Por. In tearmes of choise I am not solie led
By nice direction of a maidens eies:
Besides, the lottrie of my destenie
Bars me the right of voluntarie choosing:
But if my Father had not scanted me,
And hedg'd me by his wit to yeelde my selfe
His wife, who wins me by that meanes I told you,
Your selfe (renowned Prince) than stood as faire
As any commer I haue look'd on yet
For my affection

   Mor. Euen for that I thanke you,
Therefore I pray you leade me to the Caskets
To trie my fortune: By this Symitare
That slew the Sophie, and a Persian Prince
That won three fields of Sultan Solyman,
I would ore-stare the sternest eies that looke:
Out-braue the heart most daring on the earth:
Plucke the yong sucking Cubs from the she Beare,
Yea, mocke the Lion when he rores for pray
To win the Ladie. But alas, the while
If Hercules and Lychas plaie at dice
Which is the better man, the greater throw
May turne by fortune from the weaker hand:
So is Alcides beaten by his rage,
And so may I, blinde fortune leading me
Misse that which one vnworthier may attaine,
And die with grieuing

   Port. You must take your chance,
And either not attempt to choose at all,
Or sweare before you choose, if you choose wrong
Neuer to speake to Ladie afterward
In way of marriage, therefore be aduis'd

   Mor. Nor will not, come bring me vnto my chance

   Por. First forward to the temple, after dinner
Your hazard shall be made

   Mor. Good fortune then,

Cornets.

To make me blest or cursed'st among men.

Exeunt.

Enter the Clowne alone.

  Clo. Certainely, my conscience will serue me to run
from this Iew my Maister: the fiend is at mine elbow,
and tempts me, saying to me, Iobbe, Launcelet Iobbe, good
Launcelet, or good Iobbe, or good Launcelet Iobbe, vse
your legs, take the start, run awaie: my conscience saies
no; take heede honest Launcelet, take heed honest Iobbe,
or as afore-said honest Launcelet Iobbe, doe not runne,
scorne running with thy heeles; well, the most coragious
fiend bids me packe, fia saies the fiend, away saies
the fiend, for the heauens rouse vp a braue minde saies
the fiend, and run; well, my conscience hanging about
the necke of my heart, saies verie wisely to me: my honest
friend Launcelet, being an honest mans sonne, or rather
an honest womans sonne, for indeede my Father did
something smack, something grow too; he had a kinde of
taste; wel, my conscience saies Lancelet bouge not, bouge
saies the fiend, bouge not saies my conscience, conscience
say I you counsaile well, fiend say I you counsaile well,
to be rul'd by my conscience I should stay with the Iew
my Maister, (who God blesse the marke) is a kinde of diuell;
and to run away from the Iew I should be ruled by
the fiend, who sauing your reuerence is the diuell himselfe:
certainely the Iew is the verie diuell incarnation,
and in my conscience, my conscience is a kinde of hard
conscience, to offer to counsaile me to stay with the Iew;
the fiend giues the more friendly counsaile: I will runne
fiend, my heeles are at your commandement, I will
runne.
Enter old Gobbe with a Basket.

  Gob. Maister yong-man, you I praie you, which is the
waie to Maister Iewes?
  Lan. O heauens, this is my true begotten Father, who
being more then sand-blinde, high grauel blinde, knows
me not, I will trie confusions with him

   Gob. Maister yong Gentleman, I praie you which is
the waie to Maister Iewes

   Laun. Turne vpon your right hand at the next turning,
but at the next turning of all on your left; marrie
at the verie next turning, turne of no hand, but turn down
indirectlie to the Iewes house

   Gob. Be Gods sonties 'twill be a hard waie to hit, can
you tell me whether one Launcelet that dwels with him
dwell with him or no

   Laun. Talke you of yong Master Launcelet, marke
me now, now will I raise the waters; talke you of yong
Maister Launcelet?
  Gob. No Maister sir, but a poore mans sonne, his Father
though I say't is an honest exceeding poore man,
and God be thanked well to liue

   Lan. Well, let his Father be what a will, wee talke of
yong Maister Launcelet

   Gob. Your worships friend and Launcelet

   Laun. But I praie you ergo old man, ergo I beseech you,
talke you of yong Maister Launcelet

   Gob. Of Launcelet, ant please your maistership

   Lan. Ergo Maister Lancelet, talke not of maister Lancelet
Father, for the yong gentleman according to fates and
destinies, and such odde sayings, the sisters three, & such
branches of learning, is indeede deceased, or as you
would say in plaine tearmes, gone to heauen

   Gob. Marrie God forbid, the boy was the verie staffe
of my age, my verie prop

   Lau. Do I look like a cudgell or a houell-post, a staffe
or a prop: doe you know me Father

   Gob. Alacke the day, I know you not yong Gentleman,
but I praie you tell me, is my boy God rest his soule
aliue or dead

   Lan. Doe you not know me Father

   Gob. Alacke sir I am sand blinde, I know you not

   Lan. Nay, indeede if you had your eies you might
faile of the knowing me: it is a wise Father that knowes
his owne childe. Well, old man, I will tell you newes of
your son, giue me your blessing, truth will come to light,
murder cannot be hid long, a mans sonne may, but in the
end truth will out

   Gob. Praie you sir stand vp, I am sure you are not
Lancelet my boy

   Lan. Praie you let's haue no more fooling about
it, but giue mee your blessing: I am Lancelet your
boy that was, your sonne that is, your childe that
shall be

   Gob. I cannot thinke you are my sonne

   Lan. I know not what I shall thinke of that: but I am
Lancelet the Iewes man, and I am sure Margerie your wife
is my mother

   Gob. Her name is Margerie indeede, Ile be sworne if
thou be Lancelet, thou art mine owne flesh and blood:
Lord worshipt might he be, what a beard hast thou got;
thou hast got more haire on thy chin, then Dobbin my
philhorse has on his taile

   Lan. It should seeme then that Dobbins taile
growes backeward. I am sure he had more haire of his
taile then I haue of my face when I last saw him

   Gob. Lord how art thou chang'd: how doost thou
and thy Master agree, I haue brought him a present; how
gree you now?
  Lan. Well, well, but for mine owne part, as I haue set
vp my rest to run awaie, so I will not rest till I haue run
some ground; my Maister's a verie Iew, giue him a present,
giue him a halter, I am famisht in his seruice. You
may tell euerie finger I haue with my ribs: Father I am
glad you are come, giue me your present to one Maister
Bassanio, who indeede giues rare new Liuories, if I serue
not him, I will run as far as God has anie ground. O rare
fortune, here comes the man, to him Father, for I am a
Iew if I serue the Iew anie longer.
Enter Bassanio with a follower or two.

  Bass. You may doe so, but let it be so hasted that
supper be readie at the farthest by fiue of the clocke:
see these Letters deliuered, put the Liueries to making,
and desire Gratiano to come anone to my lodging

   Lan. To him Father

   Gob. God blesse your worship

   Bass. Gramercie, would'st thou ought with me

   Gob. Here's my sonne sir, a poore boy

   Lan. Not a poore boy sir, but the rich Iewes man that
would sir as my Father shall specifie

   Gob. He hath a great infection sir, as one would say
to serue

   Lan. Indeede the short and the long is, I serue the
Iew, and haue a desire as my Father shall specifie

   Gob. His Maister and he (sauing your worships reuerence)
are scarce catercosins

   Lan. To be briefe, the verie truth is, that the Iew
hauing done me wrong, doth cause me as my Father being
I hope an old man shall frutifie vnto you

   Gob. I haue here a dish of Doues that I would bestow
vpon your worship, and my suite is

   Lan. In verie briefe, the suite is impertinent to my
selfe, as your worship shall know by this honest old man,
and though I say it, though old man, yet poore man my
Father

   Bass. One speake for both, what would you?
  Lan. Serue you sir

   Gob. That is the verie defect of the matter sir

   Bass. I know thee well, thou hast obtain'd thy suite,
Shylocke thy Maister spoke with me this daie,
And hath prefer'd thee, if it be preferment
To leaue a rich Iewes seruice, to become
The follower of so poore a Gentleman

   Clo. The old prouerbe is verie well parted betweene
my Maister Shylocke and you sir, you haue the grace of
God sir, and he hath enough

   Bass. Thou speak'st well; go Father with thy Son,
Take leaue of thy old Maister, and enquire
My lodging out, giue him a Liuerie
More garded then his fellowes: see it done

   Clo. Father in, I cannot get a seruice, no, I haue nere
a tongue in my head, well: if anie man in Italie haue a
fairer table which doth offer to sweare vpon a booke, I
shall haue good fortune; goe too, here's a simple line
of life, here's a small trifle of wiues, alas, fifteene wiues
is nothing, a leuen widdowes and nine maides is a simple
comming in for one man, and then to scape drowning
thrice, and to be in perill of my life with the edge
of a featherbed, here are simple scapes: well, if Fortune
be a woman, she's a good wench for this gere: Father
come, Ile take my leaue of the Iew in the twinkling.

Exit Clowne.

  Bass. I praie thee good Leonardo thinke on this,
These things being bought and orderly bestowed
Returne in haste, for I doe feast to night
My best esteemd acquaintance, hie thee goe

   Leon. my best endeuors shall be done herein.

Exit Le.

Enter Gratiano.

  Gra. Where's your Maister

   Leon. Yonder sir he walkes

   Gra. Signior Bassanio

   Bas. Gratiano

   Gra. I haue a sute to you

   Bass. You haue obtain'd it

   Gra. You must not denie me, I must goe with you to
Belmont

   Bass. Why then you must: but heare thee Gratiano,
Thou art to wilde, to rude, and bold of voyce,
Parts that become thee happily enough,
And in such eyes as ours appeare not faults;
But where they are not knowne, why there they show
Something too liberall, pray thee take paine
To allay with some cold drops of modestie
Thy skipping spirit, least through thy wilde behauiour
I be misconsterd in the place I goe to,
And loose my hopes

   Gra. Signor Bassanio, heare me,
If I doe not put on a sober habite,
Talke with respect, and sweare but now and than,
Weare prayer bookes in my pocket, looke demurely,
Nay more, while grace is saying hood mine eyes
Thus with my hat, and sigh and say Amen:
Vse all the obseruance of ciuillitie
Like one well studied in a sad ostent
To please his Grandam, neuer trust me more

   Bas. Well, we shall see your bearing

   Gra. Nay but I barre to night, you shall not gage me
By what we doe to night

   Bas. No that were pittie,
I would intreate you rather to put on
Your boldest suite of mirth, for we haue friends
That purpose merriment: but far you well,
I haue some businesse

   Gra. And I must to Lorenso and the rest,
But we will visite you at supper time.

Exeunt.

Enter Iessica and the Clowne.

  Ies. I am sorry thou wilt leaue my Father so,
Our house is hell, and thou a merrie diuell
Did'st rob it of some taste of tediousnesse;
But far thee well, there is a ducat for thee,
And Lancelet, soone at supper shalt thou see
Lorenzo, who is thy new Maisters guest,
Giue him this Letter, doe it secretly,
And so farewell: I would not haue my Father
see me talke with thee

   Clo. Adue, teares exhibit my tongue, most beautifull
Pagan, most sweete Iew, if a Christian doe not play the
knaue and get thee, I am much deceiued; but adue, these
foolish drops doe somewhat drowne my manly spirit:
adue.
Enter.

  Ies. Farewell good Lancelet.
Alacke, what hainous sinne is it in me
To be ashamed to be my Fathers childe,
But though I am a daughter to his blood,
I am not to his manners: O Lorenzo,
If thou keepe promise I shall end this strife,
Become a Christian, and thy louing wife.
Enter.

Enter Gratiano, Lorenzo, Salarino, and Salanio.

  Lor. Nay, we will slinke away in supper time,
Disguise vs at my lodging, and returne all in an houre

   Gra. We haue not made good preparation

   Sal. We haue not spoke vs yet of Torch-bearers

   Sol. 'Tis vile vnlesse it may be quaintly ordered,
And better in my minde not vndertooke

   Lor. 'Tis now but foure of clock, we haue two houres
To furnish vs; friend Lancelet what's the newes.
Enter Lancelet with a Letter.

  Lan. And it shall please you to breake vp this, shall it
seeme to signifie

   Lor. I know the hand, in faith 'tis a faire hand
And whiter then the paper it writ on,
Is the faire hand that writ

   Gra. Loue newes in faith

   Lan. By your leaue sir

   Lor. Whither goest thou?
  Lan. Marry sir to bid my old Master the Iew to sup
to night with my new Master the Christian

   Lor. Hold here, take this, tell gentle Iessica
I will not faile her, speake it priuately:
Go Gentlemen, will you prepare you for this Maske to
night,
I am prouided of a Torch-bearer.

Exit. Clowne

   Sal. I marry, ile be gone about it strait

   Sol. And so will I

   Lor. Meete me and Gratiano at Gratianos lodging
Some houre hence

   Sal. 'Tis good we do so.
Enter.

  Gra. Was not that Letter from faire Iessica?
  Lor. I must needes tell thee all, she hath directed
How I shall take her from her Fathers house,
What gold and iewels she is furnisht with,
What Pages suite she hath in readinesse:
If ere the Iew her Father come to heauen,
It will be for his gentle daughters sake;
And neuer dare misfortune crosse her foote,
Vnlesse she doe it vnder this excuse,
That she is issue to a faithlesse Iew:
Come goe with me, pervse this as thou goest,
Faire Iessica shall be my Torch-bearer.
Enter.

Enter Iew, and his man that was the Clowne.

  Iew. Well, thou shall see, thy eyes shall be thy iudge,
The difference of old Shylocke and Bassanio;
What Iessica, thou shalt not gurmandize
As thou hast done with me: what Iessica?
And sleepe, and snore, and rend apparrell out.
Why Iessica I say

   Clo. Why Iessica

   Shy. Who bids thee call? I do not bid thee call

   Clo. Your worship was wont to tell me
I could doe nothing without bidding.
Enter Iessica.

  Ies. Call you? what is your will?
  Shy. I am bid forth to supper Iessica,
There are my Keyes: but wherefore should I go?
I am not bid for loue, they flatter me,
But yet Ile goe in hate, to feede vpon
The prodigall Christian. Iessica my girle,
Looke to my house, I am right loath to goe,
There is some ill a bruing towards my rest,
For I did dreame of money bags to night

   Clo. I beseech you sir goe, my yong Master
Doth expect your reproach

   Shy. So doe I his

   Clo. And they haue conspired together, I will not say
you shall see a Maske, but if you doe, then it was not for
nothing that my nose fell a bleeding on blacke monday
last, at six a clocke ith morning, falling out that yeere on
ashwensday was foure yeere in th' afternoone

   Shy. What are their maskes? heare you me Iessica,
Lock vp my doores, and when you heare the drum
And the vile squealing of the wry-neckt Fife,
Clamber not you vp to the casements then,
Nor thrust your head into the publique streete
To gaze on Christian fooles with varnisht faces:
But stop my houses eares, I meane my casements,
Let not the sound of shallow fopperie enter
My sober house. By Iacobs staffe I sweare,
I haue no minde of feasting forth to night:
But I will goe: goe you before me sirra,
Say I will come

   Clo. I will goe before sir,
Mistris looke out at window for all this;
There will come a Christian by,
Will be worth a Iewes eye

   Shy. What saies that foole of Hagars off-spring?
ha

   Ies. His words were farewell mistris, nothing else

   Shy. The patch is kinde enough, but a huge feeder:
Snaile-slow in profit, but he sleepes by day
More then the wilde-cat: drones hiue not with me,
Therefore I part with him, and part with him
To one that I would haue him helpe to waste
His borrowed purse. Well Iessica goe in,
Perhaps I will returne immediately;
Doe as I bid you, shut dores after you, fast binde, fast
finde,
A prouerbe neuer stale in thriftie minde.
Enter.

  Ies. Farewell, and if my fortune be not crost,
I haue a Father, you a daughter lost.
Enter.

Enter the Maskers, Gratiano and Salino.

