Shakespeare's Tag Cloud

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Comedy : 
                Cymbeline  
                ACT I 
                SCENE I. Britain. The garden of Cymbeline's palace. 
                Enter two Gentlemen First Gentleman You do not meet a man but frowns: our bloods
                No more obey the heavens than our courtiers
                Still seem as does the king.
                Second Gentleman But what's the matter?
                First Gentleman His daughter, and the heir of's kingdom, whom
                He purposed to his wife's sole son--a widow
                That late he married--hath referr'd herself
                Unto a poor but worthy gentleman: she's wedded;
                Her husband banish'd; she imprison'd: all
                Is outward sorrow; though I think the king
                Be touch'd at very heart.
                Second Gentleman None but the king?
                First Gentleman He that hath lost her too; so is the queen,
                That most desired the match; but not a courtier,
                Although they wear their faces to the bent
                Of the king's look's, hath a heart that is not
                Glad at the thing they scowl at.
                Second Gentleman And why so?
                First Gentleman He that hath miss'd the princess is a thing
                Too bad for bad report: and he that hath her--
                I mean, that married her, alack, good man!
                And therefore banish'd--is a creature such
                As, to seek through the regions of the earth
                For one his like, there would be something failing
                In him that should compare. I do not think
                So fair an outward and such stuff within
                Endows a man but he.
                Second Gentleman You speak him far.
                First Gentleman I do extend him, sir, within himself,
                Crush him together rather than unfold
                His measure duly.
                Second Gentleman What's his name and birth?
                First Gentleman I cannot delve him to the root: his father
                Was call'd Sicilius, who did join his honour
                Against the Romans with Cassibelan,
                But had his titles by Tenantius whom
                He served with glory and admired success,
                So gain'd the sur-addition Leonatus;
                And had, besides this gentleman in question,
                Two other sons, who in the wars o' the time
                Died with their swords in hand; for which
                their father,
                Then old and fond of issue, took such sorrow
                That he quit being, and his gentle lady,
                Big of this gentleman our theme, deceased
                As he was born. The king he takes the babe
                To his protection, calls him Posthumus Leonatus,
                Breeds him and makes him of his bed-chamber,
                Puts to him all the learnings that his time
                Could make him the receiver of; which he took,
                As we do air, fast as 'twas minister'd,
                And in's spring became a harvest, lived in court--
                Which rare it is to do--most praised, most loved,
                A sample to the youngest, to the more mature
                A glass that feated them, and to the graver
                A child that guided dotards; to his mistress,
                For whom he now is banish'd, her own price
                Proclaims how she esteem'd him and his virtue;
                By her election may be truly read
                What kind of man he is.
                Second Gentleman I honour him
                Even out of your report. But, pray you, tell me,
                Is she sole child to the king?
                First Gentleman His only child.
                He had two sons: if this be worth your hearing,
                Mark it: the eldest of them at three years old,
                I' the swathing-clothes the other, from their nursery
                Were stol'n, and to this hour no guess in knowledge
                Which way they went.
                Second Gentleman How long is this ago?
                First Gentleman Some twenty years.
                Second Gentleman That a king's children should be so convey'd,
                So slackly guarded, and the search so slow,
                That could not trace them!
                First Gentleman Howsoe'er 'tis strange,
                Or that the negligence may well be laugh'd at,
                Yet is it true, sir.
                Second Gentleman I do well believe you.
                First Gentleman We must forbear: here comes the gentleman,
                The queen, and princess.
                Exeunt
                Enter the QUEEN, POSTHUMUS LEONATUS, and IMOGEN
                QUEEN No, be assured you shall not find me, daughter,
                After the slander of most stepmothers,
                Evil-eyed unto you: you're my prisoner, but
                Your gaoler shall deliver you the keys
                That lock up your restraint. For you, Posthumus,
                So soon as I can win the offended king,
                I will be known your advocate: marry, yet
                The fire of rage is in him, and 'twere good
                You lean'd unto his sentence with what patience
                Your wisdom may inform you.
                POSTHUMUS LEONATUS Please your highness,
                I will from hence to-day.
                QUEEN You know the peril.
                I'll fetch a turn about the garden, pitying
                The pangs of barr'd affections, though the king
                Hath charged you should not speak together.
                Exit
                IMOGEN O
                Dissembling courtesy! How fine this tyrant
                Can tickle where she wounds! My dearest husband,
                I something fear my father's wrath; but nothing--
                Always reserved my holy duty--what
                His rage can do on me: you must be gone;
                And I shall here abide the hourly shot
                Of angry eyes, not comforted to live,
                But that there is this jewel in the world
                That I may see again.
                POSTHUMUS LEONATUS My queen! my mistress!
                O lady, weep no more, lest I give cause
                To be suspected of more tenderness
                Than doth become a man. I will remain
                The loyal'st husband that did e'er plight troth:
                My residence in Rome at one Philario's,
                Who to my father was a friend, to me
                Known but by letter: thither write, my queen,
                And with mine eyes I'll drink the words you send,
                Though ink be made of gall.
                Re-enter QUEEN
                QUEEN Be brief, I pray you:
                If the king come, I shall incur I know not
                How much of his displeasure.
                Aside
                Yet I'll move him
                To walk this way: I never do him wrong,
                But he does buy my injuries, to be friends;
                Pays dear for my offences.
                Exit
                POSTHUMUS LEONATUS Should we be taking leave
                As long a term as yet we have to live,
                The loathness to depart would grow. Adieu!
                IMOGEN Nay, stay a little:
                Were you but riding forth to air yourself,
                Such parting were too petty. Look here, love;
                This diamond was my mother's: take it, heart;
                But keep it till you woo another wife,
                When Imogen is dead.
                POSTHUMUS LEONATUS How, how! another?
                You gentle gods, give me but this I have,
                And sear up my embracements from a next
                With bonds of death!
                Putting on the ring
                Remain, remain thou here
                While sense can keep it on. And, sweetest, fairest,
                As I my poor self did exchange for you,
                To your so infinite loss, so in our trifles
                I still win of you: for my sake wear this;
                It is a manacle of love; I'll place it
                Upon this fairest prisoner.
                Putting a bracelet upon her arm
                IMOGEN O the gods!
                When shall we see again?
                Enter CYMBELINE and Lords
                POSTHUMUS LEONATUS Alack, the king!
                CYMBELINE Thou basest thing, avoid! hence, from my sight!
                If after this command thou fraught the court
                With thy unworthiness, thou diest: away!
                Thou'rt poison to my blood.
                POSTHUMUS LEONATUS The gods protect you!
                And bless the good remainders of the court! I am gone.
                Exit
                IMOGEN There cannot be a pinch in death
                More sharp than this is.
                CYMBELINE O disloyal thing,
                That shouldst repair my youth, thou heap'st
                A year's age on me.
                IMOGEN I beseech you, sir,
                Harm not yourself with your vexation
                I am senseless of your wrath; a touch more rare
                Subdues all pangs, all fears.
                CYMBELINE Past grace? obedience?
                IMOGEN Past hope, and in despair; that way, past grace.
                CYMBELINE That mightst have had the sole son of my queen!
                IMOGEN O blest, that I might not! I chose an eagle,
                And did avoid a puttock.
                CYMBELINE Thou took'st a beggar; wouldst have made my throne
                A seat for baseness.
                IMOGEN No; I rather added
                A lustre to it.
                CYMBELINE O thou vile one!
                IMOGEN Sir,
                It is your fault that I have loved Posthumus:
                You bred him as my playfellow, and he is
                A man worth any woman, overbuys me
                Almost the sum he pays.
                CYMBELINE What, art thou mad?
                IMOGEN Almost, sir: heaven restore me! Would I were
                A neat-herd's daughter, and my Leonatus
                Our neighbour shepherd's son!
                CYMBELINE Thou foolish thing!
                Re-enter QUEEN
                They were again together: you have done
                Not after our command. Away with her,
                And pen her up.
                QUEEN Beseech your patience. Peace,
                Dear lady daughter, peace! Sweet sovereign,
                Leave us to ourselves; and make yourself some comfort
                Out of your best advice.
                CYMBELINE Nay, let her languish
                A drop of blood a day; and, being aged,
                Die of this folly!
                Exeunt CYMBELINE and Lords
                QUEEN Fie! you must give way.
                Enter PISANIO
                Here is your servant. How now, sir! What news?
                PISANIO My lord your son drew on my master.
                QUEEN Ha!
                No harm, I trust, is done?
                PISANIO There might have been,
                But that my master rather play'd than fought
                And had no help of anger: they were parted
                By gentlemen at hand.
                QUEEN I am very glad on't.
                IMOGEN Your son's my father's friend; he takes his part.
                To draw upon an exile! O brave sir!
                I would they were in Afric both together;
                Myself by with a needle, that I might prick
                The goer-back. Why came you from your master?
                PISANIO On his command: he would not suffer me
                To bring him to the haven; left these notes
                Of what commands I should be subject to,
                When 't pleased you to employ me.
                QUEEN This hath been
                Your faithful servant: I dare lay mine honour
                He will remain so.
                PISANIO I humbly thank your highness.
                QUEEN Pray, walk awhile.
                IMOGEN About some half-hour hence,
                I pray you, speak with me: you shall at least
                Go see my lord aboard: for this time leave me.
                Exeunt 
                SCENE II. The same. A public place. 
                Enter CLOTEN and two Lords First Lord Sir, I would advise you to shift a shirt; the
                violence of action hath made you reek as a
                sacrifice: where air comes out, air comes in:
                there's none abroad so wholesome as that you vent.
                CLOTEN If my shirt were bloody, then to shift it. Have I hurt him?
                Second Lord [Aside] No, 'faith; not so much as his patience.
                First Lord Hurt him! his body's a passable carcass, if he be
                not hurt: it is a thoroughfare for steel, if it be not hurt.
                Second Lord [Aside] His steel was in debt; it went o' the
                backside the town.
                CLOTEN The villain would not stand me.
                Second Lord [Aside] No; but he fled forward still, toward your face.
                First Lord Stand you! You have land enough of your own: but
                he added to your having; gave you some ground.
                Second Lord [Aside] As many inches as you have oceans. Puppies!
                CLOTEN I would they had not come between us.
                Second Lord [Aside] So would I, till you had measured how long
                a fool you were upon the ground.
                CLOTEN And that she should love this fellow and refuse me!
                Second Lord [Aside] If it be a sin to make a true election, she
                is damned.
                First Lord Sir, as I told you always, her beauty and her brain
                go not together: she's a good sign, but I have seen
                small reflection of her wit.
                Second Lord [Aside] She shines not upon fools, lest the
                reflection should hurt her.
                CLOTEN Come, I'll to my chamber. Would there had been some
                hurt done!
                Second Lord [Aside] I wish not so; unless it had been the fall
                of an ass, which is no great hurt.
                CLOTEN You'll go with us?
                First Lord I'll attend your lordship.
                CLOTEN Nay, come, let's go together.
                Second Lord Well, my lord.
                Exeunt 
                SCENE III. A room in Cymbeline's palace. 
                Enter IMOGEN and PISANIO IMOGEN I would thou grew'st unto the shores o' the haven,
                And question'dst every sail: if he should write
                And not have it, 'twere a paper lost,
                As offer'd mercy is. What was the last
                That he spake to thee?
                PISANIO It was his queen, his queen!
                IMOGEN Then waved his handkerchief?
                PISANIO And kiss'd it, madam.
                IMOGEN Senseless Linen! happier therein than I!
                And that was all?
                PISANIO No, madam; for so long
                As he could make me with this eye or ear
                Distinguish him from others, he did keep
                The deck, with glove, or hat, or handkerchief,
                Still waving, as the fits and stirs of 's mind
                Could best express how slow his soul sail'd on,
                How swift his ship.
                IMOGEN Thou shouldst have made him
                As little as a crow, or less, ere left
                To after-eye him.
                PISANIO Madam, so I did.
                IMOGEN I would have broke mine eye-strings; crack'd them, but
                To look upon him, till the diminution
                Of space had pointed him sharp as my needle,
                Nay, follow'd him, till he had melted from
                The smallness of a gnat to air, and then
                Have turn'd mine eye and wept. But, good Pisanio,
                When shall we hear from him?
                PISANIO Be assured, madam,
                With his next vantage.
                IMOGEN I did not take my leave of him, but had
                Most pretty things to say: ere I could tell him
                How I would think on him at certain hours
                Such thoughts and such, or I could make him swear
                The shes of Italy should not betray
                Mine interest and his honour, or have charged him,
                At the sixth hour of morn, at noon, at midnight,
                To encounter me with orisons, for then
                I am in heaven for him; or ere I could
                Give him that parting kiss which I had set
                Betwixt two charming words, comes in my father
                And like the tyrannous breathing of the north
                Shakes all our buds from growing.
                Enter a Lady
                Lady The queen, madam,
                Desires your highness' company.
                IMOGEN Those things I bid you do, get them dispatch'd.
                I will attend the queen.
                PISANIO Madam, I shall.
                Exeunt 
                SCENE IV. Rome. Philario's house. 
                Enter PHILARIO, IACHIMO, a Frenchman, a Dutchman, and a Spaniard IACHIMO Believe it, sir, I have seen him in Britain: he was
                then of a crescent note, expected to prove so worthy
                as since he hath been allowed the name of; but I
                could then have looked on him without the help of
                admiration, though the catalogue of his endowments
                had been tabled by his side and I to peruse him by items.
                PHILARIO You speak of him when he was less furnished than now
                he is with that which makes him both without and within.
                Frenchman I have seen him in France: we had very many there
                could behold the sun with as firm eyes as he.
                IACHIMO This matter of marrying his king's daughter, wherein
                he must be weighed rather by her value than his own,
                words him, I doubt not, a great deal from the matter.
                Frenchman And then his banishment.
                IACHIMO Ay, and the approbation of those that weep this
                lamentable divorce under her colours are wonderfully
                to extend him; be it but to fortify her judgment,
                which else an easy battery might lay flat, for
                taking a beggar without less quality. But how comes
                it he is to sojourn with you? How creeps
                acquaintance?
                PHILARIO His father and I were soldiers together; to whom I
                have been often bound for no less than my life.
                Here comes the Briton: let him be so entertained
                amongst you as suits, with gentlemen of your
                knowing, to a stranger of his quality.
                Enter POSTHUMUS LEONATUS
                I beseech you all, be better known to this
                gentleman; whom I commend to you as a noble friend
                of mine: how worthy he is I will leave to appear
                hereafter, rather than story him in his own hearing.
                Frenchman Sir, we have known together in Orleans.
                POSTHUMUS LEONATUS Since when I have been debtor to you for courtesies,
                which I will be ever to pay and yet pay still.
                Frenchman Sir, you o'er-rate my poor kindness: I was glad I
                did atone my countryman and you; it had been pity
                you should have been put together with so mortal a
                purpose as then each bore, upon importance of so
                slight and trivial a nature.
                POSTHUMUS LEONATUS By your pardon, sir, I was then a young traveller;
                rather shunned to go even with what I heard than in
                my every action to be guided by others' experiences:
                but upon my mended judgment--if I offend not to say
                it is mended--my quarrel was not altogether slight.
                Frenchman 'Faith, yes, to be put to the arbitrement of swords,
                and by such two that would by all likelihood have
                confounded one the other, or have fallen both.
                IACHIMO Can we, with manners, ask what was the difference?
                Frenchman Safely, I think: 'twas a contention in public,
                which may, without contradiction, suffer the report.
                It was much like an argument that fell out last
                night, where each of us fell in praise of our
                country mistresses; this gentleman at that time
                vouching--and upon warrant of bloody
                affirmation--his to be more fair, virtuous, wise,
                chaste, constant-qualified and less attemptable
                than any the rarest of our ladies in France.
                IACHIMO That lady is not now living, or this gentleman's
                opinion by this worn out.
                POSTHUMUS LEONATUS She holds her virtue still and I my mind.
                IACHIMO You must not so far prefer her 'fore ours of Italy.
                POSTHUMUS LEONATUS Being so far provoked as I was in France, I would
                abate her nothing, though I profess myself her
                adorer, not her friend.
                IACHIMO As fair and as good--a kind of hand-in-hand
                comparison--had been something too fair and too good
                for any lady in Britain. If she went before others
                I have seen, as that diamond of yours outlustres
                many I have beheld. I could not but believe she
                excelled many: but I have not seen the most
                precious diamond that is, nor you the lady.
                POSTHUMUS LEONATUS I praised her as I rated her: so do I my stone.
                IACHIMO What do you esteem it at?
                POSTHUMUS LEONATUS More than the world enjoys.
                IACHIMO Either your unparagoned mistress is dead, or she's
                outprized by a trifle.
                POSTHUMUS LEONATUS You are mistaken: the one may be sold, or given, if
                there were wealth enough for the purchase, or merit
                for the gift: the other is not a thing for sale,
                and only the gift of the gods.
                IACHIMO Which the gods have given you?
                POSTHUMUS LEONATUS Which, by their graces, I will keep.
                IACHIMO You may wear her in title yours: but, you know,
                strange fowl light upon neighbouring ponds. Your
                ring may be stolen too: so your brace of unprizable
                estimations; the one is but frail and the other
                casual; a cunning thief, or a that way accomplished
                courtier, would hazard the winning both of first and last.
                POSTHUMUS LEONATUS Your Italy contains none so accomplished a courtier
                to convince the honour of my mistress, if, in the
                holding or loss of that, you term her frail. I do
                nothing doubt you have store of thieves;
                notwithstanding, I fear not my ring.
                PHILARIO Let us leave here, gentlemen.
                POSTHUMUS LEONATUS Sir, with all my heart. This worthy signior, I
                thank him, makes no stranger of me; we are familiar at first.
                IACHIMO With five times so much conversation, I should get
                ground of your fair mistress, make her go back, even
                to the yielding, had I admittance and opportunity to friend.
                POSTHUMUS LEONATUS No, no.
                IACHIMO I dare thereupon pawn the moiety of my estate to
                your ring; which, in my opinion, o'ervalues it
                something: but I make my wager rather against your
                confidence than her reputation: and, to bar your
                offence herein too, I durst attempt it against any
                lady in the world.
                POSTHUMUS LEONATUS You are a great deal abused in too bold a
                persuasion; and I doubt not you sustain what you're
                worthy of by your attempt.
                IACHIMO What's that?
                POSTHUMUS LEONATUS A repulse: though your attempt, as you call it,
                deserve more; a punishment too.
                PHILARIO Gentlemen, enough of this: it came in too suddenly;
                let it die as it was born, and, I pray you, be
                better acquainted.
                IACHIMO Would I had put my estate and my neighbour's on the
                approbation of what I have spoke!
                POSTHUMUS LEONATUS What lady would you choose to assail?
                IACHIMO Yours; whom in constancy you think stands so safe.
                I will lay you ten thousand ducats to your ring,
                that, commend me to the court where your lady is,
                with no more advantage than the opportunity of a
                second conference, and I will bring from thence
                that honour of hers which you imagine so reserved.
                POSTHUMUS LEONATUS I will wage against your gold, gold to it: my ring
                I hold dear as my finger; 'tis part of it.
                IACHIMO You are afraid, and therein the wiser. If you buy
                ladies' flesh at a million a dram, you cannot
                preserve it from tainting: but I see you have some
                religion in you, that you fear.
                POSTHUMUS LEONATUS This is but a custom in your tongue; you bear a
                graver purpose, I hope.
                IACHIMO I am the master of my speeches, and would undergo
                what's spoken, I swear.
                POSTHUMUS LEONATUS Will you? I shall but lend my diamond till your
                return: let there be covenants drawn between's: my
                mistress exceeds in goodness the hugeness of your
                unworthy thinking: I dare you to this match: here's my ring.
                PHILARIO I will have it no lay.
                IACHIMO By the gods, it is one. If I bring you no
                sufficient testimony that I have enjoyed the dearest
                bodily part of your mistress, my ten thousand ducats
                are yours; so is your diamond too: if I come off,
                and leave her in such honour as you have trust in,
                she your jewel, this your jewel, and my gold are
                yours: provided I have your commendation for my more
                free entertainment.
                POSTHUMUS LEONATUS I embrace these conditions; let us have articles
                betwixt us. Only, thus far you shall answer: if
                you make your voyage upon her and give me directly
                to understand you have prevailed, I am no further
                your enemy; she is not worth our debate: if she
                remain unseduced, you not making it appear
                otherwise, for your ill opinion and the assault you
                have made to her chastity you shall answer me with
                your sword.
                IACHIMO Your hand; a covenant: we will have these things set
                down by lawful counsel, and straight away for
                Britain, lest the bargain should catch cold and
                starve: I will fetch my gold and have our two
                wagers recorded.
                POSTHUMUS LEONATUS Agreed.
                Exeunt POSTHUMUS LEONATUS and IACHIMO
                Frenchman Will this hold, think you?
                PHILARIO Signior Iachimo will not from it.
                Pray, let us follow 'em.
                Exeunt 
                SCENE V. Britain. A room in Cymbeline's palace. 
                Enter QUEEN, Ladies, and CORNELIUS QUEEN Whiles yet the dew's on ground, gather those flowers;
                Make haste: who has the note of them?
                First Lady I, madam.
                QUEEN Dispatch.
                Exeunt Ladies
                Now, master doctor, have you brought those drugs?
                CORNELIUS Pleaseth your highness, ay: here they are, madam:
                Presenting a small box
                But I beseech your grace, without offence,--
                My conscience bids me ask--wherefore you have
                Commanded of me those most poisonous compounds,
                Which are the movers of a languishing death;
                But though slow, deadly?
                QUEEN I wonder, doctor,
                Thou ask'st me such a question. Have I not been
                Thy pupil long? Hast thou not learn'd me how
                To make perfumes? distil? preserve? yea, so
                That our great king himself doth woo me oft
                For my confections? Having thus far proceeded,--
                Unless thou think'st me devilish--is't not meet
                That I did amplify my judgment in
                Other conclusions? I will try the forces
                Of these thy compounds on such creatures as
                We count not worth the hanging, but none human,
                To try the vigour of them and apply
                Allayments to their act, and by them gather
                Their several virtues and effects.
                CORNELIUS Your highness
                Shall from this practise but make hard your heart:
                Besides, the seeing these effects will be
                Both noisome and infectious.
                QUEEN O, content thee.
                Enter PISANIO
                Aside
                Here comes a flattering rascal; upon him
                Will I first work: he's for his master,
                An enemy to my son. How now, Pisanio!
                Doctor, your service for this time is ended;
                Take your own way.
                CORNELIUS [Aside] I do suspect you, madam;
                But you shall do no harm.
                QUEEN [To PISANIO] Hark thee, a word.
                CORNELIUS [Aside] I do not like her. She doth think she has
                Strange lingering poisons: I do know her spirit,
                And will not trust one of her malice with
                A drug of such damn'd nature. Those she has
                Will stupefy and dull the sense awhile;
                Which first, perchance, she'll prove on
                cats and dogs,
                Then afterward up higher: but there is
                No danger in what show of death it makes,
                More than the locking-up the spirits a time,
                To be more fresh, reviving. She is fool'd
                With a most false effect; and I the truer,
                So to be false with her.
                QUEEN No further service, doctor,
                Until I send for thee.
                CORNELIUS I humbly take my leave.
                Exit
                QUEEN Weeps she still, say'st thou? Dost thou think in time
                She will not quench and let instructions enter
                Where folly now possesses? Do thou work:
                When thou shalt bring me word she loves my son,
                I'll tell thee on the instant thou art then
                As great as is thy master, greater, for
                His fortunes all lie speechless and his name
                Is at last gasp: return he cannot, nor
                Continue where he is: to shift his being
                Is to exchange one misery with another,
                And every day that comes comes to decay
                A day's work in him. What shalt thou expect,
                To be depender on a thing that leans,
                Who cannot be new built, nor has no friends,
                So much as but to prop him?
                The QUEEN drops the box: PISANIO takes it up
                Thou takest up
                Thou know'st not what; but take it for thy labour:
                It is a thing I made, which hath the king
                Five times redeem'd from death: I do not know
                What is more cordial. Nay, I prethee, take it;
                It is an earnest of a further good
                That I mean to thee. Tell thy mistress how
                The case stands with her; do't as from thyself.
                Think what a chance thou changest on, but think
                Thou hast thy mistress still, to boot, my son,
                Who shall take notice of thee: I'll move the king
                To any shape of thy preferment such
                As thou'lt desire; and then myself, I chiefly,
                That set thee on to this desert, am bound
                To load thy merit richly. Call my women:
                Think on my words.
                Exit PISANIO
                A sly and constant knave,
                Not to be shaked; the agent for his master
                And the remembrancer of her to hold
                The hand-fast to her lord. I have given him that
                Which, if he take, shall quite unpeople her
                Of liegers for her sweet, and which she after,
                Except she bend her humour, shall be assured
                To taste of too.
                Re-enter PISANIO and Ladies
                So, so: well done, well done:
                The violets, cowslips, and the primroses,
                Bear to my closet. Fare thee well, Pisanio;
                Think on my words.
                Exeunt QUEEN and Ladies
                PISANIO And shall do:
                But when to my good lord I prove untrue,
                I'll choke myself: there's all I'll do for you.
                Exit 
                SCENE VI. The same. Another room in the palace. 
                Enter IMOGEN IMOGEN A father cruel, and a step-dame false;
                A foolish suitor to a wedded lady,
                That hath her husband banish'd;--O, that husband!
                My supreme crown of grief! and those repeated
                Vexations of it! Had I been thief-stol'n,
                As my two brothers, happy! but most miserable
                Is the desire that's glorious: blest be those,
                How mean soe'er, that have their honest wills,
                Which seasons comfort. Who may this be? Fie!
                Enter PISANIO and IACHIMO
                PISANIO Madam, a noble gentleman of Rome,
                Comes from my lord with letters.
                IACHIMO Change you, madam?
                The worthy Leonatus is in safety
                And greets your highness dearly.
                Presents a letter
                IMOGEN Thanks, good sir:
                You're kindly welcome.
                IACHIMO [Aside] All of her that is out of door most rich!
                If she be furnish'd with a mind so rare,
                She is alone the Arabian bird, and I
                Have lost the wager. Boldness be my friend!
                Arm me, audacity, from head to foot!
                Or, like the Parthian, I shall flying fight;
                Rather directly fly.
                IMOGEN [Reads] 'He is one of the noblest note, to whose
                kindnesses I am most infinitely tied. Reflect upon
                him accordingly, as you value your trust--
                LEONATUS.'
                So far I read aloud:
                But even the very middle of my heart
                Is warm'd by the rest, and takes it thankfully.
                You are as welcome, worthy sir, as I
                Have words to bid you, and shall find it so
                In all that I can do.
                IACHIMO Thanks, fairest lady.
                What, are men mad? Hath nature given them eyes
                To see this vaulted arch, and the rich crop
                Of sea and land, which can distinguish 'twixt
                The fiery orbs above and the twinn'd stones
                Upon the number'd beach? and can we not
                Partition make with spectacles so precious
                'Twixt fair and foul?
                IMOGEN What makes your admiration?
                IACHIMO It cannot be i' the eye, for apes and monkeys
                'Twixt two such shes would chatter this way and
                Contemn with mows the other; nor i' the judgment,
                For idiots in this case of favour would
                Be wisely definite; nor i' the appetite;
                Sluttery to such neat excellence opposed
                Should make desire vomit emptiness,
                Not so allured to feed.
                IMOGEN What is the matter, trow?
                IACHIMO The cloyed will,
                That satiate yet unsatisfied desire, that tub
                Both fill'd and running, ravening first the lamb
                Longs after for the garbage.
                IMOGEN What, dear sir,
                Thus raps you? Are you well?
                IACHIMO Thanks, madam; well.
                To PISANIO
                Beseech you, sir, desire
                My man's abode where I did leave him: he
                Is strange and peevish.
                PISANIO I was going, sir,
                To give him welcome.
                Exit
                IMOGEN Continues well my lord? His health, beseech you?
                IACHIMO Well, madam.
                IMOGEN Is he disposed to mirth? I hope he is.
                IACHIMO Exceeding pleasant; none a stranger there
                So merry and so gamesome: he is call'd
                The Briton reveller.
                IMOGEN When he was here,
                He did incline to sadness, and oft-times
                Not knowing why.
                IACHIMO I never saw him sad.
                There is a Frenchman his companion, one
                An eminent monsieur, that, it seems, much loves
                A Gallian girl at home; he furnaces
                The thick sighs from him, whiles the jolly Briton--
                Your lord, I mean--laughs from's free lungs, cries 'O,
                Can my sides hold, to think that man, who knows
                By history, report, or his own proof,
                What woman is, yea, what she cannot choose
                But must be, will his free hours languish for
                Assured bondage?'
                IMOGEN Will my lord say so?
                IACHIMO Ay, madam, with his eyes in flood with laughter:
                It is a recreation to be by
                And hear him mock the Frenchman. But, heavens know,
                Some men are much to blame.
                IMOGEN Not he, I hope.
                IACHIMO Not he: but yet heaven's bounty towards him might
                Be used more thankfully. In himself, 'tis much;
                In you, which I account his beyond all talents,
                Whilst I am bound to wonder, I am bound
                To pity too.
                IMOGEN What do you pity, sir?
                IACHIMO Two creatures heartily.
                IMOGEN Am I one, sir?
                You look on me: what wreck discern you in me
                Deserves your pity?
                IACHIMO Lamentable! What,
                To hide me from the radiant sun and solace
                I' the dungeon by a snuff?
                IMOGEN I pray you, sir,
                Deliver with more openness your answers
                To my demands. Why do you pity me?
                IACHIMO That others do--
                I was about to say--enjoy your--But
                It is an office of the gods to venge it,
                Not mine to speak on 't.
                IMOGEN You do seem to know
                Something of me, or what concerns me: pray you,--
                Since doubling things go ill often hurts more
                Than to be sure they do; for certainties
                Either are past remedies, or, timely knowing,
                The remedy then born--discover to me
                What both you spur and stop.
                IACHIMO Had I this cheek
                To bathe my lips upon; this hand, whose touch,
                Whose every touch, would force the feeler's soul
                To the oath of loyalty; this object, which
                Takes prisoner the wild motion of mine eye,
                Fixing it only here; should I, damn'd then,
                Slaver with lips as common as the stairs
                That mount the Capitol; join gripes with hands
                Made hard with hourly falsehood--falsehood, as
                With labour; then by-peeping in an eye
                Base and unlustrous as the smoky light
                That's fed with stinking tallow; it were fit
                That all the plagues of hell should at one time
                Encounter such revolt.
                IMOGEN My lord, I fear,
                Has forgot Britain.
                IACHIMO And himself. Not I,
                Inclined to this intelligence, pronounce
                The beggary of his change; but 'tis your graces
                That from pay mutest conscience to my tongue
                Charms this report out.
                IMOGEN Let me hear no more.
                IACHIMO O dearest soul! your cause doth strike my heart
                With pity, that doth make me sick. A lady
                So fair, and fasten'd to an empery,
                Would make the great'st king double,--to be partner'd
                With tomboys hired with that self-exhibition
                Which your own coffers yield! with diseased ventures
                That play with all infirmities for gold
                Which rottenness can lend nature! such boil'd stuff
                As well might poison poison! Be revenged;
                Or she that bore you was no queen, and you
                Recoil from your great stock.
                IMOGEN Revenged!
                How should I be revenged? If this be true,--
                As I have such a heart that both mine ears
                Must not in haste abuse--if it be true,
                How should I be revenged?
                IACHIMO Should he make me
                Live, like Diana's priest, betwixt cold sheets,
                Whiles he is vaulting variable ramps,
                In your despite, upon your purse? Revenge it.
                I dedicate myself to your sweet pleasure,
                More noble than that runagate to your bed,
                And will continue fast to your affection,
                Still close as sure.
                IMOGEN What, ho, Pisanio!
                IACHIMO Let me my service tender on your lips.
                IMOGEN Away! I do condemn mine ears that have
                So long attended thee. If thou wert honourable,
                Thou wouldst have told this tale for virtue, not
                For such an end thou seek'st,--as base as strange.
                Thou wrong'st a gentleman, who is as far
                From thy report as thou from honour, and
                Solicit'st here a lady that disdains
                Thee and the devil alike. What ho, Pisanio!
                The king my father shall be made acquainted
                Of thy assault: if he shall think it fit,
                A saucy stranger in his court to mart
                As in a Romish stew and to expound
                His beastly mind to us, he hath a court
                He little cares for and a daughter who
                He not respects at all. What, ho, Pisanio!
                IACHIMO O happy Leonatus! I may say
                The credit that thy lady hath of thee
                Deserves thy trust, and thy most perfect goodness
                Her assured credit. Blessed live you long!
                A lady to the worthiest sir that ever
                Country call'd his! and you his mistress, only
                For the most worthiest fit! Give me your pardon.
                I have spoke this, to know if your affiance
                Were deeply rooted; and shall make your lord,
                That which he is, new o'er: and he is one
                The truest manner'd; such a holy witch
                That he enchants societies into him;
                Half all men's hearts are his.
                IMOGEN You make amends.
                IACHIMO He sits 'mongst men like a descended god:
                He hath a kind of honour sets him off,
                More than a mortal seeming. Be not angry,
                Most mighty princess, that I have adventured
                To try your taking a false report; which hath
                Honour'd with confirmation your great judgment
                In the election of a sir so rare,
                Which you know cannot err: the love I bear him
                Made me to fan you thus, but the gods made you,
                Unlike all others, chaffless. Pray, your pardon.
                IMOGEN All's well, sir: take my power i' the court
                for yours.
                IACHIMO My humble thanks. I had almost forgot
                To entreat your grace but in a small request,
                And yet of moment to, for it concerns
                Your lord; myself and other noble friends,
                Are partners in the business.
                IMOGEN Pray, what is't?
                IACHIMO Some dozen Romans of us and your lord--
                The best feather of our wing--have mingled sums
                To buy a present for the emperor
                Which I, the factor for the rest, have done
                In France: 'tis plate of rare device, and jewels
                Of rich and exquisite form; their values great;
                And I am something curious, being strange,
                To have them in safe stowage: may it please you
                To take them in protection?
                IMOGEN Willingly;
                And pawn mine honour for their safety: since
                My lord hath interest in them, I will keep them
                In my bedchamber.
                IACHIMO They are in a trunk,
                Attended by my men: I will make bold
                To send them to you, only for this night;
                I must aboard to-morrow.
                IMOGEN O, no, no.
                IACHIMO Yes, I beseech; or I shall short my word
                By lengthening my return. From Gallia
                I cross'd the seas on purpose and on promise
                To see your grace.
                IMOGEN I thank you for your pains:
                But not away to-morrow!
                IACHIMO O, I must, madam:
                Therefore I shall beseech you, if you please
                To greet your lord with writing, do't to-night:
                I have outstood my time; which is material
                To the tender of our present.
                IMOGEN I will write.
                Send your trunk to me; it shall safe be kept,
                And truly yielded you. You're very welcome.
                Exeunt
                ACT II SCENE I. Britain. Before Cymbeline's palace. 
                Enter CLOTEN and two Lords CLOTEN Was there ever man had such luck! when I kissed the
                jack, upon an up-cast to be hit away! I had a
                hundred pound on't: and then a whoreson jackanapes
                must take me up for swearing; as if I borrowed mine
                oaths of him and might not spend them at my pleasure.
                First Lord What got he by that? You have broke his pate with
                your bowl.
                Second Lord [Aside] If his wit had been like him that broke it,
                it would have run all out.
                CLOTEN When a gentleman is disposed to swear, it is not for
                any standers-by to curtail his oaths, ha?
                Second Lord No my lord;
                Aside
                nor crop the ears of them.
                CLOTEN Whoreson dog! I give him satisfaction?
                Would he had been one of my rank!
                Second Lord [Aside] To have smelt like a fool.
                CLOTEN I am not vexed more at any thing in the earth: a
                pox on't! I had rather not be so noble as I am;
                they dare not fight with me, because of the queen my
                mother: every Jack-slave hath his bellyful of
                fighting, and I must go up and down like a cock that
                nobody can match.
                Second Lord [Aside] You are cock and capon too; and you crow,
                cock, with your comb on.
                CLOTEN Sayest thou?
                Second Lord It is not fit your lordship should undertake every
                companion that you give offence to.
                CLOTEN No, I know that: but it is fit I should commit
                offence to my inferiors.
                Second Lord Ay, it is fit for your lordship only.
                CLOTEN Why, so I say.
                First Lord Did you hear of a stranger that's come to court to-night?
                CLOTEN A stranger, and I not know on't!
                Second Lord [Aside] He's a strange fellow himself, and knows it
                not.
                First Lord There's an Italian come; and, 'tis thought, one of
                Leonatus' friends.
                CLOTEN Leonatus! a banished rascal; and he's another,
                whatsoever he be. Who told you of this stranger?
                First Lord One of your lordship's pages.
                CLOTEN Is it fit I went to look upon him? is there no
                derogation in't?
                Second Lord You cannot derogate, my lord.
                CLOTEN Not easily, I think.
                Second Lord [Aside] You are a fool granted; therefore your
                issues, being foolish, do not derogate.
                CLOTEN Come, I'll go see this Italian: what I have lost
                to-day at bowls I'll win to-night of him. Come, go.
                Second Lord I'll attend your lordship.
                Exeunt CLOTEN and First Lord
                That such a crafty devil as is his mother
                Should yield the world this ass! a woman that
                Bears all down with her brain; and this her son
                Cannot take two from twenty, for his heart,
                And leave eighteen. Alas, poor princess,
                Thou divine Imogen, what thou endurest,
                Betwixt a father by thy step-dame govern'd,
                A mother hourly coining plots, a wooer
                More hateful than the foul expulsion is
                Of thy dear husband, than that horrid act
                Of the divorce he'ld make! The heavens hold firm
                The walls of thy dear honour, keep unshaked
                That temple, thy fair mind, that thou mayst stand,
                To enjoy thy banish'd lord and this great land!
                Exit
                SCENE II. Imogen's bedchamber in Cymbeline's palace: a trunk in one corner of it.
                IMOGEN in bed, reading; a Lady attending
                IMOGEN Who's there? my woman Helen?
                Lady Please you, madam
                IMOGEN What hour is it?
                Lady Almost midnight, madam.
                IMOGEN I have read three hours then: mine eyes are weak:
                Fold down the leaf where I have left: to bed:
                Take not away the taper, leave it burning;
                And if thou canst awake by four o' the clock,
                I prithee, call me. Sleep hath seized me wholly
                Exit Lady
                To your protection I commend me, gods.
                From fairies and the tempters of the night
                Guard me, beseech ye.
                Sleeps. IACHIMO comes from the trunk
                IACHIMO The crickets sing, and man's o'er-labour'd sense
                Repairs itself by rest. Our Tarquin thus
                Did softly press the rushes, ere he waken'd
                The chastity he wounded. Cytherea,
                How bravely thou becomest thy bed, fresh lily,
                And whiter than the sheets! That I might touch!
                But kiss; one kiss! Rubies unparagon'd,
                How dearly they do't! 'Tis her breathing that
                Perfumes the chamber thus: the flame o' the taper
                Bows toward her, and would under-peep her lids,
                To see the enclosed lights, now canopied
                Under these windows, white and azure laced
                With blue of heaven's own tinct. But my design,
                To note the chamber: I will write all down:
                Such and such pictures; there the window; such
                The adornment of her bed; the arras; figures,
                Why, such and such; and the contents o' the story.
                Ah, but some natural notes about her body,
                Above ten thousand meaner moveables
                Would testify, to enrich mine inventory.
                O sleep, thou ape of death, lie dull upon her!
                And be her sense but as a monument,
                Thus in a chapel lying! Come off, come off:
                Taking off her bracelet
                As slippery as the Gordian knot was hard!
                'Tis mine; and this will witness outwardly,
                As strongly as the conscience does within,
                To the madding of her lord. On her left breast
                A mole cinque-spotted, like the crimson drops
                I' the bottom of a cowslip: here's a voucher,
                Stronger than ever law could make: this secret
                Will force him think I have pick'd the lock and ta'en
                The treasure of her honour. No more. To what end?
                Why should I write this down, that's riveted,
                Screw'd to my memory? She hath been reading late
                The tale of Tereus; here the leaf's turn'd down
                Where Philomel gave up. I have enough:
                To the trunk again, and shut the spring of it.
                Swift, swift, you dragons of the night, that dawning
                May bare the raven's eye! I lodge in fear;
                Though this a heavenly angel, hell is here.
                Clock strikes
                One, two, three: time, time!
                Goes into the trunk. The scene closes
                Scene III An ante-chamber adjoining Imogen's apartments.
                Enter CLOTEN and Lords
                First Lord Your lordship is the most patient man in loss, the
                most coldest that ever turned up ace.
                CLOTEN It would make any man cold to lose.
                First Lord But not every man patient after the noble temper of
                your lordship. You are most hot and furious when you win.
                CLOTEN Winning will put any man into courage. If I could
                get this foolish Imogen, I should have gold enough.
                It's almost morning, is't not?
                First Lord Day, my lord.
                CLOTEN I would this music would come: I am advised to give
                her music o' mornings; they say it will penetrate.
                Enter Musicians
                Come on; tune: if you can penetrate her with your
                fingering, so; we'll try with tongue too: if none
                will do, let her remain; but I'll never give o'er.
                First, a very excellent good-conceited thing;
                after, a wonderful sweet air, with admirable rich
                words to it: and then let her consider.
                SONG
                Hark, hark! the lark at heaven's gate sings,
                And Phoebus 'gins arise,
                His steeds to water at those springs
                On chaliced flowers that lies;
                And winking Mary-buds begin
                To ope their golden eyes:
                With every thing that pretty is,
                My lady sweet, arise:
                Arise, arise.
                CLOTEN So, get you gone. If this penetrate, I will
                consider your music the better: if it do not, it is
                a vice in her ears, which horse-hairs and
                calves'-guts, nor the voice of unpaved eunuch to
                boot, can never amend.
                Exeunt Musicians
                Second Lord Here comes the king.
                CLOTEN I am glad I was up so late; for that's the reason I
                was up so early: he cannot choose but take this
                service I have done fatherly.
                Enter CYMBELINE and QUEEN
                Good morrow to your majesty and to my gracious mother.
                CYMBELINE Attend you here the door of our stern daughter?
                Will she not forth?
                CLOTEN I have assailed her with music, but she vouchsafes no notice.
                CYMBELINE The exile of her minion is too new;
                She hath not yet forgot him: some more time
                Must wear the print of his remembrance out,
                And then she's yours.
                QUEEN You are most bound to the king,
                Who lets go by no vantages that may
                Prefer you to his daughter. Frame yourself
                To orderly soliciting, and be friended
                With aptness of the season; make denials
                Increase your services; so seem as if
                You were inspired to do those duties which
                You tender to her; that you in all obey her,
                Save when command to your dismission tends,
                And therein you are senseless.
                CLOTEN Senseless! not so.
                Enter a Messenger
                Messenger So like you, sir, ambassadors from Rome;
                The one is Caius Lucius.
                CYMBELINE A worthy fellow,
                Albeit he comes on angry purpose now;
                But that's no fault of his: we must receive him
                According to the honour of his sender;
                And towards himself, his goodness forespent on us,
                We must extend our notice. Our dear son,
                When you have given good morning to your mistress,
                Attend the queen and us; we shall have need
                To employ you towards this Roman. Come, our queen.
                Exeunt all but CLOTEN
                CLOTEN If she be up, I'll speak with her; if not,
                Let her lie still and dream.
                Knocks
                By your leave, ho!
                I Know her women are about her: what
                If I do line one of their hands? 'Tis gold
                Which buys admittance; oft it doth; yea, and makes
                Diana's rangers false themselves, yield up
                Their deer to the stand o' the stealer; and 'tis gold
                Which makes the true man kill'd and saves the thief;
                Nay, sometime hangs both thief and true man: what
                Can it not do and undo? I will make
                One of her women lawyer to me, for
                I yet not understand the case myself.
                Knocks
                By your leave.
                Enter a Lady
                Lady Who's there that knocks?
                CLOTEN A gentleman.
                Lady No more?
                CLOTEN Yes, and a gentlewoman's son.
                Lady That's more
                Than some, whose tailors are as dear as yours,
                Can justly boast of. What's your lordship's pleasure?
                CLOTEN Your lady's person: is she ready?
                Lady Ay,
                To keep her chamber.
                CLOTEN There is gold for you;
                Sell me your good report.
                Lady How! my good name? or to report of you
                What I shall think is good?--The princess!
                Enter IMOGEN
                CLOTEN Good morrow, fairest: sister, your sweet hand.
                Exit Lady
                IMOGEN Good morrow, sir. You lay out too much pains
                For purchasing but trouble; the thanks I give
                Is telling you that I am poor of thanks
                And scarce can spare them.
                CLOTEN Still, I swear I love you.
                IMOGEN If you but said so, 'twere as deep with me:
                If you swear still, your recompense is still
                That I regard it not.
                CLOTEN This is no answer.
                IMOGEN But that you shall not say I yield being silent,
                I would not speak. I pray you, spare me: 'faith,
                I shall unfold equal discourtesy
                To your best kindness: one of your great knowing
                Should learn, being taught, forbearance.
                CLOTEN To leave you in your madness, 'twere my sin:
                I will not.
                IMOGEN Fools are not mad folks.
                CLOTEN Do you call me fool?
                IMOGEN As I am mad, I do:
                If you'll be patient, I'll no more be mad;
                That cures us both. I am much sorry, sir,
                You put me to forget a lady's manners,
                By being so verbal: and learn now, for all,
                That I, which know my heart, do here pronounce,
                By the very truth of it, I care not for you,
                And am so near the lack of charity--
                To accuse myself--I hate you; which I had rather
                You felt than make't my boast.
                CLOTEN You sin against
                Obedience, which you owe your father. For
                The contract you pretend with that base wretch,
                One bred of alms and foster'd with cold dishes,
                With scraps o' the court, it is no contract, none:
                And though it be allow'd in meaner parties--
                Yet who than he more mean?--to knit their souls,
                On whom there is no more dependency
                But brats and beggary, in self-figured knot;
                Yet you are curb'd from that enlargement by
                The consequence o' the crown, and must not soil
                The precious note of it with a base slave.
                A hilding for a livery, a squire's cloth,
                A pantler, not so eminent.
                IMOGEN Profane fellow
                Wert thou the son of Jupiter and no more
                But what thou art besides, thou wert too base
                To be his groom: thou wert dignified enough,
                Even to the point of envy, if 'twere made
                Comparative for your virtues, to be styled
                The under-hangman of his kingdom, and hated
                For being preferred so well.
                CLOTEN The south-fog rot him!
                IMOGEN He never can meet more mischance than come
                To be but named of thee. His meanest garment,
                That ever hath but clipp'd his body, is dearer
                In my respect than all the hairs above thee,
                Were they all made such men. How now, Pisanio!
                Enter PISANIO
                CLOTEN 'His garment!' Now the devil--
                IMOGEN To Dorothy my woman hie thee presently--
                CLOTEN 'His garment!'
                IMOGEN I am sprited with a fool.
                Frighted, and anger'd worse: go bid my woman
                Search for a jewel that too casually
                Hath left mine arm: it was thy master's: 'shrew me,
                If I would lose it for a revenue
                Of any king's in Europe. I do think
                I saw't this morning: confident I am
                Last night 'twas on mine arm; I kiss'd it:
                I hope it be not gone to tell my lord
                That I kiss aught but he.
                PISANIO 'Twill not be lost.
                IMOGEN I hope so: go and search.
                Exit PISANIO
                CLOTEN You have abused me:
                'His meanest garment!'
                IMOGEN Ay, I said so, sir:
                If you will make't an action, call witness to't.
                CLOTEN I will inform your father.
                IMOGEN Your mother too:
                She's my good lady, and will conceive, I hope,
                But the worst of me. So, I leave you, sir,
                To the worst of discontent.
                Exit
                CLOTEN I'll be revenged:
                'His meanest garment!' Well.
                Exit
                CYMBELINE 
                SCENE IV. Rome. Philario's house. 
                Enter POSTHUMUS and PHILARIO POSTHUMUS LEONATUS Fear it not, sir: I would I were so sure
                To win the king as I am bold her honour
                Will remain hers.
                PHILARIO What means do you make to him?
                POSTHUMUS LEONATUS Not any, but abide the change of time,
                Quake in the present winter's state and wish
                That warmer days would come: in these sear'd hopes,
                I barely gratify your love; they failing,
                I must die much your debtor.
                PHILARIO Your very goodness and your company
                O'erpays all I can do. By this, your king
                Hath heard of great Augustus: Caius Lucius
                Will do's commission throughly: and I think
                He'll grant the tribute, send the arrearages,
                Or look upon our Romans, whose remembrance
                Is yet fresh in their grief.
                POSTHUMUS LEONATUS I do believe,
                Statist though I am none, nor like to be,
                That this will prove a war; and you shall hear
                The legions now in Gallia sooner landed
                In our not-fearing Britain than have tidings
                Of any penny tribute paid. Our countrymen
                Are men more order'd than when Julius Caesar
                Smiled at their lack of skill, but found
                their courage
                Worthy his frowning at: their discipline,
                Now mingled with their courages, will make known
                To their approvers they are people such
                That mend upon the world.
                Enter IACHIMO
                PHILARIO See! Iachimo!
                POSTHUMUS LEONATUS The swiftest harts have posted you by land;
                And winds of all the comers kiss'd your sails,
                To make your vessel nimble.
                PHILARIO Welcome, sir.
                POSTHUMUS LEONATUS I hope the briefness of your answer made
                The speediness of your return.
