SCENE III.
Alexandria. CLEOPATRA'S palace
Enter CLEOPATRA, CHARMIAN, IRAS, and ALEXAS
CLEOPATRA. Where is he?
CHARMIAN. I did not see him since.
CLEOPATRA. See where he is, who's with him, what he does.
I did not send you. If you find him sad,
Say I am dancing; if in mirth, report
That I am sudden sick. Quick, and return. Exit ALEXAS
CHARMIAN. Madam, methinks, if you did love him dearly,
You do not hold the method to enforce
The like from him.
CLEOPATRA. What should I do I do not?
CHARMIAN. In each thing give him way; cross him in nothing.
CLEOPATRA. Thou teachest like a fool- the way to lose him.
CHARMIAN. Tempt him not so too far; I wish, forbear;
In time we hate that which we often fear.
Enter ANTONY
But here comes Antony.
CLEOPATRA. I am sick and sullen.
ANTONY. I am sorry to give breathing to my purpose-
CLEOPATRA. Help me away, dear Charmian; I shall fall.
It cannot be thus long; the sides of nature
Will not sustain it.
ANTONY. Now, my dearest queen-
CLEOPATRA. Pray you, stand farther from me.
ANTONY. What's the matter?
CLEOPATRA. I know by that same eye there's some good news.
What says the married woman? You may go.
Would she had never given you leave to come!
Let her not say 'tis I that keep you here-
I have no power upon you; hers you are.
ANTONY. The gods best know-
CLEOPATRA. O, never was there queen
So mightily betray'd! Yet at the first
I saw the treasons planted.
ANTONY. Cleopatra-
CLEOPATRA. Why should I think you can be mine and true,
Though you in swearing shake the throned gods,
Who have been false to Fulvia? Riotous madness,
To be entangled with those mouth-made vows,
Which break themselves in swearing!
ANTONY. Most sweet queen-
CLEOPATRA. Nay, pray you seek no colour for your going,
But bid farewell, and go. When you sued staying,
Then was the time for words. No going then!
Eternity was in our lips and eyes,
Bliss in our brows' bent, none our parts so poor
But was a race of heaven. They are so still,
Or thou, the greatest soldier of the world,
Art turn'd the greatest liar.
ANTONY. How now, lady!
CLEOPATRA. I would I had thy inches. Thou shouldst know
There were a heart in Egypt.
ANTONY. Hear me, queen:
The strong necessity of time commands
Our services awhile; but my full heart
Remains in use with you. Our Italy
Shines o'er with civil swords: Sextus Pompeius
Makes his approaches to the port of Rome;
Equality of two domestic powers
Breed scrupulous faction; the hated, grown to strength,
Are newly grown to love. The condemn'd Pompey,
Rich in his father's honour, creeps apace
Into the hearts of such as have not thrived
Upon the present state, whose numbers threaten;
And quietness, grown sick of rest, would purge
By any desperate change. My more particular,
And that which most with you should safe my going,
Is Fulvia's death.
CLEOPATRA. Though age from folly could not give me freedom,
It does from childishness. Can Fulvia die?
ANTONY. She's dead, my Queen.
Look here, and at thy sovereign leisure read
The garboils she awak'd. At the last, best.
See when and where she died.
CLEOPATRA. O most false love!
Where be the sacred vials thou shouldst fill
With sorrowful water? Now I see, I see,
In Fulvia's death how mine receiv'd shall be.
ANTONY. Quarrel no more, but be prepar'd to know
The purposes I bear; which are, or cease,
As you shall give th' advice. By the fire
That quickens Nilus' slime, I go from hence
Thy soldier, servant, making peace or war
As thou affects.
CLEOPATRA. Cut my lace, Charmian, come!
But let it be; I am quickly ill and well-
So Antony loves.
ANTONY. My precious queen, forbear,
And give true evidence to his love, which stands
An honourable trial.
CLEOPATRA. So Fulvia told me.
I prithee turn aside and weep for her;
Then bid adieu to me, and say the tears
Belong to Egypt. Good now, play one scene
Of excellent dissembling, and let it look
Like perfect honour.
ANTONY. You'll heat my blood; no more.
CLEOPATRA. You can do better yet; but this is meetly.
ANTONY. Now, by my sword-
CLEOPATRA. And target. Still he mends;
But this is not the best. Look, prithee, Charmian,
How this Herculean Roman does become
The carriage of his chafe.
ANTONY. I'll leave you, lady.
CLEOPATRA. Courteous lord, one word.
Sir, you and I must part- but that's not it.
Sir, you and I have lov'd- but there's not it.
That you know well. Something it is I would-
O, my oblivion is a very Antony,
And I am all forgotten!
ANTONY. But that your royalty
Holds idleness your subject, I should take you
For idleness itself.
CLEOPATRA. 'Tis sweating labour
To bear such idleness so near the heart
As Cleopatra this. But, sir, forgive me;
Since my becomings kill me when they do not
Eye well to you. Your honour calls you hence;
Therefore be deaf to my unpitied folly,
And all the gods go with you! Upon your sword
Sit laurel victory, and smooth success
Be strew'd before your feet!
ANTONY. Let us go. Come.
Our separation so abides and flies
That thou, residing here, goes yet with me,
And I, hence fleeting, here remain with thee.
Away! Exeunt
SCENE IV.
Rome. CAESAR'S house
Enter OCTAVIUS CAESAR, reading a letter; LEPIDUS, and their train
CAESAR. You may see, Lepidus, and henceforth know,
It is not Caesar's natural vice to hate
Our great competitor. From Alexandria
This is the news: he fishes, drinks, and wastes
The lamps of night in revel; is not more manlike
Than Cleopatra, nor the queen of Ptolemy
More womanly than he; hardly gave audience, or
Vouchsaf'd to think he had partners. You shall find there
A man who is the abstract of all faults
That all men follow.
LEPIDUS. I must not think there are
Evils enow to darken all his goodness.
His faults, in him, seem as the spots of heaven,
More fiery by night's blackness; hereditary
Rather than purchas'd; what he cannot change
Than what he chooses.
CAESAR. You are too indulgent. Let's grant it is not
Amiss to tumble on the bed of Ptolemy,
To give a kingdom for a mirth, to sit
And keep the turn of tippling with a slave,
To reel the streets at noon, and stand the buffet
With knaves that smell of sweat. Say this becomes him-
As his composure must be rare indeed
Whom these things cannot blemish- yet must Antony
No way excuse his foils when we do bear
So great weight in his lightness. If he fill'd
His vacancy with his voluptuousness,
Full surfeits and the dryness of his bones
Call on him for't! But to confound such time
That drums him from his sport and speaks as loud
As his own state and ours- 'tis to be chid
As we rate boys who, being mature in knowledge,
Pawn their experience to their present pleasure,
And so rebel to judgment.
Enter a MESSENGER
LEPIDUS. Here's more news.
MESSENGER. Thy biddings have been done; and every hour,
Most noble Caesar, shalt thou have report
How 'tis abroad. Pompey is strong at sea,
And it appears he is belov'd of those
That only have fear'd Caesar. To the ports
The discontents repair, and men's reports
Give him much wrong'd.
CAESAR. I should have known no less.
It hath been taught us from the primal state
That he which is was wish'd until he were;
And the ebb'd man, ne'er lov'd till ne'er worth love,
Comes dear'd by being lack'd. This common body,
Like to a vagabond flag upon the stream,
Goes to and back, lackeying the varying tide,
To rot itself with motion.
MESSENGER. Caesar, I bring thee word
Menecrates and Menas, famous pirates,
Make the sea serve them, which they ear and wound
With keels of every kind. Many hot inroads
They make in Italy; the borders maritime
Lack blood to think on't, and flush youth revolt.
No vessel can peep forth but 'tis as soon
Taken as seen; for Pompey's name strikes more
Than could his war resisted.
CAESAR. Antony,
Leave thy lascivious wassails. When thou once
Was beaten from Modena, where thou slew'st
Hirtius and Pansa, consuls, at thy heel
Did famine follow; whom thou fought'st against,
Though daintily brought up, with patience more
Than savages could suffer. Thou didst drink
The stale of horses and the gilded puddle
Which beasts would cough at. Thy palate then did deign
The roughest berry on the rudest hedge;
Yea, like the stag when snow the pasture sheets,
The barks of trees thou brows'd. On the Alps
It is reported thou didst eat strange flesh,
Which some did die to look on. And all this-
It wounds thine honour that I speak it now-
Was borne so like a soldier that thy cheek
So much as lank'd not.
LEPIDUS. 'Tis pity of him.
CAESAR. Let his shames quickly
Drive him to Rome. 'Tis time we twain
Did show ourselves i' th' field; and to that end
Assemble we immediate council. Pompey
Thrives in our idleness.
LEPIDUS. To-morrow, Caesar,
I shall be furnish'd to inform you rightly
Both what by sea and land I can be able
To front this present time.
CAESAR. Till which encounter
It is my business too. Farewell.
LEPIDUS. Farewell, my lord. What you shall know meantime
Of stirs abroad, I shall beseech you, sir,
To let me be partaker.
CAESAR. Doubt not, sir;
I knew it for my bond. Exeunt
SCENE V.
Alexandria. CLEOPATRA'S palace
Enter CLEOPATRA, CHARMIAN, IRAS, and MARDIAN
CLEOPATRA. Charmian!
CHARMIAN. Madam?
CLEOPATRA. Ha, ha!
Give me to drink mandragora.
CHARMIAN. Why, madam?
CLEOPATRA. That I might sleep out this great gap of time
My Antony is away.
CHARMIAN. You think of him too much.
CLEOPATRA. O, 'tis treason!
CHARMIAN. Madam, I trust, not so.
CLEOPATRA. Thou, eunuch Mardian!
MARDIAN. What's your Highness' pleasure?
CLEOPATRA. Not now to hear thee sing; I take no pleasure
In aught an eunuch has. 'Tis well for thee
That, being unseminar'd, thy freer thoughts
May not fly forth of Egypt. Hast thou affections?
MARDIAN. Yes, gracious madam.
CLEOPATRA. Indeed?
MARDIAN. Not in deed, madam; for I can do nothing
But what indeed is honest to be done.
Yet have I fierce affections, and think
What Venus did with Mars.
CLEOPATRA. O Charmian,
Where think'st thou he is now? Stands he or sits he?
Or does he walk? or is he on his horse?
O happy horse, to bear the weight of Antony!
Do bravely, horse; for wot'st thou whom thou mov'st?
The demi-Atlas of this earth, the arm
And burgonet of men. He's speaking now,
Or murmuring 'Where's my serpent of old Nile?'
For so he calls me. Now I feed myself
With most delicious poison. Think on me,
That am with Phoebus' amorous pinches black,
And wrinkled deep in time? Broad-fronted Caesar,
When thou wast here above the ground, I was
A morsel for a monarch; and great Pompey
Would stand and make his eyes grow in my brow;
There would he anchor his aspect and die
With looking on his life.
Enter ALEXAS
ALEXAS. Sovereign of Egypt, hail!
CLEOPATRA. How much unlike art thou Mark Antony!
Yet, coming from him, that great med'cine hath
With his tinct gilded thee.
How goes it with my brave Mark Antony?
ALEXAS. Last thing he did, dear Queen,
He kiss'd- the last of many doubled kisses-
This orient pearl. His speech sticks in my heart.
CLEOPATRA. Mine ear must pluck it thence.
ALEXAS. 'Good friend,' quoth he
'Say the firm Roman to great Egypt sends
This treasure of an oyster; at whose foot,
To mend the petty present, I will piece
Her opulent throne with kingdoms. All the East,
Say thou, shall call her mistress.' So he nodded,
And soberly did mount an arm-gaunt steed,
Who neigh'd so high that what I would have spoke
Was beastly dumb'd by him.
CLEOPATRA. What, was he sad or merry?
ALEXAS. Like to the time o' th' year between the extremes
Of hot and cold; he was nor sad nor merry.
CLEOPATRA. O well-divided disposition! Note him,
Note him, good Charmian; 'tis the man; but note him!
He was not sad, for he would shine on those
That make their looks by his; he was not merry,
Which seem'd to tell them his remembrance lay
In Egypt with his joy; but between both.
O heavenly mingle! Be'st thou sad or merry,
The violence of either thee becomes,
So does it no man else. Met'st thou my posts?
ALEXAS. Ay, madam, twenty several messengers.
Why do you send so thick?
CLEOPATRA. Who's born that day
When I forget to send to Antony
Shall die a beggar. Ink and paper, Charmian.
Welcome, my good Alexas. Did I, Charmian,
Ever love Caesar so?
CHARMIAN. O that brave Caesar!
CLEOPATRA. Be chok'd with such another emphasis!
Say 'the brave Antony.'
CHARMIAN. The valiant Caesar!
CLEOPATRA. By Isis, I will give thee bloody teeth
If thou with Caesar paragon again
My man of men.
CHARMIAN. By your most gracious pardon,
I sing but after you.
CLEOPATRA. My salad days,
When I was green in judgment, cold in blood,
To say as I said then. But come, away!
Get me ink and paper.
He shall have every day a several greeting,
Or I'll unpeople Egypt. Exeunt
<>
ACT II. SCENE I.
Messina. POMPEY'S house
Enter POMPEY, MENECRATES, and MENAS, in warlike manner
POMPEY. If the great gods be just, they shall assist
The deeds of justest men.
MENECRATES. Know, worthy Pompey,
That what they do delay they not deny.
POMPEY. Whiles we are suitors to their throne, decays
The thing we sue for.
MENECRATES. We, ignorant of ourselves,
Beg often our own harms, which the wise pow'rs
Deny us for our good; so find we profit
By losing of our prayers.
POMPEY. I shall do well.
The people love me, and the sea is mine;
My powers are crescent, and my auguring hope
Says it will come to th' full. Mark Antony
In Egypt sits at dinner, and will make
No wars without doors. Caesar gets money where
He loses hearts. Lepidus flatters both,
Of both is flatter'd; but he neither loves,
Nor either cares for him.
MENAS. Caesar and Lepidus
Are in the field. A mighty strength they carry.
POMPEY. Where have you this? 'Tis false.
MENAS. From Silvius, sir.
POMPEY. He dreams. I know they are in Rome together,
Looking for Antony. But all the charms of love,
Salt Cleopatra, soften thy wan'd lip!
Let witchcraft join with beauty, lust with both;
Tie up the libertine in a field of feasts,
Keep his brain fuming. Epicurean cooks
Sharpen with cloyless sauce his appetite,
That sleep and feeding may prorogue his honour
Even till a Lethe'd dullness-
Enter VARRIUS
How now, Varrius!
VARRIUS. This is most certain that I shall deliver:
Mark Antony is every hour in Rome
Expected. Since he went from Egypt 'tis
A space for farther travel.
POMPEY. I could have given less matter
A better ear. Menas, I did not think
This amorous surfeiter would have donn'd his helm
For such a petty war; his soldiership
Is twice the other twain. But let us rear
The higher our opinion, that our stirring
Can from the lap of Egypt's widow pluck
The ne'er-lust-wearied Antony.
MENAS. I cannot hope
Caesar and Antony shall well greet together.
His wife that's dead did trespasses to Caesar;
His brother warr'd upon him; although, I think,
Not mov'd by Antony.
POMPEY. I know not, Menas,
How lesser enmities may give way to greater.
Were't not that we stand up against them all,
'Twere pregnant they should square between themselves;
For they have entertained cause enough
To draw their swords. But how the fear of us
May cement their divisions, and bind up
The petty difference we yet not know.
Be't as our gods will have't! It only stands
Our lives upon to use our strongest hands.
Come, Menas. Exeunt
SCENE II.
Rome. The house of LEPIDUS
Enter ENOBARBUS and LEPIDUS
LEPIDUS. Good Enobarbus, 'tis a worthy deed,
And shall become you well, to entreat your captain
To soft and gentle speech.
ENOBARBUS. I shall entreat him
To answer like himself. If Caesar move him,
Let Antony look over Caesar's head
And speak as loud as Mars. By Jupiter,
Were I the wearer of Antonius' beard,
I would not shave't to-day.
LEPIDUS. 'Tis not a time
For private stomaching.
ENOBARBUS. Every time
Serves for the matter that is then born in't.
LEPIDUS. But small to greater matters must give way.
ENOBARBUS. Not if the small come first.
LEPIDUS. Your speech is passion;
But pray you stir no embers up. Here comes
The noble Antony.
Enter ANTONY and VENTIDIUS
ENOBARBUS. And yonder, Caesar.
Enter CAESAR, MAECENAS, and AGRIPPA
ANTONY. If we compose well here, to Parthia.
Hark, Ventidius.
CAESAR. I do not know, Maecenas. Ask Agrippa.
LEPIDUS. Noble friends,
That which combin'd us was most great, and let not
A leaner action rend us. What's amiss,
May it be gently heard. When we debate
Our trivial difference loud, we do commit
Murder in healing wounds. Then, noble partners,
The rather for I earnestly beseech,
Touch you the sourest points with sweetest terms,
Nor curstness grow to th' matter.
ANTONY. 'Tis spoken well.
Were we before our arinies, and to fight,
I should do thus. [Flourish]
CAESAR. Welcome to Rome.
ANTONY. Thank you.
CAESAR. Sit.
ANTONY. Sit, sir.
CAESAR. Nay, then. [They sit]
ANTONY. I learn you take things ill which are not so,
Or being, concern you not.
CAESAR. I must be laugh'd at
If, or for nothing or a little,
Should say myself offended, and with you
Chiefly i' the world; more laugh'd at that I should
Once name you derogately when to sound your name
It not concern'd me.
ANTONY. My being in Egypt, Caesar,
What was't to you?
CAESAR. No more than my residing here at Rome
Might be to you in Egypt. Yet, if you there
Did practise on my state, your being in Egypt
Might be my question.
ANTONY. How intend you- practis'd?
CAESAR. You may be pleas'd to catch at mine intent
By what did here befall me. Your wife and brother
Made wars upon me, and their contestation
Was theme for you; you were the word of war.
ANTONY. You do mistake your business; my brother never
Did urge me in his act. I did inquire it,
And have my learning from some true reports
That drew their swords with you. Did he not rather
Discredit my authority with yours,
And make the wars alike against my stomach,
Having alike your cause? Of this my letters
Before did satisfy you. If you'll patch a quarrel,
As matter whole you have not to make it with,
It must not be with this.
CAESAR. You praise yourself
By laying defects of judgment to me; but
You patch'd up your excuses.
ANTONY. Not so, not so;
I know you could not lack, I am certain on't,
Very necessity of this thought, that I,
Your partner in the cause 'gainst which he fought,
Could not with graceful eyes attend those wars
Which fronted mine own peace. As for my wife,
I would you had her spirit in such another!
The third o' th' world is yours, which with a snaffle
You may pace easy, but not such a wife.
ENOBARBUS. Would we had all such wives, that the men might go to
wars with the women!
ANTONY. So much uncurbable, her garboils, Caesar,
Made out of her impatience- which not wanted
Shrewdness of policy too- I grieving grant
Did you too much disquiet. For that you must
But say I could not help it.
CAESAR. I wrote to you
When rioting in Alexandria; you
Did pocket up my letters, and with taunts
Did gibe my missive out of audience.
ANTONY. Sir,
He fell upon me ere admitted. Then
Three kings I had newly feasted, and did want
Of what I was i' th' morning; but next day
I told him of myself, which was as much
As to have ask'd him pardon. Let this fellow
Be nothing of our strife; if we contend,
Out of our question wipe him.
CAESAR. You have broken
The article of your oath, which you shall never
Have tongue to charge me with.
LEPIDUS. Soft, Caesar!
ANTONY. No;
Lepidus, let him speak.
The honour is sacred which he talks on now,
Supposing that I lack'd it. But on, Caesar:
The article of my oath-
CAESAR. To lend me arms and aid when I requir'd them,
The which you both denied.
ANTONY. Neglected, rather;
And then when poisoned hours had bound me up
From mine own knowledge. As nearly as I may,
I'll play the penitent to you; but mine honesty
Shall not make poor my greatness, nor my power
Work without it. Truth is, that Fulvia,
To have me out of Egypt, made wars here;
For which myself, the ignorant motive, do
So far ask pardon as befits mine honour
To stoop in such a case.
LEPIDUS. 'Tis noble spoken.
MAECENAS. If it might please you to enforce no further
The griefs between ye- to forget them quite
Were to remember that the present need
Speaks to atone you.
LEPIDUS. Worthily spoken, Maecenas.
ENOBARBUS. Or, if you borrow one another's love for the instant,
you may, when you hear no more words of Pompey, return it again.
You shall have time to wrangle in when you have nothing else to
do.
ANTONY. Thou art a soldier only. Speak no more.
ENOBARBUS. That truth should be silent I had almost forgot.
ANTONY. You wrong this presence; therefore speak no more.
ENOBARBUS. Go to, then- your considerate stone!
CAESAR. I do not much dislike the matter, but
The manner of his speech; for't cannot be
We shall remain in friendship, our conditions
So diff'ring in their acts. Yet if I knew
What hoop should hold us stanch, from edge to edge
O' th' world, I would pursue it.
AGRIPPA. Give me leave, Caesar.
CAESAR. Speak, Agrippa.
AGRIPPA. Thou hast a sister by the mother's side,
Admir'd Octavia. Great Mark Antony
Is now a widower.
CAESAR. Say not so, Agrippa.
If Cleopatra heard you, your reproof
Were well deserv'd of rashness.
ANTONY. I am not married, Caesar. Let me hear
Agrippa further speak.
AGRIPPA. To hold you in perpetual amity,
To make you brothers, and to knit your hearts
With an unslipping knot, take Antony
Octavia to his wife; whose beauty claims
No worse a husband than the best of men;
Whose virtue and whose general graces speak
That which none else can utter. By this marriage
All little jealousies, which now seem great,
And all great fears, which now import their dangers,
Would then be nothing. Truths would be tales,
Where now half tales be truths. Her love to both
Would each to other, and all loves to both,
Draw after her. Pardon what I have spoke;
For 'tis a studied, not a present thought,
By duty ruminated.
ANTONY. Will Caesar speak?
CAESAR. Not till he hears how Antony is touch'd
With what is spoke already.
ANTONY. What power is in Agrippa,
If I would say 'Agrippa, be it so,'
To make this good?
CAESAR. The power of Caesar, and
His power unto Octavia.
ANTONY. May I never
To this good purpose, that so fairly shows,
Dream of impediment! Let me have thy hand.
Further this act of grace; and from this hour
The heart of brothers govern in our loves
And sway our great designs!
CAESAR. There is my hand.
A sister I bequeath you, whom no brother
Did ever love so dearly. Let her live
To join our kingdoms and our hearts; and never
Fly off our loves again!
LEPIDUS. Happily, amen!
ANTONY. I did not think to draw my sword 'gainst Pompey;
For he hath laid strange courtesies and great
Of late upon me. I must thank him only,
Lest my remembrance suffer ill report;
At heel of that, defy him.
LEPIDUS. Time calls upon's.
Of us must Pompey presently be sought,
Or else he seeks out us.
ANTONY. Where lies he?
CAESAR. About the Mount Misenum.
ANTONY. What is his strength by land?
CAESAR. Great and increasing; but by sea
He is an absolute master.
ANTONY. So is the fame.
Would we had spoke together! Haste we for it.
Yet, ere we put ourselves in arms, dispatch we
The business we have talk'd of.
CAESAR. With most gladness;
And do invite you to my sister's view,
Whither straight I'll lead you.
ANTONY. Let us, Lepidus,
Not lack your company.
LEPIDUS. Noble Antony,
Not sickness should detain me. [Flourish]
Exeunt all but ENOBARBUS, AGRIPPA, MAECENAS
MAECENAS. Welcome from Egypt, sir.
ENOBARBUS. Half the heart of Caesar, worthy Maecenas! My honourable
friend, Agrippa!
AGRIPPA. Good Enobarbus!
MAECENAS. We have cause to be glad that matters are so well
digested. You stay'd well by't in Egypt.
ENOBARBUS. Ay, sir; we did sleep day out of countenance and made
the night light with drinking.
MAECENAS. Eight wild boars roasted whole at a breakfast, and but
twelve persons there. Is this true?
ENOBARBUS. This was but as a fly by an eagle. We had much more
monstrous matter of feast, which worthily deserved noting.
MAECENAS. She's a most triumphant lady, if report be square to her.
ENOBARBUS. When she first met Mark Antony she purs'd up his heart,
upon the river of Cydnus.
AGRIPPA. There she appear'd indeed! Or my reporter devis'd well for
her.
ENOBARBUS. I will tell you.
The barge she sat in, like a burnish'd throne,
Burn'd on the water. The poop was beaten gold;
Purple the sails, and so perfumed that
The winds were love-sick with them; the oars were silver,
Which to the tune of flutes kept stroke, and made
The water which they beat to follow faster,
As amorous of their strokes. For her own person,
It beggar'd all description. She did lie
In her pavilion, cloth-of-gold, of tissue,
O'erpicturing that Venus where we see
The fancy out-work nature. On each side her
Stood pretty dimpled boys, like smiling Cupids,
With divers-colour'd fans, whose wind did seem
To glow the delicate cheeks which they did cool,
And what they undid did.
AGRIPPA. O, rare for Antony!
ENOBARBUS. Her gentlewomen, like the Nereides,
So many mermaids, tended her i' th' eyes,
And made their bends adornings. At the helm
A seeming mermaid steers. The silken tackle
Swell with the touches of those flower-soft hands
That yarely frame the office. From the barge
A strange invisible perfume hits the sense
Of the adjacent wharfs. The city cast
Her people out upon her; and Antony,
Enthron'd i' th' market-place, did sit alone,
Whistling to th' air; which, but for vacancy,
Had gone to gaze on Cleopatra too,
And made a gap in nature.
AGRIPPA. Rare Egyptian!
ENOBARBUS. Upon her landing, Antony sent to her,
Invited her to supper. She replied
It should be better he became her guest;
Which she entreated. Our courteous Antony,
Whom ne'er the word of 'No' woman heard speak,
Being barber'd ten times o'er, goes to the feast,
And for his ordinary pays his heart
For what his eyes eat only.
AGRIPPA. Royal wench!
She made great Caesar lay his sword to bed.
He ploughed her, and she cropp'd.
ENOBARBUS. I saw her once
Hop forty paces through the public street;
And, having lost her breath, she spoke, and panted,
That she did make defect perfection,
And, breathless, pow'r breathe forth.
MAECENAS. Now Antony must leave her utterly.
ENOBARBUS. Never! He will not.
Age cannot wither her, nor custom stale
Her infinite variety. Other women cloy
The appetites they feed, but she makes hungry
Where most she satisfies; for vilest things
Become themselves in her, that the holy priests
Bless her when she is riggish.
MAECENAS. If beauty, wisdom, modesty, can settle
The heart of Antony, Octavia is
A blessed lottery to him.
AGRIPPA. Let us go.
Good Enobarbus, make yourself my guest
Whilst you abide here.
ENOBARBUS. Humbly, sir, I thank you. Exeunt
SCENE III.
Rome. CAESAR'S house
Enter ANTONY, CAESAR, OCTAVIA between them
ANTONY. The world and my great office will sometimes
Divide me from your bosom.
OCTAVIA. All which time
Before the gods my knee shall bow my prayers
To them for you.
ANTONY. Good night, sir. My Octavia,
Read not my blemishes in the world's report.
I have not kept my square; but that to come
Shall all be done by th' rule. Good night, dear lady.
OCTAVIA. Good night, sir.
CAESAR. Good night. Exeunt CAESAR and OCTAVIA
Enter SOOTHSAYER
ANTONY. Now, sirrah, you do wish yourself in Egypt?
SOOTHSAYER. Would I had never come from thence, nor you thither!
ANTONY. If you can- your reason.
SOOTHSAYER. I see it in my motion, have it not in my tongue; but
yet hie you to Egypt again.
ANTONY. Say to me,
Whose fortunes shall rise higher, Caesar's or mine?
SOOTHSAYER. Caesar's.
Therefore, O Antony, stay not by his side.
Thy daemon, that thy spirit which keeps thee, is
Noble, courageous, high, unmatchable,
Where Caesar's is not; but near him thy angel
Becomes a fear, as being o'erpow'r'd. Therefore
Make space enough between you.
ANTONY. Speak this no more.
SOOTHSAYER. To none but thee; no more but when to thee.
If thou dost play with him at any game,
Thou art sure to lose; and of that natural luck
He beats thee 'gainst the odds. Thy lustre thickens
When he shines by. I say again, thy spirit
Is all afraid to govern thee near him;
But, he away, 'tis noble.
ANTONY. Get thee gone.
Say to Ventidius I would speak with him.
Exit SOOTHSAYER
He shall to Parthia.- Be it art or hap,
He hath spoken true. The very dice obey him;
And in our sports my better cunning faints
Under his chance. If we draw lots, he speeds;
His cocks do win the battle still of mine,
When it is all to nought, and his quails ever
Beat mine, inhoop'd, at odds. I will to Egypt;
And though I make this marriage for my peace,
I' th' East my pleasure lies.
Enter VENTIDIUS
O, come, Ventidius,
You must to Parthia. Your commission's ready;
Follow me and receive't. Exeunt
SCENE IV.
Rome. A street
Enter LEPIDUS, MAECENAS, and AGRIPPA
LEPIDUS. Trouble yourselves no further. Pray you hasten
Your generals after.
AGRIPPA. Sir, Mark Antony
Will e'en but kiss Octavia, and we'll follow.
LEPIDUS. Till I shall see you in your soldier's dress,
Which will become you both, farewell.
MAECENAS. We shall,
As I conceive the journey, be at th' Mount
Before you, Lepidus.
LEPIDUS. Your way is shorter;
My purposes do draw me much about.
You'll win two days upon me.
BOTH. Sir, good success!
LEPIDUS. Farewell. Exeunt
SCENE V.
Alexandria. CLEOPATRA'S palace
Enter CLEOPATRA, CHARMIAN, IRAS, and ALEXAS
CLEOPATRA. Give me some music- music, moody food
Of us that trade in love.
ALL. The music, ho!
Enter MARDIAN the eunuch
CLEOPATRA. Let it alone! Let's to billiards. Come, Charmian.
CHARMIAN. My arm is sore; best play with Mardian.
CLEOPATRA. As well a woman with an eunuch play'd
As with a woman. Come, you'll play with me, sir?
MARDIAN. As well as I can, madam.
CLEOPATRA. And when good will is show'd, though't come too short,
The actor may plead pardon. I'll none now.
