Laf. Come on my sonne, in whom my houses name
Must be digested: giue a fauour from you
To sparkle in the spirits of my daughter,
That she may quickly come. By my old beard,
And eu'rie haire that's on't, Helen that's dead
Was a sweet creature: such a ring as this,
The last that ere I tooke her leaue at Court,
I saw vpon her finger

   Ber. Hers it was not

   King. Now pray you let me see it. For mine eye,
While I was speaking, oft was fasten'd too't:
This Ring was mine, and when I gaue it Hellen,
I bad her if her fortunes euer stoode
Necessitied to helpe, that by this token
I would releeue her. Had you that craft to reaue her
Of what should stead her most?
  Ber. My gracious Soueraigne,
How ere it pleases you to take it so,
The ring was neuer hers

   Old La. Sonne, on my life
I haue seene her weare it, and she reckon'd it
At her liues rate

   Laf. I am sure I saw her weare it

   Ber. You are deceiu'd my Lord, she neuer saw it:
In Florence was it from a casement throwne mee,
Wrap'd in a paper, which contain'd the name
Of her that threw it: Noble she was, and thought
I stood ingag'd, but when I had subscrib'd
To mine owne fortune, and inform'd her fully,
I could not answer in that course of Honour
As she had made the ouerture, she ceast
In heauie satisfaction, and would neuer
Receiue the Ring againe

   Kin. Platus himselfe,
That knowes the tinct and multiplying med'cine,
Hath not in natures mysterie more science,
Then I haue in this Ring. 'Twas mine, 'twas Helens,
Who euer gaue it you: then if you know
That you are well acquainted with your selfe,
Confesse 'twas hers, and by what rough enforcement
You got it from her. She call'd the Saints to suretie,
That she would neuer put it from her finger,
Vnlesse she gaue it to your selfe in bed,
Where you haue neuer come: or sent it vs
Vpon her great disaster

   Ber. She neuer saw it

   Kin. Thou speak'st it falsely: as I loue mine Honor,
And mak'st connecturall feares to come into me,
Which I would faine shut out, if it should proue
That thou art so inhumane, 'twill not proue so:
And yet I know not, thou didst hate her deadly,
And she is dead, which nothing but to close
Her eyes my selfe, could win me to beleeue,
More then to see this Ring. Take him away,
My fore-past proofes, how ere the matter fall
Shall taze my feares of little vanitie,
Hauing vainly fear'd too little. Away with him,
Wee'l sift this matter further

   Ber. If you shall proue
This Ring was euer hers, you shall as easie
Proue that I husbanded her bed in Florence,
Where yet she neuer was.
Enter a Gentleman.

  King. I am wrap'd in dismall thinkings

   Gen. Gracious Soueraigne.
Whether I haue beene too blame or no, I know not,
Here's a petition from a Florentine,
Who hath for foure or fiue remoues come short,
To tender it her selfe. I vndertooke it,
Vanquish'd thereto by the faire grace and speech
Of the poore suppliant, who by this I know
Is heere attending: her businesse lookes in her
With an importing visage, and she told me
In a sweet verball breefe, it did concerne
Your Highnesse with her selfe.

A Letter.

Vpon his many protestations to marrie mee when his wife was
dead, I blush to say it, he wonne me. Now is the Count Rossillion
a Widdower, his vowes are forfeited to mee, and my
honors payed to him. Hee stole from Florence, taking no
leaue, and I follow him to his Countrey for Iustice: Grant
it me, O King, in you it best lies, otherwise a seducer flourishes,
and a poore Maid is vndone.
Diana Capilet

   Laf. I will buy me a sonne in Law in a faire, and toule
for this. Ile none of him

   Kin. The heauens haue thought well on thee Lafew,
To bring forth this discou'rie, seeke these sutors:
Go speedily, and bring againe the Count.
Enter Bertram.

I am a-feard the life of Hellen (Ladie)
Was fowly snatcht

   Old La. Now iustice on the doers

   King. I wonder sir, sir, wiues are monsters to you,
And that you flye them as you sweare them Lordship,
Yet you desire to marry. What woman's that?
Enter Widdow, Diana, and Parrolles.

  Dia. I am my Lord a wretched Florentine,
Deriued from the ancient Capilet,
My suite as I do vnderstand you know,
And therefore know how farre I may be pittied

   Wid. I am her Mother sir, whose age and honour
Both suffer vnder this complaint we bring,
And both shall cease, without your remedie

   King. Come hether Count, do you know these Women?
  Ber. My Lord, I neither can nor will denie,
But that I know them, do they charge me further?
  Dia. Why do you looke so strange vpon your wife?
  Ber. She's none of mine my Lord

   Dia. If you shall marrie
You giue away this hand, and that is mine,
You giue away heauens vowes, and those are mine:
You giue away my selfe, which is knowne mine:
For I by vow am so embodied yours,
That she which marries you, must marrie me,
Either both or none

   Laf. Your reputation comes too short for my daughter,
you are no husband for her

   Ber. My Lord, this is a fond and desp'rate creature,
Whom sometime I haue laugh'd with: Let your highnes
Lay a more noble thought vpon mine honour,
Then for to thinke that I would sinke it heere

   Kin. Sir for my thoughts, you haue them il to friend,
Till your deeds gaine them fairer: proue your honor,
Then in my thought it lies

   Dian. Good my Lord,
Aske him vpon his oath, if hee do's thinke
He had not my virginity

   Kin. What saist thou to her?
  Ber. She's impudent my Lord,
And was a common gamester to the Campe

   Dia. He do's me wrong my Lord: If I were so,
He might haue bought me at a common price.
Do not beleeue him. O behold this Ring,
Whose high respect and rich validitie
Did lacke a Paralell: yet for all that
He gaue it to a Commoner a'th Campe
If I be one

   Coun. He blushes, and 'tis hit:
Of sixe preceding Ancestors that Iemme
Confer'd by testament to'th sequent issue
Hath it beene owed and worne. This is his wife,
That Ring's a thousand proofes

   King. Me thought you saide
You saw one heere in Court could witnesse it

   Dia. I did my Lord, but loath am to produce
So bad an instrument, his names Parrolles

   Laf. I saw the man to day, if man he bee

   Kin. Finde him, and bring him hether

   Ros. What of him:
He's quoted for a most perfidious slaue
With all the spots a'th world, taxt and debosh'd,
Whose nature sickens: but to speake a truth,
Am I, or that or this for what he'l vtter,
That will speake any thing

   Kin. She hath that Ring of yours

   Ros. I thinke she has; certaine it is I lyk'd her,
And boorded her i'th wanton way of youth:
She knew her distance, and did angle for mee,
Madding my eagernesse with her restraint,
As all impediments in fancies course
Are motiues of more fancie, and in fine,
Her insuite comming with her moderne grace,
Subdu'd me to her rate, she got the Ring,
And I had that which any inferiour might
At Market price haue bought

   Dia. I must be patient:
You that haue turn'd off a first so noble wife,
May iustly dyet me. I pray you yet,
(Since you lacke vertue, I will loose a husband)
Send for your Ring, I will returne it home,
And giue me mine againe

   Ros. I haue it not

   Kin. What Ring was yours I pray you?
  Dian. Sir much like the same vpon your finger

   Kin. Know you this Ring, this Ring was his of late

   Dia. And this was it I gaue him being a bed

   Kin. The story then goes false, you threw it him
Out of a Casement

   Dia. I haue spoke the truth.
Enter Parolles.

  Ros. My Lord, I do confesse the ring was hers

   Kin. You boggle shrewdly, euery feather starts you:
Is this the man you speake of?
  Dia. I, my Lord

   Kin. Tell me sirrah, but tell me true I charge you,
Not fearing the displeasure of your master:
Which on your iust proceeding, Ile keepe off,
By him and by this woman heere, what know you?
  Par. So please your Maiesty, my master hath bin an
honourable Gentleman. Trickes hee hath had in him,
which Gentlemen haue

   Kin. Come, come, to'th' purpose: Did hee loue this
woman?
  Par. Faith sir he did loue her, but how

   Kin. How I pray you?
  Par. He did loue her sir, as a Gent. loues a Woman

   Kin. How is that?
  Par. He lou'd her sir, and lou'd her not

   Kin. As thou art a knaue and no knaue, what an equiuocall
Companion is this?
  Par. I am a poore man, and at your Maiesties command

   Laf. Hee's a good drumme my Lord, but a naughtie
Orator

   Dian. Do you know he promist me marriage?
  Par. Faith I know more then Ile speake

   Kin. But wilt thou not speake all thou know'st?
  Par. Yes so please your Maiesty: I did goe betweene
them as I said, but more then that he loued her, for indeede
he was madde for her, and talkt of Sathan, and of
Limbo, and of Furies, and I know not what: yet I was in
that credit with them at that time, that I knewe of their
going to bed, and of other motions, as promising her
marriage, and things which would deriue mee ill will to
speake of, therefore I will not speake what I know

   Kin. Thou hast spoken all alreadie, vnlesse thou canst
say they are maried, but thou art too fine in thy euidence,
therefore stand aside. This Ring you say was yours

   Dia. I my good Lord

   Kin. Where did you buy it? Or who gaue it you?
  Dia. It was not giuen me, nor I did not buy it

   Kin. Who lent it you?
  Dia. It was not lent me neither

   Kin. Where did you finde it then?
  Dia. I found it not

   Kin. If it were yours by none of all these wayes,
How could you giue it him?
  Dia. I neuer gaue it him

   Laf. This womans an easie gloue my Lord, she goes
off and on at pleasure

   Kin. This Ring was mine, I gaue it his first wife

   Dia. It might be yours or hers for ought I know

   Kin. Take her away, I do not like her now,
To prison with her: and away with him,
Vnlesse thou telst me where thou hadst this Ring,
Thou diest within this houre

   Dia. Ile neuer tell you

   Kin. Take her away

   Dia. Ile put in baile my liedge

   Kin. I thinke thee now some common Customer

   Dia. By Ioue if euer I knew man 'twas you

   King. Wherefore hast thou accusde him al this while

   Dia. Because he's guiltie, and he is not guilty:
He knowes I am no Maid, and hee'l sweare too't:
Ile sweare I am a Maid, and he knowes not.
Great King I am no strumpet, by my life,
I am either Maid, or else this old mans wife

   Kin. She does abuse our eares, to prison with her

   Dia. Good mother fetch my bayle. Stay Royall sir,
The Ieweller that owes the Ring is sent for,
And he shall surety me. But for this Lord,
Who hath abus'd me as he knowes himselfe,
Though yet he neuer harm'd me, heere I quit him.
He knowes himselfe my bed he hath defil'd,
And at that time he got his wife with childe:
Dead though she be, she feeles her yong one kicke:
So there's my riddle, one that's dead is quicke,
And now behold the meaning.
Enter Hellen and Widdow.

  Kin. Is there no exorcist
Beguiles the truer Office of mine eyes?
Is't reall that I see?
  Hel. No my good Lord,
'Tis but the shadow of a wife you see,
The name, and not the thing

   Ros. Both, both, O pardon

   Hel. Oh my good Lord, when I was like this Maid,
I found you wondrous kinde, there is your Ring,
And looke you, heeres your letter: this it sayes,
When from my finger you can get this Ring,
And is by me with childe, &c. This is done,
Will you be mine now you are doubly wonne?
  Ros. If she my Liege can make me know this clearly,
Ile loue her dearely, euer, euer dearly

   Hel. If it appeare not plaine, and proue vntrue,
Deadly diuorce step betweene me and you.
O my deere mother do I see you liuing?
  Laf. Mine eyes smell Onions, I shall weepe anon:
Good Tom Drumme lend me a handkercher.
So I thanke thee, waite on me home, Ile make sport with
thee: Let thy curtsies alone, they are scuruy ones

   King. Let vs from point to point this storie know,
To make the euen truth in pleasure flow:
If thou beest yet a fresh vncropped flower,
Choose thou thy husband, and Ile pay thy dower.
For I can guesse, that by thy honest ayde,
Thou keptst a wife her selfe, thy selfe a Maide.
Of that and all the progresse more and lesse,
Resoluedly more leasure shall expresse:
All yet seemes well, and if it end so meete,
The bitter past, more welcome is the sweet.

Flourish.

The Kings a Begger, now the Play is done,
All is well ended, if this suite be wonne,
That you expresse Content: which we will pay,
With strife to please you, day exceeding day:
Ours be your patience then, and yours our parts,
Your gentle hands lend vs, and take our hearts.

Exeunt. omn.

FINIS. ALL'S Well, that Ends Well.


Twelfe Night, Or what you will

Actus Primus, Scaena Prima.

Enter Orsino Duke of Illyria, Curio, and other Lords.

  Duke. If Musicke be the food of Loue, play on,
Giue me excesse of it: that surfetting,
The appetite may sicken, and so dye.
That straine agen, it had a dying fall:
O, it came ore my eare, like the sweet sound
That breathes vpon a banke of Violets;
Stealing, and giuing Odour. Enough, no more,
'Tis not so sweet now, as it was before.
O spirit of Loue, how quicke and fresh art thou,
That notwithstanding thy capacitie,
Receiueth as the Sea. Nought enters there,
Of what validity, and pitch so ere,
But falles into abatement, and low price
Euen in a minute; so full of shapes is fancie,
That it alone, is high fantasticall

   Cu. Will you go hunt my Lord?
  Du. What Curio?
  Cu. The Hart

   Du. Why so I do, the Noblest that I haue:
O when mine eyes did see Oliuia first,
Me thought she purg'd the ayre of pestilence;
That instant was I turn'd into a Hart,
And my desires like fell and cruell hounds,
Ere since pursue me. How now what newes from her?
Enter Valentine.

  Val. So please my Lord, I might not be admitted,
But from her handmaid do returne this answer:
The Element it selfe, till seuen yeares heate,
Shall not behold her face at ample view:
But like a Cloystresse she will vailed walke,
And water once a day her Chamber round
With eye-offending brine: all this to season
A brothers dead loue, which she would keepe fresh
And lasting, in her sad remembrance

   Du. O she that hath a heart of that fine frame
To pay this debt of loue but to a brother,
How will she loue, when the rich golden shaft
Hath kill'd the flocke of all affections else
That liue in her. When Liuer, Braine, and Heart,
These soueraigne thrones, are all supply'd and fill'd
Her sweete perfections with one selfe king:
Away before me, to sweet beds of Flowres,
Loue-thoughts lye rich, when canopy'd with bowres.

Exeunt.

Scena Secunda.

Enter Viola, a Captaine, and Saylors.

  Vio. What Country (Friends) is this?
  Cap. This is Illyria Ladie

   Vio. And what should I do in Illyria?
My brother he is in Elizium,
Perchance he is not drown'd: What thinke you saylors?
  Cap. It is perchance that you your selfe were saued

   Vio. O my poore brother, and so perchance may he be

   Cap. True Madam, and to comfort you with chance,
Assure your selfe, after our ship did split,
When you, and those poore number saued with you,
Hung on our driuing boate: I saw your brother
Most prouident in perill, binde himselfe,
(Courage and hope both teaching him the practise)
To a strong Maste, that liu'd vpon the sea:
Where like Orion on the Dolphines backe,
I saw him hold acquaintance with the waues,
So long as I could see

   Vio. For saying so, there's Gold:
Mine owne escape vnfoldeth to my hope,
Whereto thy speech serues for authoritie
The like of him. Know'st thou this Countrey?
  Cap. I Madam well, for I was bred and borne
Not three houres trauaile from this very place

   Vio. Who gouernes heere?
  Cap. A noble Duke in nature, as in name

   Vio. What is his name?
  Cap. Orsino

   Vio. Orsino: I haue heard my father name him.
He was a Batchellor then

   Cap. And so is now, or was so very late:
For but a month ago I went from hence,
And then 'twas fresh in murmure (as you know
What great ones do, the lesse will prattle of,)
That he did seeke the loue of faire Oliuia

   Vio. What's shee?
  Cap. A vertuous maid, the daughter of a Count
That dide some tweluemonth since, then leauing her
In the protection of his sonne, her brother,
Who shortly also dide: for whose deere loue
(They say) she hath abiur'd the sight
And company of men

   Vio. O that I seru'd that Lady,
And might not be deliuered to the world
Till I had made mine owne occasion mellow
What my estate is

   Cap. That were hard to compasse,
Because she will admit no kinde of suite,
No, not the Dukes

   Vio. There is a faire behauiour in thee Captaine,
And though that nature, with a beauteous wall
Doth oft close in pollution: yet of thee
I will beleeue thou hast a minde that suites
With this thy faire and outward charracter.
I prethee (and Ile pay thee bounteously)
Conceale me what I am, and be my ayde,
For such disguise as haply shall become
The forme of my intent. Ile serue this Duke,
Thou shalt present me as an Eunuch to him,
It may be worth thy paines: for I can sing,
And speake to him in many sorts of Musicke,
That will allow me very worth his seruice.
What else may hap, to time I will commit,
Onely shape thou thy silence to my wit

   Cap. Be you his Eunuch, and your Mute Ile bee,
When my tongue blabs, then let mine eyes not see

   Vio. I thanke thee: Lead me on.

Exeunt.

Scaena Tertia.

Enter Sir Toby, and Maria.

  Sir To. What a plague meanes my Neece to take the
death of her brother thus? I am sure care's an enemie to
life

   Mar. By my troth sir Toby, you must come in earlyer
a nights: your Cosin, my Lady, takes great exceptions
to your ill houres

   To. Why let her except, before excepted

   Ma. I, but you must confine your selfe within the
modest limits of order

   To. Confine? Ile confine my selfe no finer then I am:
these cloathes are good enough to drinke in, and so bee
these boots too: and they be not, let them hang themselues
in their owne straps

   Ma. That quaffing and drinking will vndoe you: I
heard my Lady talke of it yesterday: and of a foolish
knight that you brought in one night here, to be hir woer
  To. Who, Sir Andrew Ague-cheeke?
  Ma. I he

   To. He's as tall a man as any's in Illyria

   Ma. What's that to th' purpose?
  To. Why he ha's three thousand ducates a yeare

   Ma. I, but hee'l haue but a yeare in all these ducates:
He's a very foole, and a prodigall

   To. Fie, that you'l say so: he playes o'th Viol-de-gamboys,
and speaks three or four languages word for word
without booke, & hath all the good gifts of nature

   Ma. He hath indeed, almost naturall: for besides that
he's a foole, he's a great quarreller: and but that hee hath
the gift of a Coward, to allay the gust he hath in quarrelling,
'tis thought among the prudent, he would quickely
haue the gift of a graue

   Tob. By this hand they are scoundrels and substractors
that say so of him. Who are they?
  Ma. They that adde moreour, hee's drunke nightly
in your company

   To. With drinking healths to my Neece: Ile drinke
to her as long as there is a passage in my throat, & drinke
in Illyria: he's a Coward and a Coystrill that will not
drinke to my Neece, till his braines turne o'th toe, like a
parish top. What wench? Castiliano vulgo: for here coms
Sir Andrew Agueface.
Enter Sir Andrew.

  And. Sir Toby Belch. How now sir Toby Belch?
  To. Sweet sir Andrew

   And. Blesse you faire Shrew

   Mar. And you too sir

   Tob. Accost Sir Andrew, accost

   And. What's that?
  To. My Neeces Chamber-maid

   Ma. Good Mistris accost, I desire better acquaintance
  Ma. My name is Mary sir

   And. Good mistris Mary, accost

   To, You mistake knight: Accost, is front her, boord
her, woe her, assayle her

   And. By my troth I would not vndertake her in this
company. Is that the meaning of Accost?
  Ma. Far you well Gentlemen

   To. And thou let part so Sir Andrew, would thou
mightst neuer draw sword agen

   And. And you part so mistris, I would I might neuer
draw sword agen: Faire Lady, doe you thinke you haue
fooles in hand?
  Ma. Sir, I haue not you by'th hand

   An. Marry but you shall haue, and heeres my hand

   Ma. Now sir, thought is free: I pray you bring your
hand to'th Buttry barre, and let it drinke

   An. Wherefore (sweet-heart?) What's your Metaphor?
  Ma. It's dry sir

   And. Why I thinke so: I am not such an asse, but I
can keepe my hand dry. But what's your iest?
  Ma. A dry iest Sir

   And. Are you full of them?
  Ma. I Sir, I haue them at my fingers ends: marry now
I let go your hand, I am barren.

Exit Maria

  To. O knight, thou lack'st a cup of Canarie: when did
I see thee so put downe?
  An. Neuer in your life I thinke, vnlesse you see Canarie
put me downe: mee thinkes sometimes I haue no
more wit then a Christian, or an ordinary man ha's: but I
am a great eater of beefe, and I beleeue that does harme
to my wit

   To. No question

   An. And I thought that, I'de forsweare it. Ile ride
home to morrow sir Toby

   To. Pur-quoy my deere knight?
  An. What is purquoy? Do, or not do? I would I had
bestowed that time in the tongues, that I haue in fencing
dancing, and beare-bayting: O had I but followed the
Arts

   To. Then hadst thou had an excellent head of haire

   An. Why, would that haue mended my haire?
  To. Past question, for thou seest it will not coole my nature
  An. But it becoms me wel enough, dost not?
  To. Excellent, it hangs like flax on a distaffe: & I hope
to see a huswife take thee between her legs, & spin it off

   An. Faith Ile home to morrow sir Toby, your niece wil
not be seene, or if she be it's four to one, she'l none of me:
the Count himselfe here hard by, wooes her

   To. Shee'l none o'th Count, she'l not match aboue hir
degree, neither in estate, yeares, nor wit: I haue heard her
swear't. Tut there's life in't man

   And. Ile stay a moneth longer. I am a fellow o'th
strangest minde i'th world: I delight in Maskes and Reuels
sometimes altogether

   To. Art thou good at these kicke-chawses Knight?
  And. As any man in Illyria, whatsoeuer he be, vnder
the degree of my betters, & yet I will not compare with
an old man

   To. What is thy excellence in a galliard, knight?
  And. Faith, I can cut a caper

   To. And I can cut the Mutton too't

   And. And I thinke I haue the backe-tricke, simply as
strong as any man in Illyria

   To. Wherefore are these things hid? Wherefore haue
these gifts a Curtaine before 'em? Are they like to take
dust, like mistris Mals picture? Why dost thou not goe
to Church in a Galliard, and come home in a Carranto?
My verie walke should be a Iigge: I would not so much
as make water but in a Sinke-a-pace: What dooest thou
meane? Is it a world to hide vertues in? I did thinke by
the excellent constitution of thy legge, it was form'd vnder
the starre of a Galliard

   And. I, 'tis strong, and it does indifferent well in a
dam'd colour'd stocke. Shall we sit about some Reuels?
  To. What shall we do else: were we not borne vnder
Taurus?
  And. Taurus? That sides and heart

   To. No sir, it is leggs and thighes: let me see thee caper.
Ha, higher: ha, ha, excellent.

Exeunt.

Scena Quarta.

Enter Valentine, and Viola in mans attire.

  Val. If the Duke continue these fauours towards you
Cesario, you are like to be much aduanc'd, he hath known
you but three dayes, and already you are no stranger

   Vio. You either feare his humour, or my negligence,
that you call in question the continuance of his loue. Is
he inconstant sir, in his fauours

   Val. No beleeue me.
Enter Duke, Curio, and Attendants.

  Vio. I thanke you: heere comes the Count

   Duke. Who saw Cesario hoa?
  Vio. On your attendance my Lord heere

   Du. Stand you a-while aloofe. Cesario,
Thou knowst no lesse, but all: I haue vnclasp'd
To thee the booke euen of my secret soule.
Therefore good youth, addresse thy gate vnto her,
Be not deni'de accesse, stand at her doores,
And tell them, there thy fixed foot shall grow
Till thou haue audience

   Vio. Sure my Noble Lord,
If she be so abandon'd to her sorrow
As it is spoke, she neuer will admit me

   Du. Be clamorous, and leape all ciuill bounds,
Rather then make vnprofited returne,
  Vio. Say I do speake with her (my Lord) what then?
  Du. O then, vnfold the passion of my loue,
Surprize her with discourse of my deere faith;
It shall become thee well to act my woes:
She will attend it better in thy youth,
Then in a Nuntio's of more graue aspect

   Vio. I thinke not so, my Lord

   Du. Deere Lad, beleeue it;
For they shall yet belye thy happy yeeres,
That say thou art a man: Dianas lip
Is not more smooth, and rubious: thy small pipe
Is as the maidens organ, shrill, and sound,
And all is semblatiue a womans part.
I know thy constellation is right apt
For this affayre: some foure or fiue attend him,
All if you will: for I my selfe am best
When least in companie: prosper well in this,
And thou shalt liue as freely as thy Lord,
To call his fortunes thine

   Vio. Ile do my best
To woe your Lady: yet a barrefull strife,
Who ere I woe, my selfe would be his wife.

Exeunt.


Scena Quinta.


Enter Maria, and Clowne.

  Ma. Nay, either tell me where thou hast bin, or I will
not open my lippes so wide as a brissle may enter, in way
of thy excuse: my Lady will hang thee for thy absence

   Clo. Let her hang me: hee that is well hang'de in this
world, needs to feare no colours

   Ma. Make that good

   Clo. He shall see none to feare

   Ma. A good lenton answer: I can tell thee where y
saying was borne, of I feare no colours

   Clo. Where good mistris Mary?
  Ma. In the warrs, & that may you be bolde to say in
your foolerie

   Clo. Well, God giue them wisedome that haue it: &
those that are fooles, let them vse their talents

   Ma. Yet you will be hang'd for being so long absent,
or to be turn'd away: is not that as good as a hanging to
you?
  Clo. Many a good hanging, preuents a bad marriage:
and for turning away, let summer beare it out

   Ma. You are resolute then?
  Clo. Not so neyther, but I am resolu'd on two points
  Ma. That if one breake, the other will hold: or if both
breake, your gaskins fall

   Clo. Apt in good faith, very apt: well go thy way, if
sir Toby would leaue drinking, thou wert as witty a piece
of Eues flesh, as any in Illyria

   Ma. Peace you rogue, no more o'that: here comes my
Lady: make your excuse wisely, you were best.
Enter Lady Oliuia, with Maluolio.

  Clo. Wit, and't be thy will, put me into good fooling:
those wits that thinke they haue thee, doe very oft proue
fooles: and I that am sure I lacke thee, may passe for a
wise man. For what saies Quinapalus, Better a witty foole,
then a foolish wit. God blesse thee Lady

   Ol. Take the foole away

   Clo. Do you not heare fellowes, take away the Ladie

   Ol. Go too, y'are a dry foole: Ile no more of you: besides
you grow dis-honest

   Clo. Two faults Madona, that drinke & good counsell
wil amend: for giue the dry foole drink, then is the foole
not dry: bid the dishonest man mend himself, if he mend,
he is no longer dishonest; if hee cannot, let the Botcher
mend him: any thing that's mended, is but patch'd: vertu
that transgresses, is but patcht with sinne, and sin that amends,
is but patcht with vertue. If that this simple
Sillogisme will serue, so: if it will not, what remedy?
As there is no true Cuckold but calamity, so beauties a
flower; The Lady bad take away the foole, therefore I
say againe, take her away

   Ol. Sir, I bad them take away you

   Clo. Misprision in the highest degree. Lady, Cucullus
non facit monachum: that's as much to say, as I weare not
motley in my braine: good Madona, giue mee leaue to
proue you a foole

   Ol. Can you do it?
  Clo. Dexteriously, good Madona

   Ol. Make your proofe

   Clo. I must catechize you for it Madona, Good my
Mouse of vertue answer mee

   Ol. Well sir, for want of other idlenesse, Ile bide your
proofe

   Clo. Good Madona, why mournst thou?
  Ol. Good foole, for my brothers death

   Clo. I thinke his soule is in hell, Madona

   Ol. I know his soule is in heauen, foole

   Clo. The more foole (Madona) to mourne for your
Brothers soule, being in heauen. Take away the Foole,
Gentlemen

   Ol. What thinke you of this foole Maluolio, doth he
not mend?
  Mal. Yes, and shall do, till the pangs of death shake
him: Infirmity that decaies the wise, doth euer make the
better foole

   Clow. God send you sir, a speedie Infirmity, for the
better increasing your folly: Sir Toby will be sworn that
I am no Fox, but he wil not passe his word for two pence
that you are no Foole

   Ol. How say you to that Maluolio?
  Mal. I maruell your Ladyship takes delight in such
a barren rascall: I saw him put down the other day, with
an ordinary foole, that has no more braine then a stone.
Looke you now, he's out of his gard already: vnles you
laugh and minister occasion to him, he is gag'd. I protest
I take these Wisemen, that crow so at these set kinde of
fooles, no better then the fooles Zanies

   Ol. O you are sicke of selfe-loue Maluolio, and taste
with a distemper'd appetite. To be generous, guiltlesse,
and of free disposition, is to take those things for Bird-bolts,
that you deeme Cannon bullets: There is no slander
in an allow'd foole, though he do nothing but rayle;
nor no rayling, in a knowne discreet man, though hee do
nothing but reproue

   Clo. Now Mercury indue thee with leasing, for thou
speak'st well of fooles.
Enter Maria.