                IACHIMO Your lady
                Is one of the fairest that I have look'd upon.
                POSTHUMUS LEONATUS And therewithal the best; or let her beauty
                Look through a casement to allure false hearts
                And be false with them.
                IACHIMO Here are letters for you.
                POSTHUMUS LEONATUS Their tenor good, I trust.
                IACHIMO 'Tis very like.
                PHILARIO Was Caius Lucius in the Britain court
                When you were there?
                IACHIMO He was expected then,
                But not approach'd.
                POSTHUMUS LEONATUS All is well yet.
                Sparkles this stone as it was wont? or is't not
                Too dull for your good wearing?
                IACHIMO If I had lost it,
                I should have lost the worth of it in gold.
                I'll make a journey twice as far, to enjoy
                A second night of such sweet shortness which
                Was mine in Britain, for the ring is won.
                POSTHUMUS LEONATUS The stone's too hard to come by.
                IACHIMO Not a whit,
                Your lady being so easy.
                POSTHUMUS LEONATUS Make not, sir,
                Your loss your sport: I hope you know that we
                Must not continue friends.
                IACHIMO Good sir, we must,
                If you keep covenant. Had I not brought
                The knowledge of your mistress home, I grant
                We were to question further: but I now
                Profess myself the winner of her honour,
                Together with your ring; and not the wronger
                Of her or you, having proceeded but
                By both your wills.
                POSTHUMUS LEONATUS If you can make't apparent
                That you have tasted her in bed, my hand
                And ring is yours; if not, the foul opinion
                You had of her pure honour gains or loses
                Your sword or mine, or masterless leaves both
                To who shall find them.
                IACHIMO Sir, my circumstances,
                Being so near the truth as I will make them,
                Must first induce you to believe: whose strength
                I will confirm with oath; which, I doubt not,
                You'll give me leave to spare, when you shall find
                You need it not.
                POSTHUMUS LEONATUS Proceed.
                IACHIMO First, her bedchamber,--
                Where, I confess, I slept not, but profess
                Had that was well worth watching--it was hang'd
                With tapesty of silk and silver; the story
                Proud Cleopatra, when she met her Roman,
                And Cydnus swell'd above the banks, or for
                The press of boats or pride: a piece of work
                So bravely done, so rich, that it did strive
                In workmanship and value; which I wonder'd
                Could be so rarely and exactly wrought,
                Since the true life on't was--
                POSTHUMUS LEONATUS This is true;
                And this you might have heard of here, by me,
                Or by some other.
                IACHIMO More particulars
                Must justify my knowledge.
                POSTHUMUS LEONATUS So they must,
                Or do your honour injury.
                IACHIMO The chimney
                Is south the chamber, and the chimney-piece
                Chaste Dian bathing: never saw I figures
                So likely to report themselves: the cutter
                Was as another nature, dumb; outwent her,
                Motion and breath left out.
                POSTHUMUS LEONATUS This is a thing
                Which you might from relation likewise reap,
                Being, as it is, much spoke of.
                IACHIMO The roof o' the chamber
                With golden cherubins is fretted: her andirons--
                I had forgot them--were two winking Cupids
                Of silver, each on one foot standing, nicely
                Depending on their brands.
                POSTHUMUS LEONATUS This is her honour!
                Let it be granted you have seen all this--and praise
                Be given to your remembrance--the description
                Of what is in her chamber nothing saves
                The wager you have laid.
                IACHIMO Then, if you can,
                Showing the bracelet
                Be pale: I beg but leave to air this jewel; see!
                And now 'tis up again: it must be married
                To that your diamond; I'll keep them.
                POSTHUMUS LEONATUS Jove!
                Once more let me behold it: is it that
                Which I left with her?
                IACHIMO Sir--I thank her--that:
                She stripp'd it from her arm; I see her yet;
                Her pretty action did outsell her gift,
                And yet enrich'd it too: she gave it me, and said
                She prized it once.
                POSTHUMUS LEONATUS May be she pluck'd it off
                To send it me.
                IACHIMO She writes so to you, doth she?
                POSTHUMUS LEONATUS O, no, no, no! 'tis true. Here, take this too;
                Gives the ring
                It is a basilisk unto mine eye,
                Kills me to look on't. Let there be no honour
                Where there is beauty; truth, where semblance; love,
                Where there's another man: the vows of women
                Of no more bondage be, to where they are made,
                Than they are to their virtues; which is nothing.
                O, above measure false!
                PHILARIO Have patience, sir,
                And take your ring again; 'tis not yet won:
                It may be probable she lost it; or
                Who knows if one of her women, being corrupted,
                Hath stol'n it from her?
                POSTHUMUS LEONATUS Very true;
                And so, I hope, he came by't. Back my ring:
                Render to me some corporal sign about her,
                More evident than this; for this was stolen.
                IACHIMO By Jupiter, I had it from her arm.
                POSTHUMUS LEONATUS Hark you, he swears; by Jupiter he swears.
                'Tis true:--nay, keep the ring--'tis true: I am sure
                She would not lose it: her attendants are
                All sworn and honourable:--they induced to steal it!
                And by a stranger!--No, he hath enjoyed her:
                The cognizance of her incontinency
                Is this: she hath bought the name of whore
                thus dearly.
                There, take thy hire; and all the fiends of hell
                Divide themselves between you!
                PHILARIO Sir, be patient:
                This is not strong enough to be believed
                Of one persuaded well of--
                POSTHUMUS LEONATUS Never talk on't;
                She hath been colted by him.
                IACHIMO If you seek
                For further satisfying, under her breast--
                Worthy the pressing--lies a mole, right proud
                Of that most delicate lodging: by my life,
                I kiss'd it; and it gave me present hunger
                To feed again, though full. You do remember
                This stain upon her?
                POSTHUMUS LEONATUS Ay, and it doth confirm
                Another stain, as big as hell can hold,
                Were there no more but it.
                IACHIMO Will you hear more?
                POSTHUMUS LEONATUS Spare your arithmetic: never count the turns;
                Once, and a million!
                IACHIMO I'll be sworn--
                POSTHUMUS LEONATUS No swearing.
                If you will swear you have not done't, you lie;
                And I will kill thee, if thou dost deny
                Thou'st made me cuckold.
                IACHIMO I'll deny nothing.
                POSTHUMUS LEONATUS O, that I had her here, to tear her limb-meal!
                I will go there and do't, i' the court, before
                Her father. I'll do something--
                Exit
                PHILARIO Quite besides
                The government of patience! You have won:
                Let's follow him, and pervert the present wrath
                He hath against himself.
                IACHIMO With an my heart.
                Exeunt 
                SCENE V. Another room in Philario's house. 
                Enter POSTHUMUS LEONATUS POSTHUMUS LEONATUS Is there no way for men to be but women
                Must be half-workers? We are all bastards;
                And that most venerable man which I
                Did call my father, was I know not where
                When I was stamp'd; some coiner with his tools
                Made me a counterfeit: yet my mother seem'd
                The Dian of that time so doth my wife
                The nonpareil of this. O, vengeance, vengeance!
                Me of my lawful pleasure she restrain'd
                And pray'd me oft forbearance; did it with
                A pudency so rosy the sweet view on't
                Might well have warm'd old Saturn; that I thought her
                As chaste as unsunn'd snow. O, all the devils!
                This yellow Iachimo, in an hour,--wast not?--
                Or less,--at first?--perchance he spoke not, but,
                Like a full-acorn'd boar, a German one,
                Cried 'O!' and mounted; found no opposition
                But what he look'd for should oppose and she
                Should from encounter guard. Could I find out
                The woman's part in me! For there's no motion
                That tends to vice in man, but I affirm
                It is the woman's part: be it lying, note it,
                The woman's; flattering, hers; deceiving, hers;
                Lust and rank thoughts, hers, hers; revenges, hers;
                Ambitions, covetings, change of prides, disdain,
                Nice longing, slanders, mutability,
                All faults that may be named, nay, that hell knows,
                Why, hers, in part or all; but rather, all;
                For even to vice
                They are not constant but are changing still
                One vice, but of a minute old, for one
                Not half so old as that. I'll write against them,
                Detest them, curse them: yet 'tis greater skill
                In a true hate, to pray they have their will:
                The very devils cannot plague them better.
                Exit
                ACT III SCENE I. Britain. A hall in Cymbeline's palace. 
                Enter in state, CYMBELINE, QUEEN, CLOTEN, and Lords at one door, and at another, CAIUS LUCIUS and Attendants CYMBELINE Now say, what would Augustus Caesar with us?
                CAIUS LUCIUS When Julius Caesar, whose remembrance yet
                Lives in men's eyes and will to ears and tongues
                Be theme and hearing ever, was in this Britain
                And conquer'd it, Cassibelan, thine uncle,--
                Famous in Caesar's praises, no whit less
                Than in his feats deserving it--for him
                And his succession granted Rome a tribute,
                Yearly three thousand pounds, which by thee lately
                Is left untender'd.
                QUEEN And, to kill the marvel,
                Shall be so ever.
                CLOTEN There be many Caesars,
                Ere such another Julius. Britain is
                A world by itself; and we will nothing pay
                For wearing our own noses.
                QUEEN That opportunity
                Which then they had to take from 's, to resume
                We have again. Remember, sir, my liege,
                The kings your ancestors, together with
                The natural bravery of your isle, which stands
                As Neptune's park, ribbed and paled in
                With rocks unscalable and roaring waters,
                With sands that will not bear your enemies' boats,
                But suck them up to the topmast. A kind of conquest
                Caesar made here; but made not here his brag
                Of 'Came' and 'saw' and 'overcame: ' with shame--
                That first that ever touch'd him--he was carried
                From off our coast, twice beaten; and his shipping--
                Poor ignorant baubles!-- upon our terrible seas,
                Like egg-shells moved upon their surges, crack'd
                As easily 'gainst our rocks: for joy whereof
                The famed Cassibelan, who was once at point--
                O giglot fortune!--to master Caesar's sword,
                Made Lud's town with rejoicing fires bright
                And Britons strut with courage.
                CLOTEN Come, there's no more tribute to be paid: our
                kingdom is stronger than it was at that time; and,
                as I said, there is no moe such Caesars: other of
                them may have crook'd noses, but to owe such
                straight arms, none.
                CYMBELINE Son, let your mother end.
                CLOTEN We have yet many among us can gripe as hard as
                Cassibelan: I do not say I am one; but I have a
                hand. Why tribute? why should we pay tribute? If
                Caesar can hide the sun from us with a blanket, or
                put the moon in his pocket, we will pay him tribute
                for light; else, sir, no more tribute, pray you now.
                CYMBELINE You must know,
                Till the injurious Romans did extort
                This tribute from us, we were free:
                Caesar's ambition,
                Which swell'd so much that it did almost stretch
                The sides o' the world, against all colour here
                Did put the yoke upon 's; which to shake off
                Becomes a warlike people, whom we reckon
                Ourselves to be.
                CLOTENLords We do.
                CYMBELINE Say, then, to Caesar,
                Our ancestor was that Mulmutius which
                Ordain'd our laws, whose use the sword of Caesar
                Hath too much mangled; whose repair and franchise
                Shall, by the power we hold, be our good deed,
                Though Rome be therefore angry: Mulmutius made our laws,
                Who was the first of Britain which did put
                His brows within a golden crown and call'd
                Himself a king.
                CAIUS LUCIUS I am sorry, Cymbeline,
                That I am to pronounce Augustus Caesar--
                Caesar, that hath more kings his servants than
                Thyself domestic officers--thine enemy:
                Receive it from me, then: war and confusion
                In Caesar's name pronounce I 'gainst thee: look
                For fury not to be resisted. Thus defied,
                I thank thee for myself.
                CYMBELINE Thou art welcome, Caius.
                Thy Caesar knighted me; my youth I spent
                Much under him; of him I gather'd honour;
                Which he to seek of me again, perforce,
                Behoves me keep at utterance. I am perfect
                That the Pannonians and Dalmatians for
                Their liberties are now in arms; a precedent
                Which not to read would show the Britons cold:
                So Caesar shall not find them.
                CAIUS LUCIUS Let proof speak.
                CLOTEN His majesty bids you welcome. Make
                pastime with us a day or two, or longer: if
                you seek us afterwards in other terms, you
                shall find us in our salt-water girdle: if you
                beat us out of it, it is yours; if you fall in
                the adventure, our crows shall fare the better
                for you; and there's an end.
                CAIUS LUCIUS So, sir.
                CYMBELINE I know your master's pleasure and he mine:
                All the remain is 'Welcome!'
                Exeunt 
                SCENE II. Another room in the palace. 
                Enter PISANIO, with a letter PISANIO How? of adultery? Wherefore write you not
                What monster's her accuser? Leonatus,
                O master! what a strange infection
                Is fall'n into thy ear! What false Italian,
                As poisonous-tongued as handed, hath prevail'd
                On thy too ready hearing? Disloyal! No:
                She's punish'd for her truth, and undergoes,
                More goddess-like than wife-like, such assaults
                As would take in some virtue. O my master!
                Thy mind to her is now as low as were
                Thy fortunes. How! that I should murder her?
                Upon the love and truth and vows which I
                Have made to thy command? I, her? her blood?
                If it be so to do good service, never
                Let me be counted serviceable. How look I,
                That I should seem to lack humanity
                so much as this fact comes to?
                Reading
                'Do't: the letter
                that I have sent her, by her own command
                Shall give thee opportunity.' O damn'd paper!
                Black as the ink that's on thee! Senseless bauble,
                Art thou a feodary for this act, and look'st
                So virgin-like without? Lo, here she comes.
                I am ignorant in what I am commanded.
                Enter IMOGEN
                IMOGEN How now, Pisanio!
                PISANIO Madam, here is a letter from my lord.
                IMOGEN Who? thy lord? that is my lord, Leonatus!
                O, learn'd indeed were that astronomer
                That knew the stars as I his characters;
                He'ld lay the future open. You good gods,
                Let what is here contain'd relish of love,
                Of my lord's health, of his content, yet not
                That we two are asunder; let that grieve him:
                Some griefs are med'cinable; that is one of them,
                For it doth physic love: of his content,
                All but in that! Good wax, thy leave. Blest be
                You bees that make these locks of counsel! Lovers
                And men in dangerous bonds pray not alike:
                Though forfeiters you cast in prison, yet
                You clasp young Cupid's tables. Good news, gods!
                Reads
                'Justice, and your father's wrath, should he take me
                in his dominion, could not be so cruel to me, as
                you, O the dearest of creatures, would even renew me
                with your eyes. Take notice that I am in Cambria,
                at Milford-Haven: what your own love will out of
                this advise you, follow. So he wishes you all
                happiness, that remains loyal to his vow, and your,
                increasing in love,
                LEONATUS POSTHUMUS.'
                O, for a horse with wings! Hear'st thou, Pisanio?
                He is at Milford-Haven: read, and tell me
                How far 'tis thither. If one of mean affairs
                May plod it in a week, why may not I
                Glide thither in a day? Then, true Pisanio,--
                Who long'st, like me, to see thy lord; who long'st,--
                let me bate,-but not like me--yet long'st,
                But in a fainter kind:--O, not like me;
                For mine's beyond beyond--say, and speak thick;
                Love's counsellor should fill the bores of hearing,
                To the smothering of the sense--how far it is
                To this same blessed Milford: and by the way
                Tell me how Wales was made so happy as
                To inherit such a haven: but first of all,
                How we may steal from hence, and for the gap
                That we shall make in time, from our hence-going
                And our return, to excuse: but first, how get hence:
                Why should excuse be born or e'er begot?
                We'll talk of that hereafter. Prithee, speak,
                How many score of miles may we well ride
                'Twixt hour and hour?
                PISANIO One score 'twixt sun and sun,
                Madam, 's enough for you:
                Aside
                and too much too.
                IMOGEN Why, one that rode to's execution, man,
                Could never go so slow: I have heard of
                riding wagers,
                Where horses have been nimbler than the sands
                That run i' the clock's behalf. But this is foolery:
                Go bid my woman feign a sickness; say
                She'll home to her father: and provide me presently
                A riding-suit, no costlier than would fit
                A franklin's housewife.
                PISANIO Madam, you're best consider.
                IMOGEN I see before me, man: nor here, nor here,
                Nor what ensues, but have a fog in them,
                That I cannot look through. Away, I prithee;
                Do as I bid thee: there's no more to say,
                Accessible is none but Milford way.
                Exeunt 
                SCENE III. Wales: a mountainous country with a cave. 
                Enter, from the cave, BELARIUS; GUIDERIUS, and ARVIRAGUS following BELARIUS A goodly day not to keep house, with such
                Whose roof's as low as ours! Stoop, boys; this gate
                Instructs you how to adore the heavens and bows you
                To a morning's holy office: the gates of monarchs
                Are arch'd so high that giants may jet through
                And keep their impious turbans on, without
                Good morrow to the sun. Hail, thou fair heaven!
                We house i' the rock, yet use thee not so hardly
                As prouder livers do.
                GUIDERIUS Hail, heaven!
                ARVIRAGUS Hail, heaven!
                BELARIUS Now for our mountain sport: up to yond hill;
                Your legs are young; I'll tread these flats. Consider,
                When you above perceive me like a crow,
                That it is place which lessens and sets off;
                And you may then revolve what tales I have told you
                Of courts, of princes, of the tricks in war:
                This service is not service, so being done,
                But being so allow'd: to apprehend thus,
                Draws us a profit from all things we see;
                And often, to our comfort, shall we find
                The sharded beetle in a safer hold
                Than is the full-wing'd eagle. O, this life
                Is nobler than attending for a cheque,
                Richer than doing nothing for a bauble,
                Prouder than rustling in unpaid-for silk:
                Such gain the cap of him that makes 'em fine,
                Yet keeps his book uncross'd: no life to ours.
                GUIDERIUS Out of your proof you speak: we, poor unfledged,
                Have never wing'd from view o' the nest, nor know not
                What air's from home. Haply this life is best,
                If quiet life be best; sweeter to you
                That have a sharper known; well corresponding
                With your stiff age: but unto us it is
                A cell of ignorance; travelling a-bed;
                A prison for a debtor, that not dares
                To stride a limit.
                ARVIRAGUS What should we speak of
                When we are old as you? when we shall hear
                The rain and wind beat dark December, how,
                In this our pinching cave, shall we discourse
                The freezing hours away? We have seen nothing;
                We are beastly, subtle as the fox for prey,
                Like warlike as the wolf for what we eat;
                Our valour is to chase what flies; our cage
                We make a quire, as doth the prison'd bird,
                And sing our bondage freely.
                BELARIUS How you speak!
                Did you but know the city's usuries
                And felt them knowingly; the art o' the court
                As hard to leave as keep; whose top to climb
                Is certain falling, or so slippery that
                The fear's as bad as falling; the toil o' the war,
                A pain that only seems to seek out danger
                I' the name of fame and honour; which dies i'
                the search,
                And hath as oft a slanderous epitaph
                As record of fair act; nay, many times,
                Doth ill deserve by doing well; what's worse,
                Must court'sy at the censure:--O boys, this story
                The world may read in me: my body's mark'd
                With Roman swords, and my report was once
                First with the best of note: Cymbeline loved me,
                And when a soldier was the theme, my name
                Was not far off: then was I as a tree
                Whose boughs did bend with fruit: but in one night,
                A storm or robbery, call it what you will,
                Shook down my mellow hangings, nay, my leaves,
                And left me bare to weather.
                GUIDERIUS Uncertain favour!
                BELARIUS My fault being nothing--as I have told you oft--
                But that two villains, whose false oaths prevail'd
                Before my perfect honour, swore to Cymbeline
                I was confederate with the Romans: so
                Follow'd my banishment, and this twenty years
                This rock and these demesnes have been my world;
                Where I have lived at honest freedom, paid
                More pious debts to heaven than in all
                The fore-end of my time. But up to the mountains!
                This is not hunters' language: he that strikes
                The venison first shall be the lord o' the feast;
                To him the other two shall minister;
                And we will fear no poison, which attends
                In place of greater state. I'll meet you in the valleys.
                Exeunt GUIDERIUS and ARVIRAGUS
                How hard it is to hide the sparks of nature!
                These boys know little they are sons to the king;
                Nor Cymbeline dreams that they are alive.
                They think they are mine; and though train'd
                up thus meanly
                I' the cave wherein they bow, their thoughts do hit
                The roofs of palaces, and nature prompts them
                In simple and low things to prince it much
                Beyond the trick of others. This Polydore,
                The heir of Cymbeline and Britain, who
                The king his father call'd Guiderius,--Jove!
                When on my three-foot stool I sit and tell
                The warlike feats I have done, his spirits fly out
                Into my story: say 'Thus, mine enemy fell,
                And thus I set my foot on 's neck;' even then
                The princely blood flows in his cheek, he sweats,
                Strains his young nerves and puts himself in posture
                That acts my words. The younger brother, Cadwal,
                Once Arviragus, in as like a figure,
                Strikes life into my speech and shows much more
                His own conceiving.--Hark, the game is roused!
                O Cymbeline! heaven and my conscience knows
                Thou didst unjustly banish me: whereon,
                At three and two years old, I stole these babes;
                Thinking to bar thee of succession, as
                Thou reft'st me of my lands. Euriphile,
                Thou wast their nurse; they took thee for
                their mother,
                And every day do honour to her grave:
                Myself, Belarius, that am Morgan call'd,
                They take for natural father. The game is up.
                Exit 
                SCENE IV. Country near Milford-Haven. 
                Enter PISANIO and IMOGEN IMOGEN Thou told'st me, when we came from horse, the place
                Was near at hand: ne'er long'd my mother so
                To see me first, as I have now. Pisanio! man!
                Where is Posthumus? What is in thy mind,
                That makes thee stare thus? Wherefore breaks that sigh
                From the inward of thee? One, but painted thus,
                Would be interpreted a thing perplex'd
                Beyond self-explication: put thyself
                Into a havior of less fear, ere wildness
                Vanquish my staider senses. What's the matter?
                Why tender'st thou that paper to me, with
                A look untender? If't be summer news,
                Smile to't before; if winterly, thou need'st
                But keep that countenance still. My husband's hand!
                That drug-damn'd Italy hath out-craftied him,
                And he's at some hard point. Speak, man: thy tongue
                May take off some extremity, which to read
                Would be even mortal to me.
                PISANIO Please you, read;
                And you shall find me, wretched man, a thing
                The most disdain'd of fortune.
                IMOGEN [Reads] 'Thy mistress, Pisanio, hath played the
                strumpet in my bed; the testimonies whereof lie
                bleeding in me. I speak not out of weak surmises,
                but from proof as strong as my grief and as certain
                as I expect my revenge. That part thou, Pisanio,
                must act for me, if thy faith be not tainted with
                the breach of hers. Let thine own hands take away
                her life: I shall give thee opportunity at
                Milford-Haven. She hath my letter for the purpose
                where, if thou fear to strike and to make me certain
                it is done, thou art the pandar to her dishonour and
                equally to me disloyal.'
                PISANIO What shall I need to draw my sword? the paper
                Hath cut her throat already. No, 'tis slander,
                Whose edge is sharper than the sword, whose tongue
                Outvenoms all the worms of Nile, whose breath
                Rides on the posting winds and doth belie
                All corners of the world: kings, queens and states,
                Maids, matrons, nay, the secrets of the grave
                This viperous slander enters. What cheer, madam?
                IMOGEN False to his bed! What is it to be false?
                To lie in watch there and to think on him?
                To weep 'twixt clock and clock? if sleep
                charge nature,
                To break it with a fearful dream of him
                And cry myself awake? that's false to's bed, is it?
                PISANIO Alas, good lady!
                IMOGEN I false! Thy conscience witness: Iachimo,
                Thou didst accuse him of incontinency;
                Thou then look'dst like a villain; now methinks
                Thy favour's good enough. Some jay of Italy
                Whose mother was her painting, hath betray'd him:
                Poor I am stale, a garment out of fashion;
                And, for I am richer than to hang by the walls,
                I must be ripp'd:--to pieces with me!--O,
                Men's vows are women's traitors! All good seeming,
                By thy revolt, O husband, shall be thought
                Put on for villany; not born where't grows,
                But worn a bait for ladies.
                PISANIO Good madam, hear me.
                IMOGEN True honest men being heard, like false Aeneas,
                Were in his time thought false, and Sinon's weeping
                Did scandal many a holy tear, took pity
                From most true wretchedness: so thou, Posthumus,
                Wilt lay the leaven on all proper men;
                Goodly and gallant shall be false and perjured
                From thy great fall. Come, fellow, be thou honest:
                Do thou thy master's bidding: when thou see'st him,
                A little witness my obedience: look!
                I draw the sword myself: take it, and hit
                The innocent mansion of my love, my heart;
                Fear not; 'tis empty of all things but grief;
                Thy master is not there, who was indeed
                The riches of it: do his bidding; strike
                Thou mayst be valiant in a better cause;
                But now thou seem'st a coward.
                PISANIO Hence, vile instrument!
                Thou shalt not damn my hand.
                IMOGEN Why, I must die;
                And if I do not by thy hand, thou art
                No servant of thy master's. Against self-slaughter
                There is a prohibition so divine
                That cravens my weak hand. Come, here's my heart.
                Something's afore't. Soft, soft! we'll no defence;
                Obedient as the scabbard. What is here?
                The scriptures of the loyal Leonatus,
                All turn'd to heresy? Away, away,
                Corrupters of my faith! you shall no more
                Be stomachers to my heart. Thus may poor fools
                Believe false teachers: though those that
                are betray'd
                Do feel the treason sharply, yet the traitor
                Stands in worse case of woe.
                And thou, Posthumus, thou that didst set up
                My disobedience 'gainst the king my father
                And make me put into contempt the suits
                Of princely fellows, shalt hereafter find
                It is no act of common passage, but
                A strain of rareness: and I grieve myself
                To think, when thou shalt be disedged by her
                That now thou tirest on, how thy memory
                Will then be pang'd by me. Prithee, dispatch:
                The lamb entreats the butcher: where's thy knife?
                Thou art too slow to do thy master's bidding,
                When I desire it too.
                PISANIO O gracious lady,
                Since I received command to do this business
                I have not slept one wink.
                IMOGEN Do't, and to bed then.
                PISANIO I'll wake mine eye-balls blind first.
                IMOGEN Wherefore then
                Didst undertake it? Why hast thou abused
                So many miles with a pretence? this place?
                Mine action and thine own? our horses' labour?
                The time inviting thee? the perturb'd court,
                For my being absent? whereunto I never
                Purpose return. Why hast thou gone so far,
                To be unbent when thou hast ta'en thy stand,
                The elected deer before thee?
                PISANIO But to win time
                To lose so bad employment; in the which
                I have consider'd of a course. Good lady,
                Hear me with patience.
                IMOGEN Talk thy tongue weary; speak
                I have heard I am a strumpet; and mine ear
                Therein false struck, can take no greater wound,
                Nor tent to bottom that. But speak.
                PISANIO Then, madam,
                I thought you would not back again.
                IMOGEN Most like;
                Bringing me here to kill me.
                PISANIO Not so, neither:
                But if I were as wise as honest, then
                My purpose would prove well. It cannot be
                But that my master is abused:
                Some villain, ay, and singular in his art.
                Hath done you both this cursed injury.
                IMOGEN Some Roman courtezan.
                PISANIO No, on my life.
                I'll give but notice you are dead and send him
                Some bloody sign of it; for 'tis commanded
                I should do so: you shall be miss'd at court,
                And that will well confirm it.
                IMOGEN Why good fellow,
                What shall I do the where? where bide? how live?
                Or in my life what comfort, when I am
                Dead to my husband?
                PISANIO If you'll back to the court--
                IMOGEN No court, no father; nor no more ado
                With that harsh, noble, simple nothing,
                That Cloten, whose love-suit hath been to me
                As fearful as a siege.
                PISANIO If not at court,
                Then not in Britain must you bide.
                IMOGEN Where then
                Hath Britain all the sun that shines? Day, night,
                Are they not but in Britain? I' the world's volume
                Our Britain seems as of it, but not in 't;
                In a great pool a swan's nest: prithee, think
                There's livers out of Britain.
                PISANIO I am most glad
                You think of other place. The ambassador,
                Lucius the Roman, comes to Milford-Haven
                To-morrow: now, if you could wear a mind
                Dark as your fortune is, and but disguise
                That which, to appear itself, must not yet be
                But by self-danger, you should tread a course
                Pretty and full of view; yea, haply, near
                The residence of Posthumus; so nigh at least
                That though his actions were not visible, yet
                Report should render him hourly to your ear
                As truly as he moves.
                IMOGEN O, for such means!
                Though peril to my modesty, not death on't,
                I would adventure.
                PISANIO Well, then, here's the point:
                You must forget to be a woman; change
                Command into obedience: fear and niceness--
                The handmaids of all women, or, more truly,
                Woman its pretty self--into a waggish courage:
                Ready in gibes, quick-answer'd, saucy and
                As quarrelous as the weasel; nay, you must
                Forget that rarest treasure of your cheek,
                Exposing it--but, O, the harder heart!
                Alack, no remedy!--to the greedy touch
                Of common-kissing Titan, and forget
                Your laboursome and dainty trims, wherein
                You made great Juno angry.
                IMOGEN Nay, be brief
                I see into thy end, and am almost
                A man already.
                PISANIO First, make yourself but like one.
                Fore-thinking this, I have already fit--
                'Tis in my cloak-bag--doublet, hat, hose, all
                That answer to them: would you in their serving,
                And with what imitation you can borrow
                From youth of such a season, 'fore noble Lucius
                Present yourself, desire his service, tell him
                wherein you're happy,--which you'll make him know,
                If that his head have ear in music,--doubtless
                With joy he will embrace you, for he's honourable
                And doubling that, most holy. Your means abroad,
                You have me, rich; and I will never fail
                Beginning nor supplyment.
                IMOGEN Thou art all the comfort
                The gods will diet me with. Prithee, away:
                There's more to be consider'd; but we'll even
                All that good time will give us: this attempt
                I am soldier to, and will abide it with
                A prince's courage. Away, I prithee.
                PISANIO Well, madam, we must take a short farewell,
                Lest, being miss'd, I be suspected of
                Your carriage from the court. My noble mistress,
                Here is a box; I had it from the queen:
                What's in't is precious; if you are sick at sea,
                Or stomach-qualm'd at land, a dram of this
                Will drive away distemper. To some shade,
                And fit you to your manhood. May the gods
                Direct you to the best!
                IMOGEN Amen: I thank thee.
                Exeunt, severally 
                SCENE V. A room in Cymbeline's palace. 
                Enter CYMBELINE, QUEEN, CLOTEN, LUCIUS, Lords, and Attendants CYMBELINE Thus far; and so farewell.
                CAIUS LUCIUS Thanks, royal sir.
                My emperor hath wrote, I must from hence;
                And am right sorry that I must report ye
                My master's enemy.
                CYMBELINE Our subjects, sir,
                Will not endure his yoke; and for ourself
                To show less sovereignty than they, must needs
                Appear unkinglike.
                CAIUS LUCIUS So, sir: I desire of you
                A conduct over-land to Milford-Haven.
                Madam, all joy befal your grace!
                QUEEN And you!
                CYMBELINE My lords, you are appointed for that office;
                The due of honour in no point omit.
                So farewell, noble Lucius.
                CAIUS LUCIUS Your hand, my lord.
                CLOTEN Receive it friendly; but from this time forth
                I wear it as your enemy.
                CAIUS LUCIUS Sir, the event
                Is yet to name the winner: fare you well.
                CYMBELINE Leave not the worthy Lucius, good my lords,
                Till he have cross'd the Severn. Happiness!
                Exeunt LUCIUS and Lords
                QUEEN He goes hence frowning: but it honours us
                That we have given him cause.
                CLOTEN 'Tis all the better;
                Your valiant Britons have their wishes in it.
                CYMBELINE Lucius hath wrote already to the emperor
                How it goes here. It fits us therefore ripely
                Our chariots and our horsemen be in readiness:
                The powers that he already hath in Gallia
                Will soon be drawn to head, from whence he moves
                His war for Britain.
                QUEEN 'Tis not sleepy business;
                But must be look'd to speedily and strongly.
                CYMBELINE Our expectation that it would be thus
                Hath made us forward. But, my gentle queen,
                Where is our daughter? She hath not appear'd
                Before the Roman, nor to us hath tender'd
                The duty of the day: she looks us like
                A thing more made of malice than of duty:
                We have noted it. Call her before us; for
                We have been too slight in sufferance.
                Exit an Attendant
                QUEEN Royal sir,
                Since the exile of Posthumus, most retired
                Hath her life been; the cure whereof, my lord,
                'Tis time must do. Beseech your majesty,
                Forbear sharp speeches to her: she's a lady
                So tender of rebukes that words are strokes
                And strokes death to her.
                Re-enter Attendant
                CYMBELINE Where is she, sir? How
                Can her contempt be answer'd?
                Attendant Please you, sir,
                Her chambers are all lock'd; and there's no answer
                That will be given to the loudest noise we make.
                QUEEN My lord, when last I went to visit her,
                She pray'd me to excuse her keeping close,
                Whereto constrain'd by her infirmity,
                She should that duty leave unpaid to you,
                Which daily she was bound to proffer: this
                She wish'd me to make known; but our great court
                Made me to blame in memory.
                CYMBELINE Her doors lock'd?
                Not seen of late? Grant, heavens, that which I fear
                Prove false!
                Exit
                QUEEN Son, I say, follow the king.
                CLOTEN That man of hers, Pisanio, her old servant,
                have not seen these two days.
                QUEEN Go, look after.
                Exit CLOTEN
                Pisanio, thou that stand'st so for Posthumus!
                He hath a drug of mine; I pray his absence
                Proceed by swallowing that, for he believes
                It is a thing most precious. But for her,
                Where is she gone? Haply, despair hath seized her,
                Or, wing'd with fervor of her love, she's flown
                To her desired Posthumus: gone she is
                To death or to dishonour; and my end
                Can make good use of either: she being down,
                I have the placing of the British crown.
                Re-enter CLOTEN
                How now, my son!
                CLOTEN 'Tis certain she is fled.
                Go in and cheer the king: he rages; none
                Dare come about him.
                QUEEN [Aside] All the better: may
                This night forestall him of the coming day!
                Exit
                CLOTEN I love and hate her: for she's fair and royal,
                And that she hath all courtly parts more exquisite
                Than lady, ladies, woman; from every one
                The best she hath, and she, of all compounded,
                Outsells them all; I love her therefore: but
                Disdaining me and throwing favours on
                The low Posthumus slanders so her judgment
                That what's else rare is choked; and in that point
                I will conclude to hate her, nay, indeed,
                To be revenged upon her. For when fools Shall--
                Enter PISANIO
                Who is here? What, are you packing, sirrah?
                Come hither: ah, you precious pander! Villain,
                Where is thy lady? In a word; or else
                Thou art straightway with the fiends.
                PISANIO O, good my lord!
                CLOTEN Where is thy lady? Or, by Jupiter,--
                I will not ask again. Close villain,
                I'll have this secret from thy heart, or rip
                Thy heart to find it. Is she with Posthumus?
                From whose so many weights of baseness cannot
                A dram of worth be drawn.
                PISANIO Alas, my lord,
                How can she be with him? When was she missed?
                He is in Rome.
                CLOTEN Where is she, sir? Come nearer;
                No further halting: satisfy me home
                What is become of her.
                PISANIO O, my all-worthy lord!
                CLOTEN All-worthy villain!
                Discover where thy mistress is at once,
                At the next word: no more of 'worthy lord!'
                Speak, or thy silence on the instant is
                Thy condemnation and thy death.
                PISANIO Then, sir,
                This paper is the history of my knowledge
                Touching her flight.
                Presenting a letter
                CLOTEN Let's see't. I will pursue her
                Even to Augustus' throne.
                PISANIO [Aside] Or this, or perish.
                She's far enough; and what he learns by this
                May prove his travel, not her danger.
                CLOTEN Hum!
                PISANIO [Aside] I'll write to my lord she's dead. O Imogen,
                Safe mayst thou wander, safe return again!
                CLOTEN Sirrah, is this letter true?
                PISANIO Sir, as I think.
                CLOTEN It is Posthumus' hand; I know't. Sirrah, if thou
                wouldst not be a villain, but do me true service,
                undergo those employments wherein I should have
                cause to use thee with a serious industry, that is,
                what villany soe'er I bid thee do, to perform it
                directly and truly, I would think thee an honest
                man: thou shouldst neither want my means for thy
                relief nor my voice for thy preferment.
                PISANIO Well, my good lord.
                CLOTEN Wilt thou serve me? for since patiently and
                constantly thou hast stuck to the bare fortune of
                that beggar Posthumus, thou canst not, in the
                course of gratitude, but be a diligent follower of
                mine: wilt thou serve me?
                PISANIO Sir, I will.
                CLOTEN Give me thy hand; here's my purse. Hast any of thy
                late master's garments in thy possession?
                PISANIO I have, my lord, at my lodging, the same suit he
                wore when he took leave of my lady and mistress.
                CLOTEN The first service thou dost me, fetch that suit
                hither: let it be thy lint service; go.
                PISANIO I shall, my lord.
                Exit
                CLOTEN Meet thee at Milford-Haven!--I forgot to ask him one
                thing; I'll remember't anon:--even there, thou
                villain Posthumus, will I kill thee. I would these
                garments were come. She said upon a time--the
                bitterness of it I now belch from my heart--that she
                held the very garment of Posthumus in more respect
                than my noble and natural person together with the
                adornment of my qualities. With that suit upon my
                back, will I ravish her: first kill him, and in her
                eyes; there shall she see my valour, which will then
                be a torment to her contempt. He on the ground, my
                speech of insultment ended on his dead body, and
                when my lust hath dined,--which, as I say, to vex
                her I will execute in the clothes that she so
                praised,--to the court I'll knock her back, foot
                her home again. She hath despised me rejoicingly,
                and I'll be merry in my revenge.
                Re-enter PISANIO, with the clothes
                Be those the garments?
                PISANIO Ay, my noble lord.
                CLOTEN How long is't since she went to Milford-Haven?
                PISANIO She can scarce be there yet.
                CLOTEN Bring this apparel to my chamber; that is the second
                thing that I have commanded thee: the third is,
                that thou wilt be a voluntary mute to my design. Be
                but duteous, and true preferment shall tender itself
                to thee. My revenge is now at Milford: would I had
                wings to follow it! Come, and be true.
                Exit
                PISANIO Thou bid'st me to my loss: for true to thee
                Were to prove false, which I will never be,
                To him that is most true. To Milford go,
                And find not her whom thou pursuest. Flow, flow,
                You heavenly blessings, on her! This fool's speed
                Be cross'd with slowness; labour be his meed!
                Exit 
                SCENE VI. Wales. Before the cave of Belarius. 
                Enter IMOGEN, in boy's clothes IMOGEN I see a man's life is a tedious one:
                I have tired myself, and for two nights together
                Have made the ground my bed. I should be sick,
                But that my resolution helps me. Milford,
                When from the mountain-top Pisanio show'd thee,
                Thou wast within a ken: O Jove! I think
                Foundations fly the wretched; such, I mean,
                Where they should be relieved. Two beggars told me
                I could not miss my way: will poor folks lie,
                That have afflictions on them, knowing 'tis
                A punishment or trial? Yes; no wonder,
                When rich ones scarce tell true. To lapse in fulness
                Is sorer than to lie for need, and falsehood
                Is worse in kings than beggars. My dear lord!
                Thou art one o' the false ones. Now I think on thee,
                My hunger's gone; but even before, I was
                At point to sink for food. But what is this?
                Here is a path to't: 'tis some savage hold:
                I were best not to call; I dare not call:
                yet famine,
                Ere clean it o'erthrow nature, makes it valiant,
                Plenty and peace breeds cowards: hardness ever
                Of hardiness is mother. Ho! who's here?
                If any thing that's civil, speak; if savage,
                Take or lend. Ho! No answer? Then I'll enter.
                Best draw my sword: and if mine enemy
                But fear the sword like me, he'll scarcely look on't.
                Such a foe, good heavens!
                Exit, to the cave
                Enter BELARIUS, GUIDERIUS, and ARVIRAGUS
                BELARIUS You, Polydote, have proved best woodman and
                Are master of the feast: Cadwal and I
                Will play the cook and servant; 'tis our match:
                The sweat of industry would dry and die,
                But for the end it works to. Come; our stomachs
                Will make what's homely savoury: weariness
                Can snore upon the flint, when resty sloth
                Finds the down pillow hard. Now peace be here,
                Poor house, that keep'st thyself!
                GUIDERIUS I am thoroughly weary.
                ARVIRAGUS I am weak with toil, yet strong in appetite.
                GUIDERIUS There is cold meat i' the cave; we'll browse on that,
                Whilst what we have kill'd be cook'd.
                BELARIUS [Looking into the cave]
                Stay; come not in.
                But that it eats our victuals, I should think
                Here were a fairy.
                GUIDERIUS What's the matter, sir?
                BELARIUS By Jupiter, an angel! or, if not,
                An earthly paragon! Behold divineness
                No elder than a boy!
                Re-enter IMOGEN
                IMOGEN Good masters, harm me not:
                Before I enter'd here, I call'd; and thought
                To have begg'd or bought what I have took:
                good troth,
                I have stol'n nought, nor would not, though I had found
                Gold strew'd i' the floor. Here's money for my meat:
                I would have left it on the board so soon
                As I had made my meal, and parted
                With prayers for the provider.
                GUIDERIUS Money, youth?
                ARVIRAGUS All gold and silver rather turn to dirt!
                As 'tis no better reckon'd, but of those
                Who worship dirty gods.
                IMOGEN I see you're angry:
                Know, if you kill me for my fault, I should
                Have died had I not made it.
                BELARIUS Whither bound?
                IMOGEN To Milford-Haven.
                BELARIUS What's your name?
                IMOGEN Fidele, sir. I have a kinsman who
                Is bound for Italy; he embark'd at Milford;
                To whom being going, almost spent with hunger,
                I am fall'n in this offence.
                BELARIUS Prithee, fair youth,
                Think us no churls, nor measure our good minds
                By this rude place we live in. Well encounter'd!
                'Tis almost night: you shall have better cheer
                Ere you depart: and thanks to stay and eat it.
                Boys, bid him welcome.
                GUIDERIUS Were you a woman, youth,
                I should woo hard but be your groom. In honesty,
                I bid for you as I'd buy.
                ARVIRAGUS I'll make't my comfort
                He is a man; I'll love him as my brother:
                And such a welcome as I'd give to him
                After long absence, such is yours: most welcome!
                Be sprightly, for you fall 'mongst friends.
                IMOGEN 'Mongst friends,
                If brothers.
                Aside
                Would it had been so, that they
                Had been my father's sons! then had my prize
                Been less, and so more equal ballasting
                To thee, Posthumus.
                BELARIUS He wrings at some distress.
                GUIDERIUS Would I could free't!
                ARVIRAGUS Or I, whate'er it be,
                What pain it cost, what danger. God's!
                BELARIUS Hark, boys.
                Whispering
                IMOGEN Great men,
                That had a court no bigger than this cave,
                That did attend themselves and had the virtue
                Which their own conscience seal'd them--laying by
                That nothing-gift of differing multitudes--
                Could not out-peer these twain. Pardon me, gods!
                I'd change my sex to be companion with them,
                Since Leonatus's false.
                BELARIUS It shall be so.
                Boys, we'll go dress our hunt. Fair youth, come in:
                Discourse is heavy, fasting; when we have supp'd,
                We'll mannerly demand thee of thy story,
                So far as thou wilt speak it.
                GUIDERIUS Pray, draw near.
                ARVIRAGUS The night to the owl and morn to the lark
                less welcome.
                IMOGEN Thanks, sir.
                ARVIRAGUS I pray, draw near.
                Exeunt 
                SCENE VII. Rome. A public place. 
                Enter two Senators and Tribunes First Senator This is the tenor of the emperor's writ:
                That since the common men are now in action
                'Gainst the Pannonians and Dalmatians,
                And that the legions now in Gallia are
                Full weak to undertake our wars against
                The fall'n-off Britons, that we do incite
                The gentry to this business. He creates
                Lucius preconsul: and to you the tribunes,
                For this immediate levy, he commends
                His absolute commission. Long live Caesar!
                First Tribune Is Lucius general of the forces?
                Second Senator Ay.
                First Tribune Remaining now in Gallia?
                First Senator With those legions
                Which I have spoke of, whereunto your levy
                Must be supplyant: the words of your commission
                Will tie you to the numbers and the time
                Of their dispatch.
                First Tribune We will discharge our duty.
                Exeunt
                ACT IV SCENE I. Wales: near the cave of Belarius. 
                Enter CLOTEN CLOTEN I am near to the place where they should meet, if
                Pisanio have mapped it truly. How fit his garments
                serve me! Why should his mistress, who was made by
                him that made the tailor, not be fit too? the
                rather--saving reverence of the word--for 'tis said
                a woman's fitness comes by fits. Therein I must
                play the workman. I dare speak it to myself--for it
                is not vain-glory for a man and his glass to confer
                in his own chamber--I mean, the lines of my body are
                as well drawn as his; no less young, more strong,
                not beneath him in fortunes, beyond him in the
                advantage of the time, above him in birth, alike
                conversant in general services, and more remarkable
                in single oppositions: yet this imperceiverant
                thing loves him in my despite. What mortality is!
                Posthumus, thy head, which now is growing upon thy
                shoulders, shall within this hour be off; thy
                mistress enforced; thy garments cut to pieces before
                thy face: and all this done, spurn her home to her
                father; who may haply be a little angry for my so
                rough usage; but my mother, having power of his
                testiness, shall turn all into my commendations. My
                horse is tied up safe: out, sword, and to a sore
                purpose! Fortune, put them into my hand! This is
                the very description of their meeting-place; and
                the fellow dares not deceive me.
                Exit 
                SCENE II. Before the cave of Belarius. 
                Enter, from the cave, BELARIUS, GUIDERIUS, ARVIRAGUS, and IMOGEN BELARIUS [To IMOGEN] You are not well: remain here in the cave;
                We'll come to you after hunting.
                ARVIRAGUS [To IMOGEN] Brother, stay here
                Are we not brothers?
                IMOGEN So man and man should be;
                But clay and clay differs in dignity,
                Whose dust is both alike. I am very sick.
                GUIDERIUS Go you to hunting; I'll abide with him.
                IMOGEN So sick I am not, yet I am not well;
                But not so citizen a wanton as
                To seem to die ere sick: so please you, leave me;
                Stick to your journal course: the breach of custom
                Is breach of all. I am ill, but your being by me
                Cannot amend me; society is no comfort
                To one not sociable: I am not very sick,
                Since I can reason of it. Pray you, trust me here:
                I'll rob none but myself; and let me die,
                Stealing so poorly.
                GUIDERIUS I love thee; I have spoke it
                How much the quantity, the weight as much,
                As I do love my father.
                BELARIUS What! how! how!
                ARVIRAGUS If it be sin to say so, I yoke me
                In my good brother's fault: I know not why
                I love this youth; and I have heard you say,
                Love's reason's without reason: the bier at door,
                And a demand who is't shall die, I'd say
                'My father, not this youth.'
                BELARIUS [Aside] O noble strain!
                O worthiness of nature! breed of greatness!
                Cowards father cowards and base things sire base:
                Nature hath meal and bran, contempt and grace.
                I'm not their father; yet who this should be,
                Doth miracle itself, loved before me.
                'Tis the ninth hour o' the morn.
                ARVIRAGUS Brother, farewell.
                IMOGEN I wish ye sport.
                ARVIRAGUS You health. So please you, sir.
                IMOGEN [Aside] These are kind creatures. Gods, what lies
                I have heard!
                Our courtiers say all's savage but at court:
                Experience, O, thou disprovest report!
                The imperious seas breed monsters, for the dish
                Poor tributary rivers as sweet fish.
                I am sick still; heart-sick. Pisanio,
                I'll now taste of thy drug.
                Swallows some
                GUIDERIUS I could not stir him:
                He said he was gentle, but unfortunate;
                Dishonestly afflicted, but yet honest.
                ARVIRAGUS Thus did he answer me: yet said, hereafter
                I might know more.
                BELARIUS To the field, to the field!
                We'll leave you for this time: go in and rest.
                ARVIRAGUS We'll not be long away.
                BELARIUS Pray, be not sick,
                For you must be our housewife.
                IMOGEN Well or ill,
                I am bound to you.
                BELARIUS And shalt be ever.
                Exit IMOGEN, to the cave
                This youth, how'er distress'd, appears he hath had
                Good ancestors.
                ARVIRAGUS How angel-like he sings!
                GUIDERIUS But his neat cookery! he cut our roots
                In characters,
                And sauced our broths, as Juno had been sick
                And he her dieter.
                ARVIRAGUS Nobly he yokes
                A smiling with a sigh, as if the sigh
                Was that it was, for not being such a smile;
                The smile mocking the sigh, that it would fly
                From so divine a temple, to commix
                With winds that sailors rail at.
                GUIDERIUS I do note
                That grief and patience, rooted in him both,
                Mingle their spurs together.
                ARVIRAGUS Grow, patience!
                And let the stinking elder, grief, untwine
                His perishing root with the increasing vine!
                BELARIUS It is great morning. Come, away!--
                Who's there?
                Enter CLOTEN
                CLOTEN I cannot find those runagates; that villain
                Hath mock'd me. I am faint.
                BELARIUS 'Those runagates!'
                Means he not us? I partly know him: 'tis
                Cloten, the son o' the queen. I fear some ambush.
