell for it, not I.
I speak too long; but ’tis to peize the time,
To eke it and to draw it out in length,
To stay you from election.

_Bass._                    Let me choose;
For as I am, I live upon the rack.                                  25

_Por._ Upon the rack, Bassanio! then confess
What treason there is mingled with your love.

_Bass._ None but that ugly treason of mistrust,
Which makes me fear the enjoying of my love:
There may as well be amity and life                                 30
’Tween snow and fire, as treason and my love.

_Por._ Ay, but I fear you speak upon the rack,
Where men enforced do speak any thing.

_Bass._ Promise me life, and I’ll confess the truth.

_Por._ Well then, confess and live.

_Bass._                             ‘Confess,’ and ‘love,’          35
Had been the very sum of my confession:
O happy torment, when my torturer
Doth teach me answers for deliverance!
But let me to my fortune and the caskets.

_Por._ Away, then! I am lock’d in one of them:                      40
If you do love me, you will find me out.
Nerissa and the rest, stand all aloof.
Let music sound while he doth make his choice;
Then, if he lose, he makes a swan-like end,
Fading in music: that the comparison                                45
May stand more proper, my eye shall be the stream,
And watery death-bed for him. He may win;
And what is music then? Then music is
Even as the flourish when true subjects bow
To a new-crowned monarch: such it is                                50
As are those dulcet sounds in break of day
That creep into the dreaming bridegroom’s ear,
And summon him to marriage. Now he goes,
With no less presence, but with much more love,
Than young Alcides, when he did redeem                              55
The virgin tribute paid by howling Troy
To the sea-monster: I stand for sacrifice;
The rest aloof are the Dardanian wives,
With bleared visages, come forth to view
The issue of the exploit. Go, Hercules!                             60
Live thou, I live: with much much more dismay
I view the fight than thou that makest the fray.

 _Music, whilst_ BASSANIO _comments on the caskets to himself_.

SONG.

Tell me where is fancy bred,
Or in the heart or in the head?
How begot, how nourished?                                           65
      Reply, reply.
It is engender’d in the eye,
With gazing fed; and fancy dies
In the cradle where it lies.
      Let us all ring fancy’s knell;                                70
      I’ll begin it,—Ding, dong, bell.
_All._ Ding, dong, bell.

_Bass._ So may the outward shows be least themselves:
The world is still deceived with ornament.
In law, what plea so tainted and corrupt,                           75
But, being seasoned with a gracious voice,
Obscures the show of evil? In religion,
What damned error, but some sober brow
Will bless it, and approve it with a text,
Hiding the grossness with fair ornament?                            80
There is no vice so simple, but assumes
Some mark of virtue on his outward parts:
How many cowards, whose hearts are all as false
As stairs of sand, wear yet upon their chins
The beards of Hercules and frowning Mars;                           85
Who, inward search’d, have livers white as milk;
And these assume but valour’s excrement
To render them redoubted! Look on beauty,
And you shall see ’tis purchased by the weight;
Which therein works a miracle in nature,                            90
Making them lightest that wear most of it:
So are those crisped snaky golden locks
Which make such wanton gambols with the wind,
Upon supposed fairness, often known
To be the dowry of a second head,                                   95
The skull that bred them in the sepulchre.
Thus ornament is but the guiled shore
To a most dangerous sea; the beauteous scarf
Veiling an Indian beauty; in a word,
The seeming truth which cunning times put on                       100
To entrap the wisest. Therefore, thou gaudy gold,
Hard food for Midas, I will none of thee;
Nor none of thee, thou pale and common drudge
’Tween man and man: but thou, thou meagre lead,
Which rather threatenest than dost promise aught,                  105
Thy paleness moves me more than eloquence;
And here choose I: joy be the consequence!

_Por._ [_Aside_] How all the other passions fleet to air,
As doubtful thoughts, and rash-embraced despair,
And shuddering fear, and green-eyed jealousy!                      110
O love, be moderate; allay thy ecstasy;
In measure rein thy joy; scant this excess!
I feel too much thy blessing: make it less,
For fear I surfeit!

_Bass._             What find I here?
 [_Opening the leaden casket._
Fair Portia’s counterfeit! What demi-god                           115
Hath come so near creation? Move these eyes?
Or whether, riding on the balls of mine,
Seem they in motion? Here are sever’d lips,
Parted with sugar breath: so sweet a bar
Should sunder such sweet friends. Here in her hairs                120
The painter plays the spider, and hath woven
A golden mesh to entrap the hearts of men,
Faster than gnats in cobwebs: but her eyes,—
How could he see to do them? having made one,
Methinks it should have power to steal both his                    125
And leave itself unfurnish’d. Yet look, how far
The substance of my praise doth wrong this shadow
In underprizing it, so far this shadow
Doth limp behind the substance. Here’s the scroll,
The continent and summary of my fortune.                           130

[_Reads_] You that choose not by the view,
Chance as fair, and choose as true!
Since this fortune falls to you,
Be content and seek no new.
If you be well pleased with this,                                  135
And hold your fortune for your bliss,
Turn you where your lady is,
And claim her with a loving kiss.

A gentle scroll. Fair lady, by your leave;
I come by note, to give and to receive.                            140
Like one of two contending in a prize,
That thinks he hath done well in people’s eyes,
Hearing applause and universal shout,
Giddy in spirit, still gazing in a doubt
Whether those peals of praise be his or no;                        145
So, thrice-fair lady, stand I, even so;
As doubtful whether what I see be true,
Until confirm’d, sign’d, ratified by you.

_Por._ You see me, Lord Bassanio, where I stand,
Such as I am: though for myself alone                              150
I would not be ambitious in my wish,
To wish myself much better; yet, for you
I would be trebled twenty times myself;
A thousand times more fair, ten thousand times
More rich;                                                         155
That only to stand high in your account,
I might in virtues, beauties, livings, friends,
Exceed account; but the full sum of me
Is sum of something, which, to term in gross,
Is an unlesson’d girl, unschool’d, unpractised;                    160
Happy in this, she is not yet so old
But she may learn; happier than this,
She is not bred so dull but she can learn;
Happiest of all is that her gentle spirit
Commits itself to yours to be directed,                            165
As from her lord, her governor, her king.
Myself and what is mine to you and yours
Is now converted: but now I was the lord
Of this fair mansion, master of my servants,
Queen o’er myself; and even now, but now,                          170
This house, these servants, and this same myself,
Are yours, my lord: I give them with this ring;
Which when you part from, lose, or give away,
Let it presage the ruin of your love,
And be my vantage to exclaim on you.                               175

_Bass._ Madam, you have bereft me of all words,
Only my blood speaks to you in my veins;
And there is such confusion in my powers,
As, after some oration fairly spoke
By a beloved prince, there doth appear                             180
Among the buzzing pleased multitude;
Where every something, being blent together,
Turns to a wild of nothing, save of joy,
Express’d and not express’d. But when this ring
Parts from this finger, then parts life from hence:                185
O, then be bold to say Bassanio’s dead!

_Ner._ My lord and lady, it is now our time,
That have stood by and seen our wishes prosper,
To cry, good joy: good joy, my lord and lady!

_Gra._ My Lord Bassanio and my gentle lady,                        190
I wish you all the joy that you can wish;
For I am sure you can wish none from me:
And when your honours mean to solemnize
The bargain of your faith, I do beseech you,
Even at that time I may be married too.                            195

_Bass._ With all my heart, so thou canst get a wife.

_Gra._ I thank your lordship, you have got me one.
My eyes, my lord, can look as swift as yours:
You saw the mistress, I beheld the maid;
You loved, I loved for intermission.                               200
No more pertains to me, my lord, than you.
Your fortune stood upon the casket there,
And so did mine too, as the matter falls;
For wooing here until I sweat again,
And swearing till my very roof was dry                             205
With oaths of love, at last, if promise last,
I got a promise of this fair one here
To have her love, provided that your fortune
Achieved her mistress.

_Por._                 Is this true, Nerissa?

_Ner._ Madam, it is, so you stand pleased withal.                  210

_Bass._ And do you, Gratiano, mean good faith?

_Gra._ Yes, faith, my lord.

_Bass._ Our feast shall be much honour’d in your marriage.

_Gra._ We’ll play with them the first boy for a thousand           215
ducats.

_Ner._ What, and stake down?

_Gra._ No; we shall ne’er win at that sport, and stake down.
But who comes here? Lorenzo and his infidel?                       220
What, and my old Venetian friend Salerio?

 _Enter_ LORENZO, JESSICA, _and_ SALERIO, _a Messenger from
 Venice_.

_Bass._ Lorenzo and Salerio, welcome hither;
If that the youth of my new interest here
Have power to bid you welcome. By your leave,
I bid my very friends and countrymen,                              225
Sweet Portia, welcome.

_Por._                 So do I, my lord:
They are entirely welcome.

_Lor._ I thank your honour. For my part, my lord,
My purpose was not to have seen you here;
But meeting with Salerio by the way,                               230
He did entreat me, past all saying nay,
To come with him along.

_Saler._                I did, my lord;
And I have reason for it. Signior Antonio
Commends him to you.      [_Gives Bassanio a letter._

_Bass._              Ere I ope his letter,
I pray you, tell me how my good friend doth.                       235

_Saler._ Not sick, my lord, unless it be in mind;
Nor well, unless in mind: his letter there
Will show you his estate.

_Gra._ Nerissa, cheer yon stranger; bid her welcome.
Your hand, Salerio: what’s the news from Venice?                   240
How doth that royal merchant, good Antonio?
I know he will be glad of our success;
We are the Jasons, we have won the fleece.

_Saler._ I would you had won the fleece that he hath lost.

_Por._ There are some shrewd contents in yon same paper,           245
That steals the colour from Bassanio’s cheek:
Some dear friend dead; else nothing in the world
Could turn so much the constitution
Of any constant man. What, worse and worse!
With leave, Bassanio; I am half yourself,                          250
And I must freely have the half of any thing
That this same paper brings you.

_Bass._                          O sweet Portia,
Here are a few of the unpleasant’st words
That ever blotted paper! Gentle lady,
When I did first impart my love to you,                            255
I freely told you, all the wealth I had
Ran in my veins, I was a gentleman;
And then I told you true: and yet, dear lady,
Rating myself at nothing, you shall see
How much I was a braggart. When I told you                         260
My state was nothing, I should then have told you
That I was worse than nothing; for, indeed,
I have engaged myself to a dear friend,
Engaged my friend to his mere enemy,
To feed my means. Here is a letter, lady;                          265
The paper as the body of my friend,
And every word in it a gaping wound,
Issuing life-blood. But is it true, Salerio?
Have all his ventures fail’d? What, not one hit?
From Tripolis, from Mexico, and England,                           270
From Lisbon, Barbary, and India?
And not one vessel scape the dreadful touch
Of merchant-marring rocks?

_Saler._                   Not one, my lord.
Besides, it should appear, that if he had
The present money to discharge the Jew,                            275
He would not take it. Never did I know
A creature, that did bear the shape of man,
So keen and greedy to confound a man:
He plies the Duke at morning and at night;
And doth impeach the freedom of the state,                         280
If they deny him justice: twenty merchants,
The Duke himself, and the magnificoes
Of greatest port, have all persuaded with him;
But none can drive him from the envious plea
Of forfeiture, of justice, and his bond.                           285

_Jes._ When I was with him I have heard him swear
To Tubal and to Chus, his countrymen,
That he would rather have Antonio’s flesh
Than twenty times the value of the sum
That he did owe him: and I know, my lord,                          290
If law, authority and power deny not,
It will go hard with poor Antonio.

_Por._ Is it your dear friend that is thus in trouble?

_Bass._ The dearest friend to me, the kindest man,
The best-condition’d and unwearied spirit                          295
In doing courtesies; and one in whom
The ancient Roman honour more appears
Than any that draws breath in Italy.

_Por._ What sum owes he the Jew?

_Bass._ For me three thousand ducats.

_Por._                                What, no more?               300
Pay him six thousand, and deface the bond;
Double six thousand, and then treble that,
Before a friend of this description
Shall lose a hair through Bassanio’s fault.
First go with me to church and call me wife,                       305
And then away to Venice to your friend;
For never shall you lie by Portia’s side
With an unquiet soul. You shall have gold
To pay the petty debt twenty times over:
When it is paid, bring your true friend along.                     310
My maid Nerissa and myself meantime
Will live as maids and widows. Come, away!
For you shall hence upon your wedding-day:
Bid your friends welcome, show a merry cheer:
Since you are dear bought, I will love you dear.                   315
But let me hear the letter of your friend.

_Bass._ [_reads_] Sweet Bassanio, my ships have all miscarried,
my creditors grow cruel, my estate is very low, my bond to the Jew
is forfeit; and since in paying it, it is impossible I should live,
all debts are cleared between you and I, if I might but see you at
my 320 death. Notwithstanding, use your pleasure: if your love do not
persuade you to come, let not my letter.

_Por._  O love, dispatch all business, and be gone!

_Bass._  Since I have your good leave to go away,
  I will make haste: but, till I come again,                       325
No bed shall e’er be guilty of my stay,
  No rest be interposer ’twixt us twain.        [_Exeunt._


~~~~~
 Linenotes: _The Merchant of Venice_, III, 2.

 SCENE II. Enter...] Enter B. P. G. and all their Traines. Qq.
 (traine. Ff.)

 1: Por.] Por. [Aside to Bass. Anon. conj.

 3: _therefore_] om. Pope.

 11: _I am then_] Q1. _then I am_ Q2 Ff Q3 Q4.

 16: _half yours_] _half_ F2 F3 F4. _yours_ Capell.

 17: _if_] Qq. _of_ F1. _first_ F2 F3 F4.

 18: _O_] Qq Ff. _Alas_ Pope.

 19: _Put_] F2 F3. _Puts_ Qq F1 F4.

 20: _not yours_] _I’m not yours_ Johnson conj.

     _so_] _not so_ Capell.

 21: _it, not I_] _it, not me_ Hanmer. _it. Not I_ Warburton.
 _it—Not I_ Johnson.

 22: _peize_] Qq Ff. _poize_ Rowe (ed. 1). _peece_ Rowe (ed. 2).
 _piece_ Johnson. _pause_ Collier MS.

 23: _eke_] _eck_ Q1. _ech_ Q2. _ich_ F1 F2 F3. _eech_ Q3 Q4.
 _itch_ F4.

     _eke it_] _eche it out_ Pope (ed. 2).

     _to draw_] _draw_ F2 F3 F4.

     _it out_] _out_ Q1.

 30: _life_] _league_ S. Walker conj.

 33: _do_] _doth_ F1.

 44: _Then_] [Aside] _Then_ Anon. conj.

 46: _proper_] _just_ Pope.

 54: _presence_] _prescience_ Becket conj.

 61: _thou_] See note (VII).

     _much much_] Q2 F2 Q3 Q4 F3. _much_ Q1 F1 F4.

 62: _I_] _To_ Q1.

     Music.] Here Music. Ff. om. Qq.

     whilst...] the whilst. Qq Ff.

 63: _is_] _his_ Warburton.

 66: _Reply, reply_] _Reply_ Hanmer. See note (VIII).

 67: _eye_] Qq. _eyes_ Ff.

 71: _I’ll begin it_] Printed in Roman letters in Qq Ff, the rest of
 the song being in italics.

 81: _vice_] F2 F3 F4. _voice_ Qq F1.

 82: _mark_] om. Q1.

 93: _make_] Pope. _maketh_ Q1 Q2. _makes_ Ff Q3 Q4.

 97: _guiled_] Qq F1. _guilded_ F2 F3 F4. _gilded_ Rowe. _guilty_
 Warburton. _guiling_ Becket conj.

 99: _Indian beauty;_] _Indian dowdy;_ Hanmer. _Indian; beauty’s_
 Harness (Theobald conj.). _Indian gipsy;_ S. Walker conj. _Indian:
 beauty,_ Collier MS. _Indian favour;_ Lettsom conj. _Indian Idol;_
 Anon. ap. Halliwell conj. _Indian visage_ or _Indian feature;_
 Spedding conj. _Indian beldam_ Edd. conj.

 100: _times_] _tires_ or _trims_ Theobald conj.

 101: _Therefore_] Q1. _Therefore then_ Q2 F1 Q3 Q4. _Then_ Pope.

 102: _food_] _foole_ Q1.

 103: _pale_] _stale_ Farmer conj.

 106: _paleness_] Qq Ff. _plainness_ Theobald (Warburton).

 108: [Aside] Edd.

 110: _shuddering_] _shyddring_ Qq.

     _green-eyed_] _green-hode_ Becket conj.

 111: _O...moderate_] _Be moderatee love_ Hanmer.

 112: _rein_] _reine_ Q3 Q4. _range_ Q1. _raine_ Q2 F1 F2.
 _rain_ F3 F4. _pour_ Lansdowne version.

 114: _surfeit_] _surfeit me_ Steevens conj. _surfeit in’t_ or
 _surfeit on’t_ Anon. conj.

     _What find I_] _What do I find_ Hanmer. _Ha! what find I_
     Capell.

     [Opening...] om. Qq Ff.

 117: _whether_] Ff Q3 Q4. _whither_ Q1 Q2.

 119: _sugar_] _sugar’d_ Pope.

 122: _to entrap_] _t’ intrap_ Q1 Ff Q3 Q4. _tyntrap_ Q2.

 126: _itself_] _himself_ Johnson conj. _it’s self_ Jackson conj.

     _unfurnish’d_] Qq Ff. _unfinish’d_ Rowe. _half-furnish’d_ Anon.
     ap. Halliwell conj.

 144: _still...in a_] _gazing still in_ Pope.

 145: _peals_] Q2 Ff Q3 Q4. _pearles_ Q1.

 149: _me_] Qq. _my_ Ff.

     _Bassanio_] _Bassiano_ F1 F2.

 154: _ten thousand_] _ten_ Lloyd conj.

 155, 156: Printed as one line in Qq Ff.

 156: _only_] om. F2 F3 F4.

 159: _sum of something,_] _summe of something:_ Q1 Q3 Q4. _sume
 of something:_ Q2. _sum of nothing:_ Ff. _some of something,_
 Warburton.

 162: _happier than_] _happier then_ Qq F1. _happier then in_ F2
 F3 F4. _more happy then in_ Pope. _and happier than_ Steevens.
 _and happier in_ Lloyd conj.

     _this,_] _this, in that_ Capell.

 164: _is_] _in_ Collier (Collier MS.).

 168: _but now I_] _I but now_ Pope.

     _the lord_] Qq Ff. _the lady_ Rowe. _lady_ Pope.

 169: _master_] Qq Ff. _mistress_ Rowe.

 172: _lord_] _lord’s_ Q2.

 186: _Bassanio’s_] Ff Q3 Q4. _Bassanio is_ Q1. _Bassanios_ Q2.

 197: _have_] _gave_ F1.

 200: _loved for intermission._] F3 F4. _loved: for intermission_
 Theobald. _lov’d for intermission,_ Q1 Q2 F1 F2 F3.

 202: _casket_] Q2 Q3 Q4. _caskets_ Q2 Ff.

 204: _here_] _heere_ Qq F1. _heete_ F2. _heat_ F3 F4. _herd_
 Rowe (ed. 1). _her_ Rowe (ed. 2).

     _sweat_] F3 F4. _swet_ Qq F1 F2.

 205: _roof_] _roofe_ Q1. _rough_ Q2 Ff Q3 Q4. _tongue_ Collier
 MS.

 210: _is, so_] Qq. _is so, so_ Ff.

 221, 222, 230: _Salerio_] Qq Ff. _Salanio_ Rowe. See note (IX).

 221: SCENE III. Pope.

     Salerio...Venice.] Q1 Q2 Salerio. Ff. Salerio? from Venice.
     Q3 Q4. Salanio. Rowe. Salerino. Capell.

 225: _very_] om. Q3 Q4.

 232: _I_] Qq F1. om. F2 F3 F4.

 234: [Gives...] Theobald.

 238: [Opens the letter. Ff. [He opens the Letter. Q1. [Open the
 letter. Q2 Q3 Q4.

 239, 245: _yon_] Q1. _yond_ Q2 Ff Q3 Q4.

 244: _I would_] Qq Ff. _Would_ Pope.

 246: _steals_] Qq Ff. _steal_ Pope.

     _Bassanio’s_] _Bassiano’s_ F1 F2.

 251: _I must freely_] Qq F1. _must freely_ F2 F3 F4. _I must_
 Pope.

 265: _Here is_] Q2 Ff Q3 Q4. _Heer’s_ Q1.

 266: _as_] _is_ Pope.

 269: _Have_] Rowe. _Hath_ Qq Ff.

 270: _and_] _from_ Rowe.

 272: _scape_] _scaped_ Anon. conj.

 295: _condition’d and_] _condition’d: an_ Warburton.

     _unwearied_] _unwearied’st_ Hunter conj. _most unwearied_
     Lansdowne version.

 303: _this_] _his_ S. Walker conj.

 304: _Shall_] Qq Ff. _Should_ Capell.

     _through_] Qq F1. _through my_ F2 F3 F4. _thorough_ Collier
     conj.

 314, 315: _Bid...dear_] Put in the margin as spurious by Pope.

 317: Bass. [reads] om. Qq Ff.

 320: _you and I_] Qq Ff. _you and me_ Pope.

     _I, if...death._] _I. If...death:—_ C. Kemble conj.

     _but see_] Qq. _see_ Ff.

 323: Por.] om. Q1.

 327: _No_] Q1. _Nor_ Q2 Ff Q3 Q4.
~~~~~


SCENE III.  _Venice. A street._

 _Enter_ SHYLOCK, SALARINO, ANTONIO, _and_ Gaoler.

_Shy._  Gaoler, look to him: tell not me of mercy;
This is the fool that lent out money gratis:
Gaoler, look to him.

_Ant._               Hear me yet, good Shylock.

_Shy._  I’ll have my bond; speak not against my bond:
I have sworn an oath that I will have my bond.                       5
Thou call’dst me dog before thou hadst a cause;
But, since I am a dog, beware my fangs:
The Duke shall grant me justice. I do wonder,
Thou naughty gaoler, that thou art so fond
To come abroad with him at his request.                             10

_Ant._  I pray thee, hear me speak.

_Shy._  I’ll have my bond; I will not hear thee speak:
I’ll have my bond; and therefore speak no more.
I’ll not be made a soft and dull-eyed fool,
To shake the head, relent, and sigh, and yield                      15
To Christian intercessors. Follow not;
I’ll have no speaking: I will have my bond.       [_Exit._

_Salar._  It is the most impenetrable cur
That ever kept with men.

_Ant._                   Let him alone:
I’ll follow him no more with bootless prayers.                      20
He seeks my life; his reason well I know:
I oft deliver’d from his forfeitures
Many that have at times made moan to me;
Therefore he hates me.

_Salar._               I am sure the Duke
Will never grant this forfeiture to hold.                           25

_Ant._  The Duke cannot deny the course of law:
For the commodity that strangers have
With us in Venice, if it be denied,
Will much impeach the justice of his state;
Since that the trade and profit of the city                         30
Consisteth of all nations. Therefore, go:
These griefs and losses have so bated me,
That I shall hardly spare a pound of flesh
To-morrow to my bloody creditor.
Well, gaoler, on. Pray God, Bassanio come                           35
To see me pay his debt, and then I care not!       [_Exeunt._


~~~~~
 Linenotes: _The Merchant of Venice_, III, 3.

 SCENE III.] SCENE IV. Pope.

 Salarino] Q1. Salerio. Q2 Q3 Q4. Solanio. Ff.

 1, 3: _Gaoler_] Johnson. _Iaylor_ Qq F1 F2. _Jaylor_ F3 F4.
 _Goaler_ Rowe.

 2: _lent_] Qq. _lends_ Ff.

 5: _I have_] _I’ve_ Pope.

 6: _call’dst_] _call’st_ F3 F4.

 11: _pray thee_] _prethee_ Q1.

 22: _from_] Q1 Q2 Ff. _him_ Q3 Q4.

 24, 25: _I am sure...hold_] Printed as prose in F2 F3 F4.

 26: _law:_] _law,_ Capell.

 28: _Venice,_] _Venice:_ Capell.

     _it_] _that_ Seymour conj.

 29: _Will_] _’Twill_ Capell.

     _his_] Q1. _the_ Q2 Ff Q3 Q4.

 32: _have_] Q1 Q2 Ff. _hath_ Q3 Q4.
~~~~~


SCENE IV. _Belmont. A room in_ PORTIA’S _house_.

 _Enter_ PORTIA, NERISSA, LORENZO, JESSICA, _and_ BALTHASAR.

_Lor._  Madam, although I speak it in your presence,
You have a noble and a true conceit
Of god-like amity; which appears most strongly
In bearing thus the absence of your lord.
But if you knew to whom you show this honour.                        5
How true a gentleman you send relief,
How dear a lover of my lord your husband,
I know you would be prouder of the work
Than customary bounty can enforce you.

_Por._ I never did repent for doing good,                           10
Nor shall not now: for in companions
That do converse and waste the time together,
Whose souls do bear an equal yoke of love,
There must be needs a like proportion
Of lineaments, of manners and of spirit;                            15
Which makes me think that this Antonio,
Being the bosom lover of my lord,
Must needs be like my lord. If it be so,
How little is the cost I have bestow’d
In purchasing the semblance of my soul                              20
From out the state of hellish misery!
This comes too near the praising of myself;
Therefore no more of it: hear other things.
Lorenzo, I commit into your hands
The husbandry and manage of my house                                25
Until my lord’s return: for mine own part,
I have toward heaven breathed a secret vow
To live in prayer and contemplation,
Only attended by Nerissa here,
Until her husband and my lord’s return:                             30
There is a monastery two miles off;
And there will we abide. I do desire you
Not to deny this imposition;
The which my love and some necessity
Now lays upon you.

_Lor._             Madam, with all my heart;                        35
I shall obey you in all fair commands.

_Por._ My people do already know my mind,
And will acknowledge you and Jessica
In place of Lord Bassanio and myself.
And so farewell, till we shall meet again.                          40

_Lor._ Fair thoughts and happy hours attend on you!

_Jes._ I wish your ladyship all heart’s content.

_Por._ I thank you for your wish, and am well pleased
To wish it back on you: fare you well, Jessica.
 [_Exeunt Jessica and Lorenzo._
Now, Balthasar,                                                     45
As I have ever found thee honest-true,
So let me find thee still. Take this same letter,
And use thou all the endeavour of a man
In speed to Padua: see thou render this
Into my cousin’s hand, Doctor Bellario;                             50
And, look, what notes and garments he doth give thee,
Bring them, I pray thee, with imagined speed
Unto the tranect, to the common ferry
Which trades to Venice. Waste no time in words,
But get thee gone: I shall be there before thee.                    55

_Balth._ Madam, I go with all convenient speed.       [_Exit._

_Por._ Come on, Nerissa; I have work in hand
That you yet know not of: we’ll see our husbands
Before they think of us.

_Ner._                   Shall they see us?

_Por._ They shall, Nerissa; but in such a habit,                    60
That they shall think we are accomplished
With that we lack. I’ll hold thee any wager,
When we are both accoutred like young men,
I’ll prove the prettier fellow of the two,
And wear my dagger with the braver grace,                           65
And speak between the change of man and boy
With a reed voice, and turn two mincing steps
Into a manly stride, and speak of frays
Like a fine bragging youth; and tell quaint lies,
How honourable ladies sought my love,                               70
Which I denying, they fell sick and died;
I could not do withal: then I’ll repent,
And wish, for all that, that I had not kill’d them;
And twenty of these puny lies I’ll tell,
That men shall swear I have discontinued school                     75
Above a twelvemonth. I have within my mind
A thousand raw tricks of these bragging Jacks,
Which I will practise.

_Ner._                 Why, shall we turn to men?

_Por._ Fie, what a question’s that,
If thou wert near a lewd interpreter!                               80
But come, I’ll tell thee all my whole device
When I am in my coach, which stays for us
At the park-gate; and therefore haste away,
For we must measure twenty miles to-day.      [_Exeunt._


~~~~~
 Linenotes: _The Merchant of Venice_, III, 4.

 SCENE IV.] SCENE V. Pope.

 ...Balthasar.] Theobald. ...a man of Portia’s. Qq Ff.

 1: _your_] _you_ F2.

 3: _god-like_] _gold-like_ Q3 Q4.

     _most_] om. Pope.

 6: _relief_] _relief to_ Rowe.

 10: _for_] _of_ Pope.

 11: _Nor_] _And_ Pope.

 13: _equal_] Q1 Q3 Q4 F3 F4. _egall_ Q2. _egal_ F1 F2.

 15: _lineaments, of_] _lineaments of_ Warburton.

 21: _misery_] Q1. _cruelty_ Q2 Ff Q3 Q4.

 23. _hear other things._] Theobald (Thirlby conj.). _heere other
 things_ Qq F1 F2. _here other things,_ F3 F4. _here are other
 things._ Rowe.

 24: _hands_] _hands_, Qq Ff.

 27: _secret_] _sacred_ Collier MS.

 32: _will we_] Q1. _we will_ Q2 Ff Q3 Q4.

 35: _lays_] _lay_ Hanmer.

     _you_] Q1 Q2 Ff. _me_ Q3 Q4.

 40: _And so farewell_] Q1. _So fare you well_ Q2 Ff Q3 Q4.

 43: _pleased_] _’pris’d_ Warburton.

 44: _fare you well_] Q2 Ff Q3 Q4. _farewell_ Q1.

 45, 46: _Now...true_] Printed as one line in Qq Ff: corrected by
 Pope.

 46: _honest-true_] Dyce (S. Walker conj.).

 49: _Padua_] Theobald. _Mantua_ Qq Ff.

 53: _tranect_] _traject_ Rowe. _crane, next_ Jackson conj.

 54: _words_] _word_ Q3 Q4.

 55: _thee_] _hee_ F2.

 62: _that_] Qq Ff. _what_ Rowe (ed. 2).

 63: _accoutred_] _apparreld_ Q1.

 72: _withal_] _with all_ Rowe (ed. 2.) See note (X).

 75: _I have_] _I’ve_ Pope.

 81: _my_] _my my_ Q2.
~~~~~


SCENE V. _The same. A garden._

 _Enter_ LAUNCELOT _and_ JESSICA.

_Laun._ Yes, truly; for, look you, the sins of the father
are to be laid upon the children: therefore, I promise ye,
I fear you. I was always plain with you, and so now I
speak my agitation of the matter: therefore be of good
cheer; for, truly, I think you are damned. There is but              5
one hope in it that can do you any good; and that is but
a kind of bastard hope neither.

_Jes._ And what hope is that, I pray thee?

_Laun._ Marry, you may partly hope that your father
got you not, that you are not the Jew’s daughter.                   10

_Jes._ That were a kind of bastard hope, indeed: so the
sins of my mother should be visited upon me.

_Laun._ Truly then I fear you are damned both by father
and mother: thus when I shun Scylla, your father, I fall
into Charybdis, your mother: well, you are gone both ways.          15

_Jes._ I shall be saved by my husband; he hath made
me a Christian.

_Laun._ Truly, the more to blame he: we were Christians
enow before; e’en as many as could well live, one by
another. This making of Christians will raise the price of          20
hogs: if we grow all to be pork-eaters, we shall not shortly
have a rasher on the coals for money.

 _Enter_ LORENZO.

_Jes._ I’ll tell my husband, Launcelot, what you say: here
he comes.

_Lor._ I shall grow jealous of you shortly, Launcelot,              25
if you thus get my wife into corners.

_Jes._ Nay, you need not fear us, Lorenzo: Launcelot
and I are out. He tells me flatly, there is no mercy for me
in heaven, because I am a Jew’s daughter: and he says,
you are no good member of the commonwealth; for, in                 30
converting Jews to Christians, you raise the price of pork.

_Lor._ I shall answer that better to the commonwealth
than you can the getting up of the negro’s belly: the Moor
is with child by you, Launcelot.

_Laun._ It is much that the Moor should be more than                35
reason: but if she be less than an honest woman, she is
indeed more than I took her for.

_Lor._ How every fool can play upon the word! I think
the best grace of wit will shortly turn into silence; and discourse
grow commendable in none only but parrots. Go                       40
in, sirrah; bid them prepare for dinner.

_Laun._ That is done, sir; they have all stomachs.

_Lor._ Goodly Lord, what a wit-snapper are you! then
bid them prepare dinner.

_Laun._ That is done too, sir; only ‘cover’ is the word.            45

_Lor._ Will you cover, then, sir?

_Laun._ Not so, sir, neither; I know my duty.

_Lor._ Yet more quarrelling with occasion! Wilt thou
show the whole wealth of thy wit in an instant? I pray
thee, understand a plain man in his plain meaning: go to            50
thy fellows; bid them cover the table, serve in the meat,
and we will come in to dinner.

_Laun._ For the table, sir, it shall be served in; for the
meat, sir, it shall be covered; for your coming in to dinner,
sir, why, let it be as humours and conceits shall govern.           55

 [_Exit._

_Lor._ O dear discretion, how his words are suited!
The fool hath planted in his memory
An army of good words; and I do know
A many fools, that stand in better place,
Garnish’d like him, that for a tricksy word                         60
Defy the matter. How cheer’st thou, Jessica?
And now, good sweet, say thy opinion,
How dost thou like the Lord Bassanio’s wife?

_Jes._ Past all expressing. It is very meet
The Lord Bassanio live an upright life;                             65
For, having such a blessing in his lady,
He finds the joys of heaven here on earth;
And if on earth he do not mean it, then
In reason he should never come to heaven.
Why, if two gods should play some heavenly match                    70
And on the wager lay two earthly women,
And Portia one, there must be something else
Pawn’d with the other; for the poor rude world
Hath not her fellow.

_Lor._               Even such a husband
Hast thou of me as she is for a wife.                               75

_Jes._ Nay, but ask my opinion too of that.

_Lor._ I will anon: first, let us go to dinner.