  Mar. Madam, there is at the gate, a young Gentleman,
much desires to speake with you

   Ol. From the Count Orsino, is it?
  Ma I know not (Madam) 'tis a faire young man, and
well attended

   Ol. Who of my people hold him in delay?
  Ma. Sir Toby Madam, your kinsman

   Ol. Fetch him off I pray you, he speakes nothing but
madman: Fie on him. Go you Maluolio; If it be a suit
from the Count, I am sicke, or not at home. What you
will, to dismisse it.

Exit Maluo.

Now you see sir, how your fooling growes old, & people
dislike it

   Clo. Thou hast spoke for vs (Madona) as if thy eldest
sonne should be a foole: whose scull, Ioue cramme with
braines, for heere he comes.
Enter Sir Toby.

One of thy kin has a most weake Pia-mater

   Ol. By mine honor halfe drunke. What is he at the
gate Cosin?
  To. A Gentleman

   Ol. A Gentleman? What Gentleman?
  To. 'Tis a Gentleman heere. A plague o'these pickle
herring: How now Sot

   Clo. Good Sir Toby

   Ol. Cosin, Cosin, how haue you come so earely by
this Lethargie?
  To. Letcherie, I defie Letchery: there's one at the
gate

   Ol. I marry, what is he?
  To. Let him be the diuell and he will, I care not: giue
me faith say I. Well, it's all one.

Exit

  Ol. What's a drunken man like, foole?
  Clo. Like a drown'd man, a foole, and a madde man:
One draught aboue heate, makes him a foole, the second
maddes him, and a third drownes him

   Ol. Go thou and seeke the Crowner, and let him sitte
o'my Coz: for he's in the third degree of drinke: hee's
drown'd: go looke after him

   Clo. He is but mad yet Madona, and the foole shall
looke to the madman.
Enter Maluolio.

  Mal. Madam, yond young fellow sweares hee will
speake with you. I told him you were sicke, he takes on
him to vnderstand so much, and therefore comes to speak
with you. I told him you were asleepe, he seems to haue
a fore knowledge of that too, and therefore comes to
speake with you. What is to be said to him Ladie, hee's
fortified against any deniall

   Ol. Tell him, he shall not speake with me

   Mal. Ha's beene told so: and hee sayes hee'l stand at
your doore like a Sheriffes post, and be the supporter to
a bench, but hee'l speake with you

   Ol. What kinde o'man is he?
  Mal. Why of mankinde

   Ol. What manner of man?
  Mal. Of verie ill manner: hee'l speake with you, will
you, or no

   Ol. Of what personage, and yeeres is he?
  Mal. Not yet old enough for a man, nor yong enough
for a boy: as a squash is before tis a pescod, or a Codling
when tis almost an Apple: Tis with him in standing water,
betweene boy and man. He is verie well-fauour'd,
and he speakes verie shrewishly: One would thinke his
mothers milke were scarse out of him

   Ol. Let him approach: Call in my Gentlewoman

   Mal. Gentlewoman, my Lady calles.
Enter.

Enter Maria.

  Ol. Giue me my vaile: come throw it ore my face,
Wee'l once more heare Orsinos Embassie.
Enter Violenta.

  Vio. The honorable Ladie of the house, which is she?
  Ol. Speake to me, I shall answer for her: your will

   Vio. Most radiant, exquisite, and vnmatchable beautie.
I pray you tell me if this bee the Lady of the house,
for I neuer saw her. I would bee loath to cast away my
speech: for besides that it is excellently well pend, I haue
taken great paines to con it. Good Beauties, let mee sustaine
no scorne; I am very comptible, euen to the least
sinister vsage

   Ol. Whence came you sir?
  Vio. I can say little more then I haue studied, & that
question's out of my part. Good gentle one, giue mee
modest assurance, if you be the Ladie of the house, that | I
may proceede in my speech

   Ol. Are you a Comedian?
  Vio. No my profound heart: and yet (by the verie
phangs of malice, I sweare) I am not that I play. Are you
the Ladie of the house?
  Ol. If I do not vsurpe my selfe, I am

   Vio. Most certaine, if you are she, you do vsurp your
selfe: for what is yours to bestowe, is, not yours to reserue.
But this is from my Commission: I will on with
my speech in your praise, and then shew you the heart of
my message

   Ol. Come to what is important in't: I forgiue you
the praise

   Vio. Alas, I tooke great paines to studie it, and 'tis
Poeticall

   Ol. It is the more like to be feigned, I pray you keep
it in. I heard you were sawcy at my gates, & allowd your
approach rather to wonder at you, then to heare you. If
you be not mad, be gone: if you haue reason, be breefe:
'tis not that time of Moone with me, to make one in so
skipping a dialogue

   Ma. Will you hoyst sayle sir, here lies your way

   Vio. No good swabber, I am to hull here a little longer.
Some mollification for your Giant, sweete Ladie;
tell me your minde, I am a messenger

   Ol. Sure you haue some hiddeous matter to deliuer,
when the curtesie of it is so fearefull. Speake your office

   Vio. It alone concernes your eare: I bring no ouerture
of warre, no taxation of homage; I hold the Olyffe
in my hand: my words are as full of peace, as matter

   Ol. Yet you began rudely. What are you?
What would you?
  Vio. The rudenesse that hath appear'd in mee, haue I
learn'd from my entertainment. What I am, and what I
would, are as secret as maiden-head: to your eares, Diuinity;
to any others, prophanation

   Ol. Giue vs the place alone,
We will heare this diuinitie. Now sir, what is your text?
  Vio. Most sweet Ladie

   Ol. A comfortable doctrine, and much may bee saide
of it. Where lies your Text?
  Vio. In Orsinoes bosome

   Ol. In his bosome? In what chapter of his bosome?
  Vio. To answer by the method, in the first of his hart

   Ol. O, I haue read it: it is heresie. Haue you no more
to say?
  Vio. Good Madam, let me see your face

   Ol. Haue you any Commission from your Lord, to
negotiate with my face: you are now out of your Text:
but we will draw the Curtain, and shew you the picture.
Looke you sir, such a one I was this present: Ist not well
done?
  Vio. Excellently done, if God did all

   Ol. 'Tis in graine sir, 'twill endure winde and weather

   Vio. Tis beauty truly blent, whose red and white,
Natures owne sweet, and cunning hand laid on:
Lady, you are the cruell'st shee aliue,
If you will leade these graces to the graue,
And leaue the world no copie

   Ol. O sir, I will not be so hard-hearted: I will giue
out diuers scedules of my beautie. It shalbe Inuentoried
and euery particle and vtensile labell'd to my will: As,
Item two lippes indifferent redde, Item two grey eyes,
with lids to them: Item, one necke, one chin, & so forth.
Were you sent hither to praise me?
  Vio. I see you what you are, you are too proud:
But if you were the diuell, you are faire:
My Lord, and master loues you: O such loue
Could be but recompenc'd, though you were crown'd
The non-pareil of beautie

   Ol. How does he loue me?
  Vio. With adorations, fertill teares,
With groanes that thunder loue, with sighes of fire

   Ol. Your Lord does know my mind, I cannot loue him
Yet I suppose him vertuous, know him noble,
Of great estate, of fresh and stainlesse youth;
In voyces well divulg'd, free, learn'd, and valiant,
And in dimension, and the shape of nature,
A gracious person; But yet I cannot loue him:
He might haue tooke his answer long ago

   Vio. If I did loue you in my masters flame,
With such a suffring, such a deadly life:
In your deniall, I would finde no sence,
I would not vnderstand it

   Ol. Why, what would you?
  Vio. Make me a willow Cabine at your gate,
And call vpon my soule within the house,
Write loyall Cantons of contemned loue,
And sing them lowd euen in the dead of night:
Hallow your name to the reuerberate hilles,
And make the babling Gossip of the aire,
Cry out Oliuia: O you should not rest
Betweene the elements of ayre, and earth,
But you should pittie me

   Ol. You might do much:
What is your Parentage?
  Vio. Aboue my fortunes, yet my state is well:
I am a Gentleman

   Ol. Get you to your Lord:
I cannot loue him: let him send no more,
Vnlesse (perchance) you come to me againe,
To tell me how he takes it: Fare you well:
I thanke you for your paines: spend this for mee

   Vio. I am no feede poast, Lady; keepe your purse,
My Master, not my selfe, lackes recompence.
Loue make his heart of flint, that you shal loue,
And let your feruour like my masters be,
Plac'd in contempt: Farwell fayre crueltie.

Exit

  Ol. What is your Parentage?
Aboue my fortunes, yet my state is well;
I am a Gentleman. Ile be sworne thou art,
Thy tongue, thy face, thy limbes, actions, and spirit,
Do giue thee fiue-fold blazon: not too fast: soft, soft,
Vnlesse the Master were the man. How now?
Euen so quickly may one catch the plague?
Me thinkes I feele this youths perfections
With an inuisible, and subtle stealth
To creepe in at mine eyes. Well, let it be.
What hoa, Maluolio.
Enter Maluolio.

  Mal. Heere Madam, at your seruice

   Ol. Run after that same peeuish Messenger
The Countes man: he left this Ring behinde him
Would I, or not: tell him, Ile none of it.
Desire him not to flatter with his Lord,
Nor hold him vp with hopes, I am not for him:
If that the youth will come this way to morrow,
Ile giue him reasons for't: hie thee Maluolio

   Mal. Madam, I will.
Enter.

  Ol. I do I know not what, and feare to finde
Mine eye too great a flatterer for my minde:
Fate, shew thy force, our selues we do not owe,
What is decreed, must be: and be this so.

Finis, Actus primus.


Actus Secundus, Scaena prima.

Enter Antonio & Sebastian.

  Ant. Will you stay no longer: nor will you not that
I go with you

   Seb. By your patience, no: my starres shine darkely
ouer me; the malignancie of my fate, might perhaps distemper
yours; therefore I shall craue of you your leaue,
that I may beare my euils alone. It were a bad recompence
for your loue, to lay any of them on you

   An. Let me yet know of you, whither you are bound

   Seb. No sooth sir: my determinate voyage is meere
extrauagancie. But I perceiue in you so excellent a touch
of modestie, that you will not extort from me, what I am
willing to keepe in: therefore it charges me in manners,
the rather to expresse my selfe: you must know of mee
then Antonio, my name is Sebastian (which I call'd Rodorigo)
my father was that Sebastian of Messaline, whom I
know you haue heard of. He left behinde him, my selfe,
and a sister, both borne in an houre: if the Heauens had
beene pleas'd, would we had so ended. But you sir, alter'd
that, for some houre before you tooke me from the
breach of the sea, was my sister drown'd

   Ant. Alas the day

   Seb. A Lady sir, though it was said shee much resembled
me, was yet of many accounted beautiful: but thogh
I could not with such estimable wonder ouer-farre beleeue
that, yet thus farre I will boldly publish her, shee
bore a minde that enuy could not but call faire: Shee is
drown'd already sir with salt water, though I seeme to
drowne her remembrance againe with more

   Ant. Pardon me sir, your bad entertainment

   Seb. O good Antonio, forgiue me your trouble

   Ant. If you will not murther me for my loue, let mee
be your seruant

   Seb. If you will not vndo what you haue done, that is
kill him, whom you haue recouer'd, desire it not. Fare
ye well at once, my bosome is full of kindnesse, and I
am yet so neere the manners of my mother, that vpon the
least occasion more, mine eyes will tell tales of me: I am
bound to the Count Orsino's Court, farewell.

Exit

  Ant. The gentlenesse of all the gods go with thee:
I haue many enemies in Orsino's Court,
Else would I very shortly see thee there:
But come what may, I do adore thee so,
That danger shall seeme sport, and I will go.
Enter.


Scaena Secunda.

Enter Viola and Maluolio, at seuerall doores.

  Mal. Were not you eu'n now, with the Countesse Oliuia?
  Vio. Euen now sir, on a moderate pace, I haue since ariu'd
but hither

   Mal. She returnes this Ring to you (sir) you might
haue saued mee my paines, to haue taken it away your
selfe. She adds moreouer, that you should put your Lord
into a desperate assurance, she will none of him. And one
thing more, that you be neuer so hardie to come againe
in his affaires, vnlesse it bee to report your Lords taking
of this: receiue it so

   Vio. She tooke the Ring of me, Ile none of it

   Mal. Come sir, you peeuishly threw it to her: and
her will is, it should be so return'd: If it bee worth stooping
for, there it lies, in your eye: if not, bee it his that
findes it.
Enter.

  Vio. I left no Ring with her: what meanes this Lady?
Fortune forbid my out-side haue not charm'd her:
She made good view of me, indeed so much,
That me thought her eyes had lost her tongue,
For she did speake in starts distractedly.
She loues me sure, the cunning of her passion
Inuites me in this churlish messenger:
None of my Lords Ring? Why he sent her none;
I am the man, if it be so, as tis,
Poore Lady, she were better loue a dreame:
Disguise, I see thou art a wickednesse,
Wherein the pregnant enemie does much.
How easie is it, for the proper false
In womens waxen hearts to set their formes:
Alas, O frailtie is the cause, not wee,
For such as we are made, if such we bee:
How will this fadge? My master loues her deerely,
And I (poore monster) fond asmuch on him:
And she (mistaken) seemes to dote on me:
What will become of this? As I am man,
My state is desperate for my maisters loue:
As I am woman (now alas the day)
What thriftlesse sighes shall poore Oliuia breath?
O time, thou must vntangle this, not I,
It is too hard a knot for me t' vnty.

Scoena Tertia.

Enter Sir Toby, and Sir Andrew.

  To. Approach Sir Andrew: not to bee a bedde after
midnight, is to be vp betimes, and Deliculo surgere, thou
know'st

   And. Nay by my troth I know not: but I know, to
be vp late, is to be vp late

   To. A false conclusion: I hate it as an vnfill'd Canne.
To be vp after midnight, and to go to bed then is early:
so that to go to bed after midnight, is to goe to bed betimes.
Does not our liues consist of the foure Elements?
  And. Faith so they say, but I thinke it rather consists
of eating and drinking

   To. Th'art a scholler; let vs therefore eate and drinke
Marian I say, a stoope of wine.
Enter Clowne.

  And. Heere comes the foole yfaith

   Clo. How now my harts: Did you neuer see the Picture
of we three?
  To. Welcome asse, now let's haue a catch

   And. By my troth the foole has an excellent breast. I
had rather then forty shillings I had such a legge, and so
sweet a breath to sing, as the foole has. Insooth thou wast
in very gracious fooling last night, when thou spok'st of
Pigrogromitus, of the Vapians passing the Equinoctial of
Queubus: 'twas very good yfaith: I sent thee sixe pence
for thy Lemon, hadst it?
  Clo. I did impeticos thy gratillity: for Maluolios nose
is no Whip-stocke. My Lady has a white hand, and the
Mermidons are no bottle-ale houses

   An. Excellent: Why this is the best fooling, when
all is done. Now a song

   To. Come on, there is sixe pence for you. Let's haue
a song

   An. There's a testrill of me too: if one knight giue a
  Clo. Would you haue a loue-song, or a song of good
life?
  To. A loue song, a loue song

   An. I, I. I care not for good life

   Clowne sings .
O Mistris mine where are you roming?
O stay and heare, your true loues coming,
That can sing both high and low.
Trip no further prettie sweeting.
Iourneys end in louers meeting,
Euery wise mans sonne doth know

   An. Excellent good, ifaith

   To. Good, good

   Clo. What is loue, tis not heereafter,
Present mirth, hath present laughter:
What's to come, is still vnsure.
In delay there lies no plentie,
Then come kisse me sweet and twentie:
Youths a stuffe will not endure

   An. A mellifluous voyce, as I am true knight

   To. A contagious breath

   An. Very sweet, and contagious ifaith

   To. To heare by the nose, it is dulcet in contagion.
But shall we make the Welkin dance indeed? Shall wee
rowze the night-Owle in a Catch, that will drawe three
soules out of one Weauer? Shall we do that?
  And. And you loue me, let's doo't: I am dogge at a
Catch

   Clo. Byrlady sir, and some dogs will catch well

   An. Most certaine: Let our Catch be, Thou Knaue

   Clo. Hold thy peace, thou Knaue knight. I shall be constrain'd
in't, to call thee knaue, Knight

   An. 'Tis not the first time I haue constrained one to
call me knaue. Begin foole: it begins, Hold thy peace

   Clo. I shall neuer begin if I hold my peace

   An. Good ifaith: Come begin.

Catch sung

Enter Maria.

  Mar. What a catterwalling doe you keepe heere? If
my Ladie haue not call'd vp her Steward Maluolio, and
bid him turne you out of doores, neuer trust me

   To. My Lady's a Catayan, we are politicians, Maluolios
a Peg-a-ramsie, and Three merry men be wee. Am not I
consanguinious? Am I not of her blood: tilly vally. Ladie,
There dwelt a man in Babylon, Lady, Lady

   Clo. Beshrew me, the knights in admirable fooling

   An. I, he do's well enough if he be dispos'd, and so
do I too: he does it with a better grace, but I do it more
naturall

   To. O the twelfe day of December

   Mar. For the loue o' God peace.
Enter Maluolio.

  Mal. My masters are you mad? Or what are you?
Haue you no wit, manners, nor honestie, but to gabble
like Tinkers at this time of night? Do yee make an Alehouse
of my Ladies house, that ye squeak out your Coziers
Catches without any mitigation or remorse of voice?
Is there no respect of place, persons, nor time in you?
  To. We did keepe time sir in our Catches. Snecke vp

   Mal. Sir Toby, I must be round with you. My Lady
bad me tell you, that though she harbors you as her kinsman,
she's nothing ally'd to your disorders. If you can
separate your selfe and your misdemeanors, you are welcome
to the house: if not, and it would please you to take
leaue of her, she is very willing to bid you farewell

   To. Farewell deere heart, since I must needs be gone

   Mar. Nay good Sir Toby

   Clo. His eyes do shew his dayes are almost done

   Mal. Is't euen so?
  To. But I will neuer dye

   Clo. Sir Toby there you lye

   Mal. This is much credit to you

   To. Shall I bid him go

   Clo. What and if you do?
  To. Shall I bid him go, and spare not?
  Clo. O no, no, no, no, you dare not

   To. Out o' tune sir, ye lye: Art any more then a Steward?
Dost thou thinke because thou art vertuous, there
shall be no more Cakes and Ale?
  Clo. Yes by S[aint]. Anne, and Ginger shall bee hotte y'th
mouth too

   To. Th'art i'th right. Goe sir, rub your Chaine with
crums. A stope of Wine Maria

   Mal. Mistris Mary, if you priz'd my Ladies fauour
at any thing more then contempt, you would not giue
meanes for this vnciuill rule; she shall know of it by this
hand.

Exit

  Mar. Go shake your eares

   An. 'Twere as good a deede as to drink when a mans
a hungrie, to challenge him the field, and then to breake
promise with him, and make a foole of him

   To. Doo't knight, Ile write thee a Challenge: or Ile
deliuer thy indignation to him by word of mouth

   Mar. Sweet Sir Toby be patient for to night: Since
the youth of the Counts was to day with my Lady, she is
much out of quiet. For Monsieur Maluolio, let me alone
with him: If I do not gull him into a nayword, and make
him a common recreation, do not thinke I haue witte enough
to lye straight in my bed: I know I can do it

   To. Possesse vs, possesse vs, tell vs something of him

   Mar. Marrie sir, sometimes he is a kinde of Puritane

   An. O, if I thought that, Ide beate him like a dogge

   To. What for being a Puritan, thy exquisite reason,
deere knight

   An. I haue no exquisite reason for't, but I haue reason
good enough

   Mar. The diu'll a Puritane that hee is, or any thing
constantly but a time-pleaser, an affection'd Asse, that
cons State without booke, and vtters it by great swarths.
The best perswaded of himselfe: so cram'd (as he thinkes)
with excellencies, that it is his grounds of faith, that all
that looke on him, loue him: and on that vice in him, will
my reuenge finde notable cause to worke

   To. What wilt thou do?
  Mar. I will drop in his way some obscure Epistles of
loue, wherein by the colour of his beard, the shape of his
legge, the manner of his gate, the expressure of his eye,
forehead, and complection, he shall finde himselfe most
feelingly personated. I can write very like my Ladie
your Neece, on a forgotten matter wee can hardly make
distinction of our hands

   To. Excellent, I smell a deuice

   An. I hau't in my nose too

   To. He shall thinke by the Letters that thou wilt drop
that they come from my Neece, and that shee's in loue
with him

   Mar. My purpose is indeed a horse of that colour

   An. And your horse now would make him an Asse

   Mar. Asse, I doubt not

   An. O twill be admirable

   Mar. Sport royall I warrant you: I know my Physicke
will worke with him, I will plant you two, and let
the Foole make a third, where he shall finde the Letter:
obserue his construction of it: For this night to bed, and
dreame on the euent: Farewell.

Exit

  To. Good night Penthisilea

   An. Before me she's a good wench

   To. She's a beagle true bred, and one that adores me:
what o'that?
  An. I was ador'd once too

   To. Let's to bed knight: Thou hadst neede send for
more money

   An. If I cannot recouer your Neece, I am a foule way
out

   To. Send for money knight, if thou hast her not i'th
end, call me Cut

   An. If I do not, neuer trust me, take it how you will

   To. Come, come, Ile go burne some Sacke, tis too late
to go to bed now: Come knight, come knight.

Exeunt.

Scena Quarta.

Enter Duke, Viola, Curio, and others

   Du. Giue me some Musick; Now good morow frends.
Now good Cesario, but that peece of song,
That old and Anticke song we heard last night;
Me thought it did releeue my passion much,
More then light ayres, and recollected termes
Of these most briske and giddy-paced times.
Come, but one verse

   Cur. He is not heere (so please your Lordshippe) that
should sing it?
  Du. Who was it?
  Cur. Feste the Iester my Lord, a foole that the Ladie
Oliuiaes Father tooke much delight in. He is about the
house

   Du. Seeke him out, and play the tune the while.

Musicke playes.

Come hither Boy, if euer thou shalt loue
In the sweet pangs of it, remember me:
For such as I am, all true Louers are,
Vnstaid and skittish in all motions else,
Saue in the constant image of the creature
That is belou'd. How dost thou like this tune?
  Vio. It giues a verie eccho to the seate
Where loue is thron'd

   Du. Thou dost speake masterly,
My life vpon't, yong though thou art, thine eye
Hath staid vpon some fauour that it loues:
Hath it not boy?
  Vio. A little, by your fauour

   Du. What kinde of woman ist?
  Vio. Of your complection

   Du. She is not worth thee then. What yeares ifaith?
  Vio. About your yeeres my Lord

   Du. Too old by heauen: Let still the woman take
An elder then her selfe, so weares she to him;
So swayes she leuell in her husbands heart:
For boy, howeuer we do praise our selues,
Our fancies are more giddie and vnfirme,
More longing, wauering, sooner lost and worne,
Then womens are

   Vio. I thinke it well my Lord

   Du. Then let thy Loue be yonger then thy selfe,
Or thy affection cannot hold the bent:
For women are as Roses, whose faire flowre
Being once displaid, doth fall that verie howre

   Vio. And so they are: alas, that they are so:
To die, euen when they to perfection grow.
Enter Curio & Clowne.

  Du. O fellow come, the song we had last night:
Marke it Cesario, it is old and plaine;
The Spinsters and the Knitters in the Sun,
And the free maides that weaue their thred with bones,
Do vse to chaunt it: it is silly sooth,
And dallies with the innocence of loue,
Like the old age

   Clo. Are you ready Sir?
  Duke. I prethee sing.

Musicke.

The Song.

Come away, come away death,
And in sad cypresse let me be laide.
Fye away, fie away breath,
I am slaine by a faire cruell maide:
My shrowd of white, stuck all with Ew, O prepare it.
My part of death no one so true did share it.
Not a flower, not a flower sweete
On my blacke coffin, let there be strewne:
Not a friend, not a friend greet
My poore corpes, where my bones shall be throwne:
A thousand thousand sighes to saue, lay me o where
Sad true louer neuer find my graue, to weepe there

   Du. There's for thy paines

   Clo. No paines sir, I take pleasure in singing sir

   Du. Ile pay thy pleasure then

   Clo. Truely sir, and pleasure will be paide one time, or
another

   Du. Giue me now leaue, to leaue thee

   Clo. Now the melancholly God protect thee, and the
Tailor make thy doublet of changeable Taffata, for thy
minde is a very Opall. I would haue men of such constancie
put to Sea, that their businesse might be euery thing,
and their intent euerie where, for that's it, that alwayes
makes a good voyage of nothing. Farewell.

Exit

  Du. Let all the rest giue place: Once more Cesario,
Get thee to yond same soueraigne crueltie:
Tell her my loue, more noble then the world
Prizes not quantitie of dirtie lands,
The parts that fortune hath bestow'd vpon her:
Tell her I hold as giddily as Fortune:
But 'tis that miracle, and Queene of Iems
That nature prankes her in, attracts my soule

   Vio. But if she cannot loue you sir

   Du. It cannot be so answer'd

   Vio. Sooth but you must.
Say that some Lady, as perhappes there is,
Hath for your loue as great a pang of heart
As you haue for Oliuia: you cannot loue her:
You tel her so: Must she not then be answer'd?
  Du. There is no womans sides
Can bide the beating of so strong a passion,
As loue doth giue my heart: no womans heart
So bigge, to hold so much, they lacke retention.
Alas, their loue may be call'd appetite,
No motion of the Liuer, but the Pallat,
That suffer surfet, cloyment, and reuolt,
But mine is all as hungry as the Sea,
And can digest as much, make no compare
Betweene that loue a woman can beare me,
And that I owe Oliuia

   Vio. I but I know

   Du. What dost thou knowe?
  Vio. Too well what loue women to men may owe:
In faith they are as true of heart, as we.
My Father had a daughter lou'd a man
As it might be perhaps, were I a woman
I should your Lordship

   Du. And what's her history?
  Vio. A blanke my Lord: she neuer told her loue,
But let concealment like a worme i'th budde
Feede on her damaske cheeke: she pin'd in thought,
And with a greene and yellow melancholly,
She sate like Patience on a Monument,
Smiling at greefe. Was not this loue indeede?
We men may say more, sweare more, but indeed
Our shewes are more then will: for still we proue
Much in our vowes, but little in our loue

   Du. But di'de thy sister of her loue my Boy?
  Vio. I am all the daughters of my Fathers house,
And all the brothers too: and yet I know not.
Sir, shall I to this Lady?
  Du. I that's the Theame,
To her in haste: giue her this Iewell: say,
My loue can giue no place, bide no denay.

Exeunt.

Scena Quinta.

Enter Sir Toby, Sir Andrew, and Fabian.

  To. Come thy wayes Signior Fabian

   Fab. Nay Ile come: if I loose a scruple of this sport,
let me be boyl'd to death with Melancholly

   To. Wouldst thou not be glad to haue the niggardly
Rascally sheepe-biter, come by some notable shame?
  Fa. I would exult man: you know he brought me out
o' fauour with my Lady, about a Beare-baiting heere

   To. To anger him wee'l haue the Beare againe, and
we will foole him blacke and blew, shall we not sir Andrew?
  An. And we do not, it is pittie of our liues.
Enter Maria.

  To. Heere comes the little villaine: How now my
Mettle of India?
  Mar. Get ye all three into the box tree: Maluolio's
comming downe this walke, he has beene yonder i'the
Sunne practising behauiour to his own shadow this halfe
houre: obserue him for the loue of Mockerie: for I know
this Letter wil make a contemplatiue Ideot of him. Close
in the name of ieasting, lye thou there: for heere comes
the Trowt, that must be caught with tickling.

Exit

Enter Maluolio.