                I saw him not these many years, and yet
                I know 'tis he. We are held as outlaws: hence!
                GUIDERIUS He is but one: you and my brother search
                What companies are near: pray you, away;
                Let me alone with him.
                Exeunt BELARIUS and ARVIRAGUS
                CLOTEN Soft! What are you
                That fly me thus? some villain mountaineers?
                I have heard of such. What slave art thou?
                GUIDERIUS A thing
                More slavish did I ne'er than answering
                A slave without a knock.
                CLOTEN Thou art a robber,
                A law-breaker, a villain: yield thee, thief.
                GUIDERIUS To who? to thee? What art thou? Have not I
                An arm as big as thine? a heart as big?
                Thy words, I grant, are bigger, for I wear not
                My dagger in my mouth. Say what thou art,
                Why I should yield to thee?
                CLOTEN Thou villain base,
                Know'st me not by my clothes?
                GUIDERIUS No, nor thy tailor, rascal,
                Who is thy grandfather: he made those clothes,
                Which, as it seems, make thee.
                CLOTEN Thou precious varlet,
                My tailor made them not.
                GUIDERIUS Hence, then, and thank
                The man that gave them thee. Thou art some fool;
                I am loath to beat thee.
                CLOTEN Thou injurious thief,
                Hear but my name, and tremble.
                GUIDERIUS What's thy name?
                CLOTEN Cloten, thou villain.
                GUIDERIUS Cloten, thou double villain, be thy name,
                I cannot tremble at it: were it Toad, or
                Adder, Spider,
                'Twould move me sooner.
                CLOTEN To thy further fear,
                Nay, to thy mere confusion, thou shalt know
                I am son to the queen.
                GUIDERIUS I am sorry for 't; not seeming
                So worthy as thy birth.
                CLOTEN Art not afeard?
                GUIDERIUS Those that I reverence those I fear, the wise:
                At fools I laugh, not fear them.
                CLOTEN Die the death:
                When I have slain thee with my proper hand,
                I'll follow those that even now fled hence,
                And on the gates of Lud's-town set your heads:
                Yield, rustic mountaineer.
                Exeunt, fighting
                Re-enter BELARIUS and ARVIRAGUS
                BELARIUS No companies abroad?
                ARVIRAGUS None in the world: you did mistake him, sure.
                BELARIUS I cannot tell: long is it since I saw him,
                But time hath nothing blurr'd those lines of favour
                Which then he wore; the snatches in his voice,
                And burst of speaking, were as his: I am absolute
                'Twas very Cloten.
                ARVIRAGUS In this place we left them:
                I wish my brother make good time with him,
                You say he is so fell.
                BELARIUS Being scarce made up,
                I mean, to man, he had not apprehension
                Of roaring terrors; for the effect of judgment
                Is oft the cause of fear. But, see, thy brother.
                Re-enter GUIDERIUS, with CLOTEN'S head
                GUIDERIUS This Cloten was a fool, an empty purse;
                There was no money in't: not Hercules
                Could have knock'd out his brains, for he had none:
                Yet I not doing this, the fool had borne
                My head as I do his.
                BELARIUS What hast thou done?
                GUIDERIUS I am perfect what: cut off one Cloten's head,
                Son to the queen, after his own report;
                Who call'd me traitor, mountaineer, and swore
                With his own single hand he'ld take us in
                Displace our heads where--thank the gods!--they grow,
                And set them on Lud's-town.
                BELARIUS We are all undone.
                GUIDERIUS Why, worthy father, what have we to lose,
                But that he swore to take, our lives? The law
                Protects not us: then why should we be tender
                To let an arrogant piece of flesh threat us,
                Play judge and executioner all himself,
                For we do fear the law? What company
                Discover you abroad?
                BELARIUS No single soul
                Can we set eye on; but in all safe reason
                He must have some attendants. Though his humour
                Was nothing but mutation, ay, and that
                From one bad thing to worse; not frenzy, not
                Absolute madness could so far have raved
                To bring him here alone; although perhaps
                It may be heard at court that such as we
                Cave here, hunt here, are outlaws, and in time
                May make some stronger head; the which he hearing--
                As it is like him--might break out, and swear
                He'ld fetch us in; yet is't not probable
                To come alone, either he so undertaking,
                Or they so suffering: then on good ground we fear,
                If we do fear this body hath a tail
                More perilous than the head.
                ARVIRAGUS Let ordinance
                Come as the gods foresay it: howsoe'er,
                My brother hath done well.
                BELARIUS I had no mind
                To hunt this day: the boy Fidele's sickness
                Did make my way long forth.
                GUIDERIUS With his own sword,
                Which he did wave against my throat, I have ta'en
                His head from him: I'll throw't into the creek
                Behind our rock; and let it to the sea,
                And tell the fishes he's the queen's son, Cloten:
                That's all I reck.
                Exit
                BELARIUS I fear 'twill be revenged:
                Would, Polydote, thou hadst not done't! though valour
                Becomes thee well enough.
                ARVIRAGUS Would I had done't
                So the revenge alone pursued me! Polydore,
                I love thee brotherly, but envy much
                Thou hast robb'd me of this deed: I would revenges,
                That possible strength might meet, would seek us through
                And put us to our answer.
                BELARIUS Well, 'tis done:
                We'll hunt no more to-day, nor seek for danger
                Where there's no profit. I prithee, to our rock;
                You and Fidele play the cooks: I'll stay
                Till hasty Polydote return, and bring him
                To dinner presently.
                ARVIRAGUS Poor sick Fidele!
                I'll weringly to him: to gain his colour
                I'ld let a parish of such Clotens' blood,
                And praise myself for charity.
                Exit
                BELARIUS O thou goddess,
                Thou divine Nature, how thyself thou blazon'st
                In these two princely boys! They are as gentle
                As zephyrs blowing below the violet,
                Not wagging his sweet head; and yet as rough,
                Their royal blood enchafed, as the rudest wind,
                That by the top doth take the mountain pine,
                And make him stoop to the vale. 'Tis wonder
                That an invisible instinct should frame them
                To royalty unlearn'd, honour untaught,
                Civility not seen from other, valour
                That wildly grows in them, but yields a crop
                As if it had been sow'd. Yet still it's strange
                What Cloten's being here to us portends,
                Or what his death will bring us.
                Re-enter GUIDERIUS
                GUIDERIUS Where's my brother?
                I have sent Cloten's clotpoll down the stream,
                In embassy to his mother: his body's hostage
                For his return.
                Solemn music
                BELARIUS My ingenious instrument!
                Hark, Polydore, it sounds! But what occasion
                Hath Cadwal now to give it motion? Hark!
                GUIDERIUS Is he at home?
                BELARIUS He went hence even now.
                GUIDERIUS What does he mean? since death of my dear'st mother
                it did not speak before. All solemn things
                Should answer solemn accidents. The matter?
                Triumphs for nothing and lamenting toys
                Is jollity for apes and grief for boys.
                Is Cadwal mad?
                BELARIUS Look, here he comes,
                And brings the dire occasion in his arms
                Of what we blame him for.
                Re-enter ARVIRAGUS, with IMOGEN, as dead, bearing her in his arms
                ARVIRAGUS The bird is dead
                That we have made so much on. I had rather
                Have skipp'd from sixteen years of age to sixty,
                To have turn'd my leaping-time into a crutch,
                Than have seen this.
                GUIDERIUS O sweetest, fairest lily!
                My brother wears thee not the one half so well
                As when thou grew'st thyself.
                BELARIUS O melancholy!
                Who ever yet could sound thy bottom? find
                The ooze, to show what coast thy sluggish crare
                Might easiliest harbour in? Thou blessed thing!
                Jove knows what man thou mightst have made; but I,
                Thou diedst, a most rare boy, of melancholy.
                How found you him?
                ARVIRAGUS Stark, as you see:
                Thus smiling, as some fly hid tickled slumber,
                Not as death's dart, being laugh'd at; his
                right cheek
                Reposing on a cushion.
                GUIDERIUS Where?
                ARVIRAGUS O' the floor;
                His arms thus leagued: I thought he slept, and put
                My clouted brogues from off my feet, whose rudeness
                Answer'd my steps too loud.
                GUIDERIUS Why, he but sleeps:
                If he be gone, he'll make his grave a bed;
                With female fairies will his tomb be haunted,
                And worms will not come to thee.
                ARVIRAGUS With fairest flowers
                Whilst summer lasts and I live here, Fidele,
                I'll sweeten thy sad grave: thou shalt not lack
                The flower that's like thy face, pale primrose, nor
                The azured harebell, like thy veins, no, nor
                The leaf of eglantine, whom not to slander,
                Out-sweeten'd not thy breath: the ruddock would,
                With charitable bill,--O bill, sore-shaming
                Those rich-left heirs that let their fathers lie
                Without a monument!--bring thee all this;
                Yea, and furr'd moss besides, when flowers are none,
                To winter-ground thy corse.
                GUIDERIUS Prithee, have done;
                And do not play in wench-like words with that
                Which is so serious. Let us bury him,
                And not protract with admiration what
                Is now due debt. To the grave!
                ARVIRAGUS Say, where shall's lay him?
                GUIDERIUS By good Euriphile, our mother.
                ARVIRAGUS Be't so:
                And let us, Polydore, though now our voices
                Have got the mannish crack, sing him to the ground,
                As once our mother; use like note and words,
                Save that Euriphile must be Fidele.
                GUIDERIUS Cadwal,
                I cannot sing: I'll weep, and word it with thee;
                For notes of sorrow out of tune are worse
                Than priests and fanes that lie.
                ARVIRAGUS We'll speak it, then.
                BELARIUS Great griefs, I see, medicine the less; for Cloten
                Is quite forgot. He was a queen's son, boys;
                And though he came our enemy, remember
                He was paid for that: though mean and
                mighty, rotting
                Together, have one dust, yet reverence,
                That angel of the world, doth make distinction
                Of place 'tween high and low. Our foe was princely
                And though you took his life, as being our foe,
                Yet bury him as a prince.
                GUIDERIUS Pray You, fetch him hither.
                Thersites' body is as good as Ajax',
                When neither are alive.
                ARVIRAGUS If you'll go fetch him,
                We'll say our song the whilst. Brother, begin.
                Exit BELARIUS
                GUIDERIUS Nay, Cadwal, we must lay his head to the east;
                My father hath a reason for't.
                ARVIRAGUS 'Tis true.
                GUIDERIUS Come on then, and remove him.
                ARVIRAGUS So. Begin.
                SONG
                GUIDERIUS Fear no more the heat o' the sun,
                Nor the furious winter's rages;
                Thou thy worldly task hast done,
                Home art gone, and ta'en thy wages:
                Golden lads and girls all must,
                As chimney-sweepers, come to dust.
                ARVIRAGUS Fear no more the frown o' the great;
                Thou art past the tyrant's stroke;
                Care no more to clothe and eat;
                To thee the reed is as the oak:
                The sceptre, learning, physic, must
                All follow this, and come to dust.
                GUIDERIUS Fear no more the lightning flash,
                ARVIRAGUS Nor the all-dreaded thunder-stone;
                GUIDERIUS Fear not slander, censure rash;
                ARVIRAGUS Thou hast finish'd joy and moan:
                GUIDERIUSARVIRAGUS All lovers young, all lovers must
                Consign to thee, and come to dust.
                GUIDERIUS No exorciser harm thee!
                ARVIRAGUS Nor no witchcraft charm thee!
                GUIDERIUS Ghost unlaid forbear thee!
                ARVIRAGUS Nothing ill come near thee!
                GUIDERIUSARVIRAGUS Quiet consummation have;
                And renowned be thy grave!
                Re-enter BELARIUS, with the body of CLOTEN
                GUIDERIUS We have done our obsequies: come, lay him down.
                BELARIUS Here's a few flowers; but 'bout midnight, more:
                The herbs that have on them cold dew o' the night
                Are strewings fitt'st for graves. Upon their faces.
                You were as flowers, now wither'd: even so
                These herblets shall, which we upon you strew.
                Come on, away: apart upon our knees.
                The ground that gave them first has them again:
                Their pleasures here are past, so is their pain.
                Exeunt BELARIUS, GUIDERIUS, and ARVIRAGUS
                IMOGEN [Awaking] Yes, sir, to Milford-Haven; which is
                the way?--
                I thank you.--By yond bush?--Pray, how far thither?
                'Ods pittikins! can it be six mile yet?--
                I have gone all night. 'Faith, I'll lie down and sleep.
                But, soft! no bedfellow!--O god s and goddesses!
                Seeing the body of CLOTEN
                These flowers are like the pleasures of the world;
                This bloody man, the care on't. I hope I dream;
                For so I thought I was a cave-keeper,
                And cook to honest creatures: but 'tis not so;
                'Twas but a bolt of nothing, shot at nothing,
                Which the brain makes of fumes: our very eyes
                Are sometimes like our judgments, blind. Good faith,
                I tremble stiff with fear: but if there be
                Yet left in heaven as small a drop of pity
                As a wren's eye, fear'd gods, a part of it!
                The dream's here still: even when I wake, it is
                Without me, as within me; not imagined, felt.
                A headless man! The garments of Posthumus!
                I know the shape of's leg: this is his hand;
                His foot Mercurial; his Martial thigh;
                The brawns of Hercules: but his Jovial face
                Murder in heaven?--How!--'Tis gone. Pisanio,
                All curses madded Hecuba gave the Greeks,
                And mine to boot, be darted on thee! Thou,
                Conspired with that irregulous devil, Cloten,
                Hast here cut off my lord. To write and read
                Be henceforth treacherous! Damn'd Pisanio
                Hath with his forged letters,--damn'd Pisanio--
                From this most bravest vessel of the world
                Struck the main-top! O Posthumus! alas,
                Where is thy head? where's that? Ay me!
                where's that?
                Pisanio might have kill'd thee at the heart,
                And left this head on. How should this be? Pisanio?
                'Tis he and Cloten: malice and lucre in them
                Have laid this woe here. O, 'tis pregnant, pregnant!
                The drug he gave me, which he said was precious
                And cordial to me, have I not found it
                Murderous to the senses? That confirms it home:
                This is Pisanio's deed, and Cloten's: O!
                Give colour to my pale cheek with thy blood,
                That we the horrider may seem to those
                Which chance to find us: O, my lord, my lord!
                Falls on the body
                Enter LUCIUS, a Captain and other Officers, and a Soothsayer
                Captain To them the legions garrison'd in Gailia,
                After your will, have cross'd the sea, attending
                You here at Milford-Haven with your ships:
                They are in readiness.
                CAIUS LUCIUS But what from Rome?
                Captain The senate hath stirr'd up the confiners
                And gentlemen of Italy, most willing spirits,
                That promise noble service: and they come
                Under the conduct of bold Iachimo,
                Syenna's brother.
                CAIUS LUCIUS When expect you them?
                Captain With the next benefit o' the wind.
                CAIUS LUCIUS This forwardness
                Makes our hopes fair. Command our present numbers
                Be muster'd; bid the captains look to't. Now, sir,
                What have you dream'd of late of this war's purpose?
                Soothsayer Last night the very gods show'd me a vision--
                I fast and pray'd for their intelligence--thus:
                I saw Jove's bird, the Roman eagle, wing'd
                From the spongy south to this part of the west,
                There vanish'd in the sunbeams: which portends--
                Unless my sins abuse my divination--
                Success to the Roman host.
                CAIUS LUCIUS Dream often so,
                And never false. Soft, ho! what trunk is here
                Without his top? The ruin speaks that sometime
                It was a worthy building. How! a page!
                Or dead, or sleeping on him? But dead rather;
                For nature doth abhor to make his bed
                With the defunct, or sleep upon the dead.
                Let's see the boy's face.
                Captain He's alive, my lord.
                CAIUS LUCIUS He'll then instruct us of this body. Young one,
                Inform us of thy fortunes, for it seems
                They crave to be demanded. Who is this
                Thou makest thy bloody pillow? Or who was he
                That, otherwise than noble nature did,
                Hath alter'd that good picture? What's thy interest
                In this sad wreck? How came it? Who is it?
                What art thou?
                IMOGEN I am nothing: or if not,
                Nothing to be were better. This was my master,
                A very valiant Briton and a good,
                That here by mountaineers lies slain. Alas!
                There is no more such masters: I may wander
                From east to occident, cry out for service,
                Try many, all good, serve truly, never
                Find such another master.
                CAIUS LUCIUS 'Lack, good youth!
                Thou movest no less with thy complaining than
                Thy master in bleeding: say his name, good friend.
                IMOGEN Richard du Champ.
                Aside
                If I do lie and do
                No harm by it, though the gods hear, I hope
                They'll pardon it.--Say you, sir?
                CAIUS LUCIUS Thy name?
                IMOGEN Fidele, sir.
                CAIUS LUCIUS Thou dost approve thyself the very same:
                Thy name well fits thy faith, thy faith thy name.
                Wilt take thy chance with me? I will not say
                Thou shalt be so well master'd, but, be sure,
                No less beloved. The Roman emperor's letters,
                Sent by a consul to me, should not sooner
                Than thine own worth prefer thee: go with me.
                IMOGEN I'll follow, sir. But first, an't please the gods,
                I'll hide my master from the flies, as deep
                As these poor pickaxes can dig; and when
                With wild wood-leaves and weeds I ha' strew'd his grave,
                And on it said a century of prayers,
                Such as I can, twice o'er, I'll weep and sigh;
                And leaving so his service, follow you,
                So please you entertain me.
                CAIUS LUCIUS Ay, good youth!
                And rather father thee than master thee.
                My friends,
                The boy hath taught us manly duties: let us
                Find out the prettiest daisied plot we can,
                And make him with our pikes and partisans
                A grave: come, arm him. Boy, he is preferr'd
                By thee to us, and he shall be interr'd
                As soldiers can. Be cheerful; wipe thine eyes
                Some falls are means the happier to arise.
                Exeunt 
                SCENE III. A room in Cymbeline's palace. 
                Enter CYMBELINE, Lords, PISANIO, and Attendants CYMBELINE Again; and bring me word how 'tis with her.
                Exit an Attendant
                A fever with the absence of her son,
                A madness, of which her life's in danger. Heavens,
                How deeply you at once do touch me! Imogen,
                The great part of my comfort, gone; my queen
                Upon a desperate bed, and in a time
                When fearful wars point at me; her son gone,
                So needful for this present: it strikes me, past
                The hope of comfort. But for thee, fellow,
                Who needs must know of her departure and
                Dost seem so ignorant, we'll enforce it from thee
                By a sharp torture.
                PISANIO Sir, my life is yours;
                I humbly set it at your will; but, for my mistress,
                I nothing know where she remains, why gone,
                Nor when she purposes return. Beseech your highness,
                Hold me your loyal servant.
                First Lord Good my liege,
                The day that she was missing he was here:
                I dare be bound he's true and shall perform
                All parts of his subjection loyally. For Cloten,
                There wants no diligence in seeking him,
                And will, no doubt, be found.
                CYMBELINE The time is troublesome.
                To PISANIO
                We'll slip you for a season; but our jealousy
                Does yet depend.
                First Lord So please your majesty,
                The Roman legions, all from Gallia drawn,
                Are landed on your coast, with a supply
                Of Roman gentlemen, by the senate sent.
                CYMBELINE Now for the counsel of my son and queen!
                I am amazed with matter.
                First Lord Good my liege,
                Your preparation can affront no less
                Than what you hear of: come more, for more
                you're ready:
                The want is but to put those powers in motion
                That long to move.
                CYMBELINE I thank you. Let's withdraw;
                And meet the time as it seeks us. We fear not
                What can from Italy annoy us; but
                We grieve at chances here. Away!
                Exeunt all but PISANIO
                PISANIO I heard no letter from my master since
                I wrote him Imogen was slain: 'tis strange:
                Nor hear I from my mistress who did promise
                To yield me often tidings: neither know I
                What is betid to Cloten; but remain
                Perplex'd in all. The heavens still must work.
                Wherein I am false I am honest; not true, to be true.
                These present wars shall find I love my country,
                Even to the note o' the king, or I'll fall in them.
                All other doubts, by time let them be clear'd:
                Fortune brings in some boats that are not steer'd.
                Exit 
                SCENE IV. Wales: before the cave of Belarius. 
                Enter BELARIUS, GUIDERIUS, and ARVIRAGUS. GUIDERIUS The noise is round about us.
                BELARIUS Let us from it.
                ARVIRAGUS What pleasure, sir, find we in life, to lock it
                From action and adventure?
                GUIDERIUS Nay, what hope
                Have we in hiding us? This way, the Romans
                Must or for Britons slay us, or receive us
                For barbarous and unnatural revolts
                During their use, and slay us after.
                BELARIUS Sons,
                We'll higher to the mountains; there secure us.
                To the king's party there's no going: newness
                Of Cloten's death--we being not known, not muster'd
                Among the bands--may drive us to a render
                Where we have lived, and so extort from's that
                Which we have done, whose answer would be death
                Drawn on with torture.
                GUIDERIUS This is, sir, a doubt
                In such a time nothing becoming you,
                Nor satisfying us.
                ARVIRAGUS It is not likely
                That when they hear the Roman horses neigh,
                Behold their quarter'd fires, have both their eyes
                And ears so cloy'd importantly as now,
                That they will waste their time upon our note,
                To know from whence we are.
                BELARIUS O, I am known
                Of many in the army: many years,
                Though Cloten then but young, you see, not wore him
                From my remembrance. And, besides, the king
                Hath not deserved my service nor your loves;
                Who find in my exile the want of breeding,
                The certainty of this hard life; aye hopeless
                To have the courtesy your cradle promised,
                But to be still hot summer's tamings and
                The shrinking slaves of winter.
                GUIDERIUS Than be so
                Better to cease to be. Pray, sir, to the army:
                I and my brother are not known; yourself
                So out of thought, and thereto so o'ergrown,
                Cannot be question'd.
                ARVIRAGUS By this sun that shines,
                I'll thither: what thing is it that I never
                Did see man die! scarce ever look'd on blood,
                But that of coward hares, hot goats, and venison!
                Never bestrid a horse, save one that had
                A rider like myself, who ne'er wore rowel
                Nor iron on his heel! I am ashamed
                To look upon the holy sun, to have
                The benefit of his blest beams, remaining
                So long a poor unknown.
                GUIDERIUS By heavens, I'll go:
                If you will bless me, sir, and give me leave,
                I'll take the better care, but if you will not,
                The hazard therefore due fall on me by
                The hands of Romans!
                ARVIRAGUS So say I amen.
                BELARIUS No reason I, since of your lives you set
                So slight a valuation, should reserve
                My crack'd one to more care. Have with you, boys!
                If in your country wars you chance to die,
                That is my bed too, lads, an there I'll lie:
                Lead, lead.
                Aside
                The time seems long; their blood
                thinks scorn,
                Till it fly out and show them princes born.
                Exeunt
                ACT V SCENE I. Britain. The Roman camp. 
                Enter POSTHUMUS, with a bloody handkerchief POSTHUMUS LEONATUS Yea, bloody cloth, I'll keep thee, for I wish'd
                Thou shouldst be colour'd thus. You married ones,
                If each of you should take this course, how many
                Must murder wives much better than themselves
                For wrying but a little! O Pisanio!
                Every good servant does not all commands:
                No bond but to do just ones. Gods! if you
                Should have ta'en vengeance on my faults, I never
                Had lived to put on this: so had you saved
                The noble Imogen to repent, and struck
                Me, wretch more worth your vengeance. But, alack,
                You snatch some hence for little faults; that's love,
                To have them fall no more: you some permit
                To second ills with ills, each elder worse,
                And make them dread it, to the doers' thrift.
                But Imogen is your own: do your best wills,
                And make me blest to obey! I am brought hither
                Among the Italian gentry, and to fight
                Against my lady's kingdom: 'tis enough
                That, Britain, I have kill'd thy mistress; peace!
                I'll give no wound to thee. Therefore, good heavens,
                Hear patiently my purpose: I'll disrobe me
                Of these Italian weeds and suit myself
                As does a Briton peasant: so I'll fight
                Against the part I come with; so I'll die
                For thee, O Imogen, even for whom my life
                Is every breath a death; and thus, unknown,
                Pitied nor hated, to the face of peril
                Myself I'll dedicate. Let me make men know
                More valour in me than my habits show.
                Gods, put the strength o' the Leonati in me!
                To shame the guise o' the world, I will begin
                The fashion, less without and more within.
                Exit 
                SCENE II. Field of battle between the British and Roman camps. 
                Enter, from one side, LUCIUS, IACHIMO, and the Roman Army: from the other side, the British Army; POSTHUMUS LEONATUS following, like a poor soldier. They march over and go out. Then enter again, in skirmish, IACHIMO and POSTHUMUS LEONATUS he vanquisheth and disarmeth IACHIMO, and then leaves him IACHIMO The heaviness and guilt within my bosom
                Takes off my manhood: I have belied a lady,
                The princess of this country, and the air on't
                Revengingly enfeebles me; or could this carl,
                A very drudge of nature's, have subdued me
                In my profession? Knighthoods and honours, borne
                As I wear mine, are titles but of scorn.
                If that thy gentry, Britain, go before
                This lout as he exceeds our lords, the odds
                Is that we scarce are men and you are gods.
                Exit
                The battle continues; the Britons fly; CYMBELINE is taken: then enter, to his rescue, BELARIUS, GUIDERIUS, and ARVIRAGUS
                BELARIUS Stand, stand! We have the advantage of the ground;
                The lane is guarded: nothing routs us but
                The villany of our fears.
                GUIDERIUSARVIRAGUS Stand, stand, and fight!
                Re-enter POSTHUMUS LEONATUS, and seconds the Britons: they rescue CYMBELINE, and exeunt. Then re-enter LUCIUS, and IACHIMO, with IMOGEN
                CAIUS LUCIUS Away, boy, from the troops, and save thyself;
                For friends kill friends, and the disorder's such
                As war were hoodwink'd.
                IACHIMO 'Tis their fresh supplies.
                CAIUS LUCIUS It is a day turn'd strangely: or betimes
                Let's reinforce, or fly.
                Exeunt 
                SCENE III. Another part of the field. 
                Enter POSTHUMUS LEONATUS and a British Lord Lord Camest thou from where they made the stand?
                POSTHUMUS LEONATUS I did.
                Though you, it seems, come from the fliers.
                Lord I did.
                POSTHUMUS LEONATUS No blame be to you, sir; for all was lost,
                But that the heavens fought: the king himself
                Of his wings destitute, the army broken,
                And but the backs of Britons seen, all flying
                Through a straight lane; the enemy full-hearted,
                Lolling the tongue with slaughtering, having work
                More plentiful than tools to do't, struck down
                Some mortally, some slightly touch'd, some falling
                Merely through fear; that the straight pass was damm'd
                With dead men hurt behind, and cowards living
                To die with lengthen'd shame.
                Lord Where was this lane?
                POSTHUMUS LEONATUS Close by the battle, ditch'd, and wall'd with turf;
                Which gave advantage to an ancient soldier,
                An honest one, I warrant; who deserved
                So long a breeding as his white beard came to,
                In doing this for's country: athwart the lane,
                He, with two striplings-lads more like to run
                The country base than to commit such slaughter
                With faces fit for masks, or rather fairer
                Than those for preservation cased, or shame--
                Made good the passage; cried to those that fled,
                'Our Britain s harts die flying, not our men:
                To darkness fleet souls that fly backwards. Stand;
                Or we are Romans and will give you that
                Like beasts which you shun beastly, and may save,
                But to look back in frown: stand, stand.'
                These three,
                Three thousand confident, in act as many--
                For three performers are the file when all
                The rest do nothing--with this word 'Stand, stand,'
                Accommodated by the place, more charming
                With their own nobleness, which could have turn'd
                A distaff to a lance, gilded pale looks,
                Part shame, part spirit renew'd; that some,
                turn'd coward
                But by example--O, a sin in war,
                Damn'd in the first beginners!--gan to look
                The way that they did, and to grin like lions
                Upon the pikes o' the hunters. Then began
                A stop i' the chaser, a retire, anon
                A rout, confusion thick; forthwith they fly
                Chickens, the way which they stoop'd eagles; slaves,
                The strides they victors made: and now our cowards,
                Like fragments in hard voyages, became
                The life o' the need: having found the backdoor open
                Of the unguarded hearts, heavens, how they wound!
                Some slain before; some dying; some their friends
                O'er borne i' the former wave: ten, chased by one,
                Are now each one the slaughter-man of twenty:
                Those that would die or ere resist are grown
                The mortal bugs o' the field.
                Lord This was strange chance
                A narrow lane, an old man, and two boys.
                POSTHUMUS LEONATUS Nay, do not wonder at it: you are made
                Rather to wonder at the things you hear
                Than to work any. Will you rhyme upon't,
                And vent it for a mockery? Here is one:
                'Two boys, an old man twice a boy, a lane,
                Preserved the Britons, was the Romans' bane.'
                Lord Nay, be not angry, sir.
                POSTHUMUS LEONATUS 'Lack, to what end?
                Who dares not stand his foe, I'll be his friend;
                For if he'll do as he is made to do,
                I know he'll quickly fly my friendship too.
                You have put me into rhyme.
                Lord Farewell; you're angry.
                POSTHUMUS LEONATUS Still going?
                Exit Lord
                This is a lord! O noble misery,
                To be i' the field, and ask 'what news?' of me!
                To-day how many would have given their honours
                To have saved their carcasses! took heel to do't,
                And yet died too! I, in mine own woe charm'd,
                Could not find death where I did hear him groan,
                Nor feel him where he struck: being an ugly monster,
                'Tis strange he hides him in fresh cups, soft beds,
                Sweet words; or hath more ministers than we
                That draw his knives i' the war. Well, I will find him
                For being now a favourer to the Briton,
                No more a Briton, I have resumed again
                The part I came in: fight I will no more,
                But yield me to the veriest hind that shall
                Once touch my shoulder. Great the slaughter is
                Here made by the Roman; great the answer be
                Britons must take. For me, my ransom's death;
                On either side I come to spend my breath;
                Which neither here I'll keep nor bear again,
                But end it by some means for Imogen.
                Enter two British Captains and Soldiers
                First Captain Great Jupiter be praised! Lucius is taken.
                'Tis thought the old man and his sons were angels.
                Second Captain There was a fourth man, in a silly habit,
                That gave the affront with them.
                First Captain So 'tis reported:
                But none of 'em can be found. Stand! who's there?
                POSTHUMUS LEONATUS A Roman,
                Who had not now been drooping here, if seconds
                Had answer'd him.
                Second Captain Lay hands on him; a dog!
                A leg of Rome shall not return to tell
                What crows have peck'd them here. He brags
                his service
                As if he were of note: bring him to the king.
                Enter CYMBELINE, BELARIUS, GUIDERIUS, ARVIRAGUS, PISANIO, Soldiers, Attendants, and Roman Captives. The Captains present POSTHUMUS LEONATUS to CYMBELINE, who delivers him over to a Gaoler: then exeunt omnes 
                SCENE IV. A British prison. 
                Enter POSTHUMUS LEONATUS and two Gaolers First Gaoler You shall not now be stol'n, you have locks upon you;
                So graze as you find pasture.
                Second Gaoler Ay, or a stomach.
                Exeunt Gaolers
                POSTHUMUS LEONATUS Most welcome, bondage! for thou art away,
                think, to liberty: yet am I better
                Than one that's sick o' the gout; since he had rather
                Groan so in perpetuity than be cured
                By the sure physician, death, who is the key
                To unbar these locks. My conscience, thou art fetter'd
                More than my shanks and wrists: you good gods, give me
                The penitent instrument to pick that bolt,
                Then, free for ever! Is't enough I am sorry?
                So children temporal fathers do appease;
                Gods are more full of mercy. Must I repent?
                I cannot do it better than in gyves,
                Desired more than constrain'd: to satisfy,
                If of my freedom 'tis the main part, take
                No stricter render of me than my all.
                I know you are more clement than vile men,
                Who of their broken debtors take a third,
                A sixth, a tenth, letting them thrive again
                On their abatement: that's not my desire:
                For Imogen's dear life take mine; and though
                'Tis not so dear, yet 'tis a life; you coin'd it:
                'Tween man and man they weigh not every stamp;
                Though light, take pieces for the figure's sake:
                You rather mine, being yours: and so, great powers,
                If you will take this audit, take this life,
                And cancel these cold bonds. O Imogen!
                I'll speak to thee in silence.
                Sleeps
                Solemn music. Enter, as in an apparition, SICILIUS LEONATUS, father to Posthumus Leonatus, an old man, attired like a warrior; leading in his hand an ancient matron, his wife, and mother to Posthumus Leonatus, with music before them: then, after other music, follow the two young Leonati, brothers to Posthumus Leonatus, with wounds as they died in the wars. They circle Posthumus Leonatus round, as he lies sleeping
                Sicilius Leonatus No more, thou thunder-master, show
                Thy spite on mortal flies:
                With Mars fall out, with Juno chide,
                That thy adulteries
                Rates and revenges.
                Hath my poor boy done aught but well,
                Whose face I never saw?
                I died whilst in the womb he stay'd
                Attending nature's law:
                Whose father then, as men report
                Thou orphans' father art,
                Thou shouldst have been, and shielded him
                From this earth-vexing smart.
                Mother Lucina lent not me her aid,
                But took me in my throes;
                That from me was Posthumus ript,
                Came crying 'mongst his foes,
                A thing of pity!
                Sicilius Leonatus Great nature, like his ancestry,
                Moulded the stuff so fair,
                That he deserved the praise o' the world,
                As great Sicilius' heir.
                First Brother When once he was mature for man,
                In Britain where was he
                That could stand up his parallel;
                Or fruitful object be
                In eye of Imogen, that best
                Could deem his dignity?
                Mother With marriage wherefore was he mock'd,
                To be exiled, and thrown
                From Leonati seat, and cast
                From her his dearest one,
                Sweet Imogen?
                Sicilius Leonatus Why did you suffer Iachimo,
                Slight thing of Italy,
                To taint his nobler heart and brain
                With needless jealosy;
                And to become the geck and scorn
                O' th' other's villany?
                Second Brother For this from stiller seats we came,
                Our parents and us twain,
                That striking in our country's cause
                Fell bravely and were slain,
                Our fealty and Tenantius' right
                With honour to maintain.
                First Brother Like hardiment Posthumus hath
                To Cymbeline perform'd:
                Then, Jupiter, thou king of gods,
                Why hast thou thus adjourn'd
                The graces for his merits due,
                Being all to dolours turn'd?
                Sicilius Leonatus Thy crystal window ope; look out;
                No longer exercise
                Upon a valiant race thy harsh
                And potent injuries.
                Mother Since, Jupiter, our son is good,
                Take off his miseries.
                Sicilius Leonatus Peep through thy marble mansion; help;
                Or we poor ghosts will cry
                To the shining synod of the rest
                Against thy deity.
                First BrotherSecond Brother Help, Jupiter; or we appeal,
                And from thy justice fly.
                Jupiter descends in thunder and lightning, sitting upon an eagle: he throws a thunderbolt. The Apparitions fall on their knees
                Jupiter No more, you petty spirits of region low,
                Offend our hearing; hush! How dare you ghosts
                Accuse the thunderer, whose bolt, you know,
                Sky-planted batters all rebelling coasts?
                Poor shadows of Elysium, hence, and rest
                Upon your never-withering banks of flowers:
                Be not with mortal accidents opprest;
                No care of yours it is; you know 'tis ours.
                Whom best I love I cross; to make my gift,
                The more delay'd, delighted. Be content;
                Your low-laid son our godhead will uplift:
                His comforts thrive, his trials well are spent.
                Our Jovial star reign'd at his birth, and in
                Our temple was he married. Rise, and fade.
                He shall be lord of lady Imogen,
                And happier much by his affliction made.
                This tablet lay upon his breast, wherein
                Our pleasure his full fortune doth confine:
                and so, away: no further with your din
                Express impatience, lest you stir up mine.
                Mount, eagle, to my palace crystalline.
                Ascends
                Sicilius Leonatus He came in thunder; his celestial breath
                Was sulphurous to smell: the holy eagle
                Stoop'd as to foot us: his ascension is
                More sweet than our blest fields: his royal bird
                Prunes the immortal wing and cloys his beak,
                As when his god is pleased.
                All Thanks, Jupiter!
                Sicilius Leonatus The marble pavement closes, he is enter'd
                His radiant root. Away! and, to be blest,
                Let us with care perform his great behest.
                The Apparitions vanish
                Posthumus Leonatus [Waking] Sleep, thou hast been a grandsire, and begot
                A father to me; and thou hast created
                A mother and two brothers: but, O scorn!
                Gone! they went hence so soon as they were born:
                And so I am awake. Poor wretches that depend
                On greatness' favour dream as I have done,
                Wake and find nothing. But, alas, I swerve:
                Many dream not to find, neither deserve,
                And yet are steep'd in favours: so am I,
                That have this golden chance and know not why.
                What fairies haunt this ground? A book? O rare one!
                Be not, as is our fangled world, a garment
                Nobler than that it covers: let thy effects
                So follow, to be most unlike our courtiers,
                As good as promise.
                Reads
                'When as a lion's whelp shall, to himself unknown,
                without seeking find, and be embraced by a piece of
                tender air; and when from a stately cedar shall be
                lopped branches, which, being dead many years,
                shall after revive, be jointed to the old stock and
                freshly grow; then shall Posthumus end his miseries,
                Britain be fortunate and flourish in peace and plenty.'
                'Tis still a dream, or else such stuff as madmen
                Tongue and brain not; either both or nothing;
                Or senseless speaking or a speaking such
                As sense cannot untie. Be what it is,
                The action of my life is like it, which
                I'll keep, if but for sympathy.
                Re-enter First Gaoler
                First Gaoler Come, sir, are you ready for death?
                POSTHUMUS LEONATUS Over-roasted rather; ready long ago.
                First Gaoler Hanging is the word, sir: if
                you be ready for that, you are well cooked.
                POSTHUMUS LEONATUS So, if I prove a good repast to the
                spectators, the dish pays the shot.
                First Gaoler A heavy reckoning for you, sir. But the comfort is,
                you shall be called to no more payments, fear no
                more tavern-bills; which are often the sadness of
                parting, as the procuring of mirth: you come in
                flint for want of meat, depart reeling with too
                much drink; sorry that you have paid too much, and
                sorry that you are paid too much; purse and brain
                both empty; the brain the heavier for being too
                light, the purse too light, being drawn of
                heaviness: of this contradiction you shall now be
                quit. O, the charity of a penny cord! It sums up
                thousands in a trice: you have no true debitor and
                creditor but it; of what's past, is, and to come,
                the discharge: your neck, sir, is pen, book and
                counters; so the acquittance follows.
                POSTHUMUS LEONATUS I am merrier to die than thou art to live.
                First Gaoler Indeed, sir, he that sleeps feels not the
                tooth-ache: but a man that were to sleep your
                sleep, and a hangman to help him to bed, I think he
                would change places with his officer; for, look you,
                sir, you know not which way you shall go.
                POSTHUMUS LEONATUS Yes, indeed do I, fellow.
                First Gaoler Your death has eyes in 's head then; I have not seen
                him so pictured: you must either be directed by
                some that take upon them to know, or do take upon
                yourself that which I am sure you do not know, or
                jump the after inquiry on your own peril: and how
                you shall speed in your journey's end, I think you'll
                never return to tell one.
                POSTHUMUS LEONATUS I tell thee, fellow, there are none want eyes to
                direct them the way I am going, but such as wink and
                will not use them.
                First Gaoler What an infinite mock is this, that a man should
                have the best use of eyes to see the way of
                blindness! I am sure hanging's the way of winking.
                Enter a Messenger
                Messenger Knock off his manacles; bring your prisoner to the king.
                POSTHUMUS LEONATUS Thou bring'st good news; I am called to be made free.
                First Gaoler I'll be hang'd then.
                POSTHUMUS LEONATUS Thou shalt be then freer than a gaoler; no bolts for the dead.
                Exeunt POSTHUMUS LEONATUS and Messenger
                First Gaoler Unless a man would marry a gallows and beget young
                gibbets, I never saw one so prone. Yet, on my
                conscience, there are verier knaves desire to live,
                for all he be a Roman: and there be some of them
                too that die against their wills; so should I, if I
                were one. I would we were all of one mind, and one
                mind good; O, there were desolation of gaolers and
                gallowses! I speak against my present profit, but
                my wish hath a preferment in 't.
                Exeunt 
                SCENE V. Cymbeline's tent. 
                Enter CYMBELINE, BELARIUS, GUIDERIUS, ARVIRAGUS, PISANIO, Lords, Officers, and Attendants CYMBELINE Stand by my side, you whom the gods have made
                Preservers of my throne. Woe is my heart
                That the poor soldier that so richly fought,
                Whose rags shamed gilded arms, whose naked breast
                Stepp'd before larges of proof, cannot be found:
                He shall be happy that can find him, if
                Our grace can make him so.
                BELARIUS I never saw
                Such noble fury in so poor a thing;
                Such precious deeds in one that promises nought
                But beggary and poor looks.
                CYMBELINE No tidings of him?
                PISANIO He hath been search'd among the dead and living,
                But no trace of him.
                CYMBELINE To my grief, I am
                The heir of his reward;
                To BELARIUS, GUIDERIUS, and ARVIRAGUS
                which I will add
                To you, the liver, heart and brain of Britain,
                By whom I grant she lives. 'Tis now the time
                To ask of whence you are. Report it.
                BELARIUS Sir,
                In Cambria are we born, and gentlemen:
                Further to boast were neither true nor modest,
                Unless I add, we are honest.
                CYMBELINE Bow your knees.
                Arise my knights o' the battle: I create you
                Companions to our person and will fit you
                With dignities becoming your estates.
                Enter CORNELIUS and Ladies
                There's business in these faces. Why so sadly
                Greet you our victory? you look like Romans,
                And not o' the court of Britain.
                CORNELIUS Hail, great king!
                To sour your happiness, I must report
                The queen is dead.
                CYMBELINE Who worse than a physician
                Would this report become? But I consider,
                By medicine life may be prolong'd, yet death
                Will seize the doctor too. How ended she?
                CORNELIUS With horror, madly dying, like her life,
                Which, being cruel to the world, concluded
                Most cruel to herself. What she confess'd
                I will report, so please you: these her women
                Can trip me, if I err; who with wet cheeks
                Were present when she finish'd.
                CYMBELINE Prithee, say.
                CORNELIUS First, she confess'd she never loved you, only
                Affected greatness got by you, not you:
                Married your royalty, was wife to your place;
                Abhorr'd your person.
                CYMBELINE She alone knew this;
                And, but she spoke it dying, I would not
                Believe her lips in opening it. Proceed.
                CORNELIUS Your daughter, whom she bore in hand to love
                With such integrity, she did confess
                Was as a scorpion to her sight; whose life,
                But that her flight prevented it, she had
                Ta'en off by poison.
                CYMBELINE O most delicate fiend!
                Who is 't can read a woman? Is there more?
                CORNELIUS More, sir, and worse. She did confess she had
                For you a mortal mineral; which, being took,
                Should by the minute feed on life and lingering
                By inches waste you: in which time she purposed,
                By watching, weeping, tendance, kissing, to
                O'ercome you with her show, and in time,
                When she had fitted you with her craft, to work
                Her son into the adoption of the crown:
                But, failing of her end by his strange absence,
                Grew shameless-desperate; open'd, in despite
                Of heaven and men, her purposes; repented
                The evils she hatch'd were not effected; so
                Despairing died.
                CYMBELINE Heard you all this, her women?
                First Lady We did, so please your highness.
                CYMBELINE Mine eyes
                Were not in fault, for she was beautiful;
                Mine ears, that heard her flattery; nor my heart,
                That thought her like her seeming; it had
                been vicious
                To have mistrusted her: yet, O my daughter!
                That it was folly in me, thou mayst say,
                And prove it in thy feeling. Heaven mend all!
                Enter LUCIUS, IACHIMO, the Soothsayer, and other Roman Prisoners, guarded; POSTHUMUS LEONATUS behind, and IMOGEN
                Thou comest not, Caius, now for tribute that
                The Britons have razed out, though with the loss
                Of many a bold one; whose kinsmen have made suit
                That their good souls may be appeased with slaughter
                Of you their captives, which ourself have granted:
                So think of your estate.
                CAIUS LUCIUS Consider, sir, the chance of war: the day
                Was yours by accident; had it gone with us,
                We should not, when the blood was cool,
                have threaten'd
                Our prisoners with the sword. But since the gods
                Will have it thus, that nothing but our lives
                May be call'd ransom, let it come: sufficeth
                A Roman with a Roman's heart can suffer:
                Augustus lives to think on't: and so much
                For my peculiar care. This one thing only
                I will entreat; my boy, a Briton born,
                Let him be ransom'd: never master had
                A page so kind, so duteous, diligent,
                So tender over his occasions, true,
                So feat, so nurse-like: let his virtue join
                With my request, which I make bold your highness
                Cannot deny; he hath done no Briton harm,
                Though he have served a Roman: save him, sir,
                And spare no blood beside.
                CYMBELINE I have surely seen him:
                His favour is familiar to me. Boy,
                Thou hast look'd thyself into my grace,
                And art mine own. I know not why, wherefore,
                To say 'live, boy:' ne'er thank thy master; live:
                And ask of Cymbeline what boon thou wilt,
                Fitting my bounty and thy state, I'll give it;
                Yea, though thou do demand a prisoner,
                The noblest ta'en.
                IMOGEN I humbly thank your highness.
                CAIUS LUCIUS I do not bid thee beg my life, good lad;
                And yet I know thou wilt.
                IMOGEN No, no: alack,
                There's other work in hand: I see a thing
                Bitter to me as death: your life, good master,
                Must shuffle for itself.
                CAIUS LUCIUS The boy disdains me,
                He leaves me, scorns me: briefly die their joys
                That place them on the truth of girls and boys.
                Why stands he so perplex'd?
                CYMBELINE What wouldst thou, boy?
                I love thee more and more: think more and more
                What's best to ask. Know'st him thou look'st on? speak,
                Wilt have him live? Is he thy kin? thy friend?
                IMOGEN He is a Roman; no more kin to me
                Than I to your highness; who, being born your vassal,
                Am something nearer.
                CYMBELINE Wherefore eyest him so?
                IMOGEN I'll tell you, sir, in private, if you please
                To give me hearing.
                CYMBELINE Ay, with all my heart,
                And lend my best attention. What's thy name?
                IMOGEN Fidele, sir.
                CYMBELINE Thou'rt my good youth, my page;
                I'll be thy master: walk with me; speak freely.
                CYMBELINE and IMOGEN converse apart
                BELARIUS Is not this boy revived from death?
                ARVIRAGUS One sand another
                Not more resembles that sweet rosy lad
                Who died, and was Fidele. What think you?
                GUIDERIUS The same dead thing alive.
                BELARIUS Peace, peace! see further; he eyes us not; forbear;
                Creatures may be alike: were 't he, I am sure
                He would have spoke to us.
                GUIDERIUS But we saw him dead.
                BELARIUS Be silent; let's see further.
                PISANIO [Aside] It is my mistress:
                Since she is living, let the time run on
                To good or bad.
                CYMBELINE and IMOGEN come forward
                CYMBELINE Come, stand thou by our side;
                Make thy demand aloud.
                To IACHIMO
                Sir, step you forth;
                Give answer to this boy, and do it freely;
                Or, by our greatness and the grace of it,
                Which is our honour, bitter torture shall
                Winnow the truth from falsehood. On, speak to him.
                IMOGEN My boon is, that this gentleman may render
                Of whom he had this ring.
                POSTHUMUS LEONATUS [Aside] What's that to him?
                CYMBELINE That diamond upon your finger, say
                How came it yours?
                IACHIMO Thou'lt torture me to leave unspoken that
                Which, to be spoke, would torture thee.
                CYMBELINE How! me?
                IACHIMO I am glad to be constrain'd to utter that
                Which torments me to conceal. By villany
                I got this ring: 'twas Leonatus' jewel;
                Whom thou didst banish; and--which more may
                grieve thee,
                As it doth me--a nobler sir ne'er lived
                'Twixt sky and ground. Wilt thou hear more, my lord?
                CYMBELINE All that belongs to this.
                IACHIMO That paragon, thy daughter,--
                For whom my heart drops blood, and my false spirits
                Quail to remember--Give me leave; I faint.
                CYMBELINE My daughter! what of her? Renew thy strength:
                I had rather thou shouldst live while nature will
                Than die ere I hear more: strive, man, and speak.
                IACHIMO Upon a time,--unhappy was the clock
                That struck the hour!--it was in Rome,--accursed
                The mansion where!--'twas at a feast,--O, would
                Our viands had been poison'd, or at least
                Those which I heaved to head!--the good Posthumus--
                What should I say? he was too good to be
                Where ill men were; and was the best of all
                Amongst the rarest of good ones,--sitting sadly,
                Hearing us praise our loves of Italy
                For beauty that made barren the swell'd boast
                Of him that best could speak, for feature, laming
                The shrine of Venus, or straight-pight Minerva.
                Postures beyond brief nature, for condition,
                A shop of all the qualities that man
                Loves woman for, besides that hook of wiving,
                Fairness which strikes the eye--
                CYMBELINE I stand on fire:
                Come to the matter.
                IACHIMO All too soon I shall,
                Unless thou wouldst grieve quickly. This Posthumus,
                Most like a noble lord in love and one
                That had a royal lover, took his hint;
                And, not dispraising whom we praised,--therein
                He was as calm as virtue--he began
                His mistress' picture; which by his tongue
                being made,
                And then a mind put in't, either our brags
                Were crack'd of kitchen-trolls, or his description
                Proved us unspeaking sots.