_Jes._ Nay, let me praise you while I have a stomach.

_Lor._ No, pray thee, let it serve for table-talk;
Then, howsoe’er thou speak’st, ’mong other things                   80
I shall digest it.

_Jes._             Well, I’ll set you forth.         [_Exeunt._


~~~~~
 Linenotes: _The Merchant of Venice_, III, 5.

 SCENE V.] SCENE VI. Pope.

 A garden.] Capell.

 2: _ye_] Q1. _you_ Q2 Ff Q3 Q4.

 3: _I fear_] _I fear for_ Malone conj.

 14: _I shun_] _you shun_ Rowe.

     _I fall_] _you fall_ Rowe.

 19: _e’en_] _in_ Q2.

 24: _comes._] _come?_ Q2.

 34: _is_] _’s_ Q1.

 36: _less_] _more_ Capell conj.

 43: _Goodly_] _Good_ Pope. _Good y^e_ Farmer conj. _Goodly:_ Jackson
 conj. _Good my_ Anon. ap. Halliwell conj.

 48: _quarrelling with_] _quibbling:— what_ or _quibbling without_
 Jackson conj.

 56: _dear_] _clear_ Lloyd conj.

     _suited_] _sorted_ Jackson conj.

 61: _cheer’st_] Ff Q3 Q4. _cherst_ Q2. _far’st_ Q1.

 63: _Bassanio’s_] _Bassiano’s_ F1 F2.

 68, 69: _mean it, then In_] _meane it, then In_ Q1. _meane it, it
 In_ Q2. _meane it, it Is_ Ff. _meane it, In_ Q3 Q4. _merit it,
 In_ Pope. _moan, it is In_ Staunton conj.

 74, 75: Q1 ends the lines at _me...wife_.

 75: _a wife_] Ff Q3 Q4. _wife_ Q1 Q2.

 79: _pray thee_] _prithee_ Q1.

 80: _howsoe’er_] _howsoere_ Q1. _how so ere_ Q3 Q4. _how so mere_
 Q2. _how som ere_ F1 F2. _howsom ere_ F3. _howsome’re_ F4.

     _’mong_] _’mongst_ F4.

 81: _digest_] Ff. _disgest_ Qq.

     [Exeunt] Ff Q3 Q4. [Exit Q1 Q2.
~~~~~




ACT IV.


SCENE I. _Venice. A court of justice._

 _Enter the_ DUKE, _the_ Magnificoes, ANTONIO, BASSANIO,
 GRATIANO, SALERIO, _and others_.

_Duke._ What, is Antonio here?

_Ant._ Ready, so please your Grace.

_Duke._ I am sorry for thee: thou art come to answer
A stony adversary, an inhuman wretch
Uncapable of pity, void and empty                                    5
From any dram of mercy.

_Ant._                  I have heard
Your Grace hath ta’en great pains to qualify
His rigorous course; but since he stands obdurate,
And that no lawful means can carry me
Out of his envy’s reach, I do oppose                                10
My patience to his fury; and am arm’d
To suffer, with a quietness of spirit,
The very tyranny and rage of his.

_Duke._ Go one, and call the Jew into the court.

_Saler._ He is ready at the door: he comes, my lord.                15

 _Enter_ SHYLOCK.

_Duke._ Make room, and let him stand before our face
Shylock, the world thinks, and I think so too,
That thou but lead’st this fashion of thy malice
To the last hour of act; and then ’tis thought
Thou’lt show thy mercy and remorse more strange                     20
Than is thy strange apparent cruelty;
And where thou now exact’st the penalty,
Which is a pound of this poor merchant’s flesh,
Thou wilt not only loose the forfeiture,
But, touch’d with human gentleness and love,                        25
Forgive a moiety of the principal;
Glancing an eye of pity on his losses,
That have of late so huddled on his back,
Enow to press a royal merchant down,
And pluck commiseration of his state                                30
From brassy bosoms and rough hearts of flint,
From stubborn Turks and Tartars, never train’d
To offices of tender courtesy.
We all expect a gentle answer, Jew.

_Shy._ I have possess’d your Grace of what I purpose;               35
And by our holy Sabbath have I sworn
To have the due and forfeit of my bond:
If you deny it, let the danger light
Upon your charter and your city’s freedom.
You’ll ask me, why I rather choose to have                          40
A weight of carrion-flesh than to receive
Three thousand ducats: I’ll not answer that:
But, say, it is my humour: is it answer’d?
What if my house be troubled with a rat,
And I be pleased to give ten thousand ducats                        45
To have it baned? What, are you answer’d yet?
Some men there are love not a gaping pig;
Some, that are mad if they behold a cat;
And others, when the bagpipe sings i’ the nose,
Cannot contain their urine: for affection,                          50
Mistress of passion, sways it to the mood
Of what it likes or loathes. Now, for your answer:
As there is no firm reason to be render’d,
Why he cannot abide a gaping pig;
Why he, a harmless necessary cat;                                   55
Why he, a woollen bag-pipe; but of force
Must yield to such inevitable shame
As to offend, himself being offended;
So can I give no reason, nor I will not,
More than a lodged hate and a certain loathing                      60
I bear Antonio, that I follow thus
A losing suit against him. Are you answer’d?

_Bass._ This is no answer, thou unfeeling man,
To excuse the current of thy cruelty.

_Shy._ I am not bound to please thee with my answers.               65

_Bass._ Do all men kill the things they do not love?

_Shy._ Hates any man the thing he would not kill?

_Bass._ Every offence is not a hate at first.

_Shy._ What, wouldst thou have a serpent sting thee twice?

_Ant._ I pray you, think you question with the Jew:                 70
You may as well go stand upon the beach,
And bid the main flood bate his usual height;
You may as well use question with the wolf,
Why he hath made the ewe bleat for the lamb;
You may as well forbid the mountain pines                           75
To wag their high tops, and to make no noise,
When they are fretten with the gusts of heaven;
You may as well do any thing most hard,
As seek to soften that—than which what’s harder?—
His Jewish heart: therefore, I do beseech you,                      80
Make no more offers, use no farther means,
But with all brief and plain conveniency
Let me have judgement and the Jew his will.

_Bass._ For thy three thousand ducats here is six.

_Shy._ If every ducat in six thousand ducats                        85
Were in six parts and every part a ducat,
I would not draw them; I would have my bond.

_Duke._ How shalt thou hope for mercy, rendering none?

_Shy._ What judgement shall I dread, doing no wrong?
You have among you many a purchased slave,                          90
Which, like your asses and your dogs and mules,
You use in abject and in slavish parts,
Because you bought them: shall I say to you,
Let them be free, marry them to your heirs?
Why sweat they under burthens? let their beds                       95
Be made as soft as yours, and let their palates
Be season’d with such viands? You will answer
‘The slaves are ours:’ so do I answer you:
The pound of flesh, which I demand of him,
Is dearly bought; ’tis mine and I will have it.                    100
If you deny me, fie upon your law!
There is no force in the decrees of Venice.
I stand for judgement: answer; shall I have it?

_Duke._ Upon my power I may dismiss this court,
Unless Bellario, a learned doctor,                                 105
Whom I have sent for to determine this,
Come here to-day.

_Saler._          My lord, here stays without
A messenger with letters from the doctor,
New come from Padua.

_Duke._ Bring us the letters; call the messenger.                  110

_Bass._ Good cheer, Antonio! What, man, courage yet!
The Jew shall have my flesh, blood, bones, and all,
Ere thou shalt lose for me one drop of blood.

_Ant._ I am a tainted wether of the flock,
Meetest for death: the weakest kind of fruit                       115
Drops earliest to the ground; and so let me:
You cannot better be employ’d, Bassanio,
Than to live still, and write mine epitaph.

 _Enter_ NERISSA, _dressed like a lawyer’s clerk_.

_Duke._ Came you from Padua, from Bellario?

_Ner._ From both, my lord. Bellario greets your Grace.             120

 [_Presenting a letter._

_Bass._ Why dost thou whet thy knife so earnestly?

_Shy._ To cut the forfeiture from that bankrupt there.

_Gra._ Not on thy sole, but on thy soul, harsh Jew,
Thou makest thy knife keen; but no metal can,
No, not the hangman’s axe, bear half the keenness                  125
Of thy sharp envy. Can no prayers pierce thee?

_Shy._ No, none that thou hast wit enough to make.

_Gra._ O, be thou damn’d, inexecrable dog!
And for thy life let justice be accused.
Thou almost makest me waver in my faith,                           130
To hold opinion with Pythagoras,
That souls of animals infuse themselves
Into the trunks of men: thy currish spirit
Govern’d a wolf, who, hang’d for human slaughter,
Even from the gallows did his fell soul fleet,                     135
And, whilst thou lay’st in thy unhallow’d dam,
Infused itself in thee; for thy desires
Are wolvish, bloody, starved and ravenous.

_Shy._ Till thou canst rail the seal from off my bond,
Thou but offend’st thy lungs to speak so loud:                     140
Repair thy wit, good youth, or it will fall
To cureless ruin. I stand here for law.

_Duke._ This letter from Bellario doth commend
A young and learned doctor to our court.
Where is he?

_Ner._       He attendeth here hard by,                            145
To know your answer, whether you’ll admit him.

_Duke._ With all my heart. Some three or four of you
Go give him courteous conduct to this place.
Meantime the court shall hear Bellario’s letter.

_Clerk._ [_reads_] Your Grace shall understand that at the receipt   150
of your letter I am very sick: but in the instant that your messenger
came, in loving visitation was with me a young doctor of Rome; his
name is Balthasar. I acquainted him with the cause in controversy
between the Jew and Antonio the merchant: we turned o’er many
books together: he is furnished with my opinion; which, bettered with
his own learning,—the greatness whereof I cannot enough commend,     156
—comes with him, at my importunity, to fill up your Grace’s request
in my stead. I beseech you, let his lack of years be no impediment
to let him lack a reverend estimation; for I never knew so young a
body with so old a head. I leave him to your gracious acceptance,    160
whose trial shall better publish his commendation.

_Duke._ You hear the learn’d Bellario, what he writes:
And here, I take it, is the doctor come.

 _Enter_ PORTIA _for_ BALTHASAR.

Give me your hand. Come you from old Bellario?

_Por._ I did, my lord.

_Duke._                You are welcome: take your place.           165
Are you acquainted with the difference
That holds this present question in the court?

_Por._ I am informed throughly of the cause.
Which is the merchant here, and which the Jew?

_Duke._ Antonio and old Shylock, both stand forth.                 170

_Por._ Is your name Shylock?

_Shy._                       Shylock is my name.

_Por._ Of a strange nature is the suit you follow;
Yet in such rule that the Venetian law
Cannot impugn you as you do proceed.
You stand within his danger, do you not?                           175

_Ant._ Ay, so he says.

_Por._                 Do you confess the bond?

_Ant._ I do.

_Por._       Then must the Jew be merciful.

_Shy._ On what compulsion must I? tell me that.

_Por._ The quality of mercy is not strain’d,
It droppeth as the gentle rain from heaven                         180
Upon the place beneath: it is twice blest;
It blesseth him that gives, and him that takes:
’Tis mightiest in the mightiest: it becomes
The throned monarch better than his crown;
His sceptre shows the force of temporal power,                     185
The attribute to awe and majesty,
Wherein doth sit the dread and fear of kings;
But mercy is above this sceptred sway;
It is enthroned in the hearts of kings,
It is an attribute to God himself;                                 190
And earthly power doth then show likest God’s
When mercy seasons justice. Therefore, Jew,
Though justice be thy plea, consider this,
That, in the course of justice, none of us
Should see salvation: we do pray for mercy;                        195
And that same prayer doth teach us all to render
The deeds of mercy. I have spoke thus much
To mitigate the justice of thy plea;
Which if thou follow, this strict court of Venice
Must needs give sentence ’gainst the merchant there.               200

_Shy._ My deeds upon my head! I crave the law,
The penalty and forfeit of my bond.

_Por._ Is he not able to discharge the money?

_Bass._ Yes, here I tender it for him in the court;
Yea, twice the sum: if that will not suffice,                      205
I will be bound to pay it ten times o’er,
On forfeit of my hands, my head, my heart:
If this will not suffice, it must appear
That malice bears down truth. And I beseech you,
Wrest once the law to your authority:                              210
To do a great right, do a little wrong,
And curb this cruel devil of his will.

_Por._ It must not be; there is no power in Venice
Can alter a decree established:
’Twill be recorded for a precedent,                                215
And many an error, by the same example,
Will rush into the state: it cannot be.

_Shy._ A Daniel come to judgement! yea, a Daniel!
O wise young judge, how I do honour thee!

_Por._ I pray you, let me look upon the bond.                      220

_Shy._ Here ’tis, most reverend doctor, here it is.

_Por._ Shylock, there’s thrice thy money offer’d thee.

_Shy._ An oath, an oath, I have an oath in heaven:
Shall I lay perjury upon my soul?
No, not for Venice.

_Por._              Why, this bond is forfeit;                     225
And lawfully by this the Jew may claim
A pound of flesh, to be by him cut off
Nearest the merchant’s heart. Be merciful:
Take thrice thy money; bid me tear the bond.

_Shy._ When it is paid according to the tenour.                    230
It doth appear you are a worthy judge;
You know the law, your exposition
Hath been most sound: I charge you by the law,
Whereof you are a well-deserving pillar,
Proceed to judgement: by my soul I swear                           235
There is no power in the tongue of man
To alter me: I stay here on my bond.

_Ant._ Most heartily I do beseech the court
To give the judgement.

_Por._                 Why then, thus it is:
You must prepare your bosom for his knife.                         240

_Shy._ O noble judge! O excellent young man!

_Por._ For the intent and purpose of the law
Hath full relation to the penalty,
Which here appeareth due upon the bond.

_Shy._ ’Tis very true: O wise and upright judge!                   245
How much more elder art thou than thy looks!

_Por._ Therefore lay bare your bosom.

_Shy._                                Ay, his breast:
So says the bond:—doth it not, noble judge?—
‘Nearest his heart:’ those are the very words.

_Por._ It is so. Are there balance here to weigh                   250
The flesh?

_Shy._ I have them ready.

_Por._ Have by some surgeon, Shylock, on your charge,
To stop his wounds, lest he do bleed to death.

_Shy._ Is it so nominated in the bond?

_Por._ It is not so express’d: but what of that?                   255
’Twere good you do so much for charity.

_Shy._ I cannot find it; ’tis not in the bond.

_Por._ You, merchant, have you any thing to say?

_Ant._ But little: I am arm’d and well prepared.
Give me your hand, Bassanio: fare you well!                        260
Grieve not that I am fallen to this for you;
For herein Fortune shows herself more kind
Than is her custom: it is still her use
To let the wretched man outlive his wealth,
To view with hollow eye and wrinkled brow                          265
An age of poverty; from which lingering penance
Of such misery doth she cut me off.
Commend me to your honourable wife:
Tell her the process of Antonio’s end;
Say how I loved you, speak me fair in death;                       270
And, when the tale is told, bid her be judge
Whether Bassanio had not once a love.
Repent but you that you shall lose your friend,
And he repents not that he pays your debt;
For if the Jew do cut but deep enough,                             275
I’ll pay it presently with all my heart.

_Bass._ Antonio, I am married to a wife
Which is as dear to me as life itself;
But life itself, my wife, and all the world,
Are not with me esteem’d above thy life:                           280
I would lose all, ay, sacrifice them all
Here to this devil, to deliver you.

_Por._ Your wife would give you little thanks for that,
If she were by, to hear you make the offer.

_Gra._ I have a wife, whom, I protest, I love:                     285
I would she were in heaven, so she could
Entreat some power to change this currish Jew.

_Ner._ ’Tis well you offer it behind her back;
The wish would make else an unquiet house.

_Shy._ These be the Christian husbands. I have a daughter;         290
Would any of the stock of Barrabas
Had been her husband rather than a Christian!        [_Aside._
We trifle time: I pray thee, pursue sentence.

_Por._ A pound of that same merchant’s flesh is thine:
The court awards it, and the law doth give it.                     295

_Shy._ Most rightful judge!

_Por._ And you must cut this flesh from off his breast:
The law allows it, and the court awards it.

_Shy._ Most learned judge! A sentence! Come, prepare!

_Por._ Tarry a little; there is something else.                    300
This bond doth give thee here no jot of blood;
The words expressly are ‘a pound of flesh:’
Take then thy bond, take thou thy pound of flesh;
But, in the cutting it, if thou dost shed
One drop of Christian blood, thy lands and goods                   305
Are, by the laws of Venice, confiscate
Unto the state of Venice.

_Gra._ O upright judge! Mark, Jew: O learned judge!

_Shy._ Is that the law?

_Por._                  Thyself shalt see the act:
For, as thou urgest justice, be assured                            310
Thou shalt have justice, more than thou desirest.

_Gra._ O learned judge! Mark, Jew: a learned judge!

_Shy._ I take this offer, then; pay the bond thrice,
And let the Christian go.

_Bass._                   Here is the money.

_Por._  Soft!                                                      315
The Jew shall have all justice; soft! no haste:
He shall have nothing but the penalty.

_Gra._ O Jew! an upright judge, a learned judge!

_Por._ Therefore prepare thee to cut off the flesh.
Shed thou no blood; nor cut thou less nor more                     320
But just a pound of flesh: if thou cut’st more
Or less than a just pound, be it but so much
As makes it light or heavy in the substance,
Or the division of the twentieth part
Of one poor scruple, nay, if the scale do turn                     325
But in the estimation of a hair,
Thou diest and all thy goods are confiscate.

_Gra._ A second Daniel, a Daniel, Jew!
Now, infidel, I have you on the hip.

_Por._ Why doth the Jew pause? take thy forfeiture.                330

_Shy._ Give me my principal, and let me go.

_Bass._ I have it ready for thee; here it is.

_Por._ He hath refused it in the open court:
He shall have merely justice and his bond.

_Gra._ A Daniel, still say I, a second Daniel!                     335
I thank thee, Jew, for teaching me that word.

_Shy._ Shall I not have barely my principal?

_Por._ Thou shalt have nothing but the forfeiture,
To be so taken at thy peril, Jew.

_Shy._ Why, then the devil give him good of it!                    340
I’ll stay no longer question.

_Por._                        Tarry, Jew:
The law hath yet another hold on you.
It is enacted in the laws of Venice,
If it be proved against an alien
That by direct or indirect attempts                                345
He seek the life of any citizen,
The party ’gainst the which he doth contrive
Shall seize one half his goods; the other half
Comes to the privy coffer of the state;
And the offender’s life lies in the mercy                          350
Of the Duke only, ’gainst all other voice.
In which predicament, I say, thou stand’st;
For it appears, by manifest proceeding,
That indirectly, and directly too,
Thou hast contrived against the very life                          355
Of the defendant; and thou hast incurr’d
The danger formerly by me rehearsed.
Down, therefore, and beg mercy of the Duke.

_Gra._ Beg that thou mayst have leave to hang thyself:
And yet, thy wealth being forfeit to the state,                    360
Thou hast not left the value of a cord;
Therefore thou must be hang’d at the state’s charge.

_Duke._ That thou shalt see the difference of our spirits,
I pardon thee thy life before thou ask it:
For half thy wealth, it is Antonio’s;                              365
The other half comes to the general state,
Which humbleness may drive unto a fine.

_Por._ Ay, for the state, not for Antonio.

_Shy._ Nay, take my life and all; pardon not that:
You take my house, when you do take the                            370
That doth sustain my house; you take my life,
When you do take the means whereby I live.

_Por._ What mercy can you render him, Antonio?

_Gra._ A halter gratis; nothing else, for God’s sake.

_Ant._ So please my lord the Duke and all the court                375
To quit the fine for one half of his goods,
I am content; so he will let me have
The other half in use, to render it,
Upon his death, unto the gentleman
That lately stole his daughter:                                    380
Two things provided more, that, for this favour,
He presently become a Christian;
The other, that he do record a gift,
Here in the court, of all he dies possess’d,
Unto his son Lorenzo and his daughter.                             385

_Duke._ He shall do this, or else I do recant
The pardon that I late pronounced here.

_Por._ Art thou contented, Jew? what dost thou say?

_Shy._ I am content.

_Por._               Clerk, draw a deed of gift.

_Shy._ I pray you, give me leave to go from hence;                 390
I am not well: send the deed after me,
And I will sign it.

_Duke._             Get thee gone, but do it.

_Gra._ In christening shalt thou have two godfathers:
Had I been judge, thou shouldst have had ten more,
To bring thee to the gallows, not the font.                        395

 [_Exit Shylock._

_Duke._ Sir, I entreat you home with me to dinner.

_Por._ I humbly do desire your Grace of pardon:
I must away this night toward Padua,
And it is meet I presently set forth.

_Duke._ I am sorry that your leisure serves you not.               400
Antonio, gratify this gentleman,
For, in my mind, you are much bound to him.

 [_Exeunt Duke and his train._

_Bass._ Most worthy gentleman, I and my friend
Have by your wisdom been this day acquitted
Of grievous penalties; in lieu whereof,                            405
Three thousand ducats, due unto the Jew,
We freely cope your courteous pains withal.

_Ant._ And stand indebted, over and above,
In love and service to you evermore.

_Por._ He is well paid that is well satisfied;                     410
And I, delivering you, am satisfied
And therein do account myself well paid:
My mind was never yet more mercenary.
I pray you, know me when we meet again:
I wish you well, and so I take my leave.                           415

_Bass._ Dear sir, of force I must attempt you further:
Take some remembrance of us, as a tribute,
Not as a fee: grant me two things, I pray you,
Not to deny me, and to pardon me.

_Por._ You press me far, and therefore I will yield.               420
Give me your gloves, I’ll wear them for your sake;         [_To Ant._
And, for your love, I’ll take this ring from you [_To Bass._]:
Do not draw back your hand; I’ll take no more;
And you in love shall not deny me this.

_Bass._ This ring, good sir, alas, it is a trifle!                 425
I will not shame myself to give you this.

_Por._ I will have nothing else but only this;
And now methinks I have a mind to it.

_Bass._ There’s more depends on this than on the value.
The dearest ring in Venice will I give you,                        430
And find it out by proclamation:
Only for this, I pray you, pardon me.

_Por._ I see, sir, you are liberal in offers:
You taught me first to beg; and now methinks
You teach me how a beggar should be answer’d.                      435

_Bass._ Good sir, this ring was given me by my wife;
And when she put it on, she made me vow
That I should neither sell nor give nor lose it.

_Por._ That ’scuse serves many men to save their gifts.
An if your wife be not a mad-woman,                                440
And know how well I have deserved the ring,
She would not hold out enemy for ever,
For giving it to me. Well, peace be with you!

 [_Exeunt Portia and Nerissa._

_Ant._ My Lord Bassanio, let him have the ring:
Let his deservings and my love withal                              445
Be valued ’gainst your wife’s commandment.

_Bass._ Go, Gratiano, run and overtake him;
Give him the ring; and bring him, if thou canst,
Unto Antonio’s house: away! make haste.
 [_Exit Gratiano._
Come, you and I will thither presently;                            450
And in the morning early will we both
Fly toward Belmont: come, Antonio.                      [_Exeunt._


~~~~~
 Linenotes: _The Merchant of Venice_, IV, 1.

 SCENE I. _A court..._] Capell. The Senate-House. Theobald.

 ...Salerio, and others.] om. Qq Ff. Salanio, Salarino and others.
 Capell. om. Qq Ff. Enter... and Gratiano at the bar. Theobald.

 3: _I am_] _I’m_ Pope.

 6: _dram_] _dream_ Becket conj.

 7, 8: As three lines ending _paines...course:...obdurate,_ in Q1.

 15: Saler.] Salerio. Q2 Q3 Q4. Sal. Q1 Ff. See note (IX).

 22: _And......penalty_] omitted by Rowe.

     _exact’st_] Ff. _exacts_ Qq.

 24: _loose_] _lose_ F4.

 25: _human_] _humane_ Q1 Ff Q3 Q4. _humaine_ Q2.

 29: _Enow_] _Enough_ Rowe.

 30: _his state_] _this states_ Q2.

 31: _flint_] Q1 F2 Q3 Q4 F3 F4. _flints_ Q2 F1.

 36: _Sabbath_] Q1 Ff. _Sabaoth_ Q2. _Sabbaoth_ Q3 Q4.

 42, 43: _I’ll...it is_] _I’ll now answer that By saying ’tis_
 Warburton.

 43: _But, say, it_] Capell. _But say it_ Qq Ff.

 46: _baned_] _baind_ Qq Ff. _brain’d_ Rowe.

 49: _bagpipe_] _big-pipe_ Warburton.

 50, 51: _urine: for affection, Mistress of_] Capell (Thirlby conj.).
 _urine for affection. Masters of_ Qq Ff. (_Maisters_ Q2 F2).
 _...affection. Masterless_ Rowe. _...affection, Master of_ Singer
 (Thirlby conj.). _...affections, Masters of_ Hawkins conj. _urine
 for affection: Matters of_ Jackson conj. _urine: for affection
 Masters our_ Malone conj. See note (XI).

     _sways_] _sway_ Warburton.

 56: _woollen_] Qq F1 F2 F3. _wollen_ F4. _wooden_ Johnson and
 Heath conj. _wawling_ Capell conj. _swollen_ Steevens (Hawkins
 conj.). _swelling_ Hawkins conj. _mewling_ Becket conj. _bollen_
 Dyce (Collier MS.). See note (XII).

 58: _offend, himself_] Q1. _offend himself_ Q2 F1 F2 Q3 Q4
 F3. _offend himself,_ F4.

 65: _answers_] Q2 Q3 Q4. _answere_ Q1. _answer_ Ff.

 66: _things_] Qq F1. _thing_ F2 F3 F4.

 70: _think you_] _think, you_ Warburton.

     _the_] Qq F1 F2. _a_. F3 F4.

 73: _You may_] Qq. _Or even_ Ff.

 74: _Why he...bleat...lamb;_] Q3 Q4. _Why he...bleake...lambe_ Q1
 Q2. _The ewe bleate for the lambe:_ F1. _The ewe bleate for the
 lambe: when you behold_, F2 F3 F4. _When you behold the ewe bleat
 for the lamb;_ Hanmer. See note (XIII).

 75: _pines_] Ff. _of pines_ Qq.

 76: _no noise_] _a noise_ Hanmer.

 77: _fretten_] Qq. _fretted_ Ff.

 79: _what’s harder?_] _what’s harder:_ Qq. _what harder?_ Ff.

 91: _your asses_] _you asses_ F2.

 92: _parts_] Qq F1. _part_ F2 F3 F4.

 93: _you bought_] _your bought_ F2.

 100: _’tis_] Ff. _tis_ Q1. _as_ Q2 Q3 Q4. _is_ Capell.

 107: Saler.] Q1. Salerio Q2. Sal. FF Q3 Q4. Salan. Knight.

 110: _messenger_] Qq. _messengers_ Ff.

 116: _earliest_] _soonest_ Capell (corrected in MS.).

     _and_] om. F2 F3 F4.

 118: dressed...clerk.] Rowe. om. Qq Ff.

 119: SCENE II. Pope.

 120: _From both, my lord._] _From both, my L._ Q1. _From both? my
 L._ Q2. _From both: my L._ Q3 Q4. _From both. My Lord_ Ff.

     [Presenting...] Capell.

 122: _forfeiture_] _forfeit_ Rowe (ed. 2).

 123: _sole...soul_] _soule...soule_ Qq. _soale...soule_ F1 F2.
 _soale...soul_ F3 F4.

 124: _but_] _for_ Pope.

 127: _hast_] _hoast_ F2.

 128.: _inexecrable_] Qq F1 F2. _inexorable_ F3 F4.

 134: _human_] _humane_ Q1 Ff Q3 Q4. _humaine_ Q2.

 136: _lay’st_] _lay’dst_ Douce conj.

 138: _starved_] _starv’d_ Qq. _sterv’d_ Ff.

 142: _cureless_] Qq. _endlesse_ Ff. _careless_ Pope.

     _here_] om. Q3 Q4.

 144: _to_] Qq. _in_ Ff.

 150: Clerk. [reads] Capell. om. Qq Ff.

 153: _acquainted_] _acquained_ F1

     _cause_] _case_ F3 F4.

 163: Enter...] Enter P. for Balthazer. Qq Ff, after line 161
 (Balthazar F1 F2 Q3 Q4, Balthasar F3 F4). Enter P. dressed
 like a doctor of laws. Rowe.

 164: _Come_] Qq _Came_ Ff.

 174: _impugn_] _impunge_ Q1.

 175: _do you not_] _doe ye not_ Q1.

 181: _blest_] _blessing_ Seymour conj.

 191: _likest_] _lik’st_ Q1.

 199: _court_] Qq. _course_ Ff.

 205: _twice_] _thrice_ Ritson conj.

 209: _truth_] _ruth_ Theobald conj. (withdrawn). See note (XIV).

 215: _precedent_] Qq. _president_ Ff.

 219: _I do_] Qq. _do I_ Ff.

 222, 229, 313: _thrice_] _twice_ Spedding conj.

 225: _No, not_] _Not not_ Q2.

 230: _tenour_] Q1. _tenure_ Q2 Ff Q3 Q4.

 250, 251: _It...flesh?_] As one line in Qq Ff. Corrected by Capell.

     _Are there...flesh?_] _Are there scales and balance here To
     weigh the merchant’s flesh?_ Lloyd conj.

     _balance here_] _ballances here_ Rowe. _scales_ Pope.

 253: _do_] Qq. _should_ Ff.

 254: _Is it so...bond?_] Qq. _It is not...bond?_ F1 F2 F3. _It is
 not...bond._ F4.

 258: _You, merchant_] Qq. _Come merchant_ Ff.

 263: _her custom_] Qq F1. _his custom_ F2 F3 F4.

 267: _such_] _sordid_ Lloyd conj. _so much_ Edd. conj.

     _misery_] Qq F1. _a misery_ F2 F3 F4.

 272: _love_] _lover_ Collier MS.

 273: _but_] Qq. _not_ Ff.

 276: _presently_] Q1 _instantly_ Q2 Ff Q3 Q4.

 281: _ay,_] Pope. _I_ Qq Ff. _I’d_ Rowe.

 285: _whom_] Ff. _who_ Qq.

 290: _I have_] _I’ve_ Pope.

 292: [Aside.] Rowe.

 301: _jot_] _iote_ Q1 Q2.

 303: _Take then_] Qq. _Then take_ Ff. See note (XV).

 313: _this_] _his_ Capell.

 321: _cut’st_] Q1. _tak’st_ Q2 Ff Q3 Q4.

 322: _be it but_] Qq. _be it_ Ff. _be ’t but_ Pope.

 323: _substance_] _balance_ Collier MS.

 324: _Or_] _On_ Theobald.

 325: _do_] om. Pope.

 329: _you_] Qq. _thee_ Ff.

 330: _thy_] Qq Ff. _the_ Pope.

 334: _He_] _And_ Q1.

 337: _have barely_] _barely have_ Pope.

 339: _so taken_] Qq. _taken so_ Ff.

 341: _question_] Q2 Ff Q3 Q4. _heere in question_ Q1.

 344: _an_] Q2 Ff Q3 Q4. _any_ Q1.

 348: _one_] Q2 Ff. _on_ Q1 Q3 Q4.

 349: _coffer_] _coster_ Q1.

 355: _hast_] _had_ F2 F3 F4.

     _against_] Q2 Ff Q3 Q4. _gainst_ Q1.

 357: _formerly_] _formally_ Warburton conj.

 363: _shalt_] _may’st_ Pope.

     _spirits_] Q1. _spirit_ Q2 Ff Q3 Q4.

 374: _God’s sake_] _Godsake_ Q2.

 376: _quit_] _quite_ F2.

     _for_] _from_ Hanmer.

 379: _Upon_] _Until_ Hanmer.

     _his_] _my_ Johnson conj.

 384: _possess’d_] _possess’d of_ Capell conj.

 393: Gra.] Shy. Q2.

     _shalt thou_] Qq. _thou shalt_ Ff.

 395: _not_] Q1. _not to_ Q2 Ff Q3 Q4.

 396: _home with me_] Qq. _with me home_ Ff.

     _to dinner_] _dinner_ Q1.

 397: _do_] om. Q1.

     _Grace of_] _Graces_ Q3 Q4.

 403: SCENE III. Pope.

 413: _more_] _mere_ Anon. conj.

 418: _a fee_] Q1 F2 F3 F4. _fee_ Q2 F1 Q3 Q4.

 421: [To Ant.] Edd.

 422: [To Bass.] Edd.

 429: _depends on this than on_] _than this depends upon_ Q1.

 430. _will I_] _I will_ Q1.

 441: _the_] Q1. _this_ Q2 Ff Q3 Q4.

 442: _enemy_] _enmity_ Rowe.

 446: _’gainst_] Qq. _against_ Ff.

     _wife’s_] Rowe. _wives_ Qq Ff.

     _commandment_] F4. _commandement_ Q1 F1 F2 Q3 Q4 F3.
     _commaundement_ Q2.

 449: [Exit G.] [Exeunt G. Q1.
~~~~~


SCENE II.  _The same. A street._

 _Enter_ PORTIA _and_ NERISSA.

_Por._ Inquire the Jew’s house out, give him this deed
And let him sign it: we’ll away to-night
And be a day before our husbands home:
This deed will be well welcome to Lorenzo.

 _Enter_ GRATIANO.

_Gra._ Fair sir, you are well o’erta’en:                             5
My Lord Bassanio upon more advice
Hath sent you here this ring, and doth entreat
Your company at dinner.

_Por._                  That cannot be:
His ring I do accept most thankfully:
And so, I pray you, tell him: furthermore,                          10
I pray you, show my youth old Shylock’s house.

_Gra._  That will I do.

_Ner._                  Sir, I would speak with you.
I’ll see if I can get my husband’s ring,       [_Aside to Portia._
Which I did make him swear to keep for ever.