  Mal. 'Tis but Fortune, all is fortune. Maria once
told me she did affect me, and I haue heard her self come
thus neere, that should shee fancie, it should bee one of
my complection. Besides she vses me with a more exalted
respect, then any one else that followes her. What
should I thinke on't?
  To. Heere's an ouer-weening rogue

   Fa. Oh peace: Contemplation makes a rare Turkey
Cocke of him, how he iets vnder his aduanc'd plumes

   And. Slight I could so beate the Rogue

   To. Peace I say

   Mal. To be Count Maluolio

   To. Ah Rogue

   An. Pistoll him, pistoll him

   To. Peace, peace

   Mal. There is example for't: The Lady of the Strachy,
married the yeoman of the wardrobe

   An. Fie on him Iezabel

   Fa. O peace, now he's deepely in: looke how imagination
blowes him

   Mal. Hauing beene three moneths married to her,
sitting in my state

   To. O for a stone-bow to hit him in the eye

   Mal. Calling my Officers about me, in my branch'd
Veluet gowne: hauing come from a day bedde, where I
haue left Oliuia sleeping

   To. Fire and Brimstone

   Fa. O peace, peace

   Mal. And then to haue the humor of state: and after
a demure trauaile of regard: telling them I knowe my
place, as I would they should doe theirs: to aske for my
kinsman Toby

   To. Boltes and shackles

   Fa. Oh peace, peace, peace, now, now

   Mal. Seauen of my people with an obedient start,
make out for him: I frowne the while, and perchance
winde vp my watch, or play with my some rich Iewell:
Toby approaches; curtsies there to me

   To. Shall this fellow liue?
  Fa. Though our silence be drawne from vs with cars,
yet peace

   Mal. I extend my hand to him thus: quenching my
familiar smile with an austere regard of controll

   To. And do's not Toby take you a blow o'the lippes,
then?
  Mal. Saying, Cosine Toby, my Fortunes hauing cast
me on your Neece, giue me this prerogatiue of speech

   To. What, what?
  Mal. You must amend your drunkennesse

   To. Out scab

   Fab. Nay patience, or we breake the sinewes of our
plot?
  Mal. Besides you waste the treasure of your time,
with a foolish knight

   And. That's mee I warrant you

   Mal. One sir Andrew

   And. I knew 'twas I, for many do call mee foole

   Mal. What employment haue we heere?
  Fa. Now is the Woodcocke neere the gin

   To. Oh peace, and the spirit of humors intimate reading
aloud to him

   Mal. By my life this is my Ladies hand: these bee her
very C's, her V's, and her T's, and thus makes shee her
great P's. It is in contempt of question her hand

   An. Her C's, her V's, and her T's: why that?
  Mal. To the vnknowne belou'd, this, and my good Wishes:
Her very Phrases: By your leaue wax. Soft, and the impressure
her Lucrece, with which she vses to seale: tis my
Lady: To whom should this be?
  Fab. This winnes him, Liuer and all

   Mal. Ioue knowes I loue, but who, Lips do not mooue, no
man must know. No man must know. What followes?
The numbers alter'd: No man must know,
If this should be thee Maluolio?
  To. Marrie hang thee brocke

   Mal. I may command where I adore, but silence like a Lucresse
knife:
With bloodlesse stroke my heart doth gore, M.O.A.I. doth
sway my life

   Fa. A fustian riddle

   To. Excellent Wench, say I

   Mal. M.O.A.I. doth sway my life. Nay but first
let me see, let me see, let me see

   Fab. What dish a poyson has she drest him?
  To. And with what wing the stallion checkes at it?
  Mal. I may command, where I adore: Why shee may
command me: I serue her, she is my Ladie. Why this is
euident to any formall capacitie. There is no obstruction
in this, and the end: What should that Alphabeticall position
portend, if I could make that resemble something
in me? Softly, M.O.A.I

   To. O I, make vp that, he is now at a cold sent

   Fab. Sowter will cry vpon't for all this, though it bee
as ranke as a Fox

   Mal. M. Maluolio, M. why that begins my name

   Fab. Did not I say he would worke it out, the Curre
is excellent at faults

   Mal. M. But then there is no consonancy in the sequell
that suffers vnder probation: A. should follow, but O.
does

   Fa. And O shall end, I hope

   To. I, or Ile cudgell him, and make him cry O

   Mal. And then I. comes behind

   Fa. I, and you had any eye behinde you, you might
see more detraction at your heeles, then Fortunes before
you

   Mal. M,O,A,I. This simulation is not as the former:
and yet to crush this a little, it would bow to mee, for euery
one of these Letters are in my name. Soft, here followes
prose: If this fall into thy hand, reuolue. In my stars
I am aboue thee, but be not affraid of greatnesse: Some
are become great, some atcheeues greatnesse, and some
haue greatnesse thrust vppon em. Thy fates open theyr
hands, let thy blood and spirit embrace them, and to invre
thy selfe to what thou art like to be: cast thy humble
slough, and appeare fresh. Be opposite with a kinsman,
surly with seruants: Let thy tongue tang arguments of
state; put thy selfe into the tricke of singularitie. Shee
thus aduises thee, that sighes for thee. Remember who
commended thy yellow stockings, and wish'd to see thee
euer crosse garter'd: I say remember, goe too, thou art
made if thou desir'st to be so: If not, let me see thee a steward
still, the fellow of seruants, and not woorthie to
touch Fortunes fingers Farewell, Shee that would alter
seruices with thee, the fortunate vnhappy daylight and
champian discouers not more: This is open, I will bee
proud, I will reade politicke Authours, I will baffle Sir
Toby, I will wash off grosse acquaintance, I will be point
deuise, the very man. I do not now foole my selfe, to let
imagination iade mee; for euery reason excites to this,
that my Lady loues me. She did commend my yellow
stockings of late, shee did praise my legge being crosse-garter'd,
and in this she manifests her selfe to my loue, &
with a kinde of iniunction driues mee to these habites of
her liking. I thanke my starres, I am happy: I will bee
strange, stout, in yellow stockings, and crosse Garter'd,
euen with the swiftnesse of putting on. Ioue, and my
starres be praised. Heere is yet a postscript. Thou canst
not choose but know who I am. If thou entertainst my loue, let
it appeare in thy smiling, thy smiles become thee well. Therefore
in my presence still smile, deero my sweete, I prethee. Ioue
I thanke thee, I will smile, I wil do euery thing that thou
wilt haue me.

Exit

  Fab. I will not giue my part of this sport for a pension
of thousands to be paid from the Sophy

   To. I could marry this wench for this deuice

   An. So could I too

   To. And aske no other dowry with her, but such another
iest.
Enter Maria.

  An. Nor I neither

   Fab. Heere comes my noble gull catcher

   To. Wilt thou set thy foote o'my necke

   An. Or o'mine either?
  To. Shall I play my freedome at tray-trip, and becom
thy bondslaue?
  An. Ifaith, or I either?
  Tob. Why, thou hast put him in such a dreame, that
when the image of it leaues him, he must run mad

   Ma. Nay but say true, do's it worke vpon him?
  To. Like Aqua vite with a Midwife

   Mar. If you will then see the fruites of the sport, mark
his first approach before my Lady: hee will come to her
in yellow stockings, and 'tis a colour she abhorres, and
crosse garter'd, a fashion shee detests: and hee will smile
vpon her, which will now be so vnsuteable to her disposition,
being addicted to a melancholly, as shee is, that it
cannot but turn him into a notable contempt: if you wil
see it follow me

   To. To the gates of Tartar, thou most excellent diuell
of wit

   And. Ile make one too.

Exeunt.

Finis Actus secundus


Actus Tertius, Scaena prima.

Enter Viola and Clowne.

  Vio. Saue thee Friend and thy Musick: dost thou liue
by thy Tabor?
  Clo. No sir, I liue by the Church

   Vio. Art thou a Churchman?
  Clo. No such matter sir, I do liue by the Church: For,
I do liue at my house, and my house dooth stand by the
Church

   Vio. So thou maist say the Kings lyes by a begger, if a
begger dwell neer him: or the Church stands by thy Tabor,
if thy Tabor stand by the Church

   Clo. You haue said sir: To see this age: A sentence is
but a cheu'rill gloue to a good witte, how quickely the
wrong side may be turn'd outward

   Vio. Nay that's certaine: they that dally nicely with
words, may quickely make them wanton

   Clo. I would therefore my sister had had no name Sir

   Vio. Why man?
  Clo. Why sir, her names a word, and to dallie with
that word, might make my sister wanton: But indeede,
words are very Rascals, since bonds disgrac'd them

   Vio. Thy reason man?
  Clo. Troth sir, I can yeeld you none without wordes,
and wordes are growne so false, I am loath to proue reason
with them

   Vio. I warrant thou art a merry fellow, and car'st for
nothing

   Clo. Not so sir, I do care for something: but in my conscience
sir, I do not care for you: if that be to care for nothing
sir, I would it would make you inuisible

   Vio. Art not thou the Lady Oliuia's foole?
  Clo. No indeed sir, the Lady Oliuia has no folly, shee
will keepe no foole sir, till she be married, and fooles are
as like husbands, as Pilchers are to Herrings, the Husbands
the bigger, I am indeede not her foole, but hir corrupter
of words

   Vio. I saw thee late at the Count Orsino's

   Clo. Foolery sir, does walke about the Orbe like the
Sun, it shines euery where. I would be sorry sir, but the
Foole should be as oft with your Master, as with my Mistris:
I thinke I saw your wisedome there

   Vio. Nay, and thou passe vpon me, Ile no more with
thee. Hold there's expences for thee

   Clo. Now Ioue in his next commodity of hayre, send
thee a beard

   Vio. By my troth Ile tell thee, I am almost sicke for
one, though I would not haue it grow on my chinne. Is
thy Lady within?
  Clo Would not a paire of these haue bred sir?
  Vio. Yes being kept together, and put to vse

   Clo. I would play Lord Pandarus of Phrygia sir, to bring
a Cressida to this Troylus

   Vio. I vnderstand you sir, tis well begg'd

   Clo. The matter I hope is not great sir; begging, but a
begger: Cressida was a begger. My Lady is within sir. I
will conster to them whence you come, who you are, and
what you would are out of my welkin, I might say Element,
but the word is ouer-worne.

Exit

  Vio. This fellow is wise enough to play the foole,
And to do that well, craues a kinde of wit:
He must obserue their mood on whom he iests,
The quality of persons, and the time:
And like the Haggard, checke at euery Feather
That comes before his eye. This is a practice,
As full of labour as a Wise-mans Art:
For folly that he wisely shewes, is fit;
But wisemens folly falne, quite taint their wit.
Enter Sir Toby and Andrew.

  To. Saue you Gentleman

   Vio. And you sir

   And. Dieu vou guard Monsieur

   Vio. Et vouz ousie vostre seruiture

   An. I hope sir, you are, and I am yours

   To. Will you incounter the house, my Neece is desirous
you should enter, if your trade be to her

   Vio. I am bound to your Neece sir, I meane she is the
list of my voyage

   To. Taste your legges sir, put them to motion

   Vio. My legges do better vnderstand me sir, then I vnderstand
what you meane by bidding me taste my legs

   To. I meane to go sir, to enter

   Vio. I will answer you with gate and entrance, but we
are preuented.
Enter Oliuia, and Gentlewoman.

Most excellent accomplish'd Lady, the heauens raine Odours
on you

   And. That youth's a rare Courtier, raine odours, wel

   Vio. My matter hath no voice Lady, but to your owne
most pregnant and vouchsafed eare

   And. Odours, pregnant, and vouchsafed: Ile get 'em
all three already

   Ol. Let the Garden doore be shut, and leaue mee to
my hearing. Giue me your hand sir

   Vio. My dutie Madam, and most humble seruice

   Ol. What is your name?
  Vio. Cesario is your seruants name, faire Princesse

   Ol. My seruant sir? 'Twas neuer merry world,
Since lowly feigning was call'd complement:
Y'are seruant to the Count Orsino youth

   Vio. And he is yours, and his must needs be yours:
Your seruants seruant, is your seruant Madam

   Ol. For him, I thinke not on him: for his thoughts,
Would they were blankes, rather then fill'd with me

   Vio. Madam, I come to whet your gentle thoughts
On his behalfe

   Ol. O by your leaue I pray you.
I bad you neuer speake againe of him;
But would you vndertake another suite
I had rather heare you, to solicit that,
Then Musicke from the spheares

   Vio. Deere Lady

   Ol. Giue me leaue, beseech you: I did send,
After the last enchantment you did heare,
A Ring in chace of you. So did I abuse
My selfe, my seruant, and I feare me you:
Vnder your hard construction must I sit,
To force that on you in a shamefull cunning
Which you knew none of yours. What might you think?
Haue you not set mine Honor at the stake,
And baited it with all th' vnmuzled thoughts
That tyrannous heart can think? To one of your receiuing
Enough is shewne, a Cipresse, not a bosome,
Hides my heart: so let me heare you speake

   Vio. I pittie you

   Ol. That's a degree to loue

   Vio. No not a grize: for tis a vulgar proofe
That verie oft we pitty enemies

   Ol. Why then me thinkes 'tis time to smile agen:
O world, how apt the poore are to be proud?
If one should be a prey, how much the better
To fall before the Lion, then the Wolfe?

Clocke strikes.

The clocke vpbraides me with the waste of time:
Be not affraid good youth, I will not haue you,
And yet when wit and youth is come to haruest,
Your wife is like to reape a proper man:
There lies your way, due West

   Vio. Then Westward hoe:
Grace and good disposition attend your Ladyship:
You'l nothing Madam to my Lord, by me:
  Ol. Stay: I prethee tell me what thou thinkst of me?
  Vio. That you do thinke you are not what you are

   Ol. If I thinke so, I thinke the same of you

   Vio. Then thinke you right: I am not what I am

   Ol. I would you were, as I would haue you be

   Vio. Would it be better Madam, then I am?
I wish it might, for now I am your foole

   Ol. O what a deale of scorne, lookes beautifull?
In the contempt and anger of his lip,
A murdrous guilt shewes not it selfe more soone,
Then loue that would seeme hid: Loues night, is noone.
Cesario, by the Roses of the Spring,
By maid-hood, honor, truth, and euery thing,
I loue thee so, that maugre all thy pride,
Nor wit, nor reason, can my passion hide:
Do not extort thy reasons from this clause,
For that I woo, thou therefore hast no cause:
But rather reason thus, with reason fetter;
Loue sought, is good: but giuen vnsought, is better

   Vio. By innocence I sweare, and by my youth,
I haue one heart, one bosome, and one truth,
And that no woman has, nor neuer none
Shall mistris be of it, saue I alone.
And so adieu good Madam, neuer more,
Will I my Masters teares to you deplore

   Ol. Yet come againe: for thou perhaps mayst moue
That heart which now abhorres, to like his loue.

Exeunt.

Scoena Secunda.

Enter Sir Toby, Sir Andrew, and Fabian.

  And. No faith, Ile not stay a iot longer:
  To. Thy reason deere venom, giue thy reason

   Fab. You must needes yeelde your reason, Sir Andrew?
  And. Marry I saw your Neece do more fauours to the
Counts Seruing-man, then euer she bestow'd vpon mee:
I saw't i'th Orchard

   To. Did she see the while, old boy, tell me that

   And. As plaine as I see you now

   Fab. This was a great argument of loue in her toward
you

   And. S'light; will you make an Asse o'me

   Fab. I will proue it legitimate sir, vpon the Oathes of
iudgement, and reason

   To. And they haue beene grand Iurie men, since before
Noah was a Saylor

   Fab. Shee did shew fauour to the youth in your sight,
onely to exasperate you, to awake your dormouse valour,
to put fire in your Heart, and brimstone in your Liuer:
you should then haue accosted her, and with some excellent
iests, fire-new from the mint, you should haue bangd
the youth into dumbenesse: this was look'd for at your
hand, and this was baulkt: the double gilt of this opportunitie
you let time wash off, and you are now sayld into
the North of my Ladies opinion, where you will hang
like an ysickle on a Dutchmans beard, vnlesse you do redeeme
it, by some laudable attempt, either of valour or
policie

   And. And't be any way, it must be with Valour, for
policie I hate: I had as liefe be a Brownist, as a Politician

   To. Why then build me thy fortunes vpon the basis of
valour. Challenge me the Counts youth to fight with him
hurt him in eleuen places, my Neece shall take note of it,
and assure thy selfe, there is no loue-Broker in the world,
can more preuaile in mans commendation with woman,
then report of valour

   Fab. There is no way but this sir Andrew

   An. Will either of you beare me a challenge to him?
  To. Go, write it in a martial hand, be curst and briefe:
it is no matter how wittie, so it bee eloquent, and full of
inuention: taunt him with the license of Inke: if thou
thou'st him some thrice, it shall not be amisse, and as many
Lyes, as will lye in thy sheete of paper, although the
sheete were bigge enough for the bedde of Ware in England,
set 'em downe, go about it. Let there bee gaulle enough
in thy inke, though thou write with a Goose-pen,
no matter: about it

   And. Where shall I finde you?
  To. Wee'l call thee at the Cubiculo: Go.

Exit Sir Andrew.

  Fa. This is a deere Manakin to you Sir Toby

   To. I haue beene deere to him lad, some two thousand
strong, or so

   Fa. We shall haue a rare Letter from him; but you'le
not deliuer't

   To. Neuer trust me then: and by all meanes stirre on
the youth to an answer. I thinke Oxen and waine-ropes
cannot hale them together. For Andrew, if he were open'd
and you finde so much blood in his Liuer, as will clog the
foote of a flea, Ile eate the rest of th' anatomy

   Fab. And his opposit the youth beares in his visage no
great presage of cruelty.
Enter Maria.

  To. Looke where the youngest Wren of mine comes

   Mar. If you desire the spleene, and will laughe your
selues into stitches, follow me; yond gull Maluolio is turned
Heathen, a verie Renegatho; for there is no christian
that meanes to be saued by beleeuing rightly, can euer
beleeue such impossible passages of grossenesse. Hee's in
yellow stockings

   To. And crosse garter'd?
  Mar. Most villanously: like a Pedant that keepes a
Schoole i'th Church: I haue dogg'd him like his murtherer.
He does obey euery point of the Letter that I dropt,
to betray him: He does smile his face into more lynes,
then is in the new Mappe, with the augmentation of the
Indies: you haue not seene such a thing as tis: I can hardly
forbeare hurling things at him, I know my Ladie will
strike him: if shee doe, hee'l smile, and take't for a great
fauour

   To. Come bring vs, bring vs where he is.

Exeunt. Omnes.


Scaena Tertia.

Enter Sebastian and Anthonio.

  Seb. I would not by my will haue troubled you,
But since you make your pleasure of your paines,
I will no further chide you

   Ant. I could not stay behinde you: my desire
(More sharpe then filed steele) did spurre me forth,
And not all loue to see you (though so much
As might haue drawne one to a longer voyage)
But iealousie, what might befall your trauell,
Being skillesse in these parts: which to a stranger,
Vnguided, and vnfriended, often proue
Rough, and vnhospitable. My willing loue,
The rather by these arguments of feare
Set forth in your pursuite

   Seb. My kinde Anthonio,
I can no other answer make, but thankes,
And thankes: and euer oft good turnes,
Are shuffel'd off with such vncurrant pay:
But were my worth, as is my conscience firme,
You should finde better dealing: what's to do?
Shall we go see the reliques of this Towne?
  Ant. To morrow sir, best first go see your Lodging?
  Seb. I am not weary, and 'tis long to night
I pray you let vs satisfie our eyes
With the memorials, and the things of fame
That do renowne this City

   Ant. Would youl'd pardon me:
I do not without danger walke these streetes.
Once in a sea-fight 'gainst the Count his gallies,
I did some seruice, of such note indeede,
That were I tane heere, it would scarse be answer'd

   Seb. Belike you slew great number of his people

   Ant. Th' offence is not of such a bloody nature,
Albeit the quality of the time, and quarrell
Might well haue giuen vs bloody argument:
It might haue since bene answer'd in repaying
What we tooke from them, which for Traffiques sake
Most of our City did. Onely my selfe stood out,
For which if I be lapsed in this place
I shall pay deere

   Seb. Do not then walke too open

   Ant. It doth not fit me: hold sir, here's my purse,
In the South Suburbes at the Elephant
Is best to lodge: I will bespeake our dyet,
Whiles you beguile the time, and feed your knowledge
With viewing of the Towne, there shall you haue me

   Seb. Why I your purse?
  Ant. Haply your eye shall light vpon some toy
You haue desire to purchase: and your store
I thinke is not for idle Markets, sir

   Seb. Ile be your purse-bearer, and leaue you
For an houre

   Ant. To th' Elephant

   Seb. I do remember.

Exeunt.



Scoena Quarta.

Enter Oliuia and Maria.

  Ol. I haue sent after him, he sayes hee'l come:
How shall I feast him? What bestow of him?
For youth is bought more oft, then begg'd, or borrow'd.
I speake too loud: Where's Maluolio, he is sad, and ciuill,
And suites well for a seruant with my fortunes,
Where is Maluolio?
  Mar. He's comming Madame:
But in very strange manner. He is sure possest Madam

   Ol. Why what's the matter, does he raue?
  Mar. No Madam, he does nothing but smile: your Ladyship
were best to haue some guard about you, if hee
come, for sure the man is tainted in's wits

   Ol. Go call him hither.
Enter Maluolio.

I am as madde as hee,
If sad and merry madnesse equall bee.
How now Maluolio?
  Mal. Sweet Lady, ho, ho

   Ol. Smil'st thou? I sent for thee vpon a sad occasion

   Mal. Sad Lady, I could be sad:
This does make some obstruction in the blood:
This crosse-gartering, but what of that?
If it please the eye of one, it is with me as the very true
Sonnet is: Please one, and please all

   Mal. Why how doest thou man?
What is the matter with thee?
  Mal. Not blacke in my minde, though yellow in my
legges: It did come to his hands, and Commaunds shall
be executed. I thinke we doe know the sweet Romane
hand

   Ol. Wilt thou go to bed Maluolio?
  Mal. To bed? I sweet heart, and Ile come to thee

   Ol. God comfort thee: Why dost thou smile so, and
kisse thy hand so oft?
  Mar. How do you Maluolio?
  Maluo. At your request:
Yes Nightingales answere Dawes

   Mar. Why appeare you with this ridiculous boldnesse
before my Lady

   Mal. Be not afraid of greatnesse: 'twas well writ

   Ol. What meanst thou by that Maluolio?
  Mal. Some are borne great

   Ol. Ha?
  Mal. Some atcheeue greatnesse

   Ol. What sayst thou?
  Mal. And some haue greatnesse thrust vpon them

   Ol. Heauen restore thee

   Mal. Remember who commended thy yellow stockings

   Ol. Thy yellow stockings?
  Mal. And wish'd to see thee crosse garter'd

   Ol. Crosse garter'd?
  Mal. Go too, thou art made, if thou desir'st to be so

   Ol. Am I made?
  Mal. If not, let me see thee a seruant still

   Ol. Why this is verie Midsommer madnesse.
Enter Seruant.

  Ser. Madame, the young Gentleman of the Count
Orsino's is return'd, I could hardly entreate him backe: he
attends your Ladyships pleasure

   Ol. Ile come to him.
Good Maria, let this fellow be look'd too. Where's my
Cosine Toby, let some of my people haue a speciall care
of him, I would not haue him miscarrie for the halfe of
my Dowry.

Exit

  Mal. Oh ho, do you come neere me now: no worse
man then sir Toby to looke to me. This concurres directly
with the Letter, she sends him on purpose, that I may
appeare stubborne to him: for she incites me to that in
the Letter. Cast thy humble slough sayes she: be opposite
with a Kinsman, surly with seruants, let thy tongue
langer with arguments of state, put thy selfe into the
tricke of singularity: and consequently setts downe the
manner how: as a sad face, a reuerend carriage, a slow
tongue, in the habite of some Sir of note, and so foorth.
I haue lymde her, but it is Ioues doing, and Ioue make me
thankefull. And when she went away now, let this Fellow
be look'd too: Fellow? not Maluolio, nor after my
degree, but Fellow. Why euery thing adheres togither,
that no dramme of a scruple, no scruple of a scruple, no
obstacle, no incredulous or vnsafe circumstance: What
can be saide? Nothing that can be, can come betweene
me, and the full prospect of my hopes. Well Ioue, not I,
is the doer of this, and he is to be thanked.
Enter Toby, Fabian, and Maria.

  To. Which way is hee in the name of sanctity. If all
the diuels of hell be drawne in little, and Legion himselfe
possest him, yet Ile speake to him

   Fab. Heere he is, heere he is: how ist with you sir?
How ist with you man?
  Mal. Go off, I discard you: let me enioy my priuate:
go off

   Mar. Lo, how hollow the fiend speakes within him;
did not I tell you? Sir Toby, my Lady prayes you to haue
a care of him

   Mal. Ah ha, does she so?
  To. Go too, go too: peace, peace, wee must deale
gently with him: Let me alone. How do you Maluolio?
How ist with you? What man, defie the diuell: consider,
he's an enemy to mankinde

   Mal. Do you know what you say?
  Mar. La you, and you speake ill of the diuell, how
he takes it at heart. Pray God he be not bewitch'd

   Fab. Carry his water to th' wise woman

   Mar. Marry and it shall be done to morrow morning
if I liue. My Lady would not loose him for more then ile
say

   Mal. How now mistris?
  Mar. Oh Lord

   To. Prethee hold thy peace, this is not the way: Doe
you not see you moue him? Let me alone with him

   Fa. No way but gentlenesse, gently, gently: the Fiend
is rough, and will not be roughly vs'd

   To. Why how now my bawcock? how dost y chuck?
  Mal. Sir

   To. I biddy, come with me. What man, tis not for
grauity to play at cherrie-pit with sathan Hang him foul
Colliar

   Mar. Get him to say his prayers, good sir Toby gette
him to pray

   Mal. My prayers Minx

   Mar. No I warrant you, he will not heare of godlynesse

   Mal. Go hang your selues all: you are ydle shallowe
things, I am not of your element, you shall knowe more
heereafter.

Exit

  To. Ist possible?
  Fa. If this were plaid vpon a stage now, I could condemne
it as an improbable fiction

   To. His very genius hath taken the infection of the
deuice man

   Mar. Nay pursue him now, least the deuice take ayre,
and taint

   Fa. Why we shall make him mad indeede

   Mar. The house will be the quieter

   To. Come, wee'l haue him in a darke room & bound.
My Neece is already in the beleefe that he's mad: we may
carry it thus for our pleasure, and his pennance, til our very
pastime tyred out of breath, prompt vs to haue mercy
on him: at which time, we wil bring the deuice to the bar
and crowne thee for a finder of madmen: but see, but see.
Enter Sir Andrew.

  Fa. More matter for a May morning

   An. Heere's the Challenge, reade it: I warrant there's
vinegar and pepper in't

   Fab. Ist so sawcy?
  And. I, ist? I warrant him: do but read

   To. Giue me.
Youth, whatsoeuer thou art, thou art but a scuruy fellow

   Fa. Good, and valiant

   To. Wonder not, nor admire not in thy minde why I doe call
thee so, for I will shew thee no reason for't

   Fa. A good note, that keepes you from the blow of y Law
  To. Thou comst to the Lady Oliuia, and in my sight she vses
thee kindly: but thou lyest in thy throat, that is not the matter
I challenge thee for

   Fa. Very breefe, and to exceeding good sence-lesse

   To. I will way-lay thee going home, where if it be thy chance
to kill me

   Fa. Good

   To. Thou kilst me like a rogue and a villaine

   Fa. Still you keepe o'th windie side of the Law: good

   Tob. Fartheewell, and God haue mercie vpon one of our
soules. He may haue mercie vpon mine, but my hope is better,
and so looke to thy selfe. Thy friend as thou vsest him, & thy
sworne enemie, Andrew Ague-cheeke

   To. If this Letter moue him not, his legges cannot:
Ile giu't him

   Mar. You may haue verie fit occasion for't: he is now
in some commerce with my Ladie, and will by and by
depart

   To. Go sir Andrew: scout mee for him at the corner
of the Orchard like a bum-Baylie: so soone as euer thou
seest him, draw, and as thou draw'st, sweare horrible: for
it comes to passe oft, that a terrible oath, with a swaggering
accent sharpely twang'd off, giues manhoode more
approbation, then euer proofe it selfe would haue earn'd
him. Away

   And. Nay let me alone for swearing.