                CYMBELINE Nay, nay, to the purpose.
                IACHIMO Your daughter's chastity--there it begins.
                He spake of her, as Dian had hot dreams,
                And she alone were cold: whereat I, wretch,
                Made scruple of his praise; and wager'd with him
                Pieces of gold 'gainst this which then he wore
                Upon his honour'd finger, to attain
                In suit the place of's bed and win this ring
                By hers and mine adultery. He, true knight,
                No lesser of her honour confident
                Than I did truly find her, stakes this ring;
                And would so, had it been a carbuncle
                Of Phoebus' wheel, and might so safely, had it
                Been all the worth of's car. Away to Britain
                Post I in this design: well may you, sir,
                Remember me at court; where I was taught
                Of your chaste daughter the wide difference
                'Twixt amorous and villanous. Being thus quench'd
                Of hope, not longing, mine Italian brain
                'Gan in your duller Britain operate
                Most vilely; for my vantage, excellent:
                And, to be brief, my practise so prevail'd,
                That I return'd with simular proof enough
                To make the noble Leonatus mad,
                By wounding his belief in her renown
                With tokens thus, and thus; averting notes
                Of chamber-hanging, pictures, this her bracelet,--
                O cunning, how I got it!--nay, some marks
                Of secret on her person, that he could not
                But think her bond of chastity quite crack'd,
                I having ta'en the forfeit. Whereupon--
                Methinks, I see him now--
                POSTHUMUS LEONATUS [Advancing] Ay, so thou dost,
                Italian fiend! Ay me, most credulous fool,
                Egregious murderer, thief, any thing
                That's due to all the villains past, in being,
                To come! O, give me cord, or knife, or poison,
                Some upright justicer! Thou, king, send out
                For torturers ingenious: it is I
                That all the abhorred things o' the earth amend
                By being worse than they. I am Posthumus,
                That kill'd thy daughter:--villain-like, I lie--
                That caused a lesser villain than myself,
                A sacrilegious thief, to do't: the temple
                Of virtue was she; yea, and she herself.
                Spit, and throw stone s, cast mire upon me, set
                The dogs o' the street to bay me: every villain
                Be call'd Posthumus Leonitus; and
                Be villany less than 'twas! O Imogen!
                My queen, my life, my wife! O Imogen,
                Imogen, Imogen!
                IMOGEN Peace, my lord; hear, hear--
                POSTHUMUS LEONATUS Shall's have a play of this? Thou scornful page,
                There lie thy part.
                Striking her: she falls
                PISANIO O, gentlemen, help!
                Mine and your mistress! O, my lord Posthumus!
                You ne'er kill'd Imogen til now. Help, help!
                Mine honour'd lady!
                CYMBELINE Does the world go round?
                POSTHUMUS LEONATUS How come these staggers on me?
                PISANIO Wake, my mistress!
                CYMBELINE If this be so, the gods do mean to strike me
                To death with mortal joy.
                PISANIO How fares thy mistress?
                IMOGEN O, get thee from my sight;
                Thou gavest me poison: dangerous fellow, hence!
                Breathe not where princes are.
                CYMBELINE The tune of Imogen!
                PISANIO Lady,
                The gods throw stones of sulphur on me, if
                That box I gave you was not thought by me
                A precious thing: I had it from the queen.
                CYMBELINE New matter still?
                IMOGEN It poison'd me.
                CORNELIUS O gods!
                I left out one thing which the queen confess'd.
                Which must approve thee honest: 'If Pisanio
                Have,' said she, 'given his mistress that confection
                Which I gave him for cordial, she is served
                As I would serve a rat.'
                CYMBELINE What's this, Comelius?
                CORNELIUS The queen, sir, very oft importuned me
                To temper poisons for her, still pretending
                The satisfaction of her knowledge only
                In killing creatures vile, as cats and dogs,
                Of no esteem: I, dreading that her purpose
                Was of more danger, did compound for her
                A certain stuff, which, being ta'en, would cease
                The present power of life, but in short time
                All offices of nature should again
                Do their due functions. Have you ta'en of it?
                IMOGEN Most like I did, for I was dead.
                BELARIUS My boys,
                There was our error.
                GUIDERIUS This is, sure, Fidele.
                IMOGEN Why did you throw your wedded lady from you?
                Think that you are upon a rock; and now
                Throw me again.
                Embracing him
                POSTHUMUS LEONATUS Hang there like a fruit, my soul,
                Till the tree die!
                CYMBELINE How now, my flesh, my child!
                What, makest thou me a dullard in this act?
                Wilt thou not speak to me?
                IMOGEN [Kneeling] Your blessing, sir.
                BELARIUS [To GUIDERIUS and ARVIRAGUS] Though you did love
                this youth, I blame ye not:
                You had a motive for't.
                CYMBELINE My tears that fall
                Prove holy water on thee! Imogen,
                Thy mother's dead.
                IMOGEN I am sorry for't, my lord.
                CYMBELINE O, she was nought; and long of her it was
                That we meet here so strangely: but her son
                Is gone, we know not how nor where.
                PISANIO My lord,
                Now fear is from me, I'll speak troth. Lord Cloten,
                Upon my lady's missing, came to me
                With his sword drawn; foam'd at the mouth, and swore,
                If I discover'd not which way she was gone,
                It was my instant death. By accident,
                had a feigned letter of my master's
                Then in my pocket; which directed him
                To seek her on the mountains near to Milford;
                Where, in a frenzy, in my master's garments,
                Which he enforced from me, away he posts
                With unchaste purpose and with oath to violate
                My lady's honour: what became of him
                I further know not.
                GUIDERIUS Let me end the story:
                I slew him there.
                CYMBELINE Marry, the gods forfend!
                I would not thy good deeds should from my lips
                Pluck a bard sentence: prithee, valiant youth,
                Deny't again.
                GUIDERIUS I have spoke it, and I did it.
                CYMBELINE He was a prince.
                GUIDERIUS A most incivil one: the wrongs he did me
                Were nothing prince-like; for he did provoke me
                With language that would make me spurn the sea,
                If it could so roar to me: I cut off's head;
                And am right glad he is not standing here
                To tell this tale of mine.
                CYMBELINE I am sorry for thee:
                By thine own tongue thou art condemn'd, and must
                Endure our law: thou'rt dead.
                IMOGEN That headless man
                I thought had been my lord.
                CYMBELINE Bind the offender,
                And take him from our presence.
                BELARIUS Stay, sir king:
                This man is better than the man he slew,
                As well descended as thyself; and hath
                More of thee merited than a band of Clotens
                Had ever scar for.
                To the Guard
                Let his arms alone;
                They were not born for bondage.
                CYMBELINE Why, old soldier,
                Wilt thou undo the worth thou art unpaid for,
                By tasting of our wrath? How of descent
                As good as we?
                ARVIRAGUS In that he spake too far.
                CYMBELINE And thou shalt die for't.
                BELARIUS We will die all three:
                But I will prove that two on's are as good
                As I have given out him. My sons, I must,
                For mine own part, unfold a dangerous speech,
                Though, haply, well for you.
                ARVIRAGUS Your danger's ours.
                GUIDERIUS And our good his.
                BELARIUS Have at it then, by leave.
                Thou hadst, great king, a subject who
                Was call'd Belarius.
                CYMBELINE What of him? he is
                A banish'd traitor.
                BELARIUS He it is that hath
                Assumed this age; indeed a banish'd man;
                I know not how a traitor.
                CYMBELINE Take him hence:
                The whole world shall not save him.
                BELARIUS Not too hot:
                First pay me for the nursing of thy sons;
                And let it be confiscate all, so soon
                As I have received it.
                CYMBELINE Nursing of my sons!
                BELARIUS I am too blunt and saucy: here's my knee:
                Ere I arise, I will prefer my sons;
                Then spare not the old father. Mighty sir,
                These two young gentlemen, that call me father
                And think they are my sons, are none of mine;
                They are the issue of your loins, my liege,
                And blood of your begetting.
                CYMBELINE How! my issue!
                BELARIUS So sure as you your father's. I, old Morgan,
                Am that Belarius whom you sometime banish'd:
                Your pleasure was my mere offence, my punishment
                Itself, and all my treason; that I suffer'd
                Was all the harm I did. These gentle princes--
                For such and so they are--these twenty years
                Have I train'd up: those arts they have as I
                Could put into them; my breeding was, sir, as
                Your highness knows. Their nurse, Euriphile,
                Whom for the theft I wedded, stole these children
                Upon my banishment: I moved her to't,
                Having received the punishment before,
                For that which I did then: beaten for loyalty
                Excited me to treason: their dear loss,
                The more of you 'twas felt, the more it shaped
                Unto my end of stealing them. But, gracious sir,
                Here are your sons again; and I must lose
                Two of the sweet'st companions in the world.
                The benediction of these covering heavens
                Fall on their heads like dew! for they are worthy
                To inlay heaven with stars.
                CYMBELINE Thou weep'st, and speak'st.
                The service that you three have done is more
                Unlike than this thou tell'st. I lost my children:
                If these be they, I know not how to wish
                A pair of worthier sons.
                BELARIUS Be pleased awhile.
                This gentleman, whom I call Polydore,
                Most worthy prince, as yours, is true Guiderius:
                This gentleman, my Cadwal, Arviragus,
                Your younger princely son; he, sir, was lapp'd
                In a most curious mantle, wrought by the hand
                Of his queen mother, which for more probation
                I can with ease produce.
                CYMBELINE Guiderius had
                Upon his neck a mole, a sanguine star;
                It was a mark of wonder.
                BELARIUS This is he;
                Who hath upon him still that natural stamp:
                It was wise nature's end in the donation,
                To be his evidence now.
                CYMBELINE O, what, am I
                A mother to the birth of three? Ne'er mother
                Rejoiced deliverance more. Blest pray you be,
                That, after this strange starting from your orbs,
                may reign in them now! O Imogen,
                Thou hast lost by this a kingdom.
                IMOGEN No, my lord;
                I have got two worlds by 't. O my gentle brothers,
                Have we thus met? O, never say hereafter
                But I am truest speaker you call'd me brother,
                When I was but your sister; I you brothers,
                When ye were so indeed.
                CYMBELINE Did you e'er meet?
                ARVIRAGUS Ay, my good lord.
                GUIDERIUS And at first meeting loved;
                Continued so, until we thought he died.
                CORNELIUS By the queen's dram she swallow'd.
                CYMBELINE O rare instinct!
                When shall I hear all through? This fierce
                abridgement
                Hath to it circumstantial branches, which
                Distinction should be rich in. Where? how lived You?
                And when came you to serve our Roman captive?
                How parted with your brothers? how first met them?
                Why fled you from the court? and whither? These,
                And your three motives to the battle, with
                I know not how much more, should be demanded;
                And all the other by-dependencies,
                From chance to chance: but nor the time nor place
                Will serve our long inter'gatories. See,
                Posthumus anchors upon Imogen,
                And she, like harmless lightning, throws her eye
                On him, her brother, me, her master, hitting
                Each object with a joy: the counterchange
                Is severally in all. Let's quit this ground,
                And smoke the temple with our sacrifices.
                To BELARIUS
                Thou art my brother; so we'll hold thee ever.
                IMOGEN You are my father too, and did relieve me,
                To see this gracious season.
                CYMBELINE All o'erjoy'd,
                Save these in bonds: let them be joyful too,
                For they shall taste our comfort.
                IMOGEN My good master,
                I will yet do you service.
                CAIUS LUCIUS Happy be you!
                CYMBELINE The forlorn soldier, that so nobly fought,
                He would have well becomed this place, and graced
                The thankings of a king.
                POSTHUMUS LEONATUS I am, sir,
                The soldier that did company these three
                In poor beseeming; 'twas a fitment for
                The purpose I then follow'd. That I was he,
                Speak, Iachimo: I had you down and might
                Have made you finish.
                IACHIMO [Kneeling] I am down again:
                But now my heavy conscience sinks my knee,
                As then your force did. Take that life, beseech you,
                Which I so often owe: but your ring first;
                And here the bracelet of the truest princess
                That ever swore her faith.
                POSTHUMUS LEONATUS Kneel not to me:
                The power that I have on you is, to spare you;
                The malice towards you to forgive you: live,
                And deal with others better.
                CYMBELINE Nobly doom'd!
                We'll learn our freeness of a son-in-law;
                Pardon's the word to all.
                ARVIRAGUS You holp us, sir,
                As you did mean indeed to be our brother;
                Joy'd are we that you are.
                POSTHUMUS LEONATUS Your servant, princes. Good my lord of Rome,
                Call forth your soothsayer: as I slept, methought
                Great Jupiter, upon his eagle back'd,
                Appear'd to me, with other spritely shows
                Of mine own kindred: when I waked, I found
                This label on my bosom; whose containing
                Is so from sense in hardness, that I can
                Make no collection of it: let him show
                His skill in the construction.
                CAIUS LUCIUS Philarmonus!
                Soothsayer Here, my good lord.
                CAIUS LUCIUS Read, and declare the meaning.
                Soothsayer [Reads] 'When as a lion's whelp shall, to himself
                unknown, without seeking find, and be embraced by a
                piece of tender air; and when from a stately cedar
                shall be lopped branches, which, being dead many
                years, shall after revive, be jointed to the old
                stock, and freshly grow; then shall Posthumus end
                his miseries, Britain be fortunate and flourish in
                peace and plenty.'
                Thou, Leonatus, art the lion's whelp;
                The fit and apt construction of thy name,
                Being Leonatus, doth import so much.
                To CYMBELINE
                The piece of tender air, thy virtuous daughter,
                Which we call 'mollis aer;' and 'mollis aer'
                We term it 'mulier:' which 'mulier' I divine
                Is this most constant wife; who, even now,
                Answering the letter of the oracle,
                Unknown to you, unsought, were clipp'd about
                With this most tender air.
                CYMBELINE This hath some seeming.
                Soothsayer The lofty cedar, royal Cymbeline,
                Personates thee: and thy lopp'd branches point
                Thy two sons forth; who, by Belarius stol'n,
                For many years thought dead, are now revived,
                To the majestic cedar join'd, whose issue
                Promises Britain peace and plenty.
                CYMBELINE Well
                My peace we will begin. And, Caius Lucius,
                Although the victor, we submit to Caesar,
                And to the Roman empire; promising
                To pay our wonted tribute, from the which
                We were dissuaded by our wicked queen;
                Whom heavens, in justice, both on her and hers,
                Have laid most heavy hand.
                Soothsayer The fingers of the powers above do tune
                The harmony of this peace. The vision
                Which I made known to Lucius, ere the stroke
                Of this yet scarce-cold battle, at this instant
                Is full accomplish'd; for the Roman eagle,
                From south to west on wing soaring aloft,
                Lessen'd herself, and in the beams o' the sun
                So vanish'd: which foreshow'd our princely eagle,
                The imperial Caesar, should again unite
                His favour with the radiant Cymbeline,
                Which shines here in the west.
                CYMBELINE Laud we the gods;
                And let our crooked smokes climb to their nostrils
                From our blest altars. Publish we this peace
                To all our subjects. Set we forward: let
                A Roman and a British ensign wave
                Friendly together: so through Lud's-town march:
                And in the temple of great Jupiter
                Our peace we'll ratify; seal it with feasts.
                Set on there! Never was a war did cease,
                Ere bloody hands were wash'd, with such a peace.
                Exeunt

The Tragedy of Hamlet, Prince of Denmark
                ACT I
                SCENE I. Elsinore. A platform before the castle.
                FRANCISCO at his post. Enter to him BERNARDO
                BERNARDO
                Who's there?
                FRANCISCO
                Nay, answer me: stand, and unfold yourself.
                BERNARDO
                Long live the king!
                FRANCISCO
                Bernardo?
                BERNARDO
                He.
                FRANCISCO
                You come most carefully upon your hour.
                BERNARDO
                'Tis now struck twelve; get thee to bed, Francisco.
                FRANCISCO
                For this relief much thanks: 'tis bitter cold,
                And I am sick at heart.
                BERNARDO
                Have you had quiet guard?
                FRANCISCO
                Not a mouse stirring.
                BERNARDO
                Well, good night.
                If you do meet Horatio and Marcellus,
                The rivals of my watch, bid them make haste.
                FRANCISCO
                I think I hear them. Stand, ho! Who's there?
                Enter HORATIO and MARCELLUS
                HORATIO
                Friends to this ground.
                MARCELLUS
                And liegemen to the Dane.
                FRANCISCO
                Give you good night.
                MARCELLUS
                O, farewell, honest soldier:
                Who hath relieved you?
                FRANCISCO
                Bernardo has my place.
                Give you good night.
                Exit
                MARCELLUS
                Holla! Bernardo!
                BERNARDO
                Say,
                What, is Horatio there?
                HORATIO
                A piece of him.
                BERNARDO
                Welcome, Horatio: welcome, good Marcellus.
                MARCELLUS
                What, has this thing appear'd again to-night?
                BERNARDO
                I have seen nothing.
                MARCELLUS
                Horatio says 'tis but our fantasy,
                And will not let belief take hold of him
                Touching this dreaded sight, twice seen of us:
                Therefore I have entreated him along
                With us to watch the minutes of this night;
                That if again this apparition come,
                He may approve our eyes and speak to it.
                HORATIO
                Tush, tush, 'twill not appear.
                BERNARDO
                Sit down awhile;
                And let us once again assail your ears,
                That are so fortified against our story
                What we have two nights seen.
                HORATIO
                Well, sit we down,
                And let us hear Bernardo speak of this.
                BERNARDO
                Last night of all,
                When yond same star that's westward from the pole
                Had made his course to illume that part of heaven
                Where now it burns, Marcellus and myself,
                The bell then beating one,--
                Enter Ghost
                MARCELLUS
                Peace, break thee off; look, where it comes again!
                BERNARDO
                In the same figure, like the king that's dead.
                MARCELLUS
                Thou art a scholar; speak to it, Horatio.
                BERNARDO
                Looks it not like the king? mark it, Horatio.
                HORATIO
                Most like: it harrows me with fear and wonder.
                BERNARDO
                It would be spoke to.
                MARCELLUS
                Question it, Horatio.
                HORATIO
                What art thou that usurp'st this time of night,
                Together with that fair and warlike form
                In which the majesty of buried Denmark
                Did sometimes march? by heaven I charge thee, speak!
                MARCELLUS
                It is offended.
                BERNARDO
                See, it stalks away!
                HORATIO
                Stay! speak, speak! I charge thee, speak!
                Exit Ghost
                MARCELLUS
                'Tis gone, and will not answer.
                BERNARDO
                How now, Horatio! you tremble and look pale:
                Is not this something more than fantasy?
                What think you on't?
                HORATIO
                Before my God, I might not this believe
                Without the sensible and true avouch
                Of mine own eyes.
                MARCELLUS
                Is it not like the king?
                HORATIO
                As thou art to thyself:
                Such was the very armour he had on
                When he the ambitious Norway combated;
                So frown'd he once, when, in an angry parle,
                He smote the sledded Polacks on the ice.
                'Tis strange.
                MARCELLUS
                Thus twice before, and jump at this dead hour,
                With martial stalk hath he gone by our watch.
                HORATIO
                In what particular thought to work I know not;
                But in the gross and scope of my opinion,
                This bodes some strange eruption to our state.
                MARCELLUS
                Good now, sit down, and tell me, he that knows,
                Why this same strict and most observant watch
                So nightly toils the subject of the land,
                And why such daily cast of brazen cannon,
                And foreign mart for implements of war;
                Why such impress of shipwrights, whose sore task
                Does not divide the Sunday from the week;
                What might be toward, that this sweaty haste
                Doth make the night joint-labourer with the day:
                Who is't that can inform me?
                HORATIO
                That can I;
                At least, the whisper goes so. Our last king,
                Whose image even but now appear'd to us,
                Was, as you know, by Fortinbras of Norway,
                Thereto prick'd on by a most emulate pride,
                Dared to the combat; in which our valiant Hamlet--
                For so this side of our known world esteem'd him--
                Did slay this Fortinbras; who by a seal'd compact,
                Well ratified by law and heraldry,
                Did forfeit, with his life, all those his lands
                Which he stood seized of, to the conqueror:
                Against the which, a moiety competent
                Was gaged by our king; which had return'd
                To the inheritance of Fortinbras,
                Had he been vanquisher; as, by the same covenant,
                And carriage of the article design'd,
                His fell to Hamlet. Now, sir, young Fortinbras,
                Of unimproved mettle hot and full,
                Hath in the skirts of Norway here and there
                Shark'd up a list of lawless resolutes,
                For food and diet, to some enterprise
                That hath a stomach in't; which is no other--
                As it doth well appear unto our state--
                But to recover of us, by strong hand
                And terms compulsatory, those foresaid lands
                So by his father lost: and this, I take it,
                Is the main motive of our preparations,
                The source of this our watch and the chief head
                Of this post-haste and romage in the land.
                BERNARDO
                I think it be no other but e'en so:
                Well may it sort that this portentous figure
                Comes armed through our watch; so like the king
                That was and is the question of these wars.
                HORATIO
                A mote it is to trouble the mind's eye.
                In the most high and palmy state of Rome,
                A little ere the mightiest Julius fell,
                The graves stood tenantless and the sheeted dead
                Did squeak and gibber in the Roman streets:
                As stars with trains of fire and dews of blood,
                Disasters in the sun; and the moist star
                Upon whose influence Neptune's empire stands
                Was sick almost to doomsday with eclipse:
                And even the like precurse of fierce events,
                As harbingers preceding still the fates
                And prologue to the omen coming on,
                Have heaven and earth together demonstrated
                Unto our climatures and countrymen.--
                But soft, behold! lo, where it comes again!
                Re-enter Ghost
                I'll cross it, though it blast me. Stay, illusion!
                If thou hast any sound, or use of voice,
                Speak to me:
                If there be any good thing to be done,
                That may to thee do ease and grace to me,
                Speak to me:
                Cock crows
                If thou art privy to thy country's fate,
                Which, happily, foreknowing may avoid, O, speak!
                Or if thou hast uphoarded in thy life
                Extorted treasure in the womb of earth,
                For which, they say, you spirits oft walk in death,
                Speak of it: stay, and speak! Stop it, Marcellus.
                MARCELLUS
                Shall I strike at it with my partisan?
                HORATIO
                Do, if it will not stand.
                BERNARDO
                'Tis here!
                HORATIO
                'Tis here!
                MARCELLUS
                'Tis gone!
                Exit Ghost
                We do it wrong, being so majestical,
                To offer it the show of violence;
                For it is, as the air, invulnerable,
                And our vain blows malicious mockery.
                BERNARDO
                It was about to speak, when the cock crew.
                HORATIO
                And then it started like a guilty thing
                Upon a fearful summons. I have heard,
                The cock, that is the trumpet to the morn,
                Doth with his lofty and shrill-sounding throat
                Awake the god of day; and, at his warning,
                Whether in sea or fire, in earth or air,
                The extravagant and erring spirit hies
                To his confine: and of the truth herein
                This present object made probation.
                MARCELLUS
                It faded on the crowing of the cock.
                Some say that ever 'gainst that season comes
                Wherein our Saviour's birth is celebrated,
                The bird of dawning singeth all night long:
                And then, they say, no spirit dares stir abroad;
                The nights are wholesome; then no planets strike,
                No fairy takes, nor witch hath power to charm,
                So hallow'd and so gracious is the time.
                HORATIO
                So have I heard and do in part believe it.
                But, look, the morn, in russet mantle clad,
                Walks o'er the dew of yon high eastward hill:
                Break we our watch up; and by my advice,
                Let us impart what we have seen to-night
                Unto young Hamlet; for, upon my life,
                This spirit, dumb to us, will speak to him.
                Do you consent we shall acquaint him with it,
                As needful in our loves, fitting our duty?
                MARCELLUS
                Let's do't, I pray; and I this morning know
                Where we shall find him most conveniently.
                Exeunt
                SCENE II. A room of state in the castle.
                Enter KING CLAUDIUS, QUEEN GERTRUDE, HAMLET, POLONIUS, LAERTES, VOLTIMAND, CORNELIUS, Lords, and Attendants
                KING CLAUDIUS
                Though yet of Hamlet our dear brother's death
                The memory be green, and that it us befitted
                To bear our hearts in grief and our whole kingdom
                To be contracted in one brow of woe,
                Yet so far hath discretion fought with nature
                That we with wisest sorrow think on him,
                Together with remembrance of ourselves.
                Therefore our sometime sister, now our queen,
                The imperial jointress to this warlike state,
                Have we, as 'twere with a defeated joy,--
                With an auspicious and a dropping eye,
                With mirth in funeral and with dirge in marriage,
                In equal scale weighing delight and dole,--
                Taken to wife: nor have we herein barr'd
                Your better wisdoms, which have freely gone
                With this affair along. For all, our thanks.
                Now follows, that you know, young Fortinbras,
                Holding a weak supposal of our worth,
                Or thinking by our late dear brother's death
                Our state to be disjoint and out of frame,
                Colleagued with the dream of his advantage,
                He hath not fail'd to pester us with message,
                Importing the surrender of those lands
                Lost by his father, with all bonds of law,
                To our most valiant brother. So much for him.
                Now for ourself and for this time of meeting:
                Thus much the business is: we have here writ
                To Norway, uncle of young Fortinbras,--
                Who, impotent and bed-rid, scarcely hears
                Of this his nephew's purpose,--to suppress
                His further gait herein; in that the levies,
                The lists and full proportions, are all made
                Out of his subject: and we here dispatch
                You, good Cornelius, and you, Voltimand,
                For bearers of this greeting to old Norway;
                Giving to you no further personal power
                To business with the king, more than the scope
                Of these delated articles allow.
                Farewell, and let your haste commend your duty.
                CORNELIUS VOLTIMAND
                In that and all things will we show our duty.
                KING CLAUDIUS
                We doubt it nothing: heartily farewell.
                Exeunt VOLTIMAND and CORNELIUS
                And now, Laertes, what's the news with you?
                You told us of some suit; what is't, Laertes?
                You cannot speak of reason to the Dane,
                And loose your voice: what wouldst thou beg, Laertes,
                That shall not be my offer, not thy asking?
                The head is not more native to the heart,
                The hand more instrumental to the mouth,
                Than is the throne of Denmark to thy father.
                What wouldst thou have, Laertes?
                LAERTES
                My dread lord,
                Your leave and favour to return to France;
                From whence though willingly I came to Denmark,
                To show my duty in your coronation,
                Yet now, I must confess, that duty done,
                My thoughts and wishes bend again toward France
                And bow them to your gracious leave and pardon.
                KING CLAUDIUS
                Have you your father's leave? What says Polonius?
                LORD POLONIUS
                He hath, my lord, wrung from me my slow leave
                By laboursome petition, and at last
                Upon his will I seal'd my hard consent:
                I do beseech you, give him leave to go.
                KING CLAUDIUS
                Take thy fair hour, Laertes; time be thine,
                And thy best graces spend it at thy will!
                But now, my cousin Hamlet, and my son,--
                HAMLET
                [Aside] A little more than kin, and less than kind.
                KING CLAUDIUS
                How is it that the clouds still hang on you?
                HAMLET
                Not so, my lord; I am too much i' the sun.
                QUEEN GERTRUDE
                Good Hamlet, cast thy nighted colour off,
                And let thine eye look like a friend on Denmark.
                Do not for ever with thy vailed lids
                Seek for thy noble father in the dust:
                Thou know'st 'tis common; all that lives must die,
                Passing through nature to eternity.
                HAMLET
                Ay, madam, it is common.
                QUEEN GERTRUDE
                If it be,
                Why seems it so particular with thee?
                HAMLET
                Seems, madam! nay it is; I know not 'seems.'
                'Tis not alone my inky cloak, good mother,
                Nor customary suits of solemn black,
                Nor windy suspiration of forced breath,
                No, nor the fruitful river in the eye,
                Nor the dejected 'havior of the visage,
                Together with all forms, moods, shapes of grief,
                That can denote me truly: these indeed seem,
                For they are actions that a man might play:
                But I have that within which passeth show;
                These but the trappings and the suits of woe.
                KING CLAUDIUS
                'Tis sweet and commendable in your nature, Hamlet,
                To give these mourning duties to your father:
                But, you must know, your father lost a father;
                That father lost, lost his, and the survivor bound
                In filial obligation for some term
                To do obsequious sorrow: but to persever
                In obstinate condolement is a course
                Of impious stubbornness; 'tis unmanly grief;
                It shows a will most incorrect to heaven,
                A heart unfortified, a mind impatient,
                An understanding simple and unschool'd:
                For what we know must be and is as common
                As any the most vulgar thing to sense,
                Why should we in our peevish opposition
                Take it to heart? Fie! 'tis a fault to heaven,
                A fault against the dead, a fault to nature,
                To reason most absurd: whose common theme
                Is death of fathers, and who still hath cried,
                From the first corse till he that died to-day,
                'This must be so.' We pray you, throw to earth
                This unprevailing woe, and think of us
                As of a father: for let the world take note,
                You are the most immediate to our throne;
                And with no less nobility of love
                Than that which dearest father bears his son,
                Do I impart toward you. For your intent
                In going back to school in Wittenberg,
                It is most retrograde to our desire:
                And we beseech you, bend you to remain
                Here, in the cheer and comfort of our eye,
                Our chiefest courtier, cousin, and our son.
                QUEEN GERTRUDE
                Let not thy mother lose her prayers, Hamlet:
                I pray thee, stay with us; go not to Wittenberg.
                HAMLET
                I shall in all my best obey you, madam.
                KING CLAUDIUS
                Why, 'tis a loving and a fair reply:
                Be as ourself in Denmark. Madam, come;
                This gentle and unforced accord of Hamlet
                Sits smiling to my heart: in grace whereof,
                No jocund health that Denmark drinks to-day,
                But the great cannon to the clouds shall tell,
                And the king's rouse the heavens all bruit again,
                Re-speaking earthly thunder. Come away.
                Exeunt all but HAMLET
                HAMLET
                O, that this too too solid flesh would melt
                Thaw and resolve itself into a dew!
                Or that the Everlasting had not fix'd
                His canon 'gainst self-slaughter! O God! God!
                How weary, stale, flat and unprofitable,
                Seem to me all the uses of this world!
                Fie on't! ah fie! 'tis an unweeded garden,
                That grows to seed; things rank and gross in nature
                Possess it merely. That it should come to this!
                But two months dead: nay, not so much, not two:
                So excellent a king; that was, to this,
                Hyperion to a satyr; so loving to my mother
                That he might not beteem the winds of heaven
                Visit her face too roughly. Heaven and earth!
                Must I remember? why, she would hang on him,
                As if increase of appetite had grown
                By what it fed on: and yet, within a month--
                Let me not think on't--Frailty, thy name is woman!--
                A little month, or ere those shoes were old
                With which she follow'd my poor father's body,
                Like Niobe, all tears:--why she, even she--
                O, God! a beast, that wants discourse of reason,
                Would have mourn'd longer--married with my uncle,
                My father's brother, but no more like my father
                Than I to Hercules: within a month:
                Ere yet the salt of most unrighteous tears
                Had left the flushing in her galled eyes,
                She married. O, most wicked speed, to post
                With such dexterity to incestuous sheets!
                It is not nor it cannot come to good:
                But break, my heart; for I must hold my tongue.
                Enter HORATIO, MARCELLUS, and BERNARDO
                HORATIO
                Hail to your lordship!
                HAMLET
                I am glad to see you well:
                Horatio,--or I do forget myself.
                HORATIO
                The same, my lord, and your poor servant ever.
                HAMLET
                Sir, my good friend; I'll change that name with you:
                And what make you from Wittenberg, Horatio? Marcellus?
                MARCELLUS
                My good lord--
                HAMLET
                I am very glad to see you. Good even, sir.
                But what, in faith, make you from Wittenberg?
                HORATIO
                A truant disposition, good my lord.
                HAMLET
                I would not hear your enemy say so,
                Nor shall you do mine ear that violence,
                To make it truster of your own report
                Against yourself: I know you are no truant.
                But what is your affair in Elsinore?
                We'll teach you to drink deep ere you depart.
                HORATIO
                My lord, I came to see your father's funeral.
                HAMLET
                I pray thee, do not mock me, fellow-student;
                I think it was to see my mother's wedding.
                HORATIO
                Indeed, my lord, it follow'd hard upon.
                HAMLET
                Thrift, thrift, Horatio! the funeral baked meats
                Did coldly furnish forth the marriage tables.
                Would I had met my dearest foe in heaven
                Or ever I had seen that day, Horatio!
                My father!--methinks I see my father.
                HORATIO
                Where, my lord?
                HAMLET
                In my mind's eye, Horatio.
                HORATIO
                I saw him once; he was a goodly king.
                HAMLET
                He was a man, take him for all in all,
                I shall not look upon his like again.
                HORATIO
                My lord, I think I saw him yesternight.
                HAMLET
                Saw? who?
                HORATIO
                My lord, the king your father.
                HAMLET
                The king my father!
                HORATIO
                Season your admiration for awhile
                With an attent ear, till I may deliver,
                Upon the witness of these gentlemen,
                This marvel to you.
                HAMLET
                For God's love, let me hear.
                HORATIO
                Two nights together had these gentlemen,
                Marcellus and Bernardo, on their watch,
                In the dead vast and middle of the night,
                Been thus encounter'd. A figure like your father,
                Armed at point exactly, cap-a-pe,
                Appears before them, and with solemn march
                Goes slow and stately by them: thrice he walk'd
                By their oppress'd and fear-surprised eyes,
                Within his truncheon's length; whilst they, distilled
                Almost to jelly with the act of fear,
                Stand dumb and speak not to him. This to me
                In dreadful secrecy impart they did;
                And I with them the third night kept the watch;
                Where, as they had deliver'd, both in time,
                Form of the thing, each word made true and good,
                The apparition comes: I knew your father;
                These hands are not more like.
                HAMLET
                But where was this?
                MARCELLUS
                My lord, upon the platform where we watch'd.
                HAMLET
                Did you not speak to it?
                HORATIO
                My lord, I did;
                But answer made it none: yet once methought
                It lifted up its head and did address
                Itself to motion, like as it would speak;
                But even then the morning cock crew loud,
                And at the sound it shrunk in haste away,
                And vanish'd from our sight.
                HAMLET
                'Tis very strange.
                HORATIO
                As I do live, my honour'd lord, 'tis true;
                And we did think it writ down in our duty
                To let you know of it.
                HAMLET
                Indeed, indeed, sirs, but this troubles me.
                Hold you the watch to-night?
                MARCELLUS BERNARDO
                We do, my lord.
                HAMLET
                Arm'd, say you?
                MARCELLUS BERNARDO
                Arm'd, my lord.
                HAMLET
                From top to toe?
                MARCELLUS BERNARDO
                My lord, from head to foot.
                HAMLET
                Then saw you not his face?
                HORATIO
                O, yes, my lord; he wore his beaver up.
                HAMLET
                What, look'd he frowningly?
                HORATIO
                A countenance more in sorrow than in anger.
                HAMLET
                Pale or red?
                HORATIO
                Nay, very pale.
                HAMLET
                And fix'd his eyes upon you?
                HORATIO
                Most constantly.
                HAMLET
                I would I had been there.
                HORATIO
                It would have much amazed you.
                HAMLET
                Very like, very like. Stay'd it long?
                HORATIO
                While one with moderate haste might tell a hundred.
                MARCELLUS BERNARDO
                Longer, longer.
                HORATIO
                Not when I saw't.
                HAMLET
                His beard was grizzled--no?
                HORATIO
                It was, as I have seen it in his life,
                A sable silver'd.
                HAMLET
                I will watch to-night;
                Perchance 'twill walk again.
                HORATIO
                I warrant it will.
                HAMLET
                If it assume my noble father's person,
                I'll speak to it, though hell itself should gape
                And bid me hold my peace. I pray you all,
                If you have hitherto conceal'd this sight,
                Let it be tenable in your silence still;
                And whatsoever else shall hap to-night,
                Give it an understanding, but no tongue:
                I will requite your loves. So, fare you well:
                Upon the platform, 'twixt eleven and twelve,
                I'll visit you.
                All
                Our duty to your honour.
                HAMLET
                Your loves, as mine to you: farewell.
                Exeunt all but HAMLET
                My father's spirit in arms! all is not well;
                I doubt some foul play: would the night were come!
                Till then sit still, my soul: foul deeds will rise,
                Though all the earth o'erwhelm them, to men's eyes.
                Exit
                SCENE III. A room in Polonius' house.
                Enter LAERTES and OPHELIA
                LAERTES
                My necessaries are embark'd: farewell:
                And, sister, as the winds give benefit
                And convoy is assistant, do not sleep,
                But let me hear from you.
                OPHELIA
                Do you doubt that?
                LAERTES
                For Hamlet and the trifling of his favour,
                Hold it a fashion and a toy in blood,
                A violet in the youth of primy nature,
                Forward, not permanent, sweet, not lasting,
                The perfume and suppliance of a minute; No more.
                OPHELIA
                No more but so?
                LAERTES
                Think it no more;
                For nature, crescent, does not grow alone
                In thews and bulk, but, as this temple waxes,
                The inward service of the mind and soul
                Grows wide withal. Perhaps he loves you now,
                And now no soil nor cautel doth besmirch
                The virtue of his will: but you must fear,
                His greatness weigh'd, his will is not his own;
                For he himself is subject to his birth:
                He may not, as unvalued persons do,
                Carve for himself; for on his choice depends
                The safety and health of this whole state;
                And therefore must his choice be circumscribed
                Unto the voice and yielding of that body
                Whereof he is the head. Then if he says he loves you,
                It fits your wisdom so far to believe it
                As he in his particular act and place
                May give his saying deed; which is no further
                Than the main voice of Denmark goes withal.
                Then weigh what loss your honour may sustain,
                If with too credent ear you list his songs,
                Or lose your heart, or your chaste treasure open
                To his unmaster'd importunity.
                Fear it, Ophelia, fear it, my dear sister,
                And keep you in the rear of your affection,
                Out of the shot and danger of desire.
                The chariest maid is prodigal enough,
                If she unmask her beauty to the moon:
                Virtue itself 'scapes not calumnious strokes:
                The canker galls the infants of the spring,
                Too oft before their buttons be disclosed,
                And in the morn and liquid dew of youth
                Contagious blastments are most imminent.
                Be wary then; best safety lies in fear:
                Youth to itself rebels, though none else near.
                OPHELIA
                I shall the effect of this good lesson keep,
                As watchman to my heart. But, good my brother,
                Do not, as some ungracious pastors do,
                Show me the steep and thorny way to heaven;
                Whiles, like a puff'd and reckless libertine,
                Himself the primrose path of dalliance treads,
                And recks not his own rede.
                LAERTES
                O, fear me not.
                I stay too long: but here my father comes.
                Enter POLONIUS
                A double blessing is a double grace,
                Occasion smiles upon a second leave.
                LORD POLONIUS
                Yet here, Laertes! aboard, aboard, for shame!
                The wind sits in the shoulder of your sail,
                And you are stay'd for. There; my blessing with thee!
                And these few precepts in thy memory
                See thou character. Give thy thoughts no tongue,
                Nor any unproportioned thought his act.
                Be thou familiar, but by no means vulgar.
                Those friends thou hast, and their adoption tried,
                Grapple them to thy soul with hoops of steel;
                But do not dull thy palm with entertainment
                Of each new-hatch'd, unfledged comrade. Beware
                Of entrance to a quarrel, but being in,
                Bear't that the opposed may beware of thee.
                Give every man thy ear, but few thy voice;
                Take each man's censure, but reserve thy judgment.
                Costly thy habit as thy purse can buy,
                But not express'd in fancy; rich, not gaudy;
                For the apparel oft proclaims the man,
                And they in France of the best rank and station
                Are of a most select and generous chief in that.
                Neither a borrower nor a lender be;
                For loan oft loses both itself and friend,
                And borrowing dulls the edge of husbandry.
                This above all: to thine ownself be true,
                And it must follow, as the night the day,
                Thou canst not then be false to any man.
                Farewell: my blessing season this in thee!
                LAERTES
                Most humbly do I take my leave, my lord.
                LORD POLONIUS
                The time invites you; go; your servants tend.
                LAERTES
                Farewell, Ophelia; and remember well
                What I have said to you.
                OPHELIA
                'Tis in my memory lock'd,
                And you yourself shall keep the key of it.
                LAERTES
                Farewell.
                Exit
                LORD POLONIUS
                What is't, Ophelia, be hath said to you?
                OPHELIA
                So please you, something touching the Lord Hamlet.
                LORD POLONIUS
                Marry, well bethought:
                'Tis told me, he hath very oft of late
                Given private time to you; and you yourself
                Have of your audience been most free and bounteous:
                If it be so, as so 'tis put on me,
                And that in way of caution, I must tell you,
                You do not understand yourself so clearly
                As it behoves my daughter and your honour.
                What is between you? give me up the truth.
                OPHELIA
                He hath, my lord, of late made many tenders
                Of his affection to me.
                LORD POLONIUS
                Affection! pooh! you speak like a green girl,
                Unsifted in such perilous circumstance.
                Do you believe his tenders, as you call them?
                OPHELIA
                I do not know, my lord, what I should think.
                LORD POLONIUS
                Marry, I'll teach you: think yourself a baby;
                That you have ta'en these tenders for true pay,
                Which are not sterling. Tender yourself more dearly;
                Or--not to crack the wind of the poor phrase,
                Running it thus--you'll tender me a fool.
                OPHELIA
                My lord, he hath importuned me with love
                In honourable fashion.
                LORD POLONIUS
                Ay, fashion you may call it; go to, go to.
                OPHELIA
                And hath given countenance to his speech, my lord,
                With almost all the holy vows of heaven.
                LORD POLONIUS
                Ay, springes to catch woodcocks. I do know,
                When the blood burns, how prodigal the soul
                Lends the tongue vows: these blazes, daughter,
                Giving more light than heat, extinct in both,
                Even in their promise, as it is a-making,
                You must not take for fire. From this time
                Be somewhat scanter of your maiden presence;
                Set your entreatments at a higher rate
                Than a command to parley. For Lord Hamlet,
                Believe so much in him, that he is young
                And with a larger tether may he walk
                Than may be given you: in few, Ophelia,
                Do not believe his vows; for they are brokers,
                Not of that dye which their investments show,
                But mere implorators of unholy suits,
                Breathing like sanctified and pious bawds,
                The better to beguile. This is for all:
                I would not, in plain terms, from this time forth,
                Have you so slander any moment leisure,
                As to give words or talk with the Lord Hamlet.
                Look to't, I charge you: come your ways.
                OPHELIA
                I shall obey, my lord.
                Exeunt
                SCENE IV. The platform.
                Enter HAMLET, HORATIO, and MARCELLUS
                HAMLET
                The air bites shrewdly; it is very cold.
                HORATIO
                It is a nipping and an eager air.
                HAMLET
                What hour now?
                HORATIO
                I think it lacks of twelve.
                HAMLET
                No, it is struck.
                HORATIO
                Indeed? I heard it not: then it draws near the season
                Wherein the spirit held his wont to walk.
                A flourish of trumpets, and ordnance shot off, within
                What does this mean, my lord?
                HAMLET
                The king doth wake to-night and takes his rouse,
                Keeps wassail, and the swaggering up-spring reels;
                And, as he drains his draughts of Rhenish down,
                The kettle-drum and trumpet thus bray out
                The triumph of his pledge.
                HORATIO
                Is it a custom?
                HAMLET
                Ay, marry, is't:
                But to my mind, though I am native here
                And to the manner born, it is a custom
                More honour'd in the breach than the observance.
                This heavy-headed revel east and west
                Makes us traduced and tax'd of other nations:
                They clepe us drunkards, and with swinish phrase
                Soil our addition; and indeed it takes
                From our achievements, though perform'd at height,
                The pith and marrow of our attribute.
                So, oft it chances in particular men,
                That for some vicious mole of nature in them,
                As, in their birth--wherein they are not guilty,
                Since nature cannot choose his origin--
                By the o'ergrowth of some complexion,
                Oft breaking down the pales and forts of reason,
                Or by some habit that too much o'er-leavens
                The form of plausive manners, that these men,
                Carrying, I say, the stamp of one defect,
                Being nature's livery, or fortune's star,--
                Their virtues else--be they as pure as grace,
                As infinite as man may undergo--
                Shall in the general censure take corruption
                From that particular fault: the dram of eale
                Doth all the noble substance of a doubt
                To his own scandal.
                HORATIO
                Look, my lord, it comes!
                Enter Ghost
                HAMLET
                Angels and ministers of grace defend us!
                Be thou a spirit of health or goblin damn'd,
                Bring with thee airs from heaven or blasts from hell,
                Be thy intents wicked or charitable,
                Thou comest in such a questionable shape
                That I will speak to thee: I'll call thee Hamlet,
                King, father, royal Dane: O, answer me!
                Let me not burst in ignorance; but tell
                Why thy canonized bones, hearsed in death,
                Have burst their cerements; why the sepulchre,
                Wherein we saw thee quietly inurn'd,
                Hath oped his ponderous and marble jaws,
                To cast thee up again. What may this mean,
                That thou, dead corse, again in complete steel
                Revisit'st thus the glimpses of the moon,
                Making night hideous; and we fools of nature
                So horridly to shake our disposition
                With thoughts beyond the reaches of our souls?
                Say, why is this? wherefore? what should we do?
                Ghost beckons HAMLET
                HORATIO
                It beckons you to go away with it,
                As if it some impartment did desire
                To you alone.
                MARCELLUS
                Look, with what courteous action
                It waves you to a more removed ground:
                But do not go with it.
                HORATIO
                No, by no means.
                HAMLET
                It will not speak; then I will follow it.
                HORATIO
                Do not, my lord.
                HAMLET
                Why, what should be the fear?
                I do not set my life in a pin's fee;
                And for my soul, what can it do to that,
                Being a thing immortal as itself?
                It waves me forth again: I'll follow it.
                HORATIO
                What if it tempt you toward the flood, my lord,
                Or to the dreadful summit of the cliff
                That beetles o'er his base into the sea,
                And there assume some other horrible form,
                Which might deprive your sovereignty of reason
                And draw you into madness? think of it:
                The very place puts toys of desperation,
                Without more motive, into every brain
                That looks so many fathoms to the sea
                And hears it roar beneath.
                HAMLET
                It waves me still.
                Go on; I'll follow thee.
                MARCELLUS
                You shall not go, my lord.
                HAMLET
                Hold off your hands.
                HORATIO
                Be ruled; you shall not go.
                HAMLET
                My fate cries out,
                And makes each petty artery in this body
                As hardy as the Nemean lion's nerve.
                Still am I call'd. Unhand me, gentlemen.
                By heaven, I'll make a ghost of him that lets me!
                I say, away! Go on; I'll follow thee.
                Exeunt Ghost and HAMLET
                HORATIO
                He waxes desperate with imagination.
                MARCELLUS
                Let's follow; 'tis not fit thus to obey him.
                HORATIO
                Have after. To what issue will this come?
                MARCELLUS
                Something is rotten in the state of Denmark.
                HORATIO
                Heaven will direct it.
                MARCELLUS
                Nay, let's follow him.
                Exeunt
                SCENE V. Another part of the platform.
                Enter GHOST and HAMLET
                HAMLET
                Where wilt thou lead me? speak; I'll go no further.
                Ghost
                Mark me.
                HAMLET
                I will.
                Ghost
                My hour is almost come,
                When I to sulphurous and tormenting flames
                Must render up myself.
                HAMLET
                Alas, poor ghost!
                Ghost
                Pity me not, but lend thy serious hearing
                To what I shall unfold.
                HAMLET
                Speak; I am bound to hear.
                Ghost
                So art thou to revenge, when thou shalt hear.
                HAMLET
                What?
                Ghost
                I am thy father's spirit,
                Doom'd for a certain term to walk the night,
                And for the day confined to fast in fires,
                Till the foul crimes done in my days of nature
                Are burnt and purged away. But that I am forbid
                To tell the secrets of my prison-house,
                I could a tale unfold whose lightest word
                Would harrow up thy soul, freeze thy young blood,
                Make thy two eyes, like stars, start from their spheres,
                Thy knotted and combined locks to part
                And each particular hair to stand on end,
                Like quills upon the fretful porpentine:
                But this eternal blazon must not be
                To ears of flesh and blood. List, list, O, list!
                If thou didst ever thy dear father love--
                HAMLET
                O God!
                Ghost
                Revenge his foul and most unnatural murder.
                HAMLET
                Murder!
                Ghost
                Murder most foul, as in the best it is;
                But this most foul, strange and unnatural.
                HAMLET
                Haste me to know't, that I, with wings as swift
                As meditation or the thoughts of love,
                May sweep to my revenge.
                Ghost
                I find thee apt;
                And duller shouldst thou be than the fat weed
                That roots itself in ease on Lethe wharf,
                Wouldst thou not stir in this. Now, Hamlet, hear:
                'Tis given out that, sleeping in my orchard,
                A serpent stung me; so the whole ear of Denmark
                Is by a forged process of my death
                Rankly abused: but know, thou noble youth,
                The serpent that did sting thy father's life
                Now wears his crown.
                HAMLET
                O my prophetic soul! My uncle!
                Ghost
                Ay, that incestuous, that adulterate beast,
                With witchcraft of his wit, with traitorous gifts,--
                O wicked wit and gifts, that have the power
                So to seduce!--won to his shameful lust
                The will of my most seeming-virtuous queen:
                O Hamlet, what a falling-off was there!