Give me mine angle- we'll to th' river. There,
My music playing far off, I will betray
Tawny-finn'd fishes; my bended hook shall pierce
Their slimy jaws; and as I draw them up
I'll think them every one an Antony,
And say 'Ah ha! Y'are caught.'
CHARMIAN. 'Twas merry when
You wager'd on your angling; when your diver
Did hang a salt fish on his hook, which he
With fervency drew up.
CLEOPATRA. That time? O times
I laughed him out of patience; and that night
I laugh'd him into patience; and next morn,
Ere the ninth hour, I drunk him to his bed,
Then put my tires and mantles on him, whilst
I wore his sword Philippan.
Enter a MESSENGER
O! from Italy?
Ram thou thy fruitful tidings in mine ears,
That long time have been barren.
MESSENGER. Madam, madam-
CLEOPATRA. Antony's dead! If thou say so, villain,
Thou kill'st thy mistress; but well and free,
If thou so yield him, there is gold, and here
My bluest veins to kiss- a hand that kings
Have lipp'd, and trembled kissing.
MESSENGER. First, madam, he is well.
CLEOPATRA. Why, there's more gold.
But, sirrah, mark, we use
To say the dead are well. Bring it to that,
The gold I give thee will I melt and pour
Down thy ill-uttering throat.
MESSENGER. Good madam, hear me.
CLEOPATRA. Well, go to, I will.
But there's no goodness in thy face. If Antony
Be free and healthful- why so tart a favour
To trumpet such good tidings? If not well,
Thou shouldst come like a Fury crown'd with snakes,
Not like a formal man.
MESSENGER. Will't please you hear me?
CLEOPATRA. I have a mind to strike thee ere thou speak'st.
Yet, if thou say Antony lives, is well,
Or friends with Caesar, or not captive to him,
I'll set thee in a shower of gold, and hail
Rich pearls upon thee.
MESSENGER. Madam, he's well.
CLEOPATRA. Well said.
MESSENGER. And friends with Caesar.
CLEOPATRA. Th'art an honest man.
MESSENGER. Caesar and he are greater friends than ever.
CLEOPATRA. Make thee a fortune from me.
MESSENGER. But yet, madam-
CLEOPATRA. I do not like 'but yet.' It does allay
The good precedence; fie upon 'but yet'!
'But yet' is as a gaoler to bring forth
Some monstrous malefactor. Prithee, friend,
Pour out the pack of matter to mine ear,
The good and bad together. He's friends with Caesar;
In state of health, thou say'st; and, thou say'st, free.
MESSENGER. Free, madam! No; I made no such report.
He's bound unto Octavia.
CLEOPATRA. For what good turn?
MESSENGER. For the best turn i' th' bed.
CLEOPATRA. I am pale, Charmian.
MESSENGER. Madam, he's married to Octavia.
CLEOPATRA. The most infectious pestilence upon thee!
[Strikes him down]
MESSENGER. Good madam, patience.
CLEOPATRA. What say you? Hence, [Strikes him]
Horrible villain! or I'll spurn thine eyes
Like balls before me; I'll unhair thy head;
[She hales him up and down]
Thou shalt be whipp'd with wire and stew'd in brine,
Smarting in ling'ring pickle.
MESSENGER. Gracious madam,
I that do bring the news made not the match.
CLEOPATRA. Say 'tis not so, a province I will give thee,
And make thy fortunes proud. The blow thou hadst
Shall make thy peace for moving me to rage;
And I will boot thee with what gift beside
Thy modesty can beg.
MESSENGER. He's married, madam.
CLEOPATRA. Rogue, thou hast liv'd too long. [Draws a knife]
MESSENGER. Nay, then I'll run.
What mean you, madam? I have made no fault. Exit
CHARMIAN. Good madam, keep yourself within yourself:
The man is innocent.
CLEOPATRA. Some innocents scape not the thunderbolt.
Melt Egypt into Nile! and kindly creatures
Turn all to serpents! Call the slave again.
Though I am mad, I will not bite him. Call!
CHARMIAN. He is afear'd to come.
CLEOPATRA. I will not hurt him.
These hands do lack nobility, that they strike
A meaner than myself; since I myself
Have given myself the cause.
Enter the MESSENGER again
Come hither, sir.
Though it be honest, it is never good
To bring bad news. Give to a gracious message
An host of tongues; but let ill tidings tell
Themselves when they be felt.
MESSENGER. I have done my duty.
CLEOPATRA. Is he married?
I cannot hate thee worser than I do
If thou again say 'Yes.'
MESSENGER. He's married, madam.
CLEOPATRA. The gods confound thee! Dost thou hold there still?
MESSENGER. Should I lie, madam?
CLEOPATRA. O, I would thou didst,
So half my Egypt were submerg'd and made
A cistern for scal'd snakes! Go, get thee hence.
Hadst thou Narcissus in thy face, to me
Thou wouldst appear most ugly. He is married?
MESSENGER. I crave your Highness' pardon.
CLEOPATRA. He is married?
MESSENGER. Take no offence that I would not offend you;
To punish me for what you make me do
Seems much unequal. He's married to Octavia.
CLEOPATRA. O, that his fault should make a knave of thee
That art not what th'art sure of! Get thee hence.
The merchandise which thou hast brought from Rome
Are all too dear for me. Lie they upon thy hand,
And be undone by 'em! Exit MESSENGER
CHARMIAN. Good your Highness, patience.
CLEOPATRA. In praising Antony I have disprais'd Caesar.
CHARMIAN. Many times, madam.
CLEOPATRA. I am paid for't now. Lead me from hence,
I faint. O Iras, Charmian! 'Tis no matter.
Go to the fellow, good Alexas; bid him
Report the feature of Octavia, her years,
Her inclination; let him not leave out
The colour of her hair. Bring me word quickly.
Exit ALEXAS
Let him for ever go- let him not, Charmian-
Though he be painted one way like a Gorgon,
The other way's a Mars. [To MARDIAN]
Bid you Alexas
Bring me word how tall she is.- Pity me, Charmian,
But do not speak to me. Lead me to my chamber. Exeunt
SCENE VI.
Near Misenum
Flourish. Enter POMPEY and MENAS at one door, with drum and trumpet;
at another, CAESAR, ANTONY, LEPIDUS, ENOBARBUS, MAECENAS, AGRIPPA,
with soldiers marching
POMPEY. Your hostages I have, so have you mine;
And we shall talk before we fight.
CAESAR. Most meet
That first we come to words; and therefore have we
Our written purposes before us sent;
Which if thou hast considered, let us know
If 'twill tie up thy discontented sword
And carry back to Sicily much tall youth
That else must perish here.
POMPEY. To you all three,
The senators alone of this great world,
Chief factors for the gods: I do not know
Wherefore my father should revengers want,
Having a son and friends, since Julius Caesar,
Who at Philippi the good Brutus ghosted,
There saw you labouring for him. What was't
That mov'd pale Cassius to conspire? and what
Made the all-honour'd honest Roman, Brutus,
With the arm'd rest, courtiers of beauteous freedom,
To drench the Capitol, but that they would
Have one man but a man? And that is it
Hath made me rig my navy, at whose burden
The anger'd ocean foams; with which I meant
To scourge th' ingratitude that despiteful Rome
Cast on my noble father.
CAESAR. Take your time.
ANTONY. Thou canst not fear us, Pompey, with thy sails;
We'll speak with thee at sea; at land thou know'st
How much we do o'er-count thee.
POMPEY. At land, indeed,
Thou dost o'er-count me of my father's house.
But since the cuckoo builds not for himself,
Remain in't as thou mayst.
LEPIDUS. Be pleas'd to tell us-
For this is from the present- how you take
The offers we have sent you.
CAESAR. There's the point.
ANTONY. Which do not be entreated to, but weigh
What it is worth embrac'd.
CAESAR. And what may follow,
To try a larger fortune.
POMPEY. You have made me offer
Of Sicily, Sardinia; and I must
Rid all the sea of pirates; then to send
Measures of wheat to Rome; this 'greed upon,
To part with unhack'd edges and bear back
Our targes undinted.
ALL. That's our offer.
POMPEY. Know, then,
I came before you here a man prepar'd
To take this offer; but Mark Antony
Put me to some impatience. Though I lose
The praise of it by telling, you must know,
When Caesar and your brother were at blows,
Your mother came to Sicily and did find
Her welcome friendly.
ANTONY. I have heard it, Pompey,
And am well studied for a liberal thanks
Which I do owe you.
POMPEY. Let me have your hand.
I did not think, sir, to have met you here.
ANTONY. The beds i' th' East are soft; and thanks to you,
That call'd me timelier than my purpose hither;
For I have gained by't.
CAESAR. Since I saw you last
There is a change upon you.
POMPEY. Well, I know not
What counts harsh fortune casts upon my face;
But in my bosom shall she never come
To make my heart her vassal.
LEPIDUS. Well met here.
POMPEY. I hope so, Lepidus. Thus we are agreed.
I crave our composition may be written,
And seal'd between us.
CAESAR. That's the next to do.
POMPEY. We'll feast each other ere we part, and let's
Draw lots who shall begin.
ANTONY. That will I, Pompey.
POMPEY. No, Antony, take the lot;
But, first or last, your fine Egyptian cookery
Shall have the fame. I have heard that Julius Caesar
Grew fat with feasting there.
ANTONY. You have heard much.
POMPEY. I have fair meanings, sir.
ANTONY. And fair words to them.
POMPEY. Then so much have I heard;
And I have heard Apollodorus carried-
ENOBARBUS. No more of that! He did so.
POMPEY. What, I pray you?
ENOBARBUS. A certain queen to Caesar in a mattress.
POMPEY. I know thee now. How far'st thou, soldier?
ENOBARBUS. Well;
And well am like to do, for I perceive
Four feasts are toward.
POMPEY. Let me shake thy hand.
I never hated thee; I have seen thee fight,
When I have envied thy behaviour.
ENOBARBUS. Sir,
I never lov'd you much; but I ha' prais'd ye
When you have well deserv'd ten times as much
As I have said you did.
POMPEY. Enjoy thy plainness;
It nothing ill becomes thee.
Aboard my galley I invite you all.
Will you lead, lords?
ALL. Show's the way, sir.
POMPEY. Come. Exeunt all but ENOBARBUS and MENAS
MENAS. [Aside] Thy father, Pompey, would ne'er have made this
treaty.- You and I have known, sir.
ENOBARBUS. At sea, I think.
MENAS. We have, sir.
ENOBARBUS. You have done well by water.
MENAS. And you by land.
ENOBARBUS. I Will praise any man that will praise me; though it
cannot be denied what I have done by land.
MENAS. Nor what I have done by water.
ENOBARBUS. Yes, something you can deny for your own safety: you
have been a great thief by sea.
MENAS. And you by land.
ENOBARBUS. There I deny my land service. But give me your hand,
Menas; if our eyes had authority, here they might take two
thieves kissing.
MENAS. All men's faces are true, whatsome'er their hands are.
ENOBARBUS. But there is never a fair woman has a true face.
MENAS. No slander: they steal hearts.
ENOBARBUS. We came hither to fight with you.
MENAS. For my part, I am sorry it is turn'd to a drinking.
Pompey doth this day laugh away his fortune.
ENOBARBUS. If he do, sure he cannot weep't back again.
MENAS. Y'have said, sir. We look'd not for Mark Antony here. Pray
you, is he married to Cleopatra?
ENOBARBUS. Caesar' sister is call'd Octavia.
MENAS. True, sir; she was the wife of Caius Marcellus.
ENOBARBUS. But she is now the wife of Marcus Antonius.
MENAS. Pray ye, sir?
ENOBARBUS. 'Tis true.
MENAS. Then is Caesar and he for ever knit together.
ENOBARBUS. If I were bound to divine of this unity, I would not
prophesy so.
MENAS. I think the policy of that purpose made more in the marriage
than the love of the parties.
ENOBARBUS. I think so too. But you shall find the band that seems
to tie their friendship together will be the very strangler of
their amity: Octavia is of a holy, cold, and still conversation.
MENAS. Who would not have his wife so?
ENOBARBUS. Not he that himself is not so; which is Mark Antony. He
will to his Egyptian dish again; then shall the sighs of Octavia
blow the fire up in Caesar, and, as I said before, that which is
the strength of their amity shall prove the immediate author of
their variance. Antony will use his affection where it is; he
married but his occasion here.
MENAS. And thus it may be. Come, sir, will you aboard? I have a
health for you.
ENOBARBUS. I shall take it, sir. We have us'd our throats in Egypt.
MENAS. Come, let's away. Exeunt
ACT_2|SC_7
SCENE VII.
On board POMPEY'S galley, off Misenum
Music plays. Enter two or three SERVANTS with a banquet
FIRST SERVANT. Here they'll be, man. Some o' their plants are
ill-rooted already; the least wind i' th' world will blow them
down.
SECOND SERVANT. Lepidus is high-colour'd.
FIRST SERVANT. They have made him drink alms-drink.
SECOND SERVANT. As they pinch one another by the disposition, he
cries out 'No more!'; reconciles them to his entreaty and himself
to th' drink.
FIRST SERVANT. But it raises the greater war between him and his
discretion.
SECOND SERVANT. Why, this it is to have a name in great men's
fellowship. I had as lief have a reed that will do me no service
as a partizan I could not heave.
FIRST SERVANT. To be call'd into a huge sphere, and not to be seen
to move in't, are the holes where eyes should be, which pitifully
disaster the cheeks.
A sennet sounded. Enter CAESAR, ANTONY, LEPIDUS,
POMPEY, AGRIPPA, MAECENAS, ENOBARBUS, MENAS,
with other CAPTAINS
ANTONY. [To CAESAR] Thus do they, sir: they take the flow o' th'
Nile
By certain scales i' th' pyramid; they know
By th' height, the lowness, or the mean, if dearth
Or foison follow. The higher Nilus swells
The more it promises; as it ebbs, the seedsman
Upon the slime and ooze scatters his grain,
And shortly comes to harvest.
LEPIDUS. Y'have strange serpents there.
ANTONY. Ay, Lepidus.
LEPIDUS. Your serpent of Egypt is bred now of your mud by the
operation of your sun; so is your crocodile.
ANTONY. They are so.
POMPEY. Sit- and some wine! A health to Lepidus!
LEPIDUS. I am not so well as I should be, but I'll ne'er out.
ENOBARBUS. Not till you have slept. I fear me you'll be in till
then.
LEPIDUS. Nay, certainly, I have heard the Ptolemies' pyramises are
very goodly things. Without contradiction I have heard that.
MENAS. [Aside to POMPEY] Pompey, a word.
POMPEY. [Aside to MENAS] Say in mine ear; what is't?
MENAS. [Aside to POMPEY] Forsake thy seat, I do beseech thee,
Captain,
And hear me speak a word.
POMPEY. [ Whispers in's ear ] Forbear me till anon-
This wine for Lepidus!
LEPIDUS. What manner o' thing is your crocodile?
ANTONY. It is shap'd, sir, like itself, and it is as broad as it
hath breadth; it is just so high as it is, and moves with it own
organs. It lives by that which nourisheth it, and the elements
once out of it, it transmigrates.
LEPIDUS. What colour is it of?
ANTONY. Of it own colour too.
LEPIDUS. 'Tis a strange serpent.
ANTONY. 'Tis so. And the tears of it are wet.
CAESAR. Will this description satisfy him?
ANTONY. With the health that Pompey gives him, else he is a very
epicure.
POMPEY. [Aside to MENAS] Go, hang, sir, hang! Tell me of that!
Away!
Do as I bid you.- Where's this cup I call'd for?
MENAS. [Aside to POMPEY] If for the sake of merit thou wilt hear
me,
Rise from thy stool.
POMPEY. [Aside to MENAS] I think th'art mad. [Rises and walks
aside] The matter?
MENAS. I have ever held my cap off to thy fortunes.
POMPEY. Thou hast serv'd me with much faith. What's else to say?-
Be jolly, lords.
ANTONY. These quicksands, Lepidus,
Keep off them, for you sink.
MENAS. Wilt thou be lord of all the world?
POMPEY. What say'st thou?
MENAS. Wilt thou be lord of the whole world? That's twice.
POMPEY. How should that be?
MENAS. But entertain it,
And though you think me poor, I am the man
Will give thee all the world.
POMPEY. Hast thou drunk well?
MENAS. No, Pompey, I have kept me from the cup.
Thou art, if thou dar'st be, the earthly Jove;
Whate'er the ocean pales or sky inclips
Is thine, if thou wilt ha't.
POMPEY. Show me which way.
MENAS. These three world-sharers, these competitors,
Are in thy vessel. Let me cut the cable;
And when we are put off, fall to their throats.
All there is thine.
POMPEY. Ah, this thou shouldst have done,
And not have spoke on't. In me 'tis villainy:
In thee't had been good service. Thou must know
'Tis not my profit that does lead mine honour:
Mine honour, it. Repent that e'er thy tongue
Hath so betray'd thine act. Being done unknown,
I should have found it afterwards well done,
But must condemn it now. Desist, and drink.
MENAS. [Aside] For this,
I'll never follow thy pall'd fortunes more.
Who seeks, and will not take when once 'tis offer'd,
Shall never find it more.
POMPEY. This health to Lepidus!
ANTONY. Bear him ashore. I'll pledge it for him, Pompey.
ENOBARBUS. Here's to thee, Menas!
MENAS. Enobarbus, welcome!
POMPEY. Fill till the cup be hid.
ENOBARBUS. There's a strong fellow, Menas.
[Pointing to the servant who carries off LEPIDUS]
MENAS. Why?
ENOBARBUS. 'A bears the third part of the world, man; see'st not?
MENAS. The third part, then, is drunk. Would it were all,
That it might go on wheels!
ENOBARBUS. Drink thou; increase the reels.
MENAS. Come.
POMPEY. This is not yet an Alexandrian feast.
ANTONY. It ripens towards it. Strike the vessels, ho!
Here's to Caesar!
CAESAR. I could well forbear't.
It's monstrous labour when I wash my brain
And it grows fouler.
ANTONY. Be a child o' th' time.
CAESAR. Possess it, I'll make answer.
But I had rather fast from all four days
Than drink so much in one.
ENOBARBUS. [To ANTONY] Ha, my brave emperor!
Shall we dance now the Egyptian Bacchanals
And celebrate our drink?
POMPEY. Let's ha't, good soldier.
ANTONY. Come, let's all take hands,
Till that the conquering wine hath steep'd our sense
In soft and delicate Lethe.
ENOBARBUS. All take hands.
Make battery to our ears with the loud music,
The while I'll place you; then the boy shall sing;
The holding every man shall bear as loud
As his strong sides can volley.
[Music plays. ENOBARBUS places them hand in hand]
THE SONG
Come, thou monarch of the vine,
Plumpy Bacchus with pink eyne!
In thy fats our cares be drown'd,
With thy grapes our hairs be crown'd.
Cup us till the world go round,
Cup us till the world go round!
CAESAR. What would you more? Pompey, good night. Good brother,
Let me request you off; our graver business
Frowns at this levity. Gentle lords, let's part;
You see we have burnt our cheeks. Strong Enobarb
Is weaker than the wine, and mine own tongue
Splits what it speaks. The wild disguise hath almost
Antick'd us all. What needs more words? Good night.
Good Antony, your hand.
POMPEY. I'll try you on the shore.
ANTONY. And shall, sir. Give's your hand.
POMPEY. O Antony,
You have my father's house- but what? We are friends.
Come, down into the boat.
ENOBARBUS. Take heed you fall not.
Exeunt all but ENOBARBUS and MENAS
Menas, I'll not on shore.
MENAS. No, to my cabin.
These drums! these trumpets, flutes! what!
Let Neptune hear we bid a loud farewell
To these great fellows. Sound and be hang'd, sound out!
[Sound a flourish, with drums]
ENOBARBUS. Hoo! says 'a. There's my cap.
MENAS. Hoo! Noble Captain, come. Exeunt
ACT_3|SC_1
ACT III. SCENE I.
A plain in Syria
Enter VENTIDIUS, as it were in triumph, with SILIUS
and other Romans, OFFICERS and soldiers; the dead body
of PACORUS borne before him
VENTIDIUS. Now, darting Parthia, art thou struck, and now
Pleas'd fortune does of Marcus Crassus' death
Make me revenger. Bear the King's son's body
Before our army. Thy Pacorus, Orodes,
Pays this for Marcus Crassus.
SILIUS. Noble Ventidius,
Whilst yet with Parthian blood thy sword is warm
The fugitive Parthians follow; spur through Media,
Mesopotamia, and the shelters whither
The routed fly. So thy grand captain, Antony,
Shall set thee on triumphant chariots and
Put garlands on thy head.
VENTIDIUS. O Silius, Silius,
I have done enough. A lower place, note well,
May make too great an act; for learn this, Silius:
Better to leave undone than by our deed
Acquire too high a fame when him we serve's away.
Caesar and Antony have ever won
More in their officer, than person. Sossius,
One of my place in Syria, his lieutenant,
For quick accumulation of renown,
Which he achiev'd by th' minute, lost his favour.
Who does i' th' wars more than his captain can
Becomes his captain's captain; and ambition,
The soldier's virtue, rather makes choice of loss
Than gain which darkens him.
I could do more to do Antonius good,
But 'twould offend him; and in his offence
Should my performance perish.
SILIUS. Thou hast, Ventidius, that
Without the which a soldier and his sword
Grants scarce distinction. Thou wilt write to Antony?
VENTIDIUS. I'll humbly signify what in his name,
That magical word of war, we have effected;
How, with his banners, and his well-paid ranks,
The ne'er-yet-beaten horse of Parthia
We have jaded out o' th' field.
SILIUS. Where is he now?
VENTIDIUS. He purposeth to Athens; whither, with what haste
The weight we must convey with's will permit,
We shall appear before him.- On, there; pass along.
Exeunt
ACT_3|SC_2
SCENE II. Rome. CAESAR'S house
Enter AGRIPPA at one door, ENOBARBUS at another
AGRIPPA. What, are the brothers parted?
ENOBARBUS. They have dispatch'd with Pompey; he is gone;
The other three are sealing. Octavia weeps
To part from Rome; Caesar is sad; and Lepidus,
Since Pompey's feast, as Menas says, is troubled
With the green sickness.
AGRIPPA. 'Tis a noble Lepidus.
ENOBARBUS. A very fine one. O, how he loves Caesar!
AGRIPPA. Nay, but how dearly he adores Mark Antony!
ENOBARBUS. Caesar? Why he's the Jupiter of men.
AGRIPPA. What's Antony? The god of Jupiter.
ENOBARBUS. Spake you of Caesar? How! the nonpareil!
AGRIPPA. O, Antony! O thou Arabian bird!
ENOBARBUS. Would you praise Caesar, say 'Caesar'- go no further.
AGRIPPA. Indeed, he plied them both with excellent praises.
ENOBARBUS. But he loves Caesar best. Yet he loves Antony.
Hoo! hearts, tongues, figures, scribes, bards, poets, cannot
Think, speak, cast, write, sing, number- hoo!-
His love to Antony. But as for Caesar,
Kneel down, kneel down, and wonder.
AGRIPPA. Both he loves.
ENOBARBUS. They are his shards, and he their beetle. [Trumpets
within] So-
This is to horse. Adieu, noble Agrippa.
AGRIPPA. Good fortune, worthy soldier, and farewell.
Enter CAESAR, ANTONY, LEPIDUS, and OCTAVIA
ANTONY. No further, sir.
CAESAR. You take from me a great part of myself;
Use me well in't. Sister, prove such a wife
As my thoughts make thee, and as my farthest band
Shall pass on thy approof. Most noble Antony,
Let not the piece of virtue which is set
Betwixt us as the cement of our love
To keep it builded be the ram to batter
The fortress of it; for better might we
Have lov'd without this mean, if on both parts
This be not cherish'd.
ANTONY. Make me not offended
In your distrust.
CAESAR. I have said.
ANTONY. You shall not find,
Though you be therein curious, the least cause
For what you seem to fear. So the gods keep you,
And make the hearts of Romans serve your ends!
We will here part.
CAESAR. Farewell, my dearest sister, fare thee well.
The elements be kind to thee and make
Thy spirits all of comfort! Fare thee well.
OCTAVIA. My noble brother!
ANTONY. The April's in her eyes. It is love's spring,
And these the showers to bring it on. Be cheerful.
OCTAVIA. Sir, look well to my husband's house; and-
CAESAR. What, Octavia?
OCTAVIA. I'll tell you in your ear.
ANTONY. Her tongue will not obey her heart, nor can
Her heart inform her tongue- the swan's down feather,
That stands upon the swell at the full of tide,
And neither way inclines.
ENOBARBUS. [Aside to AGRIPPA] Will Caesar weep?
AGRIPPA. [Aside to ENOBARBUS] He has a cloud in's face.
ENOBARBUS. [Aside to AGRIPPA] He were the worse for that, were he a
horse;
So is he, being a man.
AGRIPPA. [Aside to ENOBARBUS] Why, Enobarbus,
When Antony found Julius Caesar dead,
He cried almost to roaring; and he wept
When at Philippi he found Brutus slain.
ENOBARBUS. [Aside to AGRIPPA] That year, indeed, he was troubled
with a rheum;
What willingly he did confound he wail'd,
Believe't- till I weep too.
CAESAR. No, sweet Octavia,
You shall hear from me still; the time shall not
Out-go my thinking on you.
ANTONY. Come, sir, come;
I'll wrestle with you in my strength of love.
Look, here I have you; thus I let you go,
And give you to the gods.
CAESAR. Adieu; be happy!
LEPIDUS. Let all the number of the stars give light
To thy fair way!
CAESAR. Farewell, farewell! [Kisses OCTAVIA]
ANTONY. Farewell! Trumpets sound. Exeunt
ACT_3|SC_3
SCENE III.
Alexandria. CLEOPATRA'S palace
Enter CLEOPATRA, CHARMIAN, IRAS, and ALEXAS
CLEOPATRA. Where is the fellow?
ALEXAS. Half afeard to come.
CLEOPATRA. Go to, go to.
Enter the MESSENGER as before
Come hither, sir.
ALEXAS. Good Majesty,
Herod of Jewry dare not look upon you
But when you are well pleas'd.
CLEOPATRA. That Herod's head
I'll have. But how, when Antony is gone,
Through whom I might command it? Come thou near.
MESSENGER. Most gracious Majesty!
CLEOPATRA. Didst thou behold Octavia?
MESSENGER. Ay, dread Queen.
CLEOPATRA. Where?
MESSENGER. Madam, in Rome
I look'd her in the face, and saw her led
Between her brother and Mark Antony.
CLEOPATRA. Is she as tall as me?
MESSENGER. She is not, madam.
CLEOPATRA. Didst hear her speak? Is she shrill-tongu'd or low?
MESSENGER. Madam, I heard her speak: she is low-voic'd.
CLEOPATRA. That's not so good. He cannot like her long.
CHARMIAN. Like her? O Isis! 'tis impossible.
CLEOPATRA. I think so, Charmian. Dull of tongue and dwarfish!
What majesty is in her gait? Remember,
If e'er thou look'dst on majesty.
MESSENGER. She creeps.
Her motion and her station are as one;
She shows a body rather than a life,
A statue than a breather.
CLEOPATRA. Is this certain?
MESSENGER. Or I have no observance.
CHARMIAN. Three in Egypt
Cannot make better note.
CLEOPATRA. He's very knowing;
I do perceive't. There's nothing in her yet.
The fellow has good judgment.
CHARMIAN. Excellent.
CLEOPATRA. Guess at her years, I prithee.
MESSENGER. Madam,
She was a widow.
CLEOPATRA. Widow? Charmian, hark!
MESSENGER. And I do think she's thirty.
CLEOPATRA. Bear'st thou her face in mind? Is't long or round?
MESSENGER. Round even to faultiness.
CLEOPATRA. For the most part, too, they are foolish that are so.
Her hair, what colour?
MESSENGER. Brown, madam; and her forehead
As low as she would wish it.
CLEOPATRA. There's gold for thee.
Thou must not take my former sharpness ill.
I will employ thee back again; I find thee
Most fit for business. Go make thee ready;
Our letters are prepar'd. Exeunt MESSENGER
CHARMIAN. A proper man.
CLEOPATRA. Indeed, he is so. I repent me much
That so I harried him. Why, methinks, by him,
This creature's no such thing.
CHARMIAN. Nothing, madam.
CLEOPATRA. The man hath seen some majesty, and should know.
CHARMIAN. Hath he seen majesty? Isis else defend,
And serving you so long!
CLEOPATRA. I have one thing more to ask him yet, good Charmian.
But 'tis no matter; thou shalt bring him to me
Where I will write. All may be well enough.
CHARMIAN. I warrant you, madam. Exeunt
ACT_3|SC_4
SCENE IV.
Athens. ANTONY'S house
Enter ANTONY and OCTAVIA
ANTONY. Nay, nay, Octavia, not only that-
That were excusable, that and thousands more
Of semblable import- but he hath wag'd
New wars 'gainst Pompey; made his will, and read it
To public ear;
Spoke scandy of me; when perforce he could not
But pay me terms of honour, cold and sickly
He vented them, most narrow measure lent me;
When the best hint was given him, he not took't,
Or did it from his teeth.
OCTAVIA. O my good lord,
Believe not all; or if you must believe,
Stomach not all. A more unhappy lady,
If this division chance, ne'er stood between,
Praying for both parts.
The good gods will mock me presently
When I shall pray 'O, bless my lord and husband!'
Undo that prayer by crying out as loud
'O, bless my brother!' Husband win, win brother,
Prays, and destroys the prayer; no mid-way
'Twixt these extremes at all.
ANTONY. Gentle Octavia,
Let your best love draw to that point which seeks
Best to preserve it. If I lose mine honour,
I lose myself; better I were not yours
Than yours so branchless. But, as you requested,
Yourself shall go between's. The meantime, lady,
I'll raise the preparation of a war
Shall stain your brother. Make your soonest haste;
So your desires are yours.
OCTAVIA. Thanks to my lord.
The Jove of power make me, most weak, most weak,
Your reconciler! Wars 'twixt you twain would be
As if the world should cleave, and that slain men
Should solder up the rift.
ANTONY. When it appears to you where this begins,
Turn your displeasure that way, for our faults
Can never be so equal that your love
Can equally move with them. Provide your going;
Choose your own company, and command what cost
Your heart has mind to. Exeunt
ACT_3|SC_5
SCENE V.
Athens. ANTONY'S house
Enter ENOBARBUS and EROS, meeting
ENOBARBUS. How now, friend Eros!