Exit

  To. Now will not I deliuer his Letter: for the behauiour
of the yong Gentleman, giues him out to be of good
capacity, and breeding: his employment betweene his
Lord and my Neece, confirmes no lesse. Therefore, this
Letter being so excellently ignorant, will breed no terror
in the youth: he will finde it comes from a Clodde-pole.
But sir, I will deliuer his Challenge by word of mouth;
set vpon Ague-cheeke a notable report of valor, and driue
the Gentleman (as I know his youth will aptly receiue it)
into a most hideous opinion of his rage, skill, furie, and
impetuositie. This will so fright them both, that they wil
kill one another by the looke, like Cockatrices.
Enter Oliuia and Viola.

  Fab. Heere he comes with your Neece, giue them way
till he take leaue, and presently after him

   To. I wil meditate the while vpon some horrid message
for a Challenge

   Ol. I haue said too much vnto a hart of stone,
And laid mine honour too vnchary on't:
There's something in me that reproues my fault:
But such a head-strong potent fault it is,
That it but mockes reproofe

   Vio. With the same hauiour that your passion beares,
Goes on my Masters greefes

   Ol. Heere, weare this Iewell for me, tis my picture:
Refuse it not, it hath no tongue, to vex you:
And I beseech you come againe to morrow.
What shall you aske of me that Ile deny,
That honour (sau'd) may vpon asking giue

   Vio. Nothing but this, your true loue for my master

   Ol. How with mine honor may I giue him that,
Which I haue giuen to you

   Vio. I will acquit you

   Ol. Well, come againe to morrow: far-thee-well,
A Fiend like thee might beare my soule to hell.
Enter Toby and Fabian.

  To. Gentleman, God saue thee

   Vio. And you sir

   To. That defence thou hast, betake the too't: of what
nature the wrongs are thou hast done him, I knowe not:
but thy intercepter full of despight, bloody as the Hunter,
attends thee at the Orchard end: dismount thy tucke,
be yare in thy preparation, for thy assaylant is quick, skilfull,
and deadly

   Vio. You mistake sir I am sure, no man hath any quarrell
to me: my remembrance is very free and cleere from
any image of offence done to any man

   To. You'l finde it otherwise I assure you: therefore, if
you hold your life at any price, betake you to your gard:
for your opposite hath in him what youth, strength, skill,
and wrath, can furnish man withall

   Vio. I pray you sir what is he?
  To. He is knight dubb'd with vnhatch'd Rapier, and
on carpet consideration, but he is a diuell in priuate brall,
soules and bodies hath he diuorc'd three, and his incensement
at this moment is so implacable, that satisfaction
can be none, but by pangs of death and sepulcher: Hob,
nob, is his word: giu't or take't

   Vio. I will returne againe into the house, and desire
some conduct of the Lady. I am no fighter, I haue heard
of some kinde of men, that put quarrells purposely on others,
to taste their valour: belike this is a man of that
quirke

   To. Sir, no: his indignation deriues it selfe out of a very
computent iniurie, therefore get you on, and giue him
his desire. Backe you shall not to the house, vnlesse you
vndertake that with me, which with as much safetie you
might answer him: therefore on, or strippe your sword
starke naked: for meddle you must that's certain, or forsweare
to weare iron about you

   Vio. This is as vnciuill as strange. I beseech you doe
me this courteous office, as to know of the Knight what
my offence to him is: it is something of my negligence,
nothing of my purpose

   To. I will doe so. Signiour Fabian, stay you by this
Gentleman, till my returne.

Exit Toby.

  Vio. Pray you sir, do you know of this matter?
  Fab. I know the knight is incenst against you, euen to
a mortall arbitrement, but nothing of the circumstance
more

   Vio. I beseech you what manner of man is he?
  Fab. Nothing of that wonderfull promise to read him
by his forme, as you are like to finde him in the proofe of
his valour. He is indeede sir, the most skilfull, bloudy, &
fatall opposite that you could possibly haue found in anie
part of Illyria: will you walke towards him, I will make
your peace with him, if I can

   Vio. I shall bee much bound to you for't: I am one,
that had rather go with sir Priest, then sir knight: I care
not who knowes so much of my mettle.

Exeunt.

Enter Toby and Andrew.

  To. Why man hee s a verie diuell, I haue not seen such
a firago: I had a passe with him, rapier, scabberd, and all:
and he giues me the stucke in with such a mortall motion
that it is ineuitable: and on the answer, he payes you as
surely, as your feete hits the ground they step on. They
say, he has bin Fencer to the Sophy

   And. Pox on't, Ile not meddle with him

   To. I but he will not now be pacified,
Fabian can scarse hold him yonder

   An. Plague on't, and I thought he had beene valiant,
and so cunning in Fence, I'de haue seene him damn'd ere
I'de haue challeng'd him. Let him let the matter slip, and
Ile giue him my horse, gray Capilet

   To. Ile make the motion: stand heere, make a good
shew on't, this shall end without the perdition of soules,
marry Ile ride your horse as well as I ride you.
Enter Fabian and Viola.

I haue his horse to take vp the quarrell, I haue perswaded
him the youths a diuell

   Fa. He is as horribly conceited of him: and pants, &
lookes pale, as if a Beare were at his heeles

   To. There's no remedie sir, he will fight with you for's
oath sake: marrie hee hath better bethought him of his
quarrell, and hee findes that now scarse to bee worth talking
of: therefore draw for the supportance of his vowe,
he protests he will not hurt you

   Vio. Pray God defend me: a little thing would make
me tell them how much I lacke of a man

   Fab. Giue ground if you see him furious

   To. Come sir Andrew, there's no remedie, the Gentleman
will for his honors sake haue one bowt with you:
he cannot by the Duello auoide it: but hee has promised
me, as he is a Gentleman and a Soldiour, he will not hurt
you. Come on, too't

   And. Pray God he keepe his oath.
Enter Antonio.

  Vio. I do assure you tis against my will

   Ant. Put vp your sword: if this yong Gentleman
Haue done offence, I take the fault on me:
If you offend him, I for him defie you

   To. You sir? Why, what are you?
  Ant. One sir, that for his loue dares yet do more
Then you haue heard him brag to you he will

   To. Nay, if you be an vndertaker, I am for you.
Enter Officers.

  Fab. O good sir Toby hold: heere come the Officers

   To. Ile be with you anon

   Vio. Pray sir, put your sword vp if you please

   And. Marry will I sir: and for that I promis'd you Ile
be as good as my word. Hee will beare you easily, and
raines well

   1.Off. This is the man, do thy Office

   2.Off. Anthonio, I arrest thee at the suit of Count Orsino
  An. You do mistake me sir

   1.Off. No sir, no iot: I know your fauour well:
Though now you haue no sea-cap on your head:
Take him away, he knowes I know him well

   Ant. I must obey. This comes with seeking you:
But there's no remedie, I shall answer it:
What will you do: now my necessitie
Makes me to aske you for my purse. It greeues mee
Much more, for what I cannot do for you,
Then what befals my selfe: you stand amaz'd,
But be of comfort

   2.Off. Come sir away

   Ant. I must entreat of you some of that money

   Vio. What money sir?
For the fayre kindnesse you haue shew'd me heere,
And part being prompted by your present trouble,
Out of my leane and low ability
Ile lend you something: my hauing is not much,
Ile make diuision of my present with you:
Hold, there's halfe my Coffer

   Ant. Will you deny me now,
Ist possible that my deserts to you
Can lacke perswasion. Do not tempt my misery,
Least that it make me so vnsound a man
As to vpbraid you with those kindnesses
That I haue done for you

   Vio. I know of none,
Nor know I you by voyce, or any feature:
I hate ingratitude more in a man,
Then lying, vainnesse, babling drunkennesse,
Or any taint of vice, whose strong corruption
Inhabites our fraile blood

   Ant. Oh heauens themselues

   2.Off. Come sir, I pray you go

   Ant. Let me speake a little. This youth that you see heere,
I snatch'd one halfe out of the iawes of death,
Releeu'd him with such sanctitie of loue;
And to his image, which me thought did promise
Most venerable worth, did I deuotion

   1.Off. What's that to vs, the time goes by: Away

   Ant. But oh, how vilde an idoll proues this God:
Thou hast Sebastian done good feature, shame.
In Nature, there's no blemish but the minde:
None can be call'd deform'd, but the vnkinde.
Vertue is beauty, but the beauteous euill
Are empty trunkes, ore-flourish'd by the deuill

   1.Off. The man growes mad, away with him:
Come, come sir

   Ant. Leade me on.

Exit

  Vio. Me thinkes his words do from such passion flye
That he beleeues himselfe, so do not I:
Proue true imagination, oh proue true,
That I deere brother, be now tane for you

   To. Come hither Knight, come hither Fabian: Weel
whisper ore a couplet or two of most sage sawes

   Vio. He nam'd Sebastian: I my brother know
Yet liuing in my glasse: euen such, and so
In fauour was my Brother, and he went
Still in this fashion, colour, ornament,
For him I imitate: Oh if it proue,
Tempests are kinde, and salt waues fresh in loue

   To. A very dishonest paltry boy, and more a coward
then a Hare, his dishonesty appeares, in leauing his frend
heere in necessity, and denying him: and for his cowardship
aske Fabian

   Fab. A Coward, a most deuout Coward, religious in
it

   And. Slid Ile after him againe, and beate him

   To. Do, cuffe him soundly, but neuer draw thy sword
  And. And I do not

   Fab. Come, let's see the euent

   To. I dare lay any money, twill be nothing yet.

Exit


Actus Quartus, Scaena prima.

Enter Sebastian and Clowne

   Clo. Will you make me beleeue, that I am not sent for
you?
  Seb. Go too, go too, thou art a foolish fellow,
Let me be cleere of thee

   Clo. Well held out yfaith: No, I do not know you,
nor I am not sent to you by my Lady, to bid you come
speake with her: nor your name is not Master Cesario,
nor this is not my nose neyther: Nothing that is so, is so

   Seb. I prethee vent thy folly some-where else, thou
know'st not me

   Clo. Vent my folly: He has heard that word of some
great man, and now applyes it to a foole. Vent my folly:
I am affraid this great lubber the World will proue a
Cockney: I prethee now vngird thy strangenes, and tell
me what I shall vent to my Lady? Shall I vent to hir that
thou art comming?
  Seb. I prethee foolish greeke depart from me, there's
money for thee, if you tarry longer, I shall giue worse
paiment

   Clo. By my troth thou hast an open hand: these Wisemen
that giue fooles money, get themselues a good report,
after foureteene yeares purchase.
Enter Andrew, Toby, and Fabian.

  And. Now sir, haue I met you again: ther's for you

   Seb. Why there's for thee, and there, and there,
Are all the people mad?
  To. Hold sir, or Ile throw your dagger ore the house
  Clo. This will I tell my Lady straight, I would not be
in some of your coats for two pence

   To. Come on sir, hold

   An. Nay let him alone, Ile go another way to worke
with him: Ile haue an action of Battery against him, if
there be any law in Illyria: though I stroke him first, yet
it's no matter for that

   Seb. Let go thy hand

   To. Come sir, I will not let you go. Come my yong
souldier put vp your yron: you are well flesh'd: Come
on

   Seb. I will be free from thee. What wouldst y now?
If thou dar'st tempt me further, draw thy sword

   To. What, what? Nay then I must haue an Ounce or
two of this malapert blood from you.
Enter Oliuia.

  Ol. Hold Toby, on thy life I charge thee hold

   To. Madam

   Ol. Will it be euer thus? Vngracious wretch,
Fit for the Mountaines, and the barbarous Caues,
Where manners nere were preach'd: out of my sight.
Be not offended, deere Cesario:
Rudesbey be gone. I prethee gentle friend,
Let thy fayre wisedome, not thy passion sway
In this vnciuill, and vniust extent
Against thy peace. Go with me to my house,
And heare thou there how many fruitlesse prankes
This Ruffian hath botch'd vp, that thou thereby
Mayst smile at this: Thou shalt not choose but goe:
Do not denie, beshrew his soule for mee,
He started one poore heart of mine, in thee

   Seb. What rellish is in this? How runs the streame?
Or I am mad, or else this is a dreame:
Let fancie still my sense in Lethe steepe,
If it be thus to dreame, still let me sleepe

   Ol. Nay come I prethee, would thoud'st be rul'd by me
  Seb. Madam, I will

   Ol. O say so, and so be.

Exeunt.

Scoena Secunda.

Enter Maria and Clowne.

  Mar. Nay, I prethee put on this gown, & this beard,
make him beleeue thou art sir Topas the Curate, doe it
quickly. Ile call sir Toby the whilst

   Clo. Well, Ile put it on, and I will dissemble my selfe
in't, and I would I were the first that euer dissembled in
in such a gowne. I am not tall enough to become the
function well, nor leane enough to bee thought a good
Studient: but to be said an honest man and a good houskeeper
goes as fairely, as to say, a carefull man, & a great
scholler. The Competitors enter.
Enter Toby.

  To. Ioue blesse thee M[aster]. Parson

   Clo. Bonos dies sir Toby: for as the old hermit of Prage
that neuer saw pen and inke, very wittily sayd to a Neece
of King Gorbodacke, that that is, is: so I being M[aster]. Parson,
am M[aster]. Parson; for what is that, but that? and is, but is?
  To. To him sir Topas

   Clow. What hoa, I say, Peace in this prison

   To. The knaue counterfets well: a good knaue.

Maluolio within.

  Mal. Who cals there?
  Clo. Sir Topas the Curate, who comes to visit Maluolio
the Lunaticke

   Mal. Sir Topas, sir Topas, good sir Topas goe to my
Ladie

   Clo. Out hyperbolicall fiend, how vexest thou this
man? Talkest thou nothing but of Ladies?
  Tob. Well said M[aster]. Parson

   Mal. Sir Topas, neuer was man thus wronged, good
sir Topas do not thinke I am mad: they haue layde mee
heere in hideous darknesse

   Clo. Fye, thou dishonest sathan: I call thee by the
most modest termes, for I am one of those gentle ones,
that will vse the diuell himselfe with curtesie: sayst thou
that house is darke?
  Mal. As hell sir Topas

   Clo. Why it hath bay Windowes transparant as baricadoes,
and the cleere stores toward the South north, are
as lustrous as Ebony: and yet complainest thou of obstruction?
  Mal. I am not mad sir Topas, I say to you this house is
darke

   Clo. Madman thou errest: I say there is no darknesse
but ignorance, in which thou art more puzel'd then the
aegyptians in their fogge

   Mal. I say this house is as darke as Ignorance, thogh
Ignorance were as darke as hell; and I say there was neuer
man thus abus'd, I am no more madde then you are,
make the triall of it in any constant question

   Clo. What is the opinion of Pythagoras concerning
Wilde-fowle?
  Mal. That the soule of our grandam, might happily
inhabite a bird

   Clo. What thinkst thou of his opinion?
  Mal. I thinke nobly of the soule, and no way aproue
his opinion

   Clo. Fare thee well: remaine thou still in darkenesse,
thou shalt hold th' opinion of Pythagoras, ere I will allow
of thy wits, and feare to kill a Woodcocke, lest thou dispossesse
the soule of thy grandam. Fare thee well

   Mal. Sir Topas, sir Topas

   Tob. My most exquisite sir Topas

   Clo. Nay I am for all waters

   Mar. Thou mightst haue done this without thy berd
and gowne, he sees thee not

   To. To him in thine owne voyce, and bring me word
how thou findst him: I would we were well ridde of this
knauery. If he may bee conueniently deliuer'd, I would
he were, for I am now so farre in offence with my Niece,
that I cannot pursue with any safety this sport the vppeshot.
Come by and by to my Chamber.

Exit

  Clo. Hey Robin, iolly Robin, tell me how thy Lady
does

   Mal. Foole

   Clo. My Lady is vnkind, perdie

   Mal. Foole

   Clo. Alas why is she so?
  Mal. Foole, I say

   Clo. She loues another. Who calles, ha?
  Mal. Good foole, as euer thou wilt deserue well at
my hand, helpe me to a Candle, and pen, inke, and paper:
as I am a Gentleman, I will liue to bee thankefull to thee
for't

   Clo. M[aster]. Maluolio?
  Mal. I good Foole

   Clo. Alas sir, how fell you besides your fiue witts?
  Mall. Foole, there was neuer man so notoriouslie abus'd:
I am as well in my wits (foole) as thou art

   Clo. But as well: then you are mad indeede, if you be
no better in your wits then a foole

   Mal. They haue heere propertied me: keepe mee in
darkenesse, send Ministers to me, Asses, and doe all they
can to face me out of my wits

   Clo. Aduise you what you say: the Minister is heere.
Maluolio, Maluolio, thy wittes the heauens restore: endeauour
thy selfe to sleepe, and leaue thy vaine bibble
babble

   Mal. Sir Topas

   Clo. Maintaine no words with him good fellow.
Who I sir, not I sir. God buy you good sir Topas: Marry
Amen. I will sir, I will

   Mal. Foole, foole, foole I say

   Clo. Alas sir be patient. What say you sir, I am shent
for speaking to you

   Mal. Good foole, helpe me to some light, and some
paper, I tell thee I am as well in my wittes, as any man in
Illyria

   Clo. Well-a-day, that you were sir

   Mal. By this hand I am: good foole, some inke, paper,
and light: and conuey what I will set downe to my
Lady: it shall aduantage thee more, then euer the bearing
of Letter did

   Clo. I will help you too't. But tel me true, are you not
mad indeed, or do you but counterfeit

   Mal. Beleeue me I am not, I tell thee true

   Clo. Nay, Ile nere beleeue a madman till I see his brains
I will fetch you light, and paper, and inke

   Mal. Foole, Ile requite it in the highest degree:
I prethee be gone

   Clo. I am gone sir, and anon sir,
Ile be with you againe:
In a trice, like to the old vice,
your neede to sustaine.
Who with dagger of lath, in his rage and his wrath,
cries ah ha, to the diuell:
Like a mad lad, paire thy nayles dad,
Adieu good man diuell.

Exit


Scaena Tertia.

Enter Sebastian.

This is the ayre, that is the glorious Sunne,
This pearle she gaue me, I do feel't, and see't,
And though tis wonder that enwraps me thus,
Yet 'tis not madnesse. Where's Anthonio then,
I could not finde him at the Elephant,
Yet there he was, and there I found this credite,
That he did range the towne to seeke me out,
His councell now might do me golden seruice,
For though my soule disputes well with my sence,
That this may be some error, but no madnesse,
Yet doth this accident and flood of Fortune,
So farre exceed all instance, all discourse,
That I am readie to distrust mine eyes,
And wrangle with my reason that perswades me
To any other trust, but that I am mad,
Or else the Ladies mad; yet if 'twere so,
She could not sway her house, command her followers,
Take, and giue backe affayres, and their dispatch,
With such a smooth, discreet, and stable bearing
As I perceiue she do's: there's something in't
That is deceiueable. But heere the Lady comes.
Enter Oliuia, and Priest.

  Ol. Blame not this haste of mine: if you meane well
Now go with me, and with this holy man
Into the Chantry by: there before him,
And vnderneath that consecrated roofe,
Plight me the full assurance of your faith,
That my most iealious, and too doubtfull soule
May liue at peace. He shall conceale it,
Whiles you are willing it shall come to note,
What time we will our celebration keepe
According to my birth, what do you say?
  Seb. Ile follow this good man, and go with you,
And hauing sworne truth, euer will be true

   Ol. Then lead the way good father, & heauens so shine,
That they may fairely note this acte of mine.

Exeunt.

Finis Actus Quartus.


Actus Quintus. Scena Prima.

Enter Clowne and Fabian.

  Fab. Now as thou lou'st me, let me see his Letter

   Clo. Good M[aster]. Fabian, grant me another request

   Fab. Any thing

   Clo. Do not desire to see this Letter

   Fab. This is to giue a dogge, and in recompence desire
my dogge againe.
Enter Duke, Viola, Curio, and Lords.

  Duke. Belong you to the Lady Oliuia, friends?
  Clo. I sir, we are some of her trappings

   Duke. I know thee well: how doest thou my good
Fellow?
  Clo. Truely sir, the better for my foes, and the worse
for my friends

   Du. Iust the contrary: the better for thy friends

   Clo. No sir, the worse

   Du. How can that be?
  Clo. Marry sir, they praise me, and make an asse of me,
now my foes tell me plainly, I am an Asse: so that by my
foes sir, I profit in the knowledge of my selfe, and by my
friends I am abused: so that conclusions to be as kisses, if
your foure negatiues make your two affirmatiues, why
then the worse for my friends, and the better for my foes

   Du. Why this is excellent

   Clo. By my troth sir, no: though it please you to be
one of my friends

   Du. Thou shalt not be the worse for me, there's gold

   Clo. But that it would be double dealing sir, I would
you could make it another

   Du. O you giue me ill counsell

   Clo. Put your grace in your pocket sir, for this once,
and let your flesh and blood obey it

   Du. Well, I will be so much a sinner to be a double
dealer: there's another

   Clo. Primo, secundo, tertio, is a good play, and the olde
saying is, the third payes for all: the triplex sir, is a good
tripping measure, or the belles of S[aint]. Bennet sir, may put
you in minde, one, two, three

   Du. You can foole no more money out of mee at this
throw: if you will let your Lady know I am here to speak
with her, and bring her along with you, it may awake my
bounty further

   Clo. Marry sir, lullaby to your bountie till I come agen.
I go sir, but I would not haue you to thinke, that
my desire of hauing is the sinne of couetousnesse: but as
you say sir, let your bounty take a nappe, I will awake it
anon.

Exit

Enter Anthonio and Officers.

  Vio. Here comes the man sir, that did rescue mee

   Du. That face of his I do remember well,
Yet when I saw it last, it was besmear'd
As blacke as Vulcan, in the smoake of warre:
A bawbling Vessell was he Captaine of,
For shallow draught and bulke vnprizable,
With which such scathfull grapple did he make,
With the most noble bottome of our Fleete,
That very enuy, and the tongue of losse
Cride fame and honor on him: What's the matter?
  1.Offi. Orsino, this is that Anthonio
That tooke the Phoenix, and her fraught from Candy,
And this is he that did the Tiger boord,
When your yong Nephew Titus lost his legge;
Heere in the streets, desperate of shame and state,
In priuate brabble did we apprehend him

   Vio. He did me kindnesse sir, drew on my side,
But in conclusion put strange speech vpon me,
I know not what 'twas, but distraction

   Du. Notable Pyrate, thou salt-water Theefe,
What foolish boldnesse brought thee to their mercies,
Whom thou in termes so bloudie, and so deere
Hast made thine enemies?
  Ant. Orsino: Noble sir,
Be pleas'd that I shake off these names you giue mee:
Anthonio neuer yet was Theefe, or Pyrate,
Though I confesse, on base and ground enough
Orsino's enemie. A witchcraft drew me hither:
That most ingratefull boy there by your side,
From the rude seas enrag'd and foamy mouth
Did I redeeme: a wracke past hope he was:
His life I gaue him, and did thereto adde
My loue without retention, or restraint,
All his in dedication. For his sake,
Did I expose my selfe (pure for his loue)
Into the danger of this aduerse Towne,
Drew to defend him, when he was beset:
Where being apprehended, his false cunning
(Not meaning to partake with me in danger)
Taught him to face me out of his acquaintance,
And grew a twentie yeeres remoued thing
While one would winke: denide me mine owne purse,
Which I had recommended to his vse,
Not halfe an houre before

   Vio. How can this be?
  Du. When came he to this Towne?
  Ant. To day my Lord: and for three months before,
No intrim, not a minutes vacancie,
Both day and night did we keepe companie.
Enter Oliuia and attendants.

  Du. Heere comes the Countesse, now heauen walkes
on earth:
But for thee fellow, fellow thy words are madnesse,
Three monthes this youth hath tended vpon mee,
But more of that anon. Take him aside

   Ol. What would my Lord, but that he may not haue,
Wherein Oliuia may seeme seruiceable?
Cesario, you do not keepe promise with me

   Vio. Madam:
  Du. Gracious Oliuia

   Ol. What do you say Cesario? Good my Lord

   Vio. My Lord would speake, my dutie hushes me

   Ol. If it be ought to the old tune my Lord,
It is as fat and fulsome to mine eare
As howling after Musicke

   Du. Still so cruell?
  Ol. Still so constant Lord

   Du. What to peruersenesse? you vnciuill Ladie
To whose ingrate, and vnauspicious Altars
My soule the faithfull'st offrings haue breath'd out
That ere deuotion tender'd. What shall I do?
  Ol. Euen what it please my Lord, that shal becom him
  Du. Why should I not, (had I the heart to do it)
Like to th' Egyptian theefe, at point of death
Kill what I loue: (a sauage iealousie,
That sometime sauours nobly) but heare me this:
Since you to non-regardance cast my faith,
And that I partly know the instrument
That screwes me from my true place in your fauour:
Liue you the Marble-brested Tirant still.
But this your Minion, whom I know you loue,
And whom, by heauen I sweare, I tender deerely,
Him will I teare out of that cruell eye,
Where he sits crowned in his masters spight.
Come boy with me, my thoughts are ripe in mischiefe:
Ile sacrifice the Lambe that I do loue,
To spight a Rauens heart within a Doue

   Vio. And I most iocund, apt, and willinglie,
To do you rest, a thousand deaths would dye

   Ol. Where goes Cesario?
  Vio. After him I loue,
More then I loue these eyes, more then my life,
More by all mores, then ere I shall loue wife.
If I do feigne, you witnesses aboue
Punish my life, for tainting of my loue

   Ol. Aye me detested, how am I beguil'd?
  Vio. Who does beguile you? who does do you wrong?
  Ol. Hast thou forgot thy selfe? Is it so long?
Call forth the holy Father

   Du. Come, away

   Ol. Whether my Lord? Cesario, Husband, stay

   Du. Husband?
  Ol. I Husband. Can he that deny?
  Du. Her husband, sirrah?
  Vio. No my Lord, not I

   Ol. Alas, it is the basenesse of thy feare,
That makes thee strangle thy propriety:
Feare not Cesario, take thy fortunes vp,
Be that thou know'st thou art, and then thou art
As great as that thou fear'st.
Enter Priest.

O welcome Father:
Father, I charge thee by thy reuerence
Heere to vnfold, though lately we intended
To keepe in darkenesse, what occasion now
Reueales before 'tis ripe: what thou dost know
Hath newly past, betweene this youth, and me

   Priest. A Contract of eternall bond of loue,
Confirm'd by mutuall ioynder of your hands,
Attested by the holy close of lippes,
Strengthned by enterchangement of your rings,
And all the Ceremonie of this compact
Seal'd in my function, by my testimony:
Since when, my watch hath told me, toward my graue
I haue trauail'd but two houres

   Du. O thou dissembling Cub: what wilt thou be
When time hath sow'd a grizzle on thy case?
Or will not else thy craft so quickely grow,
That thine owne trip shall be thine ouerthrow:
Farewell, and take her, but direct thy feete,
Where thou, and I (henceforth) may neuer meet

   Vio. My Lord, I do protest

   Ol. O do not sweare,
Hold little faith, though thou hast too much feare.
Enter Sir Andrew.

  And. For the loue of God a Surgeon, send one presently
to sir Toby

   Ol. What's the matter?
  And. H'as broke my head acrosse, and has giuen Sir
  Toby a bloody Coxcombe too: for the loue of God your
helpe, I had rather then forty pound I were at home

   Ol. Who has done this sir Andrew?
  And. The Counts Gentleman, one Cesario: we tooke
him for a Coward, but hee's the verie diuell, incardinate

   Du. My Gentleman Cesario?
  And. Odd's lifelings heere he is: you broke my head
for nothing, and that that I did, I was set on to do't by sir
Toby

   Vio. Why do you speake to me, I neuer hurt you:
You drew your sword vpon me without cause,
But I bespake you faire, and hurt you not.
Enter Toby and Clowne.

  And. If a bloody coxcombe be a hurt, you haue hurt
me: I thinke you set nothing by a bloody Coxecombe.
Heere comes sir Toby halting, you shall heare more: but if
he had not beene in drinke, hee would haue tickel'd you
other gates then he did

   Du. How now Gentleman? how ist with you?
  To. That's all one, has hurt me, and there's th' end on't:
Sot, didst see Dicke Surgeon, sot?
  Clo. O he's drunke sir Toby an houre agone: his eyes
were set at eight i'th morning

   To. Then he's a Rogue, and a passy measures pauyn: I
hate a drunken rogue

   Ol. Away with him? Who hath made this hauocke
with them?
  And. Ile helpe you sir Toby, because we'll be drest together

   To. Will you helpe an Asse-head, and a coxcombe, &
a knaue: a thin fac'd knaue, a gull?
  Ol. Get him to bed, and let his hurt be look'd too.
Enter Sebastian.