_Por._ [_Aside to Ner._] Thou mayst, I warrant. We shall
           have old swearing                                        15
That they did give the rings away to men;
But we’ll outface them, and outswear them too.
[_Aloud_] Away! make haste: thou know’st where I will tarry.

_Ner._  Come, good sir, will you show me to this house?

 [_Exeunt._


~~~~~
 Linenotes: _The Merchant of Venice_, IV, 2.

 SCENE II.] Capell. Pope continues SCENE III.

 A street.] Street before the Court. Capell.

 Enter P. and N.] Ff. Enter N. Qq. Re-enter P. and N. Theobald.

 9: _His_] _This_ Q1.
~~~~~




ACT V.


_Scene I._ _Belmont. Avenue to_ PORTIA’S _house_.

 _Enter_ LORENZO _and_ JESSICA.

_Lor._  The moon shines bright: in such a night as this,
When the sweet wind did gently kiss the trees
And they did make no noise, in such a night
Troilus methinks mounted the Troyan walls,
And sigh’d his soul toward the Grecian tents,                        5
Where Cressid lay that night.

_Jes._                        In such a night
Did Thisbe fearfully o’ertrip the dew,
And saw the lion’s shadow ere himself.
And ran dismay’d away.

_Lor._                 In such a night
Stood Dido with a willow in her hand                                10
Upon the wild sea-banks, and waft her love
To come again to Carthage.

_Jes._                     In such a night
Medea gather’d the enchanted herbs
That did renew old Æson.

_Lor._                   In such a night
Did Jessica steal from the wealthy Jew                              15
And with an unthrift love did run from Venice
As far as Belmont.

_Jes._             In such a night
Did young Lorenzo swear he loved her well,
Stealing her soul with many vows of faith
And ne’er a true one.

_Lor._                In such a night                               20
Did pretty Jessica, like a little shrew,
Slander her love, and he forgave it her.

_Jes._ I would out-night you, did no body come;
But, hark, I hear the footing of a man.

 _Enter_ STEPHANO.

_Lor._ Who comes so fast in silence of the night?                   25

_Steph._ A friend.

_Lor._ A friend! what friend? your name, I pray you, friend?

_Steph._ Stephano is my name; and I bring word
My mistress will before the break of day
Be here at Belmont: she doth stray about                            30
By holy crosses, where she kneels and prays
For happy wedlock hours.

_Lor._                   Who comes with her?

_Steph._  None but a holy hermit and her maid.
I pray you, is my master yet return’d?

_Lor._ He is not, nor we have not heard from him.                   35
But go we in, I pray thee, Jessica,
And ceremoniously let us prepare
Some welcome for the mistress of the house.

 _Enter_ LAUNCELOT.

_Laun._ Sola, sola! wo ha, ho! sola, sola!

_Lor._ Who calls?                                                   40

_Laun._ Sola! did you see Master Lorenzo? Master
Lorenzo, sola, sola!

_Lor._ Leave hollaing, man: here.

_Laun._ Sola! where? where?

_Lor._ Here.                                                        45

_Laun._ Tell him there’s a post come from my master,
with his horn full of good news: my master will be here
ere morning.               [_Exit._

_Lor._ Sweet soul, let’s in, and there expect their coming.
And yet no matter: why should we go in?                             50
My friend Stephano, signify, I pray you,
Within the house, your mistress is at hand;
And bring your music forth into the air.       [_Exit Stephano._
How sweet the moonlight sleeps upon this bank!
Here will we sit, and let the sounds of music                       55
Creep in our ears: soft stillness and the night
Become the touches of sweet harmony.
Sit, Jessica. Look how the floor of heaven
Is thick inlaid with patines of bright gold:
There’s not the smallest orb which thou behold’st                   60
But in his motion like an angel sings,
Still quiring to the young-eyed cherubins;
Such harmony is in immortal souls;
But whilst this muddy vesture of decay
Doth grossly close it in, we cannot hear it.                        65

 _Enter_ Musicians.

Come, ho, and wake Diana with a hymn!
With sweetest touches pierce your mistress’ ear,
And draw her home with music.        [_Music._

_Jes._ I am never merry when I hear sweet music.

_Lor._ The reason is, your spirits are attentive:                   70
For do but note a wild and wanton herd,
Or race of youthful and unhandled colts,
Fetching mad bounds, bellowing and neighing loud,
Which is the hot condition of their blood;
If they but hear perchance a trumpet sound,                         75
Or any air of music touch their ears,
You shall perceive them make a mutual stand,
Their savage eyes turn’d to a modest gaze
By the sweet power of music: therefore the poet
Did feign that Orpheus drew trees, stones and floods;               80
Since nought so stockish, hard and full of rage,
But music for the time doth change his nature.
The man that hath no music in himself,
Nor is not moved with concord of sweet sounds,
Is fit for treasons, stratagems and spoils;                         85
The motions of his spirit are dull as night,
And his affections dark as Erebus:
Let no such man be trusted. Mark the music.

 _Enter_ PORTIA _and_ NERISSA.

_Por._ That light we see is burning in my hall.
How far that little candle throws his beams!                        90
So shines a good deed in a naughty world.

_Ner._ When the moon shone, we did not see the candle.

_Por._ So doth the greater glory dim the less:
A substitute shines brightly as a king,
Until a king be by; and then his state                              95
Empties itself, as doth an inland brook
Into the main of waters. Music! hark!

_Ner._ It is your music, madam, of the house.

_Por._ Nothing is good, I see, without respect:
Methinks it sounds much sweeter than by day.                       100

_Ner._ Silence bestows that virtue on it, madam.

_Por._ The crow doth sing as sweetly as the lark,
When neither is attended; and I think
The nightingale, if she should sing by day,
When every goose is cackling, would be thought                     105
No better a musician than the wren.
How many things by season season’d are
To their right praise and true perfection!
Peace, ho! the moon sleeps with Endymion,
And would not be awaked.        [_Music ceases._

_Lor._                   That is the voice,                        110
Or I am much deceived, of Portia.

_Por._ He knows me as the blind man knows the cuckoo,
By the bad voice.

_Lor._            Dear lady, welcome home.

_Por._ We have been praying for our husbands’ healths,
Which speed, we hope, the better for our words.                    115
Are they return’d?

_Lor._             Madam, they are not yet;
But there is come a messenger before,
To signify their coming.

_Por._                   Go in, Nerissa;
Give order to my servants that they take
No note at all of our being absent hence;                          120
Nor you, Lorenzo; Jessica, nor you.         [_A tucket sounds._

_Lor._ Your husband is at hand; I hear his trumpet:
We are no tell-tales, madam; fear you not.

_Por._ This night methinks is but the daylight sick;
It looks a little paler: ’tis a day,                               125
Such as the day is when the sun is hid.

 _Enter_ BASSANIO, ANTONIO, GRATIANO, _and their followers_.

_Bass._ We should hold day with the Antipodes,
If you would walk in absence of the sun.

_Por._ Let me give light, but let me not be light;
For a light wife doth make a heavy husband,                        130
And never be Bassanio so for me:
But God sort all! You are welcome home, my lord.

_Bass._ I thank you, madam. Give welcome to my friend.
This is the man, this is Antonio,
To whom I am so infinitely bound.                                  135

_Por._ You should in all sense be much bound to him,
For, as I hear, he was much bound for you.

_Ant._ No more than I am well acquitted of.

_Por._ Sir, you are very welcome to our house:
It must appear in other ways than words,                           140
Therefore I scant this breathing courtesy.

_Gra._ [_To Nerissa_] By yonder moon I swear you do me wrong;
In faith, I gave it to the judge’s clerk:
Would he were gelt that had it, for my part,
Since you do take it, love, so much at heart.                      145

_Por._ A quarrel, ho, already! what’s the matter?

_Gra._ About a hoop of gold, a paltry ring
That she did give me, whose posy was
For all the world like cutler’s poetry
Upon a knife, ‘Love me, and leave me not.’                         150

_Ner._ What talk you of the posy or the value?
You swore to me, when I did give it you,
That you would wear it till your hour of death,
And that it should lie with you in your grave:
Though not for me, yet for your vehement oaths,                    155
You should have been respective, and have kept it.
Gave it a judge’s clerk! no, God’s my judge,
The clerk will ne’er wear hair on’s face that had it.

_Gra._ He will, an if he live to be a man.

_Ner._ Ay, if a woman live to be a man.                            160

_Gra._ Now, by this hand, I gave it to a youth,
A kind of boy, a little scrubbed boy,
No higher than thyself, the judge’s clerk,
A prating boy, that begg’d it as a fee:
I could not for my heart deny it him.                              165

_Por._ You were to blame, I must be plain with you,
To part so slightly with your wife’s first gift;
A thing stuck on with oaths upon your finger
And so riveted with faith unto your flesh.
I gave my love a ring, and made him swear                          170
Never to part with it; and here he stands;
I dare be sworn for him he would not leave it
Nor pluck it from his finger, for the wealth
That the world masters. Now, in faith, Gratiano,
You give your wife too unkind a cause of grief:                    175
An ’twere to me, I should be mad at it.

_Bass._ [_Aside_] Why, I were best to cut my left hand off,
And swear I lost the ring defending it.

_Gra._ My Lord Bassanio gave his ring away
Unto the judge that begg’d it and indeed                           180
Deserved it too; and then the boy, his clerk,
That took some pains in writing, he begg’d mine;
And neither man nor master would take aught
But the two rings.

_Por._             What ring gave you, my lord?
Not that, I hope, which you received of me.                        185

_Bass._ If I could add a lie unto a fault,
I would deny it; but you see my finger
Hath not the ring upon it, it is gone.

_Por._ Even so void is your false heart of truth.
By heaven, I will ne’er come in your bed                           190
Until I see the ring.

_Ner._                Nor I in yours
Till I again see mine.

_Bass._                Sweet Portia,
If you did know to whom I gave the ring,
If you did know for whom I gave the ring,
And would conceive for what I gave the ring,                       195
And how unwillingly I left the ring,
When nought would be accepted but the ring,
You would abate the strength of your displeasure.

_Por._ If you had known the virtue of the ring,
Or half her worthiness that gave the ring,                         200
Or your own honour to contain the ring,
You would not then have parted with the ring.
What man is there so much unreasonable,
If you had pleased to have defended it
With any terms of zeal, wanted the modesty                         205
To urge the thing held as a ceremony?
Nerissa teaches me what to believe:
I’ll die for’t but some woman had the ring.

_Bass._ No, by my honour, madam, by my soul,
No woman had it, but a civil doctor,                               210
Which did refuse three thousand ducats of me,
And begg’d the ring; the which I did deny him,
And suffered him to go displeased away;
Even he that did uphold the very life
Of my dear friend. What should I say, sweet lady;                  215
I was enforced to send it after him;
I was beset with shame and courtesy;
My honour would not let ingratitude
So much besmear it. Pardon me, good lady;
For, by these blessed candles of the night,                        220
Had you been there, I think you would have begg’d
The ring of me to give the worthy doctor.

_Por._ Let not that doctor e’er come near my house:
Since he hath got the jewel that I loved,
And that which you did swear to keep for me,                       225
I will become as liberal as you;
I’ll not deny him any thing I have,
No, not my body nor my husband’s bed:
Know him I shall, I am well sure of it:
Lie not a night from home; watch me like Argus:                    230
If you do not, if I be left alone,
Now, by mine honour, which is yet mine own,
I’ll have that doctor for my bedfellow.

_Ner._ And I his clerk; therefore be well advised
How you do leave me to mine own protection.                        235

_Gra._ Well, do you so: let not me take him, then;
For if I do, I’ll mar the young clerk’s pen.

_Ant._ I am the unhappy subject of these quarrels.

_Por._ Sir, grieve not you; you are welcome notwithstanding.

_Bass._ Portia, forgive me this enforced wrong;                    240
And, in the hearing of these many friends,
I swear to thee, even by thine own fair eyes,
Wherein I see myself,—

_Por._                  Mark you but that!
In both my eyes he doubly sees himself;
In each eye, one: swear by your double self,                       245
And there’s an oath of credit.

_Bass._                        Nay, but hear me:
Pardon this fault, and by my soul I swear
I never more will break an oath with thee.

_Ant._ I once did lend my body for his wealth;
Which, but for him that had your husband’s ring,                   250
Had quite miscarried: I dare be bound again,
My soul upon the forfeit, that your lord
Will never more break faith advisedly.

_Por._ Then you shall be his surety. Give him this,
And bid him keep it better than the other.                         255

_Ant._ Here, Lord Bassanio; swear to keep this ring.

_Bass._ By heaven, it is the same I gave the doctor!

_Por._ I had it of him: pardon me, Bassanio;
For, by this ring, the doctor lay with me.

_Ner._ And pardon me, my gentle Gratiano;                          260
For that same scrubbed boy, the doctor’s clerk,
In lieu of this last night did lie with me.

_Gra._ Why, this is like the mending of highways
In summer, where the ways are fair enough:
What, are we cuckolds ere we have deserved it?                     265

_Por._ Speak not so grossly. You are all amazed:
Here is a letter; read it at your leisure;
It comes from Padua, from Bellario:
There you shall find that Portia was the doctor,
Nerissa there her clerk: Lorenzo here                              270
Shall witness I set forth as soon as you,
And even but now return’d; I have not yet
Enter’d my house. Antonio, you are welcome;
And I have better news in store for you
Than you expect: unseal this letter soon;                          275
There you shall find three of your argosies
Are richly come to harbour suddenly:
You shall not know by what strange accident
I chanced on this letter.

_Ant._                    I am dumb.

_Bass._ Were you the doctor and I knew you not?                    280

_Gra._ Were you the clerk that is to make me cuckold?

_Ner._ Ay, but the clerk that never means to do it,
Unless he live until he be a man.

_Bass._ Sweet doctor, you shall be my bedfellow:
When I am absent, then lie with my wife.                           285

_Ant._ Sweet lady, you have given me life and living;
For here I read for certain that my ships
Are safely come to road.

_Por._                   How now, Lorenzo!
My clerk hath some good comforts too for you.

_Ner._ Ay, and I’ll give them him without a fee.                   290
There do I give to you and Jessica,
From the rich Jew, a special deed of gift,
After his death, of all he dies possess’d of.

_Lor._ Fair ladies, you drop manna in the way
Of starved people.

_Por._             It is almost morning,                           295
And yet I am sure you are not satisfied
Of these events at full. Let us go in;
And charge us there upon inter’gatories,
And we will answer all things faithfully.

_Gra._ Let it be so: the first inter’gatory                        300
That my Nerissa shall be sworn on is,
Whether till the next night she had rather stay,
Or go to bed now, being two hours to day:
But were the day come, I should wish it dark,
That I were couching with the doctor’s clerk.                      305
Well, while I live I’ll fear no other thing
So sore as keeping safe Nerissa’s ring.       [_Exeunt._


~~~~~
 Linenotes: _The Merchant of Venice_, V, 1.

 Avenue......] Capell. A grove or green place before P’s. house.
 Theobald.

 1: As two lines in Q1.

 4: _walls_] Qq F1. _wall_ F2 F3 F4.

 6: _Cressid_] Theobald. _Cressada_ Q1. _Cressed_ Q2 Ff Q3 Q4.
 _Cresseid_ Pope.

 11: _waft_] Qq Ff. _wav’d_ Theobald.

 17: _In_] _And in_ F2.

 17, 18: _In...Did young_] _In...did Young_ Malone.

 20: _In_] _And in_ F2.

 20, 21: _In...Did pretty_] _In...did Pretty_ Malone.

 21: _shrew_] Q1. _shrow_ Q2 Ff Q3 Q4.

 32: _wedlock_] _wedlockes_ Q1.

 34: _is_] _it_ F1.

 35: _we have not_] _have we yet_ Rowe.

 37: _us_] _us us_ F1.

 41, 42: _Master Lorenzo? Master Lorenzo_] Edd. _M. Lorenzo, M.
 Lorenzo_ Q1. _M. Lorenzo, & M. Lorenzo_ Q2 F1. _M. Lorenzo, and
 M. Lorenza_ F2. _M. Lorenzo, and M. Lorenzo_ Q3 Q4. _M. Lorenzo,
 and Mrs. Lorenza_ F3 F4.

 49: Lor. _Sweet soul, let’s in_] Malone. Lor. _Sweet love, let’s in_
 Rowe. _sweete soule._ Lor. _Let’s in_ Qq F1. _sweet love._ Lor.
 _Let’s in_ F2 F3 F4.

 51: _friend_] _good friend_ Capell.

     _Stephano_] Q1 F2 F3 F4. _Stephen_ Q2 F1 Q3 Q4.

     _I_] Qq. om. Ff.

 53: [Exit S.] Theobald.

 59: _patines_] Malone. _pattens_ Q2 F1 Q3 Q4. _pattents_ Q1.
 _patterns_ F2 F3 F4. _patens_ Warburton.

 62: _cherubins_] Qq F1 F2. _cherubims_ F3 F4.

 63: _immortal souls_] _immortal sounds_ Theobald (Warburton). _th’
 immortal soul_ Johnson conj.

 65: _it in_] Q2 Q3 Q4. _in it_ Q1 Ff. _us in it_ Rowe (ed. 1).
 _us in_ Rowe (ed. 2).

     Enter...] Enter Musick and domesticks of Portia. Capell.

 66: _with a hymn_] _with him a hymne_ Q1.

 68: [Music.] Musicke playes Q1. Play Musique. Q2 Ff Q3 Q4.

 75: _but hear perchance_] Q2 Ff Q3 Q4. _perchance but hear_ Q1.

 79: _therefore_] _thus_ Pope.

 80: _trees_] Qq F1. _tears_ F2 F3 F4.

 82: _the_] om. F1.

 87: _Erebus_] F2 F3 F4. _Terebus_ Q1 Q2. _Erobus_ F1.
 _Tenebris_ Q3 Q4.

 92: _candle._] Q1 Q3 Q4 F4. _candle?_ Q2 F1 F2 F3.

 98: _your...the_] Qq Ff. _the...your_ Rowe.

 101: _that_] _the_ Rowe (ed. 2).

 106: _wren_] _renne?_ Q2.

 109: _ho!_] _hoa!_ Malone. _how_ Qq Ff. _now_ Collier MS.

 110: [Music ceases.] Ff. om. Qq.

     [Rising. Capell.

 112, 113: So in Q2 Q3 Q4. As two lines ending _knows...voice_ in
 Q1; as prose in Ff.

 114: _husbands’ healths_] Pope. _husband health_ Q1. _husbands
 welfare_ Q2 Ff Q3 Q4.

 121: [A tucket sounds.] Ff. om. Qq.

 122: _his_] _a_ Rowe.

 131: _for_] Qq F1. _from_ F2 F3 F4.

 132: _You are_] _y’are_ Q1.

 148: _me_] _to me_ Steevens conj.

 148, 151: _posy_] _poesie_ Q1 Ff. _posie_ Q2 Q3 Q4.

 152: _it_] om. Q2.

 153: _your_] Qq. _the_ Ff.

 157: _no...judge_] Qq. _but well I know_ Ff.

 158: _on’s_] Qq Ff. _on his_ Capell.

 160: _Ay_] _I_ Qq F1. _If_ F2 F3 F4.

 162, 261: _scrubbed_] _stubbed_ Warton conj.

 166: _to_] Q2 F1 Q3 Q4 F4. _too_ Q1 F1 F2 F3.

 169: _so riveted_] _riveted_ Pope. _riveted so_ Capell.

 175: _a_] om. S. Walker conj.

 177: [Aside] Theobald.

 189: _Even_] Qq F1. _And even_ F2 F3 F4.

 201: _contain_] _retain_ Pope.

 209: _my honour_] Qq. _mine honour_ Ff.

 211: _Which_] _Who_ Pope.

 213: _displeased away_] _away displeased_ Q1.

 214: _did uphold_] Q1. _had held up_ Q2 Ff Q3 Q4.

 220: _For_] Qq. _And_ Ff.

 222: _the_] _thee_ F2 F3.

 230: _Argus_] F2 Q3 Q4 F3. _Argos_ Q1 Q2 F1 F4.

 233: _that_] Qq. _the_ Ff.

     _my_] _mine_ Q2.

 239: Printed as two lines, _Sir..._ _You are..._ in Ff.

 244: _my_] Q1 Q2 F1. _mine_ F2 Q3 Q4 F3 F4.

 249: _his_] Qq. _thy_ Ff.

     _wealth_] _health_ Becket conj.

 250: _husband’s_] _husband_ Q1.

 258: _me_] om. Ff.

 262: _this_] _thee_ Grant White.

 264: _where_] _when_ Singer (Collier MS.).

 272: _even but_] Qq. _but ev’n_ Ff.

 288: _road_] _Rode_ Qq F1. _Rodes_ F2. _Rhodes_ F3 F4.

 297: _Let us_] _Let’s_ Q1.

 298: _upon_] _on_ Rowe.

     _inter’gatories_] _intergotories_ Q1 Q2. _intergatories_ F1
     F2 Q3 Q4. _interrogatories_ F3 F4.

 300: _inter’gatory_] _intergotory_ Q1 Q2. _intergatory_ F1 F2
 Q3 Q4. _interrogatory_ F3 F4.

 303: _bed now,_] Q1 Q3 Q4. _bed now_ Q2. _bed, now_ Ff.

 305: _That_] Q1. _Till_ Q2 Ff Q3 Q4.

     _doctor’s_] om. Q1.
~~~~~




NOTES.


NOTE I.

DRAMATIS PERSONÆ. ‘The Actors Names’ were first given in the third
Quarto, and repeated in Q4. A new list was given by Rowe. The
spelling of the name Salanio varies between ‘Salanio’ and ‘Solanio;’
that of Salarino between ‘Salerino,’ ‘Saleryno,’ ‘Salirino,’ ‘Salino’
and ‘Solarino.’ The preponderance of authority seems to favour the
spelling given in our text, and we have not thought it worth while
to mention each variation as it occurs. Antonio is spelt throughout
‘Anthonio,’ Balthasar ‘Balthazar’ or ‘Balthazer,’ and Launcelot
‘Launcelet,’ in the old editions. See note (IX).


NOTE II.

I. 3. 129. _A breed for barren metal._ Pope says in a note: ‘The
old editions (two of ’em) have it, _A bribe of barren metal_.’ This
reading is not found in any copy that we have seen of Quarto or
Folio, or of either edition of Rowe.


NOTE III.

II. 2. 52. Mr Knight remarks ‘this sentence is usually put
_interrogatively_, contrary to the punctuation of all the old
copies, which is not to be so utterly despised as the modern
editors would pretend.’ Mr Grant White follows Mr Knight, and has
a long note justifying the punctuation. Mr Dyce’s remark that the
sentence is a repetition of the preceding interrogation, at line
42, seems conclusive as to the sense. Nothing is more frequent than
the omission of the note of interrogation in the older editions,
apparently from a paucity of types.


NOTE IV.

II. 7. 77. The Folios have ‘_Flo. Cornets_’ at the beginning of
the next scene after ‘_Enter Salarino and Solanio_.’ Rowe, Pope,
Theobald, Hanmer, Warburton, and Johnson (ed. 1765) omitted all
notice of this stage direction. Capell transferred it to the
beginning of Scene 7. Mr Dyce added ‘_Cornets_’ at the end of the
scene also. We have adopted the suggestion, as the Prince’s leaving
the stage would naturally be accompanied with the same pomp as his
entrance.


NOTE V.

II. 8. 42. In the copy of Capell’s edition which he gave to Trinity
College Library, he has put a comma after ‘mind’ in red ink. Johnson
marked the passage with an asterisk as probably corrupt.


NOTE VI.

II., 9. 68. Mr Staunton in a note to _The Taming of the Shrew_,
Act I. Sc. 1, mentions, on Sir F. Madden’s authority, that ‘I wis’
is undoubtedly derived from the Saxon adverb ‘gewis,’ but in the
thirteenth century ‘ge’ was changed to ‘y’ or ‘i,’ and in the latter
end of the fifteenth it was probably held to be equivalent to the
German ‘Ich weiss.’ There can be no doubt that Shakespeare spelt it
‘I wis’ and used it as two words, pronoun and verb.


NOTE VII.

III. 2. 61. Mr Halliwell says that Roberts’s Quarto reads _then_ for
_thou_. It is not so in our copy.


NOTE VIII.

III. 2. 66. Johnson follows Hanmer in reading ‘Reply’ as a stage
direction. It is true that the words ‘Reply, reply’ stand in the
margin of the old copies, but they are printed like the song in
italics, and seem to be required as part of it by the rhythm and (if
we read _eye_ with the Quartos) by the rhyme also. Capell prefixes 1
v. to ‘Tell me, &c.’ and 2 v. to ‘It is engender’d...’ He says that
“the words ‘reply, reply’ show it to be a song in two parts or by two
voices, followed by a chorus of divers assistant voices which ‘all’
indicates.”


NOTE IX.

III. 2. 221. We have retained here and throughout the scene the name
‘Salerio,’ which is so spelt consistently in all the old copies. Rowe
altered it to ‘Salanio;’ and if the punctuation means anything, the
editor of the third Quarto seems to have doubted about the name.

Capell, not Steevens as Mr Dyce says, restored ‘Salerio’ in the
text, supposing Shakespeare to have used it as an abridgement of
‘Salerino,’ which he put in the stage direction. Mr Dyce thinks with
Mr Knight that it is altogether unlikely that Shakespeare would,
without necessity and in violation of dramatic propriety, introduce a
new character, ‘Salerio,’ in addition to Salanio and Salerino. Tried
by this standard Shakespeare’s violations of dramatic propriety are
frequent indeed, and it is no part of an Editor’s duty to correct
them.

In the next scene Q2 Q3 Q4 have ‘Salerio,’ altered in the
Folios to ‘Solanio;’ for clearly it cannot be the same person as
the messenger to Belmont; and in IV. 1. 15 the same Quartos make
‘Salerio’ the speaker, while Q1 and the Folios have merely ‘Sal.’


NOTE X.

III. 4. 72. _I could not do withal._ In Florio’s _Giardino di
Ricreatione_, p. 9, ed. 1591, the Italian ‘Io non saprei farci altro’
is rendered into English ‘I cannot doo with all;’ and the phrase
occurs several times in the same book, meaning always ‘I cannot help
it.’


NOTE XI.

IV. 1. 50. Mr Knight attributes the reading ‘Mistress of...’ to
Steevens from the conjecture of Waldron. It was really first adopted
by Capell from the conjecture of ‘the ingenious Dr Thirlby.’

Mr Staunton says that in line 51 F1, omits ‘it;’ but this is not the
case in our copy.


NOTE XII.

IV. 1. 56. We have retained the reading ‘_woollen_’ as it gives
a meaning not altogether absurd. In an illuminated copy of an
_Office de la Vierge_ in the library of Trinity College there is a
representation of a bagpipe which appears to be of sheepskin with
the wool on. We incline however to think that Capell’s conjecture
‘wawling’ approaches nearest to the truth.


NOTE XIII.

IV. 1. 74. In the Duke of Devonshire’s copy of Heyes’s Quarto (our
Q2) the passage runs thus:

 ‘well use question with the Woolfe,
 the Ewe bleake for the Lambe.’

Lord Ellesmere’s copy agrees with Capell’s _literatim_, and reads,
not ‘bleat,’ as Mr Collier says, but ‘bleake.’

Mr Halliwell says that line 74, _Why...lamb_, is omitted in one copy
of Heyes’s Quarto which he has seen, but that it is found in three
other copies.


NOTE XIV.

IV. 1. 209. Warburton has claimed this conjecture in a MS. note to
our edition of Theobald, but he did not adopt it in his own text.


NOTE XV.

IV. 1. 303. Mr Knight incorrectly says that this line is first found
in the Folio of 1623. It is in all the quartos.




AS YOU LIKE IT.




DRAMATIS PERSONÆ[1].


 DUKE, living in banishment.
 FREDERICK, his brother, and usurper of his dominions.
 AMIENS, lord attending on the banished Duke.
 JAQUES,   ”      ”                      ”
 LE BEAU[2], a courtier attending upon Frederick.
 CHARLES, wrestler to Frederick.
 OLIVER,   son of Sir Rowland de Boys.
 JAQUES,    ”          ”          ”
 ORLANDO,   ”          ”          ”
 ADAM,    servant to Oliver.
 DENNIS,     ”         ”
 TOUCHSTONE, a clown.
 SIR OLIVER MARTEXT, a vicar.
 CORIN,    shepherd.
 SILVIUS,     ”
 WILLIAM, a country fellow, in love with Audrey[3].
 A person representing Hymen.

 ROSALIND, daughter to the banished Duke.
 CELIA, daughter to Frederick.
 PHEBE, a shepherdess.
 AUDREY, a country wench.

 Lords, pages, and attendants, &c.

SCENE—_Oliver’s house; Duke Frederick’s court; and the Forest of
Arden._


~~~~~
 Footnotes:

 1: DRAMATIS PERSONÆ] First given by Rowe.

 2: LE BEAU] LE BEU. Rowe. See note (I).

 3: WILLIAM] ‘Clown in love with Audrey,’ and ‘William, another
 clown in love with Audrey.’ Rowe (ed. 2).
~~~~~




AS YOU LIKE IT.




ACT I.


SCENE I. _Orchard of_ OLIVER’S _house_.

 _Enter_ ORLANDO _and_ ADAM.

_Orl._ As I remember, Adam, it was upon this fashion
bequeathed me by will but poor a thousand crowns, and,
as thou sayest, charged my brother, on his blessing, to breed
me well: and there begins my sadness. My brother Jaques
he keeps at school, and report speaks goldenly of his profit:        5
for my part, he keeps me rustically at home, or, to speak
more properly, stays me here at home unkept; for call you
that keeping for a gentleman of my birth, that differs not
from the stalling of an ox? His horses are bred better;
for, besides that they are fair with their feeding, they are        10
taught their manage, and to that end riders dearly hired:
but I, his brother, gain nothing under him but growth; for
the which his animals on his dunghills are as much bound
to him as I. Besides this nothing that he so plentifully
gives me, the something that nature gave me his countenance         15
seems to take from me: he lets me feed with his
hinds, bars me the place of a brother, and, as much as in
him lies, mines my gentility with my education. This is
it, Adam, that grieves me; and the spirit of my father,
which I think is within me, begins to mutiny against this           20
servitude: I will no longer endure it, though yet I know no
wise remedy how to avoid it.

_Adam._ Yonder comes my master, your brother.

_Orl._ Go apart, Adam, and thou shalt hear how he will
shake me up.                                                        25

 _Enter OLIVER._

_Oli._ Now, sir! what make you here?

_Orl._ Nothing: I am not taught to make any thing.

_Oli._ What mar you then, sir?

_Orl._ Marry, sir, I am helping you to mar that which God
made, a poor unworthy brother of yours, with idleness.              30

_Oli._ Marry, sir, be better employed, and be naught
awhile.

_Orl._ Shall I keep your hogs and eat husks with them?
What prodigal portion have I spent, that I should come to
such penury?                                                        35

_Oli._ Know you where you are, sir?

_Orl._ O, sir, very well: here in your orchard.

_Oli._ Know you before whom, sir?

_Orl._ Ay, better than him I am before knows me. I
know you are my eldest brother; and, in the gentle condition        40
of blood, you should so know me. The courtesy of
nations allows you my better, in that you are the first-born;
but the same tradition takes not away my blood,
were there twenty brothers betwixt us: I have as much of
my father in me as you; albeit, I confess, your coming before       45
me is nearer to his reverence.

_Oli._ What, boy!

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

_Oli._ Wilt thou lay hands on me, villain?                          50

_Orl._ I am no villain; I am the youngest son of Sir
Rowland de Boys; he was my father, and he is thrice a
villain that says such a father begot villains. Wert thou
not my brother, I would not take this hand from thy throat
till this other had pulled out thy tongue for saying so: thou       55
hast railed on thyself.

_Adam._ Sweet masters, be patient: for your father’s remembrance,
be at accord.

_Oli._ Let me go, I say.

_Orl._ I will not, till I please: you shall hear me. My             60
father charged you in his will to give me good education:
you have trained me like a peasant, obscuring and hiding
from me all gentleman-like qualities. The spirit of my
father grows strong in me, and I will no longer endure it:
therefore allow me such exercises as may become a gentleman,        65
or give me the poor allottery my father left me by
testament; with that I will go buy my fortunes.

_Oli._ And what wilt thou do? beg, when that is spent?
Well, sir, get you in: I will not long be troubled with you;
you shall have some part of your will: I pray you, leave me.        70

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

_Oli._ Get you with him, you old dog.

_Adam._ Is ‘old dog’ my reward? Most true, I have lost
my teeth in your service. God be with my old master! he             75
would not have spoke such a word.      [_Exeunt Orlando and Adam._

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

 _Enter DENNIS._

_Den._ Calls your worship?                                          80

_Oli._ Was not Charles, the Duke’s wrestler, here to
speak with me?

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

_Oli._ Call him in. [_Exit Dennis._] ’Twill be a good way;          85
and to-morrow the wrestling is.

 _Enter CHARLES._

_Cha._ Good morrow to your worship.

_Oli._ Good Monsieur Charles, what’s the new news at
the new court?

_Cha._ There’s no news at the court, sir, but the old               90
news: that is, the old Duke is banished by his younger
brother the new Duke; and three or four loving lords have
put themselves into voluntary exile with him, whose lands
and revenues enrich the new Duke; therefore he gives them
good leave to wander.                                               95

_Oli._ Can you tell if Rosalind, the Duke’s daughter, be
banished with her father?

_Cha._ O, no; for the Duke’s daughter, her cousin, so
loves her, being ever from their cradles bred together, that
she would have followed her exile, or have died to stay behind     100
her. She is at the court, and no less beloved of her
uncle than his own daughter; and never two ladies loved
as they do.

_Oli._ Where will the old Duke live?