EROS. There's strange news come, sir.
ENOBARBUS. What, man?
EROS. Caesar and Lepidus have made wars upon Pompey.
ENOBARBUS. This is old. What is the success?
EROS. Caesar, having made use of him in the wars 'gainst Pompey,
presently denied him rivality, would not let him partake in the
glory of the action; and not resting here, accuses him of letters
he had formerly wrote to Pompey; upon his own appeal, seizes him.
So the poor third is up, till death enlarge his confine.
ENOBARBUS. Then, world, thou hast a pair of chaps- no more;
And throw between them all the food thou hast,
They'll grind the one the other. Where's Antony?
EROS. He's walking in the garden- thus, and spurns
The rush that lies before him; cries 'Fool Lepidus!'
And threats the throat of that his officer
That murd'red Pompey.
ENOBARBUS. Our great navy's rigg'd.
EROS. For Italy and Caesar. More, Domitius:
My lord desires you presently; my news
I might have told hereafter.
ENOBARBUS. 'Twill be naught;
But let it be. Bring me to Antony.
EROS. Come, sir. Exeunt
ACT_3|SC_6
SCENE VI.
Rome. CAESAR'S house
Enter CAESAR, AGRIPPA, and MAECENAS
CAESAR. Contemning Rome, he has done all this and more
In Alexandria. Here's the manner of't:
I' th' market-place, on a tribunal silver'd,
Cleopatra and himself in chairs of gold
Were publicly enthron'd; at the feet sat
Caesarion, whom they call my father's son,
And all the unlawful issue that their lust
Since then hath made between them. Unto her
He gave the stablishment of Egypt; made her
Of lower Syria, Cyprus, Lydia,
Absolute queen.
MAECENAS. This in the public eye?
CAESAR. I' th' common show-place, where they exercise.
His sons he there proclaim'd the kings of kings:
Great Media, Parthia, and Armenia,
He gave to Alexander; to Ptolemy he assign'd
Syria, Cilicia, and Phoenicia. She
In th' habiliments of the goddess Isis
That day appear'd; and oft before gave audience,
As 'tis reported, so.
MAECENAS. Let Rome be thus
Inform'd.
AGRIPPA. Who, queasy with his insolence
Already, will their good thoughts call from him.
CAESAR. The people knows it, and have now receiv'd
His accusations.
AGRIPPA. Who does he accuse?
CAESAR. Caesar; and that, having in Sicily
Sextus Pompeius spoil'd, we had not rated him
His part o' th' isle. Then does he say he lent me
Some shipping, unrestor'd. Lastly, he frets
That Lepidus of the triumvirate
Should be depos'd; and, being, that we detain
All his revenue.
AGRIPPA. Sir, this should be answer'd.
CAESAR. 'Tis done already, and messenger gone.
I have told him Lepidus was grown too cruel,
That he his high authority abus'd,
And did deserve his change. For what I have conquer'd
I grant him part; but then, in his Armenia
And other of his conquer'd kingdoms,
Demand the like.
MAECENAS. He'll never yield to that.
CAESAR. Nor must not then be yielded to in this.
Enter OCTAVIA, with her train
OCTAVIA. Hail, Caesar, and my lord! hail, most dear Caesar!
CAESAR. That ever I should call thee cast-away!
OCTAVIA. You have not call'd me so, nor have you cause.
CAESAR. Why have you stol'n upon us thus? You come not
Like Caesar's sister. The wife of Antony
Should have an army for an usher, and
The neighs of horse to tell of her approach
Long ere she did appear. The trees by th' way
Should have borne men, and expectation fainted,
Longing for what it had not. Nay, the dust
Should have ascended to the roof of heaven,
Rais'd by your populous troops. But you are come
A market-maid to Rome, and have prevented
The ostentation of our love, which left unshown
Is often left unlov'd. We should have met you
By sea and land, supplying every stage
With an augmented greeting.
OCTAVIA. Good my lord,
To come thus was I not constrain'd, but did it
On my free will. My lord, Mark Antony,
Hearing that you prepar'd for war, acquainted
My grieved ear withal; whereon I begg'd
His pardon for return.
CAESAR. Which soon he granted,
Being an obstruct 'tween his lust and him.
OCTAVIA. Do not say so, my lord.
CAESAR. I have eyes upon him,
And his affairs come to me on the wind.
Where is he now?
OCTAVIA. My lord, in Athens.
CAESAR. No, my most wronged sister: Cleopatra
Hath nodded him to her. He hath given his empire
Up to a whore, who now are levying
The kings o' th' earth for war. He hath assembled
Bocchus, the king of Libya; Archelaus
Of Cappadocia; Philadelphos, king
Of Paphlagonia; the Thracian king, Adallas;
King Manchus of Arabia; King of Pont;
Herod of Jewry; Mithridates, king
Of Comagene; Polemon and Amyntas,
The kings of Mede and Lycaonia, with
More larger list of sceptres.
OCTAVIA. Ay me most wretched,
That have my heart parted betwixt two friends,
That does afflict each other!
CAESAR. Welcome hither.
Your letters did withhold our breaking forth,
Till we perceiv'd both how you were wrong led
And we in negligent danger. Cheer your heart;
Be you not troubled with the time, which drives
O'er your content these strong necessities,
But let determin'd things to destiny
Hold unbewail'd their way. Welcome to Rome;
Nothing more dear to me. You are abus'd
Beyond the mark of thought, and the high gods,
To do you justice, make their ministers
Of us and those that love you. Best of comfort,
And ever welcome to us.
AGRIPPA. Welcome, lady.
MAECENAS. Welcome, dear madam.
Each heart in Rome does love and pity you;
Only th' adulterous Antony, most large
In his abominations, turns you off,
And gives his potent regiment to a trull
That noises it against us.
OCTAVIA. Is it so, sir?
CAESAR. Most certain. Sister, welcome. Pray you
Be ever known to patience. My dear'st sister! Exeunt
ACT_3|SC_7
SCENE VII.
ANTONY'S camp near Actium
Enter CLEOPATRA and ENOBARBUS
CLEOPATRA. I will be even with thee, doubt it not.
ENOBARBUS. But why, why,
CLEOPATRA. Thou hast forspoke my being in these wars,
And say'st it is not fit.
ENOBARBUS. Well, is it, is it?
CLEOPATRA. Is't not denounc'd against us? Why should not we
Be there in person?
ENOBARBUS. [Aside] Well, I could reply:
If we should serve with horse and mares together
The horse were merely lost; the mares would bear
A soldier and his horse.
CLEOPATRA. What is't you say?
ENOBARBUS. Your presence needs must puzzle Antony;
Take from his heart, take from his brain, from's time,
What should not then be spar'd. He is already
Traduc'd for levity; and 'tis said in Rome
That Photinus an eunuch and your maids
Manage this war.
CLEOPATRA. Sink Rome, and their tongues rot
That speak against us! A charge we bear i' th' war,
And, as the president of my kingdom, will
Appear there for a man. Speak not against it;
I will not stay behind.
Enter ANTONY and CANIDIUS
ENOBARBUS. Nay, I have done.
Here comes the Emperor.
ANTONY. Is it not strange, Canidius,
That from Tarentum and Brundusium
He could so quickly cut the Ionian sea,
And take in Toryne?- You have heard on't, sweet?
CLEOPATRA. Celerity is never more admir'd
Than by the negligent.
ANTONY. A good rebuke,
Which might have well becom'd the best of men
To taunt at slackness. Canidius, we
Will fight with him by sea.
CLEOPATRA. By sea! What else?
CANIDIUS. Why will my lord do so?
ANTONY. For that he dares us to't.
ENOBARBUS. So hath my lord dar'd him to single fight.
CANIDIUS. Ay, and to wage this battle at Pharsalia,
Where Caesar fought with Pompey. But these offers,
Which serve not for his vantage, he shakes off;
And so should you.
ENOBARBUS. Your ships are not well mann'd;
Your mariners are muleteers, reapers, people
Ingross'd by swift impress. In Caesar's fleet
Are those that often have 'gainst Pompey fought;
Their ships are yare; yours heavy. No disgrace
Shall fall you for refusing him at sea,
Being prepar'd for land.
ANTONY. By sea, by sea.
ENOBARBUS. Most worthy sir, you therein throw away
The absolute soldiership you have by land;
Distract your army, which doth most consist
Of war-mark'd footmen; leave unexecuted
Your own renowned knowledge; quite forgo
The way which promises assurance; and
Give up yourself merely to chance and hazard
From firm security.
ANTONY. I'll fight at sea.
CLEOPATRA. I have sixty sails, Caesar none better.
ANTONY. Our overplus of shipping will we burn,
And, with the rest full-mann'd, from th' head of Actium
Beat th' approaching Caesar. But if we fail,
We then can do't at land.
Enter a MESSENGER
Thy business?
MESSENGER. The news is true, my lord: he is descried;
Caesar has taken Toryne.
ANTONY. Can he be there in person? 'Tis impossible-
Strange that his power should be. Canidius,
Our nineteen legions thou shalt hold by land,
And our twelve thousand horse. We'll to our ship.
Away, my Thetis!
Enter a SOLDIER
How now, worthy soldier?
SOLDIER. O noble Emperor, do not fight by sea;
Trust not to rotten planks. Do you misdoubt
This sword and these my wounds? Let th' Egyptians
And the Phoenicians go a-ducking; we
Have us'd to conquer standing on the earth
And fighting foot to foot.
ANTONY. Well, well- away.
Exeunt ANTONY, CLEOPATRA, and ENOBARBUS
SOLDIER. By Hercules, I think I am i' th' right.
CANIDIUS. Soldier, thou art; but his whole action grows
Not in the power on't. So our leader's led,
And we are women's men.
SOLDIER. You keep by land
The legions and the horse whole, do you not?
CANIDIUS. Marcus Octavius, Marcus Justeius,
Publicola, and Caelius are for sea;
But we keep whole by land. This speed of Caesar's
Carries beyond belief.
SOLDIER. While he was yet in Rome,
His power went out in such distractions as
Beguil'd all spies.
CANIDIUS. Who's his lieutenant, hear you?
SOLDIER. They say one Taurus.
CANIDIUS. Well I know the man.
Enter a MESSENGER
MESSENGER. The Emperor calls Canidius.
CANIDIUS. With news the time's with labour and throes forth
Each minute some. Exeunt
ACT_3|SC_8
SCENE VIII.
A plain near Actium
Enter CAESAR, with his army, marching
CAESAR. Taurus!
TAURUS. My lord?
CAESAR. Strike not by land; keep whole; provoke not battle
Till we have done at sea. Do not exceed
The prescript of this scroll. Our fortune lies
Upon this jump. Exeunt
ACT_3|SC_9
SCENE IX.
Another part of the plain
Enter ANTONY and ENOBARBUS
ANTONY. Set we our squadrons on yon side o' th' hill,
In eye of Caesar's battle; from which place
We may the number of the ships behold,
And so proceed accordingly. Exeunt
ACT_3|SC_10
SCENE X.
Another part of the plain
CANIDIUS marcheth with his land army one way
over the stage, and TAURUS, the Lieutenant of
CAESAR, the other way. After their going in is heard
the noise of a sea-fight
Alarum. Enter ENOBARBUS
ENOBARBUS. Naught, naught, all naught! I can behold no longer.
Th' Antoniad, the Egyptian admiral,
With all their sixty, fly and turn the rudder.
To see't mine eyes are blasted.
Enter SCARUS
SCARUS. Gods and goddesses,
All the whole synod of them!
ENOBARBUS. What's thy passion?
SCARUS. The greater cantle of the world is lost
With very ignorance; we have kiss'd away
Kingdoms and provinces.
ENOBARBUS. How appears the fight?
SCARUS. On our side like the token'd pestilence,
Where death is sure. Yon ribaudred nag of Egypt-
Whom leprosy o'ertake!- i' th' midst o' th' fight,
When vantage like a pair of twins appear'd,
Both as the same, or rather ours the elder-
The breese upon her, like a cow in June-
Hoists sails and flies.
ENOBARBUS. That I beheld;
Mine eyes did sicken at the sight and could not
Endure a further view.
SCARUS. She once being loof'd,
The noble ruin of her magic, Antony,
Claps on his sea-wing, and, like a doting mallard,
Leaving the fight in height, flies after her.
I never saw an action of such shame;
Experience, manhood, honour, ne'er before
Did violate so itself.
ENOBARBUS. Alack, alack!
Enter CANIDIUS
CANIDIUS. Our fortune on the sea is out of breath,
And sinks most lamentably. Had our general
Been what he knew himself, it had gone well.
O, he has given example for our flight
Most grossly by his own!
ENOBARBUS. Ay, are you thereabouts?
Why then, good night indeed.
CANIDIUS. Toward Peloponnesus are they fled.
SCARUS. 'Tis easy to't; and there I will attend
What further comes.
CANIDIUS. To Caesar will I render
My legions and my horse; six kings already
Show me the way of yielding.
ENOBARBUS. I'll yet follow
The wounded chance of Antony, though my reason
Sits in the wind against me. Exeunt
ACT_3|SC_11
SCENE XI.
Alexandria. CLEOPATRA'S palace
Enter ANTONY With attendants
ANTONY. Hark! the land bids me tread no more upon't;
It is asham'd to bear me. Friends, come hither.
I am so lated in the world that I
Have lost my way for ever. I have a ship
Laden with gold; take that; divide it. Fly,
And make your peace with Caesar.
ALL. Fly? Not we!
ANTONY. I have fled myself, and have instructed cowards
To run and show their shoulders. Friends, be gone;
I have myself resolv'd upon a course
Which has no need of you; be gone.
My treasure's in the harbour, take it. O,
I follow'd that I blush to look upon.
My very hairs do mutiny; for the white
Reprove the brown for rashness, and they them
For fear and doting. Friends, be gone; you shall
Have letters from me to some friends that will
Sweep your way for you. Pray you look not sad,
Nor make replies of loathness; take the hint
Which my despair proclaims. Let that be left
Which leaves itself. To the sea-side straight way.
I will possess you of that ship and treasure.
Leave me, I pray, a little; pray you now;
Nay, do so, for indeed I have lost command;
Therefore I pray you. I'll see you by and by. [Sits down]
Enter CLEOPATRA, led by CHARMIAN and IRAS,
EROS following
EROS. Nay, gentle madam, to him! Comfort him.
IRAS. Do, most dear Queen.
CHARMIAN. Do? Why, what else?
CLEOPATRA. Let me sit down. O Juno!
ANTONY. No, no, no, no, no.
EROS. See you here, sir?
ANTONY. O, fie, fie, fie!
CHARMIAN. Madam!
IRAS. Madam, O good Empress!
EROS. Sir, sir!
ANTONY. Yes, my lord, yes. He at Philippi kept
His sword e'en like a dancer, while I struck
The lean and wrinkled Cassius; and 'twas I
That the mad Brutus ended; he alone
Dealt on lieutenantry, and no practice had
In the brave squares of war. Yet now- no matter.
CLEOPATRA. Ah, stand by!
EROS. The Queen, my lord, the Queen!
IRAS. Go to him, madam, speak to him.
He is unqualitied with very shame.
CLEOPATRA. Well then, sustain me. O!
EROS. Most noble sir, arise; the Queen approaches.
Her head's declin'd, and death will seize her but
Your comfort makes the rescue.
ANTONY. I have offended reputation-
A most unnoble swerving.
EROS. Sir, the Queen.
ANTONY. O, whither hast thou led me, Egypt? See
How I convey my shame out of thine eyes
By looking back what I have left behind
'Stroy'd in dishonour.
CLEOPATRA. O my lord, my lord,
Forgive my fearful sails! I little thought
You would have followed.
ANTONY. Egypt, thou knew'st too well
My heart was to thy rudder tied by th' strings,
And thou shouldst tow me after. O'er my spirit
Thy full supremacy thou knew'st, and that
Thy beck might from the bidding of the gods
Command me.
CLEOPATRA. O, my pardon!
ANTONY. Now I must
To the young man send humble treaties, dodge
And palter in the shifts of lowness, who
With half the bulk o' th' world play'd as I pleas'd,
Making and marring fortunes. You did know
How much you were my conqueror, and that
My sword, made weak by my affection, would
Obey it on all cause.
CLEOPATRA. Pardon, pardon!
ANTONY. Fall not a tear, I say; one of them rates
All that is won and lost. Give me a kiss;
Even this repays me.
We sent our schoolmaster; is 'a come back?
Love, I am full of lead. Some wine,
Within there, and our viands! Fortune knows
We scorn her most when most she offers blows. Exeunt
ACT_3|SC_12
SCENE XII.
CAESAR'S camp in Egypt
Enter CAESAR, AGRIPPA, DOLABELLA, THYREUS, with others
CAESAR. Let him appear that's come from Antony.
Know you him?
DOLABELLA. Caesar, 'tis his schoolmaster:
An argument that he is pluck'd, when hither
He sends so poor a pinion of his wing,
Which had superfluous kings for messengers
Not many moons gone by.
Enter EUPHRONIUS, Ambassador from ANTONY
CAESAR. Approach, and speak.
EUPHRONIUS. Such as I am, I come from Antony.
I was of late as petty to his ends
As is the morn-dew on the myrtle leaf
To his grand sea.
CAESAR. Be't so. Declare thine office.
EUPHRONIUS. Lord of his fortunes he salutes thee, and
Requires to live in Egypt; which not granted,
He lessens his requests and to thee sues
To let him breathe between the heavens and earth,
A private man in Athens. This for him.
Next, Cleopatra does confess thy greatness,
Submits her to thy might, and of thee craves
The circle of the Ptolemies for her heirs,
Now hazarded to thy grace.
CAESAR. For Antony,
I have no ears to his request. The Queen
Of audience nor desire shall fail, so she
From Egypt drive her all-disgraced friend,
Or take his life there. This if she perform,
She shall not sue unheard. So to them both.
EUPHRONIUS. Fortune pursue thee!
CAESAR. Bring him through the bands. Exit EUPHRONIUS
[To THYREUS] To try thy eloquence, now 'tis time. Dispatch;
From Antony win Cleopatra. Promise,
And in our name, what she requires; add more,
From thine invention, offers. Women are not
In their best fortunes strong; but want will perjure
The ne'er-touch'd vestal. Try thy cunning, Thyreus;
Make thine own edict for thy pains, which we
Will answer as a law.
THYREUS. Caesar, I go.
CAESAR. Observe how Antony becomes his flaw,
And what thou think'st his very action speaks
In every power that moves.
THYREUS. Caesar, I shall. Exeunt
ACT_3|SC_13
SCENE XIII.
Alexandria. CLEOPATRA'S palace
Enter CLEOPATRA, ENOBARBUS, CHARMIAN, and IRAS
CLEOPATRA. What shall we do, Enobarbus?
ENOBARBUS. Think, and die.
CLEOPATRA. Is Antony or we in fault for this?
ENOBARBUS. Antony only, that would make his will
Lord of his reason. What though you fled
From that great face of war, whose several ranges
Frighted each other? Why should he follow?
The itch of his affection should not then
Have nick'd his captainship, at such a point,
When half to half the world oppos'd, he being
The mered question. 'Twas a shame no less
Than was his loss, to course your flying flags
And leave his navy gazing.
CLEOPATRA. Prithee, peace.
Enter EUPHRONIUS, the Ambassador; with ANTONY
ANTONY. Is that his answer?
EUPHRONIUS. Ay, my lord.
ANTONY. The Queen shall then have courtesy, so she
Will yield us up.
EUPHRONIUS. He says so.
ANTONY. Let her know't.
To the boy Caesar send this grizzled head,
And he will fill thy wishes to the brim
With principalities.
CLEOPATRA. That head, my lord?
ANTONY. To him again. Tell him he wears the rose
Of youth upon him; from which the world should note
Something particular. His coin, ships, legions,
May be a coward's whose ministers would prevail
Under the service of a child as soon
As i' th' command of Caesar. I dare him therefore
To lay his gay comparisons apart,
And answer me declin'd, sword against sword,
Ourselves alone. I'll write it. Follow me.
Exeunt ANTONY and EUPHRONIUS
EUPHRONIUS. [Aside] Yes, like enough high-battled Caesar will
Unstate his happiness, and be stag'd to th' show
Against a sworder! I see men's judgments are
A parcel of their fortunes, and things outward
Do draw the inward quality after them,
To suffer all alike. That he should dream,
Knowing all measures, the full Caesar will
Answer his emptiness! Caesar, thou hast subdu'd
His judgment too.
Enter a SERVANT
SERVANT. A messenger from Caesar.
CLEOPATRA. What, no more ceremony? See, my women!
Against the blown rose may they stop their nose
That kneel'd unto the buds. Admit him, sir. Exit SERVANT
ENOBARBUS. [Aside] Mine honesty and I begin to square.
The loyalty well held to fools does make
Our faith mere folly. Yet he that can endure
To follow with allegiance a fall'n lord
Does conquer him that did his master conquer,
And earns a place i' th' story.
Enter THYREUS
CLEOPATRA. Caesar's will?
THYREUS. Hear it apart.
CLEOPATRA. None but friends: say boldly.
THYREUS. So, haply, are they friends to Antony.
ENOBARBUS. He needs as many, sir, as Caesar has,
Or needs not us. If Caesar please, our master
Will leap to be his friend. For us, you know
Whose he is we are, and that is Caesar's.
THYREUS. So.
Thus then, thou most renown'd: Caesar entreats
Not to consider in what case thou stand'st
Further than he is Caesar.
CLEOPATRA. Go on. Right royal!
THYREUS. He knows that you embrace not Antony
As you did love, but as you fear'd him.
CLEOPATRA. O!
THYREUS. The scars upon your honour, therefore, he
Does pity, as constrained blemishes,
Not as deserv'd.
CLEOPATRA. He is a god, and knows
What is most right. Mine honour was not yielded,
But conquer'd merely.
ENOBARBUS. [Aside] To be sure of that,
I will ask Antony. Sir, sir, thou art so leaky
That we must leave thee to thy sinking, for
Thy dearest quit thee. Exit
THYREUS. Shall I say to Caesar
What you require of him? For he partly begs
To be desir'd to give. It much would please him
That of his fortunes you should make a staff
To lean upon. But it would warm his spirits
To hear from me you had left Antony,
And put yourself under his shroud,
The universal landlord.
CLEOPATRA. What's your name?
THYREUS. My name is Thyreus.
CLEOPATRA. Most kind messenger,
Say to great Caesar this: in deputation
I kiss his conquring hand. Tell him I am prompt
To lay my crown at 's feet, and there to kneel.
Tell him from his all-obeying breath I hear
The doom of Egypt.
THYREUS. 'Tis your noblest course.
Wisdom and fortune combating together,
If that the former dare but what it can,
No chance may shake it. Give me grace to lay
My duty on your hand.
CLEOPATRA. Your Caesar's father oft,
When he hath mus'd of taking kingdoms in,
Bestow'd his lips on that unworthy place,
As it rain'd kisses.
Re-enter ANTONY and ENOBARBUS
ANTONY. Favours, by Jove that thunders!
What art thou, fellow?
THYREUS. One that but performs
The bidding of the fullest man, and worthiest
To have command obey'd.
ENOBARBUS. [Aside] You will be whipt.
ANTONY. Approach there.- Ah, you kite!- Now, gods and devils!
Authority melts from me. Of late, when I cried 'Ho!'
Like boys unto a muss, kings would start forth
And cry 'Your will?' Have you no ears? I am
Antony yet.
Enter servants
Take hence this Jack and whip him.
ENOBARBUS. 'Tis better playing with a lion's whelp
Than with an old one dying.
ANTONY. Moon and stars!
Whip him. Were't twenty of the greatest tributaries
That do acknowledge Caesar, should I find them
So saucy with the hand of she here- what's her name
Since she was Cleopatra? Whip him, fellows,
Till like a boy you see him cringe his face,
And whine aloud for mercy. Take him hence.
THYMUS. Mark Antony-
ANTONY. Tug him away. Being whipt,
Bring him again: the Jack of Caesar's shall
Bear us an errand to him. Exeunt servants with THYREUS
You were half blasted ere I knew you. Ha!
Have I my pillow left unpress'd in Rome,
Forborne the getting of a lawful race,
And by a gem of women, to be abus'd
By one that looks on feeders?
CLEOPATRA. Good my lord-
ANTONY. You have been a boggler ever.
But when we in our viciousness grow hard-
O misery on't!- the wise gods seel our eyes,
In our own filth drop our clear judgments, make us
Adore our errors, laugh at's while we strut
To our confusion.
CLEOPATRA. O, is't come to this?
ANTONY. I found you as a morsel cold upon
Dead Caesar's trencher. Nay, you were a fragment
Of Cneius Pompey's, besides what hotter hours,
Unregist'red in vulgar fame, you have
Luxuriously pick'd out; for I am sure,
Though you can guess what temperance should be,
You know not what it is.
CLEOPATRA. Wherefore is this?
ANTONY. To let a fellow that will take rewards,
And say 'God quit you!' be familiar with
My playfellow, your hand, this kingly seal
And plighter of high hearts! O that I were
Upon the hill of Basan to outroar
The horned herd! For I have savage cause,
And to proclaim it civilly were like
A halter'd neck which does the hangman thank
For being yare about him.
Re-enter a SERVANT with THYREUS
Is he whipt?
SERVANT. Soundly, my lord.
ANTONY. Cried he? and begg'd 'a pardon?
SERVANT. He did ask favour.
ANTONY. If that thy father live, let him repent
Thou wast not made his daughter; and be thou sorry
To follow Caesar in his triumph, since
Thou hast been whipt for following him. Henceforth
The white hand of a lady fever thee!
Shake thou to look on't. Get thee back to Caesar;
Tell him thy entertainment; look thou say
He makes me angry with him; for he seems
Proud and disdainful, harping on what I am,
Not what he knew I was. He makes me angry;
And at this time most easy 'tis to do't,
When my good stars, that were my former guides,
Have empty left their orbs and shot their fires
Into th' abysm of hell. If he mislike
My speech and what is done, tell him he has
Hipparchus, my enfranched bondman, whom
He may at pleasure whip or hang or torture,
As he shall like, to quit me. Urge it thou.
Hence with thy stripes, be gone. Exit THYREUS
CLEOPATRA. Have you done yet?
ANTONY. Alack, our terrene moon
Is now eclips'd, and it portends alone
The fall of Antony.
CLEOPATRA. I must stay his time.
ANTONY. To flatter Caesar, would you mingle eyes
With one that ties his points?
CLEOPATRA. Not know me yet?
ANTONY. Cold-hearted toward me?
CLEOPATRA. Ah, dear, if I be so,
From my cold heart let heaven engender hail,
And poison it in the source, and the first stone
Drop in my neck; as it determines, so
Dissolve my life! The next Caesarion smite!
Till by degrees the memory of my womb,
Together with my brave Egyptians all,
By the discandying of this pelleted storm,
Lie graveless, till the flies and gnats of Nile
Have buried them for prey.
ANTONY. I am satisfied.
Caesar sits down in Alexandria, where
I will oppose his fate. Our force by land
Hath nobly held; our sever'd navy to
Have knit again, and fleet, threat'ning most sea-like.
Where hast thou been, my heart? Dost thou hear, lady?
If from the field I shall return once more
To kiss these lips, I will appear in blood.
I and my sword will earn our chronicle.
There's hope in't yet.
CLEOPATRA. That's my brave lord!
ANTONY. I will be treble-sinew'd, hearted, breath'd,
And fight maliciously. For when mine hours
Were nice and lucky, men did ransom lives
Of me for jests; but now I'll set my teeth,
And send to darkness all that stop me. Come,
Let's have one other gaudy night. Call to me
All my sad captains; fill our bowls once more;
Let's mock the midnight bell.
CLEOPATRA. It is my birthday.
I had thought t'have held it poor; but since my lord
Is Antony again, I will be Cleopatra.
ANTONY. We will yet do well.
CLEOPATRA. Call all his noble captains to my lord.
ANTONY. Do so, we'll speak to them; and to-night I'll force
The wine peep through their scars. Come on, my queen,
There's sap in't yet. The next time I do fight
I'll make death love me; for I will contend
Even with his pestilent scythe. Exeunt all but ENOBARBUS
ENOBARBUS. Now he'll outstare the lightning. To be furious
Is to be frighted out of fear, and in that mood
The dove will peck the estridge; and I see still
A diminution in our captain's brain
Restores his heart. When valour preys on reason,
It eats the sword it fights with. I will seek
Some way to leave him. Exit
ACT_4|SC_1
ACT IV. SCENE I.
CAESAR'S camp before Alexandria
Enter CAESAR, AGRIPPA, and MAECENAS, with his army;
CAESAR reading a letter
CAESAR. He calls me boy, and chides as he had power
To beat me out of Egypt. My messenger
He hath whipt with rods; dares me to personal combat,
Caesar to Antony. Let the old ruffian know
I have many other ways to die, meantime
Laugh at his challenge.
MAECENAS. Caesar must think
When one so great begins to rage, he's hunted
Even to falling. Give him no breath, but now
Make boot of his distraction. Never anger
Made good guard for itself.
CAESAR. Let our best heads
Know that to-morrow the last of many battles
We mean to fight. Within our files there are
Of those that serv'd Mark Antony but late
Enough to fetch him in. See it done;
And feast the army; we have store to do't,
And they have earn'd the waste. Poor Antony! Exeunt
ACT_4|SC_2
SCENE II.
Alexandria. CLEOPATRA's palace
Enter ANTONY, CLEOPATRA, ENOBARBUS, CHARMIAN, IRAS,
ALEXAS, with others
ANTONY. He will not fight with me, Domitius?
ENOBARBUS. No.
ANTONY. Why should he not?
ENOBARBUS. He thinks, being twenty times of better fortune,
He is twenty men to one.
ANTONY. To-morrow, soldier,
By sea and land I'll fight. Or I will live,
Or bathe my dying honour in the blood
Shall make it live again. Woo't thou fight well?
ENOBARBUS. I'll strike, and cry 'Take all.'
ANTONY. Well said; come on.
Call forth my household servants; let's to-night
Be bounteous at our meal.
Enter three or four servitors
Give me thy hand,
Thou has been rightly honest. So hast thou;
Thou, and thou, and thou. You have serv'd me well,
And kings have been your fellows.
CLEOPATRA. [Aside to ENOBARBUS] What means this?
ENOBARBUS. [Aside to CLEOPATRA] 'Tis one of those odd tricks which
sorrow shoots
Out of the mind.
ANTONY. And thou art honest too.