  Seb. I am sorry Madam I haue hurt your kinsman:
But had it beene the brother of my blood,
I must haue done no lesse with wit and safety.
You throw a strange regard vpon me, and by that
I do perceiue it hath offended you:
Pardon me (sweet one) euen for the vowes
We made each other, but so late ago

   Du. One face, one voice, one habit, and two persons,
A naturall Perspectiue, that is, and is not

   Seb. Anthonio: O my deere Anthonio,
How haue the houres rack'd, and tortur'd me,
Since I haue lost thee?
  Ant. Sebastian are you?
  Seb. Fear'st thou that Anthonio?
  Ant. How haue you made diuision of your selfe,
An apple cleft in two, is not more twin
Then these two creatures. Which is Sebastian?
  Ol. Most wonderfull

   Seb. Do I stand there? I neuer had a brother:
Nor can there be that Deity in my nature
Of heere, and euery where. I had a sister,
Whom the blinde waues and surges haue deuour'd:
Of charity, what kinne are you to me?
What Countreyman? What name? What Parentage?
  Vio. Of Messaline: Sebastian was my Father,
Such a Sebastian was my brother too:
So went he suited to his watery tombe:
If spirits can assume both forme and suite,
You come to fright vs

   Seb. A spirit I am indeed,
But am in that dimension grossely clad,
Which from the wombe I did participate.
Were you a woman, as the rest goes euen,
I should my teares let fall vpon your cheeke,
And say, thrice welcome drowned Viola

   Vio. My father had a moale vpon his brow

   Seb. And so had mine

   Vio. And dide that day when Viola from her birth
Had numbred thirteene yeares

   Seb. O that record is liuely in my soule,
He finished indeed his mortall acte
That day that made my sister thirteene yeares

   Vio. If nothing lets to make vs happie both,
But this my masculine vsurp'd attyre:
Do not embrace me, till each circumstance,
Of place, time, fortune, do cohere and iumpe
That I am Viola, which to confirme,
Ile bring you to a Captaine in this Towne,
Where lye my maiden weeds: by whose gentle helpe,
I was preseru'd to serue this Noble Count:
All the occurrence of my fortune since
Hath beene betweene this Lady, and this Lord

   Seb. So comes it Lady, you haue beene mistooke:
But Nature to her bias drew in that.
You would haue bin contracted to a Maid,
Nor are you therein (by my life) deceiu'd,
You are betroth'd both to a maid and man

   Du. Be not amaz'd, right noble is his blood:
If this be so, as yet the glasse seemes true,
I shall haue share in this most happy wracke,
Boy, thou hast saide to me a thousand times,
Thou neuer should'st loue woman like to me

   Vio. And all those sayings, will I ouer sweare,
And all those swearings keepe as true in soule,
As doth that Orbed Continent, the fire,
That seuers day from night

   Du. Giue me thy hand,
And let me see thee in thy womans weedes

   Vio. The Captaine that did bring me first on shore
Hath my Maides garments: he vpon some Action
Is now in durance, at Maluolio's suite,
a Gentleman, and follower of my Ladies

   Ol. He shall inlarge him: fetch Maluolio hither,
And yet alas, now I remember me,
They say poore Gentleman, he's much distract.
Enter Clowne with a Letter, and Fabian.

A most extracting frensie of mine owne
From my remembrance, clearly banisht his.
How does he sirrah?
  Cl. Truely Madam, he holds Belzebub at the staues end as
well as a man in his case may do: has heere writ a letter to
you, I should haue giuen't you to day morning. But as a
madmans Epistles are no Gospels, so it skilles not much
when they are deliuer'd

   Ol. Open't, and read it

   Clo. Looke then to be well edified, when the Foole
deliuers the Madman. By the Lord Madam

   Ol. How now, art thou mad?
  Clo. No Madam, I do but reade madnesse: and your
Ladyship will haue it as it ought to bee, you must allow
Vox

   Ol. Prethee reade i'thy right wits

   Clo. So I do Madona: but to reade his right wits, is to
reade thus: therefore, perpend my Princesse, and giue
eare

   Ol. Read it you, sirrah

   Fab. Reads. By the Lord Madam, you wrong me, and
the world shall know it: Though you haue put mee into
darkenesse, and giuen your drunken Cosine rule ouer me,
yet haue I the benefit of my senses as well as your Ladieship.
I haue your owne letter, that induced mee to the
semblance I put on; with the which I doubt not, but to
do my selfe much right, or you much shame: thinke of
me as you please. I leaue my duty a little vnthought of,
and speake out of my iniury. The madly vs'd Maluolio

   Ol. Did he write this?
  Clo. I Madame

   Du. This sauours not much of distraction

   Ol. See him deliuer'd Fabian, bring him hither:
My Lord, so please you, these things further thought on,
To thinke me as well a sister, as a wife,
One day shall crowne th' alliance on't, so please you,
Heere at my house, and at my proper cost

   Du. Madam, I am most apt t' embrace your offer:
Your Master quits you: and for your seruice done him,
So much against the mettle of your sex,
So farre beneath your soft and tender breeding,
And since you call'd me Master, for so long:
Heere is my hand, you shall from this time bee
Your Masters Mistris

   Ol. A sister, you are she.
Enter Maluolio.

  Du. Is this the Madman?
  Ol. I my Lord, this same: How now Maluolio?
  Mal. Madam, you haue done me wrong,
Notorious wrong

   Ol. Haue I Maluolio? No

   Mal. Lady you haue, pray you peruse that Letter.
You must not now denie it is your hand,
Write from it if you can, in hand, or phrase,
Or say, tis not your seale, not your inuention:
You can say none of this. Well, grant it then,
And tell me in the modestie of honor,
Why you haue giuen me such cleare lights of fauour,
Bad me come smiling, and crosse-garter'd to you,
To put on yellow stockings, and to frowne
Vpon sir Toby, and the lighter people:
And acting this in an obedient hope,
Why haue you suffer'd me to be imprison'd,
Kept in a darke house, visited by the Priest,
And made the most notorious gecke and gull,
That ere inuention plaid on? Tell me why?
  Ol. Alas Maluolio, this is not my writing,
Though I confesse much like the Charracter:
But out of question, tis Marias hand.
And now I do bethinke me, it was shee
First told me thou wast mad; then cam'st in smiling,
And in such formes, which heere were presuppos'd
Vpon thee in the Letter: prethee be content,
This practice hath most shrewdly past vpon thee:
But when we know the grounds, and authors of it,
Thou shalt be both the Plaintiffe and the Iudge
Of thine owne cause

   Fab. Good Madam heare me speake,
And let no quarrell, nor no braule to come,
Taint the condition of this present houre,
Which I haue wondred at. In hope it shall not,
Most freely I confesse my selfe, and Toby
Set this deuice against Maluolio heere,
Vpon some stubborne and vncourteous parts
We had conceiu'd against him. Maria writ
The Letter, at sir Tobyes great importance,
In recompence whereof, he hath married her:
How with a sportfull malice it was follow'd,
May rather plucke on laughter then reuenge,
If that the iniuries be iustly weigh'd,
That haue on both sides past

   Ol. Alas poore Foole, how haue they baffel'd thee?
  Clo. Why some are borne great, some atchieue greatnesse,
and some haue greatnesse throwne vpon them. I
was one sir, in this Enterlude, one sir Topas sir, but that's
all one: By the Lord Foole, I am not mad: but do you remember,
Madam, why laugh you at such a barren rascall,
and you smile not he's gag'd: and thus the whirlegigge
of time, brings in his reuenges

   Mal. Ile be reueng'd on the whole packe of you?
  Ol. He hath bene most notoriously abus'd

   Du. Pursue him, and entreate him to a peace:
He hath not told vs of the Captaine yet,
When that is knowne, and golden time conuents
A solemne Combination shall be made
Of our deere soules. Meane time sweet sister,
We will not part from hence. Cesario come
(For so you shall be while you are a man:)
But when in other habites you are seene,
Orsino's Mistris, and his fancies Queene.

Exeunt.

  Clowne sings .
When that I was and a little tine boy,
with hey, ho, the winde and the raine:
A foolish thing was but a toy,
for the raine it raineth euery day.
But when I came to mans estate,
with hey ho, &c.
Gainst Knaues and Theeues men shut their gate,
for the raine, &c.
But when I came alas to wiue,
with hey ho, &c.
By swaggering could I neuer thriue,
for the raine, &c.
But when I came vnto my beds,
with hey ho, &c.
With tospottes still had drunken heades,
for the raine, &c.
A great while ago the world begon,
hey ho, &c.
But that's all one, our Play is done,
and wee'l striue to please you euery day.

FINIS. Twelfe Night, Or what you will.


The Winters Tale

Actus Primus. Scoena Prima.

Enter Camillo and Archidamus.

  Arch. If you shall chance (Camillo) to visit Bohemia, on
the like occasion whereon my seruices are now
on-foot, you shall see (as I haue said) great difference
betwixt our Bohemia, and your Sicilia

   Cam. I thinke, this comming Summer, the King of
Sicilia meanes to pay Bohemia the Visitation, which hee
iustly owes him

   Arch. Wherein our Entertainment shall shame vs: we
will be iustified in our Loues: for indeed-
  Cam. 'Beseech you-
  Arch. Verely I speake it in the freedome of my knowledge:
we cannot with such magnificence- in so rare-
I know not what to say- Wee will giue you sleepie
Drinkes, that your Sences (vn-intelligent of our insufficience)
may, though they cannot prayse vs, as little accuse
vs

   Cam. You pay a great deale to deare, for what's giuen
freely

   Arch. 'Beleeue me, I speake as my vnderstanding instructs
me, and as mine honestie puts it to vtterance

   Cam. Sicilia cannot shew himselfe ouer-kind to Bohemia:
They were trayn'd together in their Childhoods;
and there rooted betwixt them then such an affection,
which cannot chuse but braunch now. Since their more
mature Dignities, and Royall Necessities, made seperation
of their Societie, their Encounters (though not Personall)
hath been Royally attornyed with enter-change of
Gifts, Letters, louing Embassies, that they haue seem'd to
be together, though absent: shooke hands, as ouer a Vast;
and embrac'd as it were from the ends of opposed Winds.
The Heauens continue their Loues

   Arch. I thinke there is not in the World, either Malice
or Matter, to alter it. You haue an vnspeakable comfort
of your young Prince Mamillius: it is a Gentleman of the
greatest Promise, that euer came into my Note

   Cam. I very well agree with you, in the hopes of him:
it is a gallant Child; one, that (indeed) Physicks the Subiect,
makes old hearts fresh: they that went on Crutches
ere he was borne, desire yet their life, to see him a Man

   Arch. Would they else be content to die?
  Cam. Yes; if there were no other excuse, why they should
desire to liue

   Arch. If the King had no Sonne, they would desire to
liue on Crutches till he had one.

Exeunt.


Scoena Secunda.

Enter Leontes, Hermione, Mamillius, Polixenes, Camillo.

  Pol. Nine Changes of the Watry-Starre hath been
The Shepheards Note, since we haue left our Throne
Without a Burthen: Time as long againe
Would be fill'd vp (my Brother) with our Thanks,
And yet we should, for perpetuitie,
Goe hence in debt: And therefore, like a Cypher
(Yet standing in rich place) I multiply
With one we thanke you, many thousands moe,
That goe before it

   Leo. Stay your Thanks a while,
And pay them when you part

   Pol. Sir, that's to morrow:
I am question'd by my feares, of what may chance,
Or breed vpon our absence, that may blow
No sneaping Winds at home, to make vs say,
This is put forth too truly: besides, I haue stay'd
To tyre your Royaltie

   Leo. We are tougher (Brother)
Then you can put vs to't

   Pol. No longer stay

   Leo. One Seue' night longer

   Pol. Very sooth, to morrow

   Leo. Wee'le part the time betweene's then: and in that
Ile no gaine-saying

   Pol. Presse me not ('beseech you) so:
There is no Tongue that moues; none, none i'th' World
So soone as yours, could win me: so it should now,
Were there necessitie in your request, although
'Twere needfull I deny'd it. My Affaires
Doe euen drag me home-ward: which to hinder,
Were (in your Loue) a Whip to me; my stay,
To you a Charge, and Trouble: to saue both,
Farewell (our Brother.)
  Leo. Tongue-ty'd our Queene? speake you

   Her. I had thought (Sir) to haue held my peace, vntill
You had drawne Oathes from him, not to stay: you (Sir)
Charge him too coldly. Tell him, you are sure
All in Bohemia's well: this satisfaction,
The by-gone-day proclaym'd, say this to him,
He's beat from his best ward

   Leo. Well said, Hermione

   Her. To tell, he longs to see his Sonne, were strong:
But let him say so then, and let him goe;
But let him sweare so, and he shall not stay,
Wee'l thwack him hence with Distaffes.
Yet of your Royall presence, Ile aduenture
The borrow of a Weeke. When at Bohemia
You take my Lord, Ile giue him my Commission,
To let him there a Moneth, behind the Gest
Prefix'd for's parting: yet (good-deed) Leontes,
I loue thee not a Iarre o'th' Clock, behind
What Lady she her Lord. You'le stay?
  Pol. No, Madame

   Her. Nay, but you will?
  Pol. I may not verely

   Her. Verely?
You put me off with limber Vowes: but I,
Though you would seek t' vnsphere the Stars with Oaths,
Should yet say, Sir, no going: Verely
You shall not goe; a Ladyes Verely 'is
As potent as a Lords. Will you goe yet?
Force me to keepe you as a Prisoner,
Not like a Guest: so you shall pay your Fees
When you depart, and saue your Thanks. How say you?
My Prisoner? or my Guest? by your dread Verely,
One of them you shall be

   Pol. Your Guest then, Madame:
To be your Prisoner, should import offending;
Which is for me, lesse easie to commit,
Then you to punish

   Her. Not your Gaoler then,
But your kind Hostesse. Come, Ile question you
Of my Lords Tricks, and yours, when you were Boyes:
You were pretty Lordings then?
  Pol. We were (faire Queene)
Two Lads, that thought there was no more behind,
But such a day to morrow, as to day,
And to be Boy eternall

   Her. Was not my Lord
The veryer Wag o'th' two?
  Pol. We were as twyn'd Lambs, that did frisk i'th' Sun,
And bleat the one at th' other: what we chang'd,
Was Innocence, for Innocence: we knew not
The Doctrine of ill-doing, nor dream'd
That any did: Had we pursu'd that life,
And our weake Spirits ne're been higher rear'd
With stronger blood, we should haue answer'd Heauen
Boldly, not guilty; the Imposition clear'd,
Hereditarie ours

   Her. By this we gather
You haue tript since

   Pol. O my most sacred Lady,
Temptations haue since then been borne to's: for
In those vnfledg'd dayes, was my Wife a Girle;
Your precious selfe had then not cross'd the eyes
Of my young Play-fellow

   Her. Grace to boot:
Of this make no conclusion, least you say
Your Queene and I are Deuils: yet goe on,
Th' offences we haue made you doe, wee'le answere,
If you first sinn'd with vs: and that with vs
You did continue fault; and that you slipt not
With any, but with vs

   Leo. Is he woon yet?
  Her. Hee'le stay (my Lord.)
  Leo. At my request, he would not:
Hermione (my dearest) thou neuer spoak'st
To better purpose

   Her. Neuer?
  Leo. Neuer, but once

   Her. What? haue I twice said well? when was't before?
I prethee tell me: cram's with prayse, and make's
As fat as tame things: One good deed, dying tonguelesse,
Slaughters a thousand, wayting vpon that.
Our prayses are our Wages. You may ride's
With one soft Kisse a thousand Furlongs, ere
With Spur we heat an Acre. But to th' Goale:
My last good deed, was to entreat his stay.
What was my first? it ha's an elder Sister,
Or I mistake you: O, would her Name were Grace.
But once before I spoke to th' purpose? when?
Nay, let me haue't: I long

   Leo. Why, that was when
Three crabbed Moneths had sowr'd themselues to death,
Ere I could make thee open thy white Hand:
A clap thy selfe, my Loue; then didst thou vtter,
I am yours for euer

   Her. 'Tis Grace indeed.
Why lo-you now; I haue spoke to th' purpose twice:
The one, for euer earn'd a Royall Husband;
Th' other, for some while a Friend

   Leo. Too hot, too hot:
To mingle friendship farre, is mingling bloods.
I haue Tremor Cordis on me: my heart daunces,
But not for ioy; not ioy. This Entertainment
May a free face put on: deriue a Libertie
From Heartinesse, from Bountie, fertile Bosome,
And well become the Agent: 't may; I graunt:
But to be padling Palmes, and pinching Fingers,
As now they are, and making practis'd Smiles
As in a Looking-Glasse; and then to sigh, as 'twere
The Mort o'th' Deere: oh, that is entertainment
My Bosome likes not, nor my Browes. Mamillius,
Art thou my Boy?
  Mam. I, my good Lord

   Leo. I'fecks:
Why that's my Bawcock: what? has't smutch'd thy Nose?
They say it is a Coppy out of mine. Come Captaine,
We must be neat; not neat, but cleanly, Captaine:
And yet the Steere, the Heycfer, and the Calfe,
Are all call'd Neat. Still Virginalling
Vpon his Palme? How now (you wanton Calfe)
Art thou my Calfe?
  Mam. Yes, if you will (my Lord.)
  Leo. Thou want'st a rough pash, & the shoots that I haue
To be full, like me: yet they say we are
Almost as like as Egges; Women say so,
(That will say any thing.) But were they false
As o're-dy'd Blacks, as Wind, as Waters; false
As Dice are to be wish'd, by one that fixes
No borne 'twixt his and mine; yet were it true,
To say this Boy were like me. Come (Sir Page)
Looke on me with your Welkin eye: sweet Villaine,
Most dear'st, my Collop: Can thy Dam, may't be
Affection? thy Intention stabs the Center.
Thou do'st make possible things not so held,
Communicat'st with Dreames (how can this be?)
With what's vnreall: thou coactiue art,
And fellow'st nothing. Then 'tis very credent,
Thou may'st co-ioyne with something, and thou do'st,
(And that beyond Commission) and I find it,
(And that to the infection of my Braines,
And hardning of my Browes.)
  Pol. What meanes Sicilia?
  Her. He something seemes vnsetled

   Pol. How? my Lord?
  Leo. What cheere? how is't with you, best Brother?
  Her. You look as if you held a Brow of much distraction:
Are you mou'd (my Lord?)
  Leo. No, in good earnest.
How sometimes Nature will betray it's folly?
It's tendernesse? and make it selfe a Pastime
To harder bosomes? Looking on the Lynes
Of my Boyes face, me thoughts I did requoyle
Twentie three yeeres, and saw my selfe vn-breech'd,
In my greene Veluet Coat; my Dagger muzzel'd,
Least it should bite it's Master, and so proue
(As Ornaments oft do's) too dangerous:
How like (me thought) I then was to this Kernell,
This Squash, this Gentleman. Mine honest Friend,
Will you take Egges for Money?
  Mam. No (my Lord) Ile fight

   Leo. You will: why happy man be's dole. My Brother
Are you so fond of your young Prince, as we
Doe seeme to be of ours?
  Pol. If at home (Sir)
He's all my Exercise, my Mirth, my Matter;
Now my sworne Friend, and then mine Enemy;
My Parasite, my Souldier: States-man; all:
He makes a Iulyes day, short as December,
And with his varying childnesse, cures in me
Thoughts, that would thick my blood

   Leo. So stands this Squire
Offic'd with me: We two will walke (my Lord)
And leaue you to your grauer steps. Hermione,
How thou lou'st vs, shew in our Brothers welcome;
Let what is deare in Sicily, be cheape:
Next to thy selfe, and my young Rouer, he's
Apparant to my heart

   Her. If you would seeke vs,
We are yours i'th' Garden: shall's attend you there?
  Leo. To your owne bents dispose you: you'le be found,
Be you beneath the Sky: I am angling now,
(Though you perceiue me not how I giue Lyne)
Goe too, goe too.
How she holds vp the Neb? the Byll to him?
And armes her with the boldnesse of a Wife
To her allowing Husband. Gone already,
Ynch-thick, knee-deepe; ore head and eares a fork'd one.
Goe play (Boy) play: thy Mother playes, and I
Play too; but so disgrac'd a part, whose issue
Will hisse me to my Graue: Contempt and Clamor
Will be my Knell. Goe play (Boy) play, there haue been
(Or I am much deceiu'd) Cuckolds ere now,
And many a man there is (euen at this present,
Now, while I speake this) holds his Wife by th' Arme,
That little thinkes she ha's been sluyc'd in's absence,
And his Pond fish'd by his next Neighbor (by
Sir Smile, his Neighbor:) nay, there's comfort in't,
Whiles other men haue Gates, and those Gates open'd
(As mine) against their will. Should all despaire
That haue reuolted Wiues, the tenth of Mankind
Would hang themselues. Physick for't, there's none:
It is a bawdy Planet, that will strike
Where 'tis predominant; and 'tis powrefull: thinke it:
From East, West, North, and South, be it concluded,
No Barricado for a Belly. Know't,
It will let in and out the Enemy,
With bag and baggage: many thousand on's
Haue the Disease, and feele't not. How now Boy?
  Mam. I am like you say

   Leo. Why, that's some comfort.
What? Camillo there?
  Cam. I, my good Lord

   Leo. Goe play (Mamillius) thou'rt an honest man:
Camillo, this great Sir will yet stay longer

   Cam. You had much adoe to make his Anchor hold,
When you cast out, it still came home

   Leo. Didst note it?
  Cam. He would not stay at your Petitions, made
His Businesse more materiall

   Leo. Didst perceiue it?
They're here with me already; whisp'ring, rounding:
Sicilia is a so-forth: 'tis farre gone,
When I shall gust it last. How cam't (Camillo)
That he did stay?
  Cam. At the good Queenes entreatie

   Leo. At the Queenes be't: Good should be pertinent,
But so it is, it is not. Was this taken
By any vnderstanding Pate but thine?
For thy Conceit is soaking, will draw in
More then the common Blocks. Not noted, is't,
But of the finer Natures? by some Seueralls
Of Head-peece extraordinarie? Lower Messes
Perchance are to this Businesse purblind? say

   Cam. Businesse, my Lord? I thinke most vnderstand
Bohemia stayes here longer

   Leo. Ha?
  Cam. Stayes here longer

   Leo. I, but why?
  Cam. To satisfie your Highnesse, and the Entreaties
Of our most gracious Mistresse

   Leo. Satisfie?
Th' entreaties of your Mistresse? Satisfie?
Let that suffice. I haue trusted thee (Camillo)
With all the neerest things to my heart, as well
My Chamber-Councels, wherein (Priest-like) thou
Hast cleans'd my Bosome: I, from thee departed
Thy Penitent reform'd: but we haue been
Deceiu'd in thy Integritie, deceiu'd
In that which seemes so

   Cam. Be it forbid (my Lord.)
  Leo. To bide vpon't: thou art not honest: or
If thou inclin'st that way, thou art a Coward,
Which hoxes honestie behind, restrayning
From Course requir'd: or else thou must be counted
A Seruant, grafted in my serious Trust,
And therein negligent: or else a Foole,
That seest a Game play'd home, the rich Stake drawne,
And tak'st it all for ieast

   Cam. My gracious Lord,
I may be negligent, foolish, and fearefull,
In euery one of these, no man is free,
But that his negligence, his folly, feare,
Among the infinite doings of the World,
Sometime puts forth in your affaires (my Lord.)
If euer I were wilfull-negligent,
It was my folly: if industriously
I play'd the Foole, it was my negligence,
Not weighing well the end: if euer fearefull
To doe a thing, where I the issue doubted,
Whereof the execution did cry out
Against the non-performance, 'twas a feare
Which oft infects the wisest: these (my Lord)
Are such allow'd Infirmities, that honestie
Is neuer free of. But beseech your Grace
Be plainer with me, let me know my Trespas
By it's owne visage; if I then deny it,
'Tis none of mine

   Leo. Ha' not you seene Camillo?
(But that's past doubt: you haue, or your eye-glasse
Is thicker then a Cuckolds Horne) or heard?
(For to a Vision so apparant, Rumor
Cannot be mute) or thought? (for Cogitation
Resides not in that man, that do's not thinke)
My Wife is slipperie? If thou wilt confesse,
Or else be impudently negatiue,
To haue nor Eyes, nor Eares, nor Thought, then say
My Wife's a Holy-Horse, deserues a Name
As ranke as any Flax-Wench, that puts to
Before her troth-plight: say't, and iustify't

   Cam. I would not be a stander-by, to heare
My Soueraigne Mistresse clouded so, without
My present vengeance taken: 'shrew my heart,
You neuer spoke what did become you lesse
Then this; which to reiterate, were sin
As deepe as that, though true

   Leo. Is whispering nothing?
Is leaning Cheeke to Cheeke? is meating Noses?
Kissing with in-side Lip? stopping the Cariere
Of Laughter, with a sigh? (a Note infallible
Of breaking Honestie) horsing foot on foot?
Skulking in corners? wishing Clocks more swift?
Houres, Minutes? Noone, Mid-night? and all Eyes
Blind with the Pin and Web, but theirs; theirs onely,
That would vnseene be wicked? Is this nothing?
Why then the World, and all that's in't, is nothing,
The couering Skie is nothing, Bohemia nothing,
My Wife is nothing, nor Nothing haue these Nothings,
If this be nothing

   Cam. Good my Lord, be cur'd
Of this diseas'd Opinion, and betimes,
For 'tis most dangerous

   Leo. Say it be, 'tis true

   Cam. No, no, my Lord

   Leo. It is: you lye, you lye:
I say thou lyest Camillo, and I hate thee,
Pronounce thee a grosse Lowt, a mindlesse Slaue,
Or else a houering Temporizer, that
Canst with thine eyes at once see good and euill,
Inclining to them both: were my Wiues Liuer
Infected (as her life) she would not liue
The running of one Glasse

   Cam. Who do's infect her?
  Leo. Why he that weares her like her Medull, hanging
About his neck (Bohemia) who, if I
Had Seruants true about me, that bare eyes
To see alike mine Honor, as their Profits,
(Their owne particular Thrifts) they would doe that
Which should vndoe more doing: I, and thou
His Cup-bearer, whom I from meaner forme
Haue Bench'd, and rear'd to Worship, who may'st see
Plainely, as Heauen sees Earth, and Earth sees Heauen,
How I am gall'd, might'st be-spice a Cup,
To giue mine Enemy a lasting Winke:
Which Draught to me, were cordiall

   Cam. Sir (my Lord)
I could doe this, and that with no rash Potion,
But with a lingring Dram, that should not worke
Maliciously, like Poyson: But I cannot
Beleeue this Crack to be in my dread Mistresse
(So soueraignely being Honorable.)
I haue lou'd thee,
  Leo. Make that thy question, and goe rot:
Do'st thinke I am so muddy, so vnsetled,
To appoint my selfe in this vexation?
Sully the puritie and whitenesse of my Sheetes
(Which to preserue, is Sleepe; which being spotted,
Is Goades, Thornes, Nettles, Tayles of Waspes)
Giue scandall to the blood o'th' Prince, my Sonne,
(Who I doe thinke is mine, and loue as mine)
Without ripe mouing to't? Would I doe this?
Could man so blench?
  Cam. I must beleeue you (Sir)
I doe, and will fetch off Bohemia for't:
Prouided, that when hee's remou'd, your Highnesse
Will take againe your Queene, as yours at first,
Euen for your Sonnes sake, and thereby for sealing
The Iniurie of Tongues, in Courts and Kingdomes
Knowne, and ally'd to yours

   Leo. Thou do'st aduise me,
Euen so as I mine owne course haue set downe:
Ile giue no blemish to her Honor, none

   Cam. My Lord,
Goe then; and with a countenance as cleare
As Friendship weares at Feasts, keepe with Bohemia,
And with your Queene: I am his Cup-bearer,
If from me he haue wholesome Beueridge,
Account me not your Seruant

   Leo. This is all:
Do't, and thou hast the one halfe of my heart;
Do't not, thou splitt'st thine owne

   Cam. Ile do't, my Lord

   Leo. I wil seeme friendly, as thou hast aduis'd me.