_Cha._ They say he is already in the forest of Arden,              105
and a many merry men with him; and there they live like
the old Robin Hood of England: they say many young
gentlemen flock to him every day, and fleet the time carelessly,
as they did in the golden world.

_Oli._ What, you wrestle to-morrow before the new Duke?            110

_Cha._ Marry, do I, sir; and I came to acquaint you with
a matter. I am given, sir, secretly to understand that your
younger brother, Orlando, hath a disposition to come in disguised
against me to try a fall. To-morrow, sir, I wrestle
for my credit; and he that escapes me without some broken          115
limb shall acquit him well. Your brother is but young and
tender; and, for your love, I would be loath to foil him, as I
must, for my own honour, if he come in: therefore, out of
my love to you, I came hither to acquaint you withal; that
either you might stay him from his intendment, or brook            120
such disgrace well as he shall run into; in that it is a thing
of his own search, and altogether against my will.

_Oli._ Charles, I thank thee for thy love to me, which thou
shalt find I will most kindly requite. I had myself notice of
my brother’s purpose herein, and have by underhand means           125
laboured to dissuade him from it, but he is resolute. I’ll
tell thee, Charles:—it is the stubbornest young fellow of
France; full of ambition, an envious emulator of every man’s
good parts, a secret and villanous contriver against me his
natural brother: therefore use thy discretion; I had as lief       130
thou didst break his neck as his finger. And thou wert best
look to’t; for if thou dost him any slight disgrace, or if he
do not mightily grace himself on thee, he will practise
against thee by poison, entrap thee by some treacherous
device, and never leave thee till he hath ta’en thy life by        135
some indirect means or other; for, I assure thee, and almost
with tears I speak it, there is not one so young and so villanous
this day living. I speak but brotherly of him; but
should I anatomize him to thee as he is, I must blush and
weep, and thou must look pale and wonder.                          140

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

_Oli._ Farewell, good Charles. [_Exit Charles._] Now will          145
I stir this gamester: I hope I shall see an end of him; for
my soul, yet I know not why, hates nothing more than he.
Yet he’s gentle; never schooled, and yet learned; full of
noble device; of all sorts enchantingly beloved; and indeed
so much in the heart of the world, and especially of my own        150
people, who best know him, that I am altogether misprised:
but it shall not be so long; this wrestler shall clear all:
nothing remains but that I kindle the boy thither; which
now I’ll go about.             [_Exit._


~~~~~
 Linenotes: _As You Like It_, I, 1.

 1: _fashion_] Ff. _my father_ Hanmer (Warburton). _fashion; my
 father_ Heath conj. _fashion. He_ Malone (Blackstone conj.).
 _fashion he_ Ritson conj.

 2: _me by_] _me._ By Johnson.

     _poor a_] F1. _a poor_ F2 F3 F4.

 3: _charged my brother_] _my brother charged_ Seymour conj.

 7: _stays_] Ff. _stys_ Warburton.

 10: _fair_] _fat_ Anon. conj.

 15, 16: _countenance_] _discountenance_ Warburton.

 23: SCENE II. Pope.

 25: Enter...] Ff (after line 23).

 26: _here_] F3 F4. _heere_ F1. _heare_ F2.

 31: _be naught_] _do aught_ Hanmer. _be wrought_ Jackson conj.

 34: _prodigal_] _prodigal’s_ Seymour conj.

 39: _him_] _he_ Pope.

 46: _reverence_] _revenues_ Anon MS. conj. _revenue_ Hanmer
 (Warburton). See note (II).

 52: _Boys_] F1. _Boyes_ F2 F3 F4.

 57: _masters_] F1. _master_ F2 F3 F4.

 63: _from me_ Ff. _me from_ Pope.

 77: SCENE III. Pope.

     _grow_] _growl_ Anon. ap. Collier conj.

 81: _wrestler_] _wrastler_ F1 F3 F4. _wrastle_ F2.

 85: [Exit...] Johnson.

 88: _Monsieur_] _morrow, Monsieur_ S. Walker conj. _morrow,_ Anon.
 conj.

 96: _Duke’s_] _old Duke’s_ Hanmer.

 98: _Duke’s_] _new Duke’s_ Hanmer.

 100: _she_] F3 F4. _he_ F1 F2.

 101: _her_] F1 F2. _their_ F3 F4.

 111: _came_] _come_ F4.

 139: _anatomize_] F3 F4. _anatomise_ F1 F2.

 145: Oli.] om. F1.

     [Exit C.] Exit. Rowe (after line 144). om. Ff.

 147: _he_] _him_ Seymour conj.
~~~~~


SCENE II. _Lawn before the_ DUKE’S _palace_.

 _Enter_ ROSALIND _and_ CELIA.

_Cel._ I pray thee, Rosalind, sweet my coz, be merry.

_Ros._ Dear Celia, I show more mirth than I am mistress
of; and would you yet I were merrier? Unless you
could teach me to forget a banished father, you must not
learn me how to remember any extraordinary pleasure.                 5

_Cel._ Herein I see thou lovest me not with the full
weight that I love thee. If my uncle, thy banished father,
had banished thy uncle, the Duke my father, so thou hadst
been still with me, I could have taught my love to take
thy father for mine: so wouldst thou, if the truth of thy           10
love to me were so righteously tempered as mine is to thee.

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

_Cel._ You know my father hath no child but I, nor
none is like to have: and, truly, when he dies, thou shalt          15
be his heir; for what he hath taken away from thy father
perforce, I will render thee again in affection; by mine
honour, I will; and when I break that oath, let me turn
monster: therefore, my sweet Rose, my dear Rose, be
merry.                                                              20

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

_Cel._ Marry, I prithee, do, to make sport withal: but
love no man in good earnest; nor no further in sport
neither, than with safety of a pure blush thou mayst in             25
honour come off again.

_Ros._ What shall be our sport, then?

_Cel._ Let us sit and mock the good housewife Fortune
from her wheel, that her gifts may henceforth be bestowed
equally.                                                            30

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

_Cel._ ’Tis true; for those that she makes fair she scarce
makes honest; and those that she makes honest she makes             35
very ill-favouredly.

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

 _Enter_ TOUCHSTONE.

_Cel._ No? when Nature hath made a fair creature, may               40
she not by Fortune fall into the fire? Though Nature hath
given us wit to flout at Fortune, hath not Fortune sent in
this fool to cut off the argument?

_Ros._ Indeed, there is Fortune too hard for Nature,
when Fortune makes Nature’s natural the cutter-off of               45
Nature’s wit.

_Cel._ Peradventure this is not Fortune’s work neither,
but Nature’s; who perceiveth our natural wits too dull to
reason of such goddesses, and hath sent this natural for our
whetstone; for always the dulness of the fool is the whetstone      50
of the wits. How now, wit! whither wander you?

_Touch._ Mistress, you must come away to your father.

_Cel._ Were you made the messenger?

_Touch._ No, by mine honour, but I was bid to come
for you.                                                            55

_Ros._ Where learned you that oath, fool?

_Touch._ Of a certain knight that swore by his honour
they were good pancakes, and swore by his honour the
mustard was naught: now I’ll stand to it, the pancakes
were naught and the mustard was good, and yet was not               60
the knight forsworn.

_Cel._ How prove you that, in the great heap of your
knowledge?

_Ros._ Ay, marry, now unmuzzle your wisdom.

_Touch._ Stand you both forth now: stroke your chins,               65
and swear by your beards that I am a knave.

_Cel._ By our beards, if we had them, thou art.

_Touch._ By my knavery, if I had it, then I were; but if
you swear by that that is not, you are not forsworn: no
more was this knight, swearing by his honour, for he never          70
had any; or if he had, he had sworn it away before ever he
saw those pancakes or that mustard.

_Cel._ Prithee, who is’t that thou meanest?

_Touch._ One that old Frederick, your father, loves.

_Cel._ My father’s love is enough to honour him: enough!            75
speak no more of him; you’ll be whipped for taxation one
of these days.

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

_Cel._ By my troth, thou sayest true; for since the little          80
wit that fools have was silenced, the little foolery that wise
men have makes a great show.  Here comes Monsieur
Le Beau.

_Ros._ With his mouth full of news.

_Cel._ Which he will put on us, as pigeons feed their young.        85

_Ros._ Then shall we be news-crammed.

_Cel._ All the better; we shall be the more marketable.

 _Enter_ LE BEAU.

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

_Le Beau._ Fair princess, you have lost much good sport.

_Cel._ Sport! of what colour?                                       90

_Le Beau._ What colour, madam! how shall I answer you?

_Ros._ As wit and fortune will.

_Touch._ Or as the Destinies decrees.

_Cel._ Well said: that was laid on with a trowel.

_Touch._ Nay, if I keep not my rank,—                               95

_Ros._ Thou losest thy old smell.

_Le Beau._ You amaze me, ladies: I would have told
you of good wrestling, which you have lost the sight of.

_Ros._ Yet tell us the manner of the wrestling.

_Le Beau._ I will tell you the beginning; and, if it please        100
your ladyships, you may see the end; for the best is yet to
do; and here, where you are, they are coming to perform it.

_Cel._ Well, the beginning, that is dead and buried.

_Le Beau._ There comes an old man and his three sons,—

_Cel._ I could match this beginning with an old tale.              105

_Le Beau._ Three proper young men, of excellent growth
and presence.

_Ros._ With bills on their necks, ‘Be it known unto all
men by these presents.’

_Le Beau._ The eldest of the three wrestled with Charles,          110
the Duke’s wrestler; which Charles in a moment threw him,
and broke three of his ribs, that there is little hope of life
in him: so he served the second, and so the third. Yonder
they lie; the poor old man, their father, making such pitiful
dole over them that all the beholders take his part with           115
weeping.

_Ros._ Alas!

_Touch._ But what is the sport, monsieur, that the ladies
have lost?

_Le Beau._ Why, this that I speak of.                              120

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

_Cel._ Or I, I promise thee.

_Ros._ But is there any else longs to see this broken music        125
in his sides? is there yet another dotes upon rib-breaking?
Shall we see this wrestling, cousin?

_Le Beau._ You must, if you stay here; for here is the
place appointed for the wrestling, and they are ready to
perform it.                                                        130

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

 _Flourish._ _Enter_ DUKE FREDERICK, Lords, ORLANDO, CHARLES,
 _and_ Attendants.

_Duke F._ Come on: since the youth will not be entreated,
his own peril on his forwardness.

_Ros._ Is yonder the man?                                          135

_Le Beau._ Even he, madam.

_Cel._ Alas, he is too young! yet he looks successfully.

_Duke F._ How now, daughter and cousin! are you
crept hither to see the wrestling?

_Ros._ Ay, my liege, so please you give us leave.                  140

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

_Cel._ Call him hither, good Monsieur Le Beau.                     145

_Duke F._ Do so: I’ll not be by.

_Le Beau._ Monsieur the challenger, the princess calls for
you.

_Orl._ I attend them with all respect and duty.

_Ros._ Young man, have you challenged Charles the                  150
wrestler?

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

_Cel._ Young gentleman, your spirits are too bold for your         155
years. You have seen cruel proof of this man’s strength: if
you saw yourself with your eyes, or knew yourself with your
judgement, the fear of your adventure would counsel you to
a more equal enterprise. We pray you, for your own sake,
to embrace your own safety, and give over this attempt.            160

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

_Orl._ I beseech you, punish me not with your hard
thoughts; wherein I confess me much guilty, to deny so             165
fair and excellent ladies any thing. But let your fair eyes
and gentle wishes go with me to my trial: wherein if I be
foiled, there is but one shamed that was never gracious; if
killed, but one dead that is willing to be so: I shall do my
friends no wrong, for I have none to lament me, the world          170
no injury, for in it I have nothing; only in the world I fill
up a place, which may be better supplied when I have
made it empty.

_Ros._ The little strength that I have, I would it were
with you.                                                          175

_Cel._ And mine, to eke out hers.

_Ros._ Fare you well: pray heaven I be deceived in you!

_Cel._ Your heart’s desires be with you!

_Cha._ Come, where is this young gallant that is so
desirous to lie with his mother earth?                             180

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

_Duke F._ You shall try but one fall.

_Cha._ No, I warrant your Grace, you shall not entreat
him to a second, that have so mightily persuaded him from          185
a first.

_Orl._ You mean to mock me after; you should not have
mocked me before: but come your ways.

_Ros._ Now Hercules be thy speed, young man!

_Cel._ I would I were invisible, to catch the strong fellow        190
by the leg.      [_They wrestle._

_Ros._ O excellent young man!

_Cel._ If I had a thunderbolt in mine eye, I can tell who
should down.       [_Shout. Charles is thrown._

_Duke F._ No more, no more.                                        195

_Orl._ Yes, I beseech your Grace: I am not yet well
breathed.

_Duke F._ How dost thou, Charles?

_Le Beau._ He cannot speak, my lord.

_Duke F._ Bear him away. What is thy name, young man?              200

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

_Duke F._ I would thou hadst been son to some man else:
The world esteem’d thy father honourable,
But I did find him still mine enemy:                               205
Thou shouldst have better pleased me with this deed,
Hadst thou descended from another house.
But fare thee well; thou art a gallant youth:
I would thou hadst told me of another father.

 [_Exeunt Duke Fred., train, and Le Beau._

_Cel._ Were I my father, coz, would I do this?                     210

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

_Ros._ My father loved Sir Rowland as his soul,
And all the world was of my father’s mind:                         215
Had I before known this young man his son,
I should have given him tears unto entreaties,
Ere he should thus have ventured.

_Cel._                            Gentle cousin,
Let us go thank him and encourage him:
My father’s rough and envious disposition                          220
Sticks me at heart. Sir, you have well deserved:
If you do keep your promises in love
But justly, as you have exceeded all promise,
Your mistress shall be happy.

_Ros._                        Gentleman,
 [_Giving him a chain from her neck._
Wear this for me, one out of suits with fortune,                   225
That could give more, but that her hand lacks means.
Shall we go, coz?

_Cel._            Ay. Fare you well, fair gentleman.

_Orl._ Can I not say, I thank you? My better parts
Are all thrown down, and that which here stands up
Is but a quintain, a mere lifeless block.                          230

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

_Cel._                  Will you go, coz?

_Ros._ Have with you. Fare you well.                               235

 [_Exeunt Rosalind and Celia._

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

 _Re-enter_ LE BEAU.

_Le Beau._ Good sir, I do in friendship counsel you                240
To leave this place. Albeit you have deserved
High commendation, true applause, and love,
Yet such is now the Duke’s condition,
That he misconstrues all that you have done.
The Duke is humorous: what he is, indeed,                          245
More suits you to conceive than I to speak of.

_Orl._ I thank you, sir: and, pray you, tell me this;
Which of the two was daughter of the Duke,
That here was at the wrestling?

_Le Beau._ Neither his daughter, if we judge by manners;           250
But yet, indeed, the taller is his daughter:
The other is daughter to the banish’d Duke,
And here detain’d by her usurping uncle,
To keep his daughter company; whose loves
Are dearer than the natural bond of sisters.                       255
But I can tell you that of late this Duke
Hath ta’en displeasure ’gainst his gentle niece,
Grounded upon no other argument
But that the people praise her for her virtues,
And pity her for her good father’s sake;                           260
And, on my life, his malice ’gainst the lady
Will suddenly break forth. Sir, fare you well:
Hereafter, in a better world than this,
I shall desire more love and knowledge of you.

_Orl._ I rest much bounden to you: fare you well.                  265
 [_Exit Le Beau._
Thus must I from the smoke into the smother;
From tyrant Duke unto a tyrant brother:
But heavenly Rosalind!                                [_Exit._


~~~~~
 Linenotes: _As You Like It_, I, 2.

 SCENE II.] SCENE IV. Pope.

 Lawn...] Capell. Open walk Theobald.

 3: _I were_] Rowe (ed. 2). _were_ Ff.

 14: _I_] _me_ Hanmer.

 36: _ill-favouredly_] _ill-favoured_ Rowe (ed. 2).

 40: _No?_] Hanmer. _No;_ Ff.

 43: _the_] F1 F2. _this_ F3 F4.

 44: _there is Fortune_] F1 F2. _Fortune is there_ F3 F4.

 48: _perceiveth_] F1. _perceiving_ F2 F3 F4.

 49: _and hath_] Malone. _hath_ Ff.

 51: _the wits_] _his wits_ Reed. _the wise_ Spedding conj.

     _wit_] om. Rowe.

     _whither_] F2. _whether_ F1 F3 F4.

 64: _your_] _you_ F2.

 73: _is’t that_] F1 F2 F3. _is that_ F4.

 74: _One that old Frederick_] _One old Frederick that_ Collier conj.

     _Frederick_] _Ferdinand_ Capell conj. See note (III).

 75: Cel.] Theobald. Ros. Ff.

     _him: enough!_] Hanmer. _him enough;_ Ff.

 79: _wise men_] F3 F4. _wisemen_ F1 F2. See note (III).

 83: _Le Beau_] _the Beu_ F1. _Le Beu_ F2 F3 F4.

 84: SCENE V. Pope.

 87: Enter Le Beau] F1. Enter Le Beu. F2 F3 F4 (after line 83).

 88: _Bon_] _Boon_ Ff.

     _what’s the_] F1. _what the_ F2. _what_ F3 F4.

 89: _good_] om. F3 F4.

 90: _Sport!_] _Spot?_ Collier (Collier MS.).

 93: _decrees_] Ff. _decree_ Pope.

 106–108: Le Beau. _Three...presence._ Ros. _With...presents._]
 Ff. Le Beau. _Three...presence._ Ros. _With...necks._ Clo. _Be
 it...presents._ Warburton. Le Beau. _Three...necks._ Ros. _Be
 it...presents._ Dyce (Farmer conj.).

 122: _breaking_] _of breaking_ F4.

 125–127: Ros. _But......cousin?_] Touch. _But...rib-breaking?_ Ros.
 _Shall...cousin?_ Anon. conj.

 125: _see_] _set_ Theobald (Warburton). _feel_ Johnson conj. _get_
 Heath conj. _seek_ Jackson conj.

 129: _for the_] F1. _for_ F2 F3 F4.

 132: ...Frederick...] Rowe.

 133: SCENE VI. Pope.

 142: _in_] _on_ Anon. conj.

     _man_] Ff. _men_ Hanmer.

 145: Cel.] Cel. and Ros. Lettsom conj.

 147: _princess calls_] F4. _Princesse cals_ F1. _Princesse calls_
 F2 F3. _princesses call_ Theobald. _princess’ call_ Dyce (S.
 Walker conj.). See note (IV).

 149: _them_] _her_ Rowe.

 153: _but in_] F1. _but_ F2 F3 F4. _but e’en_ Edd. conj.

 157, 158: _your eyes...your judgement,_] _our eyes...our judgement_
 Hanmer (Warburton).

 165: _thoughts; wherein_] _thoughts. Herein_ Mason conj. _thoughts.
 Therein_ Johnson conj. _thoughts;_ Spedding conj.

     _guilty,_] _guilty, is_ Jackson conj.

 174: _that_] om. Rowe.

 181: _in it_] _it in_ Boswell.

 187: _You_] _An you_ Theobald conj. _If you_ Mason conj. See note
 (V).

 188: _me_] om. F3 F4.

 191: [They wrestle] F3 F4. [Wrastle. F1 F2.

 194: [Shout. Charles is thrown.] Rowe. [Shout. Ff.

 209: [Exeunt...] Capell. [Exit Duke. Ff.

 210: SCENE VII. Pope.

 223: _as you have exceeded all_] _as you’ve here exceeded_ Hanmer.
 _as you have exceeded_ Capell. _as you have excell’d all_ S. Walker
 conj.

     _promise_] F1. _in promise_ F2 F3 F4.

 224: [Giving...] Theobald.

 225: _out of suits with fortune_] _out of fortune’s suite_ Becket
 conj. _out of sorts with fortune_ Anon. ap. Halliwell conj.

 226: _could_] _would_ Becket conj.

     _means_] _meane_ F2.

 230: _lifeless_] Rowe (ed. 2). _liveless_ Ff.

 236: [Exeunt...] Exit. Ff.

 239: Re-enter...] Enter Le Beu. Ff (after line 237).

 244: _misconstrues_] _misconsters_ Ff.

 246: _I_] _me_ Rowe.

 249: _was_] _were_ Hanmer.

 251: _taller_] Ff. _shorter_ Rowe (ed. 2). _smaller_ Malone. _lower_
 Staunton. _lesser_ Spedding conj.

 252: _other is_] Ff. _other’s_ Pope.

 259: _her virtues_] _virtues_ F2.

 265: [Exit...] om. Ff.
~~~~~


SCENE III. _A room in the palace._

 _Enter_ CELIA _and_ ROSALIND.

_Cel._ Why, cousin! why, Rosalind! Cupid have mercy!
not a word?

_Ros._ Not one to throw at a dog.

_Cel._ No, thy words are too precious to be cast away
upon curs; throw some of them at me; come, lame me with              5
reasons.

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

_Cel._ But is all this for your father?                             10

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

_Cel._ They are but burs, cousin, thrown upon thee in
holiday foolery: if we walk not in the trodden paths, our
very petticoats will catch them.                                    15

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

_Cel._ Hem them away.

_Ros._ I would try, if I could cry hem and have him.

_Cel._ Come, come, wrestle with thy affections.                     20

_Ros._ O, they take the part of a better wrestler than
myself!

_Cel._ O, a good wish upon you! you will try in time, in
despite of a fall. But, turning these jests out of service,
let us talk in good earnest: is it possible, on such a sudden,      25
you should fall into so strong a liking with old Sir Rowland’s
youngest son?

_Ros._ The Duke my father loved his father dearly.

_Cel._ Doth it therefore ensue that you should love his
son dearly? By this kind of chase, I should hate him, for           30
my father hated his father dearly; yet I hate not Orlando.

_Ros._ No, faith, hate him not, for my sake.

_Cel._ Why should I not? doth he not deserve well?

_Ros._ Let me love him for that, and do you love him
because I do. Look, here comes the Duke.                            35

_Cel._ With his eyes full of anger.

 _Enter_ DUKE FREDERICK, _with_ Lords.

_Duke F._ Mistress, dispatch you with your safest haste
And get you from our court.

_Ros._                      Me, uncle?

_Duke F._                              You, cousin:
Within these ten days if that thou be’st found
So near our public court as twenty miles,                           40
Thou diest for it.

_Ros._             I do beseech your Grace,
Let me the knowledge of my fault bear with me:
If with myself I hold intelligence,
Or have acquaintance with mine own desires;
If that I do not dream, or be not frantic,—                         45
As I do trust I am not,—then, dear uncle,
Never so much as in a thought unborn
Did I offend your Highness.

_Duke F._                   Thus do all traitors:
If their purgation did consist in words,
They are as innocent as grace itself:                               50
Let it suffice thee that I trust thee not.

_Ros._ Yet your mistrust cannot make me a traitor:
Tell me whereon the likelihood depends.

_Duke F._ Thou art thy father’s daughter; there’s enough.

_Ros._ So was I when your Highness took his dukedom;                55
So was I when your Highness banish’d him:
Treason is not inherited, my lord;
Or, if we did derive it from our friends,
What’s that to me? my father was no traitor:
Then, good my liege, mistake me not so much                         60
To think my poverty is treacherous.

_Cel._ Dear sovereign, hear me speak.

_Duke F._ Ay, Celia; we stay’d her for your sake,
Else had she with her father ranged along.

_Cel._ I did not then entreat to have her stay;                     65
It was your pleasure and your own remorse:
I was too young that time to value her;
But now I know her: if she be a traitor,
Why so am I; we still have slept together,
Rose at an instant, learn’d, play’d, eat together,                  70
And wheresoe’er we went, like Juno’s swans,
Still we went coupled and inseparable.

_Duke F._ She is too subtle for thee; and her smoothness,
Her very silence and her patience
Speak to the people, and they pity her.                             75
Thou art a fool: she robs thee of thy name;
And thou wilt show more bright and seem more virtuous
When she is gone. Then open not thy lips:
Firm and irrevocable is my doom
Which I have pass’d upon her; she is banish’d.                      80

_Cel._ Pronounce that sentence then on me, my liege:
I cannot live out of her company.

_Duke F._ You are a fool. You, niece, provide yourself:
If you outstay the time, upon mine honour,
And in the greatness of my word, you die.                           85

 [_Exeunt Duke Frederick and Lords._

_Cel._ O my poor Rosalind, whither wilt thou go?
Wilt thou change fathers? I will give thee mine.
I charge thee, be not thou more grieved than I am.

_Ros._ I have more cause.

_Cel._                         Thou hast not, cousin;
Prithee, be cheerful: know’st thou not, the Duke                    90
Hath banish’d me, his daughter?

_Ros._                          That he hath not.

_Cel._ No, hath not? Rosalind lacks then the love
Which teacheth thee that thou and I am one:
Shall we be sunder’d? shall we part, sweet girl?
No: let my father seek another heir.                                95
Therefore devise with me how we may fly,
Whither to go and what to bear with us;
And do not seek to take your change upon you,
To bear your griefs yourself and leave me out;
For, by this heaven, now at our sorrows pale,                      100
Say what thou canst, I’ll go along with thee.

_Ros._ Why, whither shall we go?

_Cel._ To seek my uncle in the forest of Arden

_Ros._ Alas, what danger will it be to us,
Maids as we are, to travel forth so far!                           105
Beauty provoketh thieves sooner than gold.

_Cel._ I’ll put myself in poor and mean attire
And with a kind of umber smirch my face;
The like do you: so shall we pass along
And never stir assailants.

_Ros._                     Were it not better,                     110
Because that I am more than common tall,
That I did suit me all points like a man?
A gallant curtle-axe upon my thigh,
A boar-spear in my hand; and—in my heart
Lie there what hidden woman’s fear there will—                     115
We’ll have a swashing and a martial outside,
As many other mannish cowards have
That do outface it with their semblances.

_Cel._ What shall I call thee when thou art a man?

_Ros._ I’ll have no worse a name than Jove’s own page;             120
And therefore look you call me Ganymede.
But what will you be call’d?

_Cel._ Something that hath a reference to my state;
No longer Celia, but Aliena.

_Ros._ But, cousin, what if we assay’d to steal                    125
The clownish fool out of your father’s court?
Would he not be a comfort to our travel?

_Cel._ He’ll go along o’er the wide world with me;
Leave me alone to woo him. Let’s away,
And get our jewels and our wealth together;                        130
Devise the fittest time and safest way
To hide us from pursuit that will be made
After my flight. Now go we in content
To liberty and not to banishment.       [_Exeunt._


~~~~~
 Linenotes: _As You Like It_, I, 3.

 SCENE III.] SCENE VIII. Pope.

 A room...] Capell. An apartment... Theobald.

 Enter...] Re-enter... Pope.

 7: _there were_] _were there_ Anon. conj.

 11: _child’s father_] Ff. _father’s child_ Rowe (ed. 2).

 26: _strong_] F1 F2. _strange_ F3 F4.

 32: _not_] _nor_ F2.

 33: _I not_] _I hate_ Theobald conj.

     _he not_] F1 F2. _not he_ F3 F4.

 34: SCENE IX. Pope.

 36: Enter......] Enter Duke with Lords Ff (after line 33).

 37: _safest_] _fastest_ Collier MS. _swiftest_ Singer conj.

 39: _ten_] _two_ Anon. conj.

 44: _mine_] _my_ Rowe.

 53: _likelihood_] F2 F3 F4. _likelihoods_ F1.

 66: _It...remorse_] omitted in Rowe (ed. 1).

 72: _inseparable_] _inseparate_ Collier MS.

 77: _seem_] _shine_ Warburton.

 86: SCENE X. Pope.

     _whither_] _where_ Pope.

 87: _fathers_] F1. _father_ F2 F3 F4.

 89: _Thou_] _Indeed, thou_ Steevens conj.

 92: _No, hath not?_] Ff. _No? hath not?_ Rowe (ed. 2). _No hath
 not?_ Singer. _No ‘hath not.’_ Halliwell conj. See note (VI).

 93: _thee_] _me_ Theobald (Warburton).

     _am_] _are_ Theobald.

 98: _your change_] F1. _your charge_ F2 F3 F4. _the charge_
 Singer conj.

 103: _in...Arden_] omitted by Steevens, reading _Why...uncle_ as a
 verse.

 105: _forth so far_] F1 F3 F4. _for farre_ F2.

 108: _smirch_] F1. _smitch_ F2. _smutch_ F3 F4.

 120: _worse a_] Ff. _worser_ Collier MS.

 122: _be_] _by_ F1.

 133: _we in_] F2 F3 F4. _in we_ F1. _away_ or _in true_ Anon.
 conj.
~~~~~




ACT II.


SCENE I. _The Forest of Arden._

 _Enter_ DUKE senior, AMIENS, _and two or three_ Lords, _like
 foresters_.

_Duke S._ Now, my co-mates and brothers in exile,
Hath not old custom made this life more sweet
Than that of painted pomp? Are not these woods
More free from peril than the envious court?
Here feel we but the penalty of Adam,                                5
The seasons’ difference; as the icy fang
And churlish chiding of the winter’s wind,
Which, when it bites and blows upon my body,
Even till I shrink with cold, I smile and say
‘This is no flattery: these are counsellors                         10
That feelingly persuade me what I am.’
Sweet are the uses of adversity;
Which, like the toad, ugly and venomous,
Wears yet a precious jewel in his head:
And this our life exempt from public haunt                          15
Finds tongues in trees, books in the running brooks,
Sermons in stones and good in every thing.
I would not change it.

_Ami._                 Happy is your Grace,
That can translate the stubbornness of fortune
Into so quiet and so sweet a style.                                 20

_Duke S._ Come, shall we go and kill us venison?
And yet it irks me the poor dappled fools,
Being native burghers of this desert city,
Should in their own confines with forked heads
Have their round haunches gored.

_First Lord._                    Indeed, my lord,                   25
The melancholy Jaques grieves at that,
And, in that kind, swears you do more usurp
Than doth your brother that hath banish’d you.
To-day my Lord of Amiens and myself
Did steal behind him as he lay along                                30
Under an oak whose antique root peeps out
Upon the brook that brawls along this wood:
To the which place a poor sequester’d stag,
That from the hunter’s aim had ta’en a hurt,
Did come to languish, and indeed, my lord,                          35
The wretched animal heaved forth such groans,
That their discharge did stretch his leathern coat
Almost to bursting, and the big round tears
Coursed one another down his innocent nose
In piteous chase; and thus the hairy fool,                          40
Much marked of the melancholy Jaques,
Stood on the extremest verge of the swift brook,
Augmenting it with tears.

_Duke S._                 But what said Jaques?
Did he not moralize this spectacle?

_First Lord._ O, yes, into a thousand similes.                      45
First, for his weeping into the needless stream;
‘Poor deer,’ quoth he, ‘thou makest a testament
As worldlings do, giving thy sum of more
To that which had too much:’ then, being there alone,
Left and abandon’d of his velvet friends;                           50
‘’Tis right,’ quoth he; ‘thus misery doth part
The flux of company:’ anon a careless herd,
Full of the pasture, jumps along by him
And never stays to greet him; ‘Ay,’ quoth Jaques,
‘Sweep on, you fat and greasy citizens;                             55
’Tis just the fashion: wherefore do you look
Upon that poor and broken bankrupt there?’
Thus most invectively he pierceth through
The body of the country, city, court,
Yea, and of this our life; swearing that we                         60
Are mere usurpers, tyrants and what’s worse,
To fright the animals and to kill them up
In their assign’d and native dwelling-place.

_Duke S._ And did you leave him in this contemplation?

_Sec. Lord._ We did, my lord, weeping and commenting                65
Upon the sobbing deer.

_Duke S._              Show me the place:
I love to cope him in these sullen fits,
For then he’s full of matter.

_First Lord._ I’ll bring you to him straight.        [_Exeunt._


~~~~~
 Linenotes: _As You Like It_, II, 1.

 1: _brothers_] F1. _brother_ F2 F3 F4.

 5: _but_] Theobald. _not_ Ff. _yet_ Staunton conj.

 6: _as_] _or_ Collier MS. _at_ Staunton conj.

 18: _I would not change it._ Ami. _Happy_] Dyce (Upton conj.).
 Amien. _I would not change it, happy_ Ff.

 31: _root_] _roote_ F1. _roope_ F2. _roop_ F3 F4.

 42: _the extremest_] _th’ extremest_ Ff.

 45: _into_] Ff. _in_ Pope.

 49: _had_] _hath_ Singer (Collier MS.).

     _much_] F2 F3 F4. _must_ F1.

     _there_] F1. om. F2 F3 F4.

 50: _friends_] Rowe. _friend_ Ff.

 59: _the country_] F2 F3 F4. _countrie_ F1. _country, of_ Anon.
 conj.

 62: _to kill_] _kill_ Collier MS.

     _up_] _too_ De Quincy MS.
~~~~~


SCENE II. _A room in the palace._

 _Enter_ DUKE FREDERICK, _with_ Lords.

_Duke F._ Can it be possible that no man saw them?
It cannot be: some villains of my court
Are of consent and sufferance in this.

_First Lord._ I cannot hear of any that did see her.
The ladies, her attendants of her chamber,                           5
Saw her a-bed, and in the morning early
They found the bed untreasured of their mistress.

_Sec. Lord._ My lord, the roynish clown, at whom so oft
Your Grace was wont to laugh, is also missing.
Hisperia, the princess’ gentlewoman,                                10
Confesses that she secretly o’erheard
Your daughter and her cousin much commend
The parts and graces of the wrestler
That did but lately foil the sinewy Charles;
And she believes, wherever they are gone,                           15
That youth is surely in their company.