  Gra. This is the penthouse vnder which Lorenzo
Desired vs to make a stand

   Sal. His houre is almost past

   Gra. And it is meruaile he out-dwels his houre,
For louers euer run before the clocke

   Sal. O ten times faster Venus Pidgions flye
To steale loues bonds new made, then they are wont
To keepe obliged faith vnforfaited

   Gra. That euer holds, who riseth from a feast
With that keene appetite that he sits downe?
Where is the horse that doth vntread againe
His tedious measures with the vnbated fire,
That he did pace them first: all things that are,
Are with more spirit chased then enioy'd.
How like a yonger or a prodigall
The skarfed barke puts from her natiue bay,
Hudg'd and embraced by the strumpet winde:
How like a prodigall doth she returne
With ouer-wither'd ribs and ragged sailes,
Leane, rent, and begger'd by the strumpet winde?
Enter Lorenzo.

  Salino. Heere comes Lorenzo, more of this hereafter

   Lor. Sweete friends, your patience for my long abode,
Not I, but my affaires haue made you wait;
When you shall please to play the theeues for wiues
Ile watch as long for you then: approach
Here dwels my father Iew. Hoa, who's within?

Iessica aboue.

  Iess. Who are you? tell me for more certainty,
Albeit Ile sweare that I do know your tongue

   Lor. Lorenzo, and thy Loue

   Ies. Lorenzo certaine, and my loue indeed,
For who loue I so much? and now who knowes
But you Lorenzo, whether I am yours?
  Lor. Heauen and thy thoughts are witness that thou
art

   Ies. Heere, catch this casket, it is worth the paines,
I am glad 'tis night, you do not looke on me,
For I am much asham'd of my exchange:
But loue is blinde, and louers cannot see
The pretty follies that themselues commit,
For if they could, Cupid himselfe would blush
To see me thus transformed to a boy

   Lor. Descend, for you must be my torch-bearer

   Ies. What, must I hold a Candle to my shames?
They in themselues goodsooth are too too light.
Why, 'tis an office of discouery Loue,
And I should be obscur'd

   Lor. So you are sweet,
Euen in the louely garnish of a boy: but come at once,
For the close night doth play the run-away,
And we are staid for at Bassanio's feast

   Ies. I will make fast the doores and guild my selfe
With some more ducats, and be with you straight

   Gra. Now by my hood, a gentle, and no Iew

   Lor. Beshrew me but I loue her heartily.
For she is wise, if I can iudge of her.
And faire she is, if that mine eyes be true,
And true she is, as she hath prou'd her selfe:
And therefore like her selfe, wise, faire, and true,
Shall she be placed in my constant soule.
Enter Iessica.

What, art thou come? on gentlemen, away,
Our masking mates by this time for vs stay.
Enter.

Enter Anthonio.

  Ant. Who's there?
  Gra. Signior Anthonio?
  Ant. Fie, fie, Gratiano, where are all the rest?
'Tis nine a clocke, our friends all stay for you,
No maske to night, the winde is come about,
Bassanio presently will goe aboord,
I haue sent twenty out to seeke for you

   Gra. I am glad on't, I desire no more delight
Then to be vnder saile, and gone to night.

Exeunt.

Enter Portia with Morrocho, and both their traines.

  Por. Goe, draw aside the curtaines, and discouer
The seuerall Caskets to this noble Prince:
Now make your choyse

   Mor. The first of gold, who this inscription beares,
Who chooseth me, shall gaine what men desire.
The second siluer, which this promise carries,
Who chooseth me, shall get as much as he deserues.
This third, dull lead, with warning all as blunt,
Who chooseth me, must giue and hazard all he hath.
How shall I know if I doe choose the right?
How shall I know if I doe choose the right

   Por. The one of them containes my picture Prince,
If you choose that, then I am yours withall

   Mor. Some God direct my iudgement, let me see,
I will suruay the inscriptions, backe againe:
What saies this leaden casket?
Who chooseth me, must giue and hazard all he hath.
Must giue, for what? for lead, hazard for lead?
This casket threatens men that hazard all
Doe it in hope of faire aduantages:
A golden minde stoopes not to showes of drosse,
Ile then nor giue nor hazard ought for lead.
What saies the Siluer with her virgin hue?
Who chooseth me, shall get as much as he deserues.
As much as he deserues; pause there Morocho,
And weigh thy value with an euen hand,
If thou beest rated by thy estimation
Thou doost deserue enough, and yet enough
May not extend so farre as to the Ladie:
And yet to be afeard of my deseruing,
Were but a weake disabling of my selfe.
As much as I deserue, why that's the Lady.
I doe in birth deserue her, and in fortunes,
In graces, and in qualities of breeding:
But more then these, in loue I doe deserue.
What if I strai'd no farther, but chose here?
Let's see once more this saying grau'd in gold.
Who chooseth me shall gaine what many men desire:
Why that's the Lady, all the world desires her:
From the foure corners of the earth they come
To kisse this shrine, this mortall breathing Saint.
The Hircanion deserts, and the vaste wildes
Of wide Arabia are as throughfares now
For Princes to come view faire Portia.
The waterie Kingdome, whose ambitious head
Spets in the face of heauen, is no barre
To stop the forraine spirits, but they come
As ore a brooke to see faire Portia.
One of these three containes her heauenly picture.
Is't like that Lead containes her? 'twere damnation
To thinke so base a thought, it were too grose
To rib her searecloath in the obscure graue:
Or shall I thinke in Siluer she's immur'd
Being ten times vndervalued to tride gold;
O sinfull thought, neuer so rich a Iem
Was set in worse then gold! They haue in England
A coyne that beares the figure of an Angell
Stampt in gold, but that's insculpt vpon:
But here an Angell in a golden bed
Lies all within. Deliuer me the key:
Here doe I choose, and thriue I as I may

   Por. There take it Prince, and if my forme lye there
Then I am yours

   Mor. O hell! what haue we here, a carrion death,
Within whose emptie eye there is a written scroule;
Ile reade the writing.
All that glisters is not gold,
Often haue you heard that told;
Many a man his life hath sold
But my outside to behold;
Guilded timber doe wormes infold:
Had you beene as wise as bold,
Yong in limbs, in iudgement old,
Your answere had not beene inscrold,
Fareyouwell, your suite is cold,
  Mor. Cold indeede, and labour lost,
Then farewell heate, and welcome frost:
Portia adew, I haue too grieu'd a heart
To take a tedious leaue: thus loosers part.
Enter.

  Por. A gentle riddance: draw the curtaines, go:
Let all of his complexion choose me so.

Exeunt.

Enter Salarino and Solanio.

  Flo. Cornets

   Sal. Why man I saw Bassanio vnder sayle;
With him is Gratiano gone along;
And in their ship I am sure Lorenzo is not

   Sol. The villaine Iew with outcries raisd the Duke.
Who went with him to search Bassanios ship

   Sal. He comes too late, the ship was vndersaile;
But there the Duke was giuen to vnderstand
That in a Gondilo were seene together
Lorenzo and his amorous Iessica.
Besides, Anthonio certified the Duke
They were not with Bassanio in his ship

   Sol. I neuer heard a passion so confusd,
So strange, outragious, and so variable,
As the dogge Iew did vtter in the streets;
My daughter, O my ducats, O my daughter,
Fled with a Christian, O my Christian ducats!
Iustice, the law, my ducats, and my daughter;
A sealed bag, two sealed bags of ducats,
Of double ducats, stolne from me by my daughter,
And iewels, two stones, two rich and precious stones,
Stolne by my daughter: iustice, finde the girle,
She hath the stones vpon her, and the ducats

   Sal. Why all the boyes in Venice follow him,
Crying his stones, his daughter, and his ducats

   Sol. Let good Anthonio looke he keepe his day
Or he shall pay for this

   Sal. Marry well remembred,
I reason'd with a Frenchman yesterday,
Who told me, in the narrow seas that part
The French and English, there miscaried
A vessell of our countrey richly fraught:
I thought vpon Anthonio when he told me,
And wisht in silence that it were not his

   Sol. You were best to tell Anthonio what you heare.
Yet doe not suddainely, for it may grieue him

   Sal. A kinder Gentleman treads not the earth,
I saw Bassanio and Anthonio part,
Bassanio told him he would make some speede
Of his returne: he answered, doe not so,
Slubber not businesse for my sake Bassanio,
But stay the very riping of the time,
And for the Iewes bond which he hath of me,
Let it not enter in your minde of loue:
Be merry, and imploy your chiefest thoughts
To courtship, and such faire ostents of loue
As shall conueniently become you there;
And euen there his eye being big with teares,
Turning his face, he put his hand behinde him,
And with affection wondrous sencible
He wrung Bassanios hand, and so they parted

   Sol. I thinke he onely loues the world for him,
I pray thee let vs goe and finde him out
And quicken his embraced heauinesse
With some delight or other

   Sal. Doe we so.

Exeunt.

Enter Nerrissa and a Seruiture.

  Ner. Quick, quick I pray thee, draw the curtain strait,
The Prince of Arragon hath tane his oath,
And comes to his election presently.
Enter Arragon, his traine, and Portia. Flor. Cornets.

  Por. Behold, there stand the caskets noble Prince,
If you choose that wherein I am contain'd,
Straight shall our nuptiall rights be solemniz'd:
But if thou faile, without more speech my Lord,
You must be gone from hence immediately

   Ar. I am enioynd by oath to obserue three things;
First, neuer to vnfold to any one
Which casket 'twas I chose; next, if I faile
Of the right casket, neuer in my life
To wooe a maide in way of marriage:
Lastly, if I doe faile in fortune of my choyse,
Immediately to leaue you, and be gone

   Por. To these iniunctions euery one doth sweare
That comes to hazard for my worthlesse selfe

   Ar. And so haue I addrest me, fortune now
To my hearts hope: gold, siluer, and base lead.
Who chooseth me must giue and hazard all he hath.
You shall looke fairer ere I giue or hazard.
What saies the golden chest, ha, let me see.
Who chooseth me, shall gaine what many men desire:
What many men desire, that many may be meant
By the foole multitude that choose by show,
Not learning more then the fond eye doth teach,
Which pries not to th' interior, but like the Martlet
Builds in the weather on the outward wall,
Euen in the force and rode of casualtie.
I will not choose what many men desire,
Because I will not iumpe with common spirits,
And ranke me with the barbarous multitudes.
Why then to thee thou Siluer treasure house,
Tell me once more, what title thou doost beare;
Who chooseth me shall get as much as he deserues:
And well said too; for who shall goe about
To cosen Fortune, and be honourable
Without the stampe of merrit, let none presume
To weare an vndeserued dignitie:
O that estates, degrees, and offices,
Were not deriu'd corruptly, and that cleare honour
Were purchast by the merrit of the wearer;
How many then should couer that stand bare?
How many be commanded that command?
How much low pleasantry would then be gleaned
From the true seede of honor? And how much honor
Pickt from the chaffe and ruine of the times,
To be new varnisht: Well, but to my choise.
Who chooseth me shall get as much as he deserues.
I will assume desert; giue me a key for this,
And instantly vnlocke my fortunes here

   Por. Too long a pause for that which you finde there

   Ar. What's here, the portrait of a blinking idiot
Presenting me a scedule, I will reade it:
How much vnlike art thou to Portia?
How much vnlike my hopes and my deseruings?
Who chooseth me, shall haue as much as he deserues.
Did I deserue no more then a fooles head,
Is that my prize, are my deserts no better?
  Por. To offend and iudge are distinct offices,
And of opposed natures

   Ar. What is here?
The fier seauen times tried this,
Seauen times tried that iudgement is,
That did neuer choose amis,
Some there be that shadowes kisse,
Such haue but a shadowes blisse:
There be fooles aliue Iwis
Siluer'd o're, and so was this:
Take what wife you will to bed,
I will euer be your head:
So be gone, you are sped

   Ar. Still more foole I shall appeare
By the time I linger here,
With one fooles head I came to woo,
But I goe away with two.
Sweet adue, Ile keepe my oath,
Patiently to beare my wroath

   Por. Thus hath the candle sing'd the moath:
O these deliberate fooles when they doe choose,
They haue the wisdome by their wit to loose

   Ner. The ancient saying is no heresie,
Hanging and wiuing goes by destinie

   Por. Come draw the curtaine Nerrissa.
Enter Messenger.

  Mes. Where is my Lady?
  Por. Here, what would my Lord?
  Mes. Madam, there is a-lighted at your gate
A yong Venetian, one that comes before
To signifie th' approaching of his Lord,
From whom he bringeth sensible regreets;
To wit (besides commends and curteous breath)
Gifts of rich value; yet I haue not seene
So likely an Embassador of loue.
A day in Aprill neuer came so sweete
To show how costly Sommer was at hand,
As this fore-spurrer comes before his Lord

   Por. No more I pray thee, I am halfe a-feard
Thou wilt say anone he is some kin to thee,
Thou spend'st such high-day wit in praising him:
Come, come Nerryssa, for I long to see
Quicke Cupids Post, that comes so mannerly

   Ner. Bassanio Lord, loue if thy will it be.

Exeunt.


Actus Tertius.

Enter Solanio and Salarino.

  Sol. Now, what newes on the Ryalto?
  Sal. Why yet it liues there vncheckt, that Anthonio
hath a ship of rich lading wrackt on the narrow Seas; the
Goodwins I thinke they call the place, a very dangerous
flat, and fatall, where the carcasses of many a tall ship, lye
buried, as they say, if my gossips report be an honest woman
of her word

   Sol. I would she were as lying a gossip in that, as euer
knapt Ginger, or made her neighbours beleeue she wept
for the death of a third husband: but it is true, without
any slips of prolixity, or crossing the plaine high-way of
talke, that the good Anthonio, the honest Anthonio; o that
I had a title good enough to keepe his name company!
  Sal. Come, the full stop

   Sol. Ha, what sayest thou, why the end is, he hath lost
a ship

   Sal. I would it might proue the end of his losses

   Sol. Let me say Amen betimes, least the diuell crosse
my praier, for here he comes in the likenes of a Iew. How
now Shylocke, what newes among the Merchants?
Enter Shylocke.

  Shy. You knew none so well, none so well as you, of
my daughters flight

   Sal. That's certaine, I for my part knew the Tailor
that made the wings she flew withall

   Sol. And Shylocke for his owne part knew the bird was
fledg'd, and then it is the complexion of them al to leaue
the dam

   Shy. She is damn'd for it

   Sal. That's certaine, if the diuell may be her Iudge

   Shy. My owne flesh and blood to rebell

   Sol. Out vpon it old carrion, rebels it at these yeeres

   Shy. I say my daughter is my flesh and bloud

   Sal. There is more difference betweene thy flesh and
hers, then betweene Iet and Iuorie, more betweene your
bloods, then there is betweene red wine and rennish: but
tell vs, doe you heare whether Anthonio haue had anie
losse at sea or no?
  Shy. There I haue another bad match, a bankrout, a
prodigall, who dare scarce shew his head on the Ryalto,
a begger that was vsd to come so smug vpon the Mart:
let him look to his bond, he was wont to call me Vsurer,
let him looke to his bond, he was wont to lend money
for a Christian curtsie, let him looke to his bond

   Sal. Why I am sure if he forfaite, thou wilt not take
his flesh, what's that good for?
  Shy. To baite fish withall, if it will feede nothing
else, it will feede my reuenge; he hath disgrac'd me, and
hindred me halfe a million, laught at my losses, mockt at
my gaines, scorned my Nation, thwarted my bargaines,
cooled my friends, heated mine enemies, and what's the
reason? I am a Iewe: Hath not a Iew eyes? hath not a
Iew hands, organs, dementions, sences, affections, passions,
fed with the same foode, hurt with the same weapons,
subiect to the same diseases, healed by the same
meanes, warmed and cooled by the same Winter and
Sommer as a Christian is: if you pricke vs doe we not
bleede? if you tickle vs, doe we not laugh? if you poison
vs doe we not die? and if you wrong vs shall we not reuenge?
if we are like you in the rest, we will resemble you
in that. If a Iew wrong a Christian, what is his humility,
reuenge? If a Christian wrong a Iew, what should his sufferance
be by Christian example, why reuenge? The villanie
you teach me I will execute, and it shall goe hard
but I will better the instruction.
Enter a man from Anthonio.

Gentlemen, my maister Anthonio is at his house, and
desires to speake with you both

   Sal. We haue beene vp and downe to seeke him.
Enter Tuball.

  Sol. Here comes another of the Tribe, a third cannot
be matcht, vnlesse the diuell himselfe turne Iew.