Exit

  Cam. O miserable Lady. But for me,
What case stand I in? I must be the poysoner
Of good Polixenes, and my ground to do't,
Is the obedience to a Master; one,
Who in Rebellion with himselfe, will haue
All that are his, so too. To doe this deed,
Promotion followes: If I could find example
Of thousand's that had struck anoynted Kings,
And flourish'd after, Il'd not do't: But since
Nor Brasse, nor Stone, nor Parchment beares not one,
Let Villanie it selfe forswear't. I must
Forsake the Court: to do't, or no, is certaine
To me a breake-neck. Happy Starre raigne now,
Here comes Bohemia.
Enter Polixenes.

  Pol. This is strange: Me thinkes
My fauor here begins to warpe. Not speake?
Good day Camillo

   Cam. Hayle most Royall Sir

   Pol. What is the Newes i'th' Court?
  Cam. None rare (my Lord.)
  Pol. The King hath on him such a countenance,
As he had lost some Prouince, and a Region
Lou'd, as he loues himselfe: euen now I met him
With customarie complement, when hee
Wafting his eyes to th' contrary, and falling
A Lippe of much contempt, speedes from me, and
So leaues me, to consider what is breeding,
That changes thus his Manners

   Cam. I dare not know (my Lord.)
  Pol. How, dare not? doe not? doe you know, and dare not?
Be intelligent to me, 'tis thereabouts:
For to your selfe, what you doe know, you must,
And cannot say, you dare not. Good Camillo,
Your chang'd complexions are to me a Mirror,
Which shewes me mine chang'd too: for I must be
A partie in this alteration, finding
My selfe thus alter'd with't

   Cam. There is a sicknesse
Which puts some of vs in distemper, but
I cannot name the Disease, and it is caught
Of you, that yet are well

   Pol. How caught of me?
Make me not sighted like the Basilisque.
I haue look'd on thousands, who haue sped the better
By my regard, but kill'd none so: Camillo,
As you are certainely a Gentleman, thereto
Clerke-like experienc'd, which no lesse adornes
Our Gentry, then our Parents Noble Names,
In whose successe we are gentle: I beseech you,
If you know ought which do's behoue my knowledge,
Thereof to be inform'd, imprison't not
In ignorant concealement

   Cam. I may not answere

   Pol. A Sicknesse caught of me, and yet I well?
I must be answer'd. Do'st thou heare Camillo,
I coniure thee, by all the parts of man,
Which Honor do's acknowledge, whereof the least
Is not this Suit of mine, that thou declare
What incidencie thou do'st ghesse of harme
Is creeping toward me; how farre off, how neere,
Which way to be preuented, if to be:
If not, how best to beare it

   Cam. Sir, I will tell you,
Since I am charg'd in Honor, and by him
That I thinke Honorable: therefore marke my counsaile,
Which must be eu'n as swiftly followed, as
I meane to vtter it; or both your selfe, and me,
Cry lost, and so good night

   Pol. On, good Camillo

   Cam. I am appointed him to murther you

   Pol. By whom, Camillo?
  Cam. By the King

   Pol. For what?
  Cam. He thinkes, nay with all confidence he sweares,
As he had seen't, or beene an Instrument
To vice you to't, that you haue toucht his Queene
Forbiddenly

   Pol. Oh then, my best blood turne
To an infected Gelly, and my Name
Be yoak'd with his, that did betray the Best:
Turne then my freshest Reputation to
A sauour, that may strike the dullest Nosthrill
Where I arriue, and my approch be shun'd,
Nay hated too, worse then the great'st Infection
That ere was heard, or read

   Cam. Sweare his thought ouer
By each particular Starre in Heauen, and
By all their Influences; you may as well
Forbid the Sea for to obey the Moone,
As (or by Oath) remoue, or (Counsaile) shake
The Fabrick of his Folly, whose foundation
Is pyl'd vpon his Faith, and will continue
The standing of his Body

   Pol. How should this grow?
  Cam. I know not: but I am sure 'tis safer to
Auoid what's growne, then question how 'tis borne.
If therefore you dare trust my honestie,
That lyes enclosed in this Trunke, which you
Shall beare along impawnd, away to Night,
Your Followers I will whisper to the Businesse,
And will by twoes, and threes, at seuerall Posternes,
Cleare them o'th' Citie: For my selfe, Ile put
My fortunes to your seruice (which are here
By this discouerie lost.) Be not vncertaine,
For by the honor of my Parents, I
Haue vttred Truth: which if you seeke to proue,
I dare not stand by; nor shall you be safer,
Then one condemnd by the Kings owne mouth:
Thereon his Execution sworne

   Pol. I doe beleeue thee:
I saw his heart in's face. Giue me thy hand,
Be Pilot to me, and thy places shall
Still neighbour mine. My Ships are ready, and
My people did expect my hence departure
Two dayes agoe. This Iealousie
Is for a precious Creature: as shee's rare,
Must it be great; and, as his Person's mightie,
Must it be violent: and, as he do's conceiue,
He is dishonor'd by a man, which euer
Profess'd to him: why his Reuenges must
In that be made more bitter. Feare ore-shades me:
Good Expedition be my friend, and comfort
The gracious Queene, part of his Theame; but nothing
Of his ill-ta'ne suspition. Come Camillo,
I will respect thee as a Father, if
Thou bear'st my life off, hence: Let vs auoid

   Cam. It is in mine authoritie to command
The Keyes of all the Posternes: Please your Highnesse
To take the vrgent houre. Come Sir, away.

Exeunt.


Actus Secundus. Scena Prima.

Enter Hermione, Mamillius, Ladies: Leontes, Antigonus, Lords.

  Her. Take the Boy to you: he so troubles me,
'Tis past enduring

   Lady. Come (my gracious Lord)
Shall I be your play-fellow?
  Mam. No, Ile none of you

   Lady. Why (my sweet Lord?)
  Mam. You'le kisse me hard, and speake to me, as if
I were a Baby still. I loue you better

   2.Lady. And why so (my Lord?)
  Mam. Not for because
Your Browes are blacker (yet black-browes they say
Become some Women best, so that there be not
Too much haire there, but in a Cemicircle,
Or a halfe-Moone, made with a Pen.)
  2.Lady. Who taught 'this?
  Mam. I learn'd it out of Womens faces: pray now,
What colour are your eye-browes?
  Lady. Blew (my Lord.)
  Mam. Nay, that's a mock: I haue seene a Ladies Nose
That ha's beene blew, but not her eye-browes

   Lady. Harke ye,
The Queene (your Mother) rounds apace: we shall
Present our seruices to a fine new Prince
One of these dayes, and then youl'd wanton with vs,
If we would haue you

   2.Lady. She is spread of late
Into a goodly Bulke (good time encounter her.)
  Her. What wisdome stirs amongst you? Come Sir, now
I am for you againe: 'Pray you sit by vs,
And tell's a Tale

   Mam. Merry, or sad, shal't be?
  Her. As merry as you will

   Mam. A sad Tale's best for Winter:
I haue one of Sprights, and Goblins

   Her. Let's haue that (good Sir.)
Come-on, sit downe, come-on, and doe your best,
To fright me with your Sprights: you're powrefull at it

   Mam. There was a man

   Her. Nay, come sit downe: then on

   Mam. Dwelt by a Church-yard: I will tell it softly,
Yond Crickets shall not heare it

   Her. Come on then, and giu't me in mine eare

   Leon. Was hee met there? his Traine? Camillo with
him?
  Lord. Behind the tuft of Pines I met them, neuer
Saw I men scowre so on their way: I eyed them
Euen to their Ships

   Leo. How blest am I
In my iust Censure? in my true Opinion?
Alack, for lesser knowledge, how accurs'd,
In being so blest? There may be in the Cup
A Spider steep'd, and one may drinke; depart,
And yet partake no venome: (for his knowledge
Is not infected) but if one present
Th' abhor'd Ingredient to his eye, make knowne
How he hath drunke, he cracks his gorge, his sides
With violent Hefts: I haue drunke, and seene the Spider.
Camillo was his helpe in this, his Pandar:
There is a Plot against my Life, my Crowne;
All's true that is mistrusted: that false Villaine,
Whom I employ'd, was pre-employ'd by him:
He ha's discouer'd my Designe, and I
Remaine a pinch'd Thing; yea, a very Trick
For them to play at will: how came the Posternes
So easily open?
  Lord. By his great authority,
Which often hath no lesse preuail'd, then so,
On your command

   Leo. I know't too well.
Giue me the Boy, I am glad you did not nurse him:
Though he do's beare some signes of me, yet you
Haue too much blood in him

   Her. What is this? Sport?
  Leo. Beare the Boy hence, he shall not come about her,
Away with him, and let her sport her selfe
With that shee's big-with, for 'tis Polixenes
Ha's made thee swell thus

   Her. But Il'd say he had not;
And Ile be sworne you would beleeue my saying,
How e're you leane to th' Nay-ward

   Leo. You (my Lords)
Looke on her, marke her well: be but about
To say she is a goodly Lady, and
The iustice of your hearts will thereto adde
'Tis pitty shee's not honest: Honorable;
Prayse her but for this her without-dore-Forme,
(Which on my faith deserues high speech) and straight
The Shrug, the Hum, or Ha, (these Petty-brands
That Calumnie doth vse; Oh, I am out,
That Mercy do's, for Calumnie will seare
Vertue it selfe) these Shrugs, these Hum's, and Ha's,
When you haue said shee's goodly, come betweene,
Ere you can say shee's honest: But be't knowne
(From him that ha's most cause to grieue it should be)
Shee's an Adultresse

   Her. Should a Villaine say so,
(The most replenish'd Villaine in the World)
He were as much more Villaine: you (my Lord)
Doe but mistake

   Leo. You haue mistooke (my Lady)
Polixenes for Leontes: O thou Thing,
(Which Ile not call a Creature of thy place,
Least Barbarisme (making me the precedent)
Should a like Language vse to all degrees,
And mannerly distinguishment leaue out,
Betwixt the Prince and Begger:) I haue said
Shee's an Adultresse, I haue said with whom:
More; shee's a Traytor, and Camillo is
A Federarie with her, and one that knowes
What she should shame to know her selfe,
But with her most vild Principall: that shee's
A Bed-swaruer, euen as bad as those
That Vulgars giue bold'st Titles; I, and priuy
To this their late escape

   Her. No (by my life)
Priuy to none of this: how will this grieue you,
When you shall come to clearer knowledge, that
You thus haue publish'd me? Gentle my Lord,
You scarce can right me throughly, then, to say
You did mistake

   Leo. No: if I mistake
In those Foundations which I build vpon,
The Centre is not bigge enough to beare
A Schoole-Boyes Top. Away with her, to Prison:
He who shall speake for her, is a farre-off guiltie,
But that he speakes

   Her. There's some ill Planet raignes:
I must be patient, till the Heauens looke
With an aspect more fauorable. Good my Lords,
I am not prone to weeping (as our Sex
Commonly are) the want of which vaine dew
Perchance shall dry your pitties: but I haue
That honorable Griefe lodg'd here, which burnes
Worse then Teares drowne: 'beseech you all (my Lords)
With thoughts so qualified, as your Charities
Shall best instruct you, measure me; and so
The Kings will be perform'd

   Leo. Shall I be heard?
  Her. Who is't that goes with me? 'beseech your Highnes
My Women may be with me, for you see
My plight requires it. Doe not weepe (good Fooles)
There is no cause: When you shall know your Mistris
Ha's deseru'd Prison, then abound in Teares,
As I come out; this Action I now goe on,
Is for my better grace. Adieu (my Lord)
I neuer wish'd to see you sorry, now
I trust I shall: my Women come, you haue leaue

   Leo. Goe, doe our bidding: hence

   Lord. Beseech your Highnesse call the Queene againe

   Antig. Be certaine what you do (Sir) least your Iustice
Proue violence, in the which three great ones suffer,
Your Selfe, your Queene, your Sonne

   Lord. For her (my Lord)
I dare my life lay downe, and will do't (Sir)
Please you t' accept it, that the Queene is spotlesse
I'th' eyes of Heauen, and to you (I meane
In this, which you accuse her.)
  Antig. If it proue
Shee's otherwise, Ile keepe my Stables where
I lodge my Wife, Ile goe in couples with her:
Then when I feele, and see her, no farther trust her:
For euery ynch of Woman in the World,
I, euery dram of Womans flesh is false,
If she be

   Leo. Hold your peaces

   Lord. Good my Lord

   Antig. It is for you we speake, not for our selues:
You are abus'd, and by some putter on,
That will be damn'd for't: would I knew the Villaine,
I would Land-damne him: be she honor-flaw'd,
I haue three daughters: the eldest is eleuen;
The second, and the third, nine: and some fiue:
If this proue true, they'l pay for't. By mine Honor
Ile gell'd em all: fourteene they shall not see
To bring false generations: they are co-heyres,
And I had rather glib my selfe, then they
Should not produce faire issue

   Leo. Cease, no more:
You smell this businesse with a sence as cold
As is a dead-mans nose: but I do see't, and feel't,
As you feele doing thus: and see withall
The Instruments that feele

   Antig. If it be so,
We neede no graue to burie honesty,
There's not a graine of it, the face to sweeten
Of the whole dungy-earth

   Leo. What? lacke I credit?
  Lord. I had rather you did lacke then I (my Lord)
Vpon this ground: and more it would content me
To haue her Honor true, then your suspition
Be blam'd for't how you might

   Leo. Why what neede we
Commune with you of this? but rather follow
Our forcefull instigation? Our prerogatiue
Cals not your Counsailes, but our naturall goodnesse
Imparts this: which, if you, or stupified,
Or seeming so, in skill, cannot, or will not
Rellish a truth, like vs: informe your selues,
We neede no more of your aduice: the matter,
The losse, the gaine, the ord'ring on't,
Is all properly ours

   Antig. And I wish (my Liege)
You had onely in your silent iudgement tride it,
Without more ouerture

   Leo. How could that be?
Either thou art most ignorant by age,
Or thou wer't borne a foole: Camillo's flight
Added to their Familiarity
(Which was as grosse, as euer touch'd coniecture,
That lack'd sight onely, nought for approbation
But onely seeing, all other circumstances
Made vp to'th deed) doth push-on this proceeding.
Yet, for a greater confirmation
(For in an Acte of this importance, 'twere
Most pitteous to be wilde) I haue dispatch'd in post,
To sacred Delphos, to Appollo's Temple,
Cleomines and Dion, whom you know
Of stuff'd-sufficiency: Now, from the Oracle
They will bring all, whose spirituall counsaile had
Shall stop, or spurre me. Haue I done well?
  Lord. Well done (my Lord.)
  Leo. Though I am satisfide, and neede no more
Then what I know, yet shall the Oracle
Giue rest to th' mindes of others; such as he
Whose ignorant credulitie, will not
Come vp to th' truth. So haue we thought it good
From our free person, she should be confinde,
Least that the treachery of the two, fled hence,
Be left her to performe. Come follow vs,
We are to speake in publique: for this businesse
Will raise vs all

   Antig. To laughter, as I take it,
If the good truth, were knowne.

Exeunt.

Scena Secunda.

Enter Paulina, a Gentleman, Gaoler, Emilia.

  Paul. The Keeper of the prison, call to him:
Let him haue knowledge who I am. Good Lady,
No Court in Europe is too good for thee,
What dost thou then in prison? Now good Sir,
You know me, do you not?
  Gao. For a worthy Lady,
And one, who much I honour

   Pau. Pray you then,
Conduct me to the Queene

   Gao. I may not (Madam)
To the contrary I haue expresse commandment

   Pau. Here's ado, to locke vp honesty & honour from
Th' accesse of gentle visitors. Is't lawfull pray you
To see her Women? Any of them? Emilia?
  Gao. So please you (Madam)
To put a-part these your attendants, I
Shall bring Emilia forth

   Pau. I pray now call her:
With-draw your selues

   Gao. And Madam,
I must be present at your Conference

   Pau. Well: be't so: prethee.
Heere's such adoe, to make no staine, a staine,
As passes colouring. Deare Gentlewoman,
How fares our gracious Lady?
  Emil. As well as one so great, and so forlorne
May hold together: On her frights, and greefes
(Which neuer tender Lady hath borne greater)
She is, something before her time, deliuer'd

   Pau. A boy?
  Emil. A daughter, and a goodly babe,
Lusty, and like to liue: the Queene receiues
Much comfort in't: Sayes, my poore prisoner,
I am innocent as you,
  Pau. I dare be sworne:
These dangerous, vnsafe Lunes i'th' King, beshrew them:
He must be told on't, and he shall: the office
Becomes a woman best. Ile take't vpon me,
If I proue hony-mouth'd, let my tongue blister.
And neuer to my red-look'd Anger bee
The Trumpet any more: pray you (Emilia)
Commend my best obedience to the Queene,
If she dares trust me with her little babe,
I'le shew't the King, and vndertake to bee
Her Aduocate to th' lowd'st. We do not know
How he may soften at the sight o'th' Childe:
The silence often of pure innocence
Perswades, when speaking failes

   Emil. Most worthy Madam,
Your honor, and your goodnesse is so euident,
That your free vndertaking cannot misse
A thriuing yssue: there is no Lady liuing
So meete for this great errand; please your Ladiship
To visit the next roome, Ile presently
Acquaint the Queene of your most noble offer,
Who, but to day hammered of this designe,
But durst not tempt a minister of honour
Least she should be deny'd

   Paul. Tell her (Emilia)
Ile vse that tongue I haue: If wit flow from't
As boldnesse from my bosome, le't not be doubted
I shall do good,
  Emil. Now be you blest for it.
Ile to the Queene: please you come something neerer

   Gao. Madam, if't please the Queene to send the babe,
I know not what I shall incurre, to passe it,
Hauing no warrant

   Pau. You neede not feare it (sir)
This Childe was prisoner to the wombe, and is
By Law and processe of great Nature, thence
Free'd, and enfranchis'd, not a partie to
The anger of the King, nor guilty of
(If any be) the trespasse of the Queene

   Gao. I do beleeue it

   Paul. Do not you feare: vpon mine honor, I
Will stand betwixt you, and danger.

Exeunt.

Scaena Tertia.

Enter Leontes, Seruants, Paulina, Antigonus, and Lords.

  Leo. Nor night, nor day, no rest: It is but weaknesse
To beare the matter thus: meere weaknesse, if
The cause were not in being: part o'th cause,
She, th' Adultresse: for the harlot-King
Is quite beyond mine Arme, out of the blanke
And leuell of my braine: plot-proofe: but shee,
I can hooke to me: say that she were gone,
Giuen to the fire, a moity of my rest
Might come to me againe. Whose there?
  Ser. My Lord

   Leo. How do's the boy?
  Ser. He tooke good rest to night: 'tis hop'd
His sicknesse is discharg'd

   Leo. To see his Noblenesse,
Conceyuing the dishonour of his Mother.
He straight declin'd, droop'd, tooke it deeply,
Fasten'd, and fix'd the shame on't in himselfe:
Threw-off his Spirit, his Appetite, his Sleepe,
And down-right languish'd. Leaue me solely: goe,
See how he fares: Fie, fie, no thought of him,
The very thought of my Reuenges that way
Recoyle vpon me: in himselfe too mightie,
And in his parties, his Alliance; Let him be,
Vntill a time may serue. For present vengeance
Take it on her: Camillo, and Polixenes
Laugh at me: make their pastime at my sorrow:
They should not laugh, if I could reach them, nor
Shall she, within my powre.
Enter Paulina.

  Lord. You must not enter

   Paul. Nay rather (good my Lords) be second to me:
Feare you his tyrannous passion more (alas)
Then the Queenes life? A gracious innocent soule,
More free, then he is iealous

   Antig. That's enough

   Ser. Madam; he hath not slept to night, commanded
None should come at him

   Pau. Not so hot (good Sir)
I come to bring him sleepe. 'Tis such as you
That creepe like shadowes by him, and do sighe
At each his needlesse heauings: such as you
Nourish the cause of his awaking. I
Do come with words, as medicinall, as true;
(Honest, as either;) to purge him of that humor,
That presses him from sleepe

   Leo. Who noyse there, hoe?
  Pau. No noyse (my Lord) but needfull conference,
About some Gossips for your Highnesse

   Leo. How?
Away with that audacious Lady. Antigonus,
I charg'd thee that she should not come about me,
I knew she would

   Ant. I told her so (my Lord)
On your displeasures perill, and on mine,
She should not visit you

   Leo. What? canst not rule her?
  Paul. From all dishonestie he can: in this
(Vnlesse he take the course that you haue done)
Commit me, for committing honor, trust it,
He shall not rule me:
  Ant. La-you now, you heare,
When she will take the raine, I let her run,
But shee'l not stumble

   Paul. Good my Liege, I come:
And I beseech you heare me, who professes
My selfe your loyall Seruant, your Physitian,
Your most obedient Counsailor: yet that dares
Lesse appeare so, in comforting your Euilles,
Then such as most seeme yours. I say, I come
From your good Queene

   Leo. Good Queene?
  Paul. Good Queene (my Lord) good Queene,
I say good Queene,
And would by combate, make her good so, were I
A man, the worst about you

   Leo. Force her hence

   Pau. Let him that makes but trifles of his eyes
First hand me: on mine owne accord, Ile off,
But first, Ile do my errand. The good Queene
(For she is good) hath brought you forth a daughter,
Heere 'tis. Commends it to your blessing

   Leo. Out:
A mankinde Witch? Hence with her, out o' dore:
A most intelligencing bawd

   Paul. Not so:
I am as ignorant in that, as you,
In so entit'ling me: and no lesse honest
Then you are mad: which is enough, Ile warrant
(As this world goes) to passe for honest:
  Leo. Traitors;
Will you not push her out? Giue her the Bastard,
Thou dotard, thou art woman-tyr'd: vnroosted
By thy dame Partlet heere. Take vp the Bastard,
Take't vp, I say: giue't to thy Croane

   Paul. For euer
Vnvenerable be thy hands, if thou
Tak'st vp the Princesse, by that forced basenesse
Which he ha's put vpon't

   Leo. He dreads his Wife

   Paul. So I would you did: then 'twere past all doubt
Youl'd call your children, yours

   Leo. A nest of Traitors

   Ant. I am none, by this good light

   Pau. Nor I: nor any
But one that's heere: and that's himselfe: for he,
The sacred Honor of himselfe, his Queenes,
His hopefull Sonnes, his Babes, betrayes to Slander,
Whose sting is sharper then the Swords; and will not
(For as the case now stands, it is a Curse
He cannot be compell'd too't) once remoue
The Root of his Opinion, which is rotten,
As euer Oake, or Stone was sound

   Leo. A Callat
Of boundlesse tongue, who late hath beat her Husband,
And now bayts me: This Brat is none of mine,
It is the Issue of Polixenes.
Hence with it, and together with the Dam,
Commit them to the fire

   Paul. It is yours:
And might we lay th' old Prouerb to your charge,
So like you, 'tis the worse. Behold (my Lords)
Although the Print be little, the whole Matter
And Coppy of the Father: (Eye, Nose, Lippe,
The trick of's Frowne, his Fore-head, nay, the Valley,
The pretty dimples of his Chin, and Cheeke; his Smiles:
The very Mold, and frame of Hand, Nayle, Finger.)
And thou good Goddesse Nature, which hast made it
So like to him that got it, if thou hast
The ordering of the Mind too, 'mongst all Colours
No Yellow in't, least she suspect, as he do's,
Her Children, not her Husbands

   Leo. A grosse Hagge:
And Lozell, thou art worthy to be hang'd,
That wilt not stay her Tongue

   Antig. Hang all the Husbands
That cannot doe that Feat, you'le leaue your selfe
Hardly one Subiect

   Leo. Once more take her hence

   Paul. A most vnworthy, and vnnaturall Lord
Can doe no more

   Leo. Ile ha' thee burnt

   Paul. I care not:
It is an Heretique that makes the fire,
Not she which burnes in't. Ile not call you Tyrant:
But this most cruell vsage of your Queene
(Not able to produce more accusation
Then your owne weake-hindg'd Fancy) something sauors
Of Tyrannie, and will ignoble make you,
Yea, scandalous to the World

   Leo. On your Allegeance,
Out of the Chamber with her. Were I a Tyrant,
Where were her life? she durst not call me so,
If she did know me one. Away with her

   Paul. I pray you doe not push me, Ile be gone.
Looke to your Babe (my Lord) 'tis yours: Ioue send her
A better guiding Spirit. What needs these hands?
You that are thus so tender o're his Follyes,
Will neuer doe him good, not one of you.
So, so: Farewell, we are gone.
Enter.

  Leo. Thou (Traytor) hast set on thy Wife to this.
My Child? away with't? euen thou, that hast
A heart so tender o're it, take it hence,
And see it instantly consum'd with fire.
Euen thou, and none but thou. Take it vp straight:
Within this houre bring me word 'tis done,
(And by good testimonie) or Ile seize thy life,
With what thou else call'st thine: if thou refuse,
And wilt encounter with my Wrath, say so;
The Bastard-braynes with these my proper hands
Shall I dash out. Goe, take it to the fire,
For thou sett'st on thy Wife

   Antig. I did not, Sir:
These Lords, my Noble Fellowes, if they please,
Can cleare me in't

   Lords. We can: my Royall Liege,
He is not guiltie of her comming hither

   Leo. You're lyers all

   Lord. Beseech your Highnesse, giue vs better credit:
We haue alwayes truly seru'd you, and beseech'
So to esteeme of vs: and on our knees we begge,
(As recompence of our deare seruices
Past, and to come) that you doe change this purpose,
Which being so horrible, so bloody, must
Lead on to some foule Issue. We all kneele

   Leo. I am a Feather for each Wind that blows:
Shall I liue on, to see this Bastard kneele,
And call me Father? better burne it now,
Then curse it then. But be it: let it liue.
It shall not neyther. You Sir, come you hither:
You that haue beene so tenderly officious
With Lady Margerie, your Mid-wife there,
To saue this Bastards life; for 'tis a Bastard,
So sure as this Beard's gray. What will you aduenture,
To saue this Brats life?
  Antig. Any thing (my Lord)
That my abilitie may vndergoe,
And Noblenesse impose: at least thus much;
Ile pawne the little blood which I haue left,
To saue the Innocent: any thing possible

   Leo. It shall be possible: Sweare by this Sword
Thou wilt performe my bidding

   Antig. I will (my Lord.)
  Leo. Marke, and performe it: seest thou? for the faile
Of any point in't, shall not onely be
Death to thy selfe, but to thy lewd-tongu'd Wife,
(Whom for this time we pardon) We enioyne thee,
As thou art Liege-man to vs, that thou carry
This female Bastard hence, and that thou beare it
To some remote and desart place, quite out
Of our Dominions; and that there thou leaue it
(Without more mercy) to it owne protection,
And fauour of the Climate: as by strange fortune
It came to vs, I doe in Iustice charge thee,
On thy Soules perill, and thy Bodyes torture,
That thou commend it strangely to some place,
Where Chance may nurse, or end it: take it vp

   Antig. I sweare to doe this: though a present death
Had beene more mercifull. Come on (poore Babe)
Some powerfull Spirit instruct the Kytes and Rauens
To be thy Nurses. Wolues and Beares, they say,
(Casting their sauagenesse aside) haue done
Like offices of Pitty. Sir, be prosperous
In more then this deed do's require; and Blessing
Against this Crueltie, fight on thy side
(Poore Thing, condemn'd to losse.)
Enter.

  Leo. No: Ile not reare
Anothers Issue.
Enter a Seruant.

  Seru. Please' your Highnesse, Posts
From those you sent to th' Oracle, are come
An houre since: Cleomines and Dion,
Being well arriu'd from Delphos, are both landed,
Hasting to th' Court

   Lord. So please you (Sir) their speed
Hath beene beyond accompt

   Leo. Twentie three dayes
They haue beene absent: 'tis good speed: fore-tells
The great Apollo suddenly will haue
The truth of this appeare: Prepare you Lords,
Summon a Session, that we may arraigne
Our most disloyall Lady: for as she hath
Been publikely accus'd, so shall she haue
A iust and open Triall. While she liues,
My heart will be a burthen to me. Leaue me,
And thinke vpon my bidding.

Exeunt.


Actus Tertius. Scena Prima.

Enter Cleomines and Dion.

  Cleo. The Clymat's delicate, the Ayre most sweet,
Fertile the Isle, the Temple much surpassing
The common prayse it beares

   Dion. I shall report,
For most it caught me, the Celestiall Habits,
(Me thinkes I so should terme them) and the reuerence
Of the graue Wearers. O, the Sacrifice,
How ceremonious, solemne, and vn-earthly
It was i'th' Offring?
  Cleo. But of all, the burst
And the eare-deaff'ning Voyce o'th' Oracle,
Kin to Ioues Thunder, so surpriz'd my Sence,
That I was nothing

   Dio. If th' euent o'th' Iourney
Proue as successefull to the Queene (O be't so)
As it hath beene to vs, rare, pleasant, speedie,
The time is worth the vse on't

   Cleo. Great Apollo
Turne all to th' best: these Proclamations,
So forcing faults vpon Hermione,
I little like

   Dio. The violent carriage of it
Will cleare, or end the Businesse, when the Oracle
(Thus by Apollo's great Diuine seal'd vp)
Shall the Contents discouer: something rare
Euen then will rush to knowledge. Goe: fresh Horses,
And gracious be the issue.