I wish I could be made so many men,
And all of you clapp'd up together in
An Antony, that I might do you service
So good as you have done.
SERVANT. The gods forbid!
ANTONY. Well, my good fellows, wait on me to-night.
Scant not my cups, and make as much of me
As when mine empire was your fellow too,
And suffer'd my command.
CLEOPATRA. [Aside to ENOBARBUS] What does he mean?
ENOBARBUS. [Aside to CLEOPATRA] To make his followers weep.
ANTONY. Tend me to-night;
May be it is the period of your duty.
Haply you shall not see me more; or if,
A mangled shadow. Perchance to-morrow
You'll serve another master. I look on you
As one that takes his leave. Mine honest friends,
I turn you not away; but, like a master
Married to your good service, stay till death.
Tend me to-night two hours, I ask no more,
And the gods yield you for't!
ENOBARBUS. What mean you, sir,
To give them this discomfort? Look, they weep;
And I, an ass, am onion-ey'd. For shame!
Transform us not to women.
ANTONY. Ho, ho, ho!
Now the witch take me if I meant it thus!
Grace grow where those drops fall! My hearty friends,
You take me in too dolorous a sense;
For I spake to you for your comfort, did desire you
To burn this night with torches. Know, my hearts,
I hope well of to-morrow, and will lead you
Where rather I'll expect victorious life
Than death and honour. Let's to supper, come,
And drown consideration. Exeunt
ACT_4|SC_3
SCENE III.
Alexandria. Before CLEOPATRA's palace
Enter a company of soldiers
FIRST SOLDIER. Brother, good night. To-morrow is the day.
SECOND SOLDIER. It will determine one way. Fare you well.
Heard you of nothing strange about the streets?
FIRST SOLDIER. Nothing. What news?
SECOND SOLDIER. Belike 'tis but a rumour. Good night to you.
FIRST SOLDIER. Well, sir, good night.
[They meet other soldiers]
SECOND SOLDIER. Soldiers, have careful watch.
FIRST SOLDIER. And you. Good night, good night.
[The two companies separate and place themselves
in every corner of the stage]
SECOND SOLDIER. Here we. And if to-morrow
Our navy thrive, I have an absolute hope
Our landmen will stand up.
THIRD SOLDIER. 'Tis a brave army,
And full of purpose.
[Music of the hautboys is under the stage]
SECOND SOLDIER. Peace, what noise?
THIRD SOLDIER. List, list!
SECOND SOLDIER. Hark!
THIRD SOLDIER. Music i' th' air.
FOURTH SOLDIER. Under the earth.
THIRD SOLDIER. It signs well, does it not?
FOURTH SOLDIER. No.
THIRD SOLDIER. Peace, I say!
What should this mean?
SECOND SOLDIER. 'Tis the god Hercules, whom Antony lov'd,
Now leaves him.
THIRD SOLDIER. Walk; let's see if other watchmen
Do hear what we do.
SECOND SOLDIER. How now, masters!
SOLDIERS. [Speaking together] How now!
How now! Do you hear this?
FIRST SOLDIER. Ay; is't not strange?
THIRD SOLDIER. Do you hear, masters? Do you hear?
FIRST SOLDIER. Follow the noise so far as we have quarter;
Let's see how it will give off.
SOLDIERS. Content. 'Tis strange. Exeunt
ACT_4|SC_4
SCENE IV.
Alexandria. CLEOPATRA's palace
Enter ANTONY and CLEOPATRA, CHARMIAN, IRAS,
with others
ANTONY. Eros! mine armour, Eros!
CLEOPATRA. Sleep a little.
ANTONY. No, my chuck. Eros! Come, mine armour, Eros!
Enter EROS with armour
Come, good fellow, put mine iron on.
If fortune be not ours to-day, it is
Because we brave her. Come.
CLEOPATRA. Nay, I'll help too.
What's this for?
ANTONY. Ah, let be, let be! Thou art
The armourer of my heart. False, false; this, this.
CLEOPATRA. Sooth, la, I'll help. Thus it must be.
ANTONY. Well, well;
We shall thrive now. Seest thou, my good fellow?
Go put on thy defences.
EROS. Briefly, sir.
CLEOPATRA. Is not this buckled well?
ANTONY. Rarely, rarely!
He that unbuckles this, till we do please
To daff't for our repose, shall hear a storm.
Thou fumblest, Eros, and my queen's a squire
More tight at this than thou. Dispatch. O love,
That thou couldst see my wars to-day, and knew'st
The royal occupation! Thou shouldst see
A workman in't.
Enter an armed SOLDIER
Good-morrow to thee. Welcome.
Thou look'st like him that knows a warlike charge.
To business that we love we rise betime,
And go to't with delight.
SOLDIER. A thousand, sir,
Early though't be, have on their riveted trim,
And at the port expect you.
[Shout. Flourish of trumpets within]
Enter CAPTAINS and soldiers
CAPTAIN. The morn is fair. Good morrow, General.
ALL. Good morrow, General.
ANTONY. 'Tis well blown, lads.
This morning, like the spirit of a youth
That means to be of note, begins betimes.
So, so. Come, give me that. This way. Well said.
Fare thee well, dame, whate'er becomes of me.
This is a soldier's kiss. Rebukeable,
And worthy shameful check it were, to stand
On more mechanic compliment; I'll leave thee
Now like a man of steel. You that will fight,
Follow me close; I'll bring you to't. Adieu.
Exeunt ANTONY, EROS, CAPTAINS and soldiers
CHARMIAN. Please you retire to your chamber?
CLEOPATRA. Lead me.
He goes forth gallantly. That he and Caesar might
Determine this great war in single fight!
Then, Antony- but now. Well, on. Exeunt
ACT_4|SC_5
SCENE V.
Alexandria. ANTONY'S camp
Trumpets sound. Enter ANTONY and EROS, a SOLDIER
meeting them
SOLDIER. The gods make this a happy day to Antony!
ANTONY. Would thou and those thy scars had once prevail'd
To make me fight at land!
SOLDIER. Hadst thou done so,
The kings that have revolted, and the soldier
That has this morning left thee, would have still
Followed thy heels.
ANTONY. Who's gone this morning?
SOLDIER. Who?
One ever near thee. Call for Enobarbus,
He shall not hear thee; or from Caesar's camp
Say 'I am none of thine.'
ANTONY. What say'st thou?
SOLDIER. Sir,
He is with Caesar.
EROS. Sir, his chests and treasure
He has not with him.
ANTONY. Is he gone?
SOLDIER. Most certain.
ANTONY. Go, Eros, send his treasure after; do it;
Detain no jot, I charge thee. Write to him-
I will subscribe- gentle adieus and greetings;
Say that I wish he never find more cause
To change a master. O, my fortunes have
Corrupted honest men! Dispatch. Enobarbus! Exeunt
ACT_4|SC_6
SCENE VI.
Alexandria. CAESAR'S camp
Flourish. Enter AGRIPPA, CAESAR, With DOLABELLA
and ENOBARBUS
CAESAR. Go forth, Agrippa, and begin the fight.
Our will is Antony be took alive;
Make it so known.
AGRIPPA. Caesar, I shall. Exit
CAESAR. The time of universal peace is near.
Prove this a prosp'rous day, the three-nook'd world
Shall bear the olive freely.
Enter A MESSENGER
MESSENGER. Antony
Is come into the field.
CAESAR. Go charge Agrippa
Plant those that have revolted in the vant,
That Antony may seem to spend his fury
Upon himself. Exeunt all but ENOBARBUS
ENOBARBUS. Alexas did revolt and went to Jewry on
Affairs of Antony; there did dissuade
Great Herod to incline himself to Caesar
And leave his master Antony. For this pains
Casaer hath hang'd him. Canidius and the rest
That fell away have entertainment, but
No honourable trust. I have done ill,
Of which I do accuse myself so sorely
That I will joy no more.
Enter a SOLDIER of CAESAR'S
SOLDIER. Enobarbus, Antony
Hath after thee sent all thy treasure, with
His bounty overplus. The messenger
Came on my guard, and at thy tent is now
Unloading of his mules.
ENOBARBUS. I give it you.
SOLDIER. Mock not, Enobarbus.
I tell you true. Best you saf'd the bringer
Out of the host. I must attend mine office,
Or would have done't myself. Your emperor
Continues still a Jove. Exit
ENOBARBUS. I am alone the villain of the earth,
And feel I am so most. O Antony,
Thou mine of bounty, how wouldst thou have paid
My better service, when my turpitude
Thou dost so crown with gold! This blows my heart.
If swift thought break it not, a swifter mean
Shall outstrike thought; but thought will do't, I feel.
I fight against thee? No! I will go seek
Some ditch wherein to die; the foul'st best fits
My latter part of life. Exit
ACT_4|SC_7
SCENE VII.
Field of battle between the camps
Alarum. Drums and trumpets. Enter AGRIPPA
and others
AGRIPPA. Retire. We have engag'd ourselves too far.
Caesar himself has work, and our oppression
Exceeds what we expected. Exeunt
Alarums. Enter ANTONY, and SCARUS wounded
SCARUS. O my brave Emperor, this is fought indeed!
Had we done so at first, we had droven them home
With clouts about their heads.
ANTONY. Thou bleed'st apace.
SCARUS. I had a wound here that was like a T,
But now 'tis made an H.
ANTONY. They do retire.
SCARUS. We'll beat'em into bench-holes. I have yet
Room for six scotches more.
Enter EROS
EROS. They are beaten, sir, and our advantage serves
For a fair victory.
SCARUS. Let us score their backs
And snatch 'em up, as we take hares, behind.
'Tis sport to maul a runner.
ANTONY. I will reward thee
Once for thy sprightly comfort, and tenfold
For thy good valour. Come thee on.
SCARUS. I'll halt after. Exeunt
ACT_4|SC_8
SCENE VIII.
Under the walls of Alexandria
Alarum. Enter ANTONY, again in a march; SCARUS
with others
ANTONY. We have beat him to his camp. Run one before
And let the Queen know of our gests. To-morrow,
Before the sun shall see's, we'll spill the blood
That has to-day escap'd. I thank you all;
For doughty-handed are you, and have fought
Not as you serv'd the cause, but as't had been
Each man's like mine; you have shown all Hectors.
Enter the city, clip your wives, your friends,
Tell them your feats; whilst they with joyful tears
Wash the congealment from your wounds and kiss
The honour'd gashes whole.
Enter CLEOPATRA, attended
[To SCARUS] Give me thy hand-
To this great fairy I'll commend thy acts,
Make her thanks bless thee. O thou day o' th' world,
Chain mine arm'd neck. Leap thou, attire and all,
Through proof of harness to my heart, and there
Ride on the pants triumphing.
CLEOPATRA. Lord of lords!
O infinite virtue, com'st thou smiling from
The world's great snare uncaught?
ANTONY. Mine nightingale,
We have beat them to their beds. What, girl! though grey
Do something mingle with our younger brown, yet ha' we
A brain that nourishes our nerves, and can
Get goal for goal of youth. Behold this man;
Commend unto his lips thy favouring hand-
Kiss it, my warrior- he hath fought to-day
As if a god in hate of mankind had
Destroyed in such a shape.
CLEOPATRA. I'll give thee, friend,
An armour all of gold; it was a king's.
ANTONY. He has deserv'd it, were it carbuncled
Like holy Phoebus' car. Give me thy hand.
Through Alexandria make a jolly march;
Bear our hack'd targets like the men that owe them.
Had our great palace the capacity
To camp this host, we all would sup together,
And drink carouses to the next day's fate,
Which promises royal peril. Trumpeters,
With brazen din blast you the city's ear;
Make mingle with our rattling tabourines,
That heaven and earth may strike their sounds together
Applauding our approach. Exeunt
ACT_4|SC_9
SCENE IX.
CAESAR'S camp
Enter a CENTURION and his company; ENOBARBUS follows
CENTURION. If we be not reliev'd within this hour,
We must return to th' court of guard. The night
Is shiny, and they say we shall embattle
By th' second hour i' th' morn.
FIRST WATCH. This last day was
A shrewd one to's.
ENOBARBUS. O, bear me witness, night-
SECOND WATCH. What man is this?
FIRST WATCH. Stand close and list him.
ENOBARBUS. Be witness to me, O thou blessed moon,
When men revolted shall upon record
Bear hateful memory, poor Enobarbus did
Before thy face repent!
CENTURION. Enobarbus?
SECOND WATCH. Peace!
Hark further.
ENOBARBUS. O sovereign mistress of true melancholy,
The poisonous damp of night disponge upon me,
That life, a very rebel to my will,
May hang no longer on me. Throw my heart
Against the flint and hardness of my fault,
Which, being dried with grief, will break to powder,
And finish all foul thoughts. O Antony,
Nobler than my revolt is infamous,
Forgive me in thine own particular,
But let the world rank me in register
A master-leaver and a fugitive!
O Antony! O Antony! [Dies]
FIRST WATCH. Let's speak to him.
CENTURION. Let's hear him, for the things he speaks
May concern Caesar.
SECOND WATCH. Let's do so. But he sleeps.
CENTURION. Swoons rather; for so bad a prayer as his
Was never yet for sleep.
FIRST WATCH. Go we to him.
SECOND WATCH. Awake, sir, awake; speak to us.
FIRST WATCH. Hear you, sir?
CENTURION. The hand of death hath raught him.
[Drums afar off ] Hark! the drums
Demurely wake the sleepers. Let us bear him
To th' court of guard; he is of note. Our hour
Is fully out.
SECOND WATCH. Come on, then;
He may recover yet. Exeunt with the body
ACT_4|SC_10
SCENE X.
Between the two camps
Enter ANTONY and SCARUS, with their army
ANTONY. Their preparation is to-day by sea;
We please them not by land.
SCARUS. For both, my lord.
ANTONY. I would they'd fight i' th' fire or i' th' air;
We'd fight there too. But this it is, our foot
Upon the hills adjoining to the city
Shall stay with us- Order for sea is given;
They have put forth the haven-
Where their appointment we may best discover
And look on their endeavour. Exeunt
ACT_4|SC_11
SCENE XI.
Between the camps
Enter CAESAR and his army
CAESAR. But being charg'd, we will be still by land,
Which, as I take't, we shall; for his best force
Is forth to man his galleys. To the vales,
And hold our best advantage. Exeunt
ACT_4|SC_12
SCENE XII.
A hill near Alexandria
Enter ANTONY and SCARUS
ANTONY. Yet they are not join'd. Where yond pine does stand
I shall discover all. I'll bring thee word
Straight how 'tis like to go. Exit
SCARUS. Swallows have built
In Cleopatra's sails their nests. The augurers
Say they know not, they cannot tell; look grimly,
And dare not speak their knowledge. Antony
Is valiant and dejected; and by starts
His fretted fortunes give him hope and fear
Of what he has and has not.
[Alarum afar off, as at a sea-fight]
Re-enter ANTONY
ANTONY. All is lost!
This foul Egyptian hath betrayed me.
My fleet hath yielded to the foe, and yonder
They cast their caps up and carouse together
Like friends long lost. Triple-turn'd whore! 'tis thou
Hast sold me to this novice; and my heart
Makes only wars on thee. Bid them all fly;
For when I am reveng'd upon my charm,
I have done all. Bid them all fly; begone. Exit SCARUS
O sun, thy uprise shall I see no more!
Fortune and Antony part here; even here
Do we shake hands. All come to this? The hearts
That spaniel'd me at heels, to whom I gave
Their wishes, do discandy, melt their sweets
On blossoming Caesar; and this pine is bark'd
That overtopp'd them all. Betray'd I am.
O this false soul of Egypt! this grave charm-
Whose eye beck'd forth my wars and call'd them home,
Whose bosom was my crownet, my chief end-
Like a right gypsy hath at fast and loose
Beguil'd me to the very heart of loss.
What, Eros, Eros!
Enter CLEOPATRA
Ah, thou spell! Avaunt!
CLEOPATRA. Why is my lord enrag'd against his love?
ANTONY. Vanish, or I shall give thee thy deserving
And blemish Caesar's triumph. Let him take thee
And hoist thee up to the shouting plebeians;
Follow his chariot, like the greatest spot
Of all thy sex; most monster-like, be shown
For poor'st diminutives, for doits, and let
Patient Octavia plough thy visage up
With her prepared nails. Exit CLEOPATRA
'Tis well th'art gone,
If it be well to live; but better 'twere
Thou fell'st into my fury, for one death
Might have prevented many. Eros, ho!
The shirt of Nessus is upon me; teach me,
Alcides, thou mine ancestor, thy rage;
Let me lodge Lichas on the horns o' th' moon,
And with those hands that grasp'd the heaviest club
Subdue my worthiest self. The witch shall die.
To the young Roman boy she hath sold me, and I fall
Under this plot. She dies for't. Eros, ho! Exit
ACT_4|SC_13
SCENE XIII.
Alexandria. CLEOPATRA's palace
Enter CLEOPATRA, CHARMIAN, IRAS, and MARDIAN
CLEOPATRA. Help me, my women. O, he is more mad
Than Telamon for his shield; the boar of Thessaly
Was never so emboss'd.
CHARMIAN. To th'monument!
There lock yourself, and send him word you are dead.
The soul and body rive not more in parting
Than greatness going off.
CLEOPATRA. To th' monument!
Mardian, go tell him I have slain myself;
Say that the last I spoke was 'Antony'
And word it, prithee, piteously. Hence, Mardian,
And bring me how he takes my death. To th' monument!
Exeunt
ACT_4|SC_14
SCENE XIV.
CLEOPATRA'S palace
Enter ANTONY and EROS
ANTONY. Eros, thou yet behold'st me?
EROS. Ay, noble lord.
ANTONY. Sometime we see a cloud that's dragonish;
A vapour sometime like a bear or lion,
A tower'd citadel, a pendent rock,
A forked mountain, or blue promontory
With trees upon't that nod unto the world
And mock our eyes with air. Thou hast seen these signs;
They are black vesper's pageants.
EROS. Ay, my lord.
ANTONY. That which is now a horse, even with a thought
The rack dislimns, and makes it indistinct,
As water is in water.
EROS. It does, my lord.
ANTONY. My good knave Eros, now thy captain is
Even such a body. Here I am Antony;
Yet cannot hold this visible shape, my knave.
I made these wars for Egypt; and the Queen-
Whose heart I thought I had, for she had mine,
Which, whilst it was mine, had annex'd unto't
A million moe, now lost- she, Eros, has
Pack'd cards with Caesar, and false-play'd my glory
Unto an enemy's triumph.
Nay, weep not, gentle Eros; there is left us
Ourselves to end ourselves.
Enter MARDIAN
O, thy vile lady!
She has robb'd me of my sword.
MARDIAN. No, Antony;
My mistress lov'd thee, and her fortunes mingled
With thine entirely.
ANTONY. Hence, saucy eunuch; peace!
She hath betray'd me, and shall die the death.
MARDIAN. Death of one person can be paid but once,
And that she has discharg'd. What thou wouldst do
Is done unto thy hand. The last she spake
Was 'Antony! most noble Antony!'
Then in the midst a tearing groan did break
The name of Antony; it was divided
Between her heart and lips. She rend'red life,
Thy name so buried in her.
ANTONY. Dead then?
MARDIAN. Dead.
ANTONY. Unarm, Eros; the long day's task is done,
And we must sleep. That thou depart'st hence safe
Does pay thy labour richly. Go. Exit MARDIAN
Off, pluck off!
The sevenfold shield of Ajax cannot keep
The battery from my heart. O, cleave, my sides!
Heart, once be stronger than thy continent,
Crack thy frail case. Apace, Eros, apace.-
No more a soldier. Bruised pieces, go;
You have been nobly borne.- From me awhile. Exit EROS
I will o'ertake thee, Cleopatra, and
Weep for my pardon. So it must be, for now
All length is torture. Since the torch is out,
Lie down, and stray no farther. Now all labour
Mars what it does; yea, very force entangles
Itself with strength. Seal then, and all is done.
Eros!- I come, my queen.- Eros!- Stay for me;
Where souls do couch on flowers, we'll hand in hand,
And with our sprightly port make the ghosts gaze.
Dido and her Aeneas shall want troops,
And all the haunt be ours.- Come, Eros, Eros!
Re-enter EROS
EROS. What would my lord?
ANTONY. Since Cleopatra died,
I have liv'd in such dishonour that the gods
Detest my baseness. I, that with my sword
Quarter'd the world, and o'er green Neptune's back
With ships made cities, condemn myself to lack
The courage of a woman; less noble mind
Than she which by her death our Caesar tells
'I am conqueror of myself.' Thou art sworn, Eros,
That, when the exigent should come- which now
Is come indeed- when I should see behind me
Th' inevitable prosecution of
Disgrace and horror, that, on my command,
Thou then wouldst kill me. Do't; the time is come.
Thou strik'st not me; 'tis Caesar thou defeat'st.
Put colour in thy cheek.
EROS. The gods withhold me!
Shall I do that which all the Parthian darts,
Though enemy, lost aim and could not?
ANTONY. Eros,
Wouldst thou be window'd in great Rome and see
Thy master thus with pleach'd arms, bending down
His corrigible neck, his face subdu'd
To penetrative shame, whilst the wheel'd seat
Of fortunate Caesar, drawn before him, branded
His baseness that ensued?
EROS. I would not see't.
ANTONY. Come, then; for with a wound I must be cur'd.
Draw that thy honest sword, which thou hast worn
Most useful for thy country.
EROS. O, sir, pardon me!
ANTONY. When I did make thee free, swor'st thou not then
To do this when I bade thee? Do it at once,
Or thy precedent services are all
But accidents unpurpos'd. Draw, and come.
EROS. Turn from me then that noble countenance,
Wherein the worship of the whole world lies.
ANTONY. Lo thee! [Turning from him]
EROS. My sword is drawn.
ANTONY. Then let it do at once
The thing why thou hast drawn it.
EROS. My dear master,
My captain and my emperor, let me say,
Before I strike this bloody stroke, farewell.
ANTONY. 'Tis said, man; and farewell.
EROS. Farewell, great chief. Shall I strike now?
ANTONY. Now, Eros.
EROS. Why, there then! Thus do I escape the sorrow
Of Antony's death. [Kills himself
ANTONY. Thrice nobler than myself!
Thou teachest me, O valiant Eros, what
I should, and thou couldst not. My queen and Eros
Have, by their brave instruction, got upon me
A nobleness in record. But I will be
A bridegroom in my death, and run into't
As to a lover's bed. Come, then; and, Eros,
Thy master dies thy scholar. To do thus
[Falling on his sword]
I learn'd of thee. How? not dead? not dead?-
The guard, ho! O, dispatch me!
Enter DERCETAS and a guard
FIRST GUARD. What's the noise?
ANTONY. I have done my work ill, friends. O, make an end
Of what I have begun.
SECOND GUARD. The star is fall'n.
FIRST GUARD. And time is at his period.
ALL. Alas, and woe!
ANTONY. Let him that loves me, strike me dead.
FIRST GUARD. Not I.
SECOND GUARD. Nor I.
THIRD GUARD. Nor any one. Exeunt guard
DERCETAS. Thy death and fortunes bid thy followers fly.
This sword but shown to Caesar, with this tidings,
Shall enter me with him.
Enter DIOMEDES
DIOMEDES. Where's Antony?
DERCETAS. There, Diomed, there.
DIOMEDES. Lives he?
Wilt thou not answer, man? Exit DERCETAS
ANTONY. Art thou there, Diomed? Draw thy sword and give me
Sufficing strokes for death.
DIOMEDES. Most absolute lord,
My mistress Cleopatra sent me to thee.
ANTONY. When did she send thee?
DIOMEDES. Now, my lord.
ANTONY. Where is she?
DIOMEDES. Lock'd in her monument. She had a prophesying fear
Of what hath come to pass; for when she saw-
Which never shall be found- you did suspect
She had dispos'd with Caesar, and that your rage
Would not be purg'd, she sent you word she was dead;
But fearing since how it might work, hath sent
Me to proclaim the truth; and I am come,
I dread, too late.
ANTONY. Too late, good Diomed. Call my guard, I prithee.
DIOMEDES. What, ho! the Emperor's guard! The guard, what ho!
Come, your lord calls!
Enter four or five of the guard of ANTONY
ANTONY. Bear me, good friends, where Cleopatra bides;
'Tis the last service that I shall command you.
FIRST GUARD. Woe, woe are we, sir, you may not live to wear
All your true followers out.
ALL. Most heavy day!
ANTONY. Nay, good my fellows, do not please sharp fate
To grace it with your sorrows. Bid that welcome
Which comes to punish us, and we punish it,
Seeming to bear it lightly. Take me up.
I have led you oft; carry me now, good friends,
And have my thanks for all. Exeunt, hearing ANTONY
ACT_4|SC_15
SCENE XV.
Alexandria. A monument
Enter CLEOPATRA and her maids aloft, with CHARMIAN
and IRAS
CLEOPATRA. O Charmian, I will never go from hence!
CHARMIAN. Be comforted, dear madam.
CLEOPATRA. No, I will not.
All strange and terrible events are welcome,
But comforts we despise; our size of sorrow,
Proportion'd to our cause, must be as great
As that which makes it.
Enter DIOMEDES, below
How now! Is he dead?
DIOMEDES. His death's upon him, but not dead.
Look out o' th' other side your monument;
His guard have brought him thither.
Enter, below, ANTONY, borne by the guard
CLEOPATRA. O sun,
Burn the great sphere thou mov'st in! Darkling stand
The varying shore o' th' world. O Antony,
Antony, Antony! Help, Charmian; help, Iras, help;
Help, friends below! Let's draw him hither.
ANTONY. Peace!
Not Caesar's valour hath o'erthrown Antony,
But Antony's hath triumph'd on itself.
CLEOPATRA. So it should be, that none but Antony
Should conquer Antony; but woe 'tis so!
ANTONY. I am dying, Egypt, dying; only
I here importune death awhile, until
Of many thousand kisses the poor last
I lay upon thy lips.
CLEOPATRA. I dare not, dear.
Dear my lord, pardon! I dare not,
Lest I be taken. Not th' imperious show
Of the full-fortun'd Caesar ever shall
Be brooch'd with me. If knife, drugs, serpents, have
Edge, sting, or operation, I am safe.
Your wife Octavia, with her modest eyes
And still conclusion, shall acquire no honour
Demuring upon me. But come, come, Antony-
Help me, my women- we must draw thee up;
Assist, good friends.
ANTONY. O, quick, or I am gone.
CLEOPATRA. Here's sport indeed! How heavy weighs my lord!
Our strength is all gone into heaviness;
That makes the weight. Had I great Juno's power,
The strong-wing'd Mercury should fetch thee up,
And set thee by Jove's side. Yet come a little.
Wishers were ever fools. O come, come,
[They heave ANTONY aloft to CLEOPATRA]
And welcome, welcome! Die where thou hast liv'd.
Quicken with kissing. Had my lips that power,
Thus would I wear them out.
ALL. A heavy sight!
ANTONY. I am dying, Egypt, dying.
Give me some wine, and let me speak a little.
CLEOPATRA. No, let me speak; and let me rail so high
That the false huswife Fortune break her wheel,
Provok'd by my offence.
ANTONY. One word, sweet queen:
Of Caesar seek your honour, with your safety. O!
CLEOPATRA. They do not go together.
ANTONY. Gentle, hear me:
None about Caesar trust but Proculeius.
CLEOPATRA. My resolution and my hands I'll trust;
None about Caesar
ANTONY. The miserable change now at my end
Lament nor sorrow at; but please your thoughts
In feeding them with those my former fortunes
Wherein I liv'd the greatest prince o' th' world,
The noblest; and do now not basely die,
Not cowardly put off my helmet to
My countryman- a Roman by a Roman
Valiantly vanquish'd. Now my spirit is going
I can no more.
CLEOPATRA. Noblest of men, woo't die?
Hast thou no care of me? Shall I abide
In this dull world, which in thy absence is
No better than a sty? O, see, my women, [Antony dies]
The crown o' th' earth doth melt. My lord!
O, wither'd is the garland of the war,
The soldier's pole is fall'n! Young boys and girls
Are level now with men. The odds is gone,
And there is nothing left remarkable
Beneath the visiting moon. [Swoons]
CHARMIAN. O, quietness, lady!
IRAS. She's dead too, our sovereign.
CHARMIAN. Lady!
IRAS. Madam!
CHARMIAN. O madam, madam, madam!
IRAS. Royal Egypt, Empress!
CHARMIAN. Peace, peace, Iras!
CLEOPATRA. No more but e'en a woman, and commanded
By such poor passion as the maid that milks
And does the meanest chares. It were for me
To throw my sceptre at the injurious gods;
To tell them that this world did equal theirs
Till they had stol'n our jewel. All's but nought;
Patience is sottish, and impatience does
Become a dog that's mad. Then is it sin
To rush into the secret house of death
Ere death dare come to us? How do you, women?
What, what! good cheer! Why, how now, Charmian!
My noble girls! Ah, women, women, look,
Our lamp is spent, it's out! Good sirs, take heart.
We'll bury him; and then, what's brave, what's noble,
Let's do it after the high Roman fashion,
And make death proud to take us. Come, away;
This case of that huge spirit now is cold.
Ah, women, women! Come; we have no friend
But resolution and the briefest end.
Exeunt; those above hearing off ANTONY'S body
ACT_5|SC_1
ACT V. SCENE I.
Alexandria. CAESAR'S camp
Enter CAESAR, AGRIPPA, DOLABELLA, MAECENAS, GALLUS,
PROCULEIUS, and others, his Council of War
CAESAR. Go to him, Dolabella, bid him yield;
Being so frustrate, tell him he mocks
The pauses that he makes.
DOLABELLA. Caesar, I shall. Exit
Enter DERCETAS With the sword of ANTONY
CAESAR. Wherefore is that? And what art thou that dar'st
Appear thus to us?
DERCETAS. I am call'd Dercetas;
Mark Antony I serv'd, who best was worthy
Best to be serv'd. Whilst he stood up and spoke,
He was my master, and I wore my life
To spend upon his haters. If thou please
To take me to thee, as I was to him
I'll be to Caesar; if thou pleasest not,
I yield thee up my life.
CAESAR. What is't thou say'st?
DERCETAS. I say, O Caesar, Antony is dead.
CAESAR. The breaking of so great a thing should make
A greater crack. The round world
Should have shook lions into civil streets,
And citizens to their dens. The death of Antony
Is not a single doom; in the name lay
A moiety of the world.