_Duke F._ Send to his brother; fetch that gallant hither;
If he be absent, bring his brother to me;
I ’ll make him find him: do this suddenly,
And let not search and inquisition quail                            20
To bring again these foolish runaways.        [_Exeunt._


~~~~~
 Linenotes: _As You Like It_, II, 2.

 8: _roynish_] _roguish_ Staunton conj.

 10: _Hisperia_] Ff. _Hesperia_ Warburton.

 17: _brother_] _brother’s_ Mason conj.

 20: _quail_] _fail_ Lloyd conj.
~~~~~


SCENE III. _Before_ OLIVER’S _house_.

 _Enter_ ORLANDO _and_ ADAM, _meeting_.

_Orl._ Who’s there?

_Adam._ What, my young master? O my gentle master!
O my sweet master! O you memory
Of old Sir Rowland! why, what make you here?
Why are you virtuous? why do people love you?                        5
And wherefore are you gentle, strong and valiant?
Why would you be so fond to overcome
The bonny priser of the humorous Duke?
Your praise is come too swiftly home before you
Know you not, master, to some kind of men                           10
Their graces serve them but as enemies?
No more do yours: your virtues, gentle master,
Are sanctified and holy traitors to you.
O, what a world is this, when what is comely
Envenoms him that bears it!                                         15

_Orl._ Why, what’s the matter?

_Adam._                        O unhappy youth!
Come not within these doors; within this roof
The enemy of all your graces lives:
Your brother—no, no brother; yet the son—
Yet not the son, I will not call him son,                           20
Of him I was about to call his father,—
Hath heard your praises, and this night he means
To burn the lodging where you use to lie
And you within it: if he fail of that,
He will have other means to cut you off.                            25
I overheard him and his practices.
This is no place; this house is but a butchery:
Abhor it, fear it, do not enter it.

_Orl._ Why, whither, Adam, wouldst thou have me go?

_Adam._ No matter whither, so you come not here.                    30

_Orl._ What, wouldst thou have me go and beg my food?
Or with a base and boisterous sword enforce
A thievish living on the common road?
This I must do, or know not what to do:
Yet this I will not do, do how I can;                               35
I rather will subject me to the malice
Of a diverted blood and bloody brother.

_Adam._ But do not so. I have five hundred crowns,
The thrifty hire I saved under your father,
Which I did store to be my foster-nurse                             40
When service should in my old limbs lie lame,
And unregarded age in corners thrown:
Take that, and He that doth the ravens feed,
Yea, providently caters for the sparrow,
Be comfort to my age! Here is the gold;                             45
All this I give you. Let me be your servant:
Though I look old, yet I am strong and lusty;
For in my youth I never did apply
Hot and rebellious liquors in my blood,
Nor did not with unbashful forehead woo                             50
The means of weakness and debility;
Therefore my age is as a lusty winter,
Frosty, but kindly: let me go with you;
I’ll do the service of a younger man
In all your business and necessities.                               55

_Orl._ O good old man, how well in thee appears
The constant service of the antique world,
When service sweat for duty, not for meed!
Thou art not for the fashion of these times,
Where none will sweat but for promotion,                            60
And having that do choke their service up
Even with the having: it is not so with thee.
But, poor old man, thou prunest a rotten tree,
That cannot so much as a blossom yield
In lieu of all thy pains and husbandry.                             65
But come thy ways; we’ll go along together,
And ere we have thy youthful wages spent,
We’ll light upon some settled low content.

_Adam._ Master, go on, and I will follow thee,
To the last gasp, with truth and loyalty.                           70
From seventeen years till now almost fourscore
Here lived I, but now live here no more.
At seventeen years many their fortunes seek;
But at fourscore it is too late a week:
Yet fortune cannot recompense me better                             75
Than to die well and not my master’s debtor.        [_Exeunt._


~~~~~
 Linenotes: _As You Like It_, II, 3.

 SCENE III. Before O.’s house] Capell. O.’s house. Rowe.

 ...meeting] Capell. om. Ff.

 8: _bonny_] F2 F3 F4. _bonnie_ F1. _boney_ Warburton.

 10: _some_] _seeme_ F1.

 15: _bears_] _wears_ Anon. conj.

 16: Orl.] om. F1.

 17: _within_] _with_ F2.

     _within this_] _beneath this_ Capell conj.

 29: Orl.] Ad. F1.

 30: _so_] F1. _for_ F2 F3 F4.

 37: _blood_] _proud_ Collier MS.

 39: _your_] F1. _you_ F2 F3 F4.

 41: _lie_] _be_ De Quincy MS.

 49: _in_] _to_ Capell conj.

 50: _not_] _I_ Rowe.

 57: _service_] _favour_ Collier MS. _temper_ Lettsom conj.

 58: _service_] _servants_ Anon. ap. Halliwell conj.

 71: _seventeen_] Rowe. _seauentie_ F1. _seventy_ F2 F3 F4.

 74: _it...week_] _too late: it is a-weak_ Becket conj.
~~~~~


SCENE IV. _The Forest of Arden._

 _Enter_ ROSALIND _for_ GANYMEDE, CELIA _for_ ALIENA, _and_
 TOUCHSTONE.

_Ros._ O Jupiter, how weary are my spirits!

_Touch._ I care not for my spirits, if my legs were not
weary.

_Ros._ I could find in my heart to disgrace my man’s
apparel and to cry like a woman; but I must comfort the              5
weaker vessel, as doublet and hose ought to show itself
courageous to petticoat: therefore, courage, good Aliena.

_Cel._ I pray you, bear with me; I cannot go no further.

_Touch._ For my part, I had rather bear with you than
bear you: yet I should bear no cross, if I did bear you; for        10
I think you have no money in your purse.

_Ros._ Well, this is the forest of Arden.

_Touch._ Ay, now am I in Arden; the more fool I; when
I was at home, I was in a better place: but travellers must
be content.                                                         15

_Ros._ Ay, be so, good Touchstone.

 _Enter_ CORIN _and_ SILVIUS.

Look you, who comes here; a young man and an old in
solemn talk.

_Cor._ That is the way to make her scorn you still.

_Sil._ O Corin, that thou knew’st how I do love her!                20

_Cor._ I partly guess; for I have loved ere now.

_Sil._ No, Corin, being old, thou canst not guess,
Though in thy youth thou wast as true a lover
As ever sigh’d upon a midnight pillow:
But if thy love were ever like to mine,—                            25
As sure I think did never man love so,—
How many actions most ridiculous
Hast thou been drawn to by thy fantasy?

_Cor._ Into a thousand that I have forgotten.

_Sil._ O, thou didst then ne’er love so heartily!                   30
If thou remember’st not the slightest folly
That ever love did make thee run into,
Thou hast not loved:
Or if thou hast not sat as I do now,
Wearing thy hearer in thy mistress’ praise,                         35
Thou hast not loved:
Or if thou hast not broke from company
Abruptly, as my passion now makes me,
Thou hast not loved.
O Phebe, Phebe, Phebe!           [_Exit._                           40

_Ros._ Alas, poor shepherd! searching of thy wound,
I have by hard adventure found mine own.

_Touch._ And I mine. I remember, when I was in love
I broke my sword upon a stone and bid him take that for
coming a-night to Jane Smile: and I remember the kissing            45
of her batlet and the cow’s dugs that her pretty chopt
hands had milked: and I remember the wooing of a peascod
instead of her; from whom I took two cods and, giving her
them again, said with weeping tears ‘Wear these for my
sake.’ We that are true lovers run into strange capers;             50
but as all is mortal in nature, so is all nature in love mortal
in folly.

_Ros._ Thou speakest wiser than thou art ware of.

_Touch._ Nay, I shall ne’er be ware of mine own wit till
I break my shins against it.                                        55

_Ros._ Jove, Jove! this shepherd’s passion
Is much upon my fashion.

_Touch._ And mine; but it grows something stale with me.

_Cel._ I pray you, one of you question yond man
If he for gold will give us any food:                               60
I faint almost to death.

_Touch._                 Holla, you clown!

_Ros._ Peace, fool: he’s not thy kinsman.

_Cor._                                    Who calls?

_Touch._ Your betters, sir.

_Cor._                      Else are they very wretched.

_Ros._ Peace, I say. Good even to you, friend.

_Cor._ And to you, gentle sir, and to you all.                      65

_Ros._ I prithee, shepherd, if that love or gold
Can in this desert place buy entertainment,
Bring us where we may rest ourselves and feed:
Here’s a young maid with travel much oppress’d
And faints for succour.

_Cor._             Fair sir, I pity her                             70
And wish, for her sake more than for mine own,
My fortunes were more able to relieve her;
But I am shepherd to another man
And do not shear the fleeces that I graze:
My master is of churlish disposition                                75
And little recks to find the way to heaven
By doing deeds of hospitality:
Besides, his cote, his flocks and bounds of feed
Are now on sale, and at our sheepcote now,
By reason of his absence, there is nothing                          80
That you will feed on; but what is, come see,
And in my voice most welcome shall you be.

_Ros._ What is he that shall buy his flock and pasture?

_Cor._ That young swain that you saw here but erewhile,
That little cares for buying any thing.                             85

_Ros._ I pray thee, if it stand with honesty,
Buy thou the cottage, pasture and the flock,
And thou shalt have to pay for it of us.

_Cel._ And we will mend thy wages. I like this place,
And willingly could waste my time in it.                            90

_Cor._ Assuredly the thing is to be sold:
Go with me: if you like upon report
The soil, the profit and this kind of life,
I will your very faithful feeder be
And buy it with your gold right suddenly.      [_Exeunt._           95


~~~~~
 Linenotes: _As You Like It_, II, 4.

 SCENE IV...Enter...] Enter Rosaline...and Clowne, alias
 Touchstone. Ff.

 1: _weary_] Theobald (Warburton). _merry_ Ff.

 8: _cannot_] F1. _can_ F2 F3 F4.

 13: _Arden_] _a den_ Upton conj.

 16, 17: S. Walker would read as verse _Ay, Be so...here; A
 young...talk._

 16: Enter C. and S.] Ff (after line 15).

 24: _ever_] F1. _ere_ F2 F3 F4.

 30: _ne’er_] Rowe. _never_ Ff.

 34: _sat_] F1. _sate_ F2 F3 F4. _spake_ Collier MS.

 35: _Wearing_] F1. _Wearying_ F2 F3 F4. _Wear’ing_ Grant White.

 39: [Exit.] F1. Exeunt. F2 F3 F4.

 41: _of thy wound_] Rowe. _of they would_ F1. _of their wound_ F2
 F3 F4.

 45: _a-night_] _a night_ F1. _a nights_ F2 F3 F4. _o’ nights_
 Capell. _o’ night_ Malone.

 46: _batlet_] F2 F3 F4. _batler_ F1.

 48: _cods_] _peas_ Johnson conj.

 56: _Jove, Jove_] _Love, Love_ Collier (Collier MS.).

 57: _much upon_] _too much on_ Collier (from Collier MS).

 58: After this line Collier (from Collier MS.) inserts _And begins
 to fail with me._

 59: _yond_] _you’d_ Ff.

 63: _are they very_] _they are_ Rowe (ed. 1) _they are very_ Rowe
 (ed. 2). _they’re very_ Hanmer.

 64: _you,_] _your_ F1.

 73: _shepherd_] _a shepherd_ Rowe.

 76: _recks_] Hanmer. _wreakes_ F1 F2. _wreaks_ F3 F4.

 78: _cote_] Hanmer. _coate_ F1 F2. _coat_ F3 F4.

 89, 90: Arranged as in Cappell. As three lines ending
 _wages...could...it_ Ff. As three lines ending _wages...waste...it_
 Rowe (ed. 2).

 89: _wages_] _wage_ Lloyd conj.

 94: _feeder_] _factor_ W. Walker conj.
~~~~~


SCENE V. _The forest._

 _Enter_ AMIENS, JAQUES, _and others._

SONG.

_Ami._ Under the greenwood tree
    Who loves to lie with me,
    And turn his merry note
    Unto the sweet bird’s throat,
Come hither, come hither, come hither:                               5
      Here shall he see
      No enemy
But winter and rough weather.

_Jaq._ More, more, I prithee, more.

_Ami._ It will make you melancholy, Monsieur Jaques.                10

_Jaq._ I thank it. More, I prithee, more. I can suck
melancholy out of a song, as a weasel sucks eggs. More,
I prithee, more.

_Ami._ My voice is ragged: I know I cannot please you.

_Jaq._ I do not desire you to please me; I do desire you to         15
sing. Come, more; another stanzo: call you ’em stanzos?

_Ami._ What you will, Monsieur Jaques.

_Jaq._ Nay, I care not for their names; they owe me
nothing. Will you sing?

_Ami._ More at your request than to please myself.                  20

_Jaq._ Well then, if ever I thank any man, I’ll thank
you; but that they call compliment is like the encounter
of two dog-apes, and when a man thanks me heartily, methinks
I have given him a penny and he renders me the
beggarly thanks. Come, sing; and you that will not, hold            25
your tongues.

_Ami._ Well, I’ll end the song. Sirs, cover the while;
the Duke will drink under this tree. He hath been all this
day to look you.

_Jaq._ And I have been all this day to avoid him. He                30
is too disputable for my company: I think of as many
matters as he; but I give heaven thanks, and make no
boast of them. Come, warble, come.

SONG.

    Who doth ambition shun,         [_All together here._
    And loves to live i’ the sun,                                   35
    Seeking the food he eats,
    And pleased with what he gets,
Come hither, come hither, come hither:
      Here shall he see
      No enemy                                                      40
But winter and rough weather.

_Jaq._ I’ll give you a verse to this note, that I made
yesterday in despite of my invention.

_Ami._ And I’ll sing it.

_Jaq._ Thus it goes:—                                               45

    If it do come to pass
    That any man turn ass,
    Leaving his wealth and ease
    A stubborn will to please,
Ducdame, ducdame, ducdame:                                          50
    Here shall he see
    Gross fools as he,
An if he will come to me.

_Ami._ What’s that ‘ducdame’?

_Jaq._ ’Tis a Greek invocation, to call fools into a circle.        55
I’ll go sleep, if I can; if I cannot, I’ll rail against all the
first-born of Egypt.

_Ami._ And I’ll go seek the Duke: his banquet is prepared.

 [_Exeunt severally._


~~~~~
 Linenotes: _As You Like It_, II, 5.

 1: _Ami._] Capell. om. Ff.

     _greenwood_] _greenhood_ F4.

 3: _turn_] F3 F4. _turne_ F1 F2. _tune_ Rowe (ed. 2).

 6: _Here_] Cho. _Here_ Capell.

     _he_] _we_ Capell (corrected in MS.).

 11–13: Printed in Ff as three lines ending _more...song...more._

 14: _ragged_] _rugged_ Rowe.

 16: _Come, more_] _Come, come_ Rowe.

     _stanzo...stanzos_] _stanza...stanzas_ Steevens (Capell conj.).
     _stanze...stanzes_ Anon. conj.

 18: _owe_] F1. _owne_ F2. _own_ F3 F4.

 22: _compliment_] _complement_ Ff.

 28: _drink_] _dine_ Rowe.

 30–33: _And......them_] Printed as four lines ending
 _him...company:...give...them._ in Ff. First as prose by Pope.

 34: [All together...] Altogether... Ff. om. Rowe.

 35: _live_] _lye_ F4.

 39: _Here_] Cho. _Here_ Capell.

 39–41: _Here......weather_] F3 F4. _Heere shall he see, &c._ F1
 F2.

 39: _he_] _you_ Rowe.

 44, 45: Ami. _And...it._ Jaq. _Thus it goes_] Amy. _And Ile sing
 it._ Amy. _Thus it goes._ F1.

 50, 54: _Ducdame.........ducdame_] _Duc ad me....Duc ad me_ Hanmer.
 _Huc ad me...Huc ad me_ Anon. ap. Steevens conj.

 53: _to me_] _to Ami._ Steevens (Farmer conj.). _to the same_ Anon.
 conj.
~~~~~


SCENE VI. _The forest._

 _Enter_ ORLANDO _and_ ADAM.

_Adam._ Dear master, I can go no further: O, I die for
food! Here lie I down, and measure out my grave. Farewell,
kind master.

_Orl._ Why, how now, Adam! no greater heart in thee?
Live a little; comfort a little; cheer thyself a little. If this     5
uncouth forest yield any thing savage, I will either be food
for it or bring it for food to thee. Thy conceit is nearer
death than thy powers. For my sake be comfortable; hold
death awhile at the arm’s end: I will here be with thee
presently; and if I bring thee not something to eat, I will give    10
thee leave to die: but if thou diest before I come, thou art
a mocker of my labour. Well said! thou lookest cheerly,
and I’ll be with thee quickly. Yet thou liest in the bleak
air: come, I will bear thee to some shelter; and thou shalt
not die for lack of a dinner, if there live any thing in this       15
desert. Cheerly, good Adam!                         [_Exeunt._


~~~~~
 Linenotes: _As You Like It_, II, 6.

 1–3: Printed as three verses ending _further...downe...master_ in
 Ff. First as prose by Pope.

 1: _I die_] _I die, I die_ S. Walker conj., making three lines
 ending _O...down...master._

 4–16: Printed as seventeen lines in Ff. First as prose by Pope.

 5: _comfort_] _comfort thee_ Anon. conj.

 8: _comfortable_] _comforted_ Collier MS. (Caldecott).

 9: _here be_] _be here_ Rowe.

 10: _I will_] _I’ll_ Pope.

 12: _cheerly_] F4. _cheerely_ F1 F2 F3. _cheerily_ Reed.
~~~~~


SCENE VII. _The forest._

 _A table set out. Enter_ DUKE senior, AMIENS, _and_ Lords _like_
 outlaws.

_Duke S._ I think he be transform’d into a beast;
For I can no where find him like a man.

_First Lord._ My lord, he is but even now gone hence:
Here was he merry, hearing of a song.

_Duke S._ If he, compact of jars, grow musical,                      5
We shall have shortly discord in the spheres.
Go, seek him: tell him I would speak with him.

 _Enter_ JAQUES.

_First Lord._ He saves my labour by his own approach.

_Duke S._ Why, how now, monsieur! what a life is this,
That your poor friends must woo your company?                       10
What, you look merrily!

_Jaq._ A fool, a fool! I met a fool i’ the forest,
A motley fool; a miserable world!
As I do live by food, I met a fool;
Who laid him down and bask’d him in the sun,                        15
And rail’d on Lady Fortune in good terms,
In good set terms, and yet a motley fool.
‘Good morrow, fool,’ quoth I. ‘No, sir,’ quoth he,
‘Call me not fool till heaven hath sent me fortune:’
And then he drew a dial from his poke,                              20
And, looking on it with lack-lustre eye,
Says very wisely, ‘It is ten o’clock:
Thus we may see,’ quoth he, ‘how the world wags:
’Tis but an hour ago since it was nine;
And after one hour more ’twill be eleven;                           25
And so, from hour to hour, we ripe and ripe,
And then, from hour to hour, we rot and rot;
And thereby hangs a tale.’ When I did hear
The motley fool thus moral on the time,
My lungs began to crow like chanticleer,                            30
That fools should be so deep-contemplative;
And I did laugh sans intermission
An hour by his dial. O noble fool!
A worthy fool! Motley’s the only wear.

_Duke S._ What fool is this?                                        35

_Jaq._ O worthy fool! One that hath been a courtier,
And says, if ladies be but young and fair,
They have the gift to know it: and in his brain,
Which is as dry as the remainder biscuit
After a voyage, he hath strange places cramm’d                      40
With observation, the which he vents
In mangled forms. O that I were a fool!
I am ambitious for a motley coat.

_Duke S._ Thou shalt have one.

_Jaq._                         It is my only suit;
Provided that you weed your better judgements                       45
Of all opinion that grows rank in them
That I am wise. I must have liberty
Withal, as large a charter as the wind,
To blow on whom I please; for so fools have;
And they that are most galled with my folly,                        50
They most must laugh. And why, sir, must they so?
The ‘why’ is plain as way to parish church:
He that a fool doth very wisely hit
Doth very foolishly, although he smart,
Not to seem senseless of the bob: if not,                           55
The wise man’s folly is anatomized
Even by the squandering glances of the fool.
Invest me in my motley; give me leave
To speak my mind, and I will through and through
Cleanse the foul body of the infected world,                        60
If they will patiently receive my medicine.

_Duke S._ Fie on thee! I can tell what thou wouldst do.

_Jaq._ What, for a counter, would I do but good?

_Duke S._ Most mischievous foul sin, in chiding sin:
For thou thyself hast been a libertine,                             65
As sensual as the brutish sting itself;
And all the embossed sores and headed evils,
That thou with license of free foot hast caught,
Wouldst thou disgorge into the general world.

_Jaq._ Why, who cries out on pride,                                 70
That can therein tax any private party?
Doth it not flow as hugely as the sea,
Till that the weary very means do ebb?
What woman in the city do I name,
When that I say the city-woman bears                                75
The cost of princes on unworthy shoulders?
Who can come in and say that I mean her,
When such a one as she such is her neighbour?
Or what is he of basest function,
That says his bravery is not of my cost,                            80
Thinking that I mean him, but therein suits
His folly to the mettle of my speech?
There then; how then? what then? Let me see wherein
My tongue hath wrong’d him: if it do him right,
Then he hath wrong’d himself; if he be free,                        85
Why then my taxing like a wild-goose flies,
Unclaim’d of any man. But who comes here?

 _Enter_ ORLANDO, _with his sword drawn_.

_Orl._ Forbear, and eat no more.

_Jaq._                           Why, I have eat none yet.

_Orl._ Nor shalt not, till necessity be served.

_Jaq._ Of what kind should this cock come of?                       90

_Duke S._ Art thou thus bolden’d, man, by thy distress,
Or else a rude despiser of good manners,
That in civility thou seem’st so empty?

_Orl._ You touch’d my vein at first: the thorny point
Of bare distress hath ta’en from me the show                        95
Of smooth civility: yet am I inland bred
And know some nurture. But forbear, I say:
He dies that touches any of this fruit
Till I and my affairs are answered.

_Jaq._ An you will not be answered with reason, I                  100
must die.

_Duke S._ What would you have? Your gentleness shall force,
More than your force move us to gentleness.

_Orl._ I almost die for food; and let me have it.

_Duke S._ Sit down and feed, and welcome to our table.             105

_Orl._ Speak you so gently? Pardon me, I pray you:
I thought that all things had been savage here;
And therefore put I on the countenance
Of stern commandment. But whate’er you are
That in this desert inaccessible,                                  110
Under the shade of melancholy boughs,
Lose and neglect the creeping hours of time;
If ever you have look’d on better days,
If ever been where bells have knoll’d to church,
If ever sat at any good man’s feast,                               115
If ever from your eyelids wiped a tear
And know what ’tis to pity and be pitied,
Let gentleness my strong enforcement be:
In the which hope I blush, and hide my sword.

_Duke S._ True is it that we have seen better days,                120
And have with holy bell been knoll’d to church
And sat at good men’s feasts and wiped our eyes
Of drops that sacred pity hath engender’d:
And therefore sit you down in gentleness
And take upon command what help we have                            125
That to your wanting may be minister’d.

_Orl._ Then but forbear your food a little while,
Whiles, like a doe, I go to find my fawn
And give it food. There is an old poor man,
Who after me hath many a weary step                                130
Limp’d in pure love: till he be first sufficed,
Oppress’d with two weak evils, age and hunger,
I will not touch a bit.

_Duke S._               Go find him out,
And we will nothing waste till you return.

_Orl._ I thank ye; and be blest for your good comfort!             135

 [_Exit._

_Duke S._ Thou seest we are not all alone unhappy:
This wide and universal theatre
Presents more woeful pageants than the scene
Wherein we play in.

_Jaq._              All the world’s a stage,
And all the men and women merely players:                          140
They have their exits and their entrances;
And one man in his time plays many parts,
His acts being seven ages. At first the infant,
Mewling and puking in the nurse’s arms.
Then the whining school-boy, with his satchel                      145
And shining morning face, creeping like snail
Unwillingly to school. And then the lover,
Sighing like furnace, with a woeful ballad
Made to his mistress’ eyebrow. Then a soldier,
Full of strange oaths, and bearded like the pard,                  150
Jealous in honour, sudden and quick in quarrel,
Seeking the bubble reputation
Even in the cannon’s mouth. And then the justice,
In fair round belly with good capon lined,
With eyes severe and beard of formal cut,                          155
Full of wise saws and modern instances;
And so he plays his part. The sixth age shifts
Into the lean and slipper’d pantaloon,
With spectacles on nose and pouch on side,
His youthful hose, well saved, a world too wide                    160
For his shrunk shank; and his big manly voice,
Turning again toward childish treble, pipes
And whistles in his sound. Last scene of all,
That ends this strange eventful history,
Is second childishness and mere oblivion,                          165
Sans teeth, sans eyes, sans taste, sans every thing.

 _Re-enter_ ORLANDO, _with_ ADAM.

_Duke S._ Welcome. Set down your venerable burthen,
And let him feed.

_Orl._ I thank you most for him.

_Adam._                               So had you need:
I scarce can speak to thank you for myself.                        170

_Duke S._ Welcome; fall to: I will not trouble you
As yet, to question you about your fortunes.
Give us some music; and, good cousin, sing.

SONG.

_Ami._ Blow, blow, thou winter wind,
        Thou art not so unkind                                     175
          As man’s ingratitude;
        Thy tooth is not so keen,
        Because thou art not seen,
          Although thy breath be rude.
Heigh-ho! sing, heigh-ho! unto the green holly:                    180
Most friendship is feigning, most loving mere folly:
        Then, heigh-ho, the holly!
          This life is most jolly.

        Freeze, freeze, thou bitter sky
        That dost not bite so nigh                                 185
          As benefits forgot:
        Though thou the waters warp,
        Thy sting is not so sharp
          As friend remember’d not.
Heigh-ho! sing, &c.                                                190

_Duke S._ If that you were the good Sir Rowland’s son,
As you have whisper’d faithfully you were,
And as mine eye doth his effigies witness
Most truly limn’d and living in your face,
Be truly welcome hither: I am the Duke                             195
That loved your father: the residue of your fortune,
Go to my cave and tell me. Good old man,
Thou art right welcome as thy master is.
Support him by the arm. Give me your hand,
And let me all your fortunes understand.      [_Exeunt._           200


~~~~~
 Linenotes: _As You Like It_, II, 7.

 SCENE VII. A table set out] Rowe.

 Enter...] Enter Duke Sen. & Lord,... Ff.

 10: After this line Capell inserts _And cannot have ’t?_

 13: _miserable world_] _miserable varlet_ Hanmer (Warburton).
 _miserable word_ Becket conj. _miserable!—well,—_ Jackson conj.
 _miserable ort_ Hunter conj.

 25: _one_] _an_ Reed (1803).

 31: _deep-contemplative_] Reed.

 34–36: _A worthy...O worthy_] _O worthy...A worthy_ Anon. conj.

 53: _He that_] _He whom_ Pope.

 54, 55: _Doth very foolishly,...Not to seem_] _Doth, very
 foolishly...Seem_ Whiter conj.

 55: _Not to seem senseless_] Theobald (Warburton). _Sceme
 senselesse_ Ff. _But to seem senseless_ Collier (Collier MS.). _Seem
 else than senseless_ or _Seem less than senseless_ Anon. conj.

 56: _wise man’s_] _Wise-man’s_ F1 F2 F3. _wise-man’s_ F4.

 64: _sin_] _fin_ F1.

 66: _sting_] _sty_ Johnson conj.

 73: _weary very means_] F3 F4. (_meanes_ F3). _wearie verie
 meanes_ F1 F2. _very very means_ Pope. _weary venom means_ Jackson
 conj. _very wearing means_ Collier conj. _very means of wear_
 Collier MS. _wearer’s very means_ Singer. _weary-very means_ or
 _very-weary means_ Staunton conj. _tributary streams_ Lloyd conj.

 83: _There then; how then? what then?_] _There then, how then,
 what then,_ Ff. _There then; how, what then?_ Capell. _Where then?
 how...then?_ Malone conj.

     _what then? Let me_] _Let me then_ Hanmer.

 87: _any....comes_] F2 F3 F4. _any man. But who come_ F1.

     Enter......drawn.] Theobald. Enter Orlando. Ff.

 90: _Of what_] _What_ Capell conj.

     _come of_] _come_ Rowe.

 95: _hath_] F1. _that hath_ F2 F3 F4.

     _ta’en_] _torn_ Johnson conj.

 100, 101: Printed as verse, ending _reason...die_ in Ff. First as
 prose by Capell. _If...not Be...die_ Pope.

 100: _An_] _And_ Ff. _If_ Pope.

     _answered_] _answer’d_ Ff.

     _reason_] _reasons_ Staunton conj.

 102, 103: As three lines ending _have?...your force...gentleness_ in
 Ff.

 109: _commandment_] _command’ment_ Ff.

 119: _blush_] F1. _bush_ F2 F3 F4.

 125: _command_] _demand_ Johnson conj. _commend_ Collier (Collier
 MS.).

 130: _a_] om. F4.

 132: _Oppressed....hunger_] Should follow line 129. Anon. conj.

 135: [Exit.] Rowe. om. Ff.

 139: _Wherein we play in_] _Wherein we play_ Pope. _Which we do play
 in_ Capell conj.

     _Wherein..._ Jaq. _All_] _Wherein in we play._ Jaq. _Why, all_
     Steevens conj. _wherein we play._ Jaq. _Ay, all_ Anon. conj.

 141: _exits_] _Exits_ (in italics) Ff.

 143: _ages_] _labours_ Mason conj.

     _At first_] _As first_ Capell conj. _Act first_ or _First_ Anon.
     conj.

 145: _Then_] _And then_ Rowe (ed. 2). _Then there’s_ Anon. conj.

 150: _pard_] _Pand_ Anon. conj.

 161: _shank_] F3 F4. _shanke_ F1 F2. _shanks_ Hanmer.

 167, 168: _Welcome...feed_] Printed as prose in Ff.

 174: Ami.] Amiens sings. Johnson. om. Ff.

 175–178: As two lines in Ff.

 178: _Because_] _Beside,_ Becket conj.

     _Because...seen_] _Thou causest not that teen_ Hanmer. _Because
     the heart’s not seen_ Farmer conj. _Because thou art foreseen_
     Staunton conj.

     _seen_] _sheen_ Warburton.

 182: _Then,_] Rowe. _The_ Ff.

 184–189: As four lines in Ff.

 189: _remember’d_] _remembering_ Hanmer.

 198: _master_] _masters_ F1.
~~~~~




ACT III.


SCENE I. _A room in the palace._

 _Enter_ DUKE FREDERICK, Lords, _and_ OLIVER.

_Duke F._ Not see him since? Sir, sir, that cannot be:
But were I not the better part made mercy,
I should not seek an absent argument
Of my revenge, thou present. But look to it:
Find out thy brother, wheresoe’er he is;                             5
Seek him with candle; bring him dead or living
Within this twelvemonth, or turn thou no more
To seek a living in our territory.
Thy lands and all things that thou dost call thine
Worth seizure do we seize into our hands,                           10
Till thou canst quit thee by thy brother’s mouth
Of what we think against thee.

_Oli._ O that your Highness knew my heart in this!
I never loved my brother in my life.

_Duke F._ More villain thou. Well, push him out of doors;           15
And let my officers of such a nature
Make an extent upon his house and lands:
Do this expediently and turn him going.             [_Exeunt._


~~~~~
 Linenotes: _As You Like It_, III, 1.

 SCENE I. A room...] Capell.

 Duke F.] Duke, F1.

 1: _see_] _seen_ Singer (Collier MS.).

 3: _seek_] F1. _see_ F2 F3 F4.
~~~~~


SCENE II. _The Forest._

 _Enter_ ORLANDO, _with a paper_.

_Orl._ Hang there, my verse, in witness of my love:
  And thou, thrice-crowned queen of night, survey
With thy chaste eye, from thy pale sphere above,
  Thy huntress’ name that my full life doth sway.
O Rosalind! these trees shall be my books                            5
  And in their barks my thoughts I’ll character;
That every eye which in this forest looks
  Shall see thy virtue witness’d every where.
Run, run, Orlando; carve on every tree
The fair, the chaste and unexpressive she.       [_Exit._           10

 _Enter_ CORIN _and_ TOUCHSTONE.

_Cor._ And how like you this shepherd’s life, Master
Touchstone?

_Touch._ Truly, shepherd, in respect of itself, it is a good
life; but in respect that it is a shepherd’s life, it is naught.
In respect that it is solitary, I like it very well; but in         15
respect that it is private, it is a very vile life. Now, in
respect it is in the fields, it pleaseth me well; but in respect
it is not in the court, it is tedious. As it is a spare life,
look you, it fits my humour well; but as there is no more
plenty in it, it goes much against my stomach. Hast any             20
philosophy in thee, shepherd?

_Cor._ No more but that I know the more one sickens the
worse at ease he is; and that he that wants money, means
and content is without three good friends; that the property
of rain is to wet and fire to burn; that good pasture makes         25
fat sheep, and that a great cause of the night is lack of the
sun; that he that hath learned no wit by nature nor art may
complain of good breeding or comes of a very dull kindred.

_Touch._ Such a one is a natural philosopher. Wast ever
in court, shepherd?                                                 30

_Cor._ No, truly.

_Touch._ Then thou art damned.

_Cor._ Nay, I hope.

_Touch._ Truly, thou art damned like an ill-roasted egg,
all on one side.                                                    35

_Cor._ For not being at court? Your reason.

_Touch._ Why, if thou never wast at court, thou never
sawest good manners; if thou never sawest good manners,
then thy manners must be wicked; and wickedness is sin,
and sin is damnation. Thou art in a parlous state, shepherd.        40

_Cor._ Not a whit, Touchstone: those that are good manners
at the court are as ridiculous in the country as the behaviour
of the country is most mockable at the court. You
told me you salute not at the court, but you kiss your hands:
that courtesy would be uncleanly, if courtiers were shepherds.      45

_Touch._ Instance, briefly; come, instance.

_Cor._ Why, we are still handling our ewes, and their
fells, you know, are greasy.