Exeunt. Gentlemen

   Shy. How now Tuball, what newes from Genowa? hast
thou found my daughter?
  Tub. I often came where I did heare of her, but cannot
finde her

   Shy. Why there, there, there, there, a diamond gone
cost me two thousand ducats in Franckford, the curse neuer
fell vpon our Nation till now, I neuer felt it till now,
two thousand ducats in that, and other precious, precious
iewels: I would my daughter were dead at my foot,
and the iewels in her eare: would she were hearst at my
foote, and the duckets in her coffin: no newes of them,
why so? and I know not how much is spent in the search:
why thou losse vpon losse, the theefe gone with so
much, and so much to finde the theefe, and no satisfaction,
no reuenge, nor no ill luck stirring but what lights
a my shoulders, no sighes but a my breathing, no teares
but a my shedding

   Tub. Yes, other men haue ill lucke too, Anthonio as I
heard in Genowa?
  Shy. What, what, what, ill lucke, ill lucke

   Tub. Hath an Argosie cast away comming from Tripolis

   Shy. I thanke God, I thanke God, is it true, is it true?
  Tub. I spoke with some of the Saylers that escaped
the wracke

   Shy. I thanke thee good Tuball, good newes, good
newes: ha, ha, here in Genowa

   Tub. Your daughter spent in Genowa, as I heard, one
night fourescore ducats

   Shy. Thou stick'st a dagger in me, I shall neuer see my
gold againe, fourescore ducats at a sitting, fourescore ducats

   Tub. There came diuers of Anthonios creditors in my
company to Venice, that sweare hee cannot choose but
breake

   Shy. I am very glad of it, ile plague him, ile torture
him, I am glad of it,
  Tub. One of them shewed me a ring that hee had of
your daughter for a Monkie

   Shy. Out vpon her, thou torturest me Tuball, it was
my Turkies, I had it of Leah when I was a Batcheler: I
would not haue giuen it for a wildernesse of Monkies

   Tub. But Anthonio is certainely vndone

   Shy. Nay, that's true, that's very true, goe Tuball, see
me an Officer, bespeake him a fortnight before, I will
haue the heart of him if he forfeit, for were he out of Venice,
I can make what merchandize I will: goe Tuball,
and meete me at our Sinagogue, goe good Tuball, at our
Sinagogue Tuball.

Exeunt.

Enter Bassanio, Portia, Gratiano, and all their traine.

  Por. I pray you tarrie, pause a day or two
Before you hazard, for in choosing wrong
I loose your companie; therefore forbeare a while,
There's something tels me (but it is not loue)
I would not loose you, and you know your selfe,
Hate counsailes not in such a quallitie;
But least you should not vnderstand me well,
And yet a maiden hath no tongue, but thought,
I would detaine you here some month or two
Before you venture for me. I could teach you
How to choose right, but then I am forsworne,
So will I neuer be, so may you misse me,
But if you doe, youle make me wish a sinne,
That I had beene forsworne: Beshrow your eyes,
They haue ore-lookt me and deuided me,
One halfe of me is yours, the other halfe yours,
Mine owne I would say: but of mine then yours,
And so all yours; O these naughtie times
Puts bars betweene the owners and their rights.
And so though yours, not yours (proue it so)
Let Fortune goe to hell for it, not I.
I speake too long, but 'tis to peize the time,
To ich it, and to draw it out in length,
To stay you from election

   Bass. Let me choose,
For as I am, I liue vpon the racke

   Por. Vpon the racke Bassanio, then confesse
What treason there is mingled with your loue

   Bass. None but that vglie treason of mistrust.
Which makes me feare the enioying of my loue:
There may as well be amitie and life,
'Tweene snow and fire, as treason and my loue

   Por. I, but I feare you speake vpon the racke,
Where men enforced doth speake any thing

   Bass. Promise me life, and ile confesse the truth

   Por. Well then, confesse and liue

   Bass. Confesse and loue
Had beene the verie sum of my confession:
O happie torment, when my torturer
Doth teach me answers for deliuerance:
But let me to my fortune and the caskets

   Por. Away then, I am lockt in one of them,
If you doe loue me, you will finde me out.
Nerryssa and the rest, stand all aloofe,
Let musicke sound while he doth make his choise,
Then if he loose he makes a Swan-like end,
Fading in musique. That the comparison
May stand more proper, my eye shall be the streame
And watrie death-bed for him: he may win,
And what is musique than? Than musique is
Euen as the flourish, when true subiects bowe
To a new crowned Monarch: Such it is,
As are those dulcet sounds in breake of day,
That creepe into the dreaming bride-groomes eare,
And summon him to marriage. Now he goes
With no lesse presence, but with much more loue
Then yong Alcides, when he did redeeme
The virgine tribute, paied by howling Troy
To the Sea-monster: I stand for sacrifice,
The rest aloofe are the Dardanian wiues:
With bleared visages come forth to view
The issue of th' exploit: Goe Hercules,
Liue thou, I liue with much more dismay
I view the sight, then thou that mak'st the fray.

Here Musicke. A Song the whilst Bassanio comments on the
Caskets to
himselfe.

Tell me where is fancie bred,
Or in the heart, or in the head:
How begot, how nourished. Replie, replie.
It is engendred in the eyes,
With gazing fed, and Fancie dies,
In the cradle where it lies:
Let vs all ring Fancies knell.
Ile begin it.
Ding, dong, bell

   All. Ding, dong, bell

   Bass. So may the outward showes be least themselues
The world is still deceiu'd with ornament.
In Law, what Plea so tainted and corrupt,
But being season'd with a gracious voice,
Obscures the show of euill? In Religion,
What damned error, but some sober brow
Will blesse it, and approue it with a text,
Hiding the grosenesse with faire ornament:
There is no voice so simple, but assumes
Some marke of vertue on his outward parts;
How manie cowards, whose hearts are all as false
As stayers of sand, weare yet vpon their chins
The beards of Hercules and frowning Mars,
Who inward searcht, haue lyuers white as milke,
And these assume but valors excrement,
To render them redoubted. Looke on beautie,
And you shall see 'tis purchast by the weight,
Which therein workes a miracle in nature,
Making them lightest that weare most of it:
So are those crisped snakie golden locks
Which makes such wanton gambols with the winde
Vpon supposed fairenesse, often knowne
To be the dowrie of a second head,
The scull that bred them in the Sepulcher.
Thus ornament is but the guiled shore
To a most dangerous sea: the beautious scarfe
Vailing an Indian beautie; In a word,
The seeming truth which cunning times put on
To intrap the wisest. Therefore then thou gaudie gold,
Hard food for Midas, I will none of thee,
Nor none of thee thou pale and common drudge
'Tweene man and man: but thou, thou meager lead
Which rather threatnest then dost promise ought,
Thy palenesse moues me more then eloquence,
And here choose I, ioy be the consequence

   Por. How all the other passions fleet to ayre,
As doubtfull thoughts, and rash imbrac'd despaire:
And shuddring feare, and greene-eyed iealousie.
O loue be moderate, allay thy extasie,
In measure raine thy ioy, scant this excesse,
I feele too much thy blessing, make it lesse,
For feare I surfeit

   Bas. What finde I here?
Faire Portias counterfeit. What demie God
Hath come so neere creation? moue these eies?
Or whether riding on the bals of mine
Seeme they in motion? Here are seuer'd lips
Parted with suger breath, so sweet a barre
Should sunder such sweet friends: here in her haires
The Painter plaies the Spider, and hath wouen
A golden mesh t' intrap the hearts of men
Faster then gnats in cobwebs: but her eies,
How could he see to doe them? hauing made one,
Me thinkes it should haue power to steale both his
And leaue it selfe vnfurnisht: Yet looke how farre
The substance of my praise doth wrong this shadow
In vnderprising it, so farre this shadow
Doth limpe behinde the substance. Here's the scroule,
The continent, and summarie of my fortune.
You that choose not by the view
Chance as faire, and choose as true:
Since this fortune fals to you,
Be content, and seeke no new.
If you be well pleasd with this,
And hold your fortune for your blisse,
Turne you where your Lady is,
And claime her with a louing kisse

   Bass. A gentle scroule: Faire Lady, by your leaue,
I come by note to giue, and to receiue,
Like one of two contending in a prize
That thinks he hath done well in peoples eies:
Hearing applause and vniuersall shout,
Giddie in spirit, still gazing in a doubt
Whether those peales of praise be his or no.
So thrice faire Lady stand I euen so,
As doubtfull whether what I see be true,
Vntill confirm'd, sign'd, ratified by you

   Por. You see my Lord Bassiano where I stand,
Such as I am; though for my selfe alone
I would not be ambitious in my wish,
To wish my selfe much better, yet for you,
I would be trebled twenty times my selfe,
A thousand times more faire, ten thousand times
More rich, that onely to stand high in your account,
I might in vertues, beauties, liuings, friends,
Exceed account: but the full summe of me
Is sum of nothing: which to terme in grosse,
Is an vnlessoned girle, vnschool'd, vnpractiz'd,
Happy in this, she is not yet so old
But she may learne: happier then this,
Shee is not bred so dull but she can learne;
Happiest of all, is that her gentle spirit
Commits it selfe to yours to be directed,
As from her Lord, her Gouernour, her King.
My selfe, and what is mine, to you and yours
Is now conuerted. But now I was the Lord
Of this faire mansion, master of my seruants,
Queene ore my selfe: and euen now, but now,
This house, these seruants, and this same my selfe
Are yours, my Lord, I giue them with this ring,
Which when you part from, loose, or giue away,
Let it presage the ruine of your loue,
And be my vantage to exclaime on you

   Bass. Maddam, you haue bereft me of all words,
Onely my bloud speakes to you in my vaines,
And there is such confusion in my powers,
As after some oration fairely spoke
By a beloued Prince, there doth appeare
Among the buzzing pleased multitude,
Where euery something being blent together,
Turnes to a wilde of nothing, saue of ioy
Exprest, and not exprest: but when this ring
Parts from this finger, then parts life from hence,
O then be bold to say Bassanio's dead

   Ner. My Lord and Lady, it is now our time
That haue stood by and seene our wishes prosper,
To cry good ioy, good ioy my Lord and Lady

   Gra. My Lord Bassanio, and my gentle Lady,
I wish you all the ioy that you can wish:
For I am sure you can wish none from me:
And when your Honours meane to solemnize
The bargaine of your faith: I doe beseech you
Euen at that time I may be married too

   Bass. With all my heart, so thou canst get a wife

   Gra. I thanke your Lordship, you haue got me one.
My eyes my Lord can looke as swift as yours:
You saw the mistres, I beheld the maid:
You lou'd, I lou'd for intermission,
No more pertaines to me my Lord then you;
Your fortune stood vpon the caskets there,
And so did mine too, as the matter falls:
For wooing heere vntill I swet againe,
And swearing till my very rough was dry
With oathes of loue, at last, if promise last,
I got a promise of this faire one heere
To haue her loue: prouided that your fortune
Atchieu'd her mistresse

   Por. Is this true Nerrissa?
  Ner. Madam it is so, so you stand pleas'd withall

   Bass. And doe you Gratiano meane good faith?
  Gra. Yes faith my Lord

   Bass. Our feast shall be much honored in your marriage

   Gra. Weele play with them the first boy for a thousand
ducats

   Ner. What and stake downe?
  Gra. No, we shal nere win at that sport, and stake
downe.
But who comes heere? Lorenzo and his Infidell?
What and my old Venetian friend Salerio?
Enter Lorenzo, Iessica, and Salerio.

  Bas. Lorenzo and Salerio, welcome hether,
If that the youth of my new interest heere
Haue power to bid you welcome: by your leaue
I bid my verie friends and Countrimen
Sweet Portia welcome

   Por. So do I my Lord, they are intirely welcome

   Lor. I thanke your honor; for my part my Lord,
My purpose was not to haue seene you heere,
But meeting with Salerio by the way,
He did intreate mee past all saying nay
To come with him along

   Sal. I did my Lord,
And I haue reason for it, Signior Anthonio
Commends him to you

   Bass. Ere I ope his Letter
I pray you tell me how my good friend doth

   Sal. Not sicke my Lord, vnlesse it be in minde,
Nor wel, vnlesse in minde: his Letter there
Wil shew you his estate.

Opens the Letter.

  Gra. Nerrissa, cheere yond stranger, bid her welcom.
Your hand Salerio, what's the newes from Venice?
How doth that royal Merchant good Anthonio;
I know he will be glad of our successe,
We are the Iasons, we haue won the fleece

   Sal. I would you had won the fleece that hee hath
lost

   Por. There are some shrewd contents in yond same
Paper,
That steales the colour from Bassianos cheeke,
Some deere friend dead, else nothing in the world
Could turne so much the constitution
Of any constant man. What, worse and worse?
With leaue Bassanio I am halfe your selfe,
And I must freely haue the halfe of any thing
That this same paper brings you

   Bass. O sweet Portia,
Heere are a few of the vnpleasant'st words
That euer blotted paper. Gentle Ladie
When I did first impart my loue to you,
I freely told you all the wealth I had
Ran in my vaines: I was a Gentleman,
And then I told you true: and yet deere Ladie,
Rating my selfe at nothing, you shall see
How much I was a Braggart, when I told you
My state was nothing, I should then haue told you
That I was worse then nothing: for indeede
I haue ingag'd my selfe to a deere friend,
Ingag'd my friend to his meere enemie
To feede my meanes. Heere is a Letter Ladie,
The paper as the bodie of my friend,
And euerie word in it a gaping wound
Issuing life blood. But is it true Salerio,
Hath all his ventures faild, what not one hit,
From Tripolis, from Mexico and England,
From Lisbon, Barbary, and India,
And not one vessell scape the dreadfull touch
Of Merchant-marring rocks?
  Sal. Not one my Lord.
Besides, it should appeare, that if he had
The present money to discharge the Iew,
He would not take it: neuer did I know
A creature that did beare the shape of man
So keene and greedy to confound a man.
He plyes the Duke at morning and at night,
And doth impeach the freedome of the state
If they deny him iustice. Twenty Merchants,
The Duke himselfe, and the Magnificoes
Of greatest port haue all perswaded with him,
But none can driue him from the enuious plea
Of forfeiture, of iustice, and his bond

   Iessi. When I was with him, I haue heard him sweare
To Tuball and to Chus, his Countri-men,
That he would rather haue Anthonio's flesh,
Then twenty times the value of the summe
That he did owe him: and I know my Lord,
If law, authoritie, and power denie not,
It will goe hard with poore Anthonio

   Por. Is it your deere friend that is thus in trouble?
  Bass. The deerest friend to me, the kindest man,
The best condition'd, and vnwearied spirit
In doing curtesies: and one in whom
The ancient Romane honour more appeares
Then any that drawes breath in Italie

   Por. What summe owes he the Iew?
  Bass. For me three thousand ducats

   Por. What, no more?
Pay him sixe thousand, and deface the bond:
Double sixe thousand, and then treble that,
Before a friend of this description
Shall lose a haire through Bassanio's fault.
First goe with me to Church, and call me wife,
And then away to Venice to your friend:
For neuer shall you lie by Portias side
With an vnquiet soule. You shall haue gold
To pay the petty debt twenty times ouer.
When it is payd, bring your true friend along,
My maid Nerrissa, and my selfe meane time
Will liue as maids and widdowes; come away,
For you shall hence vpon your wedding day:
Bid your friends welcome, show a merry cheere,
Since you are deere bought, I will loue you deere.
But let me heare the letter of your friend.
Sweet Bassanio, my ships haue all miscarried, my Creditors
grow cruell, my estate is very low, my bond to the Iew is
forfeit, and since in paying it, it is impossible I should liue, all
debts are cleerd between you and I, if I might see you at my
death: notwithstanding, vse your pleasure, if your loue doe not
perswade you to come, let not my letter

   Por. O loue! dispach all busines and be gone

   Bass. Since I haue your good leaue to goe away,
I will make hast; but till I come againe,
No bed shall ere be guilty of my stay,
Nor rest be interposer twixt vs twaine.

Exeunt.

Enter the Iew, and Solanio, and Anthonio, and the Iaylor.