Exeunt.


Scoena Secunda.

Enter Leontes, Lords, Officers: Hermione (as to her Triall) Ladies:
Cleomines, Dion.

  Leo. This Sessions (to our great griefe we pronounce)
Euen pushes 'gainst our heart. The partie try'd,
The Daughter of a King, our Wife, and one
Of vs too much belou'd. Let vs be clear'd
Of being tyrannous, since we so openly
Proceed in Iustice, which shall haue due course,
Euen to the Guilt, or the Purgation:
Produce the Prisoner

   Officer. It is his Highnesse pleasure, that the Queene
Appeare in person, here in Court. Silence

   Leo. Reade the Indictment

   Officer. Hermione, Queene to the worthy Leontes, King
of Sicilia, thou art here accused and arraigned of High Treason,
in committing Adultery with Polixenes King of Bohemia,
and conspiring with Camillo to take away the Life of our
Soueraigne
Lord the King, thy Royall Husband: the pretence whereof
being by circumstances partly layd open, thou (Hermione) contrary
to the Faith and Allegeance of a true Subiect, didst counsaile
and ayde them, for their better safetie, to flye away by
Night

   Her. Since what I am to say, must be but that
Which contradicts my Accusation, and
The testimonie on my part, no other
But what comes from my selfe, it shall scarce boot me
To say, Not guiltie: mine Integritie
Being counted Falsehood, shall (as I expresse it)
Be so receiu'd. But thus, if Powres Diuine
Behold our humane Actions (as they doe)
I doubt not then, but Innocence shall make
False Accusation blush, and Tyrannie
Tremble at Patience. You (my Lord) best know
(Whom least will seeme to doe so) my past life
Hath beene as continent, as chaste, as true,
As I am now vnhappy; which is more
Then Historie can patterne, though deuis'd,
And play'd, to take Spectators. For behold me,
A Fellow of the Royall Bed, which owe
A Moitie of the Throne: a great Kings Daughter,
The Mother to a hopefull Prince, here standing
To prate and talke for Life, and Honor, fore
Who please to come, and heare. For Life, I prize it
As I weigh Griefe (which I would spare:) For Honor,
'Tis a deriuatiue from me to mine,
And onely that I stand for. I appeale
To your owne Conscience (Sir) before Polixenes
Came to your Court, how I was in your grace,
How merited to be so: Since he came,
With what encounter so vncurrant, I
Haue strayn'd t' appeare thus; if one iot beyond
The bound of Honor, or in act, or will
That way enclining, hardned be the hearts
Of all that heare me, and my neer'st of Kin
Cry fie vpon my Graue

   Leo. I ne're heard yet,
That any of these bolder Vices wanted
Lesse Impudence to gaine-say what they did,
Then to performe it first

   Her. That's true enough,
Though 'tis a saying (Sir) not due to me

   Leo. You will not owne it

   Her. More then Mistresse of,
Which comes to me in name of Fault, I must not
At all acknowledge. For Polixenes
(With whom I am accus'd) I doe confesse
I lou'd him, as in Honor he requir'd:
With such a kind of Loue, as might become
A Lady like me; with a Loue, euen such,
So, and no other, as your selfe commanded:
Which, not to haue done, I thinke had been in me
Both Disobedience, and Ingratitude
To you, and toward your Friend, whose Loue had spoke,
Euen since it could speake, from an Infant, freely,
That it was yours. Now for Conspiracie,
I know not how it tastes, though it be dish'd
For me to try how: All I know of it,
Is, that Camillo was an honest man;
And why he left your Court, the Gods themselues
(Wotting no more then I) are ignorant

   Leo. You knew of his departure, as you know
What you haue vnderta'ne to doe in's absence

   Her. Sir,
You speake a Language that I vnderstand not:
My Life stands in the leuell of your Dreames,
Which Ile lay downe

   Leo. Your Actions are my Dreames.
You had a Bastard by Polixenes,
And I but dream'd it: As you were past all shame,
(Those of your Fact are so) so past all truth;
Which to deny, concernes more then auailes: for as
Thy Brat hath been cast out, like to it selfe,
No Father owning it (which is indeed
More criminall in thee, then it) so thou
Shalt feele our Iustice; in whose easiest passage,
Looke for no lesse then death

   Her. Sir, spare your Threats:
The Bugge which you would fright me with, I seeke:
To me can Life be no commoditie;
The crowne and comfort of my Life (your Fauor)
I doe giue lost, for I doe feele it gone,
But know not how it went. My second Ioy,
And first Fruits of my body, from his presence
I am bar'd, like one infectious. My third comfort
(Star'd most vnluckily) is from my breast
(The innocent milke in it most innocent mouth)
Hal'd out to murther. My selfe on euery Post
Proclaym'd a Strumpet: With immodest hatred
The Child-bed priuiledge deny'd, which longs
To Women of all fashion. Lastly, hurried
Here, to this place, i'th' open ayre, before
I haue got strength of limit. Now (my Liege)
Tell me what blessings I haue here aliue,
That I should feare to die? Therefore proceed:
But yet heare this: mistake me not: no Life,
(I prize it not a straw) but for mine Honor,
Which I would free: if I shall be condemn'd
Vpon surmizes (all proofes sleeping else,
But what your Iealousies awake) I tell you
'Tis Rigor, and not Law. Your Honors all,
I doe referre me to the Oracle:
Apollo be my Iudge

   Lord. This your request
Is altogether iust: therefore bring forth
(And in Apollo's Name) his Oracle

   Her. The Emperor of Russia was my Father.
Oh that he were aliue, and here beholding
His Daughters Tryall: that he did but see
The flatnesse of my miserie; yet with eyes
Of Pitty, not Reuenge

   Officer. You here shal sweare vpon this Sword of Iustice,
That you (Cleomines and Dion) haue
Been both at Delphos, and from thence haue brought
This seal'd-vp Oracle, by the Hand deliuer'd
Of great Apollo's Priest; and that since then,
You haue not dar'd to breake the holy Seale,
Nor read the Secrets in't

   Cleo. Dio. All this we sweare

   Leo. Breake vp the Seales, and read

   Officer. Hermione is chast, Polixenes blamelesse, Camillo
a true Subiect, Leontes a iealous Tyrant, his innocent Babe
truly begotten, and the King shall liue without an Heire, if that
which is lost, be not found

   Lords. Now blessed be the great Apollo

   Her. Praysed

   Leo. Hast thou read truth?
  Offic. I (my Lord) euen so as it is here set downe

   Leo. There is no truth at all i'th' Oracle:
The Sessions shall proceed: this is meere falsehood

   Ser. My Lord the King: the King?
  Leo. What is the businesse?
  Ser. O Sir, I shall be hated to report it.
The Prince your Sonne, with meere conceit, and feare
Of the Queenes speed, is gone

   Leo. How? gone?
  Ser. Is dead

   Leo. Apollo's angry, and the Heauens themselues
Doe strike at my Iniustice. How now there?
  Paul. This newes is mortall to the Queene: Look downe
And see what Death is doing

   Leo. Take her hence:
Her heart is but o're-charg'd: she will recouer.
I haue too much beleeu'd mine owne suspition:
'Beseech you tenderly apply to her
Some remedies for life. Apollo pardon
My great prophanenesse 'gainst thine Oracle.
Ile reconcile me to Polixenes,
New woe my Queene, recall the good Camillo
(Whom I proclaime a man of Truth, of Mercy:)
For being transported by my Iealousies
To bloody thoughts, and to reuenge, I chose
Camillo for the minister, to poyson
My friend Polixenes: which had been done,
But that the good mind of Camillo tardied
My swift command: though I with Death, and with
Reward, did threaten and encourage him,
Not doing it, and being done: he (most humane,
And fill'd with Honor) to my Kingly Guest
Vnclasp'd my practise, quit his fortunes here
(Which you knew great) and to the hazard
Of all Incertainties, himselfe commended,
No richer then his Honor: How he glisters
Through my Rust? and how his Pietie
Do's my deeds make the blacker?
  Paul. Woe the while:
O cut my Lace, least my heart (cracking it)
Breake too

   Lord. What fit is this? good Lady?
  Paul. What studied torments (Tyrant) hast for me?
What Wheeles? Racks? Fires? What flaying? boyling?
In Leads, or Oyles? What old, or newer Torture
Must I receiue? whose euery word deserues
To taste of thy most worst. Thy Tyranny
(Together working with thy Iealousies,
Fancies too weake for Boyes, too greene and idle
For Girles of Nine) O thinke what they haue done,
And then run mad indeed: starke-mad: for all
Thy by-gone fooleries were but spices of it.
That thou betrayed'st Polixenes, 'twas nothing,
(That did but shew thee, of a Foole, inconstant,
And damnable ingratefull:) Nor was't much.
Thou would'st haue poyson'd good Camillo's Honor,
To haue him kill a King: poore Trespasses,
More monstrous standing by: whereof I reckon
The casting forth to Crowes, thy Baby-daughter,
To be or none, or little; though a Deuill
Would haue shed water out of fire, ere don't;
Nor is't directly layd to thee, the death
Of the young Prince, whose honorable thoughts
(Thoughts high for one so tender) cleft the heart
That could conceiue a grosse and foolish Sire
Blemish'd his gracious Dam: this is not, no,
Layd to thy answere: but the last: O Lords,
When I haue said, cry woe: the Queene, the Queene,
The sweet'st, deer'st creature's dead: & vengeance for't
Not drop'd downe yet

   Lord. The higher powres forbid

   Pau. I say she's dead: Ile swear't. If word, nor oath
Preuaile not, go and see: if you can bring
Tincture, or lustre in her lip, her eye
Heate outwardly, or breath within, Ile serue you
As I would do the Gods. But, O thou Tyrant,
Do not repent these things, for they are heauier
Then all thy woes can stirre: therefore betake thee
To nothing but dispaire. A thousand knees,
Ten thousand yeares together, naked, fasting,
Vpon a barren Mountaine, and still Winter
In storme perpetuall, could not moue the Gods
To looke that way thou wer't

   Leo. Go on, go on:
Thou canst not speake too much, I haue deseru'd
All tongues to talke their bittrest

   Lord. Say no more;
How ere the businesse goes, you haue made fault
I'th boldnesse of your speech

   Pau. I am sorry for't;
All faults I make, when I shall come to know them,
I do repent: Alas, I haue shew'd too much
The rashnesse of a woman: he is toucht
To th' Noble heart. What's gone, and what's past helpe
Should be past greefe: Do not receiue affliction
At my petition; I beseech you, rather
Let me be punish'd, that haue minded you
Of what you should forget. Now (good my Liege)
Sir, Royall Sir, forgiue a foolish woman:
The loue I bore your Queene (Lo, foole againe)
Ile speake of her no more, nor of your Children:
Ile not remember you of my owne Lord,
(Who is lost too:) take your patience to you,
And Ile say nothing

   Leo. Thou didst speake but well,
When most the truth: which I receyue much better,
Then to be pittied of thee. Prethee bring me
To the dead bodies of my Queene, and Sonne,
One graue shall be for both: Vpon them shall
The causes of their death appeare (vnto
Our shame perpetuall) once a day, Ile visit
The Chappell where they lye, and teares shed there
Shall be my recreation. So long as Nature
Will beare vp with this exercise, so long
I dayly vow to vse it. Come, and leade me
To these sorrowes.

Exeunt.

Scaena Tertia.

Enter Antigonus, a Marriner, Babe, Sheepeheard, and Clowne.

  Ant. Thou art perfect then, our ship hath toucht vpon
The Desarts of Bohemia

   Mar. I (my Lord) and feare
We haue Landed in ill time: the skies looke grimly,
And threaten present blusters. In my conscience
The heauens with that we haue in hand, are angry,
And frowne vpon's

   Ant. Their sacred wil's be done: go get a-boord,
Looke to thy barke, Ile not be long before
I call vpon thee

   Mar. Make your best haste, and go not
Too-farre i'th Land: 'tis like to be lowd weather,
Besides this place is famous for the Creatures
Of prey, that keepe vpon't

   Antig. Go thou away,
Ile follow instantly

   Mar. I am glad at heart
To be so ridde o'th businesse.

Exit

  Ant. Come, poore babe;
I haue heard (but not beleeu'd) the Spirits o'th' dead
May walke againe: if such thing be, thy Mother
Appear'd to me last night: for ne're was dreame
So like a waking. To me comes a creature,
Sometimes her head on one side, some another,
I neuer saw a vessell of like sorrow
So fill'd, and so becomming: in pure white Robes
Like very sanctity she did approach
My Cabine where I lay: thrice bow'd before me,
And (gasping to begin some speech) her eyes
Became two spouts; the furie spent, anon
Did this breake from her. Good Antigonus,
Since Fate (against thy better disposition)
Hath made thy person for the Thrower-out
Of my poore babe, according to thine oath,
Places remote enough are in Bohemia,
There weepe, and leaue it crying: and for the babe
Is counted lost for euer, Perdita
I prethee call't: For this vngentle businesse
Put on thee, by my Lord, thou ne're shalt see
Thy Wife Paulina more: and so, with shriekes
She melted into Ayre. Affrighted much,
I did in time collect my selfe, and thought
This was so, and no slumber: Dreames, are toyes,
Yet for this once, yea superstitiously,
I will be squar'd by this. I do beleeue
Hermione hath suffer'd death, and that
Apollo would (this being indeede the issue
Of King Polixenes) it should heere be laide
(Either for life, or death) vpon the earth
Of it's right Father. Blossome, speed thee well,
There lye, and there thy charracter: there these,
Which may if Fortune please, both breed thee (pretty)
And still rest thine. The storme beginnes, poore wretch,
That for thy mothers fault, art thus expos'd
To losse, and what may follow. Weepe I cannot,
But my heart bleedes: and most accurst am I
To be by oath enioyn'd to this. Farewell,
The day frownes more and more: thou'rt like to haue
A lullabie too rough: I neuer saw
The heauens so dim, by day. A sauage clamor?
Well may I get a-boord: This is the Chace,
I am gone for euer.

Exit pursued by a Beare.

  Shep. I would there were no age betweene ten and
three and twenty, or that youth would sleep out the rest:
for there is nothing (in the betweene) but getting wenches
with childe, wronging the Auncientry, stealing,
fighting, hearke you now: would any but these boyldebraines
of nineteene, and two and twenty hunt this weather?
They haue scarr'd away two of my best Sheepe,
which I feare the Wolfe will sooner finde then the Maister;
if any where I haue them, 'tis by the sea-side, brouzing
of Iuy. Good-lucke (and't be thy will) what haue
we heere? Mercy on's, a Barne? A very pretty barne; A
boy, or a Childe I wonder? (A pretty one, a verie prettie
one) sure some Scape; Though I am not bookish, yet I
can reade Waiting-Gentlewoman in the scape: this has
beene some staire-worke, some Trunke-worke, some
behinde-doore
worke: they were warmer that got this,
then the poore Thing is heere. Ile take it vp for pity, yet
Ile tarry till my sonne come: he hallow'd but euen now.
Whoa-ho-hoa.
Enter Clowne.

  Clo. Hilloa, loa

   Shep. What? art so neere? If thou'lt see a thing to
talke on, when thou art dead and rotten, come hither:
what ayl'st thou, man?
  Clo. I haue seene two such sights, by Sea & by Land:
but I am not to say it is a Sea, for it is now the skie, betwixt
the Firmament and it, you cannot thrust a bodkins
point

   Shep. Why boy, how is it?
  Clo. I would you did but see how it chafes, how it rages,
how it takes vp the shore, but that's not to the point:
Oh, the most pitteous cry of the poore soules, sometimes
to see 'em, and not to see 'em: Now the Shippe boaring
the Moone with her maine Mast, and anon swallowed
with yest and froth, as you'ld thrust a Corke into a hogshead.
And then for the Land-seruice, to see how the
Beare tore out his shoulder-bone, how he cride to mee
for helpe, and said his name was Antigonus, a Nobleman:
But to make an end of the Ship, to see how the Sea flapdragon'd
it: but first, how the poore soules roared, and
the sea mock'd them: and how the poore Gentleman roared,
and the Beare mock'd him, both roaring lowder
then the sea, or weather

   Shep. Name of mercy, when was this boy?
  Clo. Now, now: I haue not wink'd since I saw these
sights: the men are not yet cold vnder water, nor the
Beare halfe din'd on the Gentleman: he's at it now

   Shep. Would I had bin by, to haue help'd the olde
man

   Clo. I would you had beene by the ship side, to haue
help'd her; there your charity would haue lack'd footing

   Shep. Heauy matters, heauy matters: but looke thee
heere boy. Now blesse thy selfe: thou met'st with things
dying, I with things new borne. Here's a sight for thee:
Looke thee, a bearing-cloath for a Squires childe: looke
thee heere, take vp, take vp (Boy:) open't: so, let's see, it
was told me I should be rich by the Fairies. This is some
Changeling: open't: what's within, boy?
  Clo. You're a mad olde man: If the sinnes of your
youth are forgiuen you, you're well to liue. Golde, all
Gold

   Shep. This is Faiery Gold boy, and 'twill proue so: vp
with't, keepe it close: home, home, the next way. We
are luckie (boy) and to bee so still requires nothing but
secrecie. Let my sheepe go: Come (good boy) the next
way home

   Clo. Go you the next way with your Findings, Ile go
see if the Beare bee gone from the Gentleman, and how
much he hath eaten: they are neuer curst but when they
are hungry: if there be any of him left, Ile bury it

   Shep. That's a good deed: if thou mayest discerne by
that which is left of him, what he is, fetch me to th' sight
of him

   Clowne. 'Marry will I: and you shall helpe to put him
i'th' ground

   Shep. 'Tis a lucky day, boy, and wee'l do good deeds
on't.

Exeunt.

Actus Quartus. Scena Prima.

Enter Time, the Chorus.

  Time. I that please some, try all: both ioy and terror
Of good, and bad: that makes, and vnfolds error,
Now take vpon me (in the name of Time)
To vse my wings: Impute it not a crime
To me, or my swift passage, that I slide
Ore sixteene yeeres, and leaue the growth vntride
Of that wide gap, since it is in my powre
To orethrow Law, and in one selfe-borne howre
To plant, and orewhelme Custome. Let me passe
The same I am, ere ancient'st Order was,
Or what is now receiu'd. I witnesse to
The times that brought them in, so shall I do
To th' freshest things now reigning, and make stale
The glistering of this present, as my Tale
Now seemes to it: your patience this allowing,
I turne my glasse, and giue my Scene such growing
As you had slept betweene: Leontes leauing
Th' effects of his fond iealousies, so greeuing
That he shuts vp himselfe. Imagine me
(Gentle Spectators) that I now may be
In faire Bohemia, and remember well,
I mentioned a sonne o'th' Kings, which Florizell
I now name to you: and with speed so pace
To speake of Perdita, now growne in grace
Equall with wond'ring. What of her insues
I list not prophesie: but let Times newes
Be knowne when 'tis brought forth. A shepherds daughter
And what to her adheres, which followes after,
Is th' argument of Time: of this allow,
If euer you haue spent time worse, ere now:
If neuer, yet that Time himselfe doth say,
He wishes earnestly, you neuer may.
Enter.


Scena Secunda.

Enter Polixenes, and Camillo.

  Pol. I pray thee (good Camillo) be no more importunate:
'tis a sicknesse denying thee any thing: a death to
grant this

   Cam. It is fifteene yeeres since I saw my Countrey:
though I haue (for the most part) bin ayred abroad, I desire
to lay my bones there. Besides, the penitent King
(my Master) hath sent for me, to whose feeling sorrowes
I might be some allay, or I oreweene to thinke so) which
is another spurre to my departure

   Pol. As thou lou'st me (Camillo) wipe not out the rest
of thy seruices, by leauing me now: the neede I haue of
thee, thine owne goodnesse hath made: better not to
haue had thee, then thus to want thee, thou hauing made
me Businesses, (which none (without thee) can sufficiently
manage) must either stay to execute them thy selfe,
or take away with thee the very seruices thou hast done:
which if I haue not enough considered (as too much I
cannot) to bee more thankefull to thee, shall bee my studie,
and my profite therein, the heaping friendshippes.
Of that fatall Countrey Sicillia, prethee speake no more,
whose very naming, punnishes me with the remembrance
of that penitent (as thou calst him) and reconciled King
my brother, whose losse of his most precious Queene &
Children, are euen now to be a-fresh lamented. Say to
me, when saw'st thou the Prince Florizell my son? Kings
are no lesse vnhappy, their issue, not being gracious, then
they are in loosing them, when they haue approued their
Vertues

   Cam. Sir, it is three dayes since I saw the Prince: what
his happier affayres may be, are to me vnknowne: but I
haue (missingly) noted, he is of late much retyred from
Court, and is lesse frequent to his Princely exercises then
formerly he hath appeared

   Pol. I haue considered so much (Camillo) and with
some care, so farre, that I haue eyes vnder my seruice,
which looke vpon his remouednesse: from whom I haue
this Intelligence, that he is seldome from the house of a
most homely shepheard: a man (they say) that from very
nothing, and beyond the imagination of his neighbors,
is growne into an vnspeakable estate

   Cam. I haue heard (sir) of such a man, who hath a
daughter of most rare note: the report of her is extended
more, then can be thought to begin from such a cottage
  Pol. That's likewise part of my Intelligence: but (I
feare) the Angle that pluckes our sonne thither. Thou
shalt accompany vs to the place, where we will (not appearing
what we are) haue some question with the shepheard;
from whose simplicity, I thinke it not vneasie to
get the cause of my sonnes resort thether. 'Prethe be my
present partner in this busines, and lay aside the thoughts
of Sicillia

   Cam. I willingly obey your command

   Pol. My best Camillo, we must disguise our selues.

Exit


Scena Tertia.

Enter Autolicus singing

When Daffadils begin to peere,
With heigh the Doxy ouer the dale,
Why then comes in the sweet o'the yeere,
For the red blood raigns in y winters pale.
The white sheete bleaching on the hedge,
With hey the sweet birds, O how they sing:
Doth set my pugging tooth an edge,
For a quart of Ale is a dish for a King.
The Larke, that tirra Lyra chaunts,
With heigh, the Thrush and the Iay:
Are Summer songs for me and my Aunts
While we lye tumbling in the hay.
I haue seru'd Prince Florizell, and in my time wore three
pile, but now I am out of seruice.
But shall I go mourne for that (my deere)
the pale Moone shines by night:
And when I wander here, and there
I then do most go right.
If Tinkers may haue leaue to liue,
and beare the Sow-skin Bowget,
Then my account I well may giue,
and in the Stockes auouch-it.
My Trafficke is sheetes: when the Kite builds, looke to
lesser Linnen. My Father nam'd me Autolicus, who being
(as I am) lytter'd vnder Mercurie, was likewise a
snapper-vp of vnconsidered trifles: With Dye and drab,
I purchas'd this Caparison, and my Reuennew is the silly
Cheate. Gallowes, and Knocke, are too powerfull on
the Highway. Beating and hanging are terrors to mee:
For the life to come, I sleepe out the thought of it. A
prize, a prize.
Enter Clowne.

  Clo. Let me see, euery Leauen-weather toddes, euery
tod yeeldes pound and odde shilling: fifteene hundred
shorne, what comes the wooll too?
  Aut. If the sprindge hold, the Cocke's mine

   Clo. I cannot do't without Compters. Let mee see,
what am I to buy for our Sheepe-shearing-Feast? Three
pound of Sugar, fiue pound of Currence, Rice: What
will this sister of mine do with Rice? But my father hath
made her Mistris of the Feast, and she layes it on. Shee
hath made-me four and twenty Nose-gayes for the shearers
(three-man song-men, all, and very good ones) but
they are most of them Meanes and Bases; but one Puritan
amongst them, and he sings Psalmes to horne-pipes.
I must haue Saffron to colour the Warden Pies, Mace:
Dates, none: that's out of my note: Nutmegges, seuen;
a Race or two of Ginger, but that I may begge: Foure
pound of Prewyns, and as many of Reysons o'th Sun

   Aut. Oh, that euer I was borne

   Clo. I'th' name of me

   Aut. Oh helpe me, helpe mee: plucke but off these
ragges: and then, death, death

   Clo. Alacke poore soule, thou hast need of more rags
to lay on thee, rather then haue these off

   Aut. Oh sir, the loathsomnesse of them offend mee,
more then the stripes I haue receiued, which are mightie
ones and millions

   Clo. Alas poore man, a million of beating may come
to a great matter

   Aut. I am rob'd sir, and beaten: my money, and apparrell
tane from me, and these detestable things put vpon
me

   Clo. What, by a horse-man, or a foot-man?
  Aut. A footman (sweet sir) a footman

   Clo. Indeed, he should be a footman, by the garments
he has left with thee: If this bee a horsemans Coate, it
hath seene very hot seruice. Lend me thy hand, Ile helpe
thee. Come, lend me thy hand

   Aut. Oh good sir, tenderly, oh

   Clo. Alas poore soule

   Aut. Oh good sir, softly, good sir: I feare (sir) my
shoulder-blade is out

   Clo. How now? Canst stand?
  Aut. Softly, deere sir: good sir, softly: you ha done
me a charitable office

   Clo. Doest lacke any mony? I haue a little mony for
thee

   Aut. No, good sweet sir: no, I beseech you sir: I haue
a Kinsman not past three quarters of a mile hence, vnto
whome I was going: I shall there haue money, or anie
thing I want: Offer me no money I pray you, that killes
my heart

   Clow. What manner of Fellow was hee that robb'd
you?
  Aut. A fellow (sir) that I haue knowne to goe about
with Troll-my-dames: I knew him once a seruant of the
Prince: I cannot tell good sir, for which of his Vertues
it was, but hee was certainely Whipt out of the
Court

   Clo. His vices you would say: there's no vertue whipt
out of the Court: they cherish it to make it stay there;
and yet it will no more but abide

   Aut. Vices I would say (Sir.) I know this man well,
he hath bene since an Ape-bearer, then a Processe-seruer
(a Bayliffe) then hee compast a Motion of the Prodigall
sonne, and married a Tinkers wife, within a Mile where
my Land and Liuing lyes; and (hauing flowne ouer many
knauish professions) he setled onely in Rogue: some
call him Autolicus

   Clo. Out vpon him: Prig, for my life Prig: he haunts
Wakes, Faires, and Beare-baitings

   Aut. Very true sir: he sir hee: that's the Rogue that
put me into this apparrell

   Clo. Not a more cowardly Rogue in all Bohemia; If
you had but look'd bigge, and spit at him, hee'ld haue
runne

   Aut. I must confesse to you (sir) I am no fighter: I am
false of heart that way, & that he knew I warrant him

   Clo. How do you now?
  Aut. Sweet sir, much better then I was: I can stand,
and walke: I will euen take my leaue of you, & pace softly
towards my Kinsmans

   Clo. Shall I bring thee on the way?
  Aut. No, good fac'd sir, no sweet sir

   Clo. Then fartheewell, I must go buy Spices for our
sheepe-shearing.
Enter.

  Aut. Prosper you sweet sir. Your purse is not hot enough
to purchase your Spice: Ile be with you at your
sheepe-shearing too: If I make not this Cheat bring out
another, and the sheerers proue sheepe, let me be vnrold,
and my name put in the booke of Vertue.
Song. Iog-on, Iog-on, the foot-path way,
And merrily hent the Stile-a:
A merry heart goes all the day,
Your sad tyres in a Mile-a.
Enter.


Scena Quarta.

Enter Florizell, Perdita, Shepherd, Clowne, Polixenes, Camillo,
Mopsa,
Dorcas, Seruants, Autolicus.