DERCETAS. He is dead, Caesar,
Not by a public minister of justice,
Nor by a hired knife; but that self hand
Which writ his honour in the acts it did
Hath, with the courage which the heart did lend it,
Splitted the heart. This is his sword;
I robb'd his wound of it; behold it stain'd
With his most noble blood.
CAESAR. Look you sad, friends?
The gods rebuke me, but it is tidings
To wash the eyes of kings.
AGRIPPA. And strange it is
That nature must compel us to lament
Our most persisted deeds.
MAECENAS. His taints and honours
Wag'd equal with him.
AGRIPPA. A rarer spirit never
Did steer humanity. But you gods will give us
Some faults to make us men. Caesar is touch'd.
MAECENAS. When such a spacious mirror's set before him,
He needs must see himself.
CAESAR. O Antony,
I have follow'd thee to this! But we do lance
Diseases in our bodies. I must perforce
Have shown to thee such a declining day
Or look on thine; we could not stall together
In the whole world. But yet let me lament,
With tears as sovereign as the blood of hearts,
That thou, my brother, my competitor
In top of all design, my mate in empire,
Friend and companion in the front of war,
The arm of mine own body, and the heart
Where mine his thoughts did kindle- that our stars,
Unreconciliable, should divide
Our equalness to this. Hear me, good friends-
Enter an EGYPTIAN
But I will tell you at some meeter season.
The business of this man looks out of him;
We'll hear him what he says. Whence are you?
EGYPTIAN. A poor Egyptian, yet the Queen, my mistress,
Confin'd in all she has, her monument,
Of thy intents desires instruction,
That she preparedly may frame herself
To th' way she's forc'd to.
CAESAR. Bid her have good heart.
She soon shall know of us, by some of ours,
How honourable and how kindly we
Determine for her; for Caesar cannot learn
To be ungentle.
EGYPTIAN. So the gods preserve thee! Exit
CAESAR. Come hither, Proculeius. Go and say
We purpose her no shame. Give her what comforts
The quality of her passion shall require,
Lest, in her greatness, by some mortal stroke
She do defeat us; for her life in Rome
Would be eternal in our triumph. Go,
And with your speediest bring us what she says,
And how you find her.
PROCULEIUS. Caesar, I shall. Exit
CAESAR. Gallus, go you along. Exit GALLUS
Where's Dolabella, to second Proculeius?
ALL. Dolabella!
CAESAR. Let him alone, for I remember now
How he's employ'd; he shall in time be ready.
Go with me to my tent, where you shall see
How hardly I was drawn into this war,
How calm and gentle I proceeded still
In all my writings. Go with me, and see
What I can show in this. Exeunt
ACT_5|SC_2
SCENE II.
Alexandria. The monument
Enter CLEOPATRA, CHARMIAN, IRAS, and MARDIAN
CLEOPATRA. My desolation does begin to make
A better life. 'Tis paltry to be Caesar:
Not being Fortune, he's but Fortune's knave,
A minister of her will; and it is great
To do that thing that ends all other deeds,
Which shackles accidents and bolts up change,
Which sleeps, and never palates more the dug,
The beggar's nurse and Caesar's.
Enter, to the gates of the monument, PROCULEIUS, GALLUS,
and soldiers
PROCULEIUS. Caesar sends greetings to the Queen of Egypt,
And bids thee study on what fair demands
Thou mean'st to have him grant thee.
CLEOPATRA. What's thy name?
PROCULEIUS. My name is Proculeius.
CLEOPATRA. Antony
Did tell me of you, bade me trust you; but
I do not greatly care to be deceiv'd,
That have no use for trusting. If your master
Would have a queen his beggar, you must tell him
That majesty, to keep decorum, must
No less beg than a kingdom. If he please
To give me conquer'd Egypt for my son,
He gives me so much of mine own as I
Will kneel to him with thanks.
PROCULEIUS. Be of good cheer;
Y'are fall'n into a princely hand; fear nothing.
Make your full reference freely to my lord,
Who is so full of grace that it flows over
On all that need. Let me report to him
Your sweet dependency, and you shall find
A conqueror that will pray in aid for kindness
Where he for grace is kneel'd to.
CLEOPATRA. Pray you tell him
I am his fortune's vassal and I send him
The greatness he has got. I hourly learn
A doctrine of obedience, and would gladly
Look him i' th' face.
PROCULEIUS. This I'll report, dear lady.
Have comfort, for I know your plight is pitied
Of him that caus'd it.
GALLUS. You see how easily she may be surpris'd.
Here PROCULEIUS and two of the guard ascend the
monument by a ladder placed against a window,
and come behind CLEOPATRA. Some of the guard
unbar and open the gates
Guard her till Caesar come. Exit
IRAS. Royal Queen!
CHARMIAN. O Cleopatra! thou art taken, Queen!
CLEOPATRA. Quick, quick, good hands. [Drawing a dagger]
PROCULEIUS. Hold, worthy lady, hold, [Disarms her]
Do not yourself such wrong, who are in this
Reliev'd, but not betray'd.
CLEOPATRA. What, of death too,
That rids our dogs of languish?
PROCULEIUS. Cleopatra,
Do not abuse my master's bounty by
Th' undoing of yourself. Let the world see
His nobleness well acted, which your death
Will never let come forth.
CLEOPATRA. Where art thou, death?
Come hither, come! Come, come, and take a queen
Worth many babes and beggars!
PROCULEIUS. O, temperance, lady!
CLEOPATRA. Sir, I will eat no meat; I'll not drink, sir;
If idle talk will once be necessary,
I'll not sleep neither. This mortal house I'll ruin,
Do Caesar what he can. Know, sir, that I
Will not wait pinion'd at your master's court,
Nor once be chastis'd with the sober eye
Of dull Octavia. Shall they hoist me up,
And show me to the shouting varletry
Of censuring Rome? Rather a ditch in Egypt
Be gentle grave unto me! Rather on Nilus' mud
Lay me stark-nak'd, and let the water-flies
Blow me into abhorring! Rather make
My country's high pyramides my gibbet,
And hang me up in chains!
PROCULEIUS. You do extend
These thoughts of horror further than you shall
Find cause in Caesar.
Enter DOLABELLA
DOLABELLA. Proculeius,
What thou hast done thy master Caesar knows,
And he hath sent for thee. For the Queen,
I'll take her to my guard.
PROCULEIUS. So, Dolabella,
It shall content me best. Be gentle to her.
[To CLEOPATRA] To Caesar I will speak what you shall please,
If you'll employ me to him.
CLEOPATRA. Say I would die.
Exeunt PROCULEIUS and soldiers
DOLABELLA. Most noble Empress, you have heard of me?
CLEOPATRA. I cannot tell.
DOLABELLA. Assuredly you know me.
CLEOPATRA. No matter, sir, what I have heard or known.
You laugh when boys or women tell their dreams;
Is't not your trick?
DOLABELLA. I understand not, madam.
CLEOPATRA. I dreamt there was an Emperor Antony-
O, such another sleep, that I might see
But such another man!
DOLABELLA. If it might please ye-
CLEOPATRA. His face was as the heav'ns, and therein stuck
A sun and moon, which kept their course and lighted
The little O, the earth.
DOLABELLA. Most sovereign creature-
CLEOPATRA. His legs bestrid the ocean; his rear'd arm
Crested the world. His voice was propertied
As all the tuned spheres, and that to friends;
But when he meant to quail and shake the orb,
He was as rattling thunder. For his bounty,
There was no winter in't; an autumn 'twas
That grew the more by reaping. His delights
Were dolphin-like: they show'd his back above
The element they liv'd in. In his livery
Walk'd crowns and crownets; realms and islands were
As plates dropp'd from his pocket.
DOLABELLA. Cleopatra-
CLEOPATRA. Think you there was or might be such a man
As this I dreamt of?
DOLABELLA. Gentle madam, no.
CLEOPATRA. You lie, up to the hearing of the gods.
But if there be nor ever were one such,
It's past the size of drearning. Nature wants stuff
To vie strange forms with fancy; yet t' imagine
An Antony were nature's piece 'gainst fancy,
Condemning shadows quite.
DOLABELLA. Hear me, good madam.
Your loss is, as yourself, great; and you bear it
As answering to the weight. Would I might never
O'ertake pursu'd success, but I do feel,
By the rebound of yours, a grief that smites
My very heart at root.
CLEOPATRA. I thank you, sir.
Know you what Caesar means to do with me?
DOLABELLA. I am loath to tell you what I would you knew.
CLEOPATRA. Nay, pray you, sir.
DOLABELLA. Though he be honourable-
CLEOPATRA. He'll lead me, then, in triumph?
DOLABELLA. Madam, he will. I know't. [Flourish]
[Within: 'Make way there-Caesar!']
Enter CAESAR; GALLUS, PROCULEIUS, MAECENAS, SELEUCUS,
and others of his train
CAESAR. Which is the Queen of Egypt?
DOLABELLA. It is the Emperor, madam. [CLEOPATPA kneels]
CAESAR. Arise, you shall not kneel.
I pray you, rise; rise, Egypt.
CLEOPATRA. Sir, the gods
Will have it thus; my master and my lord
I must obey.
CAESAR. Take to you no hard thoughts.
The record of what injuries you did us,
Though written in our flesh, we shall remember
As things but done by chance.
CLEOPATRA. Sole sir o' th' world,
I cannot project mine own cause so well
To make it clear, but do confess I have
Been laden with like frailties which before
Have often sham'd our sex.
CAESAR. Cleopatra, know
We will extenuate rather than enforce.
If you apply yourself to our intents-
Which towards you are most gentle- you shall find
A benefit in this change; but if you seek
To lay on me a cruelty by taking
Antony's course, you shall bereave yourself
Of my good purposes, and put your children
To that destruction which I'll guard them from,
If thereon you rely. I'll take my leave.
CLEOPATRA. And may, through all the world. 'Tis yours, and we,
Your scutcheons and your signs of conquest, shall
Hang in what place you please. Here, my good lord.
CAESAR. You shall advise me in all for Cleopatra.
CLEOPATRA. This is the brief of money, plate, and jewels,
I am possess'd of. 'Tis exactly valued,
Not petty things admitted. Where's Seleucus?
SELEUCUS. Here, madam.
CLEOPATRA. This is my treasurer; let him speak, my lord,
Upon his peril, that I have reserv'd
To myself nothing. Speak the truth, Seleucus.
SELEUCUS. Madam,
I had rather seal my lips than to my peril
Speak that which is not.
CLEOPATRA. What have I kept back?
SELEUCUS. Enough to purchase what you have made known.
CAESAR. Nay, blush not, Cleopatra; I approve
Your wisdom in the deed.
CLEOPATRA. See, Caesar! O, behold,
How pomp is followed! Mine will now be yours;
And, should we shift estates, yours would be mine.
The ingratitude of this Seleucus does
Even make me wild. O slave, of no more trust
Than love that's hir'd! What, goest thou back? Thou shalt
Go back, I warrant thee; but I'll catch thine eyes
Though they had wings. Slave, soulless villain, dog!
O rarely base!
CAESAR. Good Queen, let us entreat you.
CLEOPATRA. O Caesar, what a wounding shame is this,
That thou vouchsafing here to visit me,
Doing the honour of thy lordliness
To one so meek, that mine own servant should
Parcel the sum of my disgraces by
Addition of his envy! Say, good Caesar,
That I some lady trifles have reserv'd,
Immoment toys, things of such dignity
As we greet modern friends withal; and say
Some nobler token I have kept apart
For Livia and Octavia, to induce
Their mediation- must I be unfolded
With one that I have bred? The gods! It smites me
Beneath the fall I have. [To SELEUCUS] Prithee go hence;
Or I shall show the cinders of my spirits
Through th' ashes of my chance. Wert thou a man,
Thou wouldst have mercy on me.
CAESAR. Forbear, Seleucus. Exit SELEUCUS
CLEOPATRA. Be it known that we, the greatest, are misthought
For things that others do; and when we fall
We answer others' merits in our name,
Are therefore to be pitied.
CAESAR. Cleopatra,
Not what you have reserv'd, nor what acknowledg'd,
Put we i' th' roll of conquest. Still be't yours,
Bestow it at your pleasure; and believe
Caesar's no merchant, to make prize with you
Of things that merchants sold. Therefore be cheer'd;
Make not your thoughts your prisons. No, dear Queen;
For we intend so to dispose you as
Yourself shall give us counsel. Feed and sleep.
Our care and pity is so much upon you
That we remain your friend; and so, adieu.
CLEOPATRA. My master and my lord!
CAESAR. Not so. Adieu.
Flourish. Exeunt CAESAR and his train
CLEOPATRA. He words me, girls, he words me, that I should not
Be noble to myself. But hark thee, Charmian!
[Whispers CHARMIAN]
IRAS. Finish, good lady; the bright day is done,
And we are for the dark.
CLEOPATRA. Hie thee again.
I have spoke already, and it is provided;
Go put it to the haste.
CHARMIAN. Madam, I will.
Re-enter DOLABELLA
DOLABELLA. Where's the Queen?
CHARMIAN. Behold, sir. Exit
CLEOPATRA. Dolabella!
DOLABELLA. Madam, as thereto sworn by your command,
Which my love makes religion to obey,
I tell you this: Caesar through Syria
Intends his journey, and within three days
You with your children will he send before.
Make your best use of this; I have perform'd
Your pleasure and my promise.
CLEOPATRA. Dolabella,
I shall remain your debtor.
DOLABELLA. I your servant.
Adieu, good Queen; I must attend on Caesar.
CLEOPATRA. Farewell, and thanks. Exit DOLABELLA
Now, Iras, what think'st thou?
Thou an Egyptian puppet shall be shown
In Rome as well as I. Mechanic slaves,
With greasy aprons, rules, and hammers, shall
Uplift us to the view; in their thick breaths,
Rank of gross diet, shall we be enclouded,
And forc'd to drink their vapour.
IRAS. The gods forbid!
CLEOPATRA. Nay, 'tis most certain, Iras. Saucy lictors
Will catch at us like strumpets, and scald rhymers
Ballad us out o' tune; the quick comedians
Extemporally will stage us, and present
Our Alexandrian revels; Antony
Shall be brought drunken forth, and I shall see
Some squeaking Cleopatra boy my greatness
I' th' posture of a whore.
IRAS. O the good gods!
CLEOPATRA. Nay, that's certain.
IRAS. I'll never see't, for I am sure mine nails
Are stronger than mine eyes.
CLEOPATRA. Why, that's the way
To fool their preparation and to conquer
Their most absurd intents.
Enter CHARMIAN
Now, Charmian!
Show me, my women, like a queen. Go fetch
My best attires. I am again for Cydnus,
To meet Mark Antony. Sirrah, Iras, go.
Now, noble Charmian, we'll dispatch indeed;
And when thou hast done this chare, I'll give thee leave
To play till doomsday. Bring our crown and all.
Exit IRAS. A noise within
Wherefore's this noise?
Enter a GUARDSMAN
GUARDSMAN. Here is a rural fellow
That will not be denied your Highness' presence.
He brings you figs.
CLEOPATRA. Let him come in. Exit GUARDSMAN
What poor an instrument
May do a noble deed! He brings me liberty.
My resolution's plac'd, and I have nothing
Of woman in me. Now from head to foot
I am marble-constant; now the fleeting moon
No planet is of mine.
Re-enter GUARDSMAN and CLOWN, with a basket
GUARDSMAN. This is the man.
CLEOPATRA. Avoid, and leave him. Exit GUARDSMAN
Hast thou the pretty worm of Nilus there
That kills and pains not?
CLOWN. Truly, I have him. But I would not be the party that should
desire you to touch him, for his biting is immortal; those that
do die of it do seldom or never recover.
CLEOPATRA. Remember'st thou any that have died on't?
CLOWN. Very many, men and women too. I heard of one of them no
longer than yesterday: a very honest woman, but something given
to lie, as a woman should not do but in the way of honesty; how
she died of the biting of it, what pain she felt- truly she makes
a very good report o' th' worm. But he that will believe all that
they say shall never be saved by half that they do. But this is
most falliable, the worm's an odd worm.
CLEOPATRA. Get thee hence; farewell.
CLOWN. I wish you all joy of the worm.
[Sets down the basket]
CLEOPATRA. Farewell.
CLOWN. You must think this, look you, that the worm will do his
kind.
CLEOPATRA. Ay, ay; farewell.
CLOWN. Look you, the worm is not to be trusted but in the keeping
of wise people; for indeed there is no goodness in the worm.
CLEOPATRA. Take thou no care; it shall be heeded.
CLOWN. Very good. Give it nothing, I pray you, for it is not worth
the feeding.
CLEOPATRA. Will it eat me?
CLOWN. You must not think I am so simple but I know the devil
himself will not eat a woman. I know that a woman is a dish for
the gods, if the devil dress her not. But truly, these same
whoreson devils do the gods great harm in their women, for in
every ten that they make the devils mar five.
CLEOPATRA. Well, get thee gone; farewell.
CLOWN. Yes, forsooth. I wish you joy o' th' worm. Exit
Re-enter IRAS, with a robe, crown, &c.
CLEOPATRA. Give me my robe, put on my crown; I have
Immortal longings in me. Now no more
The juice of Egypt's grape shall moist this lip.
Yare, yare, good Iras; quick. Methinks I hear
Antony call. I see him rouse himself
To praise my noble act. I hear him mock
The luck of Caesar, which the gods give men
To excuse their after wrath. Husband, I come.
Now to that name my courage prove my title!
I am fire and air; my other elements
I give to baser life. So, have you done?
Come then, and take the last warmth of my lips.
Farewell, kind Charmian. Iras, long farewell.
[Kisses them. IRAS falls and dies]
Have I the aspic in my lips? Dost fall?
If thus thou and nature can so gently part,
The stroke of death is as a lover's pinch,
Which hurts and is desir'd. Dost thou lie still?
If thou vanishest, thou tell'st the world
It is not worth leave-taking.
CHARMIAN. Dissolve, thick cloud, and rain, that I may say
The gods themselves do weep.
CLEOPATRA. This proves me base.
If she first meet the curled Antony,
He'll make demand of her, and spend that kiss
Which is my heaven to have. Come, thou mortal wretch,
[To an asp, which she applies to her breast]
With thy sharp teeth this knot intrinsicate
Of life at once untie. Poor venomous fool,
Be angry and dispatch. O couldst thou speak,
That I might hear thee call great Caesar ass
Unpolicied!
CHARMIAN. O Eastern star!
CLEOPATRA. Peace, peace!
Dost thou not see my baby at my breast
That sucks the nurse asleep?
CHARMIAN. O, break! O, break!
CLEOPATRA. As sweet as balm, as soft as air, as gentle-
O Antony! Nay, I will take thee too:
[Applying another asp to her arm]
What should I stay- [Dies]
CHARMIAN. In this vile world? So, fare thee well.
Now boast thee, death, in thy possession lies
A lass unparallel'd. Downy windows, close;
And golden Phoebus never be beheld
Of eyes again so royal! Your crown's awry;
I'll mend it and then play-
Enter the guard, rushing in
FIRST GUARD. Where's the Queen?
CHARMIAN. Speak softly, wake her not.
FIRST GUARD. Caesar hath sent-
CHARMIAN. Too slow a messenger. [Applies an asp]
O, come apace, dispatch. I partly feel thee.
FIRST GUARD. Approach, ho! All's not well: Caesar's beguil'd.
SECOND GUARD. There's Dolabella sent from Caesar; call him.
FIRST GUARD. What work is here! Charmian, is this well done?
CHARMIAN. It is well done, and fitting for a princes
Descended of so many royal kings.
Ah, soldier! [CHARMIAN dies]
Re-enter DOLABELLA
DOLABELLA. How goes it here?
SECOND GUARD. All dead.
DOLABELLA. Caesar, thy thoughts
Touch their effects in this. Thyself art coming
To see perform'd the dreaded act which thou
So sought'st to hinder.
[Within: 'A way there, a way for Caesar!']
Re-enter CAESAR and all his train
DOLABELLA. O sir, you are too sure an augurer:
That you did fear is done.
CAESAR. Bravest at the last,
She levell'd at our purposes, and being royal,
Took her own way. The manner of their deaths?
I do not see them bleed.
DOLABELLA. Who was last with them?
FIRST GUARD. A simple countryman that brought her figs.
This was his basket.
CAESAR. Poison'd then.
FIRST GUARD. O Caesar,
This Charmian liv'd but now; she stood and spake.
I found her trimming up the diadem
On her dead mistress. Tremblingly she stood,
And on the sudden dropp'd.
CAESAR. O noble weakness!
If they had swallow'd poison 'twould appear
By external swelling; but she looks like sleep,
As she would catch another Antony
In her strong toil of grace.
DOLABELLA. Here on her breast
There is a vent of blood, and something blown;
The like is on her arm.
FIRST GUARD. This is an aspic's trail; and these fig-leaves
Have slime upon them, such as th' aspic leaves
Upon the caves of Nile.
CAESAR. Most probable
That so she died; for her physician tells me
She hath pursu'd conclusions infinite
Of easy ways to die. Take up her bed,
And bear her women from the monument.
She shall be buried by her Antony;
No grave upon the earth shall clip in it
A pair so famous. High events as these
Strike those that make them; and their story is
No less in pity than his glory which
Brought them to be lamented. Our army shall
In solemn show attend this funeral,
And then to Rome. Come, Dolabella, see
High order in this great solemnity. Exeunt
THE END
<>
1601
AS YOU LIKE IT
by William Shakespeare
DRAMATIS PERSONAE.
DUKE, living in exile
FREDERICK, his brother, and usurper of his dominions
AMIENS, lord attending on the banished Duke
JAQUES, " " " " " "
LE BEAU, a courtier attending upon Frederick
CHARLES, wrestler to Frederick
OLIVER, son of Sir Rowland de Boys
JAQUES, " " " " " "
ORLANDO, " " " " " "
ADAM, servant to Oliver
DENNIS, " " "
TOUCHSTONE, the court jester
SIR OLIVER MARTEXT, a vicar
CORIN, shepherd
SILVIUS, "
WILLIAM, a country fellow, in love with Audrey
A person representing HYMEN
ROSALIND, daughter to the banished Duke
CELIA, daughter to Frederick
PHEBE, a shepherdes
AUDREY, a country wench
Lords, Pages, Foresters, and Attendants
<>
SCENE:
OLIVER'S house; FREDERICK'S court; and the Forest of Arden
ACT I. SCENE I.
Orchard of OLIVER'S house
Enter ORLANDO and ADAM
ORLANDO. As I remember, Adam, it was upon this fashion bequeathed
me by will but poor a thousand crowns, and, as thou say'st,
charged my brother, on his blessing, to breed me well; and there
begins my sadness. My brother Jaques he keeps at school, and
report speaks goldenly of his profit. For my part, he keeps me
rustically at home, or, to speak more properly, stays me here at
home unkept; for call you that keeping for a gentleman of my
birth that differs not from the stalling of an ox? His horses are
bred better; for, besides that they are fair with their feeding,
they are taught their manage, and to that end riders dearly
hir'd; but I, his brother, gain nothing under him but growth; for
the which his animals on his dunghills are as much bound to him
as I. Besides this nothing that he so plentifully gives me, the
something that nature gave me his countenance seems to take from
me. He lets me feed with his hinds, bars me the place of a
brother, and as much as in him lies, mines my gentility with my
education. This is it, Adam, that grieves me; and the spirit of
my father, which I think is within me, begins to mutiny against
this servitude. I will no longer endure it, though yet I know no
wise remedy how to avoid it.
Enter OLIVER
ADAM. Yonder comes my master, your brother.
ORLANDO. Go apart, Adam, and thou shalt hear how he will shake me
up. [ADAM retires]
OLIVER. Now, sir! what make you here?
ORLANDO. Nothing; I am not taught to make any thing.
OLIVER. What mar you then, sir?
ORLANDO. Marry, sir, I am helping you to mar that which God made, a
poor unworthy brother of yours, with idleness.
OLIVER. Marry, sir, be better employed, and be nought awhile.
ORLANDO. Shall I keep your hogs, and eat husks with them? What
prodigal portion have I spent that I should come to such penury?
OLIVER. Know you where you are, sir?
ORLANDO. O, sir, very well; here in your orchard.
OLIVER. Know you before whom, sir?
ORLANDO. Ay, better than him I am before knows me. I know you are
my eldest brother; and in the gentle condition of blood, you
should so know me. The courtesy of nations allows you my better
in that you are the first-born; but the same tradition takes not
away my blood, were there twenty brothers betwixt us. I have as
much of my father in me as you, albeit I confess your coming
before me is nearer to his reverence.
OLIVER. What, boy! [Strikes him]
ORLANDO. Come, come, elder brother, you are too young in this.
OLIVER. Wilt thou lay hands on me, villain?
ORLANDO. I am no villain; I am the youngest son of Sir Rowland de
Boys. He was my father; and he is thrice a villain that says such
a father begot villains. Wert thou not my brother, I would not
take this hand from thy throat till this other had pull'd out thy
tongue for saying so. Thou has rail'd on thyself.
ADAM. [Coming forward] Sweet masters, be patient; for your father's
remembrance, be at accord.
OLIVER. Let me go, I say.
ORLANDO. I will not, till I please; you shall hear me. My father
charg'd you in his will to give me good education: you have
train'd me like a peasant, obscuring and hiding from me all
gentleman-like qualities. The spirit of my father grows strong in
me, and I will no longer endure it; therefore allow me such
exercises as may become a gentleman, or give me the poor
allottery my father left me by testament; with that I will go buy
my fortunes.
OLIVER. And what wilt thou do? Beg, when that is spent? Well, sir,
get you in. I will not long be troubled with you; you shall have
some part of your will. I pray you leave me.
ORLANDO. I no further offend you than becomes me for my good.
OLIVER. Get you with him, you old dog.
ADAM. Is 'old dog' my reward? Most true, I have lost my teeth in
your service. God be with my old master! He would not have spoke
such a word.
Exeunt ORLANDO and ADAM
OLIVER. Is it even so? Begin you to grow upon me? I will physic
your rankness, and yet give no thousand crowns neither. Holla,
Dennis!
Enter DENNIS
DENNIS. Calls your worship?
OLIVER. not Charles, the Duke's wrestler, here to speak with me?
DENNIS. So please you, he is here at the door and importunes access
to you.
OLIVER. Call him in. [Exit DENNIS] 'Twill be a good way; and
to-morrow the wrestling is.
Enter CHARLES
CHARLES. Good morrow to your worship.
OLIVER. Good Monsieur Charles! What's the new news at the new
court?
CHARLES. There's no news at the court, sir, but the old news; that
is, the old Duke is banished by his younger brother the new Duke;
and three or four loving lords have put themselves into voluntary
exile with him, whose lands and revenues enrich the new Duke;
therefore he gives them good leave to wander.
OLIVER. Can you tell if Rosalind, the Duke's daughter, be banished
with her father?
CHARLES. O, no; for the Duke's daughter, her cousin, so loves her,
being ever from their cradles bred together, that she would have
followed her exile, or have died to stay behind her. She is at
the court, and no less beloved of her uncle than his own
daughter; and never two ladies loved as they do.
OLIVER. Where will the old Duke live?
CHARLES. They say he is already in the Forest of Arden, and a many
merry men with him; and there they live like the old Robin Hood
of England. They say many young gentlemen flock to him every day,
and fleet the time carelessly, as they did in the golden world.
OLIVER. What, you wrestle to-morrow before the new Duke?
CHARLES. Marry, do I, sir; and I came to acquaint you with a
matter. I am given, sir, secretly to understand that your younger
brother, Orlando, hath a disposition to come in disguis'd against
me to try a fall. To-morrow, sir, I wrestle for my credit; and he
that escapes me without some broken limb shall acquit him well.
Your brother is but young and tender; and, for your love, I would
be loath to foil him, as I must, for my own honour, if he come
in; therefore, out of my love to you, I came hither to acquaint
you withal, that either you might stay him from his intendment,
or brook such disgrace well as he shall run into, in that it is
thing of his own search and altogether against my will.
OLIVER. Charles, I thank thee for thy love to me, which thou shalt
find I will most kindly requite. I had myself notice of my
brother's purpose herein, and have by underhand means laboured to
dissuade him from it; but he is resolute. I'll tell thee,
Charles, it is the stubbornest young fellow of France; full of
ambition, an envious emulator of every man's good parts, a secret
and villainous contriver against me his natural brother.
Therefore use thy discretion: I had as lief thou didst break his
neck as his finger. And thou wert best look to't; for if thou
dost him any slight disgrace, or if he do not mightily grace
himself on thee, he will practise against thee by poison, entrap
thee by some treacherous device, and never leave thee till he
hath ta'en thy life by some indirect means or other; for, I
assure thee, and almost with tears I speak it, there is not one
so young and so villainous this day living. I speak but brotherly
of him; but should I anatomize him to thee as he is, I must blush
and weep, and thou must look pale and wonder.
CHARLES. I am heartily glad I came hither to you. If he come
to-morrow I'll give him his payment. If ever he go alone again,
I'll never wrestle for prize more. And so, God keep your worship!
Exit
OLIVER. Farewell, good Charles. Now will I stir this gamester. I
hope I shall see an end of him; for my soul, yet I know not why,
hates nothing more than he. Yet he's gentle; never school'd and
yet learned; full of noble device; of all sorts enchantingly
beloved; and, indeed, so much in the heart of the world, and
especially of my own people, who best know him, that I am
altogether misprised. But it shall not be so long; this wrestler
shall clear all. Nothing remains but that I kindle the boy
thither, which now I'll go about. Exit
<>
SCENE II.
A lawn before the DUKE'S palace
Enter ROSALIND and CELIA
CELIA. I pray thee, Rosalind, sweet my coz, be merry.
ROSALIND. Dear Celia, I show more mirth than I am mistress of; and
would you yet I were merrier? Unless you could teach me to forget
a banished father, you must not learn me how to remember any
extraordinary pleasure.
CELIA. Herein I see thou lov'st me not with the full weight that I
love thee. If my uncle, thy banished father, had banished thy
uncle, the Duke my father, so thou hadst been still with me, I
could have taught my love to take thy father for mine; so wouldst
thou, if the truth of thy love to me were so righteously temper'd
as mine is to thee.
ROSALIND. Well, I will forget the condition of my estate, to
rejoice in yours.
CELIA. You know my father hath no child but I, nor none is like to
have; and, truly, when he dies thou shalt be his heir; for what
he hath taken away from thy father perforce, I will render thee
again in affection. By mine honour, I will; and when I break that
oath, let me turn monster; therefore, my sweet Rose, my dear
Rose, be merry.