  Iew. Iaylor, looke to him, tell not me of mercy,
This is the foole that lends out money gratis.
Iaylor, looke to him

   Ant. Heare me yet good Shylok

   Iew. Ile haue my bond, speake not against my bond,
I haue sworne an oath that I will haue my bond:
Thou call'dst me dog before thou hadst a cause,
But since I am a dog, beware my phangs,
The Duke shall grant me iustice, I do wonder
Thou naughty Iaylor, that thou art so fond
To come abroad with him at his request

   Ant. I pray thee heare me speake

   Iew. Ile haue my bond, I will not heare thee speake,
Ile haue my bond, and therefore speake no more,
Ile not be made a soft and dull ey'd foole,
To shake the head, relent, and sigh, and yeeld
To Christian intercessors: follow not,
Ile haue no speaking, I will haue my bond.

Exit Iew.

  Sol. It is the most impenetrable curre
That euer kept with men

   Ant. Let him alone,
Ile follow him no more with bootlesse prayers:
He seekes my life, his reason well I know;
I oft deliuer'd from his forfeitures
Many that haue at times made mone to me,
Therefore he hates me

   Sol. I am sure the Duke will neuer grant
this forfeiture to hold

   An. The Duke cannot deny the course of law:
For the commoditie that strangers haue
With vs in Venice, if it be denied,
Will much impeach the iustice of the State,
Since that the trade and profit of the citty
Consisteth of all Nations. Therefore goe,
These greefes and losses haue so bated mee,
That I shall hardly spare a pound of flesh
To morrow, to my bloudy Creditor.
Well Iaylor, on, pray God Bassanio come
To see me pay his debt, and then I care not.

Exeunt.

Enter Portia, Nerrissa, Lorenzo, Iessica, and a man of Portias.

  Lor. Madam, although I speake it in your presence,
You haue a noble and a true conceit
Of god-like amity, which appeares most strongly
In bearing thus the absence of your Lord.
But if you knew to whom you shew this honour,
How true a Gentleman you send releefe,
How deere a louer of my Lord your husband,
I know you would be prouder of the worke
Then customary bounty can enforce you

   Por. I neuer did repent for doing good,
Nor shall not now: for in companions
That do conuerse and waste the time together,
Whose soules doe beare an egal yoke of loue.
There must be needs a like proportion
Of lyniaments, of manners, and of spirit;
Which makes me thinke that this Anthonio
Being the bosome louer of my Lord,
Must needs be like my Lord. If it be so,
How little is the cost I haue bestowed
In purchasing the semblance of my soule;
From out the state of hellish cruelty,
This comes too neere the praising of my selfe,
Therefore no more of it: heere other things
Lorenso I commit into your hands,
The husbandry and mannage of my house,
Vntill my Lords returne; for mine owne part
I haue toward heauen breath'd a secret vow,
To liue in prayer and contemplation,
Onely attended by Nerrissa heere,
Vntill her husband and my Lords returne:
There is a monastery too miles off,
And there we will abide. I doe desire you
Not to denie this imposition,
The which my loue and some necessity
Now layes vpon you

   Lorens. Madame, with all my heart,
I shall obey you in all faire commands

   Por. My people doe already know my minde,
And will acknowledge you and Iessica
In place of Lord Bassanio and my selfe.
So far you well till we shall meete againe

   Lor. Faire thoughts & happy houres attend on you

   Iessi. I wish your Ladiship all hearts content

   Por. I thanke you for your wish, and am well pleas'd
To wish it backe on you: faryouwell Iessica.

Exeunt.

Now Balthaser, as I haue euer found thee honest true,
So let me finde thee still: take this same letter,
And vse thou all the indeauor of a man,
In speed to Mantua, see thou render this
Into my cosins hand, Doctor Belario,
And looke what notes and garments he doth giue thee,
Bring them I pray thee with imagin'd speed
Vnto the Tranect, to the common Ferrie
Which trades to Venice; waste no time in words,
But get thee gone, I shall be there before thee

   Balth. Madam, I goe with all conuenient speed

   Por. Come on Nerissa, I haue worke in hand
That you yet know not of; wee'll see our husbands
Before they thinke of vs?
  Nerrissa. Shall they see vs?
  Portia. They shall Nerrissa: but in such a habit,
That they shall thinke we are accomplished
With that we lacke; Ile hold thee any wager
When we are both accoutered like yong men,
Ile proue the prettier fellow of the two,
And weare my dagger with the brauer grace,
And speake betweene the change of man and boy,
With a reede voyce, and turne two minsing steps
Into a manly stride; and speake of frayes
Like a fine bragging youth: and tell quaint lyes
How honourable Ladies sought my loue,
Which I denying, they fell sicke and died.
I could not doe withall: then Ile repent,
And wish for all that, that I had not kil'd them;
And twentie of these punie lies Ile tell,
That men shall sweare I haue discontinued schoole
Aboue a twelue moneth: I haue within my minde
A thousand raw tricks of these bragging Iacks,
Which I will practise

   Nerris. Why, shall wee turne to men?
  Portia. Fie, what a questions that?
If thou wert nere a lewd interpreter:
But come, Ile tell thee all my whole deuice
When I am in my coach, which stayes for vs
At the Parke gate; and therefore haste away,
For we must measure twentie miles to day.

Exeunt.

Enter Clowne and Iessica.

  Clown. Yes truly; for looke you, the sinnes of the Father
are to be laid vpon the children, therefore I promise
you, I feare you, I was alwaies plaine with you, and so
now I speake my agitation of the matter: therfore be of
good cheere, for truly I thinke you are damn'd, there is
but one hope in it that can doe you anie good, and that is
but a kinde of bastard hope neither

   Iessica. And what hope is that I pray thee?
  Clow. Marrie you may partlie hope that your father
got you not, that you are not the Iewes daughter

   Ies. That were a kinde of bastard hope indeed, so the
sins of my mother should be visited vpon me

   Clow. Truly then I feare you are damned both by father
and mother: thus when I shun Scilla your father, I
fall into Charibdis your mother; well, you are gone both
waies

   Ies. I shall be sau'd by my husband, he hath made me
a Christian

   Clow. Truly the more to blame he, we were Christians
enow before, e'ne as many as could wel liue one by another:
this making of Christians will raise the price of
Hogs, if wee grow all to be porke-eaters, wee shall not
shortlie haue a rasher on the coales for money.
Enter Lorenzo.

  Ies. Ile tell my husband Lancelet what you say, heere
he comes

   Loren. I shall grow iealous of you shortly Lancelet,
if you thus get my wife into corners?
  Ies. Nay, you need not feare vs Lorenzo, Launcelet
and I are out, he tells me flatly there is no mercy for mee
in heauen, because I am a Iewes daughter: and hee saies
you are no good member of the common wealth, for
in conuerting Iewes to Christians, you raise the price
of Porke

   Loren. I shall answere that better to the Commonwealth,
than you can the getting vp of the Negroes bellie:
the Moore is with childe by you Launcelet?
  Clow. It is much that the Moore should be more then
reason: but if she be lesse then an honest woman, shee is
indeed more then I tooke her for

   Loren. How euerie foole can play vpon the word, I
thinke the best grace of witte will shortly turne into silence,
and discourse grow commendable in none onely
but Parrats: goe in sirra, bid them prepare for dinner?
  Clow. That is done sir, they haue all stomacks?
  Loren. Goodly Lord, what a witte-snapper are you,
then bid them prepare dinner

   Clow. That is done to sir, onely couer is the word

   Loren. Will you couer than sir?
  Clow. Not so sir neither, I know my dutie

   Loren. Yet more quarreling with occasion, wilt thou
shew the whole wealth of thy wit in an instant; I pray
thee vnderstand a plaine man in his plaine meaning: goe
to thy fellowes, bid them couer the table, serue in the
meat, and we will come in to dinner

   Clow. For the table sir, it shall be seru'd in, for the
meat sir, it shall bee couered, for your comming in to
dinner sir, why let it be as humors and conceits shall gouerne.

Exit Clowne.

  Lor. O deare discretion, how his words are suted,
The foole hath planted in his memory
An Armie of good words, and I doe know
A many fooles that stand in better place,
Garnisht like him, that for a tricksie word
Defie the matter: how cheer'st thou Iessica,
And now good sweet say thy opinion,
How dost thou like the Lord Bassiano's wife?
  Iessi. Past all expressing, it is very meete
The Lord Bassanio liue an vpright life
For hauing such a blessing in his Lady,
He findes the ioyes of heauen heere on earth,
And if on earth he doe not meane it, it
Is reason he should neuer come to heauen?
Why, if two gods should play some heauenly match,
And on the wager lay two earthly women,
And Portia one: there must be something else
Paund with the other, for the poore rude world
Hath not her fellow

   Loren. Euen such a husband
Hast thou of me, as she is for a wife

   Ies. Nay, but aske my opinion to of that?
  Lor. I will anone, first let vs goe to dinner?
  Ies. Nay, let me praise you while I haue a stomacke?
  Lor. No pray thee, let it serue for table talke,
Then how som ere thou speakst 'mong other things,
I shall digest it?
  Iessi. Well, Ile set you forth.

Exeunt.


Actus Quartus.

Enter the Duke, the Magnificoes, Anthonio, Bassanio, and
Gratiano

   Duke. What, is Anthonio heere?
  Ant. Ready, so please your grace?
  Duke. I am sorry for thee, thou art come to answere
A stonie aduersary, an inhumane wretch,
Vncapable of pitty, voyd, and empty
From any dram of mercie

   Ant. I haue heard
Your Grace hath tane great paines to qualifie
His rigorous course: but since he stands obdurate,
And that no lawful meanes can carrie me
Out of his enuies reach, I do oppose
My patience to his fury, and am arm'd
To suffer with a quietnesse of spirit,
The very tiranny and rage of his

   Du. Go one and cal the Iew into the Court

   Sal. He is ready at the doore, he comes my Lord.
Enter Shylocke.

  Du. Make roome, and let him stand before our face.
Shylocke the world thinkes, and I thinke so to
That thou but leadest this fashion of thy mallice
To the last houre of act, and then 'tis thought
Thou'lt shew thy mercy and remorse more strange,
Than is thy strange apparant cruelty;
And where thou now exact'st the penalty,
Which is a pound of this poore Merchants flesh,
Thou wilt not onely loose the forfeiture,
But touch'd with humane gentlenesse and loue:
Forgiue a moytie of the principall,
Glancing an eye of pitty on his losses
That haue of late so hudled on his backe,
Enow to presse a royall Merchant downe;
And plucke commiseration of his state
From brassie bosomes, and rough hearts of flints,
From stubborne Turkes and Tarters neuer traind
To offices of tender curtesie,
We all expect a gentle answer Iew?
  Iew. I haue possest your grace of what I purpose,
And by our holy Sabbath haue I sworne
To haue the due and forfeit of my bond.
If you denie it, let the danger light
Vpon your Charter, and your Cities freedome.
You'l aske me why I rather choose to haue
A weight of carrion flesh, then to receiue
Three thousand Ducats? Ile not answer that:
But say it is my humor; Is it answered?
What if my house be troubled with a Rat,
And I be pleas'd to giue ten thousand Ducates
To haue it bain'd? What, are you answer'd yet?
Some men there are loue not a gaping Pigge:
Some that are mad, if they behold a Cat:
And others, when the bag-pipe sings i'th nose,
Cannot containe their Vrine for affection.
Masters of passion swayes it to the moode
Of what it likes or loaths, now for your answer:
As there is no firme reason to be rendred
Why he cannot abide a gaping Pigge?
Why he a harmlesse necessarie Cat?
Why he a woollen bag-pipe: but of force
Must yeeld to such ineuitable shame,
As to offend himselfe being offended:
So can I giue no reason, nor I will not,
More then a lodg'd hate, and a certaine loathing
I beare Anthonio, that I follow thus
A loosing suite against him? Are you answered?
  Bass. This is no answer thou vnfeeling man,
To excuse the currant of thy cruelty

   Iew. I am not bound to please thee with my answer

   Bass. Do all men kil the things they do not loue?
  Iew. Hates any man the thing he would not kill?
  Bass. Euerie offence is not a hate at first

   Iew. What wouldst thou haue a Serpent sting thee
twice?
  Ant. I pray you thinke you question with the Iew:
You may as well go stand vpon the beach,
And bid the maine flood baite his vsuall height,
Or euen as well vse question with the Wolfe,
The Ewe bleate for the Lambe:
You may as well forbid the Mountaine Pines
To wagge their high tops, and to make no noise
When they are fretted with the gusts of heauen:
You may as well do any thing most hard,
As seeke to soften that, then which what harder?
His Iewish heart. Therefore I do beseech you
Make no more offers, vse no farther meanes,
But with all briefe and plaine conueniencie
Let me haue iudgement, and the Iew his will

   Bas. For thy three thousand Ducates heere is six

   Iew. If euerie Ducat in sixe thousand Ducates
Were in sixe parts, and euery part a Ducate,
I would not draw them, I would haue my bond?
  Du. How shalt thou hope for mercie, rendring none?
  Iew. What iudgement shall I dread doing no wrong?
You haue among you many a purchast slaue,
Which like your Asses, and your Dogs and Mules,
You vse in abiect and in slauish parts,
Because you bought them. Shall I say to you,
Let them be free, marrie them to your heires?
Why sweate they vnder burthens? Let their beds
Be made as soft as yours: and let their pallats
Be season'd with such Viands: you will answer
The slaues are ours. So do I answer you.
The pound of flesh which I demand of him
Is deerely bought, 'tis mine, and I will haue it.
If you deny me; fie vpon your Law,
There is no force in the decrees of Venice;
I stand for iudgement, answer, Shall I haue it?
  Du. Vpon my power I may dismisse this Court,
Vnlesse Bellario a learned Doctor,
Whom I haue sent for to determine this,
Come heere to day

   Sal. My Lord, heere stayes without
A Messenger with Letters from the Doctor,
New come from Padua

   Du. Bring vs the Letters, Call the Messengers

   Bass. Good cheere Anthonio. What man, corage yet:
The Iew shall haue my flesh, blood, bones, and all,
Ere thou shalt loose for me one drop of blood

   Ant. I am a tainted Weather of the flocke,
Meetest for death, the weakest kinde of fruite
Drops earliest to the ground, and so let me;
You cannot better be employ'd Bassanio,
Then to liue still, and write mine Epitaph.
Enter Nerrissa.

  Du. Came you from Padua from Bellario?
  Ner. From both.
My Lord Bellario greets your Grace

   Bas. Why dost thou whet thy knife so earnestly?
  Iew. To cut the forfeiture from that bankrout there

   Gra. Not on thy soale: but on thy soule harsh Iew
Thou mak'st thy knife keene: but no mettall can,
No, not the hangmans Axe beare halfe the keennesse
Of thy sharpe enuy. Can no prayers pierce thee?
  Iew. No, none that thou hast wit enough to make

   Gra. O be thou damn'd, inexecrable dogge,
And for thy life let iustice be accus'd:
Thou almost mak'st me wauer in my faith;
To hold opinion with Pythagoras,
That soules of Animals infuse themselues
Into the trunkes of men. Thy currish spirit
Gouern'd a Wolfe, who hang'd for humane slaughter,
Euen from the gallowes did his fell soule fleet;
And whil'st thou layest in thy vnhallowed dam,
Infus'd it selfe in thee: For thy desires
Are Woluish, bloody, steru'd, and rauenous

   Iew. Till thou canst raile the seale from off my bond
Thou but offend'st thy Lungs to speake so loud:
Repaire thy wit good youth, or it will fall
To endlesse ruine. I stand heere for Law

   Du. This Letter from Bellario doth commend
A yong and Learned Doctor in our Court;
Where is he?
  Ner. He attendeth heere hard by
To know your answer, whether you'l admit him

   Du. With all my heart. Some three or four of you
Go giue him curteous conduct to this place,
Meane time the Court shall heare Bellarioes Letter.
Your Grace shall vnderstand, that at the receite of your
Letter I am very sicke: but in the instant that your messenger
came, in louing visitation, was with me a yong Doctor
of Rome, his name is Balthasar: I acquainted him with
the cause in Controuersie, betweene the Iew and Anthonio
the Merchant: We turn'd ore many Bookes together: hee is
furnished with my opinion, which bettred with his owne learning,
the greatnesse whereof I cannot enough commend, comes
with him at my importunity, to fill vp your Graces request in
my sted. I beseech you, let his lacke of years be no impediment
to let him lacke a reuerend estimation: for I neuer knewe so
yong a body, with so old a head. I leaue him to your gracious
acceptance, whose trial shall better publish his commendation.
Enter Portia for Balthazar.