                From me, whose love was of that dignity
                That it went hand in hand even with the vow
                I made to her in marriage, and to decline
                Upon a wretch whose natural gifts were poor
                To those of mine!
                But virtue, as it never will be moved,
                Though lewdness court it in a shape of heaven,
                So lust, though to a radiant angel link'd,
                Will sate itself in a celestial bed,
                And prey on garbage.
                But, soft! methinks I scent the morning air;
                Brief let me be. Sleeping within my orchard,
                My custom always of the afternoon,
                Upon my secure hour thy uncle stole,
                With juice of cursed hebenon in a vial,
                And in the porches of my ears did pour
                The leperous distilment; whose effect
                Holds such an enmity with blood of man
                That swift as quicksilver it courses through
                The natural gates and alleys of the body,
                And with a sudden vigour doth posset
                And curd, like eager droppings into milk,
                The thin and wholesome blood: so did it mine;
                And a most instant tetter bark'd about,
                Most lazar-like, with vile and loathsome crust,
                All my smooth body.
                Thus was I, sleeping, by a brother's hand
                Of life, of crown, of queen, at once dispatch'd:
                Cut off even in the blossoms of my sin,
                Unhousel'd, disappointed, unanel'd,
                No reckoning made, but sent to my account
                With all my imperfections on my head:
                O, horrible! O, horrible! most horrible!
                If thou hast nature in thee, bear it not;
                Let not the royal bed of Denmark be
                A couch for luxury and damned incest.
                But, howsoever thou pursuest this act,
                Taint not thy mind, nor let thy soul contrive
                Against thy mother aught: leave her to heaven
                And to those thorns that in her bosom lodge,
                To prick and sting her. Fare thee well at once!
                The glow-worm shows the matin to be near,
                And 'gins to pale his uneffectual fire:
                Adieu, adieu! Hamlet, remember me.
                Exit
                HAMLET
                O all you host of heaven! O earth! what else?
                And shall I couple hell? O, fie! Hold, hold, my heart;
                And you, my sinews, grow not instant old,
                But bear me stiffly up. Remember thee!
                Ay, thou poor ghost, while memory holds a seat
                In this distracted globe. Remember thee!
                Yea, from the table of my memory
                I'll wipe away all trivial fond records,
                All saws of books, all forms, all pressures past,
                That youth and observation copied there;
                And thy commandment all alone shall live
                Within the book and volume of my brain,
                Unmix'd with baser matter: yes, by heaven!
                O most pernicious woman!
                O villain, villain, smiling, damned villain!
                My tables,--meet it is I set it down,
                That one may smile, and smile, and be a villain;
                At least I'm sure it may be so in Denmark:
                Writing
                So, uncle, there you are. Now to my word;
                It is 'Adieu, adieu! remember me.'
                I have sworn 't.
                MARCELLUS HORATIO
                [Within] My lord, my lord,--
                MARCELLUS
                [Within]    Lord Hamlet,--
                HORATIO
                [Within]    Heaven secure him!
                HAMLET
                So be it!
                HORATIO
                [Within] Hillo, ho, ho, my lord!
                HAMLET
                Hillo, ho, ho, boy! come, bird, come.
                Enter HORATIO and MARCELLUS
                MARCELLUS
                How is't, my noble lord?
                HORATIO
                What news, my lord?
                HAMLET
                O, wonderful!
                HORATIO
                Good my lord, tell it.
                HAMLET
                No; you'll reveal it.
                HORATIO
                Not I, my lord, by heaven.
                MARCELLUS
                Nor I, my lord.
                HAMLET
                How say you, then; would heart of man once think it?
                But you'll be secret?
                HORATIO MARCELLUS
                Ay, by heaven, my lord.
                HAMLET
                There's ne'er a villain dwelling in all Denmark
                But he's an arrant knave.
                HORATIO
                There needs no ghost, my lord, come from the grave
                To tell us this.
                HAMLET
                Why, right; you are i' the right;
                And so, without more circumstance at all,
                I hold it fit that we shake hands and part:
                You, as your business and desire shall point you;
                For every man has business and desire,
                Such as it is; and for mine own poor part,
                Look you, I'll go pray.
                HORATIO
                These are but wild and whirling words, my lord.
                HAMLET
                I'm sorry they offend you, heartily;
                Yes, 'faith heartily.
                HORATIO
                There's no offence, my lord.
                HAMLET
                Yes, by Saint Patrick, but there is, Horatio,
                And much offence too. Touching this vision here,
                It is an honest ghost, that let me tell you:
                For your desire to know what is between us,
                O'ermaster 't as you may. And now, good friends,
                As you are friends, scholars and soldiers,
                Give me one poor request.
                HORATIO
                What is't, my lord? we will.
                HAMLET
                Never make known what you have seen to-night.
                HORATIO MARCELLUS
                My lord, we will not.
                HAMLET
                Nay, but swear't.
                HORATIO
                In faith,
                My lord, not I.
                MARCELLUS
                Nor I, my lord, in faith.
                HAMLET
                Upon my sword.
                MARCELLUS
                We have sworn, my lord, already.
                HAMLET
                Indeed, upon my sword, indeed.
                Ghost
                [Beneath] Swear.
                HAMLET
                Ah, ha, boy! say'st thou so? art thou there,
                truepenny?
                Come on--you hear this fellow in the cellarage--
                Consent to swear.
                HORATIO
                Propose the oath, my lord.
                HAMLET
                Never to speak of this that you have seen,
                Swear by my sword.
                Ghost
                [Beneath] Swear.
                HAMLET
                Hic et ubique? then we'll shift our ground.
                Come hither, gentlemen,
                And lay your hands again upon my sword:
                Never to speak of this that you have heard,
                Swear by my sword.
                Ghost
                [Beneath] Swear.
                HAMLET
                Well said, old mole! canst work i' the earth so fast?
                A worthy pioner! Once more remove, good friends.
                HORATIO
                O day and night, but this is wondrous strange!
                HAMLET
                And therefore as a stranger give it welcome.
                There are more things in heaven and earth, Horatio,
                Than are dreamt of in your philosophy. But come;
                Here, as before, never, so help you mercy,
                How strange or odd soe'er I bear myself,
                As I perchance hereafter shall think meet
                To put an antic disposition on,
                That you, at such times seeing me, never shall,
                With arms encumber'd thus, or this headshake,
                Or by pronouncing of some doubtful phrase,
                As 'Well, well, we know,' or 'We could, an if we would,'
                Or 'If we list to speak,' or 'There be, an if they might,'
                Or such ambiguous giving out, to note
                That you know aught of me: this not to do,
                So grace and mercy at your most need help you, Swear.
                Ghost
                [Beneath] Swear.
                HAMLET
                Rest, rest, perturbed spirit!
                They swear
                So, gentlemen,
                With all my love I do commend me to you:
                And what so poor a man as Hamlet is
                May do, to express his love and friending to you,
                God willing, shall not lack. Let us go in together;
                And still your fingers on your lips, I pray.
                The time is out of joint: O cursed spite,
                That ever I was born to set it right!
                Nay, come, let's go together.
                Exeunt
                ACT II
                SCENE I. A room in POLONIUS' house.
                Enter POLONIUS and REYNALDO
                LORD POLONIUS
                Give him this money and these notes, Reynaldo.
                REYNALDO
                I will, my lord.
                LORD POLONIUS
                You shall do marvellous wisely, good Reynaldo,
                Before you visit him, to make inquire
                Of his behavior.
                REYNALDO
                My lord, I did intend it.
                LORD POLONIUS
                Marry, well said; very well said. Look you, sir,
                Inquire me first what Danskers are in Paris;
                And how, and who, what means, and where they keep,
                What company, at what expense; and finding
                By this encompassment and drift of question
                That they do know my son, come you more nearer
                Than your particular demands will touch it:
                Take you, as 'twere, some distant knowledge of him;
                As thus, 'I know his father and his friends,
                And in part him: ' do you mark this, Reynaldo?
                REYNALDO
                Ay, very well, my lord.
                LORD POLONIUS
                'And in part him; but' you may say 'not well:
                But, if't be he I mean, he's very wild;
                Addicted so and so:' and there put on him
                What forgeries you please; marry, none so rank
                As may dishonour him; take heed of that;
                But, sir, such wanton, wild and usual slips
                As are companions noted and most known
                To youth and liberty.
                REYNALDO
                As gaming, my lord.
                LORD POLONIUS
                Ay, or drinking, fencing, swearing, quarrelling,
                Drabbing: you may go so far.
                REYNALDO
                My lord, that would dishonour him.
                LORD POLONIUS
                'Faith, no; as you may season it in the charge
                You must not put another scandal on him,
                That he is open to incontinency;
                That's not my meaning: but breathe his faults so quaintly
                That they may seem the taints of liberty,
                The flash and outbreak of a fiery mind,
                A savageness in unreclaimed blood,
                Of general assault.
                REYNALDO
                But, my good lord,--
                LORD POLONIUS
                Wherefore should you do this?
                REYNALDO
                Ay, my lord,
                I would know that.
                LORD POLONIUS
                Marry, sir, here's my drift;
                And I believe, it is a fetch of wit:
                You laying these slight sullies on my son,
                As 'twere a thing a little soil'd i' the working, Mark you,
                Your party in converse, him you would sound,
                Having ever seen in the prenominate crimes
                The youth you breathe of guilty, be assured
                He closes with you in this consequence;
                'Good sir,' or so, or 'friend,' or 'gentleman,'
                According to the phrase or the addition
                Of man and country.
                REYNALDO
                Very good, my lord.
                LORD POLONIUS
                And then, sir, does he this--he does--what was I
                about to say? By the mass, I was about to say
                something: where did I leave?
                REYNALDO
                At 'closes in the consequence,' at 'friend or so,'
                and 'gentleman.'
                LORD POLONIUS
                At 'closes in the consequence,' ay, marry;
                He closes thus: 'I know the gentleman;
                I saw him yesterday, or t' other day,
                Or then, or then; with such, or such; and, as you say,
                There was a' gaming; there o'ertook in's rouse;
                There falling out at tennis:' or perchance,
                'I saw him enter such a house of sale,'
                Videlicet, a brothel, or so forth.
                See you now;
                Your bait of falsehood takes this carp of truth:
                And thus do we of wisdom and of reach,
                With windlasses and with assays of bias,
                By indirections find directions out:
                So by my former lecture and advice,
                Shall you my son. You have me, have you not?
                REYNALDO
                My lord, I have.
                LORD POLONIUS
                God be wi' you; fare you well.
                REYNALDO
                Good my lord!
                LORD POLONIUS
                Observe his inclination in yourself.
                REYNALDO
                I shall, my lord.
                LORD POLONIUS
                And let him ply his music.
                REYNALDO
                Well, my lord.
                LORD POLONIUS
                Farewell!
                Exit REYNALDO
                Enter OPHELIA
                How now, Ophelia! what's the matter?
                OPHELIA
                O, my lord, my lord, I have been so affrighted!
                LORD POLONIUS
                With what, i' the name of God?
                OPHELIA
                My lord, as I was sewing in my closet,
                Lord Hamlet, with his doublet all unbraced;
                No hat upon his head; his stockings foul'd,
                Ungarter'd, and down-gyved to his ancle;
                Pale as his shirt; his knees knocking each other;
                And with a look so piteous in purport
                As if he had been loosed out of hell
                To speak of horrors,--he comes before me.
                LORD POLONIUS
                Mad for thy love?
                OPHELIA
                My lord, I do not know;
                But truly, I do fear it.
                LORD POLONIUS
                What said he?
                OPHELIA
                He took me by the wrist and held me hard;
                Then goes he to the length of all his arm;
                And, with his other hand thus o'er his brow,
                He falls to such perusal of my face
                As he would draw it. Long stay'd he so;
                At last, a little shaking of mine arm
                And thrice his head thus waving up and down,
                He raised a sigh so piteous and profound
                As it did seem to shatter all his bulk
                And end his being: that done, he lets me go:
                And, with his head over his shoulder turn'd,
                He seem'd to find his way without his eyes;
                For out o' doors he went without their helps,
                And, to the last, bended their light on me.
                LORD POLONIUS
                Come, go with me: I will go seek the king.
                This is the very ecstasy of love,
                Whose violent property fordoes itself
                And leads the will to desperate undertakings
                As oft as any passion under heaven
                That does afflict our natures. I am sorry.
                What, have you given him any hard words of late?
                OPHELIA
                No, my good lord, but, as you did command,
                I did repel his fetters and denied
                His access to me.
                LORD POLONIUS
                That hath made him mad.
                I am sorry that with better heed and judgment
                I had not quoted him: I fear'd he did but trifle,
                And meant to wreck thee; but, beshrew my jealousy!
                By heaven, it is as proper to our age
                To cast beyond ourselves in our opinions
                As it is common for the younger sort
                To lack discretion. Come, go we to the king:
                This must be known; which, being kept close, might
                move
                More grief to hide than hate to utter love.
                Exeunt
                SCENE II. A room in the castle.
                Enter KING CLAUDIUS, QUEEN GERTRUDE, ROSENCRANTZ, GUILDENSTERN, and Attendants
                KING CLAUDIUS
                Welcome, dear Rosencrantz and Guildenstern!
                Moreover that we much did long to see you,
                The need we have to use you did provoke
                Our hasty sending. Something have you heard
                Of Hamlet's transformation; so call it,
                Sith nor the exterior nor the inward man
                Resembles that it was. What it should be,
                More than his father's death, that thus hath put him
                So much from the understanding of himself,
                I cannot dream of: I entreat you both,
                That, being of so young days brought up with him,
                And sith so neighbour'd to his youth and havior,
                That you vouchsafe your rest here in our court
                Some little time: so by your companies
                To draw him on to pleasures, and to gather,
                So much as from occasion you may glean,
                Whether aught, to us unknown, afflicts him thus,
                That, open'd, lies within our remedy.
                QUEEN GERTRUDE
                Good gentlemen, he hath much talk'd of you;
                And sure I am two men there are not living
                To whom he more adheres. If it will please you
                To show us so much gentry and good will
                As to expend your time with us awhile,
                For the supply and profit of our hope,
                Your visitation shall receive such thanks
                As fits a king's remembrance.
                ROSENCRANTZ
                Both your majesties
                Might, by the sovereign power you have of us,
                Put your dread pleasures more into command
                Than to entreaty.
                GUILDENSTERN
                But we both obey,
                And here give up ourselves, in the full bent
                To lay our service freely at your feet,
                To be commanded.
                KING CLAUDIUS
                Thanks, Rosencrantz and gentle Guildenstern.
                QUEEN GERTRUDE
                Thanks, Guildenstern and gentle Rosencrantz:
                And I beseech you instantly to visit
                My too much changed son. Go, some of you,
                And bring these gentlemen where Hamlet is.
                GUILDENSTERN
                Heavens make our presence and our practises
                Pleasant and helpful to him!
                QUEEN GERTRUDE
                Ay, amen!
                Exeunt ROSENCRANTZ, GUILDENSTERN, and some Attendants
                Enter POLONIUS
                LORD POLONIUS
                The ambassadors from Norway, my good lord,
                Are joyfully return'd.
                KING CLAUDIUS
                Thou still hast been the father of good news.
                LORD POLONIUS
                Have I, my lord? I assure my good liege,
                I hold my duty, as I hold my soul,
                Both to my God and to my gracious king:
                And I do think, or else this brain of mine
                Hunts not the trail of policy so sure
                As it hath used to do, that I have found
                The very cause of Hamlet's lunacy.
                KING CLAUDIUS
                O, speak of that; that do I long to hear.
                LORD POLONIUS
                Give first admittance to the ambassadors;
                My news shall be the fruit to that great feast.
                KING CLAUDIUS
                Thyself do grace to them, and bring them in.
                Exit POLONIUS
                He tells me, my dear Gertrude, he hath found
                The head and source of all your son's distemper.
                QUEEN GERTRUDE
                I doubt it is no other but the main;
                His father's death, and our o'erhasty marriage.
                KING CLAUDIUS
                Well, we shall sift him.
                Re-enter POLONIUS, with VOLTIMAND and CORNELIUS
                Welcome, my good friends!
                Say, Voltimand, what from our brother Norway?
                VOLTIMAND
                Most fair return of greetings and desires.
                Upon our first, he sent out to suppress
                His nephew's levies; which to him appear'd
                To be a preparation 'gainst the Polack;
                But, better look'd into, he truly found
                It was against your highness: whereat grieved,
                That so his sickness, age and impotence
                Was falsely borne in hand, sends out arrests
                On Fortinbras; which he, in brief, obeys;
                Receives rebuke from Norway, and in fine
                Makes vow before his uncle never more
                To give the assay of arms against your majesty.
                Whereon old Norway, overcome with joy,
                Gives him three thousand crowns in annual fee,
                And his commission to employ those soldiers,
                So levied as before, against the Polack:
                With an entreaty, herein further shown,
                Giving a paper
                That it might please you to give quiet pass
                Through your dominions for this enterprise,
                On such regards of safety and allowance
                As therein are set down.
                KING CLAUDIUS
                It likes us well;
                And at our more consider'd time well read,
                Answer, and think upon this business.
                Meantime we thank you for your well-took labour:
                Go to your rest; at night we'll feast together:
                Most welcome home!
                Exeunt VOLTIMAND and CORNELIUS
                LORD POLONIUS
                This business is well ended.
                My liege, and madam, to expostulate
                What majesty should be, what duty is,
                Why day is day, night night, and time is time,
                Were nothing but to waste night, day and time.
                Therefore, since brevity is the soul of wit,
                And tediousness the limbs and outward flourishes,
                I will be brief: your noble son is mad:
                Mad call I it; for, to define true madness,
                What is't but to be nothing else but mad?
                But let that go.
                QUEEN GERTRUDE
                More matter, with less art.
                LORD POLONIUS
                Madam, I swear I use no art at all.
                That he is mad, 'tis true: 'tis true 'tis pity;
                And pity 'tis 'tis true: a foolish figure;
                But farewell it, for I will use no art.
                Mad let us grant him, then: and now remains
                That we find out the cause of this effect,
                Or rather say, the cause of this defect,
                For this effect defective comes by cause:
                Thus it remains, and the remainder thus. Perpend.
                I have a daughter--have while she is mine--
                Who, in her duty and obedience, mark,
                Hath given me this: now gather, and surmise.
                Reads
                'To the celestial and my soul's idol, the most
                beautified Ophelia,'--
                That's an ill phrase, a vile phrase; 'beautified' is
                a vile phrase: but you shall hear. Thus:
                Reads
                'In her excellent white bosom, these, & c.'
                QUEEN GERTRUDE
                Came this from Hamlet to her?
                LORD POLONIUS
                Good madam, stay awhile; I will be faithful.
                Reads
                'Doubt thou the stars are fire;
                Doubt that the sun doth move;
                Doubt truth to be a liar;
                But never doubt I love.
                'O dear Ophelia, I am ill at these numbers;
                I have not art to reckon my groans: but that
                I love thee best, O most best, believe it. Adieu.
                'Thine evermore most dear lady, whilst
                this machine is to him, HAMLET.'
                This, in obedience, hath my daughter shown me,
                And more above, hath his solicitings,
                As they fell out by time, by means and place,
                All given to mine ear.
                KING CLAUDIUS
                But how hath she
                Received his love?
                LORD POLONIUS
                What do you think of me?
                KING CLAUDIUS
                As of a man faithful and honourable.
                LORD POLONIUS
                I would fain prove so. But what might you think,
                When I had seen this hot love on the wing--
                As I perceived it, I must tell you that,
                Before my daughter told me--what might you,
                Or my dear majesty your queen here, think,
                If I had play'd the desk or table-book,
                Or given my heart a winking, mute and dumb,
                Or look'd upon this love with idle sight;
                What might you think? No, I went round to work,
                And my young mistress thus I did bespeak:
                'Lord Hamlet is a prince, out of thy star;
                This must not be:' and then I precepts gave her,
                That she should lock herself from his resort,
                Admit no messengers, receive no tokens.
                Which done, she took the fruits of my advice;
                And he, repulsed--a short tale to make--
                Fell into a sadness, then into a fast,
                Thence to a watch, thence into a weakness,
                Thence to a lightness, and, by this declension,
                Into the madness wherein now he raves,
                And all we mourn for.
                KING CLAUDIUS
                Do you think 'tis this?
                QUEEN GERTRUDE
                It may be, very likely.
                LORD POLONIUS
                Hath there been such a time--I'd fain know that--
                That I have positively said 'Tis so,'
                When it proved otherwise?
                KING CLAUDIUS
                Not that I know.
                LORD POLONIUS
                [Pointing to his head and shoulder]
                Take this from this, if this be otherwise:
                If circumstances lead me, I will find
                Where truth is hid, though it were hid indeed
                Within the centre.
                KING CLAUDIUS
                How may we try it further?
                LORD POLONIUS
                You know, sometimes he walks four hours together
                Here in the lobby.
                QUEEN GERTRUDE
                So he does indeed.
                LORD POLONIUS
                At such a time I'll loose my daughter to him:
                Be you and I behind an arras then;
                Mark the encounter: if he love her not
                And be not from his reason fall'n thereon,
                Let me be no assistant for a state,
                But keep a farm and carters.
                KING CLAUDIUS
                We will try it.
                QUEEN GERTRUDE
                But, look, where sadly the poor wretch comes reading.
                LORD POLONIUS
                Away, I do beseech you, both away:
                I'll board him presently.
                Exeunt KING CLAUDIUS, QUEEN GERTRUDE, and Attendants
                Enter HAMLET, reading
                O, give me leave:
                How does my good Lord Hamlet?
                HAMLET
                Well, God-a-mercy.
                LORD POLONIUS
                Do you know me, my lord?
                HAMLET
                Excellent well; you are a fishmonger.
                LORD POLONIUS
                Not I, my lord.
                HAMLET
                Then I would you were so honest a man.
                LORD POLONIUS
                Honest, my lord!
                HAMLET
                Ay, sir; to be honest, as this world goes, is to be
                one man picked out of ten thousand.
                LORD POLONIUS
                That's very true, my lord.
                HAMLET
                For if the sun breed maggots in a dead dog, being a
                god kissing carrion,--Have you a daughter?
                LORD POLONIUS
                I have, my lord.
                HAMLET
                Let her not walk i' the sun: conception is a
                blessing: but not as your daughter may conceive.
                Friend, look to 't.
                LORD POLONIUS
                [Aside] How say you by that? Still harping on my
                daughter: yet he knew me not at first; he said I
                was a fishmonger: he is far gone, far gone: and
                truly in my youth I suffered much extremity for
                love; very near this. I'll speak to him again.
                What do you read, my lord?
                HAMLET
                Words, words, words.
                LORD POLONIUS
                What is the matter, my lord?
                HAMLET
                Between who?
                LORD POLONIUS
                I mean, the matter that you read, my lord.
                HAMLET
                Slanders, sir: for the satirical rogue says here
                that old men have grey beards, that their faces are
                wrinkled, their eyes purging thick amber and
                plum-tree gum and that they have a plentiful lack of
                wit, together with most weak hams: all which, sir,
                though I most powerfully and potently believe, yet
                I hold it not honesty to have it thus set down, for
                yourself, sir, should be old as I am, if like a crab
                you could go backward.
                LORD POLONIUS
                [Aside] Though this be madness, yet there is method
                in 't. Will you walk out of the air, my lord?
                HAMLET
                Into my grave.
                LORD POLONIUS
                Indeed, that is out o' the air.
                Aside
                How pregnant sometimes his replies are! a happiness
                that often madness hits on, which reason and sanity
                could not so prosperously be delivered of. I will
                leave him, and suddenly contrive the means of
                meeting between him and my daughter.--My honourable
                lord, I will most humbly take my leave of you.
                HAMLET
                You cannot, sir, take from me any thing that I will
                more willingly part withal: except my life, except
                my life, except my life.
                LORD POLONIUS
                Fare you well, my lord.
                HAMLET
                These tedious old fools!
                Enter ROSENCRANTZ and GUILDENSTERN
                LORD POLONIUS
                You go to seek the Lord Hamlet; there he is.
                ROSENCRANTZ
                [To POLONIUS] God save you, sir!
                Exit POLONIUS
                GUILDENSTERN
                My honoured lord!
                ROSENCRANTZ
                My most dear lord!
                HAMLET
                My excellent good friends! How dost thou,
                Guildenstern? Ah, Rosencrantz! Good lads, how do ye both?
                ROSENCRANTZ
                As the indifferent children of the earth.
                GUILDENSTERN
                Happy, in that we are not over-happy;
                On fortune's cap we are not the very button.
                HAMLET
                Nor the soles of her shoe?
                ROSENCRANTZ
                Neither, my lord.
                HAMLET
                Then you live about her waist, or in the middle of
                her favours?
                GUILDENSTERN
                'Faith, her privates we.
                HAMLET
                In the secret parts of fortune? O, most true; she
                is a strumpet. What's the news?
                ROSENCRANTZ
                None, my lord, but that the world's grown honest.
                HAMLET
                Then is doomsday near: but your news is not true.
                Let me question more in particular: what have you,
                my good friends, deserved at the hands of fortune,
                that she sends you to prison hither?
                GUILDENSTERN
                Prison, my lord!
                HAMLET
                Denmark's a prison.
                ROSENCRANTZ
                Then is the world one.
                HAMLET
                A goodly one; in which there are many confines,
                wards and dungeons, Denmark being one o' the worst.
                ROSENCRANTZ
                We think not so, my lord.
                HAMLET
                Why, then, 'tis none to you; for there is nothing
                either good or bad, but thinking makes it so: to me
                it is a prison.
                ROSENCRANTZ
                Why then, your ambition makes it one; 'tis too
                narrow for your mind.
                HAMLET
                O God, I could be bounded in a nut shell and count
                myself a king of infinite space, were it not that I
                have bad dreams.
                GUILDENSTERN
                Which dreams indeed are ambition, for the very
                substance of the ambitious is merely the shadow of a dream.
                HAMLET
                A dream itself is but a shadow.
                ROSENCRANTZ
                Truly, and I hold ambition of so airy and light a
                quality that it is but a shadow's shadow.
                HAMLET
                Then are our beggars bodies, and our monarchs and
                outstretched heroes the beggars' shadows. Shall we
                to the court? for, by my fay, I cannot reason.
                ROSENCRANTZ GUILDENSTERN
                We'll wait upon you.
                HAMLET
                No such matter: I will not sort you with the rest
                of my servants, for, to speak to you like an honest
                man, I am most dreadfully attended. But, in the
                beaten way of friendship, what make you at Elsinore?
                ROSENCRANTZ
                To visit you, my lord; no other occasion.
                HAMLET
                Beggar that I am, I am even poor in thanks; but I
                thank you: and sure, dear friends, my thanks are
                too dear a halfpenny. Were you not sent for? Is it
                your own inclining? Is it a free visitation? Come,
                deal justly with me: come, come; nay, speak.
                GUILDENSTERN
                What should we say, my lord?
                HAMLET
                Why, any thing, but to the purpose. You were sent
                for; and there is a kind of confession in your looks
                which your modesties have not craft enough to colour:
                I know the good king and queen have sent for you.
                ROSENCRANTZ
                To what end, my lord?
                HAMLET
                That you must teach me. But let me conjure you, by
                the rights of our fellowship, by the consonancy of
                our youth, by the obligation of our ever-preserved
                love, and by what more dear a better proposer could
                charge you withal, be even and direct with me,
                whether you were sent for, or no?
                ROSENCRANTZ
                [Aside to GUILDENSTERN] What say you?
                HAMLET
                [Aside] Nay, then, I have an eye of you.--If you
                love me, hold not off.
                GUILDENSTERN
                My lord, we were sent for.
                HAMLET
                I will tell you why; so shall my anticipation
                prevent your discovery, and your secrecy to the king
                and queen moult no feather. I have of late--but
                wherefore I know not--lost all my mirth, forgone all
                custom of exercises; and indeed it goes so heavily
                with my disposition that this goodly frame, the
                earth, seems to me a sterile promontory, this most
                excellent canopy, the air, look you, this brave
                o'erhanging firmament, this majestical roof fretted
                with golden fire, why, it appears no other thing to
                me than a foul and pestilent congregation of vapours.
                What a piece of work is a man! how noble in reason!
                how infinite in faculty! in form and moving how
                express and admirable! in action how like an angel!
                in apprehension how like a god! the beauty of the
                world! the paragon of animals! And yet, to me,
                what is this quintessence of dust? man delights not
                me: no, nor woman neither, though by your smiling
                you seem to say so.
                ROSENCRANTZ
                My lord, there was no such stuff in my thoughts.
                HAMLET
                Why did you laugh then, when I said 'man delights not me'?
                ROSENCRANTZ
                To think, my lord, if you delight not in man, what
                lenten entertainment the players shall receive from
                you: we coted them on the way; and hither are they
                coming, to offer you service.
                HAMLET
                He that plays the king shall be welcome; his majesty
                shall have tribute of me; the adventurous knight
                shall use his foil and target; the lover shall not
                sigh gratis; the humourous man shall end his part
                in peace; the clown shall make those laugh whose
                lungs are tickled o' the sere; and the lady shall
                say her mind freely, or the blank verse shall halt
                for't. What players are they?
                ROSENCRANTZ
                Even those you were wont to take delight in, the
                tragedians of the city.
                HAMLET
                How chances it they travel? their residence, both
                in reputation and profit, was better both ways.
                ROSENCRANTZ
                I think their inhibition comes by the means of the
                late innovation.
                HAMLET
                Do they hold the same estimation they did when I was
                in the city? are they so followed?
                ROSENCRANTZ
                No, indeed, are they not.
                HAMLET
                How comes it? do they grow rusty?
                ROSENCRANTZ
                Nay, their endeavour keeps in the wonted pace: but
                there is, sir, an aery of children, little eyases,
                that cry out on the top of question, and are most
                tyrannically clapped for't: these are now the
                fashion, and so berattle the common stages--so they
                call them--that many wearing rapiers are afraid of
                goose-quills and dare scarce come thither.
                HAMLET
                What, are they children? who maintains 'em? how are
                they escoted? Will they pursue the quality no
                longer than they can sing? will they not say
                afterwards, if they should grow themselves to common
                players--as it is most like, if their means are no
                better--their writers do them wrong, to make them
                exclaim against their own succession?
                ROSENCRANTZ
                'Faith, there has been much to do on both sides; and
                the nation holds it no sin to tarre them to
                controversy: there was, for a while, no money bid
                for argument, unless the poet and the player went to
                cuffs in the question.
                HAMLET
                Is't possible?
                GUILDENSTERN
                O, there has been much throwing about of brains.
                HAMLET
                Do the boys carry it away?
                ROSENCRANTZ
                Ay, that they do, my lord; Hercules and his load too.
                HAMLET
                It is not very strange; for mine uncle is king of
                Denmark, and those that would make mows at him while
                my father lived, give twenty, forty, fifty, an
                hundred ducats a-piece for his picture in little.
                'Sblood, there is something in this more than
                natural, if philosophy could find it out.
                Flourish of trumpets within
                GUILDENSTERN
                There are the players.
                HAMLET
                Gentlemen, you are welcome to Elsinore. Your hands,
                come then: the appurtenance of welcome is fashion
                and ceremony: let me comply with you in this garb,
                lest my extent to the players, which, I tell you,
                must show fairly outward, should more appear like
                entertainment than yours. You are welcome: but my
                uncle-father and aunt-mother are deceived.
                GUILDENSTERN
                In what, my dear lord?
                HAMLET
                I am but mad north-north-west: when the wind is
                southerly I know a hawk from a handsaw.
                Enter POLONIUS
                LORD POLONIUS
                Well be with you, gentlemen!
                HAMLET
                Hark you, Guildenstern; and you too: at each ear a
                hearer: that great baby you see there is not yet
                out of his swaddling-clouts.
                ROSENCRANTZ
                Happily he's the second time come to them; for they
                say an old man is twice a child.
                HAMLET
                I will prophesy he comes to tell me of the players;
                mark it. You say right, sir: o' Monday morning;
                'twas so indeed.
                LORD POLONIUS
                My lord, I have news to tell you.
                HAMLET
                My lord, I have news to tell you.
                When Roscius was an actor in Rome,--
                LORD POLONIUS
                The actors are come hither, my lord.
                HAMLET
                Buz, buz!
                LORD POLONIUS
                Upon mine honour,--
                HAMLET
                Then came each actor on his ass,--
                LORD POLONIUS
                The best actors in the world, either for tragedy,
                comedy, history, pastoral, pastoral-comical,
                historical-pastoral, tragical-historical, tragical-
                comical-historical-pastoral, scene individable, or
                poem unlimited: Seneca cannot be too heavy, nor
                Plautus too light. For the law of writ and the
                liberty, these are the only men.
                HAMLET
                O Jephthah, judge of Israel, what a treasure hadst thou!
                LORD POLONIUS
                What a treasure had he, my lord?
                HAMLET
                Why,
                'One fair daughter and no more,
                The which he loved passing well.'
                LORD POLONIUS
                [Aside] Still on my daughter.
                HAMLET
                Am I not i' the right, old Jephthah?
                LORD POLONIUS
                If you call me Jephthah, my lord, I have a daughter
                that I love passing well.
                HAMLET
                Nay, that follows not.
                LORD POLONIUS
                What follows, then, my lord?
                HAMLET
                Why,
                'As by lot, God wot,'
                and then, you know,
                'It came to pass, as most like it was,'--
                the first row of the pious chanson will show you
                more; for look, where my abridgement comes.
                Enter four or five Players
                You are welcome, masters; welcome, all. I am glad
                to see thee well. Welcome, good friends. O, my old
                friend! thy face is valenced since I saw thee last:
                comest thou to beard me in Denmark? What, my young
                lady and mistress! By'r lady, your ladyship is
                nearer to heaven than when I saw you last, by the
                altitude of a chopine. Pray God, your voice, like
                apiece of uncurrent gold, be not cracked within the
                ring. Masters, you are all welcome. We'll e'en
                to't like French falconers, fly at any thing we see:
                we'll have a speech straight: come, give us a taste
                of your quality; come, a passionate speech.
                First Player
                What speech, my lord?
                HAMLET
                I heard thee speak me a speech once, but it was
                never acted; or, if it was, not above once; for the
                play, I remember, pleased not the million; 'twas
                caviare to the general: but it was--as I received
                it, and others, whose judgments in such matters
                cried in the top of mine--an excellent play, well
                digested in the scenes, set down with as much
                modesty as cunning. I remember, one said there
                were no sallets in the lines to make the matter
                savoury, nor no matter in the phrase that might
                indict the author of affectation; but called it an
                honest method, as wholesome as sweet, and by very
                much more handsome than fine. One speech in it I
                chiefly loved: 'twas Aeneas' tale to Dido; and
                thereabout of it especially, where he speaks of
                Priam's slaughter: if it live in your memory, begin
                at this line: let me see, let me see--
                'The rugged Pyrrhus, like the Hyrcanian beast,'--
                it is not so:--it begins with Pyrrhus:--
                'The rugged Pyrrhus, he whose sable arms,
                Black as his purpose, did the night resemble
                When he lay couched in the ominous horse,
                Hath now this dread and black complexion smear'd
                With heraldry more dismal; head to foot
                Now is he total gules; horridly trick'd
                With blood of fathers, mothers, daughters, sons,
                Baked and impasted with the parching streets,
                That lend a tyrannous and damned light
                To their lord's murder: roasted in wrath and fire,
                And thus o'er-sized with coagulate gore,
                With eyes like carbuncles, the hellish Pyrrhus
                Old grandsire Priam seeks.'
                So, proceed you.
                LORD POLONIUS
                'Fore God, my lord, well spoken, with good accent and
                good discretion.
                First Player
                'Anon he finds him
                Striking too short at Greeks; his antique sword,
                Rebellious to his arm, lies where it falls,
                Repugnant to command: unequal match'd,
                Pyrrhus at Priam drives; in rage strikes wide;
                But with the whiff and wind of his fell sword
                The unnerved father falls. Then senseless Ilium,
                Seeming to feel this blow, with flaming top
                Stoops to his base, and with a hideous crash
                Takes prisoner Pyrrhus' ear: for, lo! his sword,
                Which was declining on the milky head
                Of reverend Priam, seem'd i' the air to stick:
                So, as a painted tyrant, Pyrrhus stood,
                And like a neutral to his will and matter,
                Did nothing.
                But, as we often see, against some storm,
                A silence in the heavens, the rack stand still,
                The bold winds speechless and the orb below
                As hush as death, anon the dreadful thunder
                Doth rend the region, so, after Pyrrhus' pause,
                Aroused vengeance sets him new a-work;
                And never did the Cyclops' hammers fall
                On Mars's armour forged for proof eterne
                With less remorse than Pyrrhus' bleeding sword
                Now falls on Priam.
                Out, out, thou strumpet, Fortune! All you gods,
                In general synod 'take away her power;
                Break all the spokes and fellies from her wheel,
                And bowl the round nave down the hill of heaven,
                As low as to the fiends!'
                LORD POLONIUS
                This is too long.
                HAMLET
                It shall to the barber's, with your beard. Prithee,
                say on: he's for a jig or a tale of bawdry, or he
                sleeps: say on: come to Hecuba.
                First Player
                'But who, O, who had seen the mobled queen--'
                HAMLET
                'The mobled queen?'
                LORD POLONIUS
                That's good; 'mobled queen' is good.
                First Player
                'Run barefoot up and down, threatening the flames
                With bisson rheum; a clout upon that head
                Where late the diadem stood, and for a robe,
                About her lank and all o'er-teemed loins,
                A blanket, in the alarm of fear caught up;
                Who this had seen, with tongue in venom steep'd,
                'Gainst Fortune's state would treason have
                pronounced:
                But if the gods themselves did see her then
                When she saw Pyrrhus make malicious sport
                In mincing with his sword her husband's limbs,
                The instant burst of clamour that she made,
                Unless things mortal move them not at all,
                Would have made milch the burning eyes of heaven,
                And passion in the gods.'
                LORD POLONIUS
                Look, whether he has not turned his colour and has
                tears in's eyes. Pray you, no more.
                HAMLET
                'Tis well: I'll have thee speak out the rest soon.
                Good my lord, will you see the players well
                bestowed? Do you hear, let them be well used; for
                they are the abstract and brief chronicles of the
                time: after your death you were better have a bad
                epitaph than their ill report while you live.
                LORD POLONIUS
                My lord, I will use them according to their desert.
                HAMLET
                God's bodykins, man, much better: use every man
                after his desert, and who should 'scape whipping?
                Use them after your own honour and dignity: the less
                they deserve, the more merit is in your bounty.
                Take them in.
                LORD POLONIUS
                Come, sirs.
                HAMLET
                Follow him, friends: we'll hear a play to-morrow.
                Exit POLONIUS with all the Players but the First
                Dost thou hear me, old friend; can you play the
                Murder of Gonzago?
                First Player
                Ay, my lord.
                HAMLET
                We'll ha't to-morrow night. You could, for a need,
                study a speech of some dozen or sixteen lines, which
                I would set down and insert in't, could you not?
                First Player
                Ay, my lord.
                HAMLET
                Very well. Follow that lord; and look you mock him
                not.
                Exit First Player
                My good friends, I'll leave you till night: you are
                welcome to Elsinore.
                ROSENCRANTZ
                Good my lord!
                HAMLET
                Ay, so, God be wi' ye;
                Exeunt ROSENCRANTZ and GUILDENSTERN
                Now I am alone.
                O, what a rogue and peasant slave am I!
                Is it not monstrous that this player here,
                But in a fiction, in a dream of passion,
                Could force his soul so to his own conceit
                That from her working all his visage wann'd,
                Tears in his eyes, distraction in's aspect,
                A broken voice, and his whole function suiting
                With forms to his conceit? and all for nothing!
                For Hecuba!
                What's Hecuba to him, or he to Hecuba,
                That he should weep for her? What would he do,
                Had he the motive and the cue for passion
                That I have? He would drown the stage with tears
                And cleave the general ear with horrid speech,
                Make mad the guilty and appal the free,
                Confound the ignorant, and amaze indeed
                The very faculties of eyes and ears. Yet I,
                A dull and muddy-mettled rascal, peak,
                Like John-a-dreams, unpregnant of my cause,
                And can say nothing; no, not for a king,
                Upon whose property and most dear life
                A damn'd defeat was made. Am I a coward?
                Who calls me villain? breaks my pate across?
                Plucks off my beard, and blows it in my face?
                Tweaks me by the nose? gives me the lie i' the throat,
                As deep as to the lungs? who does me this?
                Ha!
                'Swounds, I should take it: for it cannot be
                But I am pigeon-liver'd and lack gall
                To make oppression bitter, or ere this
                I should have fatted all the region kites
                With this slave's offal: bloody, bawdy villain!
                Remorseless, treacherous, lecherous, kindless villain!
                O, vengeance!
                Why, what an ass am I! This is most brave,
                That I, the son of a dear father murder'd,
                Prompted to my revenge by heaven and hell,
                Must, like a whore, unpack my heart with words,
                And fall a-cursing, like a very drab,
                A scullion!
                Fie upon't! foh! About, my brain! I have heard
                That guilty creatures sitting at a play
                Have by the very cunning of the scene
                Been struck so to the soul that presently
                They have proclaim'd their malefactions;
                For murder, though it have no tongue, will speak
                With most miraculous organ. I'll have these players
                Play something like the murder of my father
                Before mine uncle: I'll observe his looks;
                I'll tent him to the quick: if he but blench,
                I know my course. The spirit that I have seen
                May be the devil: and the devil hath power
                To assume a pleasing shape; yea, and perhaps
                Out of my weakness and my melancholy,
                As he is very potent with such spirits,
                Abuses me to damn me: I'll have grounds
                More relative than this: the play 's the thing
                Wherein I'll catch the conscience of the king.
                Exit
                ACT III
                SCENE I. A room in the castle.
                Enter KING CLAUDIUS, QUEEN GERTRUDE, POLONIUS, OPHELIA, ROSENCRANTZ, and GUILDENSTERN
                KING CLAUDIUS
                And can you, by no drift of circumstance,
                Get from him why he puts on this confusion,
                Grating so harshly all his days of quiet
                With turbulent and dangerous lunacy?
                ROSENCRANTZ
                He does confess he feels himself distracted;
                But from what cause he will by no means speak.
                GUILDENSTERN
                Nor do we find him forward to be sounded,
                But, with a crafty madness, keeps aloof,
                When we would bring him on to some confession
                Of his true state.
                QUEEN GERTRUDE
                Did he receive you well?
                ROSENCRANTZ
                Most like a gentleman.
                GUILDENSTERN
                But with much forcing of his disposition.
                ROSENCRANTZ
                Niggard of question; but, of our demands,
                Most free in his reply.
                QUEEN GERTRUDE
                Did you assay him?
                To any pastime?
                ROSENCRANTZ
                Madam, it so fell out, that certain players
                We o'er-raught on the way: of these we told him;
                And there did seem in him a kind of joy
                To hear of it: they are about the court,
                And, as I think, they have already order
                This night to play before him.
                LORD POLONIUS
                'Tis most true:
                And he beseech'd me to entreat your majesties
                To hear and see the matter.
                KING CLAUDIUS
                With all my heart; and it doth much content me
                To hear him so inclined.
                Good gentlemen, give him a further edge,
                And drive his purpose on to these delights.
                ROSENCRANTZ
                We shall, my lord.
                Exeunt ROSENCRANTZ and GUILDENSTERN
                KING CLAUDIUS
                Sweet Gertrude, leave us too;
                For we have closely sent for Hamlet hither,
                That he, as 'twere by accident, may here
                Affront Ophelia:
                Her father and myself, lawful espials,
                Will so bestow ourselves that, seeing, unseen,
                We may of their encounter frankly judge,
                And gather by him, as he is behaved,
                If 't be the affliction of his love or no
                That thus he suffers for.
                QUEEN GERTRUDE
                I shall obey you.
                And for your part, Ophelia, I do wish
                That your good beauties be the happy cause
                Of Hamlet's wildness: so shall I hope your virtues
                Will bring him to his wonted way again,
                To both your honours.
                OPHELIA
                Madam, I wish it may.
                Exit QUEEN GERTRUDE
                LORD POLONIUS
                Ophelia, walk you here. Gracious, so please you,
                We will bestow ourselves.
                To OPHELIA
                Read on this book;
                That show of such an exercise may colour
                Your loneliness. We are oft to blame in this,--
                'Tis too much proved--that with devotion's visage
                And pious action we do sugar o'er
                The devil himself.
                KING CLAUDIUS
                [Aside] O, 'tis too true!
                How smart a lash that speech doth give my conscience!
                The harlot's cheek, beautied with plastering art,
                Is not more ugly to the thing that helps it
                Than is my deed to my most painted word:
                O heavy burthen!
                LORD POLONIUS
                I hear him coming: let's withdraw, my lord.
                Exeunt KING CLAUDIUS and POLONIUS
                Enter HAMLET
                HAMLET
                To be, or not to be: that is the question:
                Whether 'tis nobler in the mind to suffer
                The slings and arrows of outrageous fortune,
                Or to take arms against a sea of troubles,
                And by opposing end them? To die: to sleep;
                No more; and by a sleep to say we end
                The heart-ache and the thousand natural shocks
                That flesh is heir to, 'tis a consummation
                Devoutly to be wish'd. To die, to sleep;
                To sleep: perchance to dream: ay, there's the rub;
                For in that sleep of death what dreams may come
                When we have shuffled off this mortal coil,
                Must give us pause: there's the respect
                That makes calamity of so long life;
                For who would bear the whips and scorns of time,
                The oppressor's wrong, the proud man's contumely,
                The pangs of despised love, the law's delay,
                The insolence of office and the spurns
                That patient merit of the unworthy takes,
                When he himself might his quietus make
                With a bare bodkin? who would fardels bear,
                To grunt and sweat under a weary life,
                But that the dread of something after death,
                The undiscover'd country from whose bourn
                No traveller returns, puzzles the will
                And makes us rather bear those ills we have
                Than fly to others that we know not of?
                Thus conscience does make cowards of us all;
                And thus the native hue of resolution
                Is sicklied o'er with the pale cast of thought,
                And enterprises of great pith and moment
                With this regard their currents turn awry,
                And lose the name of action.--Soft you now!
                The fair Ophelia! Nymph, in thy orisons
                Be all my sins remember'd.
                OPHELIA
                Good my lord,
                How does your honour for this many a day?
                HAMLET
                I humbly thank you; well, well, well.
                OPHELIA
                My lord, I have remembrances of yours,
                That I have longed long to re-deliver;
                I pray you, now receive them.
                HAMLET
                No, not I;
                I never gave you aught.
                OPHELIA
                My honour'd lord, you know right well you did;
                And, with them, words of so sweet breath composed
                As made the things more rich: their perfume lost,
                Take these again; for to the noble mind
                Rich gifts wax poor when givers prove unkind.
                There, my lord.
                HAMLET
                Ha, ha! are you honest?
                OPHELIA
                My lord?
                HAMLET
                Are you fair?
                OPHELIA
                What means your lordship?
                HAMLET
                That if you be honest and fair, your honesty should
                admit no discourse to your beauty.
                OPHELIA
                Could beauty, my lord, have better commerce than
                with honesty?
                HAMLET
                Ay, truly; for the power of beauty will sooner
                transform honesty from what it is to a bawd than the
                force of honesty can translate beauty into his
                likeness: this was sometime a paradox, but now the
                time gives it proof. I did love you once.
                OPHELIA
                Indeed, my lord, you made me believe so.
                HAMLET
                You should not have believed me; for virtue cannot
                so inoculate our old stock but we shall relish of
                it: I loved you not.
                OPHELIA
                I was the more deceived.
                HAMLET
                Get thee to a nunnery: why wouldst thou be a
                breeder of sinners? I am myself indifferent honest;
                but yet I could accuse me of such things that it
                were better my mother had not borne me: I am very
                proud, revengeful, ambitious, with more offences at
                my beck than I have thoughts to put them in,
                imagination to give them shape, or time to act them
                in. What should such fellows as I do crawling
                between earth and heaven? We are arrant knaves,
                all; believe none of us. Go thy ways to a nunnery.
                Where's your father?
                OPHELIA
                At home, my lord.
                HAMLET
                Let the doors be shut upon him, that he may play the
                fool no where but in's own house. Farewell.
                OPHELIA
                O, help him, you sweet heavens!
                HAMLET
                If thou dost marry, I'll give thee this plague for
                thy dowry: be thou as chaste as ice, as pure as
                snow, thou shalt not escape calumny. Get thee to a
                nunnery, go: farewell. Or, if thou wilt needs
                marry, marry a fool; for wise men know well enough
                what monsters you make of them. To a nunnery, go,
                and quickly too. Farewell.
                OPHELIA
                O heavenly powers, restore him!
                HAMLET
                I have heard of your paintings too, well enough; God
                has given you one face, and you make yourselves
                another: you jig, you amble, and you lisp, and
                nick-name God's creatures, and make your wantonness
                your ignorance. Go to, I'll no more on't; it hath
                made me mad. I say, we will have no more marriages:
                those that are married already, all but one, shall
                live; the rest shall keep as they are. To a
                nunnery, go.
                Exit
                OPHELIA
                O, what a noble mind is here o'erthrown!
                The courtier's, soldier's, scholar's, eye, tongue, sword;
                The expectancy and rose of the fair state,
                The glass of fashion and the mould of form,
                The observed of all observers, quite, quite down!