_Touch._ Why, do not your courtier’s hands sweat? and
is not the grease of a mutton as wholesome as the sweat of          50
a man? Shallow, shallow. A better instance, I say; come.

_Cor._ Besides, our hands are hard.

_Touch._ Your lips will feel them the sooner. Shallow
again. A more sounder instance, come.

_Cor._ And they are often tarred over with the surgery of           55
our sheep; and would you have us kiss tar? The courtier’s
hands are perfumed with civet.

_Touch._ Most shallow man! thou worms-meat, in respect
of a good piece of flesh indeed! Learn of the wise, and
perpend: civet is of a baser birth than tar, the very uncleanly     60
flux of a cat. Mend the instance, shepherd.

_Cor._ You have too courtly a wit for me: I ’ll rest.

_Touch._ Wilt thou rest damned? God help thee, shallow
man! God make incision in thee! thou art raw.

_Cor._ Sir, I am a true labourer: I earn that I eat, get that       65
I wear, owe no man hate, envy no man’s happiness, glad of
other men’s good, content with my harm, and the greatest
of my pride is to see my ewes graze and my lambs suck.

_Touch._ That is another simple sin in you, to bring the
ewes and the rams together and to offer to get your living          70
by the copulation of cattle; to be bawd to a bell-wether,
and to betray a she-lamb of a twelvemonth to a
crooked-pated, old, cuckoldly ram, out of all reasonable match. If
thou beest not damned for this, the devil himself will have
no shepherds; I cannot see else how thou shouldst ’scape.           75

_Cor._ Here comes young Master Ganymede, my new
mistress’s brother.

 _Enter_ ROSALIND, _with a paper, reading_.

_Ros._ From the east to western Ind,
No jewel is like Rosalind.
Her worth, being mounted on the wind,                               80
Through all the world bears Rosalind.
All the pictures fairest lined
Are but black to Rosalind.
Let no face be kept in mind
But the fair of Rosalind.                                           85

_Touch._ I’ll rhyme you so eight years together, dinners
and suppers and sleeping-hours excepted: it is the right
butter-women’s rank to market.

_Ros._ Out, fool!

_Touch._ For a taste:                                               90

If a hart do lack a hind,
Let him seek out Rosalind.
If the cat will after kind,
So be sure will Rosalind.
Winter garments must be lined,                                      95
So must slender Rosalind.
They that reap must sheaf and bind;
Then to cart with Rosalind.
Sweetest nut hath sourest rind,
Such a nut is Rosalind.                                            100
He that sweetest rose will find,
Must find love’s prick and Rosalind.

This is the very false gallop of verses: why do you infect
yourself with them?

_Ros._ Peace, you dull fool! I found them on a tree.               105

_Touch._ Truly, the tree yields bad fruit.

_Ros._ I’ll graff it with you, and then I shall graff it
with a medlar: then it will be the earliest fruit i’ the country;
for you’ll be rotten ere you be half ripe, and that’s the
right virtue of the medlar.                                        110

_Touch._ You have said; but whether wisely or no, let
the forest judge.

 _Enter_ CELIA, _with a writing_.

_Ros._ Peace!
Here comes my sister, reading: stand aside.

_Cel._ [_reads_] Why should this a desert be?                      115
  For it is unpeopled? No;
Tongues I’ll hang on every tree,
  That shall civil sayings show:
Some, how brief the life of man
  Runs his erring pilgrimage,                                      120
That the stretching of a span
  Buckles in his sum of age;
Some, of violated vows
  ’Twixt the souls of friend and friend:
But upon the fairest boughs,                                       125
  Or at every sentence end,
Will I Rosalinda write,
  Teaching all that read to know
The quintessence of every sprite
  Heaven would in little show.                                     130
Therefore Heaven Nature charged
  That one body should be fill’d
With all graces wide-enlarged:
  Nature presently distill’d
Helen’s cheek, but not her heart,                                  135
  Cleopatra’s majesty,
Atalanta’s better part,
  Sad Lucretia’s modesty.
  Thus Rosalind of many parts
    By heavenly synod was devised;                                 140
  Of many faces, eyes and hearts,
    To have the touches dearest prized.
Heaven would that she these gifts should have,
And I to live and die her slave.

_Ros._ O most gentle pulpiter! what tedious homily of              145
love have you wearied your parishioners withal, and never
cried ‘Have patience, good people’!

_Cel._ How now! back, friends! Shepherd, go off a little.
Go with him, sirrah.

_Touch._ Come, shepherd, let us make an honourable                 150
retreat; though not with bag and baggage, yet with scrip
and scrippage.                  [_Exeunt Corin and Touchstone._

_Cel._ Didst thou hear these verses?

_Ros._ O, yes, I heard them all, and more too; for some
of them had in them more feet than the verses would bear.          155

_Cel._ That’s no matter: the feet might bear the verses.

_Ros._ Ay, but the feet were lame and could not bear
themselves without the verse and therefore stood lamely
in the verse.

_Cel._ But didst thou hear without wondering how thy               160
name should be hanged and carved upon these trees?

_Ros._ I was seven of the nine days out of the wonder
before you came; for look here what I found on a palm-tree.
I was never so be-rhymed since Pythagoras’ time,
that I was an Irish rat, which I can hardly remember.              165

_Cel._ Trow you who hath done this?

_Ros._ Is it a man?

_Cel._ And a chain, that you once wore, about his neck.
Change you colour?

_Ros._ I prithee, who?                                             170

_Cel._ O Lord, Lord! it is a hard matter for friends to
meet; but mountains may be removed with earthquakes
and so encounter.

_Ros._ Nay, but who is it?

_Cel._ Is it possible?                                             175

_Ros._ Nay, I prithee now with most petitionary vehemence,
tell me who it is.

_Cel._ O wonderful, wonderful, and most wonderful wonderful!
and yet again wonderful, and after that, out of all
hooping!                                                           180

_Ros._ Good my complexion! dost thou think, though I
am caparisoned like a man, I have a doublet and hose in
my disposition? One inch of delay more is a South-sea of
discovery; I prithee, tell me who is it quickly, and speak
apace. I would thou couldst stammer, that thou mightst             185
pour this concealed man out of thy mouth, as wine comes
out of a narrow-mouthed bottle, either too much at once,
or none at all. I prithee, take the cork out of thy mouth
that I may drink thy tidings.

_Cel._ So you may put a man in your belly.                         190

_Ros._ Is he of God’s making? What manner of man?
Is his head worth a hat, or his chin worth a beard?

_Cel._ Nay, he hath but a little beard.

_Ros._ Why, God will send more, if the man will be
thankful: let me stay the growth of his beard, if thou delay       195
me not the knowledge of his chin.

_Cel._ It is young Orlando, that tripped up the wrestler’s
heels and your heart both in an instant.

_Ros._ Nay, but the devil take mocking: speak, sad
brow and true maid.                                                200

_Cel._ I’ faith, coz, ’tis he.

_Ros._ Orlando?

_Cel._ Orlando.

_Ros._ Alas the day! what shall I do with my doublet
and hose? What did he when thou sawest him? What                   205
said he? How looked he? Wherein went he? What makes
he here? Did he ask for me? Where remains he? How
parted he with thee? and when shalt thou see him again?
Answer me in one word.

_Cel._ You must borrow me Gargantua’s mouth first: ’tis            210
a word too great for any mouth of this age’s size. To say
ay and no to these particulars is more than to answer in a
catechism.

_Ros._ But doth he know that I am in this forest and in
man’s apparel? Looks he as freshly as he did the day he            215
wrestled?

_Cel._ It is as easy to count atomies as to resolve the
propositions of a lover; but take a taste of my finding him,
and relish it with good observance. I found him under a
tree, like a dropped acorn.                                        220

_Ros._ It may well be called Jove’s tree, when it drops
forth such fruit.

_Cel._ Give me audience, good madam.

_Ros._ Proceed.

_Cel._ There lay he, stretched along, like a wounded               225
knight.

_Ros._ Though it be pity to see such a sight, it well becomes
the ground.

_Cel._ Cry ‘holla’ to thy tongue, I prithee; it curvets
unseasonably. He was furnished like a hunter.                      230

_Ros._ O, ominous! he comes to kill my heart.

_Cel._ I would sing my song without a burden: thou
bringest me out of tune.

_Ros._ Do you not know I am a woman? when I think,
I must speak. Sweet, say on.                                       235

_Cel._ You bring me out. Soft! comes he not here?

 _Enter_ ORLANDO _and_ JAQUES.

_Ros._ Tis he: slink by, and note him.

_Jaq._ I thank you for your company; but, good faith,
I had as lief have been myself alone.

_Orl._ And so had I; but yet, for fashion sake,                    240
I thank you too for your society.

_Jaq._ God buy you: let’s meet as little as we can.

_Orl._ I do desire we may be better strangers.

_Jaq._ I pray you, mar no more trees with writing love-songs
in their barks.                                                    245

_Orl._ I pray you, mar no more of my verses with reading
them ill-favouredly.

_Jaq._ Rosalind is your love’s name?

_Orl._ Yes, just.

_Jaq._ I do not like her name.                                     250

_Orl._ There was no thought of pleasing you when she
was christened.

_Jaq._ What stature is she of?

_Orl._ Just as high as my heart.

_Jaq._ You are full of pretty answers. Have you not                255
been acquainted with goldsmiths’ wives, and conned them
out of rings?

_Orl._ Not so; but I answer you right painted cloth,
from whence you have studied your questions.

_Jaq._ You have a nimble wit: I think ’twas made of                260
Atalanta’s heels. Will you sit down with me? and we two
will rail against our mistress the world, and all our misery.

_Orl._ I will chide no breather in the world but myself,
against whom I know most faults.

_Jaq._ The worst fault you have is to be in love.                  265

_Orl._ ’Tis a fault I will not change for your best virtue.
I am weary of you.

_Jaq._ By my troth, I was seeking for a fool when I
found you.

_Orl._ He is drowned in the brook: look but in, and you            270
shall see him.

_Jaq._ There I shall see mine own figure.

_Orl._ Which I take to be either a fool or a cipher.

_Jaq._ I’ll tarry no longer with you: farewell, good Signior
Love.                                                              275

_Orl._ I am glad of your departure: adieu, good Monsieur
Melancholy.                                     [_Exit Jaques._

_Ros._ [_Aside to Celia_] I will speak to him like a saucy
lackey, and under that habit play the knave with him. Do
you hear, forester?                                                280

_Orl._ Very well: what would you?

_Ros._ I pray you, what is’t o’clock?

_Orl._ You should ask me what time o’ day: there’s no
clock in the forest.

_Ros._ Then there is no true lover in the forest; else             285
sighing every minute and groaning every hour would
detect the lazy foot of Time as well as a clock.

_Orl._ And why not the swift foot of Time? had not
that been as proper?

_Ros._ By no means, sir: Time travels in divers paces              290
with divers persons. I’ll tell you who Time ambles withal,
who Time trots withal, who Time gallops withal and who
he stands still withal.

_Orl._ I prithee, who doth he trot withal?

_Ros._ Marry, he trots hard with a young maid between              295
the contract of her marriage and the day it is solemnized:
if the interim be but a se’nnight, Time’s pace is so hard
that it seems the length of seven year.

_Orl._ Who ambles Time withal?

_Ros._ With a priest that lacks Latin, and a rich man              300
that hath not the gout; for the one sleeps easily because
he cannot study, and the other lives merrily because he
feels no pain; the one lacking the burden of lean and wasteful
learning, the other knowing no burden of heavy tedious
penury: these Time ambles withal.                                  305

_Orl._ Who doth he gallop withal?

_Ros._ With a thief to the gallows; for though he go as
softly as foot can fall, he thinks himself too soon there.

_Orl._ Who stays it still withal?

_Ros._ With lawyers in the vacation; for they sleep between        310
term and term and then they perceive not how Time
moves.

_Orl._ Where dwell you, pretty youth?

_Ros._ With this shepherdess, my sister; here in the skirts
of the forest, like fringe upon a petticoat.                       315

_Orl._ Are you native of this place?

_Ros._ As the cony that you see dwell where she is kindled.

_Orl._ Your accent is something finer than you could
purchase in so removed a dwelling.

_Ros._ I have been told so of many: but indeed an old              320
religious uncle of mine taught me to speak, who was in his
youth an inland man; one that knew courtship too well, for
there he fell in love. I have heard him read many lectures
against it, and I thank God I am not a woman, to be
touched with so many giddy offences as he hath generally           325
taxed their whole sex withal.

_Orl._ Can you remember any of the principal evils
that he laid to the charge of women?

_Ros._ There were none principal; they were all like
one another as half-pence are, every one fault seeming             330
monstrous till his fellow-fault came to match it.

_Orl._ I prithee, recount some of them.

_Ros._ No, I will not cast away my physic but on those
that are sick. There is a man haunts the forest, that abuses
our young plants with carving Rosalind on their barks;             335
hangs odes upon hawthorns and elegies on brambles; all,
forsooth, deifying the name of Rosalind: if I could meet
that fancy-monger, I would give him some good counsel,
for he seems to have the quotidian of love upon him.

_Orl._ I am he that is so love-shaked: I pray you, tell            340
me your remedy.

_Ros._ There is none of my uncle’s marks upon you: he
taught me how to know a man in love; in which cage of
rushes I am sure you are not prisoner.

_Orl._ What were his marks?                                        345

_Ros._ A lean cheek, which you have not; a blue eye
and sunken, which you have not; an unquestionable spirit,
which you have not; a beard neglected, which you have
not; but I pardon you for that, for simply your having in
beard is a younger brother’s revenue: then your hose should        350
be ungartered, your bonnet unbanded, your sleeve unbuttoned,
your shoe untied and every thing about you demonstrating
a careless desolation; but you are no such man;
you are rather point-device in your accoutrements as loving
yourself than seeming the lover of any other.                      355

_Orl._ Fair youth, I would I could make thee believe I
love.

_Ros._ Me believe it! you may as soon make her that
you love believe it; which, I warrant, she is apter to do
than to confess she does: that is one of the points in the         360
which women still give the lie to their consciences. But, in
good sooth, are you he that hangs the verses on the trees,
wherein Rosalind is so admired?

_Orl._ I swear to thee, youth, by the white hand of
Rosalind, I am that he, that unfortunate he.                       365

_Ros._ But are you so much in love as your rhymes speak?

_Orl._ Neither rhyme nor reason can express how much.

_Ros._ Love is merely a madness; and, I tell you, deserves
as well a dark house and a whip as madmen do: and
the reason why they are not so punished and cured is, that         370
the lunacy is so ordinary that the whippers are in love too.
Yet I profess curing it by counsel.

_Orl._ Did you ever cure any so?

_Ros._ Yes, one, and in this manner. He was to imagine
me his love, his mistress; and I set him every day to woo          375
me: at which time would I, being but a moonish youth,
grieve, be effeminate, changeable, longing and liking;
proud, fantastical, apish, shallow, inconstant, full of tears,
full of smiles; for every passion something and for no
passion truly any thing, as boys and women are for the             380
most part cattle of this colour: would now like him, now
loathe him; then entertain him, then forswear him; now
weep for him, then spit at him; that I drave my suitor from
his mad humour of love to a living humour of madness;
which was, to forswear the full stream of the world and to         385
live in a nook merely monastic. And thus I cured him;
and this way will I take upon me to wash your liver as
clean as a sound sheep’s heart, that there shall not be one
spot of love in’t.

_Orl._ I would not be cured, youth.                                390

_Ros._ I would cure you, if you would but call me Rosalind
and come every day to my cote and woo me.

_Orl._ Now, by the faith of my love, I will: tell me
where it is.

_Ros._ Go with me to it and I’ll show it you: and by               395
the way you shall tell me where in the forest you live.
Will you go?

_Orl._ With all my heart, good youth.

_Ros._ Nay, you must call me Rosalind. Come, sister,
will you go?         [_Exeunt._                                    400


~~~~~
 Linenotes: _As You Like It_, III, 2.

 SCENE II. Enter...paper] Capell. Enter Orlando. Ff.

 11: SCENE III. Pope.

 25: _good_] _pood_ F1.

 28: _good_] _bad_ Hanmer. _gross_ Warburton.

 33: _hope._] _hope—_ Rowe.

 41: _Touchstone_] _Mr. Touchstone_ Capell.

 50: _a mutton_] F1. _mutton_ F2 F3 F4.

 54: _more sounder_] _sounder_ Pope.

 56: _courtier’s_] _countiers_ F2.

 59: _flesh indeed!_] _flesh indeed:_ Ff. _flesh: indeed!—_ Steevens.

 71: _bawd_] F1 F2. _a bawd_ F3 F4.

 76: _Master_] _M^r_ Ff.

 77: SCENE IV. Pope.

     Enter R....reading.] Capell. Enter Rosalind. Ff.

 78: _western_] _the western_ Pope.

 82: _lined_] _Linde_ F1 F2 F3. _Lind_ F4. _limn’d_ Capell.

 84: _face_] _fair_ S. Walker conj.

 85: _the fair of_] F1 F2. _the most fair_ F3 F4. _the face of_
 Rowe (ed. 2). _of the fair_ Becket conj.

 88: _rank to_] F3 F4. _ranke to_ F1 F2. _rate to_ Hanmer. _rant
 at_ Grey conj.

 95: _Winter_] F3 F4. _Wintred_ F1 F2.

 99: _nut_] F1 F2. _meat_ F3 F4.

 112: _forest_] _forester_ Warburton.

 113: SCENE V. Pope.

 115: [reads] om. Ff.

     _a desert_] Rowe. _desert_ Ff. _desert silent_ Steevens
     (Tyrwhitt conj.).

 129: _The_] F1 F2. _This_ F3 F4.

 131: _charged_] _charg’d_ F1 F2. _chang’d_ F3 F4.

 135: _cheek_] _cheeke_ F1 F2. _cheeks_ F3 F4.

     _her_] Rowe. _his_ Ff.

 145: _pulpiter_] Edd. (Spedding conj.). _Jupiter_ Ff. _Juniper_
 Warburton.

 147: _cried_] _cride, have your parishiones withall, and never
 cri’de_ F2.

 148: _back, friends_] _back-friends_ _Theobald._

 152: [Exeunt C. and T.] Exit. Ff.

 153: SCENE VI. Pope.

 162: _the wonder_] F1 _wonder_ F2 F3 F4.

 163, 164: _palm-tree_] _plane-tree_ Collier conj.

 164: _Pythagoras’_] _Pythagoras._ Ff. _Pythagoras’s_ Rowe.

 168: _And_] _Ay, and_ Capell.

 169: _you_] F1 F2. _your_ F3 F4.

 177: _tell_] _till_ F2.

 180: _hooping_] F1 F2 F3. _hoping_ F4. _whooping_ Theobald.

 181: _Good my_] _Odd’s my_ Theobald. _Good! cry_ Becket conj. _Goad
 my_ Jackson conj. _Hood my_ Staunton conj.

     _complexion_] _coz perplexer_ Heath conj.

 182: _hose_] F1. _a hose_ F2 F3 F4.

 183, 184: _South-sea of discovery;_] _South-sea off discovery._
 Theobald (Warburton). _South-sea Discover,_ Johnson conj. _South-sea
 discovery:_ Id. conj. _south-sea-off discovery._ Capell.

 184: _who is it_] _who is it?_ Hanmer. _who it is_ Anon. conj.

 200: _maid_] _mind_ Anon. conj.

 210: _Gargantua’s_] _Garagantua’s_ Pope.

 212: _in_] om. Heath conj.

 216: _wrestled_] _wrastled_ F1 F3 F4. _wrasted_ F2.

 217: _atomies_] F1 F2. _atomes_ F3 F4. _atoms_ Rowe.

 219: _good_] _a good_ Steevens.

 219, 220: _a tree_] _an oak-tree_ Hanmer (Warburton conj.).

 221, 222: _drops forth such_] F2 F3 F4. _droppes forth_ F1.
 _drops such_ Capell.

 229: _thy tongue_] Rowe. _the tongue_ Ff.

 230: _unseasonably_] _very unseasonably_ Reed (1803).

 231: _heart_] _Hart_ Ff.

 236: SCENE VII. Pope.

     _here_] _heere_ F1. _nerre_ F2. _near _ F3 F4.

     Enter...] Ff (after line 235).

 242: _buy_] Ff. _b’w’_ Rowe.

 246: _more_] _moe_ F1.

 258: _you_] _your_ Mason conj.

     _right_] _right in the stile of the_ Hanmer.

 259: _your_] _you_ F2.

 264: _most_] F1. _no_ F2 F3 F4.

 276: SCENE VIII. Pope.

 277: [Exit...] om. Ff.

 280: [Advances. Capell.

 290: _paces_] F1 F2. _places_ F3 F4.

 294: _who_] F1. _whom_ F2 F3 F4.

     _doth he trot_] _ambles Time_ Hunter conj.

 295: _trots hard_] _ambles_ Id. conj.

 297: _hard_] _ambling_ Id. conj.

 298: _year_] _years_ F4.

 299: _ambles Time_] _doth he trot_ Hunter conj.

 305: _ambles_] _trots_ Hunter conj.

 306: _Who_] F1. _Whom_ F2 F3 F4.

 309: _Who_] F1. _Whom_ F2 F3 F4.

     _stays it_] _stands he_ Collier (Collier MS.).

 317: _kindled_] _kind-led_ Pope. See note (VII).

 323: _lectures_] F3 F4. _lectors_ F1. _lecturs_ F2.

 324: _and_] om. F3 F4.

 330: _one_] F1 F2. _ones_ F3 F4.

 331: _monstrous_] _most monstrous_ S. Walker conj.

 335: _barks_] _borkes_ F2.

 337: _deifying_] F2 F3 F4. _defying_ F1.

 344: _are_] _art_ F1.

 346: _blue_] _flu_ Becket conj.

 349, 350: _in beard_] F1. _no beard_ F2 F3 F4.

 354. _accoutrements_] Rowe. _accoustrements_ Ff.

 384: _his mad...living_] Ff. _a dying...living_ Johnson conj. _a
 mad...loving_ Id. conj.

     _living humour of madness_] _humour of loving madness_ Farmer
     conj.

 388: _clean_] F1. _cleare_ F2. _cleer_ F3. _clear_ F4.
~~~~~


SCENE III. _The forest._

 _Enter_ TOUCHSTONE _and_ AUDREY; JAQUES _behind_.

_Touch._ Come apace, good Audrey: I will fetch up your
goats, Audrey. And how, Audrey? am I the man yet?
doth my simple feature content you?

_Aud._ Your features! Lord warrant us! what features?

_Touch._ I am here with thee and thy goats, as the most              5
capricious poet, honest Ovid, was among the Goths.

_Jaq._ [_Aside_] O knowledge ill-inhabited, worse than
Jove in a thatched house!

_Touch._ When a man’s verses cannot be understood, nor
a man’s good wit seconded with the forward child, understanding,    10
it strikes a man more dead than a great reckoning
in a little room. Truly, I would the gods had made
thee poetical.

_Aud._ I do not know what ‘poetical’ is: is it honest in
deed and word? is it a true thing?                                  15

_Touch._ No, truly; for the truest poetry is the most
feigning; and lovers are given to poetry, and what they
swear in poetry may be said as lovers they do feign.

_Aud._ Do you wish then that the gods had made me
poetical?                                                           20

_Touch._ I do, truly; for thou swearest to me thou art
honest: now, if thou wert a poet, I might have some hope
thou didst feign.

_Aud._ Would you not have me honest?

_Touch._ No, truly, unless thou wert hard-favoured; for             25
honesty coupled to beauty is to have honey a sauce to sugar.

_Jaq._ [_Aside_] A material fool!

_Aud._ Well, I am not fair; and therefore I pray the
gods make me honest.

_Touch._ Truly, and to cast away honesty upon a foul                30
slut were to put good meat into an unclean dish.

_Aud._ I am not a slut, though I thank the gods I am
foul.

_Touch._ Well, praised be the gods for thy foulness! sluttishness
may come hereafter. But be it as it may be, I will                  35
marry thee, and to that end I have been with Sir Oliver
Martext the vicar of the next village, who hath promised
to meet me in this place of the forest and to couple us.

_Jaq._ [_Aside_] I would fain see this meeting.

_Aud._ Well, the gods give us joy!                                  40

_Touch._ Amen. A man may, if he were of a fearful heart,
stagger in this attempt; for here we have no temple but
the wood, no assembly but horn-beasts. But what though?
Courage! As horns are odious, they are necessary. It is
said, ‘many a man knows no end of his goods:’ right;                45
many a man has good horns, and knows no end of them.
Well, that is the dowry of his wife; ’tis none of his own
getting. Horns?—even so:—poor men alone? No, no; the
noblest deer hath them as huge as the rascal. Is the single
man therefore blessed? No: as a walled town is more worthier        50
than a village, so is the forehead of a married man
more honourable than the bare brow of a bachelor; and by
how much defence is better than no skill, by so much is a
horn more precious than to want. Here comes Sir Oliver.

 _Enter_ SIR OLIVER MARTEXT.

Sir Oliver Martext, you are well met: will you dispatch us          55
here under this tree, or shall we go with you to your chapel?

_Sir Oli._ Is there none here to give the woman?

_Touch._ I will not take her on gift of any man.

_Sir Oli._ Truly, she must be given, or the marriage is
not lawful.                                                         60

_Jaq._ Proceed, proceed: I’ll give her.

_Touch._ Good even, good Master What-ye-call’t: how
do you, sir? You are very well met: God ’ild you for your
last company: I am very glad to see you: even a toy in
hand here, sir: nay, pray be covered.                               65

_Jaq._ Will you be married, motley?

_Touch._ As the ox hath his bow, sir, the horse his curb
and the falcon her bells, so man hath his desires; and as
pigeons bill, so wedlock would be nibbling.

_Jaq._ And will you, being a man of your breeding, be               70
married under a bush like a beggar? Get you to church,
and have a good priest that can tell you what marriage is:
this fellow will but join you together as they join wainscot;
then one of you will prove a shrunk panel, and like green
timber warp, warp.                                                  75

_Touch._ [_Aside_] I am not in the mind but I were better
to be married of him than of another: for he is not like to
marry me well; and not being well married, it will be a
good excuse for me hereafter to leave my wife.

_Jaq._ Go thou with me, and let me counsel thee.                    80

_Touch._ Come, sweet Audrey:
We must be married, or we must live in bawdry.
Farewell, good Master Oliver: not,—

  O sweet Oliver,
  O brave Oliver,                                                   85
Leave me not behind thee:

but,—

  Wind away,
  Begone, I say,
I will not to wedding with thee.

 [_Exeunt Jaques, Touchstone and Audrey._                           90

_Sir Oli._ ’Tis no matter: ne’er a fantastical knave of
them all shall flout me out of my calling.      [_Exit._


~~~~~
 Linenotes: _As You Like It_, III, 3.

 SCENE III.] SCENE IX. Pope.

 ...behind.] om. Ff.

 2: _how_] F1 F2. _now_ F3 F4.

 4: _jeatures!...what features_] _feature!...what’s feature_ Farmer
 conj.

 11: _reckoning_] _reeking_ Hanmer.

 17, 18: _what they...feign_] _what they swear as lovers, they may be
 said to feign as poets_ Johnson conj.

 18: _may_] _it may_ Collier (Mason conj.).

 30: _foul_] _faule_ F2.

 32, 33: _I am foul_] _I am full_ Tyrwhitt conj. _for my foulness_
 Ritson conj.

 41: _may_] _might_ Collier MS.

 43: _horn-beasts_] _horne-beasts_ F1 F2. _horn’d beasts_ S. Walker
 conj.

 48: _Horns?......alone?_] Theobald. _horns, even so poor men alone:_
 Ff. _Horns!, never for poor men alone?_ Singer. _Are horns given to
 poor men alone?_ Collier (Collier MS.). _Horns? ever to poor men
 alone?_ Dyce. _Horns are not for poor men alone._ Spedding conj.

 50: _more_] om. Pope.

 62: _What-ye-call’t_] _What ye call_ Rowe (ed. 2).

 63: _God ’ild_] Theobald. _goddild_ F1. _godild_ F2 F3 F4.

 67: _bow_] _bough_ Capell.

 68: _her_] F1 F2. _his_ F3 F4.

 80: Johnson proposes to place this line after line 82. See note
 (VIII).

 83: _Master_] _Sir_ Warburton.

 83, 84: _not,—O sweet_] _Not, o sweet_ Capell.

 84–86, 88–90: Printed as prose in Ff, as verse by Johnson
 (Warburton conj.).

 86: _behind thee_] _behi’ thee_ Steevens (Farmer conj.)

 87, 88: _but,—Wind_] _But wind_ Capell.

 88: _Wind_] _Wend_ Collier (Johnson conj.).

 90: _with thee_] _wi’ thee_ Steevens (Farmer conj.). _bind thee_
 Collier (Collier MS.). _with thee to-day_ Johnson conj.

     [Exeunt J. T. and A.] Exeunt. Ff (after line 92).
~~~~~


SCENE IV. _The forest._

 _Enter_ ROSALIND _and_ CELIA.

_Ros._ Never talk to me; I will weep.

_Cel._ Do, I prithee; but yet have the grace to consider
that tears do not become a man.

_Ros._ But have I not cause to weep?

_Cel._ As good cause as one would desire; therefore weep.            5

_Ros._ His very hair is of the dissembling colour.

_Cel._ Something browner than Judas’s: marry, his kisses
are Judas’s own children.

_Ros._ I’ faith, his hair is of a good colour.

_Cel._ An excellent colour: your chestnut was ever the              10
only colour.

_Ros._ And his kissing is as full of sanctity as the touch
of holy bread.

_Cel._ He hath bought a pair of cast lips of Diana: a
nun of winter’s sisterhood kisses not more religiously; the         15
very ice of chastity is in them.

_Ros._ But why did he swear he would come this morning,
and comes not?

_Cel._ Nay, certainly, there is no truth in him.

_Ros._ Do you think so?                                             20

_Cel._ Yes; I think he is not a pick-purse nor a horse-stealer,
but for his verity in love, I do think him as concave
as a covered goblet or a worm-eaten nut.

_Ros._ Not true in love?

_Cel._ Yes, when he is in; but I think he is not in.                25

_Ros._ You have heard him swear downright he was.

_Cel._ ‘Was’ is not ‘is:’ besides, the oath of a lover is
no stronger than the word of a tapster; they are both the
confirmer of false reckonings. He attends here in the forest
on the Duke your father.                                            30

_Ros._ I met the Duke yesterday and had much question
with him: he asked me of what parentage I was; I told him,
of as good as he; so he laughed and let me go. But what
talk we of fathers, when there is such a man as Orlando?

_Cel._ O, that’s a brave man! he writes brave verses,               35
speaks brave words, swears brave oaths and breaks them
bravely, quite traverse, athwart the heart of his lover; as a
puisny tilter, that spurs his horse but on one side, breaks
his staff like a noble goose: but all’s brave that youth
mounts and folly guides. Who comes here?                            40

 _Enter_ CORIN.

_Cor._ Mistress and master, you have oft inquired
After the shepherd that complain’d of love,
Who you saw sitting by me on the turf,
Praising the proud disdainful shepherdess
That was his mistress.

_Cel._                 Well, and what of him?                       45

_Cor._ If you will see a pageant truly play’d,
Between the pale complexion of true love
And the red glow of scorn and proud disdain.
Go hence a little and I shall conduct you.
If you will mark it.

_Ros._               O, come, let us remove:                        50
The sight of lovers feedeth those in love.
Bring us to this sight, and you shall say
I ’ll prove a busy actor in their play.        [_Exeunt._


~~~~~
 Linenotes: _As You Like It_, III, 4.

 SCENE IV.] SCENE X. Pope.

 12–16: Ros. _And...bread._ Cel. _He...them_] Ros. _And his
 kissing—_ Cel. _Is as...them._ S. Walker conj.

 13: _bread_] _beard_ Theobald (Warburton).

 14: _cast_] F1. _chast_ F2 F3 F4.

 15: _winter’s_] _Winifred’s_ Theobald conj.

 27: _a lover_] F2 F3 F4. _lover_ F1.

 29: _confirmer_] Ff. _confirmers_ Pope.

 38: _puisny_] Ff. _puny_ Capell. See note (IX).

     _spurs_] _spurnes_ F2.

 39: _noble goose_] _nose-quill’d goose_ Hanmer. _noble joust_ Becket
 conj.

 40: _guides_] _guider_ F2.

 43: _Who_] F1. _Whom_ F2 F3 F4.

 52: _Bring us to_] Ff. _Bring us but to_ Pope. _Come, bring us to_
 Capell. _Bring us unto_ Malone.
~~~~~


SCENE V. _Another part of the forest._

 _Enter_ SILVIUS _and_ PHEBE.

_Sil._ Sweet Phebe, do not scorn me; do not, Phebe;
Say that you love me not, but say not so
In bitterness. The common executioner,
Whose heart the accustom’d sight of death makes hard,
Falls not the axe upon the humbled neck                              5
But first begs pardon: will you sterner be
Than he that dies and lives by bloody drops?

 _Enter_ ROSALIND, CELIA, _and_ CORIN, _behind_.

_Phe._ I would not be thy executioner:
I fly thee, for I would not injure thee.
Thou tell’st me there is murder in mine eye:                        10
’Tis pretty, sure, and very probable,
That eyes, that are the frail’st and softest things,
Who shut their coward gates on atomies,
Should be call’d tyrants, butchers, murderers!
Now I do frown on thee with all my heart;                           15
And if mine eyes can wound, now let them kill thee:
Now counterfeit to swoon; why now fall down;
Or if thou canst not, O, for shame, for shame,
Lie not, to say mine eyes are murderers!
Now show the wound mine eye hath made in thee:                      20
Scratch thee but with a pin, and there remains
Some scar of it; lean but upon a rush,
The cicatrice and capable impressure
Thy palm some moment keeps; but now mine eyes,
Which I have darted at thee, hurt thee not,                         25
Nor, I am sure, there is no force in eyes
That can do hurt.