ROSALIND. From henceforth I will, coz, and devise sports.
Let me see; what think you of falling in love?
CELIA. Marry, I prithee, do, to make sport withal; but love no man
in good earnest, nor no further in sport neither than with safety
of a pure blush thou mayst in honour come off again.
ROSALIND. What shall be our sport, then?
CELIA. Let us sit and mock the good housewife Fortune from her
wheel, that her gifts may henceforth be bestowed equally.
ROSALIND. I would we could do so; for her benefits are mightily
misplaced; and the bountiful blind woman doth most mistake in her
gifts to women.
CELIA. 'Tis true; for those that she makes fair she scarce makes
honest; and those that she makes honest she makes very
ill-favouredly.
ROSALIND. Nay; now thou goest from Fortune's office to Nature's:
Fortune reigns in gifts of the world, not in the lineaments of
Nature.
Enter TOUCHSTONE
CELIA. No; when Nature hath made a fair creature, may she not by
Fortune fall into the fire? Though Nature hath given us wit to
flout at Fortune, hath not Fortune sent in this fool to cut off
the argument?
ROSALIND. Indeed, there is Fortune too hard for Nature, when
Fortune makes Nature's natural the cutter-off of Nature's wit.
CELIA. Peradventure this is not Fortune's work neither, but
Nature's, who perceiveth our natural wits too dull to reason of
such goddesses, and hath sent this natural for our whetstone; for
always the dullness of the fool is the whetstone of the wits. How
now, wit! Whither wander you?
TOUCHSTONE. Mistress, you must come away to your father.
CELIA. Were you made the messenger?
TOUCHSTONE. No, by mine honour; but I was bid to come for you.
ROSALIND. Where learned you that oath, fool?
TOUCHSTONE. Of a certain knight that swore by his honour they were
good pancakes, and swore by his honour the mustard was naught.
Now I'll stand to it, the pancakes were naught and the mustard
was good, and yet was not the knight forsworn.
CELIA. How prove you that, in the great heap of your knowledge?
ROSALIND. Ay, marry, now unmuzzle your wisdom.
TOUCHSTONE. Stand you both forth now: stroke your chins, and swear
by your beards that I am a knave.
CELIA. By our beards, if we had them, thou art.
TOUCHSTONE. By my knavery, if I had it, then I were. But if you
swear by that that not, you are not forsworn; no more was this
knight, swearing by his honour, for he never had any; or if he
had, he had sworn it away before ever he saw those pancackes or
that mustard.
CELIA. Prithee, who is't that thou mean'st?
TOUCHSTONE. One that old Frederick, your father, loves.
CELIA. My father's love is enough to honour him. Enough, speak no
more of him; you'll be whipt for taxation one of these days.
TOUCHSTONE. The more pity that fools may not speak wisely what wise
men do foolishly.
CELIA. By my troth, thou sayest true; for since the little wit that
fools have was silenced, the little foolery that wise men have
makes a great show. Here comes Monsieur Le Beau.
Enter LE BEAU
ROSALIND. With his mouth full of news.
CELIA. Which he will put on us as pigeons feed their young.
ROSALIND. Then shall we be news-cramm'd.
CELIA. All the better; we shall be the more marketable. Bon jour,
Monsieur Le Beau. What's the news?
LE BEAU. Fair Princess, you have lost much good sport.
CELIA. Sport! of what colour?
LE BEAU. What colour, madam? How shall I answer you?
ROSALIND. As wit and fortune will.
TOUCHSTONE. Or as the Destinies decrees.
CELIA. Well said; that was laid on with a trowel.
TOUCHSTONE. Nay, if I keep not my rank-
ROSALIND. Thou losest thy old smell.
LE BEAU. You amaze me, ladies. I would have told you of good
wrestling, which you have lost the sight of.
ROSALIND. Yet tell us the manner of the wrestling.
LE BEAU. I will tell you the beginning, and, if it please your
ladyships, you may see the end; for the best is yet to do; and
here, where you are, they are coming to perform it.
CELIA. Well, the beginning, that is dead and buried.
LE BEAU. There comes an old man and his three sons-
CELIA. I could match this beginning with an old tale.
LE BEAU. Three proper young men, of excellent growth and presence.
ROSALIND. With bills on their necks: 'Be it known unto all men by
these presents'-
LE BEAU. The eldest of the three wrestled with Charles, the Duke's
wrestler; which Charles in a moment threw him, and broke three of
his ribs, that there is little hope of life in him. So he serv'd
the second, and so the third. Yonder they lie; the poor old man,
their father, making such pitiful dole over them that all the
beholders take his part with weeping.
ROSALIND. Alas!
TOUCHSTONE. But what is the sport, monsieur, that the ladies have
lost?
LE BEAU. Why, this that I speak of.
TOUCHSTONE. Thus men may grow wiser every day. It is the first time
that ever I heard breaking of ribs was sport for ladies.
CELIA. Or I, I promise thee.
ROSALIND. But is there any else longs to see this broken music in
his sides? Is there yet another dotes upon rib-breaking? Shall we
see this wrestling, cousin?
LE BEAU. You must, if you stay here; for here is the place
appointed for the wrestling, and they are ready to perform it.
CELIA. Yonder, sure, they are coming. Let us now stay and see it.
Flourish. Enter DUKE FREDERICK, LORDS, ORLANDO,
CHARLES, and ATTENDANTS
FREDERICK. Come on; since the youth will not be entreated, his own
peril on his forwardness.
ROSALIND. Is yonder the man?
LE BEAU. Even he, madam.
CELIA. Alas, he is too young; yet he looks successfully.
FREDERICK. How now, daughter and cousin! Are you crept hither to
see the wrestling?
ROSALIND. Ay, my liege; so please you give us leave.
FREDERICK. You will take little delight in it, I can tell you,
there is such odds in the man. In pity of the challenger's youth
I would fain dissuade him, but he will not be entreated. Speak to
him, ladies; see if you can move him.
CELIA. Call him hither, good Monsieur Le Beau.
FREDERICK. Do so; I'll not be by.
[DUKE FREDERICK goes apart]
LE BEAU. Monsieur the Challenger, the Princess calls for you.
ORLANDO. I attend them with all respect and duty.
ROSALIND. Young man, have you challeng'd Charles the wrestler?
ORLANDO. No, fair Princess; he is the general challenger. I come
but in, as others do, to try with him the strength of my youth.
CELIA. Young gentleman, your spirits are too bold for your years.
You have seen cruel proof of this man's strength; if you saw
yourself with your eyes, or knew yourself with your judgment, the
fear of your adventure would counsel you to a more equal
enterprise. We pray you, for your own sake, to embrace your own
safety and give over this attempt.
ROSALIND. Do, young sir; your reputation shall not therefore be
misprised: we will make it our suit to the Duke that the
wrestling might not go forward.
ORLANDO. I beseech you, punish me not with your hard thoughts,
wherein I confess me much guilty to deny so fair and excellent
ladies any thing. But let your fair eyes and gentle wishes go
with me to my trial; wherein if I be foil'd there is but one
sham'd that was never gracious; if kill'd, 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 no injury, for in it I have nothing; only
in the world I fill up a place, which may be better supplied when
I have made it empty.
ROSALIND. The little strength that I have, I would it were with
you.
CELIA. And mine to eke out hers.
ROSALIND. Fare you well. Pray heaven I be deceiv'd in you!
CELIA. Your heart's desires be with you!
CHARLES. Come, where is this young gallant that is so desirous to
lie with his mother earth?
ORLANDO. Ready, sir; but his will hath in it a more modest working.
FREDERICK. You shall try but one fall.
CHARLES. No, I warrant your Grace, you shall not entreat him to a
second, that have so mightily persuaded him from a first.
ORLANDO. You mean to mock me after; you should not have mock'd me
before; but come your ways.
ROSALIND. Now, Hercules be thy speed, young man!
CELIA. I would I were invisible, to catch the strong fellow by the
leg. [They wrestle]
ROSALIND. O excellent young man!
CELIA. If I had a thunderbolt in mine eye, I can tell who should
down.
[CHARLES is thrown. Shout]
FREDERICK. No more, no more.
ORLANDO. Yes, I beseech your Grace; I am not yet well breath'd.
FREDERICK. How dost thou, Charles?
LE BEAU. He cannot speak, my lord.
FREDERICK. Bear him away. What is thy name, young man?
ORLANDO. Orlando, my liege; the youngest son of Sir Rowland de
Boys.
FREDERICK. I would thou hadst been son to some man else.
The world esteem'd thy father honourable,
But I did find him still mine enemy.
Thou shouldst have better pleas'd 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, train, and LE BEAU
CELIA. Were I my father, coz, would I do this?
ORLANDO. I am more proud to be Sir Rowland's son,
His youngest son- and would not change that calling
To be adopted heir to Frederick.
ROSALIND. My father lov'd Sir Rowland as his soul,
And all the world was of my father's mind;
Had I before known this young man his son,
I should have given him tears unto entreaties
Ere he should thus have ventur'd.
CELIA. Gentle cousin,
Let us go thank him, and encourage him;
My father's rough and envious disposition
Sticks me at heart. Sir, you have well deserv'd;
If you do keep your promises in love
But justly as you have exceeded all promise,
Your mistress shall be happy.
ROSALIND. Gentleman, [Giving him a chain from her neck]
Wear this for me; one out of suits with fortune,
That could give more, but that her hand lacks means.
Shall we go, coz?
CELIA. Ay. Fare you well, fair gentleman.
ORLANDO. Can I not say 'I thank you'? My better parts
Are all thrown down; and that which here stands up
Is but a quintain, a mere lifeless block.
ROSALIND. He calls us back. My pride fell with my fortunes;
I'll ask him what he would. Did you call, sir?
Sir, you have wrestled well, and overthrown
More than your enemies.
CELIA. Will you go, coz?
ROSALIND. Have with you. Fare you well.
Exeunt ROSALIND and CELIA
ORLANDO. What passion hangs these weights upon my tongue?
I cannot speak to her, yet she urg'd conference.
O poor Orlando, thou art overthrown!
Or Charles or something weaker masters thee.
Re-enter LE BEAU
LE BEAU. Good sir, I do in friendship counsel you
To leave this place. Albeit you have deserv'd
High commendation, true applause, and love,
Yet such is now the Duke's condition
That he misconstrues all that you have done.
The Duke is humorous; what he is, indeed,
More suits you to conceive than I to speak of.
ORLANDO. I thank you, sir; and pray you tell me this:
Which of the two was daughter of the Duke
That here was at the wrestling?
LE BEAU. Neither his daughter, if we judge by manners;
But yet, indeed, the smaller is his daughter;
The other is daughter to the banish'd Duke,
And here detain'd by her usurping uncle,
To keep his daughter company; whose loves
Are dearer than the natural bond of sisters.
But I can tell you that of late this Duke
Hath ta'en displeasure 'gainst his gentle niece,
Grounded upon no other argument
But that the people praise her for her virtues
And pity her for her good father's sake;
And, on my life, his malice 'gainst the lady
Will suddenly break forth. Sir, fare you well.
Hereafter, in a better world than this,
I shall desire more love and knowledge of you.
ORLANDO. I rest much bounden to you; fare you well.
Exit LE BEAU
Thus must I from the smoke into the smother;
From tyrant Duke unto a tyrant brother.
But heavenly Rosalind! Exit
SCENE III.
The DUKE's palace
Enter CELIA and ROSALIND
CELIA. Why, cousin! why, Rosalind! Cupid have mercy!
Not a word?
ROSALIND. Not one to throw at a dog.
CELIA. No, thy words are too precious to be cast away upon curs;
throw some of them at me; come, lame me with reasons.
ROSALIND. Then there were two cousins laid up, when the one should
be lam'd with reasons and the other mad without any.
CELIA. But is all this for your father?
ROSALIND. No, some of it is for my child's father. O, how full of
briers is this working-day world!
CELIA. They are but burs, cousin, thrown upon thee in holiday
foolery; if we walk not in the trodden paths, our very petticoats
will catch them.
ROSALIND. I could shake them off my coat: these burs are in my
heart.
CELIA. Hem them away.
ROSALIND. I would try, if I could cry 'hem' and have him.
CELIA. Come, come, wrestle with thy affections.
ROSALIND. O, they take the part of a better wrestler than myself.
CELIA. O, a good wish upon you! You will try in time, in despite of
a fall. But, turning these jests out of service, let us talk in
good earnest. Is it possible, on such a sudden, you should fall
into so strong a liking with old Sir Rowland's youngest son?
ROSALIND. The Duke my father lov'd his father dearly.
CELIA. Doth it therefore ensue that you should love his son dearly?
By this kind of chase I should hate him, for my father hated his
father dearly; yet I hate not Orlando.
ROSALIND. No, faith, hate him not, for my sake.
CELIA. Why should I not? Doth he not deserve well?
Enter DUKE FREDERICK, with LORDS
ROSALIND. Let me love him for that; and do you love him because I
do. Look, here comes the Duke.
CELIA. With his eyes full of anger.
FREDERICK. Mistress, dispatch you with your safest haste,
And get you from our court.
ROSALIND. Me, uncle?
FREDERICK. You, cousin.
Within these ten days if that thou beest found
So near our public court as twenty miles,
Thou diest for it.
ROSALIND. I do beseech your Grace,
Let me the knowledge of my fault bear with me.
If with myself I hold intelligence,
Or have acquaintance with mine own desires;
If that I do not dream, or be not frantic-
As I do trust I am not- then, dear uncle,
Never so much as in a thought unborn
Did I offend your Highness.
FREDERICK. Thus do all traitors;
If their purgation did consist in words,
They are as innocent as grace itself.
Let it suffice thee that I trust thee not.
ROSALIND. Yet your mistrust cannot make me a traitor.
Tell me whereon the likelihood depends.
FREDERICK. Thou art thy father's daughter; there's enough.
ROSALIND. SO was I when your Highness took his dukedom;
So was I when your Highness banish'd him.
Treason is not inherited, my lord;
Or, if we did derive it from our friends,
What's that to me? My father was no traitor.
Then, good my liege, mistake me not so much
To think my poverty is treacherous.
CELIA. Dear sovereign, hear me speak.
FREDERICK. Ay, Celia; we stay'd her for your sake,
Else had she with her father rang'd along.
CELIA. I did not then entreat to have her stay;
It was your pleasure, and your own remorse;
I was too young that time to value her,
But now I know her. If she be a traitor,
Why so am I: we still have slept together,
Rose at an instant, learn'd, play'd, eat together;
And wheresoe'er we went, like Juno's swans,
Still we went coupled and inseparable.
FREDERICK. She is too subtle for thee; and her smoothness,
Her very silence and her patience,
Speak to the people, and they pity her.
Thou art a fool. She robs thee of thy name;
And thou wilt show more bright and seem more virtuous
When she is gone. Then open not thy lips.
Firm and irrevocable is my doom
Which I have pass'd upon her; she is banish'd.
CELIA. Pronounce that sentence, then, on me, my liege;
I cannot live out of her company.
FREDERICK. You are a fool. You, niece, provide yourself.
If you outstay the time, upon mine honour,
And in the greatness of my word, you die.
Exeunt DUKE and LORDS
CELIA. O my poor Rosalind! Whither wilt thou go?
Wilt thou change fathers? I will give thee mine.
I charge thee be not thou more griev'd than I am.
ROSALIND. I have more cause.
CELIA. Thou hast not, cousin.
Prithee be cheerful. Know'st thou not the Duke
Hath banish'd me, his daughter?
ROSALIND. That he hath not.
CELIA. No, hath not? Rosalind lacks, then, the love
Which teacheth thee that thou and I am one.
Shall we be sund'red? Shall we part, sweet girl?
No; let my father seek another heir.
Therefore devise with me how we may fly,
Whither to go, and what to bear with us;
And do not seek to take your charge upon you,
To bear your griefs yourself, and leave me out;
For, by this heaven, now at our sorrows pale,
Say what thou canst, I'll go along with thee.
ROSALIND. Why, whither shall we go?
CELIA. To seek my uncle in the Forest of Arden.
ROSALIND. Alas, what danger will it be to us,
Maids as we are, to travel forth so far!
Beauty provoketh thieves sooner than gold.
CELIA. I'll put myself in poor and mean attire,
And with a kind of umber smirch my face;
The like do you; so shall we pass along,
And never stir assailants.
ROSALIND. Were it not better,
Because that I am more than common tall,
That I did suit me all points like a man?
A gallant curtle-axe upon my thigh,
A boar spear in my hand; and- in my heart
Lie there what hidden woman's fear there will-
We'll have a swashing and a martial outside,
As many other mannish cowards have
That do outface it with their semblances.
CELIA. What shall I call thee when thou art a man?
ROSALIND. I'll have no worse a name than Jove's own page,
And therefore look you call me Ganymede.
But what will you be call'd?
CELIA. Something that hath a reference to my state:
No longer Celia, but Aliena.
ROSALIND. But, cousin, what if we assay'd to steal
The clownish fool out of your father's court?
Would he not be a comfort to our travel?
CELIA. He'll go along o'er the wide world with me;
Leave me alone to woo him. Let's away,
And get our jewels and our wealth together;
Devise the fittest time and safest way
To hide us from pursuit that will be made
After my flight. Now go we in content
To liberty, and not to banishment. Exeunt
<>
ACT II. SCENE I.
The Forest of Arden
Enter DUKE SENIOR, AMIENS, and two or three LORDS, like foresters
DUKE SENIOR. Now, my co-mates and brothers in exile,
Hath not old custom made this life more sweet
Than that of painted pomp? Are not these woods
More free from peril than the envious court?
Here feel we not the penalty of Adam,
The seasons' difference; as the icy fang
And churlish chiding of the winter's wind,
Which when it bites and blows upon my body,
Even till I shrink with cold, I smile and say
'This is no flattery; these are counsellors
That feelingly persuade me what I am.'
Sweet are the uses of adversity,
Which, like the toad, ugly and venomous,
Wears yet a precious jewel in his head;
And this our life, exempt from public haunt,
Finds tongues in trees, books in the running brooks,
Sermons in stones, and good in everything.
I would not change it.
AMIENS. Happy is your Grace,
That can translate the stubbornness of fortune
Into so quiet and so sweet a style.
DUKE SENIOR. Come, shall we go and kill us venison?
And yet it irks me the poor dappled fools,
Being native burghers of this desert city,
Should, in their own confines, with forked heads
Have their round haunches gor'd.
FIRST LORD. Indeed, my lord,
The melancholy Jaques grieves at that;
And, in that kind, swears you do more usurp
Than doth your brother that hath banish'd you.
To-day my Lord of Amiens and myself
Did steal behind him as he lay along
Under an oak whose antique root peeps out
Upon the brook that brawls along this wood!
To the which place a poor sequest'red stag,
That from the hunter's aim had ta'en a hurt,
Did come to languish; and, indeed, my lord,
The wretched animal heav'd forth such groans
That their discharge did stretch his leathern coat
Almost to bursting; and the big round tears
Cours'd one another down his innocent nose
In piteous chase; and thus the hairy fool,
Much marked of the melancholy Jaques,
Stood on th' extremest verge of the swift brook,
Augmenting it with tears.
DUKE SENIOR. But what said Jaques?
Did he not moralize this spectacle?
FIRST LORD. O, yes, into a thousand similes.
First, for his weeping into the needless stream:
'Poor deer,' quoth he 'thou mak'st a testament
As worldlings do, giving thy sum of more
To that which had too much.' Then, being there alone,
Left and abandoned of his velvet friends:
''Tis right'; quoth he 'thus misery doth part
The flux of company.' Anon, a careless herd,
Full of the pasture, jumps along by him
And never stays to greet him. 'Ay,' quoth Jaques
'Sweep on, you fat and greasy citizens;
'Tis just the fashion. Wherefore do you look
Upon that poor and broken bankrupt there?'
Thus most invectively he pierceth through
The body of the country, city, court,
Yea, and of this our life; swearing that we
Are mere usurpers, tyrants, and what's worse,
To fright the animals, and to kill them up
In their assign'd and native dwelling-place.
DUKE SENIOR. And did you leave him in this contemplation?
SECOND LORD. We did, my lord, weeping and commenting
Upon the sobbing deer.
DUKE SENIOR. Show me the place;
I love to cope him in these sullen fits,
For then he's full of matter.
FIRST LORD. I'll bring you to him straight. Exeunt
SCENE II.
The DUKE'S palace
Enter DUKE FREDERICK, with LORDS
FREDERICK. Can it be possible that no man saw them?
It cannot be; some villains of my court
Are of consent and sufferance in this.
FIRST LORD. I cannot hear of any that did see her.
The ladies, her attendants of her chamber,
Saw her abed, and in the morning early
They found the bed untreasur'd of their mistress.
SECOND LORD. My lord, the roynish clown, at whom so oft
Your Grace was wont to laugh, is also missing.
Hisperia, the Princess' gentlewoman,
Confesses that she secretly o'erheard
Your daughter and her cousin much commend
The parts and graces of the wrestler
That did but lately foil the sinewy Charles;
And she believes, wherever they are gone,
That youth is surely in their company.
FREDERICK. Send to his brother; fetch that gallant hither.
If he be absent, bring his brother to me;
I'll make him find him. Do this suddenly;
And let not search and inquisition quail
To bring again these foolish runaways. Exeunt
SCENE III.
Before OLIVER'S house
Enter ORLANDO and ADAM, meeting
ORLANDO. Who's there?
ADAM. What, my young master? O my gentle master!
O my sweet master! O you memory
Of old Sir Rowland! Why, what make you here?
Why are you virtuous? Why do people love you?
And wherefore are you gentle, strong, and valiant?
Why would you be so fond to overcome
The bonny prizer of the humorous Duke?
Your praise is come too swiftly home before you.
Know you not, master, to some kind of men
Their graces serve them but as enemies?
No more do yours. Your virtues, gentle master,
Are sanctified and holy traitors to you.
O, what a world is this, when what is comely
Envenoms him that bears it!
ORLANDO. Why, what's the matter?
ADAM. O unhappy youth!
Come not within these doors; within this roof
The enemy of all your graces lives.
Your brother- no, no brother; yet the son-
Yet not the son; I will not call him son
Of him I was about to call his father-
Hath heard your praises; and this night he means
To burn the lodging where you use to lie,
And you within it. If he fail of that,
He will have other means to cut you off;
I overheard him and his practices.
This is no place; this house is but a butchery;
Abhor it, fear it, do not enter it.
ORLANDO. Why, whither, Adam, wouldst thou have me go?
ADAM. No matter whither, so you come not here.
ORLANDO. What, wouldst thou have me go and beg my food,
Or with a base and boist'rous sword enforce
A thievish living on the common road?
This I must do, or know not what to do;
Yet this I will not do, do how I can.
I rather will subject me to the malice
Of a diverted blood and bloody brother.
ADAM. But do not so. I have five hundred crowns,
The thrifty hire I sav'd under your father,
Which I did store to be my foster-nurse,
When service should in my old limbs lie lame,
And unregarded age in corners thrown.
Take that, and He that doth the ravens feed,
Yea, providently caters for the sparrow,
Be comfort to my age! Here is the gold;
All this I give you. Let me be your servant;
Though I look old, yet I am strong and lusty;
For in my youth I never did apply
Hot and rebellious liquors in my blood,
Nor did not with unbashful forehead woo
The means of weakness and debility;
Therefore my age is as a lusty winter,
Frosty, but kindly. Let me go with you;
I'll do the service of a younger man
In all your business and necessities.
ORLANDO. O good old man, how well in thee appears
The constant service of the antique world,
When service sweat for duty, not for meed!
Thou art not for the fashion of these times,
Where none will sweat but for promotion,
And having that do choke their service up
Even with the having; it is not so with thee.
But, poor old man, thou prun'st a rotten tree
That cannot so much as a blossom yield
In lieu of all thy pains and husbandry.
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 the
To the last gasp, with truth and loyalty.
From seventeen years till now almost four-score
Here lived I, but now live here no more.
At seventeen years many their fortunes seek,
But at fourscore it is too late a week;
Yet fortune cannot recompense me better
Than to die well and not my master's debtor. Exeunt
SCENE IV.
The Forest of Arden
Enter ROSALIND for GANYMEDE, CELIA for ALIENA, and CLOWN alias TOUCHSTONE
ROSALIND. O Jupiter, how weary are my spirits!
TOUCHSTONE. I Care not for my spirits, if my legs were not weary.
ROSALIND. I could find in my heart to disgrace my man's apparel,
and to cry like a woman; but I must comfort the weaker vessel, as
doublet and hose ought to show itself courageous to petticoat;
therefore, courage, good Aliena.
CELIA. I pray you bear with me; I cannot go no further.
TOUCHSTONE. For my part, I had rather bear with you than bear you;
yet I should bear no cross if I did bear you; for I think you
have no money in your purse.
ROSALIND. Well,. this is the Forest of Arden.
TOUCHSTONE. Ay, now am I in Arden; the more fool I; when I was at
home I was in a better place; but travellers must be content.
Enter CORIN and SILVIUS
ROSALIND. Ay, be so, good Touchstone. Look you, who comes here, a
young man and an old in solemn talk.
CORIN. That is the way to make her scorn you still.
SILVIUS. O Corin, that thou knew'st how I do love her!
CORIN. I partly guess; for I have lov'd ere now.
SILVIUS. No, Corin, being old, thou canst not guess,
Though in thy youth thou wast as true a lover
As ever sigh'd upon a midnight pillow.
But if thy love were ever like to mine,
As sure I think did never man love so,
How many actions most ridiculous
Hast thou been drawn to by thy fantasy?
CORIN. Into a thousand that I have forgotten.
SILVIUS. O, thou didst then never love so heartily!
If thou rememb'rest not the slightest folly
That ever love did make thee run into,
Thou hast not lov'd;
Or if thou hast not sat as I do now,
Wearing thy hearer in thy mistress' praise,
Thou hast not lov'd;
Or if thou hast not broke from company
Abruptly, as my passion now makes me,
Thou hast not lov'd.
O Phebe, Phebe, Phebe! Exit Silvius
ROSALIND. Alas, poor shepherd! searching of thy wound,
I have by hard adventure found mine own.
TOUCHSTONE. And I mine. I remember, when I was in love, I broke my
sword upon a stone, and bid him take that for coming a-night to
Jane Smile; and I remember the kissing of her batler, and the
cow's dugs that her pretty chopt hands had milk'd; and I remember
the wooing of peascod instead of her; from whom I took two cods,
and giving her them again, said with weeping tears 'Wear these
for my sake.' We that are true lovers run into strange capers;
but as all is mortal in nature, so is all nature in love mortal
in folly.
ROSALIND. Thou speak'st wiser than thou art ware of.
TOUCHSTONE. Nay, I shall ne'er be ware of mine own wit till I break
my shins against it.
ROSALIND. Jove, Jove! this shepherd's passion
Is much upon my fashion.
TOUCHSTONE. And mine; but it grows something stale with me.
CELIA. I pray you, one of you question yond man
If he for gold will give us any food;
I faint almost to death.
TOUCHSTONE. Holla, you clown!
ROSALIND. Peace, fool; he's not thy Ensman.
CORIN. Who calls?
TOUCHSTONE. Your betters, sir.
CORIN. Else are they very wretched.
ROSALIND. Peace, I say. Good even to you, friend.
CORIN. And to you, gentle sir, and to you all.
ROSALIND. I prithee, shepherd, if that love or gold
Can in this desert place buy entertainment,
Bring us where we may rest ourselves and feed.
Here's a young maid with travel much oppress'd,
And faints for succour.
CORIN. Fair sir, I pity her,
And wish, for her sake more than for mine own,
My fortunes were more able to relieve her;
But I am shepherd to another man,
And do not shear the fleeces that I graze.
My master is of churlish disposition,
And little recks to find the way to heaven
By doing deeds of hospitality.
Besides, his cote, his flocks, and bounds of feed,
Are now on sale; and at our sheepcote now,
By reason of his absence, there is nothing
That you will feed on; but what is, come see,
And in my voice most welcome shall you be.
ROSALIND. What is he that shall buy his flock and pasture?
CORIN. That young swain that you saw here but erewhile,
That little cares for buying any thing.
ROSALIND. I pray thee, if it stand with honesty,
Buy thou the cottage, pasture, and the flock,
And thou shalt have to pay for it of us.
CELIA. And we will mend thy wages. I like this place,
And willingly could waste my time in it.
CORIN. Assuredly the thing is to be sold.
Go with me; if you like upon report
The soil, the profit, and this kind of life,
I will your very faithful feeder be,
And buy it with your gold right suddenly. Exeunt
SCENE V.
Another part of the forest
Enter AMIENS, JAQUES, and OTHERS
SONG
AMIENS. Under the greenwood tree
Who loves to lie with me,
And turn his merry note
Unto the sweet bird's throat,
Come hither, come hither, come hither.
Here shall he see
No enemy
But winter and rough weather.
JAQUES. More, more, I prithee, more.
AMIENS. It will make you melancholy, Monsieur Jaques.
JAQUES. I thank it. More, I prithee, more. I can suck melancholy
out of a song, as a weasel sucks eggs. More, I prithee, more.
AMIENS. My voice is ragged; I know I cannot please you.
JAQUES. I do not desire you to please me; I do desire you to sing.
Come, more; another stanzo. Call you 'em stanzos?
AMIENS. What you will, Monsieur Jaques.
JAQUES. Nay, I care not for their names; they owe me nothing. Will
you sing?
AMIENS. More at your request than to please myself.
JAQUES. Well then, if ever I thank any man, I'll thank you; but
that they call compliment is like th' encounter of two dog-apes;
and when a man thanks me heartily, methinks have given him a
penny, and he renders me the beggarly thanks. Come, sing; and you
that will not, hold your tongues.
AMIENS. Well, I'll end the song. Sirs, cover the while; the Duke
will drink under this tree. He hath been all this day to look
you.
JAQUES. And I have been all this day to avoid him. He is to
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
[All together here]
Who doth ambition shun,
And loves to live i' th' sun,
Seeking the food he eats,
And pleas'd with what he gets,
Come hither, come hither, come hither.
Here shall he see
No enemy
But winter and rough weather.
JAQUES. I'll give you a verse to this note that I made yesterday in
despite of my invention.
AMIENS. And I'll sing it.
JAQUES. Thus it goes:
If it do come to pass
That any man turn ass,
Leaving his wealth and ease
A stubborn will to please,
Ducdame, ducdame, ducdame;
Here shall he see
Gross fools as he,
An if he will come to me.
AMIENS. What's that 'ducdame'?