                And I, of ladies most deject and wretched,
                That suck'd the honey of his music vows,
                Now see that noble and most sovereign reason,
                Like sweet bells jangled, out of tune and harsh;
                That unmatch'd form and feature of blown youth
                Blasted with ecstasy: O, woe is me,
                To have seen what I have seen, see what I see!
                Re-enter KING CLAUDIUS and POLONIUS
                KING CLAUDIUS
                Love! his affections do not that way tend;
                Nor what he spake, though it lack'd form a little,
                Was not like madness. There's something in his soul,
                O'er which his melancholy sits on brood;
                And I do doubt the hatch and the disclose
                Will be some danger: which for to prevent,
                I have in quick determination
                Thus set it down: he shall with speed to England,
                For the demand of our neglected tribute
                Haply the seas and countries different
                With variable objects shall expel
                This something-settled matter in his heart,
                Whereon his brains still beating puts him thus
                From fashion of himself. What think you on't?
                LORD POLONIUS
                It shall do well: but yet do I believe
                The origin and commencement of his grief
                Sprung from neglected love. How now, Ophelia!
                You need not tell us what Lord Hamlet said;
                We heard it all. My lord, do as you please;
                But, if you hold it fit, after the play
                Let his queen mother all alone entreat him
                To show his grief: let her be round with him;
                And I'll be placed, so please you, in the ear
                Of all their conference. If she find him not,
                To England send him, or confine him where
                Your wisdom best shall think.
                KING CLAUDIUS
                It shall be so:
                Madness in great ones must not unwatch'd go.
                Exeunt
                SCENE II. A hall in the castle.
                Enter HAMLET and Players
                HAMLET
                Speak the speech, I pray you, as I pronounced it to
                you, trippingly on the tongue: but if you mouth it,
                as many of your players do, I had as lief the
                town-crier spoke my lines. Nor do not saw the air
                too much with your hand, thus, but use all gently;
                for in the very torrent, tempest, and, as I may say,
                the whirlwind of passion, you must acquire and beget
                a temperance that may give it smoothness. O, it
                offends me to the soul to hear a robustious
                periwig-pated fellow tear a passion to tatters, to
                very rags, to split the ears of the groundlings, who
                for the most part are capable of nothing but
                inexplicable dumbshows and noise: I would have such
                a fellow whipped for o'erdoing Termagant; it
                out-herods Herod: pray you, avoid it.
                First Player
                I warrant your honour.
                HAMLET
                Be not too tame neither, but let your own discretion
                be your tutor: suit the action to the word, the
                word to the action; with this special o'erstep not
                the modesty of nature: for any thing so overdone is
                from the purpose of playing, whose end, both at the
                first and now, was and is, to hold, as 'twere, the
                mirror up to nature; to show virtue her own feature,
                scorn her own image, and the very age and body of
                the time his form and pressure. Now this overdone,
                or come tardy off, though it make the unskilful
                laugh, cannot but make the judicious grieve; the
                censure of the which one must in your allowance
                o'erweigh a whole theatre of others. O, there be
                players that I have seen play, and heard others
                praise, and that highly, not to speak it profanely,
                that, neither having the accent of Christians nor
                the gait of Christian, pagan, nor man, have so
                strutted and bellowed that I have thought some of
                nature's journeymen had made men and not made them
                well, they imitated humanity so abominably.
                First Player
                I hope we have reformed that indifferently with us,
                sir.
                HAMLET
                O, reform it altogether. And let those that play
                your clowns speak no more than is set down for them;
                for there be of them that will themselves laugh, to
                set on some quantity of barren spectators to laugh
                too; though, in the mean time, some necessary
                question of the play be then to be considered:
                that's villanous, and shows a most pitiful ambition
                in the fool that uses it. Go, make you ready.
                Exeunt Players
                Enter POLONIUS, ROSENCRANTZ, and GUILDENSTERN
                How now, my lord! I will the king hear this piece of work?
                LORD POLONIUS
                And the queen too, and that presently.
                HAMLET
                Bid the players make haste.
                Exit POLONIUS
                Will you two help to hasten them?
                ROSENCRANTZ GUILDENSTERN
                We will, my lord.
                Exeunt ROSENCRANTZ and GUILDENSTERN
                HAMLET
                What ho! Horatio!
                Enter HORATIO
                HORATIO
                Here, sweet lord, at your service.
                HAMLET
                Horatio, thou art e'en as just a man
                As e'er my conversation coped withal.
                HORATIO
                O, my dear lord,--
                HAMLET
                Nay, do not think I flatter;
                For what advancement may I hope from thee
                That no revenue hast but thy good spirits,
                To feed and clothe thee? Why should the poor be flatter'd?
                No, let the candied tongue lick absurd pomp,
                And crook the pregnant hinges of the knee
                Where thrift may follow fawning. Dost thou hear?
                Since my dear soul was mistress of her choice
                And could of men distinguish, her election
                Hath seal'd thee for herself; for thou hast been
                As one, in suffering all, that suffers nothing,
                A man that fortune's buffets and rewards
                Hast ta'en with equal thanks: and blest are those
                Whose blood and judgment are so well commingled,
                That they are not a pipe for fortune's finger
                To sound what stop she please. Give me that man
                That is not passion's slave, and I will wear him
                In my heart's core, ay, in my heart of heart,
                As I do thee.--Something too much of this.--
                There is a play to-night before the king;
                One scene of it comes near the circumstance
                Which I have told thee of my father's death:
                I prithee, when thou seest that act afoot,
                Even with the very comment of thy soul
                Observe mine uncle: if his occulted guilt
                Do not itself unkennel in one speech,
                It is a damned ghost that we have seen,
                And my imaginations are as foul
                As Vulcan's stithy. Give him heedful note;
                For I mine eyes will rivet to his face,
                And after we will both our judgments join
                In censure of his seeming.
                HORATIO
                Well, my lord:
                If he steal aught the whilst this play is playing,
                And 'scape detecting, I will pay the theft.
                HAMLET
                They are coming to the play; I must be idle:
                Get you a place.
                Danish march. A flourish. Enter KING CLAUDIUS, QUEEN GERTRUDE, POLONIUS, OPHELIA, ROSENCRANTZ, GUILDENSTERN, and others
                KING CLAUDIUS
                How fares our cousin Hamlet?
                HAMLET
                Excellent, i' faith; of the chameleon's dish: I eat
                the air, promise-crammed: you cannot feed capons so.
                KING CLAUDIUS
                I have nothing with this answer, Hamlet; these words
                are not mine.
                HAMLET
                No, nor mine now.
                To POLONIUS
                My lord, you played once i' the university, you say?
                LORD POLONIUS
                That did I, my lord; and was accounted a good actor.
                HAMLET
                What did you enact?
                LORD POLONIUS
                I did enact Julius Caesar: I was killed i' the
                Capitol; Brutus killed me.
                HAMLET
                It was a brute part of him to kill so capital a calf
                there. Be the players ready?
                ROSENCRANTZ
                Ay, my lord; they stay upon your patience.
                QUEEN GERTRUDE
                Come hither, my dear Hamlet, sit by me.
                HAMLET
                No, good mother, here's metal more attractive.
                LORD POLONIUS
                [To KING CLAUDIUS] O, ho! do you mark that?
                HAMLET
                Lady, shall I lie in your lap?
                Lying down at OPHELIA's feet
                OPHELIA
                No, my lord.
                HAMLET
                I mean, my head upon your lap?
                OPHELIA
                Ay, my lord.
                HAMLET
                Do you think I meant country matters?
                OPHELIA
                I think nothing, my lord.
                HAMLET
                That's a fair thought to lie between maids' legs.
                OPHELIA
                What is, my lord?
                HAMLET
                Nothing.
                OPHELIA
                You are merry, my lord.
                HAMLET
                Who, I?
                OPHELIA
                Ay, my lord.
                HAMLET
                O God, your only jig-maker. What should a man do
                but be merry? for, look you, how cheerfully my
                mother looks, and my father died within these two hours.
                OPHELIA
                Nay, 'tis twice two months, my lord.
                HAMLET
                So long? Nay then, let the devil wear black, for
                I'll have a suit of sables. O heavens! die two
                months ago, and not forgotten yet? Then there's
                hope a great man's memory may outlive his life half
                a year: but, by'r lady, he must build churches,
                then; or else shall he suffer not thinking on, with
                the hobby-horse, whose epitaph is 'For, O, for, O,
                the hobby-horse is forgot.'
                Hautboys play. The dumb-show enters
                Enter a King and a Queen very lovingly; the Queen embracing him, and he her. She kneels, and makes show of protestation unto him. He takes her up, and declines his head upon her neck: lays him down upon a bank of flowers: she, seeing him asleep, leaves him. Anon comes in a fellow, takes off his crown, kisses it, and pours poison in the King's ears, and exit. The Queen returns; finds the King dead, and makes passionate action. The Poisoner, with some two or three Mutes, comes in again, seeming to lament with her. The dead body is carried away. The Poisoner wooes the Queen with gifts: she seems loath and unwilling awhile, but in the end accepts his love
                Exeunt
                OPHELIA
                What means this, my lord?
                HAMLET
                Marry, this is miching mallecho; it means mischief.
                OPHELIA
                Belike this show imports the argument of the play.
                Enter Prologue
                HAMLET
                We shall know by this fellow: the players cannot
                keep counsel; they'll tell all.
                OPHELIA
                Will he tell us what this show meant?
                HAMLET
                Ay, or any show that you'll show him: be not you
                ashamed to show, he'll not shame to tell you what it means.
                OPHELIA
                You are naught, you are naught: I'll mark the play.
                Prologue
                For us, and for our tragedy,
                Here stooping to your clemency,
                We beg your hearing patiently.
                Exit
                HAMLET
                Is this a prologue, or the posy of a ring?
                OPHELIA
                'Tis brief, my lord.
                HAMLET
                As woman's love.
                Enter two Players, King and Queen
                Player King
                Full thirty times hath Phoebus' cart gone round
                Neptune's salt wash and Tellus' orbed ground,
                And thirty dozen moons with borrow'd sheen
                About the world have times twelve thirties been,
                Since love our hearts and Hymen did our hands
                Unite commutual in most sacred bands.
                Player Queen
                So many journeys may the sun and moon
                Make us again count o'er ere love be done!
                But, woe is me, you are so sick of late,
                So far from cheer and from your former state,
                That I distrust you. Yet, though I distrust,
                Discomfort you, my lord, it nothing must:
                For women's fear and love holds quantity;
                In neither aught, or in extremity.
                Now, what my love is, proof hath made you know;
                And as my love is sized, my fear is so:
                Where love is great, the littlest doubts are fear;
                Where little fears grow great, great love grows there.
                Player King
                'Faith, I must leave thee, love, and shortly too;
                My operant powers their functions leave to do:
                And thou shalt live in this fair world behind,
                Honour'd, beloved; and haply one as kind
                For husband shalt thou--
                Player Queen
                O, confound the rest!
                Such love must needs be treason in my breast:
                In second husband let me be accurst!
                None wed the second but who kill'd the first.
                HAMLET
                [Aside] Wormwood, wormwood.
                Player Queen
                The instances that second marriage move
                Are base respects of thrift, but none of love:
                A second time I kill my husband dead,
                When second husband kisses me in bed.
                Player King
                I do believe you think what now you speak;
                But what we do determine oft we break.
                Purpose is but the slave to memory,
                Of violent birth, but poor validity;
                Which now, like fruit unripe, sticks on the tree;
                But fall, unshaken, when they mellow be.
                Most necessary 'tis that we forget
                To pay ourselves what to ourselves is debt:
                What to ourselves in passion we propose,
                The passion ending, doth the purpose lose.
                The violence of either grief or joy
                Their own enactures with themselves destroy:
                Where joy most revels, grief doth most lament;
                Grief joys, joy grieves, on slender accident.
                This world is not for aye, nor 'tis not strange
                That even our loves should with our fortunes change;
                For 'tis a question left us yet to prove,
                Whether love lead fortune, or else fortune love.
                The great man down, you mark his favourite flies;
                The poor advanced makes friends of enemies.
                And hitherto doth love on fortune tend;
                For who not needs shall never lack a friend,
                And who in want a hollow friend doth try,
                Directly seasons him his enemy.
                But, orderly to end where I begun,
                Our wills and fates do so contrary run
                That our devices still are overthrown;
                Our thoughts are ours, their ends none of our own:
                So think thou wilt no second husband wed;
                But die thy thoughts when thy first lord is dead.
                Player Queen
                Nor earth to me give food, nor heaven light!
                Sport and repose lock from me day and night!
                To desperation turn my trust and hope!
                An anchor's cheer in prison be my scope!
                Each opposite that blanks the face of joy
                Meet what I would have well and it destroy!
                Both here and hence pursue me lasting strife,
                If, once a widow, ever I be wife!
                HAMLET
                If she should break it now!
                Player King
                'Tis deeply sworn. Sweet, leave me here awhile;
                My spirits grow dull, and fain I would beguile
                The tedious day with sleep.
                Sleeps
                Player Queen
                Sleep rock thy brain,
                And never come mischance between us twain!
                Exit
                HAMLET
                Madam, how like you this play?
                QUEEN GERTRUDE
                The lady protests too much, methinks.
                HAMLET
                O, but she'll keep her word.
                KING CLAUDIUS
                Have you heard the argument? Is there no offence in 't?
                HAMLET
                No, no, they do but jest, poison in jest; no offence
                i' the world.
                KING CLAUDIUS
                What do you call the play?
                HAMLET
                The Mouse-trap. Marry, how? Tropically. This play
                is the image of a murder done in Vienna: Gonzago is
                the duke's name; his wife, Baptista: you shall see
                anon; 'tis a knavish piece of work: but what o'
                that? your majesty and we that have free souls, it
                touches us not: let the galled jade wince, our
                withers are unwrung.
                Enter LUCIANUS
                This is one Lucianus, nephew to the king.
                OPHELIA
                You are as good as a chorus, my lord.
                HAMLET
                I could interpret between you and your love, if I
                could see the puppets dallying.
                OPHELIA
                You are keen, my lord, you are keen.
                HAMLET
                It would cost you a groaning to take off my edge.
                OPHELIA
                Still better, and worse.
                HAMLET
                So you must take your husbands. Begin, murderer;
                pox, leave thy damnable faces, and begin. Come:
                'the croaking raven doth bellow for revenge.'
                LUCIANUS
                Thoughts black, hands apt, drugs fit, and time agreeing;
                Confederate season, else no creature seeing;
                Thou mixture rank, of midnight weeds collected,
                With Hecate's ban thrice blasted, thrice infected,
                Thy natural magic and dire property,
                On wholesome life usurp immediately.
                Pours the poison into the sleeper's ears
                HAMLET
                He poisons him i' the garden for's estate. His
                name's Gonzago: the story is extant, and writ in
                choice Italian: you shall see anon how the murderer
                gets the love of Gonzago's wife.
                OPHELIA
                The king rises.
                HAMLET
                What, frighted with false fire!
                QUEEN GERTRUDE
                How fares my lord?
                LORD POLONIUS
                Give o'er the play.
                KING CLAUDIUS
                Give me some light: away!
                All
                Lights, lights, lights!
                Exeunt all but HAMLET and HORATIO
                HAMLET
                Why, let the stricken deer go weep,
                The hart ungalled play;
                For some must watch, while some must sleep:
                So runs the world away.
                Would not this, sir, and a forest of feathers-- if
                the rest of my fortunes turn Turk with me--with two
                Provincial roses on my razed shoes, get me a
                fellowship in a cry of players, sir?
                HORATIO
                Half a share.
                HAMLET
                A whole one, I.
                For thou dost know, O Damon dear,
                This realm dismantled was
                Of Jove himself; and now reigns here
                A very, very--pajock.
                HORATIO
                You might have rhymed.
                HAMLET
                O good Horatio, I'll take the ghost's word for a
                thousand pound. Didst perceive?
                HORATIO
                Very well, my lord.
                HAMLET
                Upon the talk of the poisoning?
                HORATIO
                I did very well note him.
                HAMLET
                Ah, ha! Come, some music! come, the recorders!
                For if the king like not the comedy,
                Why then, belike, he likes it not, perdy.
                Come, some music!
                Re-enter ROSENCRANTZ and GUILDENSTERN
                GUILDENSTERN
                Good my lord, vouchsafe me a word with you.
                HAMLET
                Sir, a whole history.
                GUILDENSTERN
                The king, sir,--
                HAMLET
                Ay, sir, what of him?
                GUILDENSTERN
                Is in his retirement marvellous distempered.
                HAMLET
                With drink, sir?
                GUILDENSTERN
                No, my lord, rather with choler.
                HAMLET
                Your wisdom should show itself more richer to
                signify this to his doctor; for, for me to put him
                to his purgation would perhaps plunge him into far
                more choler.
                GUILDENSTERN
                Good my lord, put your discourse into some frame and
                start not so wildly from my affair.
                HAMLET
                I am tame, sir: pronounce.
                GUILDENSTERN
                The queen, your mother, in most great affliction of
                spirit, hath sent me to you.
                HAMLET
                You are welcome.
                GUILDENSTERN
                Nay, good my lord, this courtesy is not of the right
                breed. If it shall please you to make me a
                wholesome answer, I will do your mother's
                commandment: if not, your pardon and my return
                shall be the end of my business.
                HAMLET
                Sir, I cannot.
                GUILDENSTERN
                What, my lord?
                HAMLET
                Make you a wholesome answer; my wit's diseased: but,
                sir, such answer as I can make, you shall command;
                or, rather, as you say, my mother: therefore no
                more, but to the matter: my mother, you say,--
                ROSENCRANTZ
                Then thus she says; your behavior hath struck her
                into amazement and admiration.
                HAMLET
                O wonderful son, that can so astonish a mother! But
                is there no sequel at the heels of this mother's
                admiration? Impart.
                ROSENCRANTZ
                She desires to speak with you in her closet, ere you
                go to bed.
                HAMLET
                We shall obey, were she ten times our mother. Have
                you any further trade with us?
                ROSENCRANTZ
                My lord, you once did love me.
                HAMLET
                So I do still, by these pickers and stealers.
                ROSENCRANTZ
                Good my lord, what is your cause of distemper? you
                do, surely, bar the door upon your own liberty, if
                you deny your griefs to your friend.
                HAMLET
                Sir, I lack advancement.
                ROSENCRANTZ
                How can that be, when you have the voice of the king
                himself for your succession in Denmark?
                HAMLET
                Ay, but sir, 'While the grass grows,'--the proverb
                is something musty.
                Re-enter Players with recorders
                O, the recorders! let me see one. To withdraw with
                you:--why do you go about to recover the wind of me,
                as if you would drive me into a toil?
                GUILDENSTERN
                O, my lord, if my duty be too bold, my love is too
                unmannerly.
                HAMLET
                I do not well understand that. Will you play upon
                this pipe?
                GUILDENSTERN
                My lord, I cannot.
                HAMLET
                I pray you.
                GUILDENSTERN
                Believe me, I cannot.
                HAMLET
                I do beseech you.
                GUILDENSTERN
                I know no touch of it, my lord.
                HAMLET
                'Tis as easy as lying: govern these ventages with
                your lingers and thumb, give it breath with your
                mouth, and it will discourse most eloquent music.
                Look you, these are the stops.
                GUILDENSTERN
                But these cannot I command to any utterance of
                harmony; I have not the skill.
                HAMLET
                Why, look you now, how unworthy a thing you make of
                me! You would play upon me; you would seem to know
                my stops; you would pluck out the heart of my
                mystery; you would sound me from my lowest note to
                the top of my compass: and there is much music,
                excellent voice, in this little organ; yet cannot
                you make it speak. 'Sblood, do you think I am
                easier to be played on than a pipe? Call me what
                instrument you will, though you can fret me, yet you
                cannot play upon me.
                Enter POLONIUS
                God bless you, sir!
                LORD POLONIUS
                My lord, the queen would speak with you, and
                presently.
                HAMLET
                Do you see yonder cloud that's almost in shape of a camel?
                LORD POLONIUS
                By the mass, and 'tis like a camel, indeed.
                HAMLET
                Methinks it is like a weasel.
                LORD POLONIUS
                It is backed like a weasel.
                HAMLET
                Or like a whale?
                LORD POLONIUS
                Very like a whale.
                HAMLET
                Then I will come to my mother by and by. They fool
                me to the top of my bent. I will come by and by.
                LORD POLONIUS
                I will say so.
                HAMLET
                By and by is easily said.
                Exit POLONIUS
                Leave me, friends.
                Exeunt all but HAMLET
                Tis now the very witching time of night,
                When churchyards yawn and hell itself breathes out
                Contagion to this world: now could I drink hot blood,
                And do such bitter business as the day
                Would quake to look on. Soft! now to my mother.
                O heart, lose not thy nature; let not ever
                The soul of Nero enter this firm bosom:
                Let me be cruel, not unnatural:
                I will speak daggers to her, but use none;
                My tongue and soul in this be hypocrites;
                How in my words soever she be shent,
                To give them seals never, my soul, consent!
                Exit
                SCENE III. A room in the castle.
                Enter KING CLAUDIUS, ROSENCRANTZ, and GUILDENSTERN
                KING CLAUDIUS
                I like him not, nor stands it safe with us
                To let his madness range. Therefore prepare you;
                I your commission will forthwith dispatch,
                And he to England shall along with you:
                The terms of our estate may not endure
                Hazard so dangerous as doth hourly grow
                Out of his lunacies.
                GUILDENSTERN
                We will ourselves provide:
                Most holy and religious fear it is
                To keep those many many bodies safe
                That live and feed upon your majesty.
                ROSENCRANTZ
                The single and peculiar life is bound,
                With all the strength and armour of the mind,
                To keep itself from noyance; but much more
                That spirit upon whose weal depend and rest
                The lives of many. The cease of majesty
                Dies not alone; but, like a gulf, doth draw
                What's near it with it: it is a massy wheel,
                Fix'd on the summit of the highest mount,
                To whose huge spokes ten thousand lesser things
                Are mortised and adjoin'd; which, when it falls,
                Each small annexment, petty consequence,
                Attends the boisterous ruin. Never alone
                Did the king sigh, but with a general groan.
                KING CLAUDIUS
                Arm you, I pray you, to this speedy voyage;
                For we will fetters put upon this fear,
                Which now goes too free-footed.
                ROSENCRANTZ GUILDENSTERN
                We will haste us.
                Exeunt ROSENCRANTZ and GUILDENSTERN
                Enter POLONIUS
                LORD POLONIUS
                My lord, he's going to his mother's closet:
                Behind the arras I'll convey myself,
                To hear the process; and warrant she'll tax him home:
                And, as you said, and wisely was it said,
                'Tis meet that some more audience than a mother,
                Since nature makes them partial, should o'erhear
                The speech, of vantage. Fare you well, my liege:
                I'll call upon you ere you go to bed,
                And tell you what I know.
                KING CLAUDIUS
                Thanks, dear my lord.
                Exit POLONIUS
                O, my offence is rank it smells to heaven;
                It hath the primal eldest curse upon't,
                A brother's murder. Pray can I not,
                Though inclination be as sharp as will:
                My stronger guilt defeats my strong intent;
                And, like a man to double business bound,
                I stand in pause where I shall first begin,
                And both neglect. What if this cursed hand
                Were thicker than itself with brother's blood,
                Is there not rain enough in the sweet heavens
                To wash it white as snow? Whereto serves mercy
                But to confront the visage of offence?
                And what's in prayer but this two-fold force,
                To be forestalled ere we come to fall,
                Or pardon'd being down? Then I'll look up;
                My fault is past. But, O, what form of prayer
                Can serve my turn? 'Forgive me my foul murder'?
                That cannot be; since I am still possess'd
                Of those effects for which I did the murder,
                My crown, mine own ambition and my queen.
                May one be pardon'd and retain the offence?
                In the corrupted currents of this world
                Offence's gilded hand may shove by justice,
                And oft 'tis seen the wicked prize itself
                Buys out the law: but 'tis not so above;
                There is no shuffling, there the action lies
                In his true nature; and we ourselves compell'd,
                Even to the teeth and forehead of our faults,
                To give in evidence. What then? what rests?
                Try what repentance can: what can it not?
                Yet what can it when one can not repent?
                O wretched state! O bosom black as death!
                O limed soul, that, struggling to be free,
                Art more engaged! Help, angels! Make assay!
                Bow, stubborn knees; and, heart with strings of steel,
                Be soft as sinews of the newborn babe!
                All may be well.
                Retires and kneels
                Enter HAMLET
                HAMLET
                Now might I do it pat, now he is praying;
                And now I'll do't. And so he goes to heaven;
                And so am I revenged. That would be scann'd:
                A villain kills my father; and for that,
                I, his sole son, do this same villain send
                To heaven.
                O, this is hire and salary, not revenge.
                He took my father grossly, full of bread;
                With all his crimes broad blown, as flush as May;
                And how his audit stands who knows save heaven?
                But in our circumstance and course of thought,
                'Tis heavy with him: and am I then revenged,
                To take him in the purging of his soul,
                When he is fit and season'd for his passage?
                No!
                Up, sword; and know thou a more horrid hent:
                When he is drunk asleep, or in his rage,
                Or in the incestuous pleasure of his bed;
                At gaming, swearing, or about some act
                That has no relish of salvation in't;
                Then trip him, that his heels may kick at heaven,
                And that his soul may be as damn'd and black
                As hell, whereto it goes. My mother stays:
                This physic but prolongs thy sickly days.
                Exit
                KING CLAUDIUS
                [Rising] My words fly up, my thoughts remain below:
                Words without thoughts never to heaven go.
                Exit
                SCENE IV. The Queen's closet.
                Enter QUEEN GERTRUDE and POLONIUS
                LORD POLONIUS
                He will come straight. Look you lay home to him:
                Tell him his pranks have been too broad to bear with,
                And that your grace hath screen'd and stood between
                Much heat and him. I'll sconce me even here.
                Pray you, be round with him.
                HAMLET
                [Within] Mother, mother, mother!
                QUEEN GERTRUDE
                I'll warrant you,
                Fear me not: withdraw, I hear him coming.
                POLONIUS hides behind the arras
                Enter HAMLET
                HAMLET
                Now, mother, what's the matter?
                QUEEN GERTRUDE
                Hamlet, thou hast thy father much offended.
                HAMLET
                Mother, you have my father much offended.
                QUEEN GERTRUDE
                Come, come, you answer with an idle tongue.
                HAMLET
                Go, go, you question with a wicked tongue.
                QUEEN GERTRUDE
                Why, how now, Hamlet!
                HAMLET
                What's the matter now?
                QUEEN GERTRUDE
                Have you forgot me?
                HAMLET
                No, by the rood, not so:
                You are the queen, your husband's brother's wife;
                And--would it were not so!--you are my mother.
                QUEEN GERTRUDE
                Nay, then, I'll set those to you that can speak.
                HAMLET
                Come, come, and sit you down; you shall not budge;
                You go not till I set you up a glass
                Where you may see the inmost part of you.
                QUEEN GERTRUDE
                What wilt thou do? thou wilt not murder me?
                Help, help, ho!
                LORD POLONIUS
                [Behind] What, ho! help, help, help!
                HAMLET
                [Drawing] How now! a rat? Dead, for a ducat, dead!
                Makes a pass through the arras
                LORD POLONIUS
                [Behind] O, I am slain!
                Falls and dies
                QUEEN GERTRUDE
                O me, what hast thou done?
                HAMLET
                Nay, I know not:
                Is it the king?
                QUEEN GERTRUDE
                O, what a rash and bloody deed is this!
                HAMLET
                A bloody deed! almost as bad, good mother,
                As kill a king, and marry with his brother.
                QUEEN GERTRUDE
                As kill a king!
                HAMLET
                Ay, lady, 'twas my word.
                Lifts up the array and discovers POLONIUS
                Thou wretched, rash, intruding fool, farewell!
                I took thee for thy better: take thy fortune;
                Thou find'st to be too busy is some danger.
                Leave wringing of your hands: peace! sit you down,
                And let me wring your heart; for so I shall,
                If it be made of penetrable stuff,
                If damned custom have not brass'd it so
                That it is proof and bulwark against sense.
                QUEEN GERTRUDE
                What have I done, that thou darest wag thy tongue
                In noise so rude against me?
                HAMLET
                Such an act
                That blurs the grace and blush of modesty,
                Calls virtue hypocrite, takes off the rose
                From the fair forehead of an innocent love
                And sets a blister there, makes marriage-vows
                As false as dicers' oaths: O, such a deed
                As from the body of contraction plucks
                The very soul, and sweet religion makes
                A rhapsody of words: heaven's face doth glow:
                Yea, this solidity and compound mass,
                With tristful visage, as against the doom,
                Is thought-sick at the act.
                QUEEN GERTRUDE
                Ay me, what act,
                That roars so loud, and thunders in the index?
                HAMLET
                Look here, upon this picture, and on this,
                The counterfeit presentment of two brothers.
                See, what a grace was seated on this brow;
                Hyperion's curls; the front of Jove himself;
                An eye like Mars, to threaten and command;
                A station like the herald Mercury
                New-lighted on a heaven-kissing hill;
                A combination and a form indeed,
                Where every god did seem to set his seal,
                To give the world assurance of a man:
                This was your husband. Look you now, what follows:
                Here is your husband; like a mildew'd ear,
                Blasting his wholesome brother. Have you eyes?
                Could you on this fair mountain leave to feed,
                And batten on this moor? Ha! have you eyes?
                You cannot call it love; for at your age
                The hey-day in the blood is tame, it's humble,
                And waits upon the judgment: and what judgment
                Would step from this to this? Sense, sure, you have,
                Else could you not have motion; but sure, that sense
                Is apoplex'd; for madness would not err,
                Nor sense to ecstasy was ne'er so thrall'd
                But it reserved some quantity of choice,
                To serve in such a difference. What devil was't
                That thus hath cozen'd you at hoodman-blind?
                Eyes without feeling, feeling without sight,
                Ears without hands or eyes, smelling sans all,
                Or but a sickly part of one true sense
                Could not so mope.
                O shame! where is thy blush? Rebellious hell,
                If thou canst mutine in a matron's bones,
                To flaming youth let virtue be as wax,
                And melt in her own fire: proclaim no shame
                When the compulsive ardour gives the charge,
                Since frost itself as actively doth burn
                And reason panders will.
                QUEEN GERTRUDE
                O Hamlet, speak no more:
                Thou turn'st mine eyes into my very soul;
                And there I see such black and grained spots
                As will not leave their tinct.
                HAMLET
                Nay, but to live
                In the rank sweat of an enseamed bed,
                Stew'd in corruption, honeying and making love
                Over the nasty sty,--
                QUEEN GERTRUDE
                O, speak to me no more;
                These words, like daggers, enter in mine ears;
                No more, sweet Hamlet!
                HAMLET
                A murderer and a villain;
                A slave that is not twentieth part the tithe
                Of your precedent lord; a vice of kings;
                A cutpurse of the empire and the rule,
                That from a shelf the precious diadem stole,
                And put it in his pocket!
                QUEEN GERTRUDE
                No more!
                HAMLET
                A king of shreds and patches,--
                Enter Ghost
                Save me, and hover o'er me with your wings,
                You heavenly guards! What would your gracious figure?
                QUEEN GERTRUDE
                Alas, he's mad!
                HAMLET
                Do you not come your tardy son to chide,
                That, lapsed in time and passion, lets go by
                The important acting of your dread command? O, say!
                Ghost
                Do not forget: this visitation
                Is but to whet thy almost blunted purpose.
                But, look, amazement on thy mother sits:
                O, step between her and her fighting soul:
                Conceit in weakest bodies strongest works:
                Speak to her, Hamlet.
                HAMLET
                How is it with you, lady?
                QUEEN GERTRUDE
                Alas, how is't with you,
                That you do bend your eye on vacancy
                And with the incorporal air do hold discourse?
                Forth at your eyes your spirits wildly peep;
                And, as the sleeping soldiers in the alarm,
                Your bedded hair, like life in excrements,
                Starts up, and stands on end. O gentle son,
                Upon the heat and flame of thy distemper
                Sprinkle cool patience. Whereon do you look?
                HAMLET
                On him, on him! Look you, how pale he glares!
                His form and cause conjoin'd, preaching to stones,
                Would make them capable. Do not look upon me;
                Lest with this piteous action you convert
                My stern effects: then what I have to do
                Will want true colour; tears perchance for blood.
                QUEEN GERTRUDE
                To whom do you speak this?
                HAMLET
                Do you see nothing there?
                QUEEN GERTRUDE
                Nothing at all; yet all that is I see.
                HAMLET
                Nor did you nothing hear?
                QUEEN GERTRUDE
                No, nothing but ourselves.
                HAMLET
                Why, look you there! look, how it steals away!
                My father, in his habit as he lived!
                Look, where he goes, even now, out at the portal!
                Exit Ghost
                QUEEN GERTRUDE
                This the very coinage of your brain:
                This bodiless creation ecstasy
                Is very cunning in.
                HAMLET
                Ecstasy!
                My pulse, as yours, doth temperately keep time,
                And makes as healthful music: it is not madness
                That I have utter'd: bring me to the test,
                And I the matter will re-word; which madness
                Would gambol from. Mother, for love of grace,
                Lay not that mattering unction to your soul,
                That not your trespass, but my madness speaks:
                It will but skin and film the ulcerous place,
                Whilst rank corruption, mining all within,
                Infects unseen. Confess yourself to heaven;
                Repent what's past; avoid what is to come;
                And do not spread the compost on the weeds,
                To make them ranker. Forgive me this my virtue;
                For in the fatness of these pursy times
                Virtue itself of vice must pardon beg,
                Yea, curb and woo for leave to do him good.
                QUEEN GERTRUDE
                O Hamlet, thou hast cleft my heart in twain.
                HAMLET
                O, throw away the worser part of it,
                And live the purer with the other half.
                Good night: but go not to mine uncle's bed;
                Assume a virtue, if you have it not.
                That monster, custom, who all sense doth eat,
                Of habits devil, is angel yet in this,
                That to the use of actions fair and good
                He likewise gives a frock or livery,
                That aptly is put on. Refrain to-night,
                And that shall lend a kind of easiness
                To the next abstinence: the next more easy;
                For use almost can change the stamp of nature,
                And either [ ] the devil, or throw him out
                With wondrous potency. Once more, good night:
                And when you are desirous to be bless'd,
                I'll blessing beg of you. For this same lord,
                Pointing to POLONIUS
                I do repent: but heaven hath pleased it so,
                To punish me with this and this with me,
                That I must be their scourge and minister.
                I will bestow him, and will answer well
                The death I gave him. So, again, good night.
                I must be cruel, only to be kind:
                Thus bad begins and worse remains behind.
                One word more, good lady.
                QUEEN GERTRUDE
                What shall I do?
                HAMLET
                Not this, by no means, that I bid you do:
                Let the bloat king tempt you again to bed;
                Pinch wanton on your cheek; call you his mouse;
                And let him, for a pair of reechy kisses,
                Or paddling in your neck with his damn'd fingers,
                Make you to ravel all this matter out,
                That I essentially am not in madness,
                But mad in craft. 'Twere good you let him know;
                For who, that's but a queen, fair, sober, wise,
                Would from a paddock, from a bat, a gib,
                Such dear concernings hide? who would do so?
                No, in despite of sense and secrecy,
                Unpeg the basket on the house's top.
                Let the birds fly, and, like the famous ape,
                To try conclusions, in the basket creep,
                And break your own neck down.
                QUEEN GERTRUDE
                Be thou assured, if words be made of breath,
                And breath of life, I have no life to breathe
                What thou hast said to me.
                HAMLET
                I must to England; you know that?
                QUEEN GERTRUDE
                Alack,
                I had forgot: 'tis so concluded on.
                HAMLET
                There's letters seal'd: and my two schoolfellows,
                Whom I will trust as I will adders fang'd,
                They bear the mandate; they must sweep my way,
                And marshal me to knavery. Let it work;
                For 'tis the sport to have the engineer
                Hoist with his own petard: and 't shall go hard
                But I will delve one yard below their mines,
                And blow them at the moon: O, 'tis most sweet,
                When in one line two crafts directly meet.
                This man shall set me packing:
                I'll lug the guts into the neighbour room.
                Mother, good night. Indeed this counsellor
                Is now most still, most secret and most grave,
                Who was in life a foolish prating knave.
                Come, sir, to draw toward an end with you.
                Good night, mother.
                Exeunt severally; HAMLET dragging in POLONIUS
                ACT IV
                SCENE I. A room in the castle.
                Enter KING CLAUDIUS, QUEEN GERTRUDE, ROSENCRANTZ, and GUILDENSTERN
                KING CLAUDIUS
                There's matter in these sighs, these profound heaves:
                You must translate: 'tis fit we understand them.
                Where is your son?
                QUEEN GERTRUDE
                Bestow this place on us a little while.
                Exeunt ROSENCRANTZ and GUILDENSTERN
                Ah, my good lord, what have I seen to-night!
                KING CLAUDIUS
                What, Gertrude? How does Hamlet?
                QUEEN GERTRUDE
                Mad as the sea and wind, when both contend
                Which is the mightier: in his lawless fit,
                Behind the arras hearing something stir,
                Whips out his rapier, cries, 'A rat, a rat!'
                And, in this brainish apprehension, kills
                The unseen good old man.
                KING CLAUDIUS
                O heavy deed!
                It had been so with us, had we been there:
                His liberty is full of threats to all;
                To you yourself, to us, to every one.
                Alas, how shall this bloody deed be answer'd?
                It will be laid to us, whose providence
                Should have kept short, restrain'd and out of haunt,
                This mad young man: but so much was our love,
                We would not understand what was most fit;
                But, like the owner of a foul disease,
                To keep it from divulging, let it feed
                Even on the pith of Life. Where is he gone?
                QUEEN GERTRUDE
                To draw apart the body he hath kill'd:
                O'er whom his very madness, like some ore
                Among a mineral of metals base,
                Shows itself pure; he weeps for what is done.
                KING CLAUDIUS
                O Gertrude, come away!
                The sun no sooner shall the mountains touch,
                But we will ship him hence: and this vile deed
                We must, with all our majesty and skill,
                Both countenance and excuse. Ho, Guildenstern!
                Re-enter ROSENCRANTZ and GUILDENSTERN
                Friends both, go join you with some further aid:
                Hamlet in madness hath Polonius slain,
                And from his mother's closet hath he dragg'd him:
                Go seek him out; speak fair, and bring the body
                Into the chapel. I pray you, haste in this.
                Exeunt ROSENCRANTZ and GUILDENSTERN
                Come, Gertrude, we'll call up our wisest friends;
                And let them know, both what we mean to do,
                And what's untimely done. O, come away!
                My soul is full of discord and dismay.
                Exeunt
                SCENE II. Another room in the castle.
                Enter HAMLET
                HAMLET
                Safely stowed.
                ROSENCRANTZ: GUILDENSTERN:
                [Within] Hamlet! Lord Hamlet!
                HAMLET
                What noise? who calls on Hamlet?
                O, here they come.
                Enter ROSENCRANTZ and GUILDENSTERN
                ROSENCRANTZ
                What have you done, my lord, with the dead body?
                HAMLET
                Compounded it with dust, whereto 'tis kin.
                ROSENCRANTZ
                Tell us where 'tis, that we may take it thence
                And bear it to the chapel.
                HAMLET
                Do not believe it.
                ROSENCRANTZ
                Believe what?
                HAMLET
                That I can keep your counsel and not mine own.
                Besides, to be demanded of a sponge! what
                replication should be made by the son of a king?
                ROSENCRANTZ
                Take you me for a sponge, my lord?
                HAMLET
                Ay, sir, that soaks up the king's countenance, his
                rewards, his authorities. But such officers do the
                king best service in the end: he keeps them, like
                an ape, in the corner of his jaw; first mouthed, to
                be last swallowed: when he needs what you have
                gleaned, it is but squeezing you, and, sponge, you
                shall be dry again.
                ROSENCRANTZ
                I understand you not, my lord.
                HAMLET
                I am glad of it: a knavish speech sleeps in a
                foolish ear.
                ROSENCRANTZ
                My lord, you must tell us where the body is, and go
                with us to the king.
                HAMLET
                The body is with the king, but the king is not with
                the body. The king is a thing--
                GUILDENSTERN
                A thing, my lord!
                HAMLET
                Of nothing: bring me to him. Hide fox, and all after.
                Exeunt
                SCENE III. Another room in the castle.
                Enter KING CLAUDIUS, attended
                KING CLAUDIUS
                I have sent to seek him, and to find the body.
                How dangerous is it that this man goes loose!
                Yet must not we put the strong law on him:
                He's loved of the distracted multitude,
                Who like not in their judgment, but their eyes;
                And where tis so, the offender's scourge is weigh'd,
                But never the offence. To bear all smooth and even,
                This sudden sending him away must seem
                Deliberate pause: diseases desperate grown
                By desperate appliance are relieved,
                Or not at all.
                Enter ROSENCRANTZ
                How now! what hath befall'n?
                ROSENCRANTZ
                Where the dead body is bestow'd, my lord,
                We cannot get from him.
                KING CLAUDIUS
                But where is he?
                ROSENCRANTZ
                Without, my lord; guarded, to know your pleasure.
                KING CLAUDIUS
                Bring him before us.
                ROSENCRANTZ
                Ho, Guildenstern! bring in my lord.
                Enter HAMLET and GUILDENSTERN
                KING CLAUDIUS
                Now, Hamlet, where's Polonius?
                HAMLET
                At supper.
                KING CLAUDIUS
                At supper! where?
                HAMLET
                Not where he eats, but where he is eaten: a certain
                convocation of politic worms are e'en at him. Your
                worm is your only emperor for diet: we fat all
                creatures else to fat us, and we fat ourselves for
                maggots: your fat king and your lean beggar is but
                variable service, two dishes, but to one table:
                that's the end.
                KING CLAUDIUS
                Alas, alas!
                HAMLET
                A man may fish with the worm that hath eat of a
                king, and cat of the fish that hath fed of that worm.
                KING CLAUDIUS
                What dost you mean by this?
                HAMLET
                Nothing but to show you how a king may go a
                progress through the guts of a beggar.
                KING CLAUDIUS
                Where is Polonius?
                HAMLET
                In heaven; send hither to see: if your messenger
                find him not there, seek him i' the other place
                yourself. But indeed, if you find him not within
                this month, you shall nose him as you go up the
                stairs into the lobby.
                KING CLAUDIUS
                Go seek him there.
                To some Attendants
                HAMLET
                He will stay till ye come.
                Exeunt Attendants
                KING CLAUDIUS
                Hamlet, this deed, for thine especial safety,--
                Which we do tender, as we dearly grieve
                For that which thou hast done,--must send thee hence
                With fiery quickness: therefore prepare thyself;
                The bark is ready, and the wind at help,
                The associates tend, and every thing is bent
                For England.
                HAMLET
                For England!
                KING CLAUDIUS
                Ay, Hamlet.
                HAMLET
                Good.
                KING CLAUDIUS
                So is it, if thou knew'st our purposes.
                HAMLET
                I see a cherub that sees them. But, come; for
                England! Farewell, dear mother.
                KING CLAUDIUS
                Thy loving father, Hamlet.
                HAMLET
                My mother: father and mother is man and wife; man
                and wife is one flesh; and so, my mother. Come, for England!
                Exit
                KING CLAUDIUS
                Follow him at foot; tempt him with speed aboard;
                Delay it not; I'll have him hence to-night:
                Away! for every thing is seal'd and done
                That else leans on the affair: pray you, make haste.
                Exeunt ROSENCRANTZ and GUILDENSTERN
                And, England, if my love thou hold'st at aught--
                As my great power thereof may give thee sense,
                Since yet thy cicatrice looks raw and red
                After the Danish sword, and thy free awe
                Pays homage to us--thou mayst not coldly set
                Our sovereign process; which imports at full,
                By letters congruing to that effect,
                The present death of Hamlet. Do it, England;
                For like the hectic in my blood he rages,
                And thou must cure me: till I know 'tis done,
                Howe'er my haps, my joys were ne'er begun.
                Exit
                SCENE IV. A plain in Denmark.
                Enter FORTINBRAS, a Captain, and Soldiers, marching
                PRINCE FORTINBRAS
                Go, captain, from me greet the Danish king;
                Tell him that, by his licence, Fortinbras
                Craves the conveyance of a promised march
                Over his kingdom. You know the rendezvous.
                If that his majesty would aught with us,
                We shall express our duty in his eye;
                And let him know so.
                Captain
                I will do't, my lord.
                PRINCE FORTINBRAS
                Go softly on.
                Exeunt FORTINBRAS and Soldiers
                Enter HAMLET, ROSENCRANTZ, GUILDENSTERN, and others
                HAMLET
                Good sir, whose powers are these?
                Captain
                They are of Norway, sir.
                HAMLET
                How purposed, sir, I pray you?
                Captain
                Against some part of Poland.
                HAMLET
                Who commands them, sir?
                Captain
                The nephews to old Norway, Fortinbras.
                HAMLET
                Goes it against the main of Poland, sir,
                Or for some frontier?
                Captain
                Truly to speak, and with no addition,
                We go to gain a little patch of ground
                That hath in it no profit but the name.
                To pay five ducats, five, I would not farm it;
                Nor will it yield to Norway or the Pole
                A ranker rate, should it be sold in fee.
                HAMLET
                Why, then the Polack never will defend it.
                Captain
                Yes, it is already garrison'd.
                HAMLET
                Two thousand souls and twenty thousand ducats
                Will not debate the question of this straw:
                This is the imposthume of much wealth and peace,
                That inward breaks, and shows no cause without
                Why the man dies. I humbly thank you, sir.
                Captain
                God be wi' you, sir.
                Exit
                ROSENCRANTZ
                Wilt please you go, my lord?
                HAMLET
                I'll be with you straight go a little before.
                Exeunt all except HAMLET
                How all occasions do inform against me,
                And spur my dull revenge! What is a man,
                If his chief good and market of his time
                Be but to sleep and feed? a beast, no more.
                Sure, he that made us with such large discourse,
                Looking before and after, gave us not
                That capability and god-like reason
                To fust in us unused. Now, whether it be
                Bestial oblivion, or some craven scruple
                Of thinking too precisely on the event,
                A thought which, quarter'd, hath but one part wisdom
                And ever three parts coward, I do not know
                Why yet I live to say 'This thing's to do;'
                Sith I have cause and will and strength and means
                To do't. Examples gross as earth exhort me:
                Witness this army of such mass and charge
                Led by a delicate and tender prince,
                Whose spirit with divine ambition puff'd
                Makes mouths at the invisible event,
                Exposing what is mortal and unsure
                To all that fortune, death and danger dare,
                Even for an egg-shell. Rightly to be great
                Is not to stir without great argument,
                But greatly to find quarrel in a straw
                When honour's at the stake. How stand I then,
                That have a father kill'd, a mother stain'd,
                Excitements of my reason and my blood,
                And let all sleep? while, to my shame, I see
                The imminent death of twenty thousand men,
                That, for a fantasy and trick of fame,
                Go to their graves like beds, fight for a plot
                Whereon the numbers cannot try the cause,
                Which is not tomb enough and continent
                To hide the slain? O, from this time forth,
                My thoughts be bloody, or be nothing worth!
                Exit
                SCENE V. Elsinore. A room in the castle.
                Enter QUEEN GERTRUDE, HORATIO, and a Gentleman
                QUEEN GERTRUDE
                I will not speak with her.
                Gentleman
                She is importunate, indeed distract:
                Her mood will needs be pitied.
                QUEEN GERTRUDE
                What would she have?
                Gentleman
                She speaks much of her father; says she hears
                There's tricks i' the world; and hems, and beats her heart;
                Spurns enviously at straws; speaks things in doubt,
                That carry but half sense: her speech is nothing,
                Yet the unshaped use of it doth move
                The hearers to collection; they aim at it,
                And botch the words up fit to their own thoughts;
                Which, as her winks, and nods, and gestures
                yield them,
                Indeed would make one think there might be thought,
                Though nothing sure, yet much unhappily.
                HORATIO
                'Twere good she were spoken with; for she may strew
                Dangerous conjectures in ill-breeding minds.
                QUEEN GERTRUDE
                Let her come in.
                Exit HORATIO
                To my sick soul, as sin's true nature is,
                Each toy seems prologue to some great amiss:
                So full of artless jealousy is guilt,
                It spills itself in fearing to be spilt.
                Re-enter HORATIO, with OPHELIA
                OPHELIA
                Where is the beauteous majesty of Denmark?
                QUEEN GERTRUDE
                How now, Ophelia!
                OPHELIA
                [Sings]
                How should I your true love know
                From another one?
                By his cockle hat and staff,
                And his sandal shoon.
                QUEEN GERTRUDE
                Alas, sweet lady, what imports this song?
                OPHELIA
                Say you? nay, pray you, mark.
                Sings
                He is dead and gone, lady,
                He is dead and gone;
                At his head a grass-green turf,
                At his heels a stone.
                QUEEN GERTRUDE
                Nay, but, Ophelia,--
                OPHELIA
                Pray you, mark.
                Sings
                White his shroud as the mountain snow,--
                Enter KING CLAUDIUS
                QUEEN GERTRUDE
                Alas, look here, my lord.
                OPHELIA
                [Sings]
                Larded with sweet flowers
                Which bewept to the grave did go
                With true-love showers.
                KING CLAUDIUS
                How do you, pretty lady?
                OPHELIA
                Well, God 'ild you! They say the owl was a baker's
                daughter. Lord, we know what we are, but know not
                what we may be. God be at your table!
                KING CLAUDIUS
                Conceit upon her father.