  Flo. These your vnvsuall weeds, to each part of you
Do's giue a life: no Shepherdesse, but Flora
Peering in Aprils front. This your sheepe-shearing,
Is as a meeting of the petty Gods,
And you the Queene on't

   Perd. Sir: my gracious Lord,
To chide at your extreames, it not becomes me:
(Oh pardon, that I name them:) your high selfe
The gracious marke o'th' Land, you haue obscur'd
With a Swaines wearing: and me (poore lowly Maide)
Most Goddesse-like prank'd vp: But that our Feasts
In euery Messe, haue folly; and the Feeders
Digest with a Custome, I should blush
To see you so attyr'd: sworne I thinke,
To shew my selfe a glasse

   Flo. I blesse the time
When my good Falcon, made her flight a-crosse
Thy Fathers ground

   Perd. Now Ioue affoord you cause:
To me the difference forges dread (your Greatnesse
Hath not beene vs'd to feare:) euen now I tremble
To thinke your Father, by some accident
Should passe this way, as you did: Oh the Fates,
How would he looke, to see his worke, so noble,
Vildely bound vp? What would he say? Or how
Should I (in these my borrowed Flaunts) behold
The sternnesse of his presence?
  Flo. Apprehend
Nothing but iollity: the Goddes themselues
(Humbling their Deities to loue) haue taken
The shapes of Beasts vpon them. Iupiter,
Became a Bull, and bellow'd: the greene Neptune
A Ram, and bleated: and the Fire-roab'd-God
Golden Apollo, a poore humble Swaine,
As I seeme now. Their transformations,
Were neuer for a peece of beauty, rarer,
Nor in a way so chaste: since my desires
Run not before mine honor: nor my Lusts
Burne hotter then my Faith

   Perd. O but Sir,
Your resolution cannot hold, when 'tis
Oppos'd (as it must be) by th' powre of the King:
One of these two must be necessities,
Which then will speake, that you must change this purpose,
Or I my life

   Flo. Thou deer'st Perdita,
With these forc'd thoughts, I prethee darken not
The Mirth o'th' Feast: Or Ile be thine (my Faire)
Or not my Fathers. For I cannot be
Mine owne, nor any thing to any, if
I be not thine. To this I am most constant,
Though destiny say no. Be merry (Gentle)
Strangle such thoughts as these, with any thing
That you behold the while. Your guests are comming:
Lift vp your countenance, as it were the day
Of celebration of that nuptiall, which
We two haue sworne shall come

   Perd. O Lady Fortune,
Stand you auspicious

   Flo. See, your Guests approach,
Addresse your selfe to entertaine them sprightly,
And let's be red with mirth

   Shep. Fy (daughter) when my old wife liu'd: vpon
This day, she was both Pantler, Butler, Cooke,
Both Dame and Seruant: Welcom'd all: seru'd all,
Would sing her song, and dance her turne: now heere
At vpper end o'th Table; now, i'th middle:
On his shoulder, and his: her face o' fire
With labour, and the thing she tooke to quench it
She would to each one sip. You are retyred,
As if you were a feasted one: and not
The Hostesse of the meeting: Pray you bid
These vnknowne friends to's welcome, for it is
A way to make vs better Friends, more knowne.
Come, quench your blushes, and present your selfe
That which you are, Mistris o'th' Feast. Come on,
And bid vs welcome to your sheepe-shearing,
As your good flocke shall prosper

   Perd. Sir, welcome:
It is my Fathers will, I should take on mee
The Hostesseship o'th' day: you're welcome sir.
Giue me those Flowres there (Dorcas.) Reuerend Sirs,
For you, there's Rosemary, and Rue, these keepe
Seeming, and sauour all the Winter long:
Grace, and Remembrance be to you both,
And welcome to our Shearing

   Pol. Shepherdesse,
(A faire one are you:) well you fit our ages
With flowres of Winter

   Perd. Sir, the yeare growing ancient,
Not yet on summers death, nor on the birth
Of trembling winter, the fayrest flowres o'th season
Are our Carnations, and streak'd Gilly-vors,
(Which some call Natures bastards) of that kind
Our rusticke Gardens barren, and I care not
To get slips of them

   Pol. Wherefore (gentle Maiden)
Do you neglect them

   Perd. For I haue heard it said,
There is an Art, which in their pidenesse shares
With great creating-Nature

   Pol. Say there be:
Yet Nature is made better by no meane,
But Nature makes that Meane: so ouer that Art,
(Which you say addes to Nature) is an Art
That Nature makes: you see (sweet Maid) we marry
A gentler Sien, to the wildest Stocke,
And make conceyue a barke of baser kinde
By bud of Nobler race. This is an Art
Which do's mend Nature: change it rather, but
The Art it selfe, is Nature

   Perd. So it is

   Pol. Then make you Garden rich in Gilly' vors,
And do not call them bastards

   Perd. Ile not put
The Dible in earth, to set one slip of them:
No more then were I painted, I would wish
This youth should say 'twer well: and onely therefore
Desire to breed by me. Here's flowres for you:
Hot Lauender, Mints, Sauory, Mariorum,
The Mary-gold, that goes to bed with' Sun,
And with him rises, weeping: These are flowres
Of middle summer, and I thinke they are giuen
To men of middle age. Y'are very welcome

   Cam. I should leaue grasing, were I of your flocke,
And onely liue by gazing

   Perd. Out alas:
You'ld be so leane, that blasts of Ianuary
Would blow you through and through. Now (my fairst Friend,
I would I had some Flowres o'th Spring, that might
Become your time of day: and yours, and yours,
That weare vpon your Virgin-branches yet
Your Maiden-heads growing: O Proserpina,
For the Flowres now, that (frighted) thou let'st fall
From Dysses Waggon: Daffadils,
That come before the Swallow dares, and take
The windes of March with beauty: Violets (dim,
But sweeter then the lids of Iuno's eyes,
Or Cytherea's breath) pale Prime-roses,
That dye vnmarried, ere they can behold
Bright Phoebus in his strength (a Maladie
Most incident to Maids:) bold Oxlips, and
The Crowne Imperiall: Lillies of all kinds,
(The Flowre-de-Luce being one.) O, these I lacke,
To make you Garlands of) and my sweet friend,
To strew him o're, and ore

   Flo. What? like a Coarse?
  Perd. No, like a banke, for Loue to lye, and play on:
Not like a Coarse: or if: not to be buried,
But quicke, and in mine armes. Come, take your flours,
Me thinkes I play as I haue seene them do
In Whitson-Pastorals: Sure this Robe of mine
Do's change my disposition:
  Flo. What you do,
Still betters what is done. When you speake (Sweet)
I'ld haue you do it euer: When you sing,
I'ld haue you buy, and sell so: so giue Almes,
Pray so: and for the ord'ring your Affayres,
To sing them too. When you do dance, I wish you
A waue o'th Sea, that you might euer do
Nothing but that: moue still, still so:
And owne no other Function. Each your doing,
(So singular, in each particular)
Crownes what you are doing, in the present deeds,
That all your Actes, are Queenes

   Perd. O Doricles,
Your praises are too large: but that your youth
And the true blood which peepes fairely through't,
Do plainly giue you out an vnstain'd Shepherd
With wisedome, I might feare (my Doricles)
You woo'd me the false way

   Flo. I thinke you haue
As little skill to feare, as I haue purpose
To put you to't. But come, our dance I pray,
Your hand (my Perdita:) so Turtles paire
That neuer meane to part

   Perd. Ile sweare for 'em

   Pol. This is the prettiest Low-borne Lasse, that euer
Ran on the greene-sord: Nothing she do's, or seemes
But smackes of something greater then her selfe,
Too Noble for this place

   Cam. He tels her something
That makes her blood looke on't: Good sooth she is
The Queene of Curds and Creame

   Clo. Come on: strike vp

   Dorcas. Mopsa must be your Mistris: marry Garlick
to mend her kissing with

   Mop. Now in good time

   Clo. Not a word, a word, we stand vpon our manners,
Come, strike vp.

Heere a Daunce of Shepheards and Shephearddesses.

  Pol. Pray good Shepheard, what faire Swaine is this,
Which dances with your daughter?
  Shep. They call him Doricles, and boasts himselfe
To haue a worthy Feeding; but I haue it
Vpon his owne report, and I beleeue it:
He lookes like sooth: he sayes he loues my daughter,
I thinke so too; for neuer gaz'd the Moone
Vpon the water, as hee'l stand and reade
As 'twere my daughters eyes: and to be plaine,
I thinke there is not halfe a kisse to choose
Who loues another best

   Pol. She dances featly

   Shep. So she do's any thing, though I report it
That should be silent: If yong Doricles
Do light vpon her, she shall bring him that
Which he not dreames of.
Enter Seruant.

  Ser. O Master: if you did but heare the Pedler at the
doore, you would neuer dance againe after a Tabor and
Pipe: no, the Bag-pipe could not moue you: hee singes
seuerall Tunes, faster then you'l tell money: hee vtters
them as he had eaten ballads, and all mens eares grew to
his Tunes

   Clo. He could neuer come better: hee shall come in:
I loue a ballad but euen too well, if it be dolefull matter
merrily set downe: or a very pleasant thing indeede, and
sung lamentably

   Ser. He hath songs for man, or woman, of all sizes:
No Milliner can so fit his customers with Gloues: he has
the prettiest Loue-songs for Maids, so without bawdrie
(which is strange,) with such delicate burthens of Dildo's
and Fadings: Iump-her, and thump-her; and where
some stretch-mouth'd Rascall, would (as it were) meane
mischeefe, and breake a fowle gap into the Matter, hee
makes the maid to answere, Whoop, doe me no harme good
man: put's him off, slights him, with Whoop, doe mee no
harme good man

   Pol. This is a braue fellow

   Clo. Beleeue mee, thou talkest of an admirable conceited
fellow, has he any vnbraided Wares?
  Ser. Hee hath Ribbons of all the colours i'th Rainebow;
Points, more then all the Lawyers in Bohemia, can
learnedly handle, though they come to him by th' grosse:
Inckles, Caddysses, Cambrickes, Lawnes: why he sings
em ouer, as they were Gods, or Goddesses: you would
thinke a Smocke were a shee-Angell, he so chauntes to
the sleeue-hand, and the worke about the square on't

   Clo. Pre'thee bring him in, and let him approach singing

   Perd. Forewarne him, that he vse no scurrilous words
in's tunes

   Clow. You haue of these Pedlers, that haue more in
them, then youl'd thinke (Sister.)
  Perd. I, good brother, or go about to thinke.
Enter Autolicus singing.

Lawne as white as driuen Snow,
Cypresse blacke as ere was Crow,
Gloues as sweete as Damaske Roses,
Maskes for faces, and for noses:
Bugle-bracelet, Necke-lace Amber,
Perfume for a Ladies Chamber:
Golden Quoifes, and Stomachers
For my Lads, to giue their deers:
Pins, and poaking-stickes of steele.
What Maids lacke from head to heele:
Come buy of me, come: come buy, come buy,
Buy Lads, or else your Lasses cry: Come buy

   Clo. If I were not in loue with Mopsa, thou shouldst
take no money of me, but being enthrall'd as I am, it will
also be the bondage of certaine Ribbons and Gloues

   Mop. I was promis'd them against the Feast, but they
come not too late now

   Dor. He hath promis'd you more then that, or there
be lyars

   Mop. He hath paid you all he promis'd you: 'May be
he has paid you more, which will shame you to giue him
againe

   Clo. Is there no manners left among maids? Will they
weare their plackets, where they should bear their faces?
Is there not milking-time? When you are going to bed?
Or kill-hole? To whistle of these secrets, but you must
be tittle-tatling before all our guests? 'Tis well they are
whispring: clamor your tongues, and not a word more

   Mop. I haue done; Come you promis'd me a tawdrylace,
and a paire of sweet Gloues

   Clo. Haue I not told thee how I was cozen'd by the
way, and lost all my money

   Aut. And indeed Sir, there are Cozeners abroad, therfore
it behooues men to be wary

   Clo. Feare not thou man, thou shalt lose nothing here
  Aut. I hope so sir, for I haue about me many parcels
of charge

   Clo. What hast heere? Ballads?
  Mop. Pray now buy some: I loue a ballet in print, a
life, for then we are sure they are true

   Aut. Here's one, to a very dolefull tune, how a Vsurers
wife was brought to bed of twenty money baggs at
a burthen, and how she long'd to eate Adders heads, and
Toads carbonado'd

   Mop. Is it true, thinke you?
  Aut. Very true, and but a moneth old

   Dor. Blesse me from marrying a Vsurer

   Aut. Here's the Midwiues name to't: one Mist[ris]. Tale-Porter,
and fiue or six honest Wiues, that were present.
Why should I carry lyes abroad?
  Mop. 'Pray you now buy it

   Clo. Come-on, lay it by: and let's first see moe Ballads:
Wee'l buy the other things anon

   Aut. Here's another ballad of a Fish, that appeared
vpon the coast, on wensday the fourescore of April, fortie
thousand fadom aboue water, & sung this ballad against
the hard hearts of maids: it was thought she was a Woman,
and was turn'd into a cold fish, for she wold not exchange
flesh with one that lou'd her: The Ballad is very
pittifull, and as true

   Dor. Is it true too, thinke you

   Autol. Fiue Iustices hands at it, and witnesses more
then my packe will hold

   Clo. Lay it by too; another

   Aut. This is a merry ballad, but a very pretty one

   Mop. Let's haue some merry ones

   Aut. Why this is a passing merry one, and goes to the
tune of two maids wooing a man: there's scarse a Maide
westward but she sings it: 'tis in request, I can tell you

   Mop. We can both sing it: if thou'lt beare a part, thou
shalt heare, 'tis in three parts

   Dor. We had the tune on't, a month agoe

   Aut. I can beare my part, you must know 'tis my occupation:
Haue at it with you:

Song

Get you hence, for I must goe
  Aut. Where it fits not you to know

   Dor. Whether?
  Mop. O whether?
  Dor. Whether?
  Mop. It becomes thy oath full well,
Thou to me thy secrets tell

   Dor: Me too: Let me go thether:
  Mop: Or thou goest to th' Grange, or Mill,
  Dor: If to either thou dost ill,
  Aut: Neither

   Dor: What neither?
  Aut: Neither:
  Dor: Thou hast sworne my Loue to be,
  Mop: Thou hast sworne it more to mee.
Then whether goest? Say whether?
  Clo. Wee'l haue this song out anon by our selues: My
Father, and the Gent. are in sad talke, & wee'll not trouble
them: Come bring away thy pack after me, Wenches Ile
buy for you both: Pedler let's haue the first choice; folow
me girles

   Aut. And you shall pay well for 'em.

Song.

Will you buy any Tape, or Lace for your Cape?
My dainty Ducke, my deere-a?
Any Silke, any Thred, any Toyes for your head
Of the news't, and fins't, fins't weare-a.
Come to the Pedler, Money's a medler,
That doth vtter all mens ware-a.

Exit

  Seruant. Mayster, there is three Carters, three Shepherds,
three Neat-herds, three Swine-herds y haue made
themselues all men of haire, they cal themselues Saltiers,
and they haue a Dance, which the Wenches say is a gally-maufrey
of Gambols, because they are not in't: but
they themselues are o'th' minde (if it bee not too rough
for some, that know little but bowling) it will please
plentifully

   Shep. Away: Wee'l none on't; heere has beene too
much homely foolery already. I know (Sir) wee wearie
you

   Pol. You wearie those that refresh vs: pray let's see
these foure-threes of Heardsmen

   Ser. One three of them, by their owne report (Sir,)
hath danc'd before the King: and not the worst of the
three, but iumpes twelue foote and a halfe by th' squire

   Shep. Leaue your prating, since these good men are
pleas'd, let them come in: but quickly now

   Ser. Why, they stay at doore Sir.

Heere a Dance of twelue Satyres.

  Pol. O Father, you'l know more of that heereafter:
Is it not too farre gone? 'Tis time to part them,
He's simple, and tels much. How now (faire shepheard)
Your heart is full of something, that do's take
Your minde from feasting. Sooth, when I was yong,
And handed loue, as you do; I was wont
To load my Shee with knackes: I would haue ransackt
The Pedlers silken Treasury, and haue powr'd it
To her acceptance: you haue let him go,
And nothing marted with him. If your Lasse
Interpretation should abuse, and call this
Your lacke of loue, or bounty, you were straited
For a reply at least, if you make a care
Of happie holding her

   Flo. Old Sir, I know
She prizes not such trifles as these are:
The gifts she lookes from me, are packt and lockt
Vp in my heart, which I haue giuen already,
But not deliuer'd. O heare me breath my life
Before this ancient Sir, whom (it should seeme)
Hath sometime lou'd: I take thy hand, this hand,
As soft as Doues-downe, and as white as it,
Or Ethyopians tooth, or the fan'd snow, that's bolted
By th' Northerne blasts, twice ore

   Pol. What followes this?
How prettily th' yong Swaine seemes to wash
The hand, was faire before? I haue put you out,
But to your protestation: Let me heare
What you professe

   Flo. Do, and be witnesse too't

   Pol. And this my neighbour too?
  Flo. And he, and more
Then he, and men: the earth, the heauens, and all;
That were I crown'd the most Imperiall Monarch
Thereof most worthy: were I the fayrest youth
That euer made eye swerue, had force and knowledge
More then was euer mans, I would not prize them
Without her Loue; for her, employ them all,
Commend them, and condemne them to her seruice,
Or to their owne perdition

   Pol. Fairely offer'd

   Cam. This shewes a sound affection

   Shep. But my daughter,
Say you the like to him

   Per. I cannot speake
So well, (nothing so well) no, nor meane better
By th' patterne of mine owne thoughts, I cut out
The puritie of his

   Shep. Take hands, a bargaine;
And friends vnknowne, you shall beare witnesse to't:
I giue my daughter to him, and will make
Her Portion, equall his

   Flo. O, that must bee
I'th Vertue of your daughter: One being dead,
I shall haue more then you can dreame of yet,
Enough then for your wonder: but come-on,
Contract vs fore these Witnesses

   Shep. Come, your hand:
And daughter, yours

   Pol. Soft Swaine a-while, beseech you,
Haue you a Father?
  Flo. I haue: but what of him?
  Pol. Knowes he of this?
  Flo. He neither do's, nor shall

   Pol. Me-thinkes a Father,
Is at the Nuptiall of his sonne, a guest
That best becomes the Table: Pray you once more
Is not your Father growne incapeable
Of reasonable affayres? Is he not stupid
With Age, and altring Rheumes? Can he speake? heare?
Know man, from man? Dispute his owne estate?
Lies he not bed-rid? And againe, do's nothing
But what he did, being childish?
  Flo. No good Sir:
He has his health, and ampler strength indeede
Then most haue of his age

   Pol. By my white beard,
You offer him (if this be so) a wrong
Something vnfilliall: Reason my sonne
Should choose himselfe a wife, but as good reason
The Father (all whose ioy is nothing else
But faire posterity) should hold some counsaile
In such a businesse

   Flo. I yeeld all this;
But for some other reasons (my graue Sir)
Which 'tis not fit you know, I not acquaint
My Father of this businesse

   Pol. Let him know't

   Flo. He shall not

   Pol. Prethee let him

   Flo. No, he must not

   Shep. Let him (my sonne) he shall not need to greeue
At knowing of thy choice

   Flo. Come, come, he must not:
Marke our Contract

   Pol. Marke your diuorce (yong sir)
Whom sonne I dare not call: Thou art too base
To be acknowledge. Thou a Scepters heire,
That thus affects a sheepe-hooke? Thou, old Traitor,
I am sorry, that by hanging thee, I can
But shorten thy life one weeke. And thou, fresh peece
Of excellent Witchcraft, whom of force must know
The royall Foole thou coap'st with

   Shep. Oh my heart

   Pol. Ile haue thy beauty scratcht with briers & made
More homely then thy state. For thee (fond boy)
If I may euer know thou dost but sigh,
That thou no more shalt neuer see this knacke (as neuer
I meane thou shalt) wee'l barre thee from succession,
Not hold thee of our blood, no not our Kin,
Farre then Deucalion off: (marke thou my words)
Follow vs to the Court. Thou Churle, for this time
(Though full of our displeasure) yet we free thee
From the dead blow of it. And you Enchantment,
Worthy enough a Heardsman: yea him too,
That makes himselfe (but for our Honor therein)
Vnworthy thee. If euer henceforth, thou
These rurall Latches, to his entrance open,
Or hope his body more, with thy embraces,
I will deuise a death, as cruell for thee
As thou art tender to't.
Enter.

  Perd. Euen heere vndone:
I was not much a-fear'd: for once, or twice
I was about to speake, and tell him plainely,
The selfe-same Sun, that shines vpon his Court,
Hides not his visage from our Cottage, but
Lookes on alike. Wilt please you (Sir) be gone?
I told you what would come of this: Beseech you
Of your owne state take care: This dreame of mine
Being now awake, Ile Queene it no inch farther,
But milke my Ewes, and weepe

   Cam. Why how now Father,
Speake ere thou dyest

   Shep. I cannot speake, nor thinke,
Nor dare to know, that which I know: O Sir,
You haue vndone a man of fourescore three,
That thought to fill his graue in quiet: yea,
To dye vpon the bed my father dy'de,
To lye close by his honest bones; but now
Some Hangman must put on my shrowd, and lay me
Where no Priest shouels-in dust. Oh cursed wretch,
That knew'st this was the Prince, and wouldst aduenture
To mingle faith with him. Vndone, vndone:
If I might dye within this houre, I haue liu'd
To die when I desire.
Enter.

  Flo. Why looke you so vpon me?
I am but sorry, not affear'd: delaid,
But nothing altred: What I was, I am:
More straining on, for plucking backe; not following
My leash vnwillingly

   Cam. Gracious my Lord,
You know my Fathers temper: at this time
He will allow no speech: (which I do ghesse
You do not purpose to him:) and as hardly
Will he endure your sight, as yet I feare;
Then till the fury of his Highnesse settle
Come not before him

   Flo. I not purpose it:
I thinke Camillo

   Cam. Euen he, my Lord

   Per. How often haue I told you 'twould be thus?
How often said my dignity would last
But till 'twer knowne?
  Flo. It cannot faile, but by
The violation of my faith, and then
Let Nature crush the sides o'th earth together,
And marre the seeds within. Lift vp thy lookes:
From my succession wipe me (Father) I
Am heyre to my affection

   Cam. Be aduis'd

   Flo. I am: and by my fancie, if my Reason
Will thereto be obedient: I haue reason:
If not, my sences better pleas'd with madnesse,
Do bid it welcome

   Cam. This is desperate (sir.)
  Flo. So call it: but it do's fulfill my vow:
I needs must thinke it honesty. Camillo,
Not for Bohemia, nor the pompe that may
Be thereat gleaned: for all the Sun sees, or
The close earth wombes, or the profound seas, hides
In vnknowne fadomes, will I breake my oath
To this my faire belou'd: Therefore, I pray you,
As you haue euer bin my Fathers honour'd friend,
When he shall misse me, as (in faith I meane not
To see him any more) cast your good counsailes
Vpon his passion: Let my selfe, and Fortune
Tug for the time to come. This you may know,
And so deliuer, I am put to Sea
With her, who heere I cannot hold on shore:
And most opportune to her neede, I haue
A Vessell rides fast by, but not prepar'd
For this designe. What course I meane to hold
Shall nothing benefit your knowledge, nor
Concerne me the reporting

   Cam. O my Lord,
I would your spirit were easier for aduice,
Or stronger for your neede

   Flo. Hearke Perdita,
Ile heare you by and by

   Cam. Hee's irremoueable,
Resolu'd for flight: Now were I happy if
His going, I could frame to serue my turne,
Saue him from danger, do him loue and honor,
Purchase the sight againe of deere Sicillia,
And that vnhappy King, my Master, whom
I so much thirst to see

   Flo. Now good Camillo,
I am so fraught with curious businesse, that
I leaue out ceremony

   Cam. Sir, I thinke
You haue heard of my poore seruices, i'th loue
That I haue borne your Father?
  Flo. Very nobly
Haue you deseru'd: It is my Fathers Musicke
To speake your deeds: not little of his care
To haue them recompenc'd, as thought on

   Cam. Well (my Lord)
If you may please to thinke I loue the King,
And through him, what's neerest to him, which is
Your gracious selfe; embrace but my direction,
If your more ponderous and setled proiect
May suffer alteration. On mine honor,
Ile point you where you shall haue such receiuing
As shall become your Highnesse, where you may
Enioy your Mistris; from the whom, I see
There's no disiunction to be made, but by
(As heauens forefend) your ruine: Marry her,
And with my best endeuours, in your absence,
Your discontenting Father, striue to qualifie
And bring him vp to liking

   Flo. How Camillo
May this (almost a miracle) be done?
That I may call thee something more then man,
And after that trust to thee

   Cam. Haue you thought on
A place whereto you'l go?
  Flo. Not any yet:
But as th' vnthought-on accident is guiltie
To what we wildely do, so we professe
Our selues to be the slaues of chance, and flyes
Of euery winde that blowes

   Cam. Then list to me:
This followes, if you will not change your purpose
But vndergo this flight: make for Sicillia,
And there present your selfe, and your fayre Princesse,
(For so I see she must be) 'fore Leontes;
She shall be habited, as it becomes
The partner of your Bed. Me thinkes I see
Leontes opening his free Armes, and weeping
His Welcomes forth: asks thee there Sonne forgiuenesse,
As 'twere i'th' Fathers person: kisses the hands
Of your fresh Princesse; ore and ore diuides him,
'Twixt his vnkindnesse, and his Kindnesse: th' one
He chides to Hell, and bids the other grow
Faster then Thought, or Time

   Flo. Worthy Camillo,
What colour for my Visitation, shall I
Hold vp before him?
  Cam. Sent by the King your Father
To greet him, and to giue him comforts. Sir,
The manner of your bearing towards him, with
What you (as from your Father) shall deliuer,
Things knowne betwixt vs three, Ile write you downe,
The which shall point you forth at euery sitting
What you must say: that he shall not perceiue,
But that you haue your Fathers Bosome there,
And speake his very Heart

   Flo. I am bound to you:
There is some sappe in this

   Cam. A Course more promising,
Then a wild dedication of your selues
To vnpath'd Waters, vndream'd Shores; most certaine,
To Miseries enough: no hope to helpe you,
But as you shake off one, to take another:
Nothing so certaine, as your Anchors, who
Doe their best office, if they can but stay you,
Where you'le be loth to be: besides you know,
Prosperitie's the very bond of Loue,
Whose fresh complexion, and whose heart together,
Affliction alters

   Perd. One of these is true:
I thinke Affliction may subdue the Cheeke,
But not take-in the Mind

   Cam. Yea? say you so?
There shall not, at your Fathers House, these seuen yeeres
Be borne another such

   Flo. My good Camillo,
She's as forward, of her Breeding, as
She is i'th' reare' our Birth

   Cam. I cannot say, 'tis pitty
She lacks Instructions, for she seemes a Mistresse
To most that teach

   Perd. Your pardon Sir, for this,
Ile blush you Thanks

   Flo. My prettiest Perdita.
But O, the Thornes we stand vpon: (Camillo)
Preseruer of my Father, now of me,
The Medicine of our House: how shall we doe?
We are not furnish'd like Bohemia's Sonne,
Nor shall appeare in Sicilia

   Cam. My Lord,
Feare none of this: I thinke you know my fortunes
Doe all lye there: it shall be so my care,
To haue you royally appointed, as if
The Scene you play, were mine. For instance Sir,
That you may know you shall not want: one word.
Enter Autolicus.

  Aut. Ha, ha, what a Foole Honestie is? and Trust (his
sworne brother) a very simple Gentleman. I haue sold
all my Tromperie: not a counterfeit Stone, not a Ribbon,
Glasse, Pomander, Browch, Table-booke, Ballad, Knife,
Tape, Gloue, Shooe-tye, Bracelet, Horne-Ring, to keepe
my Pack from fasting: they throng who should buy first,
as if my Trinkets had beene hallowed, and brought a benediction
to the buyer: by which meanes, I saw whose
Purse was best in Picture; and what I saw, to my good
vse, I remembred. My Clowne (who wants but something
to be a reasonable man) grew so in loue with the
Wenches Song, that hee would not stirre his Petty-toes,
till he had both Tune and Words, which so drew the rest
of the Heard to me, that all their other Sences stucke in
Eares: you might haue pinch'd a Placket, it was sencelesse;
'twas nothing to gueld a Cod-peece of a Purse: I
would haue fill'd Keyes of that hung in Chaynes: no
hearing, no feeling, but my Sirs Song, and admiring the
Nothing of it. So that in this time of Lethargie, I pickd
and cut most of their Festiuall Purses: And had not the
old-man come in with a Whoo-bub against his Daughter,
and the Kings Sonne, and scar'd my Chowghes from
the Chaffe, I had not left a Purse aliue in the whole
Army