JAQUES. 'Tis a Greek invocation, to call fools into a circle. I'll
go sleep, if I can; if I cannot, I'll rail against all the
first-born of Egypt.
AMIENS. And I'll go seek the Duke; his banquet is prepar'd.
Exeunt severally
SCENE VI.
The forest
Enter ORLANDO and ADAM
ADAM. Dear master, I can go no further. O, I die for food! Here lie
I down, and measure out my grave. Farewell, kind master.
ORLANDO. Why, how now, Adam! No greater heart in thee? Live a
little; comfort a little; cheer thyself a little. If this uncouth
forest yield anything 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 the presently; and if I bring thee
not something to eat, I will give thee leave to die; but if thou
diest before I come, thou art a mocker of my labour. Well said!
thou look'st 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
anything in this desert. Cheerly, good Adam! Exeunt
SCENE VII.
The forest
A table set out. Enter DUKE SENIOR, AMIENS, and LORDS, like outlaws
DUKE SENIOR. I think he be transform'd into a beast;
For I can nowhere find him like a man.
FIRST LORD. My lord, he is but even now gone hence;
Here was he merry, hearing of a song.
DUKE SENIOR. If he, compact of jars, grow musical,
We shall have shortly discord in the spheres.
Go seek him; tell him I would speak with him.
Enter JAQUES
FIRST LORD. He saves my labour by his own approach.
DUKE SENIOR. Why, how now, monsieur! what a life is this,
That your poor friends must woo your company?
What, you look merrily!
JAQUES. A fool, a fool! I met a fool i' th' forest,
A motley fool. A miserable world!
As I do live by food, I met a fool,
Who laid him down and bask'd him in the sun,
And rail'd on Lady Fortune in good terms,
In good set terms- and yet a motley fool.
'Good morrow, fool,' quoth I; 'No, sir,' quoth he,
'Call me not fool till heaven hath sent me fortune.'
And then he drew a dial from his poke,
And, looking on it with lack-lustre eye,
Says very wisely, 'It is ten o'clock;
Thus we may see,' quoth he, 'how the world wags;
'Tis but an hour ago since it was nine;
And after one hour more 'twill be eleven;
And so, from hour to hour, we ripe and ripe,
And then, from hour to hour, we rot and rot;
And thereby hangs a tale.' When I did hear
The motley fool thus moral on the time,
My lungs began to crow like chanticleer
That fools should be so deep contemplative;
And I did laugh sans intermission
An hour by his dial. O noble fool!
A worthy fool! Motley's the only wear.
DUKE SENIOR. What fool is this?
JAQUES. O worthy fool! One that hath been a courtier,
And says, if ladies be but young and fair,
They have the gift to know it; and in his brain,
Which is as dry as the remainder biscuit
After a voyage, he hath strange places cramm'd
With observation, the which he vents
In mangled forms. O that I were a fool!
I am ambitious for a motley coat.
DUKE SENIOR. Thou shalt have one.
JAQUES. It is my only suit,
Provided that you weed your better judgments
Of all opinion that grows rank in them
That I am wise. I must have liberty
Withal, as large a charter as the wind,
To blow on whom I please, for so fools have;
And they that are most galled with my folly,
They most must laugh. And why, sir, must they so?
The why is plain as way to parish church:
He that a fool doth very wisely hit
Doth very foolishly, although he smart,
Not to seem senseless of the bob; if not,
The wise man's folly is anatomiz'd
Even by the squand'ring 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 th' infected world,
If they will patiently receive my medicine.
DUKE SENIOR. Fie on thee! I can tell what thou wouldst do.
JAQUES. What, for a counter, would I do but good?
DUKE SENIOR. Most Mischievous foul sin, in chiding sin;
For thou thyself hast been a libertine,
As sensual as the brutish sting itself;
And all th' embossed sores and headed evils
That thou with license of free foot hast caught
Wouldst thou disgorge into the general world.
JAQUES. Why, who cries out on pride
That can therein tax any private party?
Doth it not flow as hugely as the sea,
Till that the wearer's very means do ebb?
What woman in the city do I name
When that I say the city-woman bears
The cost of princes on unworthy shoulders?
Who can come in and say that I mean her,
When such a one as she such is her neighbour?
Or what is he of basest function
That says his bravery is not on my cost,
Thinking that I mean him, but therein suits
His folly to the mettle of my speech?
There then! how then? what then? Let me see wherein
My tongue hath wrong'd him: if it do him right,
Then he hath wrong'd himself; if he be free,
Why then my taxing like a wild-goose flies,
Unclaim'd of any man. But who comes here?
Enter ORLANDO with his sword drawn
ORLANDO. Forbear, and eat no more.
JAQUES. Why, I have eat none yet.
ORLANDO. Nor shalt not, till necessity be serv'd.
JAQUES. Of what kind should this cock come of?
DUKE SENIOR. Art thou thus bolden'd, man, by thy distress?
Or else a rude despiser of good manners,
That in civility thou seem'st so empty?
ORLANDO. You touch'd my vein at first: the thorny point
Of bare distress hath ta'en from me the show
Of smooth civility; yet arn I inland bred,
And know some nurture. But forbear, I say;
He dies that touches any of this fruit
Till I and my affairs are answered.
JAQUES. An you will not be answer'd with reason, I must die.
DUKE SENIOR. What would you have? Your gentleness shall force
More than your force move us to gentleness.
ORLANDO. I almost die for food, and let me have it.
DUKE SENIOR. Sit down and feed, and welcome to our table.
ORLANDO. Speak you so gently? Pardon me, I pray you;
I thought that all things had been savage here,
And therefore put I on the countenance
Of stern commandment. But whate'er you are
That in this desert inaccessible,
Under the shade of melancholy boughs,
Lose and neglect the creeping hours of time;
If ever you have look'd on better days,
If ever been where bells have knoll'd to church,
If ever sat at any good man's feast,
If ever from your eyelids wip'd a tear,
And know what 'tis to pity and be pitied,
Let gentleness my strong enforcement be;
In the which hope I blush, and hide my sword.
DUKE SENIOR. True is it that we have seen better days,
And have with holy bell been knoll'd to church,
And sat at good men's feasts, and wip'd our eyes
Of drops that sacred pity hath engend'red;
And therefore sit you down in gentleness,
And take upon command what help we have
That to your wanting may be minist'red.
ORLANDO. Then but forbear your food a little while,
Whiles, like a doe, I go to find my fawn,
And give it food. There is an old poor man
Who after me hath many a weary step
Limp'd in pure love; till he be first suffic'd,
Oppress'd with two weak evils, age and hunger,
I will not touch a bit.
DUKE SENIOR. Go find him out.
And we will nothing waste till you return.
ORLANDO. I thank ye; and be blest for your good comfort!
Exit
DUKE SENIOR. Thou seest we are not all alone unhappy:
This wide and universal theatre
Presents more woeful pageants than the scene
Wherein we play in.
JAQUES. All the world's a stage,
And all the men and women merely players;
They have their exits and their entrances;
And one man in his time plays many parts,
His acts being seven ages. At first the infant,
Mewling and puking in the nurse's arms;
Then the whining school-boy, with his satchel
And shining morning face, creeping like snail
Unwillingly to school. And then the lover,
Sighing like furnace, with a woeful ballad
Made to his mistress' eyebrow. Then a soldier,
Full of strange oaths, and bearded like the pard,
Jealous in honour, sudden and quick in quarrel,
Seeking the bubble reputation
Even in the cannon's mouth. And then the justice,
In fair round belly with good capon lin'd,
With eyes severe and beard of formal cut,
Full of wise saws and modern instances;
And so he plays his part. The sixth age shifts
Into the lean and slipper'd pantaloon,
With spectacles on nose and pouch on side,
His youthful hose, well sav'd, a world too wide
For his shrunk shank; and his big manly voice,
Turning again toward childish treble, pipes
And whistles in his sound. Last scene of all,
That ends this strange eventful history,
Is second childishness and mere oblivion;
Sans teeth, sans eyes, sans taste, sans every thing.
Re-enter ORLANDO with ADAM
DUKE SENIOR. Welcome. Set down your venerable burden.
And let him feed.
ORLANDO. I thank you most for him.
ADAM. So had you need;
I scarce can speak to thank you for myself.
DUKE SENIOR. Welcome; fall to. I will not trouble you
As yet to question you about your fortunes.
Give us some music; and, good cousin, sing.
SONG
Blow, blow, thou winter wind,
Thou art not so unkind
As man's ingratitude;
Thy tooth is not so keen,
Because thou art not seen,
Although thy breath be rude.
Heigh-ho! sing heigh-ho! unto the green holly.
Most friendship is feigning, most loving mere folly.
Then, heigh-ho, the holly!
This life is most jolly.
Freeze, freeze, thou bitter sky,
That dost not bite so nigh
As benefits forgot;
Though thou the waters warp,
Thy sting is not so sharp
As friend rememb'red not.
Heigh-ho! sing, &c.
DUKE SENIOR. If that you were the good Sir Rowland's son,
As you have whisper'd faithfully you were,
And as mine eye doth his effigies witness
Most truly limn'd and living in your face,
Be truly welcome hither. I am the Duke
That lov'd 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
ACT III. SCENE I.
The palace
Enter DUKE FREDERICK, OLIVER, and LORDS
FREDERICK. Not see him since! Sir, sir, that cannot be.
But were I not the better part made mercy,
I should not seek an absent argument
Of my revenge, thou present. But look to it:
Find out thy brother wheresoe'er he is;
Seek him with candle; bring him dead or living
Within this twelvemonth, or turn thou no more
To seek a living in our territory.
Thy lands and all things that thou dost call thine
Worth seizure do we seize into our hands,
Till thou canst quit thee by thy brother's mouth
Of what we think against thee.
OLIVER. O that your Highness knew my heart in this!
I never lov'd my brother in my life.
FREDERICK. More villain thou. Well, push him out of doors;
And let my officers of such a nature
Make an extent upon his house and lands.
Do this expediently, and turn him going. Exeunt
SCENE II.
The forest
Enter ORLANDO, with a paper
ORLANDO. Hang there, my verse, in witness of my love;
And thou, thrice-crowned Queen of Night, survey
With thy chaste eye, from thy pale sphere above,
Thy huntress' name that my full life doth sway.
O Rosalind! these trees shall be my books,
And in their barks my thoughts I'll character,
That every eye which in this forest looks
Shall see thy virtue witness'd every where.
Run, run, Orlando; carve on every tree,
The fair, the chaste, and unexpressive she. Exit
Enter CORIN and TOUCHSTONE
CORIN. And how like you this shepherd's life, Master Touchstone?
TOUCHSTONE. Truly, shepherd, in respect of itself, it is a good
life; but in respect that it is a shepherd's life, it is nought.
In respect that it is solitary, I like it very well; but in
respect that it is private, it is a very vile life. Now in
respect it is in the fields, it pleaseth me well; but in respect
it is not in the court, it is tedious. As 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 philosophy in
thee, shepherd?
CORIN. No more but that I know the more one sickens the worse at
ease he is; and that he that wants money, means, and content, is
without three good friends; that the property of rain is to wet,
and fire to burn; that good pasture makes fat sheep; and that a
great cause of the night is lack of the sun; that he that hath
learned no wit by nature nor art may complain of good breeding,
or comes of a very dull kindred.
TOUCHSTONE. Such a one is a natural philosopher. Wast ever in
court, shepherd?
CORIN. No, truly.
TOUCHSTONE. Then thou art damn'd.
CORIN. Nay, I hope.
TOUCHSTONE. Truly, thou art damn'd, like an ill-roasted egg, all on
one side.
CORIN. For not being at court? Your reason.
TOUCHSTONE. Why, if thou never wast at court thou never saw'st good
manners; if thou never saw'st good manners, then thy manners must
be wicked; and wickedness is sin, and sin is damnation. Thou art
in a parlous state, shepherd.
CORIN. Not a whit, Touchstone. Those that are good manners at the
court are as ridiculous in the country as the 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.
TOUCHSTONE. Instance, briefly; come, instance.
CORIN. Why, we are still handling our ewes; and their fells, you
know, are greasy.
TOUCHSTONE. Why, do not your courtier's hands sweat? And is not the
grease of a mutton as wholesome as the sweat of a man? Shallow,
shallow. A better instance, I say; come.
CORIN. Besides, our hands are hard.
TOUCHSTONE. Your lips will feel them the sooner. Shallow again. A
more sounder instance; come.
CORIN. And they are often tarr'd over with the surgery of our
sheep; and would you have us kiss tar? The courtier's hands are
perfum'd with civet.
TOUCHSTONE. Most shallow man! thou worm's meat in respect of a good
piece of flesh indeed! Learn of the wise, and perpend: civet is
of a baser birth than tar- the very uncleanly flux of a cat. Mend
the instance, shepherd.
CORIN. You have too courtly a wit for me; I'll rest.
TOUCHSTONE. Wilt thou rest damn'd? God help thee, shallow man! God
make incision in thee! thou art raw.
CORIN. Sir, I am a true labourer: I earn that I eat, get that I
wear; owe no man hate, envy no man's happiness; glad of other
men's good, content with my harm; and the greatest of my pride is
to see my ewes graze and my lambs suck.
TOUCHSTONE. That is another simple sin in you: to bring the ewes
and the rams together, and to offer to get your living by the
copulation of cattle; to be bawd to a bell-wether, and to betray
a she-lamb of a twelvemonth to crooked-pated, old, cuckoldly ram,
out of all reasonable match. If thou beest not damn'd for this,
the devil himself will have no shepherds; I cannot see else how
thou shouldst scape.
CORIN. Here comes young Master Ganymede, my new mistress's brother.
Enter ROSALIND, reading a paper
ROSALIND. 'From the east to western Inde,
No jewel is like Rosalinde.
Her worth, being mounted on the wind,
Through all the world bears Rosalinde.
All the pictures fairest lin'd
Are but black to Rosalinde.
Let no face be kept in mind
But the fair of Rosalinde.'
TOUCHSTONE. I'll rhyme you so eight years together, dinners, and
suppers, and sleeping hours, excepted. It is the right
butter-women's rank to market.
ROSALIND. Out, fool!
TOUCHSTONE. For a taste:
If a hart do lack a hind,
Let him seek out Rosalinde.
If the cat will after kind,
So be sure will Rosalinde.
Winter garments must be lin'd,
So must slender Rosalinde.
They that reap must sheaf and bind,
Then to cart with Rosalinde.
Sweetest nut hath sourest rind,
Such a nut is Rosalinde.
He that sweetest rose will find
Must find love's prick and Rosalinde.
This is the very false gallop of verses; why do you infect
yourself with them?
ROSALIND. Peace, you dull fool! I found them on a tree.
TOUCHSTONE. Truly, the tree yields bad fruit.
ROSALIND. I'll graff it with you, and then I shall graff it with a
medlar. Then it will be the earliest fruit i' th' country; for
you'll be rotten ere you be half ripe, and that's the right
virtue of the medlar.
TOUCHSTONE. You have said; but whether wisely or no, let the forest
judge.
Enter CELIA, with a writing
ROSALIND. Peace!
Here comes my sister, reading; stand aside.
CELIA. 'Why should this a desert be?
For it is unpeopled? No;
Tongues I'll hang on every tree
That shall civil sayings show.
Some, how brief the life of man
Runs his erring pilgrimage,
That the streching of a span
Buckles in his sum of age;
Some, of violated vows
'Twixt the souls of friend and friend;
But upon the fairest boughs,
Or at every sentence end,
Will I Rosalinda write,
Teaching all that read to know
The quintessence of every sprite
Heaven would in little show.
Therefore heaven Nature charg'd
That one body should be fill'd
With all graces wide-enlarg'd.
Nature presently distill'd
Helen's cheek, but not her heart,
Cleopatra's majesty,
Atalanta's better part,
Sad Lucretia's modesty.
Thus Rosalinde of many parts
By heavenly synod was devis'd,
Of many faces, eyes, and hearts,
To have the touches dearest priz'd.
Heaven would that she these gifts should have,
And I to live and die her slave.'
ROSALIND. O most gentle pulpiter! What tedious homily of love have
you wearied your parishioners withal, and never cried 'Have
patience, good people.'
CELIA. How now! Back, friends; shepherd, go off a little; go with
him, sirrah.
TOUCHSTONE. Come, shepherd, let us make an honourable retreat;
though not with bag and baggage, yet with scrip and scrippage.
Exeunt CORIN and TOUCHSTONE
CELIA. Didst thou hear these verses?
ROSALIND. O, yes, I heard them all, and more too; for some of them
had in them more feet than the verses would bear.
CELIA. That's no matter; the feet might bear the verses.
ROSALIND. Ay, but the feet were lame, and could not bear themselves
without the verse, and therefore stood lamely in the verse.
CELIA. But didst thou hear without wondering how thy name should be
hang'd and carved upon these trees?
ROSALIND. I was seven of the nine days out of the wonder before you
came; for look here what I found on a palm-tree. I was never so
berhym'd since Pythagoras' time that I was an Irish rat, which I
can hardly remember.
CELIA. Trow you who hath done this?
ROSALIND. Is it a man?
CELIA. And a chain, that you once wore, about his neck.
Change you colour?
ROSALIND. I prithee, who?
CELIA. O Lord, Lord! it is a hard matter for friends to meet; but
mountains may be remov'd with earthquakes, and so encounter.
ROSALIND. Nay, but who is it?
CELIA. Is it possible?
ROSALIND. Nay, I prithee now, with most petitionary vehemence, tell
me who it is.
CELIA. O wonderful, wonderful, most wonderful wonderful, and yet
again wonderful, and after that, out of all whooping!
ROSALIND. Good my complexion! dost thou think, though I am
caparison'd 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 could'st stammer, that thou mightst pour this conceal'd man
out of thy mouth, as wine comes out of narrow-mouth'd 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.
CELIA. So you may put a man in your belly.
ROSALIND. Is he of God's making? What manner of man?
Is his head worth a hat or his chin worth a beard?
CELIA. Nay, he hath but a little beard.
ROSALIND. Why, God will send more if the man will be thankful. Let
me stay the growth of his beard, if thou delay me not the
knowledge of his chin.
CELIA. It is young Orlando, that tripp'd up the wrestler's heels
and your heart both in an instant.
ROSALIND. Nay, but the devil take mocking! Speak sad brow and true
maid.
CELIA. I' faith, coz, 'tis he.
ROSALIND. Orlando?
CELIA. Orlando.
ROSALIND. Alas the day! what shall I do with my doublet and hose?
What did he when thou saw'st him? What said he? How look'd 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.
CELIA. You must borrow me Gargantua's mouth first; 'tis a word too
great for any mouth of this age's size. To say ay and no to these
particulars is more than to answer in a catechism.
ROSALIND. But doth he know that I am in this forest, and in man's
apparel? Looks he as freshly as he did the day he wrestled?
CELIA. It is as easy to count atomies as to resolve the
propositions of a lover; but take a taste of my finding him, and
relish it with good observance. I found him under a tree, like a
dropp'd acorn.
ROSALIND. It may well be call'd Jove's tree, when it drops forth
such fruit.
CELIA. Give me audience, good madam.
ROSALIND. Proceed.
CELIA. There lay he, stretch'd along like a wounded knight.
ROSALIND. Though it be pity to see such a sight, it well becomes
the ground.
CELIA. Cry 'Holla' to thy tongue, I prithee; it curvets
unseasonably. He was furnish'd like a hunter.
ROSALIND. O, ominous! he comes to kill my heart.
CELIA. I would sing my song without a burden; thou bring'st me out
of tune.
ROSALIND. Do you not know I am a woman? When I think, I must speak.
Sweet, say on.
CELIA. You bring me out. Soft! comes he not here?
Enter ORLANDO and JAQUES
ROSALIND. 'Tis he; slink by, and note him.
JAQUES. I thank you for your company; but, good faith, I had as
lief have been myself alone.
ORLANDO. And so had I; but yet, for fashion sake, I thank you too
for your society.
JAQUES. God buy you; let's meet as little as we can.
ORLANDO. I do desire we may be better strangers.
JAQUES. I pray you mar no more trees with writing love songs in
their barks.
ORLANDO. I pray you mar no more of my verses with reading them
ill-favouredly.
JAQUES. Rosalind is your love's name?
ORLANDO. Yes, just.
JAQUES. I do not like her name.
ORLANDO. There was no thought of pleasing you when she was
christen'd.
JAQUES. What stature is she of?
ORLANDO. Just as high as my heart.
JAQUES. You are full of pretty answers. Have you not been
acquainted with goldsmiths' wives, and conn'd them out of rings?
ORLANDO. Not so; but I answer you right painted cloth, from whence
you have studied your questions.
JAQUES. You have a nimble wit; I think 'twas made of Atalanta's
heels. Will you sit down with me? and we two will rail against
our mistress the world, and all our misery.
ORLANDO. I will chide no breather in the world but myself, against
whom I know most faults.
JAQUES. The worst fault you have is to be in love.
ORLANDO. 'Tis a fault I will not change for your best virtue. I am
weary of you.
JAQUES. By my troth, I was seeking for a fool when I found you.
ORLANDO. He is drown'd in the brook; look but in, and you shall see
him.
JAQUES. There I shall see mine own figure.
ORLANDO. Which I take to be either a fool or a cipher.
JAQUES. I'll tarry no longer with you; farewell, good Signior Love.
ORLANDO. I am glad of your departure; adieu, good Monsieur
Melancholy.
Exit JAQUES
ROSALIND. [Aside to CELIA] I will speak to him like a saucy lackey,
and under that habit play the knave with him.- Do you hear,
forester?
ORLANDO. Very well; what would you?
ROSALIND. I pray you, what is't o'clock?
ORLANDO. You should ask me what time o' day; there's no clock in
the forest.
ROSALIND. Then there is no true lover in the forest, else sighing
every minute and groaning every hour would detect the lazy foot
of Time as well as a clock.
ORLANDO. And why not the swift foot of Time? Had not that been as
proper?
ROSALIND. By no means, sir. Time travels in divers paces with
divers persons. I'll tell you who Time ambles withal, who Time
trots withal, who Time gallops withal, and who he stands still
withal.
ORLANDO. I prithee, who doth he trot withal?
ROSALIND. Marry, he trots hard with a young maid between the
contract of her marriage and the day it is solemniz'd; if the
interim be but a se'nnight, Time's pace is so hard that it seems
the length of seven year.
ORLANDO. Who ambles Time withal?
ROSALIND. With a priest that lacks Latin and a rich man that hath
not the gout; for the one sleeps easily because he cannot study,
and the other lives merrily because he feels no pain; the one
lacking the burden of lean and wasteful learning, the other
knowing no burden of heavy tedious penury. These Time ambles
withal.
ORLANDO. Who doth he gallop withal?
ROSALIND. With a thief to the gallows; for though he go as softly
as foot can fall, he thinks himself too soon there.
ORLANDO. Who stays it still withal?
ROSALIND. With lawyers in the vacation; for they sleep between term
and term, and then they perceive not how Time moves.
ORLANDO. Where dwell you, pretty youth?
ROSALIND. With this shepherdess, my sister; here in the skirts of
the forest, like fringe upon a petticoat.
ORLANDO. Are you native of this place?
ROSALIND. As the coney that you see dwell where she is kindled.
ORLANDO. Your accent is something finer than you could purchase in
so removed a dwelling.
ROSALIND. I have been told so of many; but indeed an old religious
uncle of mine taught me to speak, who was in his youth an inland
man; one that knew courtship too well, for there he fell in love.
I have heard him read many lectures against it; and I thank God I
am not a woman, to be touch'd with so many giddy offences as he
hath generally tax'd their whole sex withal.
ORLANDO. Can you remember any of the principal evils that he laid
to the charge of women?
ROSALIND. There were none principal; they were all like one another
as halfpence are; every one fault seeming monstrous till his
fellow-fault came to match it.
ORLANDO. I prithee recount some of them.
ROSALIND. No; I will not cast away my physic but on those that are
sick. There is a man haunts the forest that abuses our young
plants with carving 'Rosalind' on their barks; hangs odes upon
hawthorns and elegies on brambles; all, forsooth, deifying the
name of Rosalind. If I could meet that fancy-monger, I would give
him some good counsel, for he seems to have the quotidian of love
upon him.
ORLANDO. I am he that is so love-shak'd; I pray you tell me your
remedy.
ROSALIND. There is none of my uncle's marks upon you; he taught me
how to know a man in love; in which cage of rushes I am sure you
are not prisoner.
ORLANDO. What were his marks?
ROSALIND. A lean cheek, which you have not; a blue eye and sunken,
which you have not; an unquestionable spirit, which you have not;
a beard neglected, which you have not; but I pardon you for that,
for simply your having in beard is a younger brother's revenue.
Then your hose should be ungarter'd, your bonnet unbanded, your
sleeve unbutton'd, your shoe untied, and every thing about you
demonstrating a careless desolation. But you are no such man; you
are rather point-device in your accoutrements, as loving yourself
than seeming the lover of any other.
ORLANDO. Fair youth, I would I could make thee believe I love.
ROSALIND. Me believe it! You may as soon make her that you love
believe it; which, I warrant, she is apter to do than to confess
she does. That is one of the points in the which women still give
the lie to their consciences. But, in good sooth, are you he that
hangs the verses on the trees wherein Rosalind is so admired?
ORLANDO. I swear to thee, youth, by the white hand of Rosalind, I
am that he, that unfortunate he.
ROSALIND. But are you so much in love as your rhymes speak?
ORLANDO. Neither rhyme nor reason can express how much.
ROSALIND. Love is merely a madness; and, I tell you, deserves as
well a dark house and a whip as madmen do; and the reason why
they are not so punish'd and cured is that the lunacy is so
ordinary that the whippers are in love too. Yet I profess curing
it by counsel.
ORLANDO. Did you ever cure any so?
ROSALIND. Yes, one; and in this manner. He was to imagine me his
love, his mistress; and I set him every day to woo me; at which
time would I, being but a moonish youth, grieve, be effeminate,
changeable, longing and liking, proud, fantastical, apish,
shallow, inconstant, full of tears, full of smiles; for every
passion something and for no passion truly anything, as boys and
women are for the most part cattle of this colour; would now like
him, now loathe him; then entertain him, then forswear him; now
weep for him, then spit at him; that I drave my suitor from his
mad humour of love to a living humour of madness; which was, to
forswear the full stream of the world and to live in a nook
merely monastic. And thus I cur'd him; and this way will I take
upon me to wash your liver as clean as a sound sheep's heart,
that there shall not be one spot of love in 't.
ORLANDO. I would not be cured, youth.
ROSALIND. I would cure you, if you would but call me Rosalind, and
come every day to my cote and woo me.
ORLANDO. Now, by the faith of my love, I will. Tell me where it is.
ROSALIND. Go with me to it, and I'll show it you; and, by the way,
you shall tell me where in the forest you live. Will you go?
ORLANDO. With all my heart, good youth.
ROSALIND. Nay, you must call me Rosalind. Come, sister, will you
go? Exeunt
SCENE III.
The forest
Enter TOUCHSTONE and AUDREY; JAQUES behind
TOUCHSTONE. Come apace, good Audrey; I will fetch up your goats,
Audrey. And how, Audrey, am I the man yet? Doth my simple feature
content you?
AUDREY. Your features! Lord warrant us! What features?
TOUCHSTONE. I am here with thee and thy goats, as the most
capricious poet, honest Ovid, was among the Goths.
JAQUES. [Aside] O knowledge ill-inhabited, worse than Jove in a
thatch'd house!
TOUCHSTONE. When a man's verses cannot be understood, nor a man's
good wit seconded with the forward child understanding, it
strikes a man more dead than a great reckoning in a little room.
Truly, I would the gods had made thee poetical.
AUDREY. I do not know what 'poetical' is. Is it honest in deed and
word? Is it a true thing?
TOUCHSTONE. No, truly; for the truest poetry is the most feigning,
and lovers are given to poetry; and what they swear in poetry may
be said as lovers they do feign.
AUDREY. Do you wish, then, that the gods had made me poetical?
TOUCHSTONE. I do, truly, for thou swear'st to me thou art honest;
now, if thou wert a poet, I might have some hope thou didst
feign.
AUDREY. Would you not have me honest?
TOUCHSTONE. No, truly, unless thou wert hard-favour'd; for honesty
coupled to beauty is to have honey a sauce to sugar.
JAQUES. [Aside] A material fool!
AUDREY. Well, I am not fair; and therefore I pray the gods make me
honest.
TOUCHSTONE. Truly, and to cast away honesty upon a foul slut were
to put good meat into an unclean dish.
AUDREY. I am not a slut, though I thank the gods I am foul.
TOUCHSTONE. Well, praised be the gods for thy foulness;
sluttishness may come hereafter. But be it as it may be, I will
marry thee; and to that end I have been with Sir Oliver Martext,
the vicar of the next village, who hath promis'd to meet me in
this place of the forest, and to couple us.
JAQUES. [Aside] I would fain see this meeting.
AUDREY. Well, the gods give us joy!
TOUCHSTONE. Amen. A man may, if he were of a fearful heart, stagger
in this attempt; for here we have no temple but the wood, no
assembly but horn-beasts. But what though? Courage! As horns are
odious, they are necessary. It is said: 'Many a man knows no end
of his goods.' Right! Many a man has good horns and knows no end
of them. Well, that is the dowry of his wife; 'tis none of his
own getting. Horns? Even so. Poor men alone? No, no; the noblest
deer hath them as huge as the rascal. Is the single man therefore
blessed? No; as a wall'd town is more worthier than a village, so
is the forehead of a married man more honourable than the bare
brow of a bachelor; and by how much defence is better than no
skill, by so much is horn more precious than to want. Here comes
Sir Oliver.
Enter SIR OLIVER MARTEXT
Sir Oliver Martext, you are well met. Will you dispatch us here
under this tree, or shall we go with you to your chapel?
MARTEXT. Is there none here to give the woman?
TOUCHSTONE. I will not take her on gift of any man.
MARTEXT. Truly, she must be given, or the marriage is not lawful.
JAQUES. [Discovering himself] Proceed, proceed; I'll give her.
TOUCHSTONE. Good even, good Master What-ye-call't; how do you, sir?
You are very well met. Goddild you for your last company. I am
very glad to see you. Even a toy in hand here, sir. Nay; pray be
cover'd.
JAQUES. Will you be married, motley?
TOUCHSTONE. As the ox hath his bow, sir, the horse his curb, and
the falcon her bells, so man hath his desires; and as pigeons
bill, so wedlock would be nibbling.