                OPHELIA
                Pray you, let's have no words of this; but when they
                ask you what it means, say you this:
                Sings
                To-morrow is Saint Valentine's day,
                All in the morning betime,
                And I a maid at your window,
                To be your Valentine.
                Then up he rose, and donn'd his clothes,
                And dupp'd the chamber-door;
                Let in the maid, that out a maid
                Never departed more.
                KING CLAUDIUS
                Pretty Ophelia!
                OPHELIA
                Indeed, la, without an oath, I'll make an end on't:
                Sings
                By Gis and by Saint Charity,
                Alack, and fie for shame!
                Young men will do't, if they come to't;
                By cock, they are to blame.
                Quoth she, before you tumbled me,
                You promised me to wed.
                So would I ha' done, by yonder sun,
                An thou hadst not come to my bed.
                KING CLAUDIUS
                How long hath she been thus?
                OPHELIA
                I hope all will be well. We must be patient: but I
                cannot choose but weep, to think they should lay him
                i' the cold ground. My brother shall know of it:
                and so I thank you for your good counsel. Come, my
                coach! Good night, ladies; good night, sweet ladies;
                good night, good night.
                Exit
                KING CLAUDIUS
                Follow her close; give her good watch,
                I pray you.
                Exit HORATIO
                O, this is the poison of deep grief; it springs
                All from her father's death. O Gertrude, Gertrude,
                When sorrows come, they come not single spies
                But in battalions. First, her father slain:
                Next, your son gone; and he most violent author
                Of his own just remove: the people muddied,
                Thick and unwholesome in their thoughts and whispers,
                For good Polonius' death; and we have done but greenly,
                In hugger-mugger to inter him: poor Ophelia
                Divided from herself and her fair judgment,
                Without the which we are pictures, or mere beasts:
                Last, and as much containing as all these,
                Her brother is in secret come from France;
                Feeds on his wonder, keeps himself in clouds,
                And wants not buzzers to infect his ear
                With pestilent speeches of his father's death;
                Wherein necessity, of matter beggar'd,
                Will nothing stick our person to arraign
                In ear and ear. O my dear Gertrude, this,
                Like to a murdering-piece, in many places
                Gives me superfluous death.
                A noise within
                QUEEN GERTRUDE
                Alack, what noise is this?
                KING CLAUDIUS
                Where are my Switzers? Let them guard the door.
                Enter another Gentleman
                What is the matter?
                Gentleman
                Save yourself, my lord:
                The ocean, overpeering of his list,
                Eats not the flats with more impetuous haste
                Than young Laertes, in a riotous head,
                O'erbears your officers. The rabble call him lord;
                And, as the world were now but to begin,
                Antiquity forgot, custom not known,
                The ratifiers and props of every word,
                They cry 'Choose we: Laertes shall be king:'
                Caps, hands, and tongues, applaud it to the clouds:
                'Laertes shall be king, Laertes king!'
                QUEEN GERTRUDE
                How cheerfully on the false trail they cry!
                O, this is counter, you false Danish dogs!
                KING CLAUDIUS
                The doors are broke.
                Noise within
                Enter LAERTES, armed; Danes following
                LAERTES
                Where is this king? Sirs, stand you all without.
                Danes
                No, let's come in.
                LAERTES
                I pray you, give me leave.
                Danes
                We will, we will.
                They retire without the door
                LAERTES
                I thank you: keep the door. O thou vile king,
                Give me my father!
                QUEEN GERTRUDE
                Calmly, good Laertes.
                LAERTES
                That drop of blood that's calm proclaims me bastard,
                Cries cuckold to my father, brands the harlot
                Even here, between the chaste unsmirched brow
                Of my true mother.
                KING CLAUDIUS
                What is the cause, Laertes,
                That thy rebellion looks so giant-like?
                Let him go, Gertrude; do not fear our person:
                There's such divinity doth hedge a king,
                That treason can but peep to what it would,
                Acts little of his will. Tell me, Laertes,
                Why thou art thus incensed. Let him go, Gertrude.
                Speak, man.
                LAERTES
                Where is my father?
                KING CLAUDIUS
                Dead.
                QUEEN GERTRUDE
                But not by him.
                KING CLAUDIUS
                Let him demand his fill.
                LAERTES
                How came he dead? I'll not be juggled with:
                To hell, allegiance! vows, to the blackest devil!
                Conscience and grace, to the profoundest pit!
                I dare damnation. To this point I stand,
                That both the worlds I give to negligence,
                Let come what comes; only I'll be revenged
                Most thoroughly for my father.
                KING CLAUDIUS
                Who shall stay you?
                LAERTES
                My will, not all the world:
                And for my means, I'll husband them so well,
                They shall go far with little.
                KING CLAUDIUS
                Good Laertes,
                If you desire to know the certainty
                Of your dear father's death, is't writ in your revenge,
                That, swoopstake, you will draw both friend and foe,
                Winner and loser?
                LAERTES
                None but his enemies.
                KING CLAUDIUS
                Will you know them then?
                LAERTES
                To his good friends thus wide I'll ope my arms;
                And like the kind life-rendering pelican,
                Repast them with my blood.
                KING CLAUDIUS
                Why, now you speak
                Like a good child and a true gentleman.
                That I am guiltless of your father's death,
                And am most sensible in grief for it,
                It shall as level to your judgment pierce
                As day does to your eye.
                Danes
                [Within] Let her come in.
                LAERTES
                How now! what noise is that?
                Re-enter OPHELIA
                O heat, dry up my brains! tears seven times salt,
                Burn out the sense and virtue of mine eye!
                By heaven, thy madness shall be paid by weight,
                Till our scale turn the beam. O rose of May!
                Dear maid, kind sister, sweet Ophelia!
                O heavens! is't possible, a young maid's wits
                Should be as moral as an old man's life?
                Nature is fine in love, and where 'tis fine,
                It sends some precious instance of itself
                After the thing it loves.
                OPHELIA
                [Sings]
                They bore him barefaced on the bier;
                Hey non nonny, nonny, hey nonny;
                And in his grave rain'd many a tear:--
                Fare you well, my dove!
                LAERTES
                Hadst thou thy wits, and didst persuade revenge,
                It could not move thus.
                OPHELIA
                [Sings]
                You must sing a-down a-down,
                An you call him a-down-a.
                O, how the wheel becomes it! It is the false
                steward, that stole his master's daughter.
                LAERTES
                This nothing's more than matter.
                OPHELIA
                There's rosemary, that's for remembrance; pray,
                love, remember: and there is pansies. that's for thoughts.
                LAERTES
                A document in madness, thoughts and remembrance fitted.
                OPHELIA
                There's fennel for you, and columbines: there's rue
                for you; and here's some for me: we may call it
                herb-grace o' Sundays: O you must wear your rue with
                a difference. There's a daisy: I would give you
                some violets, but they withered all when my father
                died: they say he made a good end,--
                Sings
                For bonny sweet Robin is all my joy.
                LAERTES
                Thought and affliction, passion, hell itself,
                She turns to favour and to prettiness.
                OPHELIA
                [Sings]
                And will he not come again?
                And will he not come again?
                No, no, he is dead:
                Go to thy death-bed:
                He never will come again.
                His beard was as white as snow,
                All flaxen was his poll:
                He is gone, he is gone,
                And we cast away moan:
                God ha' mercy on his soul!
                And of all Christian souls, I pray God. God be wi' ye.
                Exit
                LAERTES
                Do you see this, O God?
                KING CLAUDIUS
                Laertes, I must commune with your grief,
                Or you deny me right. Go but apart,
                Make choice of whom your wisest friends you will.
                And they shall hear and judge 'twixt you and me:
                If by direct or by collateral hand
                They find us touch'd, we will our kingdom give,
                Our crown, our life, and all that we can ours,
                To you in satisfaction; but if not,
                Be you content to lend your patience to us,
                And we shall jointly labour with your soul
                To give it due content.
                LAERTES
                Let this be so;
                His means of death, his obscure funeral--
                No trophy, sword, nor hatchment o'er his bones,
                No noble rite nor formal ostentation--
                Cry to be heard, as 'twere from heaven to earth,
                That I must call't in question.
                KING CLAUDIUS
                So you shall;
                And where the offence is let the great axe fall.
                I pray you, go with me.
                Exeunt
                SCENE VI. Another room in the castle.
                Enter HORATIO and a Servant
                HORATIO
                What are they that would speak with me?
                Servant
                Sailors, sir: they say they have letters for you.
                HORATIO
                Let them come in.
                Exit Servant
                I do not know from what part of the world
                I should be greeted, if not from Lord Hamlet.
                Enter Sailors
                First Sailor
                God bless you, sir.
                HORATIO
                Let him bless thee too.
                First Sailor
                He shall, sir, an't please him. There's a letter for
                you, sir; it comes from the ambassador that was
                bound for England; if your name be Horatio, as I am
                let to know it is.
                HORATIO
                [Reads] 'Horatio, when thou shalt have overlooked
                this, give these fellows some means to the king:
                they have letters for him. Ere we were two days old
                at sea, a pirate of very warlike appointment gave us
                chase. Finding ourselves too slow of sail, we put on
                a compelled valour, and in the grapple I boarded
                them: on the instant they got clear of our ship; so
                I alone became their prisoner. They have dealt with
                me like thieves of mercy: but they knew what they
                did; I am to do a good turn for them. Let the king
                have the letters I have sent; and repair thou to me
                with as much speed as thou wouldst fly death. I
                have words to speak in thine ear will make thee
                dumb; yet are they much too light for the bore of
                the matter. These good fellows will bring thee
                where I am. Rosencrantz and Guildenstern hold their
                course for England: of them I have much to tell
                thee. Farewell.
                'He that thou knowest thine, HAMLET.'
                Come, I will make you way for these your letters;
                And do't the speedier, that you may direct me
                To him from whom you brought them.
                Exeunt
                SCENE VII. Another room in the castle.
                Enter KING CLAUDIUS and LAERTES
                KING CLAUDIUS
                Now must your conscience my acquaintance seal,
                And you must put me in your heart for friend,
                Sith you have heard, and with a knowing ear,
                That he which hath your noble father slain
                Pursued my life.
                LAERTES
                It well appears: but tell me
                Why you proceeded not against these feats,
                So crimeful and so capital in nature,
                As by your safety, wisdom, all things else,
                You mainly were stirr'd up.
                KING CLAUDIUS
                O, for two special reasons;
                Which may to you, perhaps, seem much unsinew'd,
                But yet to me they are strong. The queen his mother
                Lives almost by his looks; and for myself--
                My virtue or my plague, be it either which--
                She's so conjunctive to my life and soul,
                That, as the star moves not but in his sphere,
                I could not but by her. The other motive,
                Why to a public count I might not go,
                Is the great love the general gender bear him;
                Who, dipping all his faults in their affection,
                Would, like the spring that turneth wood to stone,
                Convert his gyves to graces; so that my arrows,
                Too slightly timber'd for so loud a wind,
                Would have reverted to my bow again,
                And not where I had aim'd them.
                LAERTES
                And so have I a noble father lost;
                A sister driven into desperate terms,
                Whose worth, if praises may go back again,
                Stood challenger on mount of all the age
                For her perfections: but my revenge will come.
                KING CLAUDIUS
                Break not your sleeps for that: you must not think
                That we are made of stuff so flat and dull
                That we can let our beard be shook with danger
                And think it pastime. You shortly shall hear more:
                I loved your father, and we love ourself;
                And that, I hope, will teach you to imagine--
                Enter a Messenger
                How now! what news?
                Messenger
                Letters, my lord, from Hamlet:
                This to your majesty; this to the queen.
                KING CLAUDIUS
                From Hamlet! who brought them?
                Messenger
                Sailors, my lord, they say; I saw them not:
                They were given me by Claudio; he received them
                Of him that brought them.
                KING CLAUDIUS
                Laertes, you shall hear them. Leave us.
                Exit Messenger
                Reads
                'High and mighty, You shall know I am set naked on
                your kingdom. To-morrow shall I beg leave to see
                your kingly eyes: when I shall, first asking your
                pardon thereunto, recount the occasion of my sudden
                and more strange return. 'HAMLET.'
                What should this mean? Are all the rest come back?
                Or is it some abuse, and no such thing?
                LAERTES
                Know you the hand?
                KING CLAUDIUS
                'Tis Hamlets character. 'Naked!
                And in a postscript here, he says 'alone.'
                Can you advise me?
                LAERTES
                I'm lost in it, my lord. But let him come;
                It warms the very sickness in my heart,
                That I shall live and tell him to his teeth,
                'Thus didest thou.'
                KING CLAUDIUS
                If it be so, Laertes--
                As how should it be so? how otherwise?--
                Will you be ruled by me?
                LAERTES
                Ay, my lord;
                So you will not o'errule me to a peace.
                KING CLAUDIUS
                To thine own peace. If he be now return'd,
                As checking at his voyage, and that he means
                No more to undertake it, I will work him
                To an exploit, now ripe in my device,
                Under the which he shall not choose but fall:
                And for his death no wind of blame shall breathe,
                But even his mother shall uncharge the practise
                And call it accident.
                LAERTES
                My lord, I will be ruled;
                The rather, if you could devise it so
                That I might be the organ.
                KING CLAUDIUS
                It falls right.
                You have been talk'd of since your travel much,
                And that in Hamlet's hearing, for a quality
                Wherein, they say, you shine: your sum of parts
                Did not together pluck such envy from him
                As did that one, and that, in my regard,
                Of the unworthiest siege.
                LAERTES
                What part is that, my lord?
                KING CLAUDIUS
                A very riband in the cap of youth,
                Yet needful too; for youth no less becomes
                The light and careless livery that it wears
                Than settled age his sables and his weeds,
                Importing health and graveness. Two months since,
                Here was a gentleman of Normandy:--
                I've seen myself, and served against, the French,
                And they can well on horseback: but this gallant
                Had witchcraft in't; he grew unto his seat;
                And to such wondrous doing brought his horse,
                As he had been incorpsed and demi-natured
                With the brave beast: so far he topp'd my thought,
                That I, in forgery of shapes and tricks,
                Come short of what he did.
                LAERTES
                A Norman was't?
                KING CLAUDIUS
                A Norman.
                LAERTES
                Upon my life, Lamond.
                KING CLAUDIUS
                The very same.
                LAERTES
                I know him well: he is the brooch indeed
                And gem of all the nation.
                KING CLAUDIUS
                He made confession of you,
                And gave you such a masterly report
                For art and exercise in your defence
                And for your rapier most especially,
                That he cried out, 'twould be a sight indeed,
                If one could match you: the scrimers of their nation,
                He swore, had had neither motion, guard, nor eye,
                If you opposed them. Sir, this report of his
                Did Hamlet so envenom with his envy
                That he could nothing do but wish and beg
                Your sudden coming o'er, to play with him.
                Now, out of this,--
                LAERTES
                What out of this, my lord?
                KING CLAUDIUS
                Laertes, was your father dear to you?
                Or are you like the painting of a sorrow,
                A face without a heart?
                LAERTES
                Why ask you this?
                KING CLAUDIUS
                Not that I think you did not love your father;
                But that I know love is begun by time;
                And that I see, in passages of proof,
                Time qualifies the spark and fire of it.
                There lives within the very flame of love
                A kind of wick or snuff that will abate it;
                And nothing is at a like goodness still;
                For goodness, growing to a plurisy,
                Dies in his own too much: that we would do
                We should do when we would; for this 'would' changes
                And hath abatements and delays as many
                As there are tongues, are hands, are accidents;
                And then this 'should' is like a spendthrift sigh,
                That hurts by easing. But, to the quick o' the ulcer:--
                Hamlet comes back: what would you undertake,
                To show yourself your father's son in deed
                More than in words?
                LAERTES
                To cut his throat i' the church.
                KING CLAUDIUS
                No place, indeed, should murder sanctuarize;
                Revenge should have no bounds. But, good Laertes,
                Will you do this, keep close within your chamber.
                Hamlet return'd shall know you are come home:
                We'll put on those shall praise your excellence
                And set a double varnish on the fame
                The Frenchman gave you, bring you in fine together
                And wager on your heads: he, being remiss,
                Most generous and free from all contriving,
                Will not peruse the foils; so that, with ease,
                Or with a little shuffling, you may choose
                A sword unbated, and in a pass of practise
                Requite him for your father.
                LAERTES
                I will do't:
                And, for that purpose, I'll anoint my sword.
                I bought an unction of a mountebank,
                So mortal that, but dip a knife in it,
                Where it draws blood no cataplasm so rare,
                Collected from all simples that have virtue
                Under the moon, can save the thing from death
                That is but scratch'd withal: I'll touch my point
                With this contagion, that, if I gall him slightly,
                It may be death.
                KING CLAUDIUS
                Let's further think of this;
                Weigh what convenience both of time and means
                May fit us to our shape: if this should fail,
                And that our drift look through our bad performance,
                'Twere better not assay'd: therefore this project
                Should have a back or second, that might hold,
                If this should blast in proof. Soft! let me see:
                We'll make a solemn wager on your cunnings: I ha't.
                When in your motion you are hot and dry--
                As make your bouts more violent to that end--
                And that he calls for drink, I'll have prepared him
                A chalice for the nonce, whereon but sipping,
                If he by chance escape your venom'd stuck,
                Our purpose may hold there.
                Enter QUEEN GERTRUDE
                How now, sweet queen!
                QUEEN GERTRUDE
                One woe doth tread upon another's heel,
                So fast they follow; your sister's drown'd, Laertes.
                LAERTES
                Drown'd! O, where?
                QUEEN GERTRUDE
                There is a willow grows aslant a brook,
                That shows his hoar leaves in the glassy stream;
                There with fantastic garlands did she come
                Of crow-flowers, nettles, daisies, and long purples
                That liberal shepherds give a grosser name,
                But our cold maids do dead men's fingers call them:
                There, on the pendent boughs her coronet weeds
                Clambering to hang, an envious sliver broke;
                When down her weedy trophies and herself
                Fell in the weeping brook. Her clothes spread wide;
                And, mermaid-like, awhile they bore her up:
                Which time she chanted snatches of old tunes;
                As one incapable of her own distress,
                Or like a creature native and indued
                Unto that element: but long it could not be
                Till that her garments, heavy with their drink,
                Pull'd the poor wretch from her melodious lay
                To muddy death.
                LAERTES
                Alas, then, she is drown'd?
                QUEEN GERTRUDE
                Drown'd, drown'd.
                LAERTES
                Too much of water hast thou, poor Ophelia,
                And therefore I forbid my tears: but yet
                It is our trick; nature her custom holds,
                Let shame say what it will: when these are gone,
                The woman will be out. Adieu, my lord:
                I have a speech of fire, that fain would blaze,
                But that this folly douts it.
                Exit
                KING CLAUDIUS
                Let's follow, Gertrude:
                How much I had to do to calm his rage!
                Now fear I this will give it start again;
                Therefore let's follow.
                Exeunt
                ACT V
                SCENE I. A churchyard.
                Enter two Clowns, with spades, & c
                First Clown
                Is she to be buried in Christian burial that
                wilfully seeks her own salvation?
                Second Clown
                I tell thee she is: and therefore make her grave
                straight: the crowner hath sat on her, and finds it
                Christian burial.
                First Clown
                How can that be, unless she drowned herself in her
                own defence?
                Second Clown
                Why, 'tis found so.
                First Clown
                It must be 'se offendendo;' it cannot be else. For
                here lies the point: if I drown myself wittingly,
                it argues an act: and an act hath three branches: it
                is, to act, to do, to perform: argal, she drowned
                herself wittingly.
                Second Clown
                Nay, but hear you, goodman delver,--
                First Clown
                Give me leave. Here lies the water; good: here
                stands the man; good; if the man go to this water,
                and drown himself, it is, will he, nill he, he
                goes,--mark you that; but if the water come to him
                and drown him, he drowns not himself: argal, he
                that is not guilty of his own death shortens not his own life.
                Second Clown
                But is this law?
                First Clown
                Ay, marry, is't; crowner's quest law.
                Second Clown
                Will you ha' the truth on't? If this had not been
                a gentlewoman, she should have been buried out o'
                Christian burial.
                First Clown
                Why, there thou say'st: and the more pity that
                great folk should have countenance in this world to
                drown or hang themselves, more than their even
                Christian. Come, my spade. There is no ancient
                gentleman but gardeners, ditchers, and grave-makers:
                they hold up Adam's profession.
                Second Clown
                Was he a gentleman?
                First Clown
                He was the first that ever bore arms.
                Second Clown
                Why, he had none.
                First Clown
                What, art a heathen? How dost thou understand the
                Scripture? The Scripture says 'Adam digged:'
                could he dig without arms? I'll put another
                question to thee: if thou answerest me not to the
                purpose, confess thyself--
                Second Clown
                Go to.
                First Clown
                What is he that builds stronger than either the
                mason, the shipwright, or the carpenter?
                Second Clown
                The gallows-maker; for that frame outlives a
                thousand tenants.
                First Clown
                I like thy wit well, in good faith: the gallows
                does well; but how does it well? it does well to
                those that do in: now thou dost ill to say the
                gallows is built stronger than the church: argal,
                the gallows may do well to thee. To't again, come.
                Second Clown
                'Who builds stronger than a mason, a shipwright, or
                a carpenter?'
                First Clown
                Ay, tell me that, and unyoke.
                Second Clown
                Marry, now I can tell.
                First Clown
                To't.
                Second Clown
                Mass, I cannot tell.
                Enter HAMLET and HORATIO, at a distance
                First Clown
                Cudgel thy brains no more about it, for your dull
                ass will not mend his pace with beating; and, when
                you are asked this question next, say 'a
                grave-maker: 'the houses that he makes last till
                doomsday. Go, get thee to Yaughan: fetch me a
                stoup of liquor.
                Exit Second Clown
                He digs and sings
                In youth, when I did love, did love,
                Methought it was very sweet,
                To contract, O, the time, for, ah, my behove,
                O, methought, there was nothing meet.
                HAMLET
                Has this fellow no feeling of his business, that he
                sings at grave-making?
                HORATIO
                Custom hath made it in him a property of easiness.
                HAMLET
                'Tis e'en so: the hand of little employment hath
                the daintier sense.
                First Clown
                [Sings]
                But age, with his stealing steps,
                Hath claw'd me in his clutch,
                And hath shipped me intil the land,
                As if I had never been such.
                Throws up a skull
                HAMLET
                That skull had a tongue in it, and could sing once:
                how the knave jowls it to the ground, as if it were
                Cain's jaw-bone, that did the first murder! It
                might be the pate of a politician, which this ass
                now o'er-reaches; one that would circumvent God,
                might it not?
                HORATIO
                It might, my lord.
                HAMLET
                Or of a courtier; which could say 'Good morrow,
                sweet lord! How dost thou, good lord?' This might
                be my lord such-a-one, that praised my lord
                such-a-one's horse, when he meant to beg it; might it not?
                HORATIO
                Ay, my lord.
                HAMLET
                Why, e'en so: and now my Lady Worm's; chapless, and
                knocked about the mazzard with a sexton's spade:
                here's fine revolution, an we had the trick to
                see't. Did these bones cost no more the breeding,
                but to play at loggats with 'em? mine ache to think on't.
                First Clown
                [Sings]
                A pick-axe, and a spade, a spade,
                For and a shrouding sheet:
                O, a pit of clay for to be made
                For such a guest is meet.
                Throws up another skull
                HAMLET
                There's another: why may not that be the skull of a
                lawyer? Where be his quiddities now, his quillets,
                his cases, his tenures, and his tricks? why does he
                suffer this rude knave now to knock him about the
                sconce with a dirty shovel, and will not tell him of
                his action of battery? Hum! This fellow might be
                in's time a great buyer of land, with his statutes,
                his recognizances, his fines, his double vouchers,
                his recoveries: is this the fine of his fines, and
                the recovery of his recoveries, to have his fine
                pate full of fine dirt? will his vouchers vouch him
                no more of his purchases, and double ones too, than
                the length and breadth of a pair of indentures? The
                very conveyances of his lands will hardly lie in
                this box; and must the inheritor himself have no more, ha?
                HORATIO
                Not a jot more, my lord.
                HAMLET
                Is not parchment made of sheepskins?
                HORATIO
                Ay, my lord, and of calf-skins too.
                HAMLET
                They are sheep and calves which seek out assurance
                in that. I will speak to this fellow. Whose
                grave's this, sirrah?
                First Clown
                Mine, sir.
                Sings
                O, a pit of clay for to be made
                For such a guest is meet.
                HAMLET
                I think it be thine, indeed; for thou liest in't.
                First Clown
                You lie out on't, sir, and therefore it is not
                yours: for my part, I do not lie in't, and yet it is mine.
                HAMLET
                'Thou dost lie in't, to be in't and say it is thine:
                'tis for the dead, not for the quick; therefore thou liest.
                First Clown
                'Tis a quick lie, sir; 'twill away gain, from me to
                you.
                HAMLET
                What man dost thou dig it for?
                First Clown
                For no man, sir.
                HAMLET
                What woman, then?
                First Clown
                For none, neither.
                HAMLET
                Who is to be buried in't?
                First Clown
                One that was a woman, sir; but, rest her soul, she's dead.
                HAMLET
                How absolute the knave is! we must speak by the
                card, or equivocation will undo us. By the Lord,
                Horatio, these three years I have taken a note of
                it; the age is grown so picked that the toe of the
                peasant comes so near the heel of the courtier, he
                gaffs his kibe. How long hast thou been a
                grave-maker?
                First Clown
                Of all the days i' the year, I came to't that day
                that our last king Hamlet overcame Fortinbras.
                HAMLET
                How long is that since?
                First Clown
                Cannot you tell that? every fool can tell that: it
                was the very day that young Hamlet was born; he that
                is mad, and sent into England.
                HAMLET
                Ay, marry, why was he sent into England?
                First Clown
                Why, because he was mad: he shall recover his wits
                there; or, if he do not, it's no great matter there.
                HAMLET
                Why?
                First Clown
                'Twill, a not be seen in him there; there the men
                are as mad as he.
                HAMLET
                How came he mad?
                First Clown
                Very strangely, they say.
                HAMLET
                How strangely?
                First Clown
                Faith, e'en with losing his wits.
                HAMLET
                Upon what ground?
                First Clown
                Why, here in Denmark: I have been sexton here, man
                and boy, thirty years.
                HAMLET
                How long will a man lie i' the earth ere he rot?
                First Clown
                I' faith, if he be not rotten before he die--as we
                have many pocky corses now-a-days, that will scarce
                hold the laying in--he will last you some eight year
                or nine year: a tanner will last you nine year.
                HAMLET
                Why he more than another?
                First Clown
                Why, sir, his hide is so tanned with his trade, that
                he will keep out water a great while; and your water
                is a sore decayer of your whoreson dead body.
                Here's a skull now; this skull has lain in the earth
                three and twenty years.
                HAMLET
                Whose was it?
                First Clown
                A whoreson mad fellow's it was: whose do you think it was?
                HAMLET
                Nay, I know not.
                First Clown
                A pestilence on him for a mad rogue! a' poured a
                flagon of Rhenish on my head once. This same skull,
                sir, was Yorick's skull, the king's jester.
                HAMLET
                This?
                First Clown
                E'en that.
                HAMLET
                Let me see.
                Takes the skull
                Alas, poor Yorick! I knew him, Horatio: a fellow
                of infinite jest, of most excellent fancy: he hath
                borne me on his back a thousand times; and now, how
                abhorred in my imagination it is! my gorge rims at
                it. Here hung those lips that I have kissed I know
                not how oft. Where be your gibes now? your
                gambols? your songs? your flashes of merriment,
                that were wont to set the table on a roar? Not one
                now, to mock your own grinning? quite chap-fallen?
                Now get you to my lady's chamber, and tell her, let
                her paint an inch thick, to this favour she must
                come; make her laugh at that. Prithee, Horatio, tell
                me one thing.
                HORATIO
                What's that, my lord?
                HAMLET
                Dost thou think Alexander looked o' this fashion i'
                the earth?
                HORATIO
                E'en so.
                HAMLET
                And smelt so? pah!
                Puts down the skull
                HORATIO
                E'en so, my lord.
                HAMLET
                To what base uses we may return, Horatio! Why may
                not imagination trace the noble dust of Alexander,
                till he find it stopping a bung-hole?
                HORATIO
                'Twere to consider too curiously, to consider so.
                HAMLET
                No, faith, not a jot; but to follow him thither with
                modesty enough, and likelihood to lead it: as
                thus: Alexander died, Alexander was buried,
                Alexander returneth into dust; the dust is earth; of
                earth we make loam; and why of that loam, whereto he
                was converted, might they not stop a beer-barrel?
                Imperious Caesar, dead and turn'd to clay,
                Might stop a hole to keep the wind away:
                O, that that earth, which kept the world in awe,
                Should patch a wall to expel the winter flaw!
                But soft! but soft! aside: here comes the king.
                Enter Priest, & c. in procession; the Corpse of OPHELIA, LAERTES and Mourners following; KING CLAUDIUS, QUEEN GERTRUDE, their trains, & c
                The queen, the courtiers: who is this they follow?
                And with such maimed rites? This doth betoken
                The corse they follow did with desperate hand
                Fordo its own life: 'twas of some estate.
                Couch we awhile, and mark.
                Retiring with HORATIO
                LAERTES
                What ceremony else?
                HAMLET
                That is Laertes,
                A very noble youth: mark.
                LAERTES
                What ceremony else?
                First Priest
                Her obsequies have been as far enlarged
                As we have warrantise: her death was doubtful;
                And, but that great command o'ersways the order,
                She should in ground unsanctified have lodged
                Till the last trumpet: for charitable prayers,
                Shards, flints and pebbles should be thrown on her;
                Yet here she is allow'd her virgin crants,
                Her maiden strewments and the bringing home
                Of bell and burial.
                LAERTES
                Must there no more be done?
                First Priest
                No more be done:
                We should profane the service of the dead
                To sing a requiem and such rest to her
                As to peace-parted souls.
                LAERTES
                Lay her i' the earth:
                And from her fair and unpolluted flesh
                May violets spring! I tell thee, churlish priest,
                A ministering angel shall my sister be,
                When thou liest howling.
                HAMLET
                What, the fair Ophelia!
                QUEEN GERTRUDE
                Sweets to the sweet: farewell!
                Scattering flowers
                I hoped thou shouldst have been my Hamlet's wife;
                I thought thy bride-bed to have deck'd, sweet maid,
                And not have strew'd thy grave.
                LAERTES
                O, treble woe
                Fall ten times treble on that cursed head,
                Whose wicked deed thy most ingenious sense
                Deprived thee of! Hold off the earth awhile,
                Till I have caught her once more in mine arms:
                Leaps into the grave
                Now pile your dust upon the quick and dead,
                Till of this flat a mountain you have made,
                To o'ertop old Pelion, or the skyish head
                Of blue Olympus.
                HAMLET
                [Advancing] What is he whose grief
                Bears such an emphasis? whose phrase of sorrow
                Conjures the wandering stars, and makes them stand
                Like wonder-wounded hearers? This is I,
                Hamlet the Dane.
                Leaps into the grave
                LAERTES
                The devil take thy soul!
                Grappling with him
                HAMLET
                Thou pray'st not well.
                I prithee, take thy fingers from my throat;
                For, though I am not splenitive and rash,
                Yet have I something in me dangerous,
                Which let thy wiseness fear: hold off thy hand.
                KING CLAUDIUS
                Pluck them asunder.
                QUEEN GERTRUDE
                Hamlet, Hamlet!
                All
                Gentlemen,--
                HORATIO
                Good my lord, be quiet.
                The Attendants part them, and they come out of the grave
                HAMLET
                Why I will fight with him upon this theme
                Until my eyelids will no longer wag.
                QUEEN GERTRUDE
                O my son, what theme?
                HAMLET
                I loved Ophelia: forty thousand brothers
                Could not, with all their quantity of love,
                Make up my sum. What wilt thou do for her?
                KING CLAUDIUS
                O, he is mad, Laertes.
                QUEEN GERTRUDE
                For love of God, forbear him.
                HAMLET
                'Swounds, show me what thou'lt do:
                Woo't weep? woo't fight? woo't fast? woo't tear thyself?
                Woo't drink up eisel? eat a crocodile?
                I'll do't. Dost thou come here to whine?
                To outface me with leaping in her grave?
                Be buried quick with her, and so will I:
                And, if thou prate of mountains, let them throw
                Millions of acres on us, till our ground,
                Singeing his pate against the burning zone,
                Make Ossa like a wart! Nay, an thou'lt mouth,
                I'll rant as well as thou.
                QUEEN GERTRUDE
                This is mere madness:
                And thus awhile the fit will work on him;
                Anon, as patient as the female dove,
                When that her golden couplets are disclosed,
                His silence will sit drooping.
                HAMLET
                Hear you, sir;
                What is the reason that you use me thus?
                I loved you ever: but it is no matter;
                Let Hercules himself do what he may,
                The cat will mew and dog will have his day.
                Exit
                KING CLAUDIUS
                I pray you, good Horatio, wait upon him.
                Exit HORATIO
                To LAERTES
                Strengthen your patience in our last night's speech;
                We'll put the matter to the present push.
                Good Gertrude, set some watch over your son.
                This grave shall have a living monument:
                An hour of quiet shortly shall we see;
                Till then, in patience our proceeding be.
                Exeunt
                SCENE II. A hall in the castle.
                Enter HAMLET and HORATIO
                HAMLET
                So much for this, sir: now shall you see the other;
                You do remember all the circumstance?
                HORATIO
                Remember it, my lord?
                HAMLET
                Sir, in my heart there was a kind of fighting,
                That would not let me sleep: methought I lay
                Worse than the mutines in the bilboes. Rashly,
                And praised be rashness for it, let us know,
                Our indiscretion sometimes serves us well,
                When our deep plots do pall: and that should teach us
                There's a divinity that shapes our ends,
                Rough-hew them how we will,--
                HORATIO
                That is most certain.
                HAMLET
                Up from my cabin,
                My sea-gown scarf'd about me, in the dark
                Groped I to find out them; had my desire.
                Finger'd their packet, and in fine withdrew
                To mine own room again; making so bold,
                My fears forgetting manners, to unseal
                Their grand commission; where I found, Horatio,--
                O royal knavery!--an exact command,
                Larded with many several sorts of reasons
                Importing Denmark's health and England's too,
                With, ho! such bugs and goblins in my life,
                That, on the supervise, no leisure bated,
                No, not to stay the grinding of the axe,
                My head should be struck off.
                HORATIO
                Is't possible?
                HAMLET
                Here's the commission: read it at more leisure.
                But wilt thou hear me how I did proceed?
                HORATIO
                I beseech you.
                HAMLET
                Being thus be-netted round with villanies,--
                Ere I could make a prologue to my brains,
                They had begun the play--I sat me down,
                Devised a new commission, wrote it fair:
                I once did hold it, as our statists do,
                A baseness to write fair and labour'd much
                How to forget that learning, but, sir, now
                It did me yeoman's service: wilt thou know
                The effect of what I wrote?
                HORATIO
                Ay, good my lord.
                HAMLET
                An earnest conjuration from the king,
                As England was his faithful tributary,
                As love between them like the palm might flourish,
                As peace should stiff her wheaten garland wear
                And stand a comma 'tween their amities,
                And many such-like 'As'es of great charge,
                That, on the view and knowing of these contents,
                Without debatement further, more or less,
                He should the bearers put to sudden death,
                Not shriving-time allow'd.
                HORATIO
                How was this seal'd?
                HAMLET
                Why, even in that was heaven ordinant.
                I had my father's signet in my purse,
                Which was the model of that Danish seal;
                Folded the writ up in form of the other,
                Subscribed it, gave't the impression, placed it safely,
                The changeling never known. Now, the next day
                Was our sea-fight; and what to this was sequent
                Thou know'st already.
                HORATIO
                So Guildenstern and Rosencrantz go to't.
                HAMLET
                Why, man, they did make love to this employment;
                They are not near my conscience; their defeat
                Does by their own insinuation grow:
                'Tis dangerous when the baser nature comes
                Between the pass and fell incensed points
                Of mighty opposites.
                HORATIO
                Why, what a king is this!
                HAMLET
                Does it not, think'st thee, stand me now upon--
                He that hath kill'd my king and whored my mother,
                Popp'd in between the election and my hopes,
                Thrown out his angle for my proper life,
                And with such cozenage--is't not perfect conscience,
                To quit him with this arm? and is't not to be damn'd,
                To let this canker of our nature come
                In further evil?
                HORATIO
                It must be shortly known to him from England
                What is the issue of the business there.
                HAMLET
                It will be short: the interim is mine;
                And a man's life's no more than to say 'One.'
                But I am very sorry, good Horatio,
                That to Laertes I forgot myself;
                For, by the image of my cause, I see
                The portraiture of his: I'll court his favours.
                But, sure, the bravery of his grief did put me
                Into a towering passion.
                HORATIO
                Peace! who comes here?
                Enter OSRIC
                OSRIC
                Your lordship is right welcome back to Denmark.
                HAMLET
                I humbly thank you, sir. Dost know this water-fly?
                HORATIO
                No, my good lord.
                HAMLET
                Thy state is the more gracious; for 'tis a vice to
                know him. He hath much land, and fertile: let a
                beast be lord of beasts, and his crib shall stand at
                the king's mess: 'tis a chough; but, as I say,
                spacious in the possession of dirt.
                OSRIC
                Sweet lord, if your lordship were at leisure, I
                should impart a thing to you from his majesty.
                HAMLET
                I will receive it, sir, with all diligence of
                spirit. Put your bonnet to his right use; 'tis for the head.
                OSRIC
                I thank your lordship, it is very hot.
                HAMLET
                No, believe me, 'tis very cold; the wind is
                northerly.
                OSRIC
                It is indifferent cold, my lord, indeed.
                HAMLET
                But yet methinks it is very sultry and hot for my
                complexion.
                OSRIC
                Exceedingly, my lord; it is very sultry,--as
                'twere,--I cannot tell how. But, my lord, his
                majesty bade me signify to you that he has laid a
                great wager on your head: sir, this is the matter,--
                HAMLET
                I beseech you, remember--
                HAMLET moves him to put on his hat
                OSRIC
                Nay, good my lord; for mine ease, in good faith.
                Sir, here is newly come to court Laertes; believe
                me, an absolute gentleman, full of most excellent
                differences, of very soft society and great showing:
                indeed, to speak feelingly of him, he is the card or
                calendar of gentry, for you shall find in him the
                continent of what part a gentleman would see.
                HAMLET
                Sir, his definement suffers no perdition in you;
                though, I know, to divide him inventorially would
                dizzy the arithmetic of memory, and yet but yaw
                neither, in respect of his quick sail. But, in the
                verity of extolment, I take him to be a soul of
                great article; and his infusion of such dearth and
                rareness, as, to make true diction of him, his
                semblable is his mirror; and who else would trace
                him, his umbrage, nothing more.
                OSRIC
                Your lordship speaks most infallibly of him.
                HAMLET
                The concernancy, sir? why do we wrap the gentleman
                in our more rawer breath?
                OSRIC
                Sir?
                HORATIO
                Is't not possible to understand in another tongue?
                You will do't, sir, really.
                HAMLET
                What imports the nomination of this gentleman?
                OSRIC
                Of Laertes?
                HORATIO
                His purse is empty already; all's golden words are spent.
                HAMLET
                Of him, sir.
                OSRIC
                I know you are not ignorant--
                HAMLET
                I would you did, sir; yet, in faith, if you did,
                it would not much approve me. Well, sir?
                OSRIC
                You are not ignorant of what excellence Laertes is--
                HAMLET
                I dare not confess that, lest I should compare with
                him in excellence; but, to know a man well, were to
                know himself.
                OSRIC
                I mean, sir, for his weapon; but in the imputation
                laid on him by them, in his meed he's unfellowed.
                HAMLET
                What's his weapon?
                OSRIC
                Rapier and dagger.
                HAMLET
                That's two of his weapons: but, well.
                OSRIC
                The king, sir, hath wagered with him six Barbary
                horses: against the which he has imponed, as I take
                it, six French rapiers and poniards, with their
                assigns, as girdle, hangers, and so: three of the
                carriages, in faith, are very dear to fancy, very
                responsive to the hilts, most delicate carriages,
                and of very liberal conceit.
                HAMLET
                What call you the carriages?
                HORATIO
                I knew you must be edified by the margent ere you had done.
                OSRIC
                The carriages, sir, are the hangers.
                HAMLET
                The phrase would be more german to the matter, if we
                could carry cannon by our sides: I would it might
                be hangers till then. But, on: six Barbary horses
                against six French swords, their assigns, and three
                liberal-conceited carriages; that's the French bet
                against the Danish. Why is this 'imponed,' as you call it?
                OSRIC
                The king, sir, hath laid, that in a dozen passes
                between yourself and him, he shall not exceed you
                three hits: he hath laid on twelve for nine; and it
                would come to immediate trial, if your lordship
                would vouchsafe the answer.
                HAMLET
                How if I answer 'no'?
                OSRIC
                I mean, my lord, the opposition of your person in trial.
                HAMLET
                Sir, I will walk here in the hall: if it please his
                majesty, 'tis the breathing time of day with me; let
                the foils be brought, the gentleman willing, and the
                king hold his purpose, I will win for him an I can;
                if not, I will gain nothing but my shame and the odd hits.
                OSRIC
                Shall I re-deliver you e'en so?
                HAMLET
                To this effect, sir; after what flourish your nature will.
                OSRIC
                I commend my duty to your lordship.
                HAMLET
                Yours, yours.
                Exit OSRIC
                He does well to commend it himself; there are no
                tongues else for's turn.
                HORATIO
                This lapwing runs away with the shell on his head.
                HAMLET
                He did comply with his dug, before he sucked it.
                Thus has he--and many more of the same bevy that I
                know the dressy age dotes on--only got the tune of
                the time and outward habit of encounter; a kind of
                yesty collection, which carries them through and
                through the most fond and winnowed opinions; and do
                but blow them to their trial, the bubbles are out.
                Enter a Lord
                Lord
                My lord, his majesty commended him to you by young
                Osric, who brings back to him that you attend him in
                the hall: he sends to know if your pleasure hold to
                play with Laertes, or that you will take longer time.
                HAMLET
                I am constant to my purpose; they follow the king's
                pleasure: if his fitness speaks, mine is ready; now
                or whensoever, provided I be so able as now.
                Lord
                The king and queen and all are coming down.
                HAMLET
                In happy time.
                Lord
                The queen desires you to use some gentle
                entertainment to Laertes before you fall to play.
                HAMLET
                She well instructs me.
                Exit Lord
                HORATIO
                You will lose this wager, my lord.
                HAMLET
                I do not think so: since he went into France, I
                have been in continual practise: I shall win at the
                odds. But thou wouldst not think how ill all's here
                about my heart: but it is no matter.
                HORATIO
                Nay, good my lord,--
                HAMLET
                It is but foolery; but it is such a kind of
                gain-giving, as would perhaps trouble a woman.
                HORATIO
                If your mind dislike any thing, obey it: I will
                forestall their repair hither, and say you are not
                fit.
                HAMLET
                Not a whit, we defy augury: there's a special
                providence in the fall of a sparrow. If it be now,
                'tis not to come; if it be not to come, it will be
                now; if it be not now, yet it will come: the
                readiness is all: since no man has aught of what he
                leaves, what is't to leave betimes?
                Enter KING CLAUDIUS, QUEEN GERTRUDE, LAERTES, Lords, OSRIC, and Attendants with foils, & c
                KING CLAUDIUS
                Come, Hamlet, come, and take this hand from me.
                KING CLAUDIUS puts LAERTES' hand into HAMLET's
                HAMLET
                Give me your pardon, sir: I've done you wrong;
                But pardon't, as you are a gentleman.
                This presence knows,
                And you must needs have heard, how I am punish'd
                With sore distraction. What I have done,
                That might your nature, honour and exception
                Roughly awake, I here proclaim was madness.
                Was't Hamlet wrong'd Laertes? Never Hamlet:
                If Hamlet from himself be ta'en away,
                And when he's not himself does wrong Laertes,
                Then Hamlet does it not, Hamlet denies it.
                Who does it, then? His madness: if't be so,
                Hamlet is of the faction that is wrong'd;
                His madness is poor Hamlet's enemy.
                Sir, in this audience,
                Let my disclaiming from a purposed evil
                Free me so far in your most generous thoughts,
                That I have shot mine arrow o'er the house,
                And hurt my brother.
                LAERTES
                I am satisfied in nature,
                Whose motive, in this case, should stir me most
                To my revenge: but in my terms of honour
                I stand aloof; and will no reconcilement,
                Till by some elder masters, of known honour,
                I have a voice and precedent of peace,
                To keep my name ungored. But till that time,
                I do receive your offer'd love like love,
                And will not wrong it.
                HAMLET
                I embrace it freely;
                And will this brother's wager frankly play.
                Give us the foils. Come on.
                LAERTES
                Come, one for me.
                HAMLET
                I'll be your foil, Laertes: in mine ignorance
                Your skill shall, like a star i' the darkest night,
                Stick fiery off indeed.
                LAERTES
                You mock me, sir.
                HAMLET
                No, by this hand.
                KING CLAUDIUS
                Give them the foils, young Osric. Cousin Hamlet,
                You know the wager?
                HAMLET
                Very well, my lord
                Your grace hath laid the odds o' the weaker side.
                KING CLAUDIUS
                I do not fear it; I have seen you both:
                But since he is better'd, we have therefore odds.
                LAERTES
                This is too heavy, let me see another.
                HAMLET
                This likes me well. These foils have all a length?
                They prepare to play
                OSRIC
                Ay, my good lord.
                KING CLAUDIUS
                Set me the stoops of wine upon that table.
                If Hamlet give the first or second hit,
                Or quit in answer of the third exchange,
                Let all the battlements their ordnance fire:
                The king shall drink to Hamlet's better breath;
                And in the cup an union shall he throw,
                Richer than that which four successive kings
                In Denmark's crown have worn. Give me the cups;
                And let the kettle to the trumpet speak,
                The trumpet to the cannoneer without,
                The cannons to the heavens, the heavens to earth,
                'Now the king dunks to Hamlet.' Come, begin:
                And you, the judges, bear a wary eye.
                HAMLET
                Come on, sir.
                LAERTES
                Come, my lord.
                They play
                HAMLET
                One.
                LAERTES
                No.
                HAMLET
                Judgment.
                OSRIC
                A hit, a very palpable hit.
                LAERTES
                Well; again.
                KING CLAUDIUS
                Stay; give me drink. Hamlet, this pearl is thine;
                Here's to thy health.
                Trumpets sound, and cannon shot off within
                Give him the cup.
                HAMLET
                I'll play this bout first; set it by awhile. Come.
                They play
                Another hit; what say you?
                LAERTES
                A touch, a touch, I do confess.
                KING CLAUDIUS
                Our son shall win.
                QUEEN GERTRUDE
                He's fat, and scant of breath.
                Here, Hamlet, take my napkin, rub thy brows;
                The queen carouses to thy fortune, Hamlet.
                HAMLET
                Good madam!
                KING CLAUDIUS
                Gertrude, do not drink.
                QUEEN GERTRUDE
                I will, my lord; I pray you, pardon me.
                KING CLAUDIUS
                [Aside] It is the poison'd cup: it is too late.
                HAMLET
                I dare not drink yet, madam; by and by.
                QUEEN GERTRUDE
                Come, let me wipe thy face.
                LAERTES
                My lord, I'll hit him now.
                KING CLAUDIUS
                I do not think't.
                LAERTES
                [Aside] And yet 'tis almost 'gainst my conscience.
                HAMLET
                Come, for the third, Laertes: you but dally;
                I pray you, pass with your best violence;
                I am afeard you make a wanton of me.
                LAERTES
                Say you so? come on.
                They play
                OSRIC
                Nothing, neither way.
                LAERTES
                Have at you now!
                LAERTES wounds HAMLET; then in scuffling, they change rapiers, and HAMLET wounds LAERTES
                KING CLAUDIUS
                Part them; they are incensed.
                HAMLET
                Nay, come, again.
                QUEEN GERTRUDE falls
                OSRIC
                Look to the queen there, ho!
                HORATIO
                They bleed on both sides. How is it, my lord?
                OSRIC
                How is't, Laertes?
                LAERTES
                Why, as a woodcock to mine own springe, Osric;
                I am justly kill'd with mine own treachery.
                HAMLET
                How does the queen?
                KING CLAUDIUS
                She swounds to see them bleed.
                QUEEN GERTRUDE
                No, no, the drink, the drink,--O my dear Hamlet,--
                The drink, the drink! I am poison'd.
                Dies
                HAMLET
                O villany! Ho! let the door be lock'd:
                Treachery! Seek it out.
                LAERTES
                It is here, Hamlet: Hamlet, thou art slain;
                No medicine in the world can do thee good;
                In thee there is not half an hour of life;
                The treacherous instrument is in thy hand,
                Unbated and envenom'd: the foul practise
                Hath turn'd itself on me lo, here I lie,
                Never to rise again: thy mother's poison'd:
                I can no more: the king, the king's to blame.
                HAMLET
                The point!--envenom'd too!
                Then, venom, to thy work.
                Stabs KING CLAUDIUS
                All
                Treason! treason!
                KING CLAUDIUS
                O, yet defend me, friends; I am but hurt.
                HAMLET
                Here, thou incestuous, murderous, damned Dane,
                Drink off this potion. Is thy union here?
                Follow my mother.
                KING CLAUDIUS dies
                LAERTES
                He is justly served;
                It is a poison temper'd by himself.