  Duke. You heare the learn'd Bellario what he writes,
And heere (I take it) is the Doctor come.
Giue me your hand: Came you from old Bellario?
  Por. I did my Lord

   Du. You are welcome: take your place;
Are you acquainted with the difference
That holds this present question in the Court

   Por. I am enformed throughly of the cause.
Which is the Merchant heere? and which the Iew?
  Du. Anthonio and old Shylocke, both stand forth

   Por. Is your name Shylocke?
  Iew. Shylocke is my name

   Por. Of a strange nature is the sute you follow,
Yet in such rule, that the Venetian Law
Cannot impugne you as you do proceed.
You stand within his danger, do you not?
  Ant. I, so he sayes

   Por. Do you confesse the bond?
  Ant. I do

   Por. Then must the Iew be mercifull

   Iew. On what compulsion must I ? Tell me that

   Por. The quality of mercy is not strain'd,
It droppeth as the gentle raine from heauen
Vpon the place beneath. It is twice blest,
It blesseth him that giues, and him that takes,
'Tis mightiest in the mightiest, it becomes
The throned Monarch better then his Crowne.
His Scepter shewes the force of temporall power,
The attribute to awe and Maiestie,
Wherein doth sit the dread and feare of Kings:
But mercy is aboue this sceptred sway,
It is enthroned in the hearts of Kings,
It is an attribute to God himselfe;
And earthly power doth then shew likest Gods
When mercie seasons Iustice. Therefore Iew,
Though Iustice be thy plea, consider this,
That in the course of Iustice, none of vs
Should see saluation: we do pray for mercie,
And that same prayer, doth teach vs all to render
The deeds of mercie. I haue spoke thus much
To mittigate the iustice of thy plea:
Which if thou follow, this strict course of Venice
Must needes giue sentence 'gainst the Merchant there

   Shy. My deeds vpon my head, I craue the Law,
The penaltie and forfeite of my bond

   Por. Is he not able to discharge the money?
  Bas. Yes, heere I tender it for him in the Court,
Yea, twice the summe, if that will not suffice,
I will be bound to pay it ten times ore,
On forfeit of my hands, my head, my heart:
If this will not suffice, it must appeare
That malice beares downe truth. And I beseech you
Wrest once the Law to your authority.
To do a great right, do a little wrong,
And curbe this cruell diuell of his will

   Por. It must not be, there is no power in Venice
Can alter a decree established:
'Twill be recorded for a President,
And many an error by the same example,
Will rush into the state: It cannot be

   Iew. A Daniel come to iudgement, yea a Daniel.
O wise young Iudge, how do I honour thee

   Por. I pray you let me looke vpon the bond

   Iew. Heere 'tis most reuerend Doctor, heere it is

   Por. Shylocke, there's thrice thy monie offered thee

   Shy. An oath, an oath, I haue an oath in heauen:
Shall I lay periurie vpon my soule?
No not for Venice

   Por. Why this bond is forfeit,
And lawfully by this the Iew may claime
A pound of flesh, to be by him cut off
Neerest the Merchants heart; be mercifull,
Take thrice thy money, bid me teare the bond

   Iew. When it is paid according to the tenure.
It doth appeare you are a worthy Iudge:
You know the Law, your exposition
Hath beene most sound. I charge you by the Law,
Whereof you are a well-deseruing pillar,
Proceede to iudgement: By my soule I sweare,
There is no power in the tongue of man
To alter me: I stay heere on my bond

   An. Most heartily I do beseech the Court
To giue the iudgement

   Por. Why then thus it is:
You must prepare your bosome for his knife

   Iew. O noble Iudge, O excellent yong man

   Por. For the intent and purpose of the Law
Hath full relation to the penaltie,
Which heere appeareth due vpon the bond

   Iew. 'Tis verie true: O wise and vpright Iudge,
How much more elder art thou then thy lookes?
  Por. Therefore lay bare your bosome

   Iew. I, his brest,
So sayes the bond, doth it not noble Iudge?
Neerest his heart, those are the very words

   Por. It is so: Are there ballance heere to weigh the
flesh?
  Iew. I haue them ready

   Por. Haue by some Surgeon Shylock on your charge
To stop his wounds, least he should bleede to death

   Iew. It is not nominated in the bond?
  Por. It is not so exprest: but what of that?
'Twere good you do so much for charitie

   Iew. I cannot finde it, 'tis not in the bond

   Por. Come Merchant, haue you any thing to say?
  Ant. But little: I am arm'd and well prepar'd.
Giue me your hand Bassanio, fare you well.
Greeue not that I am falne to this for you:
For heerein fortune shewes her selfe more kinde
Then is her custome. It is still her vse
To let the wretched man out-liue his wealth,
To view with hollow eye, and wrinkled brow
An age of pouerty. From which lingring penance
Of such miserie, doth she cut me off:
Commend me to your honourable Wife,
Tell her the processe of Anthonio's end:
Say how I lou'd you; speake me faire in death:
And when the tale is told, bid her be iudge,
Whether Bassanio had not once a Loue:
Repent not you that you shall loose your friend,
And he repents not that he payes your debt.
For if the Iew do cut but deepe enough,
Ile pay it instantly, with all my heart

   Bas. Anthonio, I am married to a wife,
Which is as deere to me as life it selfe,
But life it selfe, my wife, and all the world,
Are not with me esteem'd aboue thy life.
I would loose all, I sacrifice them all
Heere to this deuill, to deliuer you

   Por. Your wife would giue you little thanks for that
If she were by to heare you make the offer

   Gra. I haue a wife whom I protest I loue,
I would she were in heauen, so she could
Intreat some power to change this currish Iew

   Ner. 'Tis well you offer it behinde her backe,
The wish would make else an vnquiet house

   Iew. These be the Christian husbands: I haue a daughter
Would any of the stocke of Barrabas
Had beene her husband, rather then a Christian.
We trifle time, I pray thee pursue sentence

   Por. A pound of that same marchants flesh is thine,
The Court awards it, and the law doth giue it

   Iew. Most rightfull Iudge

   Por. And you must cut this flesh from off his breast,
The Law allowes it, and the Court awards it

   Iew. Most learned Iudge, a sentence, come prepare

   Por. Tarry a little, there is something else,
This bond doth giue thee heere no iot of bloud,
The words expresly are a pound of flesh:
Then take thy bond, take thou thy pound of flesh,
But in the cutting it, if thou dost shed
One drop of Christian bloud, thy lands and goods
Are by the Lawes of Venice confiscate
Vnto the state of Venice

   Gra. O vpright Iudge,
Marke Iew, o learned Iudge

   Shy. Is that the law?
  Por. Thy selfe shalt see the Act:
For as thou vrgest iustice, be assur'd
Thou shalt haue iustice more then thou desirest

   Gra. O learned Iudge, mark Iew, a learned Iudge

   Iew. I take this offer then, pay the bond thrice,
And let the Christian goe

   Bass. Heere is the money

   Por. Soft, the Iew shall haue all iustice, soft, no haste,
He shall haue nothing but the penalty

   Gra. O Iew, an vpright Iudge, a learned Iudge

   Por. Therefore prepare thee to cut off the flesh,
Shed thou no bloud, nor cut thou lesse nor more
But iust a pound of flesh: if thou tak'st more
Or lesse then a iust pound, be it so much
As makes it light or heauy in the substance,
Or the deuision of the twentieth part
Of one poore scruple, nay if the scale doe turne
But in the estimation of a hayre,
Thou diest, and all thy goods are confiscate

   Gra. A second Daniel, a Daniel Iew,
Now infidell I haue thee on the hip

   Por. Why doth the Iew pause, take thy forfeiture

   Shy. Giue me my principall, and let me goe

   Bass. I haue it ready for thee, heere it is

   Por. He hath refus'd it in the open Court,
He shall haue meerly iustice and his bond

   Gra. A Daniel still say I, a second Daniel,
I thanke thee Iew for teaching me that word

   Shy. Shall I not haue barely my principall?
  Por. Thou shalt haue nothing but the forfeiture,
To be taken so at thy perill Iew

   Shy. Why then the Deuill giue him good of it:
Ile stay no longer question

   Por. Tarry Iew,
The Law hath yet another hold on you.
It is enacted in the Lawes of Venice,
If it be proued against an Alien,
That by direct, or indirect attempts
He seeke the life of any Citizen,
The party gainst the which he doth contriue,
Shall seaze one halfe his goods, the other halfe
Comes to the priuie coffer of the State,
And the offenders life lies in the mercy
Of the Duke onely, gainst all other voice.
In which predicament I say thou standst:
For it appeares by manifest proceeding,
That indirectly, and directly to,
Thou hast contriu'd against the very life
Of the defendant: and thou hast incur'd
The danger formerly by me rehearst.
Downe therefore, and beg mercy of the Duke

   Gra. Beg that thou maist haue leaue to hang thy selfe,
And yet thy wealth being forfeit to the state,
Thou hast not left the value of a cord,
Therefore thou must be hang'd at the states charge

   Duk. That thou shalt see the difference of our spirit,
I pardon thee thy life before thou aske it:
For halfe thy wealth, it is Anthonio's
The other halfe comes to the generall state,
Which humblenesse may driue vnto a fine

   Por. I for the state, not for Anthonio

   Shy. Nay, take my life and all, pardon not that,
You take my house, when you do take the prop
That doth sustaine my house: you take my life
When you doe take the meanes whereby I liue

   Por. What mercy can you render him Anthonio?
  Gra. A halter gratis, nothing else for Gods sake

   Ant. So please my Lord the Duke, and all the Court
To quit the fine for one halfe of his goods,
I am content: so he will let me haue
The other halfe in vse, to render it
Vpon his death, vnto the Gentleman
That lately stole his daughter.
Two things prouided more, that for this fauour
He presently become a Christian:
The other, that he doe record a gift
Heere in the Court of all he dies possest
Vnto his sonne Lorenzo, and his daughter

   Duk. He shall doe this, or else I doe recant
The pardon that I late pronounced heere

   Por. Art thou contented Iew? what dost thou say?
  Shy. I am content

   Por. Clarke, draw a deed of gift

   Shy. I pray you giue me leaue to goe from hence,
I am not well, send the deed after me,
And I will signe it

   Duke. Get thee gone, but doe it

   Gra. In christning thou shalt haue two godfathers,
Had I been iudge, thou shouldst haue had ten more,
To bring thee to the gallowes, not to the font.
Enter.

  Du. Sir I intreat you with me home to dinner

   Por. I humbly doe desire your Grace of pardon,
I must away this night toward Padua,
And it is meete I presently set forth

   Duk. I am sorry that your leysure serues you not:
Anthonio, gratifie this gentleman,
For in my minde you are much bound to him.

Exit Duke and his traine.

  Bass. Most worthy gentleman, I and my friend
Haue by your wisedome beene this day acquitted
Of greeuous penalties, in lieu whereof,
Three thousand Ducats due vnto the Iew
We freely cope your curteous paines withall

   An. And stand indebted ouer and aboue
In loue and seruice to you euermore

   Por. He is well paid that is well satisfied,
And I deliuering you, am satisfied,
And therein doe account my selfe well paid,
My minde was neuer yet more mercinarie.
I pray you know me when we meete againe,
I wish you well, and so I take my leaue

   Bass. Deare sir, of force I must attempt you further,
Take some remembrance of vs as a tribute,
Not as fee: grant me two things, I pray you
Not to denie me, and to pardon me

   Por. You presse mee farre, and therefore I will yeeld,
Giue me your gloues, Ile weare them for your sake,
And for your loue Ile take this ring from you,
Doe not draw backe your hand, ile take no more,
And you in loue shall not deny me this?
  Bass. This ring good sir, alas it is a trifle,
I will not shame my selfe to giue you this

   Por. I wil haue nothing else but onely this,
And now methinkes I haue a minde to it

   Bas. There's more depends on this then on the valew,
The dearest ring in Venice will I giue you,
And finde it out by proclamation,
Onely for this I pray you pardon me

   Por. I see sir you are liberall in offers,
You taught me first to beg, and now me thinkes
You teach me how a beggar should be answer'd

   Bas. Good sir, this ring was giuen me by my wife,
And when she put it on, she made me vow
That I should neither sell, nor giue, nor lose it

   Por. That scuse serues many men to saue their gifts,
And if your wife be not a mad woman,
And know how well I haue deseru'd this ring,
Shee would not hold out enemy for euer
For giuing it to me: well, peace be with you.

Exeunt.

  Ant. My L[ord]. Bassanio, let him haue the ring,
Let his deseruings and my loue withall
Be valued against your wiues commandement

   Bass. Goe Gratiano, run and ouer-take him,
Giue him the ring, and bring him if thou canst
Vnto Anthonios house, away, make haste.

Exit Grati.

Come, you and I will thither presently,
And in the morning early will we both
Flie toward Belmont, come Anthonio.

Exeunt.

Enter Portia and Nerrissa.

  Por. Enquire the Iewes house out, giue him this deed,
And let him signe it, wee'll away to night,
And be a day before our husbands home:
This deed will be well welcome to Lorenzo.
Enter Gratiano.

  Gra. Faire sir, you are well ore-tane:
My L[ord]. Bassanio vpon more aduice,
Hath sent you heere this ring, and doth intreat
Your company at dinner

   Por. That cannot be;
His ring I doe accept most thankfully,
And so I pray you tell him: furthermore,
I pray you shew my youth old Shylockes house

   Gra. That will I doe

   Ner. Sir, I would speake with you:
Ile see if I can get my husbands ring
Which I did make him sweare to keepe for euer

   Por. Thou maist I warrant, we shal haue old swearing
That they did giue the rings away to men;
But weele out-face them, and out-sweare them to:
Away, make haste, thou know'st where I will tarry

   Ner. Come good sir, will you shew me to this house.

Exeunt.


Actus Quintus.

Enter Lorenzo and Iessica.

  Lor. The moone shines bright. In such a night as this,
When the sweet winde did gently kisse the trees,
And they did make no noyse, in such a night
Troylus me thinkes mounted the Troian walls,
And sigh'd his soule toward the Grecian tents
Where Cressed lay that night

   Ies. In such a night
Did Thisbie fearefully ore-trip the dewe,
And saw the Lyons shadow ere himselfe,
And ranne dismayed away

   Loren. In such a night
Stood Dido with a Willow in her hand
Vpon the wilde sea bankes, and waft her Loue
To come againe to Carthage

   Ies. In such a night
Medea gathered the inchanted hearbs
That did renew old Eson

   Loren. In such a night
Did Iessica steale from the wealthy Iewe,
And with an Vnthrift Loue did runne from Venice,
As farre as Belmont

   Ies. In such a night
Did young Lorenzo sweare he lou'd her well,
Stealing her soule with many vowes of faith,
And nere a true one

   Loren. In such a night
Did pretty Iessica (like a little shrow)
Slander her Loue, and he forgaue it her

   Iessi. I would out-night you did no body come:
But harke, I heare the footing of a man.
Enter Messenger.

  Lor. Who comes so fast in silence of the night?
  Mes. A friend

   Loren. A friend, what friend? your name I pray you friend?
  Mes. Stephano is my name, and I bring word
My Mistresse will before the breake of day
Be heere at Belmont, she doth stray about
By holy crosses where she kneeles and prayes
For happy wedlocke houres

   Loren. Who comes with her?
  Mes. None but a holy Hermit and her maid:
I pray you is my Master yet return'd?
  Loren. He is not, nor we haue not heard from him,
But goe we in I pray thee Iessica,
And ceremoniously let vs prepare
Some welcome for the Mistresse of the house,
Enter Clowne.