_Sil._            O dear Phebe,
If ever,—as that ever may be near,—
You meet in some fresh cheek the power of fancy.
Then shall you know the wounds invisible                            30
That love’s keen arrows make.

_Phe._                        But till that time
Come not thou near me: and when that time comes,
Afflict me with thy mocks, pity me not;
As till that time I shall not pity thee.

_Ros._ And why, I pray you? Who might be your mother,               35
That you insult, exult, and all at once,
Over the wretched? What though you have no beauty,—
As, by my faith, I see no more in you
Than without candle may go dark to bed,—
Must you be therefore proud and pitiless?                           40
Why, what means this? Why do you look on me?
I see no more in you than in the ordinary
Of nature’s sale-work. ’Od’s my little life,
I think she means to tangle my eyes too!
No, faith, proud mistress, hope not after it:                       45
’Tis not your inky brows, your black silk hair,
Your bugle eyeballs, nor your cheek of cream,
That can entame my spirits to your worship.
You foolish shepherd, wherefore do you follow her,
Like foggy south, puffing with wind and rain?                       50
You are a thousand times a properer man
Than she a woman: ’tis such fools as you
That makes the world full of ill-favoured children:
’Tis not her glass, but you, that flatters her;
And out of you she sees herself more proper                         55
Than any of her lineaments can show her.
But, mistress, know yourself: down on your knees,
And thank heaven, fasting, for a good man’s love:
For I must tell you friendly in your ear,
Sell when you can: you are not for all markets:                     60
Cry the man mercy; love him; take his offer:
Foul is most foul, being foul to be a scoffer.
So take her to thee, shepherd: fare you well.

_Phe._ Sweet youth, I pray you, chide a year together:
I had rather hear you chide than this man woo.                      65

_Ros._ He’s fallen in love with your foulness and she’ll
fall in love with my anger. If it be so, as fast as she
answers thee with frowning looks, I’ll sauce her with bitter
words. Why look you so upon me?

_Phe._ For no ill will I bear you.                                  70

_Ros._ I pray you, do not fall in love with me,
For I am falser than vows made in wine:
Besides, I like you not. If you will know my house,
’Tis at the tuft of olives here hard by.
Will you go, sister? Shepherd, ply her hard.                        75
Come, sister. Shepherdess, look on him better,
And be not proud: though all the world could see,
None could be so abused in sight as he.
Come, to our flock.        [_Exeunt Rosalind, Celia and Corin._

_Phe._ Dead shepherd, now I find thy saw of might,                  80
‘Who ever loved that loved not at first sight?’

_Sil._ Sweet Phebe,—

_Phe._                     Ha, what say’st thou, Silvius?

_Sil._ Sweet Phebe, pity me.

_Phe._ Why, I am sorry for thee, gentle Silvius.

_Sil._ Wherever sorrow is, relief would be:                         85
If you do sorrow at my grief in love,
By giving love your sorrow and my grief
Were both extermined.

_Phe._ Thou hast my love: is not that neighbourly?

_Sil._ I would have you.

_Phe._                   Why, that were covetousness.               90
Silvius, the time was that I hated thee,
And yet it is not that I bear thee love;
But since that thou canst talk of love so well,
Thy company, which erst was irksome to me,
I will endure, and I ’ll employ thee too:                           95
But do not look for further recompense
Than thine own gladness that thou art employ’d.

_Sil._ So holy and so perfect is my love,
And I in such a poverty of grace,
That I shall think it a most plenteous crop                        100
To glean the broken ears after the man
That the main harvest reaps: loose now and then
A scatter’d smile, and that I’ll live upon.

_Phe._ Know’st thou the youth that spoke to me erewhile?

_Sil._ Not very well, but I have met him oft;                      105
And he hath bought the cottage and the bounds
That the old carlot once was master of.

_Phe._ Think not I love him, though I ask for him;
’Tis but a peevish boy; yet he talks well;
But what care I for words? yet words do well                       110
When he that speaks them pleases those that hear.
It is a pretty youth: not very pretty:
But, sure, he’s proud, and yet his pride becomes him:
He’ll make a proper man: the best thing in him
Is his complexion; and faster than his tongue                      115
Did make offence his eye did heal it up.
He is not very tall; yet for his years he’s tall:
His leg is but so so; and yet ’tis well:
There was a pretty redness in his lip,
A little riper and more lusty red                                  120
Than that mix’d in his cheek; ’twas just the difference
Betwixt the constant red and mingled damask.
There be some women, Silvius, had they mark’d him
In parcels as I did, would have gone near
To fall in love with him: but, for my part,                        125
I love him not nor hate him not; and yet
I have more cause to hate him than to love him:
For what had he to do to chide at me?
He said mine eyes were black and my hair black;
And, now I am remember’d, scorn’d at me:                           130
I marvel why I answer’d not again:
But that’s all one; omittance is no quittance.
I’ll write to him a very taunting letter,
And thou shalt bear it: wilt thou, Silvius?

_Sil._ Phebe, with all my heart.

_Phe._                           I’ll write it straight;           135
The matter’s in my head and in my heart:
I will be bitter with him and passing short.
Go with me, Silvius.            [_Exeunt._


~~~~~
 Linenotes: _As You Like It_, III, 5.

 SCENE V.] SCENE XI. Pope.

 1: _Phebe;_] Rowe. _Phebe_ F1 F2. _Phebe,_ F3 F4.

 7: _dies and lives_] Ff. _deals and lives_ Theobald (Warburton).
 _lives and thrives_ Hanmer. _dies his lips_ Johnson conj. _daily
 lives_ Heath conj. _eyes, and lives_ Capell. _dyes, and lives_
 Steevens. _lives and dies_ Tollet conj. _dines and lives_ Collier.
 _kills and lives_ Collier MS.

     _drops_] _props_ F2.

     ...behind] om. Ff.

 11: _pretty, sure_] Theobald. _pretty sure_ Ff.

 17: _swoon_] _swound_ Ff.

 22: _but_] om. F1.

 23: _capable_] Ff. _palpable_ Singer.

 26: _Nor_] _Now_ De Quincey MS.

 27: _O dear_] _O my dear_ Hanmer.

 29: _meet_] F1 _met_ F2 F3 F4.

 35: [Advancing. Capell.

 36: _and all at once_] _and rail at once_ Theobald (Warburton). _and
 domineer_ Hanmer. _à l’outrecuidance_ Forbes conj.

 37: _have no_] _have_ Theobald (L. H. conj.). _have some_ Hanmer.
 _had more_ Mason conj. _have mo_ Malone.

 37, 38: _no...As_] _more... Yet_ De Quincey MS.

 44: _my_] F1. _mine_ F2 F3 F4.

 46: _black silk_] _black-silk_ Capell.

 48: _entame_] _entraine_ Warburton conj.

 53: _makes_] _make_ Pope.

 54: _flatters_] _flatter_ Pope.

 62: _being foul_] _being found_ Warburton.

 66–69: Printed in Ff as four lines, ending
 _she’ll...fast...sauce...me?_ as prose by Pope.

 66: _your_] _her_ Hanmer.

 79: _Come, to_] F1 F2. _Come to_ F3 F4.

     [Exeunt...] Exit. Ff.

 80: _Dead_] F1. _Deed_ F2 F3 F4. _’Deed,_ Hanmer.

 99: _I in_] F1. _in_ F2. om. F3 F4.

     _And...grace_] _And such a poverty of grace attends it_ Rowe.

 102: _loose_] F1 F2 F3. _lose_ F4.

 104: _erewhile_] F4. _yerewhile_ F1 F2 F3.

 107: _carlot_] _Carlot_ Ff (in italics).

 117: _very_] om. Capell.

 127: _I have_] F2 F3 F4. _Have_ F1. _Have much_ Staunton conj.

 137: _and_] om. Capell.
~~~~~




ACT IV.


SCENE I. _The forest._

 _Enter_ ROSALIND, CELIA, _and_ JAQUES.

_Jaq._ I prithee, pretty youth, let me be better acquainted
with thee.

_Ros._ They say you are a melancholy fellow.

_Jaq._ I am so; I do love it better than laughing.

_Ros._ Those that are in extremity of either are abominable          5
fellows, and betray themselves to every modern censure
worse than drunkards.

_Jaq._ Why, ’tis good to be sad and say nothing.

_Ros._ Why then, ’tis good to be a post.

_Jaq._ I have neither the scholar’s melancholy, which is            10
emulation; nor the musician’s, which is fantastical; nor the
courtier’s, which is proud; nor the soldier’s, which is ambitious;
nor the lawyer’s, which is politic; nor the lady’s,
which is nice; nor the lover’s, which is all these: but it is a
melancholy of mine own, compounded of many simples, extracted       15
from many objects; and indeed the sundry contemplation
of my travels, in which my often rumination
wraps me in a most humorous sadness.

_Ros._ A traveller! By my faith, you have great reason
to be sad: I fear you have sold your own lands to see               20
other men’s; then, to have seen much, and to have nothing,
is to have rich eyes and poor hands.

_Jaq._ Yes, I have gained my experience.

_Ros._ And your experience makes you sad: I had rather
have a fool to make me merry than experience to make me             25
sad; and to travel for it too!

 _Enter_ ORLANDO.

_Orl._ Good day and happiness, dear Rosalind!

_Jaq._ Nay, then, God buy you, an you talk in blank
verse.                 [_Exit._

_Ros._ Farewell, Monsieur Traveller: look you lisp and              30
wear strange suits; disable all the benefits of your own
country; be out of love with your nativity and almost
chide God for making you that countenance you are; or I
will scarce think you have swam in a gondola. Why, how
now, Orlando! where have you been all this while? You               35
a lover! An you serve me such another trick, never come
in my sight more.

_Orl._ My fair Rosalind, I come within an hour of my
promise.

_Ros._ Break an hour’s promise in love! He that will                40
divide a minute into a thousand parts, and break but a part
of the thousandth part of a minute in the affairs of love, it
may be said of him that Cupid hath clapped him o’ the
shoulder, but I ’ll warrant him heart-whole.

_Orl._ Pardon me, dear Rosalind.                                    45

_Ros._ Nay, an you be so tardy, come no more in my
sight: I had as lief be wooed of a snail.

_Orl._ Of a snail?

_Ros._ Ay, of a snail; for though he comes slowly, he carries
his house on his head; a better jointure, I think, than             50
you make a woman: besides, he brings his destiny with him.

_Orl._ What’s that?

_Ros._ Why, horns, which such as you are fain to be
beholding to your wives for: but he comes armed in his
fortune and prevents the slander of his wife.                       55

_Orl._ Virtue is no horn-maker; and my Rosalind is virtuous.

_Ros._ And I am your Rosalind.

_Cel._ It pleases him to call you so; but he hath a Rosalind
of a better leer than you.                                          60

_Ros._ Come, woo me, woo me; for now I am in a holiday
humour and like enough to consent. What would you say
to me now, an I were your very very Rosalind?

_Orl._ I would kiss before I spoke.

_Ros._ Nay, you were better speak first; and when you               65
were gravelled for lack of matter, you might take occasion
to kiss. Very good orators, when they are out, they will
spit; and for lovers lacking,—God warn us!—matter, the
cleanliest shift is to kiss.

_Orl._ How if the kiss be denied?                                   70

_Ros._ Then she puts you to entreaty and there begins
new matter.

_Orl_ Who could be out, being before his beloved mistress?

_Ros._ Marry, that should you, if I were your mistress,
or I should think my honesty ranker than my wit.                    75

_Orl._ What, of my suit?

_Ros._ Not out of your apparel, and yet out of your suit.
Am not I your Rosalind?

_Orl._ I take some joy to say you are, because I would
be talking of her.                                                  80

_Ros._ Well in her person I say I will not have you.

_Orl._ Then in mine own person I die.

_Ros._ No, faith, die by attorney. The poor world is
almost six thousand years old, and in all this time there
was not any man died in his own person, videlicet, in a             85
love-cause. Troilus had his brains dashed out with a
Grecian club; yet he did what he could to die before, and
he is one of the patterns of love. Leander, he would have
lived many a fair year, though Hero had turned nun, if it
had not been for a hot midsummer night; for, good youth,            90
he went but forth to wash him in the Hellespont and
being taken with the cramp was drowned: and the foolish
chroniclers of that age found it was ‘Hero of Sestos.’ But
these are all lies: men have died from time to time and
worms have eaten them, but not for love.                            95

_Orl._ I would not have my right Rosalind of this mind;
for, I protest, her frown might kill me.

_Ros._ By this hand, it will not kill a fly. But come,
now I will be your Rosalind in a more coming-on disposition,
and ask me what you will, I will grant it.                         100

_Orl._ Then love me, Rosalind.

_Ros._ Yes, faith, will I, Fridays and Saturdays and all.

_Orl._ And wilt thou have me?

_Ros._ Ay, and twenty such.

_Orl._ What sayest thou?                                           105

_Ros._ Are you not good?

_Orl._ I hope so.

_Ros._ Why then, can one desire too much of a good thing?
Come, sister, you shall be the priest and marry us. Give
me your hand, Orlando. What do you say, sister?                    110

_Orl._ Pray thee, marry us.

_Cel._ I cannot say the words.

_Ros._ You must begin, ‘Will you, Orlando—’

_Cel._ Go to. Will you, Orlando, have to wife this
Rosalind?                                                          115

_Orl._ I will.

_Ros._ Ay, but when?

_Orl._ Why now; as fast as she can marry us.

_Ros._ Then you must say ‘I take thee, Rosalind, for
wife.’                                                             120

_Orl._ I take thee, Rosalind, for wife.

_Ros._ I might ask you for your commission; but I do
take thee, Orlando, for my husband: there’s a girl goes
before the priest; and certainly a woman’s thought runs
before her actions.                                                125

_Orl._ So do all thoughts; they are winged.

_Ros._ Now tell me how long you would have her after
you have possessed her.

_Orl._ For ever and a day.

_Ros._ Say ‘a day,’ without the ‘ever’. No, no, Orlando;           130
men are April when they woo, December when they wed:
maids are May when they are maids, but the sky changes
when they are wives. I will be more jealous of thee than
a Barbary cock-pigeon over his hen, more clamorous than
a parrot against rain, more new-fangled than an ape, more          135
giddy in my desires than a monkey: I will weep for nothing,
like Diana in the fountain, and I will do that when
you are disposed to be merry; I will laugh like a hyen, and
that when thou art inclined to sleep.

_Orl._ But will my Rosalind do so?                                 140

_Ros._ By my life, she will do as I do.

_Orl._ O, but she is wise.

_Ros._ Or else she could not have the wit to do this: the
wiser, the waywarder: make the doors upon a woman’s wit
and it will out at the casement; shut that and ’twill out at       145
the key-hole; stop that, ’twill fly with the smoke out at the
chimney.

_Orl._ A man that had a wife with such a wit, he might
say ‘Wit, whither wilt?’

_Ros._ Nay, you might keep that check for it till you              150
met your wife’s wit going to your neighbour’s bed.

_Orl._ And what wit could wit have to excuse that?

_Ros._ Marry, to say she came to seek you there. You
shall never take her without her answer, unless you take
her without her tongue. O, that woman that cannot make             155
her fault her husband’s occasion, let her never nurse her
child herself, for she will breed it like a fool!

_Orl._ For these two hours, Rosalind, I will leave thee.

_Ros._ Alas, dear love, I cannot lack thee two hours!

_Orl._ I must attend the Duke at dinner: by two o’clock            160
I will be with thee again.

_Ros._ Ay, go your ways, go your ways; I knew what
you would prove: my friends told me as much, and I
thought no less: that flattering tongue of yours won me:
’tis but one cast away, and so, come, death! Two o’clock           165
is your hour?

_Orl._ Ay, sweet Rosalind.

_Ros._ By my troth, and in good earnest, and so God
mend me, and by all pretty oaths that are not dangerous,
if you break one jot of your promise or come one minute            170
behind your hour, I will think you the most pathetical
break-promise and the most hollow lover and the most
unworthy of her you call Rosalind that may be chosen out
of the gross band of the unfaithful: therefore beware my
censure and keep your promise.                                     175

_Orl._ With no less religion than if thou wert indeed my
Rosalind: so adieu.

_Ros._ Well, Time is the old justice that examines all
such offenders, and let Time try: adieu.        [_Exit Orlando._

_Cel._ You have simply misused our sex in your love-prate:         180
we must have your doublet and hose plucked over your head,
and show the world what the bird hath done to her own nest.

_Ros._ O coz, coz, coz, my pretty little coz, that thou
didst know how many fathom deep I am in love! But it
cannot be sounded: my affection hath an unknown bottom,            185
like the bay of Portugal.

_Cel._ Or rather, bottomless; that as fast as you pour
affection in, it runs out.

_Ros._ No, that same wicked bastard of Venus that was
begot of thought, conceived of spleen and born of madness,         190
that blind rascally boy that abuses every one’s eyes
because his own are out, let him be judge how deep I am
in love. I’ll tell thee, Aliena, I cannot be out of the sight
of Orlando: I’ll go find a shadow and sigh till he come.

_Cel._ And I’ll sleep.                       [_Exeunt._            195


~~~~~
 Linenotes: _As You Like It_, IV, 1.

 1: _be_] om. F1.

 17: _in which my_] _and which by_ Malone.

     _my_] _by_ F1.

 18: _in_] _is_ Steevens.

 23: _my_] om. Rowe. _me_ Warburton.

 26: Enter...] Ff (after line 23).

 28: Jaq.] Orl. F2.

     _buy_] Ff. _b’w’y_ Rowe.

 29: [Exit.] F2 F3 F4. om. F1. [Exit Jaques. Dyce, after
 _gondola_, line 34.

 34: _gondola_] Pope. _gundello_ Ff. _gondallo_ Rowe.

 42: _thousandth_] Rowe. _thousand_ Ff.

 51: _make_] _can make_ Hanmer.

 54: _beholding_] _beholden_ Pope.

     _comes_] F1 F4. _come_ F2 F3.

     _in his_] _against_ Anon. conj.

 55: _fortune_] _forehead_ Anon. conj.

 60: _leer_] _lure_ Becket conj.

 65: Ros.] Orl. F2.

 68: _warn_] _ward_ Steevens conj. _warr’nt_ Anon. conj.

 75: _think...ranker_] _thank...rather_ Collier (Collier MS.).

 76: _of_] _out of_ Collier MS.

 82: _die_] F1 F4. _doe_ F2 F3.

 86: _brains_] F1. _brain_ F2 F3 F4.

 91: _him_] F1. om. F2 F3 F4.

 93: _chroniclers_] F2 F3 F4. _chronoclers_ F1. _coroners_ Hanmer
 (Anon. conj.).

     _Sestos_] _Cestos_ F1.

 117: _Ay_] om. F3 F4.

 119: Ros.] Cel. Anon. conj.

 122: _I...commission_] Printed as a verse in Ff.

 123: _there’s_] _there_ Steevens (Farmer conj.). _thus_ Lloyd conj.

 139: _thou art_] _you are_ Rowe (ed. 2).

     _sleep_] _weep_ Warburton.

 144: _doors_] _doors fast_ Rowe (ed. 2).

 146: _’twill_] _it will_ F4.

 149: _wilt_] F3 F4. _wil’t_ F1 F2.

 156: _occasion_] _accusation_ Hanmer. _accusing_ Collier (Collier
 MS.). _confusion_ Staunton conj.

 157: _she will...like a fool_] _she’ll...a fool_ Capell.

 171: _pathetical_] _atheistical_ Warburton. _jesuitical_ Grey conj.

 179: _try_] _try you_ Collier MS.

 180: SCENE III. Pope.

 188: _it_] _in_ F1.

 193: _I’ll tell_] _I tell_ Edd. conj.

 194: _Orlando_] _Orland_ F2.
~~~~~


SCENE II. _The forest._

 _Enter_ JAQUES, Lords, _and_ Foresters.

_Jaq._ Which is he that killed the deer?

_A Lord._ Sir, it was I.

_Jaq._ Let’s present him to the Duke, like a Roman conqueror;
and it would do well to set the deer’s horns upon
his head, for a branch of victory. Have you no song,                 5
forester, for this purpose?

_For._ Yes, sir.

SCENE II.] SCENE IV. Pope.

Enter...] Rowe. Enter Jaques and
Lords, Forresters. Ff. Enter J. and
Lords, in the habit of foresters. Steevens.

_Jaq._ Sing it: ’tis no matter how it be in tune, so it
make noise enough.

SONG.

_For._ What shall he have that kill’d the deer?                     10
His leather skin and horns to wear.
            Then sing him home:
 [_The rest shall bear this burden._
Take thou no scorn to wear the horn;
It was a crest ere thou wast born:
            Thy father’s father wore it,                            15
            And thy father bore it:
The horn, the horn, the lusty horn
Is not a thing to laugh to scorn.               [_Exeunt._


~~~~~
 Linenotes: _As You Like It_, IV, 2.

 2: A Lord] Lord. Ff. 1 F. Capell. 1 Lord. Malone.

 7: For.] Rowe. Lord. Ff. 2 F. Capell. 2 Lord. Malone.

 10: SONG.] Musicke, Song. Ff.

 12: _Then sing him home_] See note (X).

 13: _the horn_] _the horn, the horn, the horn_ Theobald. _the horn,
 the lusty horn_ Capell.

 16: _And thy father_] _And thy own father_ Hanmer. _Ay, and thy_ or
 _Ay, and his_ Capell conj.
~~~~~


SCENE III. _The forest._

 _Enter_ ROSALIND _and_ CELIA.

_Ros._ How say you now? Is it not past two o’clock?
and here much Orlando!

_Cel._ I warrant you, with pure love and troubled brain,
he hath ta’en his bow and arrows and is gone forth to
sleep. Look, who comes here.                                         5

 _Enter_ SILVIUS.

_Sil._ My errand is to you, fair youth;
My gentle Phebe bid me give you this:
I know not the contents; but, as I guess
By the stern brow and waspish action
Which she did use as she was writing of it,                         10
It bears an angry tenour: pardon me;
I am but as a guiltless messenger.

_Ros._ Patience herself would startle at this letter
And play the swaggerer; bear this, bear all:
She says I am not fair, that I lack manners;                        15
She calls me proud, and that she could not love me,
Were man as rare as phœnix. ’Od’s my will!
Her love is not the hare that I do hunt:
Why writes she so to me? Well, shepherd, well,
This is a letter of your own device.                                20

_Sil._ No, I protest, I know not the contents:
Phebe did write it.

_Ros._              Come, come, you are a fool,
And turn’d into the extremity of love.
I saw her hand: she has a leathern hand,
A freestone-colour’d hand; I verily did think                       25
That her old gloves were on, but ’twas her hands:
She has a huswife’s hand; but that’s no matter:
I say she never did invent this letter;
This is a man’s invention and his hand.

_Sil._ Sure, it is hers.                                            30

_Ros._ Why, ’tis a boisterous and a cruel style,
A style for challengers; why, she defies me,
Like Turk to Christian: women’s gentle brain
Could not drop forth such giant-rude invention,
Such Ethiope words, blacker in their effect                         35
Than in their countenance. Will you hear the letter?

_Sil._ So please you, for I never heard it yet;
Yet heard too much of Phebe’s cruelty.

_Ros._ She Phebes me: mark how the tyrant writes.

 [_Reads._

Art thou god to shepherd turn’d,                                    40
That a maiden’s heart hath burn’d?
Can a woman rail thus?

_Sil._ Call you this railing?

_Ros._ [_reads_

Why, thy godhead laid apart,
Warr’st thou with a woman’s heart?                                  45

Did you ever hear such railing?

Whiles the eye of man did woo me,
That could do no vengeance to me.

Meaning me a beast.

If the scorn of your bright eyne                                    50
Have power to raise such love in mine,
Alack, in me what strange effect
Would they work in mild aspect!
Whiles you chid me, I did love;
How then might your prayers move!                                   55
He that brings this love to thee
Little knows this love in me:
And by him seal up thy mind;
Whether that thy youth and kind
Will the faithful offer take                                        60
Of me and all that I can make;
Or else by him my love deny,
And then I’ll study how to die.

_Sil._ Call you this chiding?

_Cel._ Alas, poor shepherd!                                         65

_Ros._ Do you pity him? no, he deserves no pity. Wilt
thou love such a woman? What, to make thee an instrument
and play false strains upon thee! not to be endured!
Well, go your way to her, for I see love hath made thee a
tame snake, and say this to her: that if she love me, I             70
charge her to love thee; if she will not, I will never have
her unless thou entreat for her. If you be a true lover,
hence, and not a word; for here comes more company.

 [_Exit Silvius._

 _Enter_ OLIVER.

_Oli._ Good morrow, fair ones: pray you, if you know,
Where in the purlieus of this forest stands                         75
A sheep-cote fenced about with olive-trees?

_Cel._ West of this place, down in the neighbour bottom:
The rank of osiers by the murmuring stream
Left on your right hand brings you to the place.
But at this hour the house doth keep itself;                        80
There’s none within.

_Oli._ If that an eye may profit by a tongue,
Then should I know you by description;
Such garments and such years: ‘The boy is fair,
Of female favour, and bestows himself                               85
Like a ripe sister: the woman low,
And browner than her brother.’ Are not you
The owner of the house I did inquire for?

_Cel._ It is no boast, being ask’d, to say we are.

_Oli._ Orlando doth commend him to you both,                        90
And to that youth he calls his Rosalind
He sends this bloody napkin. Are you he?

_Ros._ I am: what must we understand by this?

_Oli._ Some of my shame; if you will know of me
What man I am, and how, and why, and where                          95
This handkercher was stain’d.

_Cel._                        I pray you, tell it.

_Oli._ When last the young Orlando parted from you
He left a promise to return again
Within an hour, and pacing through the forest,
Chewing the food of sweet and bitter fancy,                        100
Lo, what befel! he threw his eye aside,
And mark what object did present itself:
Under an oak, whose boughs were moss’d with age
And high top bald with dry antiquity,
A wretched ragged man, o’ergrown with hair,                        105
Lay sleeping on his back: about his neck
A green and gilded snake had wreathed itself,
Who with her head nimble in threats approach’d
The opening of his mouth; but suddenly,
Seeing Orlando, it unlink’d itself,                                110
And with indented glides did slip away
Into a bush: under which bush’s shade
A lioness, with udders all drawn dry,
Lay couching, head on ground, with catlike watch,
When that the sleeping man should stir; for ’tis                   115
The royal disposition of that beast
To prey on nothing that doth seem as dead:
This seen, Orlando did approach the man
And found it was his brother, his elder brother.

_Cel._ O, I have heard him speak of that same brother;             120
And he did render him the most unnatural
That lived amongst men.

_Oli._                  And well he might so do,
For well I know he was unnatural.

_Ros._ But, to Orlando: did he leave him there,
Food to the suck’d and hungry lioness?                             125

_Oil._ Twice did he turn his back and purposed so;
But kindness, nobler ever than revenge,
And nature, stronger than his just occasion,
Made him give battle to the lioness,
Who quickly fell before him: in which hurtling                     130
From miserable slumber I awaked.

_Cel._ Are you his brother?

_Ros._                      Was’t you he rescued?

_Cel._ Was’t you that did so oft contrive to kill him?

_Oli._ ’Twas I; but ’tis not I: I do not shame
To tell you what I was, since my conversion                        135
So sweetly tastes, being the thing I am.

_Ros._ But, for the bloody napkin?

_Oli._                             By and by.
When from the first to last betwixt us two
Tears our recountments had most kindly bathed,
As how I came into that desert place;                              140
In brief, he led me to the gentle Duke,
Who gave me fresh array and entertainment,
Committing me unto my brother’s love;
Who led me instantly unto his cave,
There stripp’d himself, and here upon his arm                      145
The lioness had torn some flesh away,
Which all this while had bled; and now he fainted
And cried, in fainting, upon Rosalind.
Brief, I recover’d him, bound up his wound;
And, after some small space, being strong at heart,                150
He sent me hither, stranger as I am,
To tell this story, that you might excuse
His broken promise, and to give this napkin,
Dyed in his blood, unto the shepherd youth
That he in sport doth call his Rosalind.   [_Rosalind swoons._     155

_Cel._ Why, how now, Ganymede! sweet Ganymede!

_Oli._ Many will swoon when they do look on blood.

_Cel._ There is more in it. Cousin Ganymede!

_Oli._ Look, he recovers.

_Ros._ I would I were at home.

_Cel._                         We’ll lead you thither.             160
I pray you, will you take him by the arm?

_Oli._ Be of good cheer, youth: you a man! you lack
a man’s heart.

_Ros._ I do so, I confess it. Ah, sirrah, a body would
think this was well counterfeited! I pray you, tell your           165
brother how well I counterfeited. Heigh-ho!

_Oli._ This was not counterfeit: there is too great testimony
in your complexion that it was a passion of earnest.

_Ros._ Counterfeit, I assure you.

_Oli._ Well then, take a good heart and counterfeit to             170
be a man.

_Ros._ So I do: but, i’faith, I should have been a woman
by right.

_Cel._ Come, you look paler and paler: pray you, draw
homewards. Good sir, go with us.                                   175

_Oli._ That will I, for I must bear answer back
How you excuse my brother, Rosalind.

_Ros._ I shall devise something: but, I pray you, commend
my counterfeiting to him. Will you go?          [_Exeunt._


~~~~~
 Linenotes: _As You Like It_, IV, 3.

 SCENE III.] SCENE V. Pope.

 1–5: _How...here_] Printed in Ff as five lines, ending
 _clock...Orlando...brain...forth...here._

 2: _and here much Orlando_] Ff. _I wonder much Orlando is not
 here_ Pope. _and how much Orlando comes?_ Capell. _and here’s much
 Orlando_ Steevens. _and here’s no Orlando_ Ritson conj. _and here
 mute is Orlando_ Jackson conj.

 5: Enter...] Ff (after line 3).

 7: _bid_] F2 F3 F4. _did bid_ F1.

 8: _know_] F1. _knew_ F2 F3 F4.

 11: _tenour_] Theobald. _tenure_ Ff.

 18: _do_] F1. _did_ F2 F3 F4.

 22: _Phebe did write it_] _Phebe did write it, with her own fair
 hand_ Mason conj.

 23: _turn’d into_] _turned in_ Capell conj. _turn’d so in the_ Id.
 conj.

 26: _on_] F1 F4. _one_ F2 F3.

 33: _women’s_] Ff. _woman’s_ Rowe.

 54: _chid_] _chide_ Rowe.

 57: _this_] _that_ Rowe (ed. 2).

 68: _strains_] F1. _strings_ F2 F3 F4.

 70: _snake_] _sneak_ Becket conj.

 79: _brings_] F1. _bring_ F2 F3 F4.

 85: _and_] _but_ Lettsom conj.

 86: _ripe sister_] _right forester_ Lettsom conj.

     _the_] F1 _but the_ F2 F3 F4.

 88: _owner_] _owners_ Capell conj.

 92: _this_] _kis_ Warbuton.

 96: _handkercher_] _handkerchief_ Rowe.

 99: _an hour_] _two hours_ Hanmer.

 100: _food_] _cud_ Staunton.

 103: _oak_] Pope. _old oake_ Ff.

 112: _which_] F1. _whose_ F2 F3 F4.

 122: _amongst_] _’mongst_ Rowe (ed. 2).

 132: _Was’t you he rescued_] _Was’t...rescu’d_ Ff. _Was
 it...rescu’d_ Warburton.

 140: _As how_] _As, how_ Reed. After this line Capell supposes two
 lines to be lost, e.g. _How, in that habit; what my state, what his;
 And whose the service he was now engag’d in._

 141: _In_] F2 F3 F4. _I_ F1.

 154: _his_] F2 F3 F4. _this_ F1.

 155: [R. swoons.] om. Ff.

 158: _There is more in it_] F1 F2. _There is no more in it_ F3
 F4. _There is no more in ’t_ Pope.

     _Cousin Ganymede!_] _Cosen Ganimed._ Ff. (_cosin_ F4).
     _Cousin—Ganymed!_ Johnson.

 160: _I would_] _Would_ Pope.

 164: _sirrah_] _sirra_ Ff. _sir_ Pope. See note (XI).

 168: _a passion_] F1. _passion_ F2 F3 F4.
~~~~~




ACT V.


SCENE I. _The forest._

 _Enter_ TOUCHSTONE _and_ AUDREY.

_Touch._ We shall find a time, Audrey; patience, gentle
Audrey.

_Aud._ Faith, the priest was good enough, for all the old
gentleman’s saying.

_Touch._ A most wicked Sir Oliver, Audrey, a most vile               5
Martext. But, Audrey, there is a youth here in the forest
lays claim to you.

_Aud._ Ay, I know who ’tis: he hath no interest in me
in the world: here comes the man you mean.

_Touch._ It is meat and drink to me to see a clown: by              10
my troth, we that have good wits have much to answer for;
we shall be flouting; we cannot hold.

 _Enter_ WILLIAM.

_Will._ Good even, Audrey.

_Aud._ God ye good even, William.

_Will._ And good even to you, sir.                                  15

_Touch._ Good even, gentle friend. Cover thy head, cover
thy head; nay, prithee, be covered. How old are you, friend?

_Will._ Five and twenty, sir.

_Touch._ A ripe age. Is thy name William?

_Will._ William, sir.                                               20

_Touch._ A fair name. Wast born i’ the forest here?

_Will._ Ay, sir, I thank God.

_Touch._ ‘Thank God;’ a good answer. Art rich?

_Will._ Faith, sir, so so.

_Touch._ ‘So so’ is good, very good, very excellent good;           25
and yet it is not; it is but so so. Art thou wise?

_Will._ Ay, sir, I have a pretty wit.

_Touch._ Why, thou sayest well. I do now remember a
saying, ‘The fool doth think he is wise, but the wise man
knows himself to be a fool.’ The heathen philosopher, when          30
he had a desire to eat a grape, would open his lips when he
put it into his mouth; meaning thereby that grapes were
made to eat and lips to open. You do love this maid?