JAQUES. And will you, being a man of your breeding, be married
under a bush, like a beggar? Get you to church and have a good
priest that can tell you what marriage is; this fellow will but
join you together as they join wainscot; then one of you will
prove a shrunk panel, and like green timber warp, warp.
TOUCHSTONE. [Aside] I am not in the mind but I were better to be
married of him than of another; for he is not like to marry me
well; and not being well married, it will be a good excuse for me
hereafter to leave my wife.
JAQUES. Go thou with me, and let me counsel thee.
TOUCHSTONE. Come, sweet Audrey;
We must be married or we must live in bawdry.
Farewell, good Master Oliver. Not-
O sweet Oliver,
O brave Oliver,
Leave me not behind thee.
But-
Wind away,
Begone, I say,
I will not to wedding with thee.
Exeunt JAQUES, TOUCHSTONE, and AUDREY
MARTEXT. 'Tis no matter; ne'er a fantastical knave of them all
shall flout me out of my calling. Exit
SCENE IV.
The forest
Enter ROSALIND and CELIA
ROSALIND. Never talk to me; I will weep.
CELIA. Do, I prithee; but yet have the grace to consider that tears
do not become a man.
ROSALIND. But have I not cause to weep?
CELIA. As good cause as one would desire; therefore weep.
ROSALIND. His very hair is of the dissembling colour.
CELIA. Something browner than Judas's.
Marry, his kisses are Judas's own children.
ROSALIND. I' faith, his hair is of a good colour.
CELIA. An excellent colour: your chestnut was ever the only colour.
ROSALIND. And his kissing is as full of sanctity as the touch of
holy bread.
CELIA. He hath bought a pair of cast lips of Diana. A nun of
winter's sisterhood kisses not more religiously; the very ice of
chastity is in them.
ROSALIND. But why did he swear he would come this morning, and
comes not?
CELIA. Nay, certainly, there is no truth in him.
ROSALIND. Do you think so?
CELIA. Yes; I think he is not a pick-purse nor a horse-stealer; but
for his verity in love, I do think him as concave as covered
goblet or a worm-eaten nut.
ROSALIND. Not true in love?
CELIA. Yes, when he is in; but I think he is not in.
ROSALIND. You have heard him swear downright he was.
CELIA. 'Was' is not 'is'; besides, the oath of a lover is no
stronger than the word of a tapster; they are both the confirmer
of false reckonings. He attends here in the forest on the Duke,
your father.
ROSALIND. I met the Duke yesterday, and had much question with him.
He asked me of what parentage I was; I told him, of as good as
he; so he laugh'd and let me go. But what talk we of fathers when
there is such a man as Orlando?
CELIA. O, that's a brave man! He writes brave verses, speaks brave
words, swears brave oaths, and breaks them bravely, quite
traverse, athwart the heart of his lover; as a puny tilter, that
spurs his horse but on one side, breaks his staff like a noble
goose. But all's brave that youth mounts and folly guides. Who
comes here?
Enter CORIN
CORIN. Mistress and master, you have oft enquired
After the shepherd that complain'd of love,
Who you saw sitting by me on the turf,
Praising the proud disdainful shepherdess
That was his mistress.
CELIA. Well, and what of him?
CORIN. If you will see a pageant truly play'd
Between the pale complexion of true love
And the red glow of scorn and proud disdain,
Go hence a little, and I shall conduct you,
If you will mark it.
ROSALIND. O, come, let us remove!
The sight of lovers feedeth those in love.
Bring us to this sight, and you shall say
I'll prove a busy actor in their play. Exeunt
SCENE V.
Another part of the forest
Enter SILVIUS and PHEBE
SILVIUS. Sweet Phebe, do not scorn me; do not, Phebe.
Say that you love me not; but say not so
In bitterness. The common executioner,
Whose heart th' accustom'd sight of death makes hard,
Falls not the axe upon the humbled neck
But first begs pardon. Will you sterner be
Than he that dies and lives by bloody drops?
Enter ROSALIND, CELIA, and CORIN, at a distance
PHEBE. I would not be thy executioner;
I fly thee, for I would not injure thee.
Thou tell'st me there is murder in mine eye.
'Tis pretty, sure, and very probable,
That eyes, that are the frail'st and softest things,
Who shut their coward gates on atomies,
Should be call'd tyrants, butchers, murderers!
Now I do frown on thee with all my heart;
And if mine eyes can wound, now let them kill thee.
Now counterfeit to swoon; why, now fall down;
Or, if thou canst not, O, for shame, for shame,
Lie not, to say mine eyes are murderers.
Now show the wound mine eye hath made in thee.
Scratch thee but with a pin, and there remains
Some scar of it; lean upon a rush,
The cicatrice and capable impressure
Thy palm some moment keeps; but now mine eyes,
Which I have darted at thee, hurt thee not;
Nor, I am sure, there is not force in eyes
That can do hurt.
SILVIUS. O dear Phebe,
If ever- as that ever may be near-
You meet in some fresh cheek the power of fancy,
Then shall you know the wounds invisible
That love's keen arrows make.
PHEBE. But till that time
Come not thou near me; and when that time comes,
Afflict me with thy mocks, pity me not;
As till that time I shall not pity thee.
ROSALIND. [Advancing] And why, I pray you? Who might be your
mother,
That you insult, exult, and all at once,
Over the wretched? What though you have no beauty-
As, by my faith, I see no more in you
Than without candle may go dark to bed-
Must you be therefore proud and pitiless?
Why, what means this? Why do you look on me?
I see no more in you than in the ordinary
Of nature's sale-work. 'Od's my little life,
I think she means to tangle my eyes too!
No faith, proud mistress, hope not after it;
'Tis not your inky brows, your black silk hair,
Your bugle eyeballs, nor your cheek of cream,
That can entame my spirits to your worship.
You foolish shepherd, wherefore do you follow her,
Like foggy south, puffing with wind and rain?
You are a thousand times a properer man
Than she a woman. 'Tis such fools as you
That makes the world full of ill-favour'd children.
'Tis not her glass, but you, that flatters her;
And out of you she sees herself more proper
Than any of her lineaments can show her.
But, mistress, know yourself. Down on your knees,
And thank heaven, fasting, for a good man's love;
For I must tell you friendly in your ear:
Sell when you can; you are not for all markets.
Cry the man mercy, love him, take his offer;
Foul is most foul, being foul to be a scoffer.
So take her to thee, shepherd. Fare you well.
PHEBE. Sweet youth, I pray you chide a year together;
I had rather hear you chide than this man woo.
ROSALIND. He's fall'n in love with your foulness, and she'll fall
in love with my anger. If it be so, as fast as she answers thee
with frowning looks, I'll sauce her with bitter words. Why look
you so upon me?
PHEBE. For no ill will I bear you.
ROSALIND. I pray you do not fall in love with me,
For I am falser than vows made in wine;
Besides, I like you not. If you will know my house,
'Tis at the tuft of olives here hard by.
Will you go, sister? Shepherd, ply her hard.
Come, sister. Shepherdess, look on him better,
And be not proud; though all the world could see,
None could be so abus'd in sight as he.
Come, to our flock. Exeunt ROSALIND, CELIA, and CORIN
PHEBE. Dead shepherd, now I find thy saw of might:
'Who ever lov'd that lov'd not at first sight?'
SILVIUS. Sweet Phebe.
PHEBE. Ha! what say'st thou, Silvius?
SILVIUS. Sweet Phebe, pity me.
PHEBE. Why, I arn sorry for thee, gentle Silvius.
SILVIUS. Wherever sorrow is, relief would be.
If you do sorrow at my grief in love,
By giving love, your sorrow and my grief
Were both extermin'd.
PHEBE. Thou hast my love; is not that neighbourly?
SILVIUS. I would have you.
PHEBE. Why, that were covetousness.
Silvius, the time was that I hated thee;
And yet it is not that I bear thee love;
But since that thou canst talk of love so well,
Thy company, which erst was irksome to me,
I will endure; and I'll employ thee too.
But do not look for further recompense
Than thine own gladness that thou art employ'd.
SILVIUS. So holy and so perfect is my love,
And I in such a poverty of grace,
That I shall think it a most plenteous crop
To glean the broken ears after the man
That the main harvest reaps; loose now and then
A scatt'red smile, and that I'll live upon.
PHEBE. Know'st thou the youth that spoke to me erewhile?
SILVIUS. Not very well; but I have met him oft;
And he hath bought the cottage and the bounds
That the old carlot once was master of.
PHEBE. Think not I love him, though I ask for him;
'Tis but a peevish boy; yet he talks well.
But what care I for words? Yet words do well
When he that speaks them pleases those that hear.
It is a pretty youth- not very pretty;
But, sure, he's proud; and yet his pride becomes him.
He'll make a proper man. The best thing in him
Is his complexion; and faster than his tongue
Did make offence, his eye did heal it up.
He is not very tall; yet for his years he's tall;
His leg is but so-so; and yet 'tis well.
There was a pretty redness in his lip,
A little riper and more lusty red
Than that mix'd in his cheek; 'twas just the difference
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,
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 rememb'red, scorn'd at me.
I marvel why I answer'd not again;
But that's all one: omittance is no quittance.
I'll write to him a very taunting letter,
And thou shalt bear it; wilt thou, Silvius?
SILVIUS. Phebe, with all my heart.
PHEBE. I'll write it straight;
The matter's in my head and in my heart;
I will be bitter with him and passing short.
Go with me, Silvius. Exeunt
<>
ACT IV. SCENE I.
The forest
Enter ROSALIND, CELIA, and JAQUES
JAQUES. I prithee, pretty youth, let me be better acquainted with
thee.
ROSALIND. They say you are a melancholy fellow.
JAQUES. I am so; I do love it better than laughing.
ROSALIND. Those that are in extremity of either are abominable
fellows, and betray themselves to every modern censure worse than
drunkards.
JAQUES. Why, 'tis good to be sad and say nothing.
ROSALIND. Why then, 'tis good to be a post.
JAQUES. I have neither the scholar's melancholy, which is
emulation; nor the musician's, which is fantastical; nor the
courtier's, which is proud; nor the soldier's, which is
ambitious; nor the lawyer's, which is politic; nor the lady's,
which is nice; nor the lover's, which is all these; but it is a
melancholy of mine own, compounded of many simples, extracted
from many objects, and, indeed, the sundry contemplation of my
travels; in which my often rumination wraps me in a most humorous
sadness.
ROSALIND. A traveller! By my faith, you have great reason to be
sad. I fear you have sold your own lands to see other men's; then
to have seen much and to have nothing is to have rich eyes and
poor hands.
JAQUES. Yes, I have gain'd my experience.
Enter ORLANDO
ROSALIND. And your experience makes you sad. I had rather have a
fool to make me merry than experience to make me sad- and to
travel for it too.
ORLANDO. Good day, and happiness, dear Rosalind!
JAQUES. Nay, then, God buy you, an you talk in blank verse.
ROSALIND. Farewell, Monsieur Traveller; look you lisp and wear
strange suits, disable all the benefits of your own country, be
out of love with your nativity, and almost chide God for making
you that countenance you are; or I will scarce think you have
swam in a gondola. [Exit JAQUES] Why, how now, Orlando! where
have you been all this while? You a lover! An you serve me such
another trick, never come in my sight more.
ORLANDO. My fair Rosalind, I come within an hour of my promise.
ROSALIND. Break an hour's promise in love! He that will divide a
minute into a thousand parts, and break but a part of the
thousand part of a minute in the affairs of love, it may be said
of him that Cupid hath clapp'd him o' th' shoulder, but I'll
warrant him heart-whole.
ORLANDO. Pardon me, dear Rosalind.
ROSALIND. Nay, an you be so tardy, come no more in my sight. I had
as lief be woo'd of a snail.
ORLANDO. Of a snail!
ROSALIND. Ay, of a snail; for though he comes slowly, he carries
his house on his head- a better jointure, I think, than you make
a woman; besides, he brings his destiny with him.
ORLANDO. What's that?
ROSALIND. Why, horns; which such as you are fain to be beholding to
your wives for; but he comes armed in his fortune, and prevents
the slander of his wife.
ORLANDO. Virtue is no horn-maker; and my Rosalind is virtuous.
ROSALIND. And I am your Rosalind.
CELIA. It pleases him to call you so; but he hath a Rosalind of a
better leer than you.
ROSALIND. Come, woo me, woo me; for now I am in a holiday humour,
and like enough to consent. What would you say to me now, an I
were your very very Rosalind?
ORLANDO. I would kiss before I spoke.
ROSALIND. Nay, you were better speak first; and when you were
gravell'd for lack of matter, you might take occasion to kiss.
Very good orators, when they are out, they will spit; and for
lovers lacking- God warn us!- matter, the cleanliest shift is to
kiss.
ORLANDO. How if the kiss be denied?
ROSALIND. Then she puts you to entreaty, and there begins new
matter.
ORLANDO. Who could be out, being before his beloved mistress?
ROSALIND. Marry, that should you, if I were your mistress; or I
should think my honesty ranker than my wit.
ORLANDO. What, of my suit?
ROSALIND. Not out of your apparel, and yet out of your suit.
Am not I your Rosalind?
ORLANDO. I take some joy to say you are, because I would be talking
of her.
ROSALIND. Well, in her person, I say I will not have you.
ORLANDO. Then, in mine own person, I die.
ROSALIND. No, faith, die by attorney. The poor world is almost six
thousand years old, and in all this time there was not any man
died in his own person, videlicet, in a love-cause. Troilus had
his brains dash'd 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 liv'd many a fair year, though Hero had
turn'd nun, if it had not been for a hot midsummer night; for,
good youth, he went but forth to wash him in the Hellespont, and,
being taken with the cramp, was drown'd; 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.
ORLANDO. I would not have my right Rosalind of this mind; for, I
protest, her frown might kill me.
ROSALIND. By this hand, it will not kill a fly. But come, now I
will be your Rosalind in a more coming-on disposition; and ask me
what you will, I will grant it.
ORLANDO. Then love me, Rosalind.
ROSALIND. Yes, faith, will I, Fridays and Saturdays, and all.
ORLANDO. And wilt thou have me?
ROSALIND. Ay, and twenty such.
ORLANDO. What sayest thou?
ROSALIND. Are you not good?
ORLANDO. I hope so.
ROSALIND. Why then, can one desire too much of a good thing? Come,
sister, you shall be the priest, and marry us. Give me your hand,
Orlando. What do you say, sister?
ORLANDO. Pray thee, marry us.
CELIA. I cannot say the words.
ROSALIND. You must begin 'Will you, Orlando'-
CELIA. Go to. Will you, Orlando, have to wife this Rosalind?
ORLANDO. I will.
ROSALIND. Ay, but when?
ORLANDO. Why, now; as fast as she can marry us.
ROSALIND. Then you must say 'I take thee, Rosalind, for wife.'
ORLANDO. I take thee, Rosalind, for wife.
ROSALIND. I might ask you for your commission; but- I do take thee,
Orlando, for my husband. There's a girl goes before the priest;
and, certainly, a woman's thought runs before her actions.
ORLANDO. So do all thoughts; they are wing'd.
ROSALIND. Now tell me how long you would have her, after you have
possess'd her.
ORLANDO. For ever and a day.
ROSALIND. Say 'a day' without the 'ever.' No, no, Orlando; men are
April when they woo, December when they wed: maids are May when
they are maids, but the sky changes when they are wives. I will
be more jealous of thee than a Barbary cock-pigeon over his hen,
more clamorous than a parrot against rain, more new-fangled than
an ape, more giddy in my desires than a monkey. I will weep for
nothing, like Diana in the fountain, and I will do that when you
are dispos'd to be merry; I will laugh like a hyen, and that when
thou are inclin'd to sleep.
ORLANDO. But will my Rosalind do so?
ROSALIND. By my life, she will do as I do.
ORLANDO. O, but she is wise.
ROSALIND. Or else she could not have the wit to do this. The wiser,
the waywarder. Make the doors upon a woman's wit, and it will out
at the casement; shut that, and 'twill out at the key-hole; stop
that, 'twill fly with the smoke out at the chimney.
ORLANDO. A man that had a wife with such a wit, he might say 'Wit,
whither wilt?' ROSALIND. Nay, you might keep that check for it, till you met your
wife's wit going to your neighbour's bed.
ORLANDO. And what wit could wit have to excuse that?
ROSALIND. Marry, to say she came to seek you there. You shall never
take her without her answer, unless you take her without her
tongue. O, that woman that cannot make her fault her husband's
occasion, let her never nurse her child herself, for she will
breed it like a fool!
ORLANDO. For these two hours, Rosalind, I will leave thee.
ROSALIND. Alas, dear love, I cannot lack thee two hours!
ORLANDO. I must attend the Duke at dinner; by two o'clock I will be
with thee again.
ROSALIND. Ay, go your ways, go your ways. I knew what you would
prove; my friends told me as much, and I thought no less. That
flattering tongue of yours won me. 'Tis but one cast away, and
so, come death! Two o'clock is your hour?
ORLANDO. Ay, sweet Rosalind.
ROSALIND. By my troth, and in good earnest, and so God mend me, and
by all pretty oaths that are not dangerous, if you break one jot
of your promise, or come one minute behind your hour, I will
think you the most pathetical break-promise, and the most hollow
lover, and the most unworthy of her you call Rosalind, that may
be chosen out of the gross band of the unfaithful. Therefore
beware my censure, and keep your promise.
ORLANDO. With no less religion than if thou wert indeed my
Rosalind; so, adieu.
ROSALIND. Well, Time is the old justice that examines all such
offenders, and let Time try. Adieu. Exit ORLANDO
CELIA. You have simply misus'd our sex in your love-prate. We must
have your doublet and hose pluck'd over your head, and show the
world what the bird hath done to her own nest.
ROSALIND. O coz, coz, coz, my pretty little coz, that thou didst
know how many fathom deep I am in love! But it cannot be sounded;
my affection hath an unknown bottom, like the Bay of Portugal.
CELIA. Or rather, bottomless; that as fast as you pour affection
in, it runs out.
ROSALIND. No; that same wicked bastard of Venus, that was begot of
thought, conceiv'd of spleen, and born of madness; that blind
rascally boy, that abuses every one's eyes, because his own are
out- let him be judge how deep I am in love. I'll tell thee,
Aliena, I cannot be out of the sight of Orlando. I'll go find a
shadow, and sigh till he come.
CELIA. And I'll sleep. Exeunt
SCENE II.
The forest
Enter JAQUES and LORDS, in the habit of foresters
JAQUES. Which is he that killed the deer?
LORD. Sir, it was I.
JAQUES. Let's present him to the Duke, like a Roman conqueror; and
it would do well to set the deer's horns upon his head for a
branch of victory. Have you no song, forester, for this purpose?
LORD. Yes, sir.
JAQUES. Sing it; 'tis no matter how it be in tune, so it make noise
enough.
SONG.
What shall he have that kill'd the deer?
His leather skin and horns to wear.
[The rest shall hear this burden:]
Then sing him home.
Take thou no scorn to wear the horn;
It was a crest ere thou wast born.
Thy father's father wore it;
And thy father bore it.
The horn, the horn, the lusty horn,
Is not a thing to laugh to scorn. Exeunt
SCENE III.
The forest
Enter ROSALIND and CELIA
ROSALIND. How say you now? Is it not past two o'clock?
And here much Orlando!
CELIA. I warrant you, with pure love and troubled brain, he hath
ta'en his bow and arrows, and is gone forth- to sleep. Look, who
comes here.
Enter SILVIUS
SILVIUS. My errand is to you, fair youth;
My gentle Phebe did bid me give you this.
I know not the contents; but, as I guess
By the stern brow and waspish action
Which she did use as she was writing of it,
It bears an angry tenour. Pardon me,
I am but as a guiltless messenger.
ROSALIND. Patience herself would startle at this letter,
And play the swaggerer. Bear this, bear all.
She says I am not fair, that I lack manners;
She calls me proud, and that she could not love me,
Were man as rare as Phoenix. 'Od's my will!
Her love is not the hare that I do hunt;
Why writes she so to me? Well, shepherd, well,
This is a letter of your own device.
SILVIUS. No, I protest, I know not the contents;
Phebe did write it.
ROSALIND. Come, come, you are a fool,
And turn'd into the extremity of love.
I saw her hand; she has a leathern hand,
A freestone-colour'd hand; I verily did think
That her old gloves were on, but 'twas her hands;
She has a huswife's hand- but that's no matter.
I say she never did invent this letter:
This is a man's invention, and his hand.
SILVIUS. Sure, it is hers.
ROSALIND. Why, 'tis a boisterous and a cruel style;
A style for challengers. Why, she defies me,
Like Turk to Christian. Women's gentle brain
Could not drop forth such giant-rude invention,
Such Ethiope words, blacker in their effect
Than in their countenance. Will you hear the letter?
SILVIUS. So please you, for I never heard it yet;
Yet heard too much of Phebe's cruelty.
ROSALIND. She Phebes me: mark how the tyrant writes.
[Reads]
'Art thou god to shepherd turn'd,
That a maiden's heart hath burn'd?'
Can a woman rail thus?
SILVIUS. Call you this railing?
ROSALIND. 'Why, thy godhead laid apart,
Warr'st thou with a woman's heart?'
Did you ever hear such railing?
'Whiles the eye of man did woo me,
That could do no vengeance to me.'
Meaning me a beast.
'If the scorn of your bright eyne
Have power to raise such love in mine,
Alack, in me what strange effect
Would they work in mild aspect!
Whiles you chid me, I did love;
How then might your prayers move!
He that brings this love to the
Little knows this love in me;
And by him seal up thy mind,
Whether that thy youth and kind
Will the faithful offer take
Of me and all that I can make;
Or else by him my love deny,
And then I'll study how to die.'
SILVIUS. Call you this chiding?
CELIA. Alas, poor shepherd!
ROSALIND. Do you pity him? No, he deserves no pity. Wilt thou love
such a woman? What, to make thee an instrument, and play false
strains upon thee! Not to be endur'd! Well, go your way to her,
for I see love hath made thee tame snake, and say this to her-
that if she love me, I charge her to love thee; if she will not,
I will never have her unless thou entreat for her. If you be a
true lover, hence, and not a word; for here comes more company.
Exit SILVIUS
Enter OLIVER
OLIVER. Good morrow, fair ones; pray you, if you know,
Where in the purlieus of this forest stands
A sheep-cote fenc'd about with olive trees?
CELIA. West of this place, down in the neighbour bottom.
The rank of osiers by the murmuring stream
Left on your right hand brings you to the place.
But at this hour the house doth keep itself;
There's none within.
OLIVER. If that an eye may profit by a tongue,
Then should I know you by description-
Such garments, and such years: 'The boy is fair,
Of female favour, and bestows himself
Like a ripe sister; the woman low,
And browner than her brother.' Are not you
The owner of the house I did inquire for?
CELIA. It is no boast, being ask'd, to say we are.
OLIVER. Orlando doth commend him to you both;
And to that youth he calls his Rosalind
He sends this bloody napkin. Are you he?
ROSALIND. I am. What must we understand by this?
OLIVER. Some of my shame; if you will know of me
What man I am, and how, and why, and where,
This handkercher was stain'd.
CELIA. I pray you, tell it.
OLIVER. When last the young Orlando parted from you,
He left a promise to return again
Within an hour; and, pacing through the forest,
Chewing the food of sweet and bitter fancy,
Lo, what befell! He threw his eye aside,
And mark what object did present itself.
Under an oak, whose boughs were moss'd with age,
And high top bald with dry antiquity,
A wretched ragged man, o'ergrown with hair,
Lay sleeping on his back. About his neck
A green and gilded snake had wreath'd itself,
Who with her head nimble in threats approach'd
The opening of his mouth; but suddenly,
Seeing Orlando, it unlink'd itself,
And with indented glides did slip away
Into a bush; under which bush's shade
A lioness, with udders all drawn dry,
Lay couching, head on ground, with catlike watch,
When that the sleeping man should stir; for 'tis
The royal disposition of that beast
To prey on nothing that doth seem as dead.
This seen, Orlando did approach the man,
And found it was his brother, his elder brother.
CELIA. O, I have heard him speak of that same brother;
And he did render him the most unnatural
That liv'd amongst men.
OLIVER. And well he might so do,
For well I know he was unnatural.
ROSALIND. But, to Orlando: did he leave him there,
Food to the suck'd and hungry lioness?
OLIVER. Twice did he turn his back, and purpos'd so;
But kindness, nobler ever than revenge,
And nature, stronger than his just occasion,
Made him give battle to the lioness,
Who quickly fell before him; in which hurtling
From miserable slumber I awak'd.
CELIA. Are you his brother?
ROSALIND. Was't you he rescu'd?
CELIA. Was't you that did so oft contrive to kill him?
OLIVER. 'Twas I; but 'tis not I. I do not shame
To tell you what I was, since my conversion
So sweetly tastes, being the thing I am.
ROSALIND. But for the bloody napkin?
OLIVER. By and by.
When from the first to last, betwixt us two,
Tears our recountments had most kindly bath'd,
As how I came into that desert place-
In brief, he led me to the gentle Duke,
Who gave me fresh array and entertainment,
Committing me unto my brother's love;
Who led me instantly unto his cave,
There stripp'd himself, and here upon his arm
The lioness had torn some flesh away,
Which all this while had bled; and now he fainted,
And cried, in fainting, upon Rosalind.
Brief, I recover'd him, bound up his wound,
And, after some small space, being strong at heart,
He sent me hither, stranger as I am,
To tell this story, that you might excuse
His broken promise, and to give this napkin,
Dy'd in his blood, unto the shepherd youth
That he in sport doth call his Rosalind.
[ROSALIND swoons]
CELIA. Why, how now, Ganymede! sweet Ganymede!
OLIVER. Many will swoon when they do look on blood.
CELIA. There is more in it. Cousin Ganymede!
OLIVER. Look, he recovers.
ROSALIND. I would I were at home.
CELIA. We'll lead you thither.
I pray you, will you take him by the arm?
OLIVER. Be of good cheer, youth. You a man!
You lack a man's heart.
ROSALIND. I do so, I confess it. Ah, sirrah, a body would think
this was well counterfeited. I pray you tell your brother how
well I counterfeited. Heigh-ho!
OLIVER. This was not counterfeit; there is too great testimony in
your complexion that it was a passion of earnest.
ROSALIND. Counterfeit, I assure you.
OLIVER. Well then, take a good heart and counterfeit to be a man.
ROSALIND. So I do; but, i' faith, I should have been a woman by
right.
CELIA. Come, you look paler and paler; pray you draw homewards.
Good sir, go with us.
OLIVER. That will I, for I must bear answer back
How you excuse my brother, Rosalind.
ROSALIND. I shall devise something; but, I pray you, commend my
counterfeiting to him. Will you go? Exeunt
<>
ACT V. SCENE I.
The forest
Enter TOUCHSTONE and AUDREY
TOUCHSTONE. We shall find a time, Audrey; patience, gentle Audrey.
AUDREY. Faith, the priest was good enough, for all the old
gentleman's saying.
TOUCHSTONE. A most wicked Sir Oliver, Audrey, a most vile Martext.
But, Audrey, there is a youth here in the forest lays claim to
you.
AUDREY. Ay, I know who 'tis; he hath no interest in me in the
world; here comes the man you mean.
Enter WILLIAM
TOUCHSTONE. It is meat and drink to me to see a clown. By my troth,
we that have good wits have much to answer for: we shall be
flouting; we cannot hold.
WILLIAM. Good ev'n, Audrey.
AUDREY. God ye good ev'n, William.
WILLIAM. And good ev'n to you, sir.
TOUCHSTONE. Good ev'n, gentle friend. Cover thy head, cover thy
head; nay, prithee be cover'd. How old are you, friend?
WILLIAM. Five and twenty, sir.
TOUCHSTONE. A ripe age. Is thy name William?
WILLIAM. William, sir.
TOUCHSTONE. A fair name. Wast born i' th' forest here?
WILLIAM. Ay, sir, I thank God.
TOUCHSTONE. 'Thank God.' A good answer.
Art rich?
WILLIAM. Faith, sir, so so.
TOUCHSTONE. 'So so' is good, very good, very excellent good; and
yet it is not; it is but so so. Art thou wise?
WILLIAM. Ay, sir, I have a pretty wit.
TOUCHSTONE. Why, thou say'st well. I do now remember a saying: 'The
fool doth think he is wise, but the wise man knows himself to be
a fool.' The heathen philosopher, when he had a desire to eat a
grape, would open his lips when he put it into his mouth; meaning
thereby that grapes were made to eat and lips to open. You do
love this maid?
WILLIAM. I do, sir.
TOUCHSTONE. Give me your hand. Art thou learned?
WILLIAM. No, sir.
TOUCHSTONE. Then learn this of me: to have is to have; for it is a
figure in rhetoric that drink, being pour'd out of cup into a
glass, by filling the one doth empty the other; for all your
writers do consent that ipse is he; now, you are not ipse, for I
am he.
WILLIAM. Which he, sir?
TOUCHSTONE. He, sir, that must marry this woman. Therefore, you
clown, abandon- which is in the vulgar leave- the society- which
in the boorish is company- of this female- which in the common is
woman- which together is: abandon the society of this female; or,
clown, thou perishest; or, to thy better understanding, diest;
or, to wit, I kill thee, make thee away, translate thy life into
death, thy liberty into bondage. I will deal in poison with thee,
or in bastinado, or in steel; I will bandy with thee in faction;
will o'er-run thee with policy; I will kill thee a hundred and
fifty ways; therefore tremble and depart.
AUDREY. Do, good William.
WILLIAM. God rest you merry, sir. Exit
Enter CORIN
CORIN. Our master and mistress seeks you; come away, away.
TOUCHSTONE. Trip, Audrey, trip, Audrey. I attend, I attend.
Exeunt
SCENE II.
The forest
Enter ORLANDO and OLIVER
ORLANDO. Is't possible that on so little acquaintance you should
like her? that but seeing you should love her? and loving woo?
and, wooing, she should grant? and will you persever to enjoy
her?
OLIVER. Neither call the giddiness of it in question, the poverty
of her, the small acquaintance, my sudden wooing, nor her sudden
consenting; but say with me, I love Aliena; say with her that she
loves me; consent with both that we may enjoy each other. It
shall be to your good; for my father's house and all the revenue
that was old Sir Rowland's will I estate upon you, and here live
and die a shepherd.
ORLANDO. You have my consent. Let your wedding be to-morrow.
Thither will I invite the Duke and all's contented followers. Go
you and prepare Aliena; for, look you, here comes my Rosalind.