  Clo. Sola, sola: wo ha ho, sola, sola

   Loren. Who calls?
  Clo. Sola, did you see M[aster]. Lorenzo, & M[aster]. Lorenzo,
sola,
  Lor. Leaue hollowing man, heere

   Clo. Sola, where, where?
  Lor. Heere?
  Clo. Tel him ther's a Post come from my Master, with
his horne full of good newes, my Master will be here ere
morning sweete soule

   Loren. Let's in, and there expect their comming.
And yet no matter: why should we goe in?
My friend Stephen, signifie pray you
Within the house, your Mistresse is at hand,
And bring your musique foorth into the ayre.
How sweet the moone-light sleepes vpon this banke,
Heere will we sit, and let the sounds of musicke
Creepe in our eares soft stilnes, and the night
Become the tutches of sweet harmonie:
Sit Iessica, looke how the floore of heauen
Is thicke inlayed with pattens of bright gold,
There's not the smallest orbe which thou beholdst
But in his motion like an Angell sings,
Still quiring to the young eyed Cherubins;
Such harmonie is in immortall soules,
But whilst this muddy vesture of decay
Doth grosly close in it, we cannot heare it:
Come hoe, and wake Diana with a hymne,
With sweetest tutches pearce your Mistresse eare,
And draw her home with musicke

   Iessi. I am neuer merry when I heare sweet musique.

Play musicke.

  Lor. The reason is, your spirits are attentiue:
For doe but note a wilde and wanton heard
Or race of youthful and vnhandled colts,
Fetching mad bounds, bellowing and neighing loud,
Which is the hot condition of their bloud,
If they but heare perchance a trumpet sound,
Or any ayre of musicke touch their eares,
You shall perceiue them make a mutuall stand,
Their sauage eyes turn'd to a modest gaze,
By the sweet power of musicke: therefore the Poet
Did faine that Orpheus drew trees, stones, and floods.
Since naught so stockish, hard, and full of rage,
But musicke for time doth change his nature,
The man that hath no musicke in himselfe,
Nor is not moued with concord of sweet sounds,
Is fit for treasons, stratagems, and spoyles,
The motions of his spirit are dull as night,
And his affections darke as Erobus,
Let no such man be trusted: marke the musicke.
Enter Portia and Nerrissa.

  Por. That light we see is burning in my hall:
How farre that little candell throwes his beames,
So shines a good deed in a naughty world

   Ner. When the moone shone we did not see the candle?
  Por. So doth the greater glory dim the lesse,
A substitute shines brightly as a King
Vntill a King be by, and then his state
Empties it selfe, as doth an inland brooke
Into the maine of waters: musique, harke.

Musicke.

  Ner. It is your musicke Madame of the house

   Por. Nothing is good I see without respect,
Methinkes it sounds much sweeter then by day?
  Ner. Silence bestowes that vertue on it Madam

   Por. The Crow doth sing as sweetly as the Larke
When neither is attended: and I thinke
The Nightingale if she should sing by day
When euery Goose is cackling, would be thought
No better a Musitian then the Wren?
How many things by season, season'd are
To their right praise, and true perfection:
Peace, how the Moone sleepes with Endimion,
And would not be awak'd.

Musicke ceases.

  Lor. That is the voice,
Or I am much deceiu'd of Portia

   Por. He knowes me as the blinde man knowes the
Cuckow by the bad voice?
  Lor. Deere Lady welcome home?
  Por. We haue bene praying for our husbands welfare
Which speed we hope the better for our words,
Are they return'd?
  Lor. Madam, they are not yet:
But there is come a Messenger before
To signifie their comming

   Por. Go in Nerrissa,
Giue order to my seruants, that they take
No note at all of our being absent hence,
Nor you Lorenzo, Iessica nor you.

A Tucket sounds.

  Lor. Your husband is at hand, I heare his Trumpet,
We are no tell-tales Madam, feare you not

   Por. This night methinkes is but the daylight sicke,
It lookes a little paler, 'tis a day,
Such as the day is, when the Sun is hid.
Enter Bassanio, Anthonio, Gratiano, and their Followers.

  Bas. We should hold day with the Antipodes,
If you would walke in absence of the sunne

   Por. Let me giue light, but let me not be light,
For a light wife doth make a heauie husband,
And neuer be Bassanio so for me,
But God sort all: you are welcome home my Lord

   Bass. I thanke you Madam, giue welcom to my friend
This is the man, this is Anthonio,
To whom I am so infinitely bound

   Por. You should in all sence be much bound to him,
For as I heare he was much bound for you

   Anth. No more then I am wel acquitted of

   Por. Sir, you are verie welcome to our house:
It must appeare in other waies then words,
Therefore I scant this breathing curtesie

   Gra. By yonder Moone I sweare you do me wrong,
Infaith I gaue it to the Iudges Clearke,
Would he were gelt that had it for my part,
Since you do take it Loue so much at hart

   Por. A quarrel hoe alreadie, what's the matter?
  Gra. About a hoope of Gold, a paltry Ring
That she did giue me, whose Poesie was
For all the world like Cutlers Poetry
Vpon a knife; Loue mee, and leaue mee not

   Ner. What talke you of the Poesie or the valew:
You swore to me when I did giue it you,
That you would weare it til the houre of death,
And that it should lye with you in your graue,
Though not for me, yet for your vehement oaths,
You should haue beene respectiue and haue kept it.
Gaue it a Iudges Clearke: but wel I know
The Clearke wil nere weare haire on's face that had it

   Gra. He wil, and if he liue to be a man

   Nerrissa. I, if a Woman liue to be a man

   Gra. Now by this hand I gaue it to a youth,
A kinde of boy, a little scrubbed boy,
No higher then thy selfe, the Iudges Clearke,
A prating boy that begg'd it as a Fee,
I could not for my heart deny it him

   Por. You were too blame, I must be plaine with you,
To part so slightly with your wiues first gift,
A thing stucke on with oathes vpon your finger,
And so riueted with faith vnto your flesh.
I gaue my Loue a Ring, and made him sweare
Neuer to part with it, and heere he stands:
I dare be sworne for him, he would not leaue it,
Nor plucke it from his finger, for the wealth
That the world masters. Now in faith Gratiano,
You giue your wife too vnkinde a cause of greefe,
And 'twere to me I should be mad at it

   Bass. Why I were best to cut my left hand off,
And sweare I lost the Ring defending it

   Gra. My Lord Bassanio gaue his Ring away
Vnto the Iudge that beg'd it, and indeede
Deseru'd it too: and then the Boy his Clearke
That tooke some paines in writing, he begg'd mine,
And neyther man nor master would take ought
But the two Rings

   Por. What Ring gaue you my Lord?
Not that I hope which you receiu'd of me

   Bass. If I could adde a lie vnto a fault,
I would deny it: but you see my finger
Hath not the Ring vpon it, it is gone

   Por. Euen so voide is your false heart of truth.
By heauen I wil nere come in your bed
Vntil I see the Ring

   Ner. Nor I in yours, til I againe see mine

   Bass. Sweet Portia,
If you did know to whom I gaue the Ring,
If you did know for whom I gaue the Ring,
And would conceiue for what I gaue the Ring,
And how vnwillingly I left the Ring,
When nought would be accepted but the Ring,
You would abate the strength of your displeasure?
  Por. If you had knowne the vertue of the Ring,
Or halfe her worthinesse that gaue the Ring,
Or your owne honour to containe the Ring,
You would not then haue parted with the Ring:
What man is there so much vnreasonable,
If you had pleas'd to haue defended it
With any termes of Zeale: wanted the modestie
To vrge the thing held as a ceremonie:
Nerrissa teaches me what to beleeue,
Ile die for't, but some Woman had the Ring?
  Bass. No by mine honor Madam, by my soule
No Woman had it, but a ciuill Doctor,
Which did refuse three thousand Ducates of me,
And beg'd the Ring; the which I did denie him,
And suffer'd him to go displeas'd away:
Euen he that had held vp the verie life
Of my deere friend. What should I say sweete Lady?
I was inforc'd to send it after him,
I was beset with shame and curtesie,
My honor would not let ingratitude
So much besmeare it. Pardon me good Lady,
And by these blessed Candles of the night,
Had you bene there, I thinke you would haue beg'd
The Ring of me, to giue the worthie Doctor?
  Por. Let not that Doctor ere come neere my house,
Since he hath got the iewell that I loued,
And that which you did sweare to keepe for me,
I will become as liberall as you,
Ile not deny him any thing I haue,
No, not my body, nor my husbands bed:
Know him I shall, I am well sure of it.
Lie not a night from home. Watch me like Argos,
If you doe not, if I be left alone,
Now by mine honour which is yet mine owne,
Ile haue the Doctor for my bedfellow

   Nerrissa. And I his Clarke: therefore be well aduis'd
How you doe leaue me to mine owne protection

   Gra. Well, doe you so: let not me take him then,
For if I doe, ile mar the yong Clarks pen

   Ant. I am th' vnhappy subiect of these quarrels

   Por. Sir, grieue not you,
You are welcome notwithstanding

   Bas. Portia, forgiue me this enforced wrong,
And in the hearing of these manie friends
I sweare to thee, euen by thine owne faire eyes
Wherein I see my selfe

   Por. Marke you but that?
In both my eyes he doubly sees himselfe:
In each eye one, sweare by your double selfe,
And there's an oath of credit

   Bas. Nay, but heare me.
Pardon this fault, and by my soule I sweare
I neuer more will breake an oath with thee

   Anth. I once did lend my bodie for thy wealth,
Which but for him that had your husbands ring
Had quite miscarried. I dare be bound againe,
My soule vpon the forfeit, that your Lord
Will neuer more breake faith aduisedlie

   Por. Then you shall be his suretie: giue him this,
And bid him keepe it better then the other

   Ant. Heere Lord Bassanio, swear to keep this ring

   Bass. By heauen it is the same I gaue the Doctor

   Por. I had it of him: pardon Bassanio,
For by this ring the Doctor lay with me

   Ner. And pardon me my gentle Gratiano,
For that same scrubbed boy the Doctors Clarke
In liew of this, last night did lye with me

   Gra. Why this is like the mending of high waies
In Sommer, where the waies are faire enough:
What, are we Cuckolds ere we haue deseru'd it

   Por. Speake not so grossely, you are all amaz'd;
Heere is a letter, reade it at your leysure,
It comes from Padua from Bellario,
There you shall finde that Portia was the Doctor,
Nerrissa there her Clarke. Lorenzo heere
Shall witnesse I set forth as soone as you,
And but eu'n now return'd: I haue not yet
Entred my house. Anthonio you are welcome,
And I haue better newes in store for you
Then you expect: vnseale this letter soone,
There you shall finde three of your Argosies
Are richly come to harbour sodainlie.
You shall not know by what strange accident
I chanced on this letter

   Antho. I am dumbe

   Bass. Were you the Doctor, and I knew you not?
  Gra. Were you the Clark that is to make me cuckold

   Ner. I, but the Clark that neuer meanes to doe it,
Vnlesse he liue vntill he be a man

   Bass. (Sweet Doctor) you shall be my bedfellow,
When I am absent, then lie with my wife

   An. (Sweet Ladie) you haue giuen me life & liuing;
For heere I reade for certaine that my ships
Are safelie come to Rode

   Por. How now Lorenzo?
My Clarke hath some good comforts to for you

   Ner. I, and Ile giue them him without a fee.
There doe I giue to you and Iessica
From the rich Iewe, a speciall deed of gift
After his death, of all he dies possess'd of

   Loren. Faire Ladies you drop Manna in the way
Of starued people

   Por. It is almost morning,
And yet I am sure you are not satisfied
Of these euents at full. Let vs goe in,
And charge vs there vpon intergatories,
And we will answer all things faithfully

   Gra. Let it be so, the first intergatory
That my Nerrissa shall be sworne on, is,
Whether till the next night she had rather stay,
Or goe to bed, now being two houres to day,
But were the day come, I should wish it darke,
Till I were couching with the Doctors Clarke.
Well, while I liue, Ile feare no other thing
So sore, as keeping safe Nerrissas ring.

Exeunt.

FINIS. The Merchant of Venice.


As you Like it

Actus primus. Scoena Prima.

Enter Orlando and Adam.

  Orlando. As I remember Adam, it was vpon this fashion
bequeathed me by will, but poore a thousand
Crownes, and as thou saist, charged my brother
on his blessing to breed mee well: and
there begins my sadnesse: My brother Iaques he keepes
at schoole, and report speakes goldenly of his profit:
for my part, he keepes me rustically at home, or (to speak
more properly) staies me heere at home vnkept: for call
you that keeping for a gentleman of my birth, that differs
not from the stalling of an Oxe? his horses are bred
better, for besides that they are faire with their feeding,
they are taught their mannage, and to that end Riders
deerely hir'd: but I (his brother) gaine nothing vnder
him but growth, for the which his Animals on his
dunghils are as much bound to him as I: besides this nothing
that he so plentifully giues me, the something that
nature gaue mee, his countenance seemes to take from
me: hee lets mee feede with his Hindes, barres mee the
place of a brother, and as much as in him lies, mines my
gentility with my education. This is it Adam that
grieues me, and the spirit of my Father, which I thinke
is within mee, begins to mutinie against this seruitude.
I will no longer endure it, though yet I know no wise
remedy how to auoid it.
Enter Oliuer.

  Adam. Yonder comes my Master, your brother

   Orlan. Goe a-part Adam, and thou shalt heare how
he will shake me vp

   Oli. Now Sir, what make you heere?
  Orl. Nothing: I am not taught to make any thing

   Oli. What mar you then sir?
  Orl. Marry sir, I am helping you to mar that which
God made, a poore vnworthy brother of yours with
idlenesse

   Oliuer. Marry sir be better employed, and be naught
a while

   Orlan. Shall I keepe your hogs, and eat huskes with
them? what prodigall portion haue I spent, that I should
come to such penury?
  Oli. Know you where you are sir?
  Orl. O sir, very well: heere in your Orchard

   Oli. Know you before whom sir?
  Orl. I, better then him I am before knowes mee: I
know you are my eldest brother, and in the gentle condition
of bloud you should so know me: the courtesie of
nations allowes you my better, in that you are the first
borne, but the same tradition takes not away my bloud,
were there twenty brothers betwixt vs: I haue as much
of my father in mee, as you, albeit I confesse your comming
before me is neerer to his reuerence

   Oli. What Boy

   Orl. Come, come elder brother, you are too yong in this

   Oli. Wilt thou lay hands on me villaine?
  Orl. I am no villaine: I am the yongest sonne of Sir
Rowland de Boys, he was my father, and he is thrice a villaine
that saies such a father begot villaines: wert thou
not my brother, I would not take this hand from thy
throat, till this other had puld out thy tongue for saying
so, thou hast raild on thy selfe

   Adam. Sweet Masters bee patient, for your Fathers
remembrance, be at accord

   Oli. Let me goe I say

   Orl. I will not till I please: you shall heare mee: my
father charg'd you in his will to giue me good education:
you haue train'd me like a pezant, obscuring and
hiding from me all gentleman-like qualities: the spirit
of my father growes strong in mee, and I will no longer
endure it: therefore allow me such exercises as may become
a gentleman, or giue mee the poore allottery my
father left me by testament, with that I will goe buy my
fortunes

   Oli. And what wilt thou do? beg when that is spent?
Well sir, get you in. I will not long be troubled with
you: you shall haue some part of your will, I pray you
leaue me

   Orl. I will no further offend you, then becomes mee
for my good

   Oli. Get you with him, you olde dogge

   Adam. Is old dogge my reward: most true, I haue
lost my teeth in your seruice: God be with my olde master,
he would not haue spoke such a word.

Ex. Orl. Ad.

  Oli. Is it euen so, begin you to grow vpon me? I will
physicke your ranckenesse, and yet giue no thousand
crownes neyther: holla Dennis.
Enter Dennis.

  Den. Calls your worship?
  Oli. Was not Charles the Dukes Wrastler heere to
speake with me?
  Den. So please you, he is heere at the doore, and importunes
accesse to you

   Oli. Call him in: 'twill be a good way: and to morrow
the wrastling is.
Enter Charles.