_Will._ I do, sir.

_Touch._ Give me your hand. Art thou learned?                       35

_Will._ No, sir.

_Touch._ Then learn this of me: to have, is to have; for
it is a figure in rhetoric that drink, being poured out of a
cup into a glass, by filling the one doth empty the other;
for all your writers do consent that ipse is he: now, you are       40
not ipse, for I am he.

_Will._ Which he, sir?

_Touch._ He, sir, that must marry this woman. Therefore,
you clown, abandon,—which is in the vulgar leave,—
the society,—which in the boorish is company,—of this               45
female,—which in the common is woman; which together
is, abandon the society of this female, or, clown, thou
perishest; or, to thy better understanding, diest; or, to wit,
I kill thee, make thee away, translate thy life into death,
thy liberty into bondage: I will deal in poison with thee,          50
or in bastinado, or in steel; I will bandy with thee in faction;
I will o’er-run thee with policy; I will kill thee a hundred
and fifty ways: therefore tremble, and depart.

_Aud._ Do, good William.

_Will._ God rest you merry, sir.           [_Exit._                 55

 _Enter_ CORIN.

_Cor._ Our master and mistress seeks you; come, away,
away!

_Touch._ Trip, Audrey! trip, Audrey! I attend, I attend.

 [_Exeunt._


~~~~~
 Linenotes: _As You Like It_, V, 1.

 29: _wise man_] _wiseman_ Ff. See note (III).

 34: _sir_] _sit_ F1.

 48: _or, to wit_] _to wit_ Steevens (Farmer conj.).

 52: _policy_] F2 F3 F4. _police_ F1.

 56: _seeks_] F3 F4. _seekes_ F1 F2. _seek_ Rowe.
~~~~~


SCENE II. _The forest._

 _Enter_ ORLANDO _and_ OLIVER.

_Orl._ Is’t possible that on so little acquaintance you
should like her? that but seeing you should love her?
and loving woo? and, wooing, she should grant? and will
you persever to enjoy her?

_Oli._ Neither call the giddiness of it in question, the             5
poverty of her, the small acquaintance, my sudden wooing,
nor her sudden consenting; but say with me, I love Aliena;
say with her that she loves me; consent with both that we
may enjoy each other: it shall be to your good; for my
father’s house and all the revenue that was old Sir Rowland’s       10
will I estate upon you, and here live and die a shepherd.

_Orl._ You have my consent. Let your wedding be to-morrow:
thither will I invite the Duke and all’s contented
followers. Go you and prepare Aliena; for look you, here
comes my Rosalind.                                                  15

 _Enter_ ROSALIND.

_Ros._ God save you, brother.

_Oli._ And you, fair sister.         [_Exit._

_Ros._ O, my dear Orlando, how it grieves me to see
thee wear thy heart in a scarf!

_Orl._ It is my arm.                                                20

_Ros._ I thought thy heart had been wounded with the
claws of a lion.

_Orl._ Wounded it is, but with the eyes of a lady.

_Ros._ Did your brother tell you how I counterfeited to
swoon when he showed me your handkercher?                           25

_Orl._ Ay, and greater wonders than that.

_Ros._ O, I know where you are: nay, ’tis true: there
was never any thing so sudden but the fight of two rams,
and Cæsar’s thrasonical brag of ‘I came, saw, and overcame:’
for your brother and my sister no sooner met but                    30
they looked; no sooner looked but they loved; no sooner
loved but they sighed; no sooner sighed but they asked
one another the reason; no sooner knew the reason but
they sought the remedy: and in these degrees have they
made a pair of stairs to marriage which they will climb             35
incontinent, or else be incontinent before marriage: they are
in the very wrath of love and they will together; clubs
cannot part them.

_Orl._ They shall be married to-morrow, and I will bid
the Duke to the nuptial. But, O, how bitter a thing it is           40
to look into happiness through another man’s eyes! By so
much the more shall I to-morrow be at the height of
heart-heaviness, by how much I shall think my brother happy in
having what he wishes for.

_Ros._ Why then, to-morrow I cannot serve your turn                 45
for Rosalind?

_Orl._ I can live no longer by thinking.

_Ros._ I will weary you then no longer with idle talking.
Know of me then, for now I speak to some purpose, that
I know you are a gentleman of good conceit: I speak not             50
this that you should bear a good opinion of my knowledge,
insomuch I say I know you are; neither do I labour for a
greater esteem than may in some little measure draw a belief
from you, to do yourself good and not to grace me.
Believe then, if you please, that I can do strange things: I        55
have, since I was three year old, conversed with a magician,
most profound in his art and yet not damnable. If you do
love Rosalind so near the heart as your gesture cries it out,
when your brother marries Aliena, shall you marry her: I
know into what straits of fortune she is driven; and it is          60
not impossible to me, if it appear not inconvenient to you,
to set her before your eyes to-morrow human as she is and
without any danger.

_Orl._ Speakest thou in sober meanings?

_Ros._ By my life, I do; which I tender dearly, though              65
I say I am a magician. Therefore, put you in your best
array; bid your friends; for if you will be married to-morrow,
you shall; and to Rosalind, if you will.

 _Enter_ SILVIUS _and_ PHEBE.

Look, here comes a lover of mine and a lover of hers.

_Phe._ Youth, you have done me much ungentleness,                   70
To show the letter that I writ to you.

_Ros._ I care not if I have: it is my study
To seem despiteful and ungentle to you:
You are there followed by a faithful shepherd;
Look upon him, love him; he worships you.                           75

_Phe._ Good shepherd, tell this youth what ’tis to love.

_Sil._ It is to be all made of sighs and tears;
And so am I for Phebe.

_Phe._ And I for Ganymede.

_Orl._ And I for Rosalind.                                          80

_Ros._ And I for no woman.

_Sil._ It is to be all made of faith and service;
And so am I for Phebe.

_Phe._ And I for Ganymede.

_Orl._ And I for Rosalind.                                          85

_Ros._ And I for no woman.

_Sil._ It is to be all made of fantasy,
All made of passion, and all made of wishes;
All adoration, duty, and observance,
All humbleness, all patience, and impatience,                       90
All purity, all trial, all observance;
And so am I for Phebe.

_Phe._ And so am I for Ganymede.

_Orl._ And so am I for Rosalind.

_Ros._ And so am I for no woman.                                    95

_Phe._ If this be so, why blame you me to love you?

_Sil._ If this be so, why blame you me to love you?

_Orl._ If this be so, why blame you me to love you?

_Ros._ Who do you speak to, ‘Why blame you me to
love you?’                                                         100

_Orl._ To her that is not here, nor doth not hear.

_Ros._ Pray you, no more of this; ’tis like the howling
of Irish wolves against the moon. [_To Sil._] I will help you,
if I can: [_To Phe._] I would love you, if I could. To-morrow
meet me all together. [_To Phe._] I will marry you, if             105
ever I marry woman, and I’ll be married to-morrow: [_To
Orl._] I will satisfy you, if ever I satisfied man, and you
shall be married to-morrow: [_To Sil._] I will content you,
if what pleases you contents you, and you shall be married
to-morrow. [_To Orl._] As you love Rosalind, meet: [_To            110
Sil._] as you love Phebe, meet: and as I love no woman,
I ’ll meet. So, fare you well: I have left you commands.

_Sil._ I’ll not fail, if I live.

_Phe._ Nor I.

_Orl._ Nor I.                              [_Exeunt._              115


~~~~~
 Linenotes: _As You Like It_, V, 2.

 4: _persever_] F1 F2. _persevere_ F3 F4.

 7: _nor her_] Rowe. _nor_ Ff.

 12–15: Printed as five lines ending
 _consent...I...followers:...you,...Rosalinda_ in Ff.

 13: _all’s_] Ff. _all his_ Pope.

 15: Enter R.] Ff (after line 11).

 17: _And you_] _And you, and your_ Johnson conj.

     [Exit.] Capell. om. Ff.

 25: _swoon_] _sound_ F1 F2 F3. _swound_ F4.

     _handkercher_] _handkerchief_ F4.

 28: _fight_] _sight_ F4.

 29: _overcame_] _overcome_ F1.

 52: _I say_] (_I say_) Ff.

 56: _year_] F3. _yeare_ F1 F2. _years_ F4.

 58: _cries it_] _crieth_ Capell conj.

 59: _shall you_] F1 F2. _you shall_ F3 F4.

 64: _meanings_] _meaning_ S. Walker conj.

 69: SCENE III. Pope.

 75: _Look...you_] _Look on him, love him, for he worships you_ Anon.
 conj.

 77: _all made_] F1 F2. _made all_ F3 F4.

 82: _all made_] Ff. _made all_ Rowe.

 89: _observance_] F1 F3 F4. _obserbance_ F2. _obedience_ Dyce
 (Collier MS.).

 91: _observance_] Ff. _obeisance_ Ritson conj. _obedience_ Malone
 conj. _perseverence_ Heath conj. _endurance_ Harness conj.
 _deservance_ Nicholson conj.

 99: _ Who...to_] Rowe. _Why...too_ Ff. _Whom...to_ Singer.

 103, 108, 110: To Sil.] Pope. om. Ff.

 104, 105: To Phe.] Pope. om. Ff.

 105: _all together_] F4. _altogether_ F1 F2 F3.

 106, 110: To Orl.] Pope. om. Ff.

 107: _satisfied_] _satisfy_ Douce conj.

 113–115: Printed as a verse by Reed.
~~~~~


SCENE III. _The forest._

 _Enter TOUCHSTONE and AUDREY._

_Touch._ To-morrow is the joyful day, Audrey; to-morrow
will we be married.

_Aud._ I do desire it with all my heart; and I hope it is
no dishonest desire to desire to be a woman of the world.
Here come two of the banished Duke’s pages.                          5

 _Enter two Pages._

_First Page._ Well met, honest gentleman.

_Touch._ By my troth, well met. Come, sit, sit, and a song.

_Sec. Page._ We are for you: sit i’ the middle.

_First Page._ Shall we clap into’t roundly, without
hawking or spitting or saying we are hoarse, which are              10
the only prologues to a bad voice?

_Sec. Page._ I’faith, i’faith; and both in a tune, like two
gipsies on a horse.

SONG.

It was a lover and his lass,
  With a hey, and a ho, and a hey nonino,                           15
That o’er the green corn-field did pass
  In the spring time, the only pretty ring time,
When birds do sing, hey ding a ding, ding:
  Sweet lovers love the spring.

Between the acres of the rye,                                       20
  With a hey, and a ho, and a hey nonino,
These pretty country folks would lie,
  In spring time, &c.

This carol they began that hour,
  With a hey, and a ho, and a hey nonino,                           25
How that a life was but a flower
  In spring time, &c.

And therefore take the present time,
  With a hey, and a ho, and a hey nonino;
For love is crowned with the prime                                  30
  In spring time, &c.

_Touch._ Truly, young gentlemen, though there was no
great matter in the ditty, yet the note was very untuneable.

_First Page._ You are deceived, sir: we kept time, we
lost not our time.                                                  35

_Touch._ By my troth, yes; I count it but time lost to
hear such a foolish song. God buy you; and God mend
your voices! Come, Audrey.                  [_Exeunt._


~~~~~
 Linenotes: _As You Like It_, V, 3.

 SCENE III.] SCENE IV. Pope.

 11: _the only_] _only the_ Capell conj. _your only_ Grant White.

 17: _In the_] Ff. _In_ Knight (Edinburgh MS.). See note (XII).

     _the only...ring_] Edinburgh MS. and Steevens conj. _the
     onely...rang_ Ff. _the pretty spring_ Rowe (ed. 2). _the
     only...rank_ Johnson (ed. 2). _the pretty ring_ Steevens conj.
     _the only...range_ Whiter conj. _the only...spring_ Harness conj.

 22: _folks_] _fools_ Edin. MS.

     _would_] _did_ Edin. MS.

 23: _In_] F1 F2 and Edin. MS. _In the_ F3 F4.

 24: _This_] F1 F2 and Edin. MS. _The_ F3 F4.

 26: _a life_] Ff and Edin. MS. _life_ Hanmer.

 27: _In_] F1 F2 and Edin. MS. _In the_ F3 F4.

 28–31: Placed after line 19 in Ff. Transferred by Johnson (Thirlby
 conj.); so in Edin. MS.

 28: _And...time_] _Then prettie lovers take the tym._ Edin. MS.

 33: _untuneable_] _untunable_ Ff. _untimeable_ Theobald.

 34, 35: _time...time_] _tune...tune_ S. Walker conj.

 37: _buy you_] Ff. _b’ w’ you_ Rowe.
~~~~~


SCENE IV. _The forest._

 _Enter_ DUKE senior, AMIENS, JAQUES, ORLANDO, OLIVER,
 _and_ CELIA.

_Duke S._ Dost thou believe, Orlando, that the boy
Can do all this that he hath promised?

_Orl._ I sometimes do believe, and sometimes do not;
As those that fear they hope, and know they fear.

 _Enter_ ROSALIND, SILVIUS, _and_ PHEBE.

_Ros._ Patience once more, whiles our compact is urged:              5
You say, if I bring in your Rosalind,
You will bestow her on Orlando here?

_Duke S._ That would I, had I kingdoms to give with her.

_Ros._ And you say, you will have her, when I bring her?

_Orl._ That would I, were I of all kingdoms king.                   10

_Ros._ You say, you’ll marry me, if I be willing?

_Phe._ That will I, should I die the hour after.

_Ros._ But if you do refuse to marry me,
You’ll give yourself to this most faithful shepherd?

_Phe._ So is the bargain.                                           15

_Ros._ You say, that you’ll have Phebe, if she will?

_Sil._ Though to have her and death were both one thing.

_Ros._ I have promised to make all this matter even.
Keep you your word, O Duke, to give your daughter;
You yours, Orlando, to receive his daughter:                        20
Keep your word, Phebe, that you’ll marry me,
Or else refusing me, to wed this shepherd:
Keep your word, Silvius, that you’ll marry her,
If she refuse me: and from hence I go,
To make these doubts all even.                                      25

 [_Exeunt Rosalind and Celia._

_Duke S._ I do remember in this shepherd boy
Some lively touches of my daughter’s favour.

_Orl._ My lord, the first time that I ever saw him
Methought he was a brother to your daughter:
But, my good lord, this boy is forest-born,                         30
And hath been tutor’d in the rudiments
Of many desperate studies by his uncle,
Whom he reports to be a great magician,
Obscured in the circle of this forest.

 _Enter_ TOUCHSTONE _and_ AUDREY.

_Jaq._ There is, sure, another flood toward, and these              35
couples are coming to the ark. Here comes a pair of very
strange beasts, which in all tongues are called fools.

_Touch._ Salutation and greeting to you all!

_Jaq._ Good my lord, bid him welcome: this is the motley-minded
gentleman that I have so often met in the                           40
forest: he hath been a courtier, he swears.

_Touch._ If any man doubt that, let him put me to my
purgation. I have trod a measure; I have flattered a lady;
I have been politic with my friend, smooth with mine
enemy; I have undone three tailors; I have had four quarrels,       45
and like to have fought one.

_Jaq._ And how was that ta’en up?

_Touch._ Faith, we met, and found the quarrel was upon
the seventh cause.

_Jaq._ How seventh cause? Good my lord, like this                   50
fellow.

_Duke S._ I like him very well.

_Touch._ God ’ild you, sir; I desire you of the like. I
press in here, sir, amongst the rest of the country copulatives,
to swear and to forswear; according as marriage binds and           55
blood breaks: a poor virgin, sir, an ill-favoured thing, sir,
but mine own; a poor humour of mine, sir, to take that that
no man else will: rich honesty dwells like a miser, sir, in a
poor house; as your pearl in your foul oyster.

_Duke S._ By my faith, he is very swift and sententious.            60

_Touch._ According to the fool’s bolt, sir, and such dulcet
diseases.

_Jaq._ But, for the seventh cause; how did you find the
quarrel on the seventh cause?

_Touch._ Upon a lie seven times removed:—bear your                  65
body more seeming, Audrey:—as thus, sir. I did dislike
the cut of a certain courtier’s beard: he sent me word, if I
said his beard was not cut well, he was in the mind it was:
this is called the Retort Courteous. If I sent him word
again ‘it was not well cut,’ he would send me word, he cut          70
it to please himself: this is called the Quip Modest. If
again ‘it was not well cut,’ he disabled my judgement: this
is called the Reply Churlish. If again ‘it was not well cut,’
he would answer, I spake not true: this is called the Reproof
Valiant. If again ‘it was not well cut,’ he would say,              75
I lie: this is called the Countercheck Quarrelsome: and so
to the Lie Circumstantial and the Lie Direct.

_Jaq._ And how oft did you say his beard was not well
cut?

_Touch._ I durst go no further than the Lie Circumstantial,         80
nor he durst not give me the Lie Direct; and so we
measured swords and parted.

_Jaq._ Can you nominate in order now the degrees of
the lie?

_Touch._ O sir, we quarrel in print, by the book; as you            85
have books for good manners: I will name you the degrees.
The first, the Retort Courteous; the second, the Quip Modest;
the third, the Reply Churlish; the fourth, the Reproof
Valiant; the fifth, the Countercheck Quarrelsome;
the sixth, the Lie with Circumstance; the seventh, the Lie          90
Direct. All these you may avoid but the Lie Direct; and
you may avoid that too, with an If. I knew when seven
justices could not take up a quarrel, but when the parties
were met themselves, one of them thought but of an If, as,
‘If you said so, then I said so;’ and they shook hands and          95
swore brothers. Your If is the only peace-maker; much
virtue in If.

_Jaq._ Is not this a rare fellow, my lord? he’s as good at
any thing and yet a fool.

DUKE S. He uses his folly like a stalking-horse and                100
under the presentation of that he shoots his wit.

 _Enter_ HYMEN, ROSALIND, _and_ CELIA.

_Still Music._

_Hym._ Then is there mirth in heaven,
When earthly things made even
    Atone together.
Good Duke, receive thy daughter:                                   105
Hymen from heaven brought her,
    Yea, brought her hither,
That thou mightst join her hand with his
Whose heart within his bosom is.

_Ros._ To you I give myself, for I am yours.                       110
To you I give myself, for I am yours.

_Duke S._ If there be truth in sight, you are my daughter.

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

_Phe._ If sight and shape be true,
Why then, my love adieu!                                           115

_Ros._ I’ll have no father, if you be not he:
I’ll have no husband, if you be not he:
Nor ne’er wed woman, if you be not she.

_Hym._ Peace, ho! I bar confusion:
’Tis I must make conclusion                                        120
    Of these most strange events:
Here’s eight that must take hands
To join in Hymen’s bands,
    If truth holds true contents.
You and you no cross shall part:                                   125
You and you are heart in heart:
You to his love must accord,
Or have a woman to your lord:
You and you are sure together,
As the winter to foul weather.                                     130
Whiles a wedlock-hymn we sing,
Feed yourselves with questioning;
That reason wonder may diminish,
How thus we met, and these things finish.

SONG.

Wedding is great Juno’s crown:                                     135
  O blessed bond of board and bed!
’Tis Hymen peoples every town;
  High wedlock then be honoured:
Honour, high honour and renown,
To Hymen, god of every town!                                       140

_Duke S._ O my dear niece, welcome thou art to me!
Even daughter, welcome, in no less degree.

_Phe._ I will not eat my word, now thou art mine;
Thy faith my fancy to thee doth combine.

 _Enter_ JAQUES DE BOYS.

_Jaq. de B._ Let me have audience for a word or two:               145
I am the second son of old Sir Rowland,
That bring these tidings to this fair assembly.
Duke Frederick, hearing how that every day
Men of great worth resorted to this forest,
Address’d a mighty power; which were on foot,                      150
In his own conduct, purposely to take
His brother here and put him to the sword:
And to the skirts of this wild wood he came;
Where meeting with an old religious man,
After some question with him, was converted                        155
Both from his enterprise and from the world;
His crown bequeathing to his banish’d brother,
And all their lands restored to them again
That were with him exiled. This to be true,
I do engage my life.

_Duke S._            Welcome, young man;                           160
Thou offer’st fairly to thy brothers’ wedding:
To one his lands withheld; and to the other
A land itself at large, a potent dukedom.
First, in this forest let us do those ends
That here were well begun and well begot:                          165
And after, every of this happy number,
That have endured shrewd days and nights with us,
Shall share the good of our returned fortune,
According to the measure of their states.
Meantime, forget this new-fallen dignity,                          170
And fall into our rustic revelry.
Play, music! And you, brides and bridegrooms all,
With measure heap’d in joy, to the measures fall.

_Jaq._ Sir, by your patience. If I heard you rightly,
The Duke hath put on a religious life                              175
And thrown into neglect the pompous court?

_Jaq. de B._ He hath.

_Jaq._ To him will I: out of these convertites
There is much matter to be heard and learn’d.
[_To Duke S._] You to your former honour I bequeath;               180
Your patience and your virtue well deserves it:
[_To Orl._] You to a love, that your true faith doth merit:
[_To Oli._] You to your land, and love, and great allies:
[_To Sil._] You to a long and well-deserved bed:
[_To Touch._] And you to wrangling; for thy loving voyage          185
Is but for two months victuall’d. So, to your pleasures:
I am for other than for dancing measures.

_Duke S._ Stay, Jaques, stay.

_Jaq._ To see no pastime I: what you would have
I’ll stay to know at your abandon’d cave.        [_Exit._          190

_Duke S._ Proceed, proceed: we will begin these rites,
As we do trust they’ll end, in true delights.        [_A dance._




EPILOGUE.


_Ros._ It is not the fashion to see the lady the epilogue;
but it is no more unhandsome than to see the lord the prologue.
If it be true that good wine needs no bush, ’tis true
that a good play needs no epilogue: yet to good wine they
do use good bushes; and good plays prove the better by               5
the help of good epilogues. What a case am I in then,
that am neither a good epilogue, nor cannot insinuate with
you in the behalf of a good play! I am not furnished like
a beggar, therefore to beg will not become me: my way is
to conjure you; and I’ll begin with the women. I charge             10
you, O women, for the love you bear to men, to like as
much of this play as please you: and I charge you, O men,
for the love you bear to women,—as I perceive by your
simpering, none of you hates them,—that between you and
the women the play may please. If I were a woman I                  15
would kiss as many of you as had beards that pleased me,
complexions that liked me and breaths that I defied not:
and, I am sure, as many as have good beards or good
faces or sweet breaths will, for my kind offer, when I make
curtsy, bid me farewell.      [_Exeunt._                            20


~~~~~
 Linenotes: _As You Like It_, V, 4.

 SCENE IV.] SCENE V. Pope.

 Celia.] Colia. F2.

 4: _that fear_] _that think_ Hanmer.

     _fear they hope...they fear_] _fear their hap...their fear_
     Warburton. _fear with hope and hope with fear_ Johnson conj.
     _fear, they hope, and now they fear_ Id. conj. _fear their hope,
     and know their fear._ Capell (Heath conj.). _feign they hope,
     and know they fear._ Blackstone conj. _fear, then hope; and
     know, then fear_ Musgrave conj. _fearing hope, and hoping fear_
     Mason conj. _hope they fear, then know they fear_ Becket conj.
     _fear the hope, and know the fear_ Jackson conj. _fear may hope,
     and know they fear_ Harness conj. _fear; they hope, and know
     they fear_ Delius (Henley conj.). _fear to hope and know they
     fear_ Collier MS.

 5: _urged_] _heard_ Collier MS.

 21: _your_] Pope. _you your_ Ff.

 25: _even._] _even—even so_ Collier (Collier MS.)

     [Exeunt R. and C.] Exit Ros. and Celia. Ff.

 33: _Whom_] F1 F2. _Who_ F3 F4.

 Enter T. and A.] Enter Clowne and Audrey. Ff (after line 33).

 35: SCENE VI. Pope.

 36, 37: _very strange_] _unclean_ Hanmer (Warburton).

 48: _was_] _was not_ Johnson conj.

 50: _seventh_] F1 F2. _the seventh_ F3 F4.

 53: _you of_] _of you_ Warburton.

 55, 56: _binds...breaks_] _bids...bids break_ Warburton.

 61: _fool’s_] F4. _fooles_ F1 F3. _foles_ F2.

     _and such_] _in such_ Farmer conj.

 61, 62: Touch. _According...diseases._] Jaq. _According......sir._
 Touch. _And...diseases—_ S. Walker conj.

 62: _diseases_] _discourses_ Johnson conj. _phrases_ Mason conj.
 _discords_ Anon. conj.

 76: _I lie_] _I ly’d_ Capell.

 76, 77: _so to the_] F2 F3 F4. _so ro_ F1. _so the_ Rowe.

 93: _take up_] _make up_ De Quincey MS.

 98: _as_] om. Rowe.

 104: _Atone_] _Attone_ Ff.

 108: _her hand_] F3 F4. _his hand_ F1 F2.

 109: _his bosom_] _her bosom_ Malone.

 113: _sight_] _shape_ Johnson conj.

 114, 115: Printed as one line in Ff.

 134: _these things_] _thus we_ Collier MS.

 140: _of_] _in_ Collier MS.

 142: _daughter, welcome,_] F4. _daughter welcome_, F1 F2 F3.
 _daughter-welcome_ Theobald.

 144: Enter Jaques de Boys.] Rowe. Enter Second Brother. Ff.

 158: _them_] Rowe. _him_ Ff.

 161: _brothers’_] Capell. _brothers_ F1 F2 F3. _brother’s_ F4.
 _brothers_, Reed.

 169: _states_] _’states_ Collier.

 180, 182, 183, 184, 185: Stage directions not in Ff.

 181: _deserves_] _deserve_ Pope.

 191: _we will_] F2 F3 F4. _wee’l_ F1.

 192: _As_] _And_ Reed.

     _trust they’ll end, in_] Pope. _trust, they’l end in_ Ff.

     [A dance.] Capell. Exit. F1. om. F2 F3 F4.

 EPILOGUE.] Warburton. Seymour supposes what follows to be spurious.

 6: _then_] _tho’_ Kenrick conj.

 7: _cannot_] _can_ Pope.

 12: _please you_] F1 F2. _pleases you_ F3 F4. _pleases them_
 Hanmer (Warburton). _please them_ Steevens.

     _and I_] _and so I_ Steevens (Farmer conj.).

 14: _hates_] _hate_ Pope.

     _them_] _them) to like as much as pleases them_ Hanmer
     (Warburton).

 20: [Exeunt.] F2 F3 F4. [Exit. F1.
~~~~~




NOTES.


NOTE I.

Le Beau is so called in F1 on his first entrance, afterwards always
‘Le Beu.’

The banished Duke is called Duke Senior in the stage directions.

Rosalind is spelt indifferently thus and ‘Rosaline.’

Rowe, in his second edition, besides ‘Touchstone’ and ‘William,’
introduced among the Dramatis Personæ ‘A clown in love with Audrey.’
He was followed by Pope, Theobald, Hanmer, and Warburton. Johnson
struck it out.


NOTE II.

I. 1. 46. The correction _revenues_ for _reverence_ has been made in
MS. by some unknown hand in Capell’s copy of the third Folio. The
writing somewhat resembles Warburton’s.


NOTE III.

_I._ 2. 79. There can be no doubt that the words ‘wise men’ here
printed as two, in obedience to modern usage, were frequently in
Shakespeare’s time written and pronounced as one word, with the
accent on the first syllable, as ‘madman’ is still. See Sidney
Walker’s _Criticisms,_ Vol. II. p. 139.


NOTE IV.

I. 2. 147, 149. It does not seem necessary to make any change in the
text here. Perhaps Shakespeare wrote the prose parts of the play
hastily, or it may be that Orlando, who is summoned by Celia, but
whose thoughts are fixed upon Rosalind, is made to say ‘them,’ not
‘her,’ designedly.


NOTE V.

I. 2. 187. Before we were aware of Mason’s conjecture, it occurred to
us that the sentence would run better thus: ‘An you mean to mock me
after, you should not have mocked me before.’ ‘And,’ for ‘an,’ is a
more probable reading than ‘if,’ as it may have been omitted by the
printer, who mistook it for part of the stage direction—‘Orl. and’
for ‘Orland.’ We have since discovered that Theobald proposed ‘An.’


NOTE VI.

I. 3. 92. See a discussion as to the proper punctuation and meaning
of the words ‘No, hath not?’ in _Notes and Queries_, 1st Ser. Vol.
VII. p. 520, and in Mr Singer’s note on this passage. It may be
doubted whether the passages quoted by Mr Grant White are apposite to
this, where there is a double negative.


NOTE VII.

III. 2. 317. In the fourth Folio, and in Rowe’s two editions, the
word ‘kindled’ happens to be in two lines, and therefore divided by
a hyphen. Pope, misled by this, printed it in his first edition as a
compound, ‘kind-led,’ interpreting it probably with reference to the
gregarious habits of the animal in question.


NOTE VIII.

III. 3. 80–83. Johnson proposes to arrange these lines as follows:

_Clo...._ Come, sweet Audrey; we must be married, or we must live in
bawdry.

_Jaq._ Go thou with me, and let me counsel thee. [_They whisper._

_Clo._ Farewell, &c.


NOTE IX.

III. 4. 38. As the word ‘puisny’ is here used not in the modern
sense of ‘diminutive,’ but in the now obsolete sense of ‘inferior,
unskilled,’ we think it better to retain the spelling of the Folios.


NOTE X.

IV. 2. 12. The words ‘Then sing him home, the rest shall beare this
burthen’ are printed in the Folios as part of the song. Rowe and
Pope made no change. Theobald first gave ‘the rest shall bear this
burthen’ as a stage direction. Mr Knight, Mr Collier, Mr Grant White
and Mr Dyce take the whole to be a stage direction, Mr Grant White
reading ‘_They_ sing him home,’ for ‘_Then_.......’ Mr Halliwell
prints ‘Then sing him home, the rest shall bear—This burthen.’ Mr
Knight gives in a note the music written for this song by Hilton,
and published in 1652. In Hilton’s setting, the words ‘Then sing
him home, &c.’ are left out, but that, as Mr Knight implies, is not
conclusive as to the original song.

Capell’s arrangement is as follows:

 1 v. _What......deer?_
 2 v. _His.........wear._
 1 v. _Then ......home._
            BOTH.
      _Take ......born._
 1 v. _Thy ........wore it._
 2 v. _And ........bore it._
            CHO.
 _The horn......scorn._


NOTE XI.

IV. 3. 164. Malone wrongly attributes the reading ‘Sir’ for ‘Sirra’
to the second Folio.


NOTE XII.

V. 3. 17. The Edinburgh MS. mentioned in our footnotes is one in the
Advocates’ Library (fol. 18), and the song has been reprinted from it
in Chappell’s _Collection of National English Airs_, ed. 1840, p. 130.




ADDENDA.

Love’s Labour’s Lost, IV. 1. 92. _Monarcho_] _mammuccio_ Hanmer.

A Midsummer-Night’s Dream, IV. 1. 205. _a patched_] Ff. _patcht a_ Qq.




CAMBRIDGE: PRINTED AT THE UNIVERSITY PRESS.




TRANSCRIBER'S ENDNOTES.

Linenotes are moved from the end of each page to the end of
each Scene. Line breaks in dialogue—including prose and poetry
passages—are unchanged. The exception to this is that words
originally broken by a hyphen over two lines are rejoined on one
line. Line numbers are from the original text. Ellipses look like
the original, unless the original was at a line-break that has been
eliminated in this version—for example, in a linenote, footnote, or
general note.

Preface

 Section 4., _The Merchant of Venice_.: the phrase "July 22, 1598.
 James Roberts) A booke" was changed to "July 22, 1598. (James
 Roberts) A booke".

_Much Ado About Nothing_

 II. 3. 100: the printed line number was misplaced, one down; moved
 it up.

_Love's Labour's Lost_

 V. 2. 917: the linenotes printed for lines 912 and 913 actually
 refer to lines 917 and 918; the text herein has been altered to this
 effect.

 V. 1. 37: the word "honorificabilitudinitatibus" was retained in
 original form, broken over two lines, with a hyphen between "bi" and
 "li" In the mobile versions, available from Project Gutenberg, this
 word has been rejoined.

_Midsummer-Night's Dream_

 III. 2. 204: the original linenote here erroneously said "See note
 III", but is herein corrected to Note V.

 IV. 1. 1: the linenote here erroneously said "See note (V)", herein
 altered to VI.

 IV. 1. 7-8: the linenote is changed from "See note VI" to "See note
 VII".

 V. 1. 0: the linenote "Enter...] see note (VIII)." was originally
 indented under linenote 40 of IV. 2 (the last linenote of the
 scene), but clearly refers to the beginning of V. 1, where it has
 been placed.

 V. 1. 105: the line number was misplaced, up one line. It has been
 moved to the line "In least speak...".

 V. 1. 139: the linenote said "conjectures th a line"; herein changed
 "th " to "that".

 Play Note II: "andhe" changed to "and he".

 Play Note XIII: the reference is to lines V. 1. 408, 409, changed
 from "406, 407".

_Merchant of Venice_

 IV, 1. 74: in the printed linenote there is a smudge and something
 missing between "bleat" and "the" in Hanmer's rendering.
 Furthermore, the presumed "t" in "bleat" is not clearly printed and
 may be something else, perhaps a "c". The transcriber renders this
 phrase "_When you behold the ewe bleat for the lamb;_ Hanmer.", but
 there is significant doubt about it.

 Play Note XIV: the reference is changed from IV. 1. 210 to IV. 1.
 209.

_As You Like It_

 Play Note V: "I. 2. 181" changed to "I. 2. 187".

Addenda

 These two linenotes have been copied to their appropriate locations
 amongst the linenotes.





End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of The Works of William Shakespeare
[Cambridge Edition] [9 vols.], by William Shakespeare

*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 45128 ***