  Cha. Good morrow to your worship

   Oli. Good Mounsier Charles: what's the new newes
at the new Court?
  Charles. There's no newes at the Court Sir, but the
olde newes: that is, the old Duke is banished by his yonger
brother the new Duke, and three or foure louing
Lords haue put themselues into voluntary exile with
him, whose lands and reuenues enrich the new Duke,
therefore he giues them good leaue to wander

   Oli. Can you tell if Rosalind the Dukes daughter bee
banished with her Father?
  Cha. O no; for the Dukes daughter her Cosen so
loues her, being euer from their Cradles bred together,
that hee would haue followed her exile, or haue died to
stay behind her; she is at the Court, and no lesse beloued
of her Vncle, then his owne daughter, and neuer two Ladies
loued as they doe

   Oli. Where will the old Duke liue?
  Cha. They say hee is already in the Forrest of Arden,
and a many merry men with him; and there they liue
like the old Robin Hood of England: they say many yong
Gentlemen flocke to him euery day, and fleet the time
carelesly as they did in the golden world

   Oli. What, you wrastle to morrow before the new
Duke

   Cha. Marry doe I sir: and I came to acquaint you
with a matter: I am giuen sir secretly to vnderstand, that
your yonger brother Orlando hath a disposition to come
in disguis'd against mee to try a fall: to morrow sir I
wrastle for my credit, and hee that escapes me without
some broken limbe, shall acquit him well: your brother
is but young and tender, and for your loue I would bee
loth to foyle him, as I must for my owne honour if hee
come in: therefore out of my loue to you, I came hither
to acquaint you withall, that either you might stay him
from his intendment, or brooke such disgrace well as he
shall runne into, in that it is a thing of his owne search,
and altogether against my will

   Oli. Charles , I thanke thee for thy loue to me, which
thou shalt finde I will most kindly requite: I had my
selfe notice of my Brothers purpose heerein, and haue by
vnder-hand meanes laboured to disswade him from it;
but he is resolute. Ile tell thee Charles, it is the stubbornest
yong fellow of France, full of ambition, an enuious
emulator of euery mans good parts, a secret & villanous
contriuer against mee his naturall brother: therefore vse
thy discretion, I had as liefe thou didst breake his necke
as his finger. And thou wert best looke to't; for if thou
dost him any slight disgrace, or if hee doe not mightilie
grace himselfe on thee, hee will practise against thee by
poyson, entrap thee by some treacherous deuise, and neuer
leaue thee till he hath tane thy life by some indirect
meanes or other: for I assure thee, (and almost with
teares I speake it) there is not one so young, and so villanous
this day liuing. I speake but brotherly of him,
but should I anathomize him to thee, as hee is, I must
blush, and weepe, and thou must looke pale and
wonder

   Cha. I am heartily glad I came hither to you: if hee
come to morrow, Ile giue him his payment: if euer hee
goe alone againe, Ile neuer wrastle for prize more: and
so God keepe your worship.
Enter.

Farewell good Charles. Now will I stirre this Gamester:
I hope I shall see an end of him; for my soule (yet
I know not why) hates nothing more then he: yet hee's
gentle, neuer school'd, and yet learned, full of noble
deuise, of all sorts enchantingly beloued, and indeed
so much in the heart of the world, and especially of my
owne people, who best know him, that I am altogether
misprised: but it shall not be so long, this wrastler shall
cleare all: nothing remaines, but that I kindle the boy
thither, which now Ile goe about.
Enter.


Scoena Secunda.

Enter Rosalind, and Cellia.

  Cel. I pray thee Rosalind, sweet my Coz, be merry

   Ros. Deere Cellia; I show more mirth then I am mistresse
of, and would you yet were merrier: vnlesse you
could teach me to forget a banished father, you must not
learne mee how to remember any extraordinary pleasure

   Cel. Heerein I see thou lou'st mee not with the full
waight that I loue thee; if my Vncle thy banished father
had banished thy Vncle the Duke my Father, so thou
hadst beene still with mee, I could haue taught my loue
to take thy father for mine; so wouldst thou, if the truth
of thy loue to me were so righteously temper'd, as mine
is to thee

   Ros. Well, I will forget the condition of my estate,
to reioyce in yours

   Cel. You know my Father hath no childe, but I, nor
none is like to haue; and truely when he dies, thou shalt
be his heire; for what hee hath taken away from thy father
perforce, I will render thee againe in affection: by
mine honor I will, and when I breake that oath, let mee
turne monster: therefore my sweet Rose, my deare Rose,
be merry

   Ros. From henceforth I will Coz, and deuise sports:
let me see, what thinke you of falling in Loue?
  Cel. Marry I prethee doe, to make sport withall: but
loue no man in good earnest, nor no further in sport neyther,
then with safety of a pure blush, thou maist in honor
come off againe

   Ros. What shall be our sport then?
  Cel. Let vs sit and mocke the good houswife Fortune
from her wheele, that her gifts may henceforth bee
bestowed equally

   Ros. I would wee could doe so: for her benefits are
mightily misplaced, and the bountifull blinde woman
doth most mistake in her gifts to women

   Cel. 'Tis true, for those that she makes faire, she scarce
makes honest, & those that she makes honest, she makes
very illfauouredly

   Ros. Nay now thou goest from Fortunes office to Natures:
Fortune reignes in gifts of the world, not in the
lineaments of Nature.
Enter Clowne.

  Cel. No; when Nature hath made a faire creature,
may she not by Fortune fall into the fire? though nature
hath giuen vs wit to flout at Fortune, hath not Fortune
sent in this foole to cut off the argument?
  Ros. Indeed there is fortune too hard for nature, when
fortune makes natures naturall, the cutter off of natures
witte

   Cel. Peraduenture this is not Fortunes work neither,
but Natures, who perceiueth our naturall wits too dull
to reason of such goddesses, hath sent this Naturall for
our whetstone: for alwaies the dulnesse of the foole, is
the whetstone of the wits. How now Witte, whether
wander you?
  Clow. Mistresse, you must come away to your father

   Cel. Were you made the messenger?
  Clo. No by mine honor, but I was bid to come for you
  Ros. Where learned you that oath foole?
  Clo. Of a certaine Knight, that swore by his Honour
they were good Pan-cakes, and swore by his Honor the
Mustard was naught: Now Ile stand to it, the Pancakes
were naught, and the Mustard was good, and yet was
not the Knight forsworne

   Cel. How proue you that in the great heape of your
knowledge?
  Ros. I marry, now vnmuzzle your wisedome

   Clo. Stand you both forth now: stroke your chinnes,
and sweare by your beards that I am a knaue

   Cel. By our beards (if we had them) thou art

   Clo. By my knauerie (if I had it) then I were: but if
you sweare by that that is not, you are not forsworn: no
more was this knight swearing by his Honor, for he neuer
had anie; or if he had, he had sworne it away, before
euer he saw those Pancakes, or that Mustard

   Cel. Prethee, who is't that thou means't?
  Clo. One that old Fredericke your Father loues

   Ros. My Fathers loue is enough to honor him enough;
speake no more of him, you'l be whipt for taxation one
of these daies

   Clo. The more pittie that fooles may not speak wisely,
what Wisemen do foolishly

   Cel. By my troth thou saiest true: For, since the little
wit that fooles haue was silenced, the little foolerie that
wise men haue makes a great shew; Heere comes Monsieur
the Beu.
Enter le Beau.

  Ros. With his mouth full of newes

   Cel. Which he will put on vs, as Pigeons feed their
young

   Ros. Then shal we be newes-cram'd

   Cel. All the better: we shalbe the more Marketable.
Boon-iour Monsieur le Beu, what's the newes?
  Le Beu. Faire Princesse,
you haue lost much good sport

   Cel. Sport: of what colour?
  Le Beu. What colour Madame? How shall I aunswer
you?
  Ros. As wit and fortune will

   Clo. Or as the destinies decrees

   Cel. Well said, that was laid on with a trowell

   Clo. Nay, if I keepe not my ranke

   Ros. Thou loosest thy old smell

   Le Beu. You amaze me Ladies: I would haue told
you of good wrastling, which you haue lost the sight of

   Ros. Yet tell vs the manner of the Wrastling

   Le Beu. I wil tell you the beginning: and if it please
your Ladiships, you may see the end, for the best is yet
to doe, and heere where you are, they are comming to
performe it

   Cel. Well, the beginning that is dead and buried

   Le Beu. There comes an old man, and his three sons

   Cel. I could match this beginning with an old tale

   Le Beu. Three proper yong men, of excellent growth
and presence

   Ros. With bils on their neckes: Be it knowne vnto
all men by these presents

   Le Beu. The eldest of the three, wrastled with Charles
the Dukes Wrastler, which Charles in a moment threw
him, and broke three of his ribbes, that there is little
hope of life in him: So he seru'd the second, and so the
third: yonder they lie, the poore old man their Father,
making such pittiful dole ouer them, that all the beholders
take his part with weeping

   Ros. Alas

   Clo. But what is the sport Monsieur, that the Ladies
haue lost?
  Le Beu. Why this that I speake of

   Clo. Thus men may grow wiser euery day. It is the
first time that euer I heard breaking of ribbes was sport
for Ladies

   Cel. Or I, I promise thee

   Ros. But is there any else longs to see this broken
Musicke in his sides? Is there yet another doates vpon
rib-breaking? Shall we see this wrastling Cosin?
  Le Beu. You must if you stay heere, for heere is the
place appointed for the wrastling, and they are ready to
performe it

   Cel. Yonder sure they are comming. Let vs now stay
and see it.

Flourish. Enter Duke, Lords, Orlando, Charles, and Attendants.

  Duke. Come on, since the youth will not be intreated
His owne perill on his forwardnesse

   Ros. Is yonder the man?
  Le Beu. Euen he, Madam

   Cel. Alas, he is too yong: yet he looks successefully
  Du. How now daughter, and Cousin:
Are you crept hither to see the wrastling?
  Ros. I my Liege, so please you giue vs leaue

   Du. You wil take little delight in it, I can tell you
there is such oddes in the man: In pitie of the challengers
youth, I would faine disswade him, but he will not
bee entreated. Speake to him Ladies, see if you can
mooue him

   Cel. Call him hether good Monsieuer Le Beu

   Duke. Do so: Ile not be by

   Le Beu. Monsieur the Challenger, the Princesse cals
for you

   Orl. I attend them with all respect and dutie

   Ros. Young man, haue you challeng'd Charles the
Wrastler?
  Orl. No faire Princesse: he is the generall challenger,
I come but in as others do, to try with him the strength
of my youth

   Cel. Yong Gentleman, your spirits are too bold for
your yeares: you haue seene cruell proofe of this mans
strength, if you saw your selfe with your eies, or knew
your selfe with your iudgment, the feare of your aduenture
would counsel you to a more equall enterprise. We
pray you for your owne sake to embrace your own safetie,
and giue ouer this attempt

   Ros. Do yong Sir, your reputation shall not therefore
be misprised: we wil make it our suite to the Duke, that
the wrastling might not go forward

   Orl. I beseech you, punish mee not with your harde
thoughts, wherein I confesse me much guiltie to denie
so faire and excellent Ladies anie thing. But let your
faire eies, and gentle wishes go with mee to my triall;
wherein if I bee foil'd, there is but one sham'd that was
neuer gracious: if kil'd, but one dead that is willing to
be so: I shall do my friends no wrong, for I haue none to
lament me: the world no iniurie, for in it I haue nothing:
onely in the world I fil vp a place, which may bee better
supplied, when I haue made it emptie

   Ros. The little strength that I haue, I would it were
with you

   Cel. And mine to eeke out hers

   Ros. Fare you well: praie heauen I be deceiu'd in you

   Cel. Your hearts desires be with you

   Char. Come, where is this yong gallant, that is so
desirous to lie with his mother earth?
  Orl. Readie Sir, but his will hath in it a more modest
working

   Duk. You shall trie but one fall

   Cha. No, I warrant your Grace you shall not entreat
him to a second, that haue so mightilie perswaded him
from a first

   Orl. You meane to mocke me after: you should not
haue mockt me before: but come your waies

   Ros. Now Hercules, be thy speede yong man

   Cel. I would I were inuisible, to catch the strong fellow
by the legge.

Wrastle.

  Ros. Oh excellent yong man

   Cel. If I had a thunderbolt in mine eie, I can tell who
should downe.

Shout.

  Duk. No more, no more

   Orl. Yes I beseech your Grace, I am not yet well
breath'd

   Duk. How do'st thou Charles?
  Le Beu. He cannot speake my Lord

   Duk. Beare him awaie:
What is thy name yong man?
  Orl. Orlando my Liege, the yongest sonne of Sir Roland
de Boys

   Duk. I would thou hadst beene son to some man else,
The world esteem'd thy father honourable,
But I did finde him still mine enemie:
Thou should'st haue better pleas'd me with this deede,
Hadst thou descended from another house:
But fare thee well, thou art a gallant youth,
I would thou had'st told me of another Father.

Exit Duke.

  Cel. Were I my Father (Coze) would I do this?
  Orl. I am more proud to be Sir Rolands sonne,
His yongest sonne, and would not change that calling
To be adopted heire to Fredricke

   Ros. My Father lou'd Sir Roland as his soule,
And all the world was of my Fathers minde,
Had I before knowne this yong man his sonne,
I should haue giuen him teares vnto entreaties,
Ere he should thus haue ventur'd

   Cel. Gentle Cosen,
Let vs goe thanke him, and encourage him:
My Fathers rough and enuious disposition
Sticks me at heart: Sir, you haue well deseru'd,
If you doe keepe your promises in loue;
But iustly as you haue exceeded all promise,
Your Mistris shall be happie

   Ros. Gentleman,
Weare this for me: one out of suites with fortune
That could giue more, but that her hand lacks meanes.
Shall we goe Coze?
  Cel. I: fare you well faire Gentleman

   Orl. Can I not say, I thanke you? My better parts
Are all throwne downe, and that which here stands vp
Is but a quintine, a meere liuelesse blocke

   Ros. He cals vs back: my pride fell with my fortunes,
Ile aske him what he would: Did you call Sir?
Sir, you haue wrastled well, and ouerthrowne
More then your enemies

   Cel. Will you goe Coze?
  Ros. Haue with you: fare you well.
Enter.

  Orl. What passion hangs these waights vpo[n] my toong?
I cannot speake to her, yet she vrg'd conference.
Enter Le Beu.

O poore Orlando! thou art ouerthrowne
Or Charles, or something weaker masters thee

   Le Beu. Good Sir, I do in friendship counsaile you
To leaue this place; Albeit you haue deseru'd
High commendation, true applause, and loue;
Yet such is now the Dukes condition,
That he misconsters all that you haue done:
The Duke is humorous, what he is indeede
More suites you to conceiue, then I to speake of

   Orl. I thanke you Sir; and pray you tell me this,
Which of the two was daughter of the Duke,
That here was at the Wrastling?
  Le Beu. Neither his daughter, if we iudge by manners,
But yet indeede the taller is his daughter,
The other is daughter to the banish'd Duke,
And here detain'd by her vsurping Vncle
To keepe his daughter companie, whose loues
Are deerer then the naturall bond of Sisters:
But I can tell you, that of late this Duke
Hath tane displeasure 'gainst his gentle Neece,
Grounded vpon no other argument,
But that the people praise her for her vertues,
And pittie her, for her good Fathers sake;
And on my life his malice 'gainst the Lady
Will sodainly breake forth: Sir, fare you well,
Hereafter in a better world then this,
I shall desire more loue and knowledge of you

   Orl. I rest much bounden to you: fare you well.
Thus must I from the smoake into the smother,
From tyrant Duke, vnto a tyrant Brother.
But heauenly Rosaline.

Exit


Scena Tertius.

Enter Celia and Rosaline.

  Cel. Why Cosen, why Rosaline: Cupid haue mercie,
Not a word?
  Ros. Not one to throw at a dog

   Cel. No, thy words are too precious to be cast away
vpon curs, throw some of them at me; come lame mee
with reasons

   Ros. Then there were two Cosens laid vp, when the
one should be lam'd with reasons, and the other mad
without any

   Cel. But is all this for your Father?
  Ros. No, some of it is for my childes Father: Oh
how full of briers is this working day world

   Cel. They are but burs, Cosen, throwne vpon thee
in holiday foolerie, if we walke not in the trodden paths
our very petty-coates will catch them

   Ros. I could shake them off my coate, these burs are
in my heart

   Cel. Hem them away

   Ros. I would try if I could cry hem, and haue him

   Cel. Come, come, wrastle with thy affections

   Ros. O they take the part of a better wrastler then
my selfe

   Cel. O, a good wish vpon you: you will trie in time
in dispight of a fall: but turning these iests out of seruice,
let vs talke in good earnest: Is it possible on such a sodaine,
you should fall into so strong a liking with old Sir
Roulands yongest sonne?
  Ros. The Duke my Father lou'd his Father deerelie

   Cel. Doth it therefore ensue that you should loue his
Sonne deerelie? By this kinde of chase, I should hate
him, for my father hated his father deerely; yet I hate
not Orlando

   Ros. No faith, hate him not for my sake

   Cel. Why should I not? doth he not deserue well?
Enter Duke with Lords.

  Ros. Let me loue him for that, and do you loue him
Because I doe. Looke, here comes the Duke

   Cel. With his eies full of anger

   Duk. Mistris, dispatch you with your safest haste,
And get you from our Court

   Ros. Me Vncle

   Duk. You Cosen,
Within these ten daies if that thou beest found
So neere our publike Court as twentie miles,
Thou diest for it

   Ros. I doe beseech your Grace
Let me the knowledge of my fault beare with me:
If with my selfe I hold intelligence,
Or haue acquaintance with mine owne desires,
If that I doe not dreame, or be not franticke,
(As I doe trust I am not) then deere Vncle,
Neuer so much as in a thought vnborne,
Did I offend your highnesse

   Duk. Thus doe all Traitors,
If their purgation did consist in words,
They are as innocent as grace it selfe;
Let is suffice thee that I trust thee not

   Ros. Yet your mistrust cannot make me a Traitor;
Tell me whereon the likelihoods depends?
  Duk. Thou art thy Fathers daughter, there's enough

   Ros. So was I when your highnes took his Dukdome,
So was I when your highnesse banisht him;
Treason is not inherited my Lord,
Or if we did deriue it from our friends,
What's that to me, my Father was no Traitor,
Then good my Leige, mistake me not so much,
To thinke my pouertie is treacherous

   Cel. Deere Soueraigne heare me speake

   Duk. I Celia, we staid her for your sake,
Else had she with her Father rang'd along

   Cel. I did not then intreat to haue her stay,
It was your pleasure, and your owne remorse,
I was too yong that time to value her,
But now I know her: if she be a Traitor,
Why so am I: we still haue slept together,
Rose at an instant, learn'd, plaid, eate together,
And wheresoere we went, like Iunos Swans,
Still we went coupled and inseperable

   Duk. She is too subtile for thee, and her smoothnes;
Her verie silence, and her patience,
Speake to the people, and they pittie her:
Thou art a foole, she robs thee of thy name,
And thou wilt show more bright, & seem more vertuous
When she is gone: then open not thy lips
Firme, and irreuocable is my doombe,
Which I haue past vpon her, she is banish'd

   Cel. Pronounce that sentence then on me my Leige,
I cannot liue out of her companie

   Duk. You are a foole: you Neice prouide your selfe,
If you out-stay the time, vpon mine honor,
And in the greatnesse of my word you die.

Exit Duke, &c.

  Cel. O my poore Rosaline, whether wilt thou goe?
Wilt thou change Fathers? I will giue thee mine:
I charge thee be not thou more grieu'd then I am

   Ros. I haue more cause

   Cel. Thou hast not Cosen,
Prethee be cheerefull; know'st thou not the Duke
Hath banish'd me his daughter?
  Ros. That he hath not

   Cel. No, hath not? Rosaline lacks then the loue
Which teacheth thee that thou and I am one,
Shall we be sundred? shall we part sweete girle?
No, let my Father seeke another heire:
Therefore deuise with me how we may flie
Whether to goe, and what to beare with vs,
And doe not seeke to take your change vpon you,
To beare your griefes your selfe, and leaue me out:
For by this heauen, now at our sorrowes pale;
Say what thou canst, Ile goe along with thee

   Ros. Why, whether shall we goe?
  Cel. To seeke my Vncle in the Forrest of Arden

   Ros. Alas, what danger will it be to vs,
(Maides as we are) to trauell forth so farre?
Beautie prouoketh theeues sooner then gold

   Cel. Ile put my selfe in poore and meane attire,
And with a kinde of vmber smirch my face,
The like doe you, so shall we passe along,
And neuer stir assailants

   Ros. Were it not better,
Because that I am more then common tall,
That I did suite me all points like a man,
A gallant curtelax vpon my thigh,
A bore-speare in my hand, and in my heart
Lye there what hidden womans feare there will,
Weele haue a swashing and a marshall outside,
As manie other mannish cowards haue,
That doe outface it with their semblances

   Cel. What shall I call thee when thou art a man?
  Ros. Ile haue no worse a name then Ioues owne Page,
And therefore looke you call me Ganimed.
But what will you be call'd?
  Cel. Something that hath a reference to my state:
No longer Celia, but Aliena

   Ros. But Cosen, what if we assaid to steale
The clownish Foole out of your Fathers Court:
Would he not be a comfort to our trauaile?
  Cel. Heele goe along ore the wide world with me,
Leaue me alone to woe him; Let's away
And get our Iewels and our wealth together,
Deuise the fittest time, and safest way
To hide vs from pursuite that will be made
After my flight: now goe in we content
To libertie, and not to banishment.

Exeunt.


Actus Secundus. Scoena Prima.

Enter Duke Senior: Amyens, and two or three Lords like
Forresters.

  Duk.Sen. Now my Coe-mates, and brothers in exile:
Hath not old custome made this life more sweete
Then that of painted pompe? Are not these woods
More free from perill then the enuious Court?
Heere feele we not the penaltie of Adam,
The seasons difference, as the Icie phange
And churlish chiding of the winters winde,
Which when it bites and blowes vpon my body
Euen till I shrinke with cold, I smile, and say
This is no flattery: these are counsellors
That feelingly perswade me what I am:
Sweet are the vses of aduersitie
Which like the toad, ougly and venemous,
Weares yet a precious Iewell in his head:
And this our life exempt from publike haunt,
Findes tongues in trees, bookes in the running brookes,
Sermons in stones, and good in euery thing

   Amien. I would not change it, happy is your Grace
That can translate the stubbornnesse of fortune
Into so quiet and so sweet a stile

   Du.Sen. Come, shall we goe and kill vs venison?
And yet it irkes me the poore dapled fooles
Being natiue Burgers of this desert City,
Should in their owne confines with forked heads
Haue their round hanches goard

   1.Lord. Indeed my Lord
The melancholy Iaques grieues at that,
And in that kinde sweares you doe more vsurpe
Then doth your brother that hath banish'd you:
To day my Lord of Amiens, and my selfe,
Did steale behinde him as he lay along
Vnder an oake, whose anticke roote peepes out
Vpon the brooke that brawles along this wood,
To the which place a poore sequestred Stag
That from the Hunters aime had tane a hurt,
Did come to languish; and indeed my Lord
The wretched annimall heau'd forth such groanes
That their discharge did stretch his leatherne coat
Almost to bursting, and the big round teares
Cours'd one another downe his innocent nose
In pitteous chase: and thus the hairie foole,
Much marked of the melancholie Iaques,
Stood on th' extremest verge of the swift brooke,
Augmenting it with teares

   Du.Sen. But what said Iaques?
Did he not moralize this spectacle?
  1.Lord. O yes, into a thousand similies.
First, for his weeping into the needlesse streame;
Poore Deere quoth he, thou mak'st a testament
As worldlings doe, giuing thy sum of more
To that which had too much: then being there alone,
Left and abandoned of his veluet friend;
'Tis right quoth he, thus miserie doth part
The Fluxe of companie: anon a carelesse Heard
Full of the pasture, iumps along by him
And neuer staies to greet him: I quoth Iaques,
Sweepe on you fat and greazie Citizens,
'Tis iust the fashion; wherefore doe you looke
Vpon that poore and broken bankrupt there?
Thus most inuectiuely he pierceth through
The body of Countrie, Citie, Court,
Yea, and of this our life, swearing that we
Are meere vsurpers, tyrants, and whats worse
To fright the Annimals, and to kill them vp
In their assign'd and natiue dwelling place

   D.Sen. And did you leaue him in this contemplation?
  2.Lord. We did my Lord, weeping and commenting
Vpon the sobbing Deere

   Du.Sen. Show me the place,
I loue to cope him in these sullen fits,
For then he's full of matter

   1.Lor. Ile bring you to him strait.

Exeunt.


Scena Secunda.

Enter Duke, with Lords.

  Duk. Can it be possible that no man saw them?
It cannot be, some villaines of my Court
Are of consent and sufferance in this

   1.Lo. I cannot heare of any that did see her,
The Ladies her attendants of her chamber
Saw her a bed, and in the morning early,
They found the bed vntreasur'd of their Mistris

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

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

Exeunt.


Scena Tertia.

Enter Orlando and Adam.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Exeunt.


Scena Quarta.

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

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

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

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

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

   Ros. Well, this is the Forrest of Arden

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

   Clo. Holla; you Clowne

   Ros. Peace foole, he's not thy kinsman

   Cor. Who cals?
  Clo. Your betters Sir

   Cor. Else are they very wretched

   Ros. Peace I say; good euen to your friend

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

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

   Cor. Faire Sir, I pittie her,
And wish for her sake more then for mine owne,
My fortunes were more able to releeue her:
But I am shepheard to another man,
And do not sheere the Fleeces that I graze:
My master is of churlish disposition,
And little wreakes to finde the way to heauen
By doing deeds of hospitalitie.
Besides his Coate, his Flockes, and bounds of feede
Are now on sale, and at our sheep-coat now
By reason of his absence there is nothing
That you will feed on: but what is, come see,
And in my voice most welcome shall you be

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

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

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

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

Exeunt.


Scena Quinta.

Enter, Amyens, Iaques, & others.

Song.

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

   Iaq. More, more, I pre'thee more

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Song. Altogether heere.

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

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

   Amy. And Ile sing it

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

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

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

Exeunt.

Scena Sexta.

Enter Orlando, & Adam

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

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

Exeunt.

Scena Septima.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

   Du.Sen. Thou shalt haue one

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

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

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

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

  Orl. Forbeare, and eate no more

   Iaq. Why I haue eate none yet

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

   Orl. I thanke you most for him

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

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

Song.

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

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

Exeunt.


Actus Tertius. Scena Prima.

Enter Duke, Lords, & Oliuer.

  Du. Not see him since? Sir, sir, that cannot be:
But were I not the better part made mercie,
I should not seeke an absent argument
Of my reuenge, thou present: but looke to it,
Finde out thy brother wheresoere he is,
Seeke him with Candle: bring him dead, or liuing
Within this tweluemonth, or turne thou no more
To seeke a liuing in our Territorie.
Thy Lands and all things that thou dost call thine,
Worth seizure, do we seize into our hands,
Till thou canst quit thee by thy brothers mouth,
Of what we thinke against thee

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

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

Exeunt.

Scena Secunda.

Enter Orlando.

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

Exit

Enter Corin & Clowne.

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

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

   Clo. Then thou art damn'd

   Cor. Nay, I hope

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

   Cor. For not being at Court? your reason

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

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

   Clo. Instance, briefly: come, instance

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

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

   Cor. Besides, our hands are hard

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

   Ros. Out Foole

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

   Clo. Truely the tree yeelds bad fruite

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

   Cel. So you may put a man in your belly

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

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

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

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

   Cel. I'faith (Coz) tis he

   Ros. Orlando?
  Cel. Orlando

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

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

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

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

   Cel. Giue me audience, good Madam

   Ros. Proceed

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

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

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

   Ros. O ominous, he comes to kill my Hart

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

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

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

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

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

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

   Orl. I do desire we may be better strangers

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

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

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

   Iaq. I do not like her name

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

   Iaq. There I shal see mine owne figure

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

   Orl. I prethee recount some of them

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

   Orl. I would not be cured, youth

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

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

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

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

Exeunt.


Scoena Tertia.

Enter Clowne, Audrey, & Iaques.

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

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

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

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

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

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

   Iaq. A materiall foole

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

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

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

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

   Iaq. I would faine see this meeting

   Aud. Wel, the Gods giue vs ioy

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

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

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

   Iaq. Proceed, proceede: Ile giue her

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Exeunt.

Scoena Quarta.

Enter Rosalind & Celia.

  Ros. Neuer talke to me, I wil weepe

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

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

   Ros. His very haire
Is of the dissembling colour

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

   Ros. You haue heard him sweare downright he was

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

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

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

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

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

Exeunt.


Scena Quinta.


Enter Siluius and Phebe.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

   Phe. Why I am sorry for thee gentle Siluius

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Exeunt.


Actus Quartus. Scena Prima.

Enter Rosalind, and Celia, and Iaques.

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

   Ros They say you are a melancholly fellow

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

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

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

   Ros. Why then 'tis good to be a poste

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

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

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

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

   Orl. Good day, and happinesse, deere Rosalind

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

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

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

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

   Orl. Pardon me deere Rosalind

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

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

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

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

   Ros. And I am your Rosalind

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

   Orl. Then in mine owne person, I die

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

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

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

   Orl. Then loue me Rosalind

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

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

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

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

   Cel. I cannot say the words

   Ros. You must begin, will you Orlando

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

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

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

   Orl. I take thee Rosalind for wife

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

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

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

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

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

   Orl. O but she is wise

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

   Orl. I, sweet Rosalind

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

   Cel. And Ile sleepe.

Exeunt.



Scena Secunda.

Enter Iaques and Lords, Forresters.

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

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

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

Musicke, Song.

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

Exeunt.


Scoena Tertia.

Enter Rosalind and Celia.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

   Sil. Sure it is hers

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

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

Read.

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

Read.

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

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

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

Exit. Sil.

Enter Oliuer.

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

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

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

   Oli. Orlando doth commend him to you both,
And to that youth hee calls his Rosalind,
He sends this bloudy napkin; are you he?
  Ros. I am: what must we vnderstand by this?
  Oli. Some of my shame, if you will know of me
What man I am, and how, and why, and where
This handkercher was stain'd

   Cel. I pray you tell it

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

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

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

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

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

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

   Cel. Why how now Ganimed, sweet Ganimed

   Oli. Many will swoon when they do look on bloud

   Cel. There is more in it; Cosen Ganimed

   Oli. Looke, he recouers

   Ros. I would I were at home

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

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

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

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

   Ros. Counterfeit, I assure you

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

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

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

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

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

Exeunt.


Actus Quintus. Scena Prima.


Enter Clowne and Awdrie.

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

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

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

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

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

   Will. Good eu'n Audrey

   Aud. God ye good eu'n William

   Will. And good eu'n to you Sir

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

   Aud. Do good William

   Will. God rest you merry sir.

Exit

Enter Corin.

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

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

Exeunt.

Scoena Secunda.

Enter Orlando & Oliuer.

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

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

   Ros. God saue you brother

   Ol. And you faire sister

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

   Orl. It is my arme

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

   Phe. And I for Ganimed

   Orl. And I for Rosalind

   Ros. And I for no woman

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

   Phe. And I for Ganimed

   Orl. And I for Rosalind

   Ros. And I for no woman

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

   Phe. And so am I for Ganimed

   Orl. And so am I for Rosalind

   Ros. And so am I for no woman

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

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

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

   Sil. Ile not faile, if I liue

   Phe. Nor I

   Orl. Nor I.

Exeunt.


Scoena Tertia.

Enter Clowne and Audrey.

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

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

  1.Pa. Wel met honest Gentleman

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

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

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

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

Song.

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

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

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

Exeunt.


Scena Quarta.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

   Phe. So is the bargaine

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

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

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

Exit Ros. and Celia.

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

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

Obscured in the circle of this Forrest

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

   Clo. Salutation and greeting to you all

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

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

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

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

   Du.Se. I like him very well

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Still Musicke.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Song.

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

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

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

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

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

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

   2.Bro. He hath

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

   Du.Se. Stay, Iaques, stay

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

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

Exit

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

FINIS. As you Like it.


The Taming of the Shrew

Actus primus. Scaena Prima.

Enter Begger and Hostes, Christophero Sly.

  Begger. Ile pheeze you infaith

   Host. A paire of stockes you rogue

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

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

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

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

Falles asleepe.

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

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

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

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

   Hunts. I will my Lord

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

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

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

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

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

Sound trumpets.

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

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

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

   Players. We thanke your Honor

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

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

   Sincklo. I thinke 'twas Soto that your honor meanes

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

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

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

Exit one with the Players.

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

Exit a seruingman.

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

  Beg. For Gods sake a pot of small Ale

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

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

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

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

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

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

Musick

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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