                Exchange forgiveness with me, noble Hamlet:
                Mine and my father's death come not upon thee,
                Nor thine on me.
                Dies
                HAMLET
                Heaven make thee free of it! I follow thee.
                I am dead, Horatio. Wretched queen, adieu!
                You that look pale and tremble at this chance,
                That are but mutes or audience to this act,
                Had I but time--as this fell sergeant, death,
                Is strict in his arrest--O, I could tell you--
                But let it be. Horatio, I am dead;
                Thou livest; report me and my cause aright
                To the unsatisfied.
                HORATIO
                Never believe it:
                I am more an antique Roman than a Dane:
                Here's yet some liquor left.
                HAMLET
                As thou'rt a man,
                Give me the cup: let go; by heaven, I'll have't.
                O good Horatio, what a wounded name,
                Things standing thus unknown, shall live behind me!
                If thou didst ever hold me in thy heart
                Absent thee from felicity awhile,
                And in this harsh world draw thy breath in pain,
                To tell my story.
                March afar off, and shot within
                What warlike noise is this?
                OSRIC
                Young Fortinbras, with conquest come from Poland,
                To the ambassadors of England gives
                This warlike volley.
                HAMLET
                O, I die, Horatio;
                The potent poison quite o'er-crows my spirit:
                I cannot live to hear the news from England;
                But I do prophesy the election lights
                On Fortinbras: he has my dying voice;
                So tell him, with the occurrents, more and less,
                Which have solicited. The rest is silence.
                Dies
                HORATIO
                Now cracks a noble heart. Good night sweet prince:
                And flights of angels sing thee to thy rest!
                Why does the drum come hither?
                March within
                Enter FORTINBRAS, the English Ambassadors, and others
                PRINCE FORTINBRAS
                Where is this sight?
                HORATIO
                What is it ye would see?
                If aught of woe or wonder, cease your search.
                PRINCE FORTINBRAS
                This quarry cries on havoc. O proud death,
                What feast is toward in thine eternal cell,
                That thou so many princes at a shot
                So bloodily hast struck?
                First Ambassador
                The sight is dismal;
                And our affairs from England come too late:
                The ears are senseless that should give us hearing,
                To tell him his commandment is fulfill'd,
                That Rosencrantz and Guildenstern are dead:
                Where should we have our thanks?
                HORATIO
                Not from his mouth,
                Had it the ability of life to thank you:
                He never gave commandment for their death.
                But since, so jump upon this bloody question,
                You from the Polack wars, and you from England,
                Are here arrived give order that these bodies
                High on a stage be placed to the view;
                And let me speak to the yet unknowing world
                How these things came about: so shall you hear
                Of carnal, bloody, and unnatural acts,
                Of accidental judgments, casual slaughters,
                Of deaths put on by cunning and forced cause,
                And, in this upshot, purposes mistook
                Fall'n on the inventors' reads: all this can I
                Truly deliver.
                PRINCE FORTINBRAS
                Let us haste to hear it,
                And call the noblest to the audience.
                For me, with sorrow I embrace my fortune:
                I have some rights of memory in this kingdom,
                Which now to claim my vantage doth invite me.
                HORATIO
                Of that I shall have also cause to speak,
                And from his mouth whose voice will draw on more;
                But let this same be presently perform'd,
                Even while men's minds are wild; lest more mischance
                On plots and errors, happen.
                PRINCE FORTINBRAS
                Let four captains
                Bear Hamlet, like a soldier, to the stage;
                For he was likely, had he been put on,
                To have proved most royally: and, for his passage,
                The soldiers' music and the rites of war
                Speak loudly for him.
                Take up the bodies: such a sight as this
                Becomes the field, but here shows much amiss.
                Go, bid the soldiers shoot.
                A dead march. Exeunt, bearing off the dead bodies; after which a peal of ordnance is shot off.

Henry VI, part 1,2 & 3 
                The First part of King Henry the Sixth 
                ACT I SCENE I. Westminster Abbey. 
                Dead March. Enter the Funeral of KING HENRY the Fifth, attended on by Dukes of BEDFORD, Regent of France; GLOUCESTER, Protector; and EXETER, Earl of WARWICK, the BISHOP OF WINCHESTER, Heralds, & c BEDFORD Hung be the heavens with black, yield day to night!
                Comets, importing change of times and states,
                Brandish your crystal tresses in the sky,
                And with them scourge the bad revolting stars
                That have consented unto Henry's death!
                King Henry the Fifth, too famous to live long!
                England ne'er lost a king of so much worth.
                GLOUCESTER England ne'er had a king until his time.
                Virtue he had, deserving to command:
                His brandish'd sword did blind men with his beams:
                His arms spread wider than a dragon's wings;
                His sparking eyes, replete with wrathful fire,
                More dazzled and drove back his enemies
                Than mid-day sun fierce bent against their faces.
                What should I say? his deeds exceed all speech:
                He ne'er lift up his hand but conquered.
                EXETER We mourn in black: why mourn we not in blood?
                Henry is dead and never shall revive:
                Upon a wooden coffin we attend,
                And death's dishonourable victory
                We with our stately presence glorify,
                Like captives bound to a triumphant car.
                What! shall we curse the planets of mishap
                That plotted thus our glory's overthrow?
                Or shall we think the subtle-witted French
                Conjurers and sorcerers, that afraid of him
                By magic verses have contrived his end?
                BISHOP
                OF WINCHESTER He was a king bless'd of the King of kings.
                Unto the French the dreadful judgement-day
                So dreadful will not be as was his sight.
                The battles of the Lord of hosts he fought:
                The church's prayers made him so prosperous.
                GLOUCESTER The church! where is it? Had not churchmen pray'd,
                His thread of life had not so soon decay'd:
                None do you like but an effeminate prince,
                Whom, like a school-boy, you may over-awe.
                BISHOP
                OF WINCHESTER Gloucester, whate'er we like, thou art protector
                And lookest to command the prince and realm.
                Thy wife is proud; she holdeth thee in awe,
                More than God or religious churchmen may.
                GLOUCESTER Name not religion, for thou lovest the flesh,
                And ne'er throughout the year to church thou go'st
                Except it be to pray against thy foes.
                BEDFORD Cease, cease these jars and rest your minds in peace:
                Let's to the altar: heralds, wait on us:
                Instead of gold, we'll offer up our arms:
                Since arms avail not now that Henry's dead.
                Posterity, await for wretched years,
                When at their mothers' moist eyes babes shall suck,
                Our isle be made a nourish of salt tears,
                And none but women left to wail the dead.
                Henry the Fifth, thy ghost I invocate:
                Prosper this realm, keep it from civil broils,
                Combat with adverse planets in the heavens!
                A far more glorious star thy soul will make
                Than Julius Caesar or bright--
                Enter a Messenger
                Messenger My honourable lords, health to you all!
                Sad tidings bring I to you out of France,
                Of loss, of slaughter and discomfiture:
                Guienne, Champagne, Rheims, Orleans,
                Paris, Guysors, Poictiers, are all quite lost.
                BEDFORD What say'st thou, man, before dead Henry's corse?
                Speak softly, or the loss of those great towns
                Will make him burst his lead and rise from death.
                GLOUCESTER Is Paris lost? is Rouen yielded up?
                If Henry were recall'd to life again,
                These news would cause him once more yield the ghost.
                EXETER How were they lost? what treachery was used?
                Messenger No treachery; but want of men and money.
                Amongst the soldiers this is muttered,
                That here you maintain several factions,
                And whilst a field should be dispatch'd and fought,
                You are disputing of your generals:
                One would have lingering wars with little cost;
                Another would fly swift, but wanteth wings;
                A third thinks, without expense at all,
                By guileful fair words peace may be obtain'd.
                Awake, awake, English nobility!
                Let not sloth dim your horrors new-begot:
                Cropp'd are the flower-de-luces in your arms;
                Of England's coat one half is cut away.
                EXETER Were our tears wanting to this funeral,
                These tidings would call forth their flowing tides.
                BEDFORD Me they concern; Regent I am of France.
                Give me my steeled coat. I'll fight for France.
                Away with these disgraceful wailing robes!
                Wounds will I lend the French instead of eyes,
                To weep their intermissive miseries.
                Enter to them another Messenger
                Messenger Lords, view these letters full of bad mischance.
                France is revolted from the English quite,
                Except some petty towns of no import:
                The Dauphin Charles is crowned king of Rheims;
                The Bastard of Orleans with him is join'd;
                Reignier, Duke of Anjou, doth take his part;
                The Duke of Alencon flieth to his side.
                EXETER The Dauphin crowned king! all fly to him!
                O, whither shall we fly from this reproach?
                GLOUCESTER We will not fly, but to our enemies' throats.
                Bedford, if thou be slack, I'll fight it out.
                BEDFORD Gloucester, why doubt'st thou of my forwardness?
                An army have I muster'd in my thoughts,
                Wherewith already France is overrun.
                Enter another Messenger
                Messenger My gracious lords, to add to your laments,
                Wherewith you now bedew King Henry's hearse,
                I must inform you of a dismal fight
                Betwixt the stout Lord Talbot and the French.
                BISHOP
                OF WINCHESTER What! wherein Talbot overcame? is't so?
                Messenger O, no; wherein Lord Talbot was o'erthrown:
                The circumstance I'll tell you more at large.
                The tenth of August last this dreadful lord,
                Retiring from the siege of Orleans,
                Having full scarce six thousand in his troop.
                By three and twenty thousand of the French
                Was round encompassed and set upon.
                No leisure had he to enrank his men;
                He wanted pikes to set before his archers;
                Instead whereof sharp stakes pluck'd out of hedges
                They pitched in the ground confusedly,
                To keep the horsemen off from breaking in.
                More than three hours the fight continued;
                Where valiant Talbot above human thought
                Enacted wonders with his sword and lance:
                Hundreds he sent to hell, and none durst stand him;
                Here, there, and every where, enraged he flew:
                The French exclaim'd, the devil was in arms;
                All the whole army stood agazed on him:
                His soldiers spying his undaunted spirit
                A Talbot! a Talbot! cried out amain
                And rush'd into the bowels of the battle.
                Here had the conquest fully been seal'd up,
                If Sir John Fastolfe had not play'd the coward:
                He, being in the vaward, placed behind
                With purpose to relieve and follow them,
                Cowardly fled, not having struck one stroke.
                Hence grew the general wreck and massacre;
                Enclosed were they with their enemies:
                A base Walloon, to win the Dauphin's grace,
                Thrust Talbot with a spear into the back,
                Whom all France with their chief assembled strength
                Durst not presume to look once in the face.
                BEDFORD Is Talbot slain? then I will slay myself,
                For living idly here in pomp and ease,
                Whilst such a worthy leader, wanting aid,
                Unto his dastard foemen is betray'd.
                Messenger O no, he lives; but is took prisoner,
                And Lord Scales with him and Lord Hungerford:
                Most of the rest slaughter'd or took likewise.
                BEDFORD His ransom there is none but I shall pay:
                I'll hale the Dauphin headlong from his throne:
                His crown shall be the ransom of my friend;
                Four of their lords I'll change for one of ours.
                Farewell, my masters; to my task will I;
                Bonfires in France forthwith I am to make,
                To keep our great Saint George's feast withal:
                Ten thousand soldiers with me I will take,
                Whose bloody deeds shall make all Europe quake.
                Messenger So you had need; for Orleans is besieged;
                The English army is grown weak and faint:
                The Earl of Salisbury craveth supply,
                And hardly keeps his men from mutiny,
                Since they, so few, watch such a multitude.
                EXETER Remember, lords, your oaths to Henry sworn,
                Either to quell the Dauphin utterly,
                Or bring him in obedience to your yoke.
                BEDFORD I do remember it; and here take my leave,
                To go about my preparation.
                Exit
                GLOUCESTER I'll to the Tower with all the haste I can,
                To view the artillery and munition;
                And then I will proclaim young Henry king.
                Exit
                EXETER To Eltham will I, where the young king is,
                Being ordain'd his special governor,
                And for his safety there I'll best devise.
                Exit
                BISHOP
                OF WINCHESTER Each hath his place and function to attend:
                I am left out; for me nothing remains.
                But long I will not be Jack out of office:
                The king from Eltham I intend to steal
                And sit at chiefest stern of public weal.
                Exeunt 
                SCENE II. France. Before Orleans. 
                Sound a flourish. Enter CHARLES, ALENCON, and REIGNIER, marching with drum and Soldiers CHARLES Mars his true moving, even as in the heavens
                So in the earth, to this day is not known:
                Late did he shine upon the English side;
                Now we are victors; upon us he smiles.
                What towns of any moment but we have?
                At pleasure here we lie near Orleans;
                Otherwhiles the famish'd English, like pale ghosts,
                Faintly besiege us one hour in a month.
                ALENCON They want their porridge and their fat bull-beeves:
                Either they must be dieted like mules
                And have their provender tied to their mouths
                Or piteous they will look, like drowned mice.
                REIGNIER Let's raise the siege: why live we idly here?
                Talbot is taken, whom we wont to fear:
                Remaineth none but mad-brain'd Salisbury;
                And he may well in fretting spend his gall,
                Nor men nor money hath he to make war.
                CHARLES Sound, sound alarum! we will rush on them.
                Now for the honour of the forlorn French!
                Him I forgive my death that killeth me
                When he sees me go back one foot or fly.
                Exeunt
                Here alarum; they are beaten back by the English with great loss. Re-enter CHARLES, ALENCON, and REIGNIER
                CHARLES Who ever saw the like? what men have I!
                Dogs! cowards! dastards! I would ne'er have fled,
                But that they left me 'midst my enemies.
                REIGNIER Salisbury is a desperate homicide;
                He fighteth as one weary of his life.
                The other lords, like lions wanting food,
                Do rush upon us as their hungry prey.
                ALENCON Froissart, a countryman of ours, records,
                England all Olivers and Rowlands bred,
                During the time Edward the Third did reign.
                More truly now may this be verified;
                For none but Samsons and Goliases
                It sendeth forth to skirmish. One to ten!
                Lean, raw-boned rascals! who would e'er suppose
                They had such courage and audacity?
                CHARLES Let's leave this town; for they are hare-brain'd slaves,
                And hunger will enforce them to be more eager:
                Of old I know them; rather with their teeth
                The walls they'll tear down than forsake the siege.
                REIGNIER I think, by some odd gimmors or device
                Their arms are set like clocks, stiff to strike on;
                Else ne'er could they hold out so as they do.
                By my consent, we'll even let them alone.
                ALENCON Be it so.
                Enter the BASTARD OF ORLEANS
                BASTARD OF ORLEANS Where's the Prince Dauphin? I have news for him.
                CHARLES Bastard of Orleans, thrice welcome to us.
                BASTARD OF ORLEANS Methinks your looks are sad, your cheer appall'd:
                Hath the late overthrow wrought this offence?
                Be not dismay'd, for succor is at hand:
                A holy maid hither with me I bring,
                Which by a vision sent to her from heaven
                Ordained is to raise this tedious siege
                And drive the English forth the bounds of France.
                The spirit of deep prophecy she hath,
                Exceeding the nine sibyls of old Rome:
                What's past and what's to come she can descry.
                Speak, shall I call her in? Believe my words,
                For they are certain and unfallible.
                CHARLES Go, call her in.
                Exit BASTARD OF ORLEANS
                But first, to try her skill,
                Reignier, stand thou as Dauphin in my place:
                Question her proudly; let thy looks be stern:
                By this means shall we sound what skill she hath.
                Re-enter the BASTARD OF ORLEANS, with JOAN LA PUCELLE
                REIGNIER Fair maid, is't thou wilt do these wondrous feats?
                JOAN LA PUCELLE Reignier, is't thou that thinkest to beguile me?
                Where is the Dauphin? Come, come from behind;
                I know thee well, though never seen before.
                Be not amazed, there's nothing hid from me:
                In private will I talk with thee apart.
                Stand back, you lords, and give us leave awhile.
                REIGNIER She takes upon her bravely at first dash.
                JOAN LA PUCELLE Dauphin, I am by birth a shepherd's daughter,
                My wit untrain'd in any kind of art.
                Heaven and our Lady gracious hath it pleased
                To shine on my contemptible estate:
                Lo, whilst I waited on my tender lambs,
                And to sun's parching heat display'd my cheeks,
                God's mother deigned to appear to me
                And in a vision full of majesty
                Will'd me to leave my base vocation
                And free my country from calamity:
                Her aid she promised and assured success:
                In complete glory she reveal'd herself;
                And, whereas I was black and swart before,
                With those clear rays which she infused on me
                That beauty am I bless'd with which you see.
                Ask me what question thou canst possible,
                And I will answer unpremeditated:
                My courage try by combat, if thou darest,
                And thou shalt find that I exceed my sex.
                Resolve on this, thou shalt be fortunate,
                If thou receive me for thy warlike mate.
                CHARLES Thou hast astonish'd me with thy high terms:
                Only this proof I'll of thy valour make,
                In single combat thou shalt buckle with me,
                And if thou vanquishest, thy words are true;
                Otherwise I renounce all confidence.
                JOAN LA PUCELLE I am prepared: here is my keen-edged sword,
                Deck'd with five flower-de-luces on each side;
                The which at Touraine, in Saint Katharine's
                churchyard,
                Out of a great deal of old iron I chose forth.
                CHARLES Then come, o' God's name; I fear no woman.
                JOAN LA PUCELLE And while I live, I'll ne'er fly from a man.
                Here they fight, and JOAN LA PUCELLE overcomes
                CHARLES Stay, stay thy hands! thou art an Amazon
                And fightest with the sword of Deborah.
                JOAN LA PUCELLE Christ's mother helps me, else I were too weak.
                CHARLES Whoe'er helps thee, 'tis thou that must help me:
                Impatiently I burn with thy desire;
                My heart and hands thou hast at once subdued.
                Excellent Pucelle, if thy name be so,
                Let me thy servant and not sovereign be:
                'Tis the French Dauphin sueth to thee thus.
                JOAN LA PUCELLE I must not yield to any rites of love,
                For my profession's sacred from above:
                When I have chased all thy foes from hence,
                Then will I think upon a recompense.
                CHARLES Meantime look gracious on thy prostrate thrall.
                REIGNIER My lord, methinks, is very long in talk.
                ALENCON Doubtless he shrives this woman to her smock;
                Else ne'er could he so long protract his speech.
                REIGNIER Shall we disturb him, since he keeps no mean?
                ALENCON He may mean more than we poor men do know:
                These women are shrewd tempters with their tongues.
                REIGNIER My lord, where are you? what devise you on?
                Shall we give over Orleans, or no?
                JOAN LA PUCELLE Why, no, I say, distrustful recreants!
                Fight till the last gasp; I will be your guard.
                CHARLES What she says I'll confirm: we'll fight it out.
                JOAN LA PUCELLE Assign'd am I to be the English scourge.
                This night the siege assuredly I'll raise:
                Expect Saint Martin's summer, halcyon days,
                Since I have entered into these wars.
                Glory is like a circle in the water,
                Which never ceaseth to enlarge itself
                Till by broad spreading it disperse to nought.
                With Henry's death the English circle ends;
                Dispersed are the glories it included.
                Now am I like that proud insulting ship
                Which Caesar and his fortune bare at once.
                CHARLES Was Mahomet inspired with a dove?
                Thou with an eagle art inspired then.
                Helen, the mother of great Constantine,
                Nor yet Saint Philip's daughters, were like thee.
                Bright star of Venus, fall'n down on the earth,
                How may I reverently worship thee enough?
                ALENCON Leave off delays, and let us raise the siege.
                REIGNIER Woman, do what thou canst to save our honours;
                Drive them from Orleans and be immortalized.
                CHARLES Presently we'll try: come, let's away about it:
                No prophet will I trust, if she prove false.
                Exeunt 
                SCENE III. London. Before the Tower. 
                Enter GLOUCESTER, with his Serving-men in blue coats GLOUCESTER I am come to survey the Tower this day:
                Since Henry's death, I fear, there is conveyance.
                Where be these warders, that they wait not here?
                Open the gates; 'tis Gloucester that calls.
                First Warder [Within] Who's there that knocks so imperiously?
                First Serving-Man It is the noble Duke of Gloucester.
                Second Warder [Within] Whoe'er he be, you may not be let in.
                First Serving-Man Villains, answer you so the lord protector?
                First Warder [Within] The Lord protect him! so we answer him:
                We do no otherwise than we are will'd.
                GLOUCESTER Who willed you? or whose will stands but mine?
                There's none protector of the realm but I.
                Break up the gates, I'll be your warrantize.
                Shall I be flouted thus by dunghill grooms?
                Gloucester's men rush at the Tower Gates, and WOODVILE the Lieutenant speaks within
                WOODVILE What noise is this? what traitors have we here?
                GLOUCESTER Lieutenant, is it you whose voice I hear?
                Open the gates; here's Gloucester that would enter.
                WOODVILE Have patience, noble duke; I may not open;
                The Cardinal of Winchester forbids:
                From him I have express commandment
                That thou nor none of thine shall be let in.
                GLOUCESTER Faint-hearted Woodvile, prizest him 'fore me?
                Arrogant Winchester, that haughty prelate,
                Whom Henry, our late sovereign, ne'er could brook?
                Thou art no friend to God or to the king:
                Open the gates, or I'll shut thee out shortly.
                Serving-Men Open the gates unto the lord protector,
                Or we'll burst them open, if that you come not quickly.
                Enter to the Protector at the Tower Gates BISHOP OF WINCHESTER and his men in tawny coats
                BISHOP
                OF WINCHESTER How now, ambitious Humphry! what means this?
                GLOUCESTER Peel'd priest, dost thou command me to be shut out?
                BISHOP
                OF WINCHESTER I do, thou most usurping proditor,
                And not protector, of the king or realm.
                GLOUCESTER Stand back, thou manifest conspirator,
                Thou that contrivedst to murder our dead lord;
                Thou that givest whores indulgences to sin:
                I'll canvass thee in thy broad cardinal's hat,
                If thou proceed in this thy insolence.
                BISHOP
                OF WINCHESTER Nay, stand thou back, I will not budge a foot:
                This be Damascus, be thou cursed Cain,
                To slay thy brother Abel, if thou wilt.
                GLOUCESTER I will not slay thee, but I'll drive thee back:
                Thy scarlet robes as a child's bearing-cloth
                I'll use to carry thee out of this place.
                BISHOP
                OF WINCHESTER Do what thou darest; I beard thee to thy face.
                GLOUCESTER What! am I dared and bearded to my face?
                Draw, men, for all this privileged place;
                Blue coats to tawny coats. Priest, beware your beard,
                I mean to tug it and to cuff you soundly:
                Under my feet I stamp thy cardinal's hat:
                In spite of pope or dignities of church,
                Here by the cheeks I'll drag thee up and down.
                BISHOP
                OF WINCHESTER Gloucester, thou wilt answer this before the pope.
                GLOUCESTER Winchester goose, I cry, a rope! a rope!
                Now beat them hence; why do you let them stay?
                Thee I'll chase hence, thou wolf in sheep's array.
                Out, tawny coats! out, scarlet hypocrite!
                Here GLOUCESTER's men beat out BISHOP OF WINCHESTER's men, and enter in the hurly- burly the Mayor of London and his Officers
                Mayor Fie, lords! that you, being supreme magistrates,
                Thus contumeliously should break the peace!
                GLOUCESTER Peace, mayor! thou know'st little of my wrongs:
                Here's Beaufort, that regards nor God nor king,
                Hath here distrain'd the Tower to his use.
                BISHOP
                OF WINCHESTER Here's Gloucester, a foe to citizens,
                One that still motions war and never peace,
                O'ercharging your free purses with large fines,
                That seeks to overthrow religion,
                Because he is protector of the realm,
                And would have armour here out of the Tower,
                To crown himself king and suppress the prince.
                GLOUCESTER I will not answer thee with words, but blows.
                Here they skirmish again
                Mayor Naught rests for me in this tumultuous strife
                But to make open proclamation:
                Come, officer; as loud as e'er thou canst,
                Cry.
                Officer All manner of men assembled here in arms this day
                against God's peace and the king's, we charge and
                command you, in his highness' name, to repair to
                your several dwelling-places; and not to wear,
                handle, or use any sword, weapon, or dagger,
                henceforward, upon pain of death.
                GLOUCESTER Cardinal, I'll be no breaker of the law:
                But we shall meet, and break our minds at large.
                BISHOP
                OF WINCHESTER Gloucester, we will meet; to thy cost, be sure:
                Thy heart-blood I will have for this day's work.
                Mayor I'll call for clubs, if you will not away.
                This cardinal's more haughty than the devil.
                GLOUCESTER Mayor, farewell: thou dost but what thou mayst.
                BISHOP
                OF WINCHESTER Abominable Gloucester, guard thy head;
                For I intend to have it ere long.
                Exeunt, severally, GLOUCESTER and BISHOP OF WINCHESTER with their Serving-men
                Mayor See the coast clear'd, and then we will depart.
                Good God, these nobles should such stomachs bear!
                I myself fight not once in forty year.
                Exeunt 
                SCENE IV. Orleans. 
                Enter, on the walls, a Master Gunner and his Boy Master-Gunner Sirrah, thou know'st how Orleans is besieged,
                And how the English have the suburbs won.
                Boy Father, I know; and oft have shot at them,
                Howe'er unfortunate I miss'd my aim.
                Master-Gunner But now thou shalt not. Be thou ruled by me:
                Chief master-gunner am I of this town;
                Something I must do to procure me grace.
                The prince's espials have informed me
                How the English, in the suburbs close intrench'd,
                Wont, through a secret grate of iron bars
                In yonder tower, to overpeer the city,
                And thence discover how with most advantage
                They may vex us with shot, or with assault.
                To intercept this inconvenience,
                A piece of ordnance 'gainst it I have placed;
                And even these three days have I watch'd,
                If I could see them.
                Now do thou watch, for I can stay no longer.
                If thou spy'st any, run and bring me word;
                And thou shalt find me at the governor's.
                Exit
                Boy Father, I warrant you; take you no care;
                I'll never trouble you, if I may spy them.
                Exit
                Enter, on the turrets, SALISBURY and TALBOT, GLANSDALE, GARGRAVE, and others
                SALISBURY Talbot, my life, my joy, again return'd!
                How wert thou handled being prisoner?
                Or by what means got'st thou to be released?
                Discourse, I prithee, on this turret's top.
                TALBOT The Duke of Bedford had a prisoner
                Call'd the brave Lord Ponton de Santrailles;
                For him was I exchanged and ransomed.
                But with a baser man of arms by far
                Once in contempt they would have barter'd me:
                Which I, disdaining, scorn'd; and craved death,
                Rather than I would be so vile esteem'd.
                In fine, redeem'd I was as I desired.
                But, O! the treacherous Fastolfe wounds my heart,
                Whom with my bare fists I would execute,
                If I now had him brought into my power.
                SALISBURY Yet tell'st thou not how thou wert entertain'd.
                TALBOT With scoffs and scorns and contumelious taunts.
                In open market-place produced they me,
                To be a public spectacle to all:
                Here, said they, is the terror of the French,
                The scarecrow that affrights our children so.
                Then broke I from the officers that led me,
                And with my nails digg'd stones out of the ground,
                To hurl at the beholders of my shame:
                My grisly countenance made others fly;
                None durst come near for fear of sudden death.
                In iron walls they deem'd me not secure;
                So great fear of my name 'mongst them was spread,
                That they supposed I could rend bars of steel,
                And spurn in pieces posts of adamant:
                Wherefore a guard of chosen shot I had,
                That walked about me every minute-while;
                And if I did but stir out of my bed,
                Ready they were to shoot me to the heart.
                Enter the Boy with a linstock
                SALISBURY I grieve to hear what torments you endured,
                But we will be revenged sufficiently
                Now it is supper-time in Orleans:
                Here, through this grate, I count each one
                and view the Frenchmen how they fortify:
                Let us look in; the sight will much delight thee.
                Sir Thomas Gargrave, and Sir William Glansdale,
                Let me have your express opinions
                Where is best place to make our battery next.
                GARGRAVE I think, at the north gate; for there stand lords.
                GLANSDALE And I, here, at the bulwark of the bridge.
                TALBOT For aught I see, this city must be famish'd,
                Or with light skirmishes enfeebled.
                Here they shoot. SALISBURY and GARGRAVE fall
                SALISBURY O Lord, have mercy on us, wretched sinners!
                GARGRAVE O Lord, have mercy on me, woful man!
                TALBOT What chance is this that suddenly hath cross'd us?
                Speak, Salisbury; at least, if thou canst speak:
                How farest thou, mirror of all martial men?
                One of thy eyes and thy cheek's side struck off!
                Accursed tower! accursed fatal hand
                That hath contrived this woful tragedy!
                In thirteen battles Salisbury o'ercame;
                Henry the Fifth he first train'd to the wars;
                Whilst any trump did sound, or drum struck up,
                His sword did ne'er leave striking in the field.
                Yet livest thou, Salisbury? though thy speech doth fail,
                One eye thou hast, to look to heaven for grace:
                The sun with one eye vieweth all the world.
                Heaven, be thou gracious to none alive,
                If Salisbury wants mercy at thy hands!
                Bear hence his body; I will help to bury it.
                Sir Thomas Gargrave, hast thou any life?
                Speak unto Talbot; nay, look up to him.
                Salisbury, cheer thy spirit with this comfort;
                Thou shalt not die whiles--
                He beckons with his hand and smiles on me.
                As who should say 'When I am dead and gone,
                Remember to avenge me on the French.'
                Plantagenet, I will; and like thee, Nero,
                Play on the lute, beholding the towns burn:
                Wretched shall France be only in my name.
                Here an alarum, and it thunders and lightens
                What stir is this? what tumult's in the heavens?
                Whence cometh this alarum and the noise?
                Enter a Messenger
                Messenger My lord, my lord, the French have gathered head:
                The Dauphin, with one Joan la Pucelle join'd,
                A holy prophetess new risen up,
                Is come with a great power to raise the siege.
                Here SALISBURY lifteth himself up and groans
                TALBOT Hear, hear how dying Salisbury doth groan!
                It irks his heart he cannot be revenged.
                Frenchmen, I'll be a Salisbury to you:
                Pucelle or puzzel, dolphin or dogfish,
                Your hearts I'll stamp out with my horse's heels,
                And make a quagmire of your mingled brains.
                Convey me Salisbury into his tent,
                And then we'll try what these dastard Frenchmen dare.
                Alarum. Exeunt 
                SCENE V. The same. 
                Here an alarum again: and TALBOT pursueth the DAUPHIN, and driveth him: then enter JOAN LA PUCELLE, driving Englishmen before her, and exit after them then re-enter TALBOT TALBOT Where is my strength, my valour, and my force?
                Our English troops retire, I cannot stay them:
                A woman clad in armour chaseth them.
                Re-enter JOAN LA PUCELLE
                Here, here she comes. I'll have a bout with thee;
                Devil or devil's dam, I'll conjure thee:
                Blood will I draw on thee, thou art a witch,
                And straightway give thy soul to him thou servest.
                JOAN LA PUCELLE Come, come, 'tis only I that must disgrace thee.
                Here they fight
                TALBOT Heavens, can you suffer hell so to prevail?
                My breast I'll burst with straining of my courage
                And from my shoulders crack my arms asunder.
                But I will chastise this high-minded strumpet.
                They fight again
                JOAN LA PUCELLE Talbot, farewell; thy hour is not yet come:
                I must go victual Orleans forthwith.
                A short alarum; then enter the town with soldiers
                O'ertake me, if thou canst; I scorn thy strength.
                Go, go, cheer up thy hungry-starved men;
                Help Salisbury to make his testament:
                This day is ours, as many more shall be.
                Exit
                TALBOT My thoughts are whirled like a potter's wheel;
                I know not where I am, nor what I do;
                A witch, by fear, not force, like Hannibal,
                Drives back our troops and conquers as she lists:
                So bees with smoke and doves with noisome stench
                Are from their hives and houses driven away.
                They call'd us for our fierceness English dogs;
                Now, like to whelps, we crying run away.
                A short alarum
                Hark, countrymen! either renew the fight,
                Or tear the lions out of England's coat;
                Renounce your soil, give sheep in lions' stead:
                Sheep run not half so treacherous from the wolf,
                Or horse or oxen from the leopard,
                As you fly from your oft-subdued slaves.
                Alarum. Here another skirmish
                It will not be: retire into your trenches:
                You all consented unto Salisbury's death,
                For none would strike a stroke in his revenge.
                Pucelle is enter'd into Orleans,
                In spite of us or aught that we could do.
                O, would I were to die with Salisbury!
                The shame hereof will make me hide my head.
                Exit TALBOT. Alarum; retreat; flourish 
                SCENE VI. The same. 
                Enter, on the walls, JOAN LA PUCELLE, CHARLES, REIGNIER, ALENCON, and Soldiers JOAN LA PUCELLE Advance our waving colours on the walls;
                Rescued is Orleans from the English
                Thus Joan la Pucelle hath perform'd her word.
                CHARLES Divinest creature, Astraea's daughter,
                How shall I honour thee for this success?
                Thy promises are like Adonis' gardens
                That one day bloom'd and fruitful were the next.
                France, triumph in thy glorious prophetess!
                Recover'd is the town of Orleans:
                More blessed hap did ne'er befall our state.
                REIGNIER Why ring not out the bells aloud throughout the town?
                Dauphin, command the citizens make bonfires
                And feast and banquet in the open streets,
                To celebrate the joy that God hath given us.
                ALENCON All France will be replete with mirth and joy,
                When they shall hear how we have play'd the men.
                CHARLES 'Tis Joan, not we, by whom the day is won;
                For which I will divide my crown with her,
                And all the priests and friars in my realm
                Shall in procession sing her endless praise.
                A statelier pyramis to her I'll rear
                Than Rhodope's or Memphis' ever was:
                In memory of her when she is dead,
                Her ashes, in an urn more precious
                Than the rich-jewel'd of Darius,
                Transported shall be at high festivals
                Before the kings and queens of France.
                No longer on Saint Denis will we cry,
                But Joan la Pucelle shall be France's saint.
                Come in, and let us banquet royally,
                After this golden day of victory.
                Flourish. Exeunt
                ACT II SCENE I. Before Orleans. 
                Enter a Sergeant of a band with two Sentinels Sergeant Sirs, take your places and be vigilant:
                If any noise or soldier you perceive
                Near to the walls, by some apparent sign
                Let us have knowledge at the court of guard.
                First Sentinel Sergeant, you shall.
                Exit Sergeant
                Thus are poor servitors,
                When others sleep upon their quiet beds,
                Constrain'd to watch in darkness, rain and cold.
                Enter TALBOT, BEDFORD, BURGUNDY, and Forces, with scaling-ladders, their drums beating a dead march
                TALBOT Lord Regent, and redoubted Burgundy,
                By whose approach the regions of Artois,
                Wallon and Picardy are friends to us,
                This happy night the Frenchmen are secure,
                Having all day caroused and banqueted:
                Embrace we then this opportunity
                As fitting best to quittance their deceit
                Contrived by art and baleful sorcery.
                BEDFORD Coward of France! how much he wrongs his fame,
                Despairing of his own arm's fortitude,
                To join with witches and the help of hell!
                BURGUNDY Traitors have never other company.
                But what's that Pucelle whom they term so pure?
                TALBOT A maid, they say.
                BEDFORD A maid! and be so martial!
                BURGUNDY Pray God she prove not masculine ere long,
                If underneath the standard of the French
                She carry armour as she hath begun.
                TALBOT Well, let them practise and converse with spirits:
                God is our fortress, in whose conquering name
                Let us resolve to scale their flinty bulwarks.
                BEDFORD Ascend, brave Talbot; we will follow thee.
                TALBOT Not all together: better far, I guess,
                That we do make our entrance several ways;
                That, if it chance the one of us do fail,
                The other yet may rise against their force.
                BEDFORD Agreed: I'll to yond corner.
                BURGUNDY And I to this.
                TALBOT And here will Talbot mount, or make his grave.
                Now, Salisbury, for thee, and for the right
                Of English Henry, shall this night appear
                How much in duty I am bound to both.
                Sentinels Arm! arm! the enemy doth make assault!
                Cry: 'St. George,' 'A Talbot.'
                The French leap over the walls in their shirts. Enter, several ways, the BASTARD OF ORLEANS, ALENCON, and REIGNIER, half ready, and half unready
                ALENCON How now, my lords! what, all unready so?
                BASTARD OF ORLEANS Unready! ay, and glad we 'scaped so well.
                REIGNIER 'Twas time, I trow, to wake and leave our beds,
                Hearing alarums at our chamber-doors.
                ALENCON Of all exploits since first I follow'd arms,
                Ne'er heard I of a warlike enterprise
                More venturous or desperate than this.
                BASTARD OF ORLEANS I think this Talbot be a fiend of hell.
                REIGNIER If not of hell, the heavens, sure, favour him.
                ALENCON Here cometh Charles: I marvel how he sped.
                BASTARD OF ORLEANS Tut, holy Joan was his defensive guard.
                Enter CHARLES and JOAN LA PUCELLE
                CHARLES Is this thy cunning, thou deceitful dame?
                Didst thou at first, to flatter us withal,
                Make us partakers of a little gain,
                That now our loss might be ten times so much?
                JOAN LA PUCELLE Wherefore is Charles impatient with his friend!
                At all times will you have my power alike?
                Sleeping or waking must I still prevail,
                Or will you blame and lay the fault on me?
                Improvident soldiers! had your watch been good,
                This sudden mischief never could have fall'n.
                CHARLES Duke of Alencon, this was your default,
                That, being captain of the watch to-night,
                Did look no better to that weighty charge.
                ALENCON Had all your quarters been as safely kept
                As that whereof I had the government,
                We had not been thus shamefully surprised.
                BASTARD OF ORLEANS Mine was secure.
                REIGNIER And so was mine, my lord.
                CHARLES And, for myself, most part of all this night,
                Within her quarter and mine own precinct
                I was employ'd in passing to and fro,
                About relieving of the sentinels:
                Then how or which way should they first break in?
                JOAN LA PUCELLE Question, my lords, no further of the case,
                How or which way: 'tis sure they found some place
                But weakly guarded, where the breach was made.
                And now there rests no other shift but this;
                To gather our soldiers, scatter'd and dispersed,
                And lay new platforms to endamage them.
                Alarum. Enter an English Soldier, crying 'A Talbot! a Talbot!' They fly, leaving their clothes behind
                Soldier I'll be so bold to take what they have left.
                The cry of Talbot serves me for a sword;
                For I have loaden me with many spoils,
                Using no other weapon but his name.
                Exit 
                SCENE II. Orleans. Within the town. 
                Enter TALBOT, BEDFORD, BURGUNDY, a Captain, and others BEDFORD The day begins to break, and night is fled,
                Whose pitchy mantle over-veil'd the earth.
                Here sound retreat, and cease our hot pursuit.
                Retreat sounded
                TALBOT Bring forth the body of old Salisbury,
                And here advance it in the market-place,
                The middle centre of this cursed town.
                Now have I paid my vow unto his soul;
                For every drop of blood was drawn from him,
                There hath at least five Frenchmen died tonight.
                And that hereafter ages may behold
                What ruin happen'd in revenge of him,
                Within their chiefest temple I'll erect
                A tomb, wherein his corpse shall be interr'd:
                Upon the which, that every one may read,
                Shall be engraved the sack of Orleans,
                The treacherous manner of his mournful death
                And what a terror he had been to France.
                But, lords, in all our bloody massacre,
                I muse we met not with the Dauphin's grace,
                His new-come champion, virtuous Joan of Arc,
                Nor any of his false confederates.
                BEDFORD 'Tis thought, Lord Talbot, when the fight began,
                Roused on the sudden from their drowsy beds,
                They did amongst the troops of armed men
                Leap o'er the walls for refuge in the field.
                BURGUNDY Myself, as far as I could well discern
                For smoke and dusky vapours of the night,
                Am sure I scared the Dauphin and his trull,
                When arm in arm they both came swiftly running,
                Like to a pair of loving turtle-doves
                That could not live asunder day or night.
                After that things are set in order here,
                We'll follow them with all the power we have.
                Enter a Messenger
                Messenger All hail, my lords! which of this princely train
                Call ye the warlike Talbot, for his acts
                So much applauded through the realm of France?
                TALBOT Here is the Talbot: who would speak with him?
                Messenger The virtuous lady, Countess of Auvergne,
                With modesty admiring thy renown,
                By me entreats, great lord, thou wouldst vouchsafe
                To visit her poor castle where she lies,
                That she may boast she hath beheld the man
                Whose glory fills the world with loud report.
                BURGUNDY Is it even so? Nay, then, I see our wars
                Will turn unto a peaceful comic sport,
                When ladies crave to be encounter'd with.
                You may not, my lord, despise her gentle suit.
                TALBOT Ne'er trust me then; for when a world of men
                Could not prevail with all their oratory,
                Yet hath a woman's kindness over-ruled:
                And therefore tell her I return great thanks,
                And in submission will attend on her.
                Will not your honours bear me company?
                BEDFORD No, truly; it is more than manners will:
                And I have heard it said, unbidden guests
                Are often welcomest when they are gone.
                TALBOT Well then, alone, since there's no remedy,
                I mean to prove this lady's courtesy.
                Come hither, captain.
                Whispers
                You perceive my mind?
                Captain I do, my lord, and mean accordingly.
                Exeunt 
                SCENE III. Auvergne. The COUNTESS's castle. 
                Enter the COUNTESS and her Porter COUNTESS
                OF AUVERGNE Porter, remember what I gave in charge;
                And when you have done so, bring the keys to me.
                Porter Madam, I will.
                Exit
                COUNTESS
                OF AUVERGNE The plot is laid: if all things fall out right,
                I shall as famous be by this exploit
                As Scythian Tomyris by Cyrus' death.
                Great is the rumor of this dreadful knight,
                And his achievements of no less account:
                Fain would mine eyes be witness with mine ears,
                To give their censure of these rare reports.
                Enter Messenger and TALBOT
                Messenger Madam,
                According as your ladyship desired,
                By message craved, so is Lord Talbot come.
                COUNTESS
                OF AUVERGNE And he is welcome. What! is this the man?
                Messenger Madam, it is.
                COUNTESS
                OF AUVERGNE Is this the scourge of France?
                Is this the Talbot, so much fear'd abroad
                That with his name the mothers still their babes?
                I see report is fabulous and false:
                I thought I should have seen some Hercules,
                A second Hector, for his grim aspect,
                And large proportion of his strong-knit limbs.
                Alas, this is a child, a silly dwarf!
                It cannot be this weak and writhled shrimp
                Should strike such terror to his enemies.
                TALBOT Madam, I have been bold to trouble you;
                But since your ladyship is not at leisure,
                I'll sort some other time to visit you.
                COUNTESS
                OF AUVERGNE What means he now? Go ask him whither he goes.
                Messenger Stay, my Lord Talbot; for my lady craves
                To know the cause of your abrupt departure.
                TALBOT Marry, for that she's in a wrong belief,
                I go to certify her Talbot's here.
                Re-enter Porter with keys
                COUNTESS
                OF AUVERGNE If thou be he, then art thou prisoner.
                TALBOT Prisoner! to whom?
                COUNTESS
                OF AUVERGNE To me, blood-thirsty lord;
                And for that cause I trained thee to my house.
                Long time thy shadow hath been thrall to me,
                For in my gallery thy picture hangs:
                But now the substance shall endure the like,
                And I will chain these legs and arms of thine,
                That hast by tyranny these many years
                Wasted our country, slain our citizens
                And sent our sons and husbands captivate.
                TALBOT Ha, ha, ha!
                COUNTESS
                OF AUVERGNE Laughest thou, wretch? thy mirth shall turn to moan.
                TALBOT I laugh to see your ladyship so fond
                To think that you have aught but Talbot's shadow
                Whereon to practise your severity.
                COUNTESS
                OF AUVERGNE Why, art not thou the man?
                TALBOT I am indeed.
                COUNTESS
                OF AUVERGNE Then have I substance too.
                TALBOT No, no, I am but shadow of myself:
                You are deceived, my substance is not here;
                For what you see is but the smallest part
                And least proportion of humanity:
                I tell you, madam, were the whole frame here,
                It is of such a spacious lofty pitch,
                Your roof were not sufficient to contain't.
                COUNTESS
                OF AUVERGNE This is a riddling merchant for the nonce;
                He will be here, and yet he is not here:
                How can these contrarieties agree?
                TALBOT That will I show you presently.
                Winds his horn. Drums strike up: a peal of ordnance. Enter soldiers
                How say you, madam? are you now persuaded
                That Talbot is but shadow of himself?
                These are his substance, sinews, arms and strength,
                With which he yoketh your rebellious necks,
                Razeth your cities and subverts your towns
                And in a moment makes them desolate.
                COUNTESS
                OF AUVERGNE Victorious Talbot! pardon my abuse:
                I find thou art no less than fame hath bruited
                And more than may be gather'd by thy shape.
                Let my presumption not provoke thy wrath;
                For I am sorry that with reverence
                I did not entertain thee as thou art.
                TALBOT Be not dismay'd, fair lady; nor misconstrue
                The mind of Talbot, as you did mistake
                The outward composition of his body.
                What you have done hath not offended me;
                Nor other satisfaction do I crave,
                But only, with your patience, that we may
                Taste of your wine and see what cates you have;
                For soldiers' stomachs always serve them well.
                COUNTESS
                OF AUVERGNE With all my heart, and think me honoured
                To feast so great a warrior in my house.
                Exeunt 
                SCENE IV. London. The Temple-garden. 
                Enter the Earls of SOMERSET, SUFFOLK, and WARWICK; RICHARD PLANTAGENET, VERNON, and another Lawyer RICHARD
                PLANTAGENET Great lords and gentlemen, what means this silence?
                Dare no man answer in a case of truth?
                SUFFOLK Within the Temple-hall we were too loud;
                The garden here is more convenient.
                RICHARD
                PLANTAGENET Then say at once if I maintain'd the truth;
                Or else was wrangling Somerset in the error?
                SUFFOLK Faith, I have been a truant in the law,
                And never yet could frame my will to it;
                And therefore frame the law unto my will.
                SOMERSET Judge you, my Lord of Warwick, then, between us.
                WARWICK Between two hawks, which flies the higher pitch;
                Between two dogs, which hath the deeper mouth;
                Between two blades, which bears the better temper:
                Between two horses, which doth bear him best;
                Between two girls, which hath the merriest eye;
                I have perhaps some shallow spirit of judgement;
                But in these nice sharp quillets of the law,
                Good faith, I am no wiser than a daw.
                RICHARD
                PLANTAGENET Tut, tut, here is a mannerly forbearance:
                The truth appears so naked on my side
                That any purblind eye may find it out.
                SOMERSET And on my side it is so well apparell'd,
                So clear, so shining and so evident
                That it will glimmer through a blind man's eye.
                RICHARD
                PLANTAGENET Since you are tongue-tied and so loath to speak,
                In dumb significants proclaim your thoughts:
                Let him that is a true-born gentleman
                And stands upon the honour of his birth,
                If he suppose that I have pleaded truth,
                From off this brier pluck a white rose with me.
                SOMERSET Let him that is no coward nor no flatterer,
                But dare maintain the party of the truth,
                Pluck a red rose from off this thorn with me.
                WARWICK I love no colours, and without all colour
                Of base insinuating flattery
                I pluck this white rose with Plantagenet.
                SUFFOLK I pluck this red rose with young Somerset
                And say withal I think he held the right.
                VERNON Stay, lords and gentlemen, and pluck no more,
                Till you conclude that he upon whose side
                The fewest roses are cropp'd from the tree
                Shall yield the other in the right opinion.
                SOMERSET Good Master Vernon, it is well objected:
                If I have fewest, I subscribe in silence.
                RICHARD
                PLANTAGENET And I.
                VERNON Then for the truth and plainness of the case.
                I pluck this pale and maiden blossom here,
                Giving my verdict on the white rose side.
                SOMERSET Prick not your finger as you pluck it off,
                Lest bleeding you do paint the white rose red
                And fall on my side so, against your will.
                VERNON If I my lord, for my opinion bleed,
                Opinion shall be surgeon to my hurt
                And keep me on the side where still I am.
                SOMERSET Well, well, come on: who else?
                Lawyer Unless my study and my books be false,
                The argument you held was wrong in you:
                To SOMERSET
                In sign whereof I pluck a white rose too.
                RICHARD
                PLANTAGENET Now, Somerset, where is your argument?
                SOMERSET Here in my scabbard, meditating that
                Shall dye your white rose in a bloody red.
                RICHARD
                PLANTAGENET Meantime your cheeks do counterfeit our roses;
                For pale they look with fear, as witnessing
                The truth on our side.
                SOMERSET No, Plantagenet,
                'Tis not for fear but anger that thy cheeks
                Blush for pure shame to counterfeit our roses,
                And yet thy tongue will not confess thy error.
                RICHARD
                PLANTAGENET Hath not thy rose a canker, Somerset?
                SOMERSET Hath not thy rose a thorn, Plantagenet?
                RICHARD
                PLANTAGENET Ay, sharp and piercing, to maintain his truth;
                Whiles thy consuming canker eats his falsehood.
                SOMERSET Well, I'll find friends to wear my bleeding roses,
                That shall maintain what I have said is true,
                Where false Plantagenet dare not be seen.
                RICHARD
                PLANTAGENET Now, by this maiden blossom in my hand,
                I scorn thee and thy fashion, peevish boy.
                SUFFOLK Turn not thy scorns this way, Plantagenet.
                RICHARD
                PLANTAGENET Proud Pole, I will, and scorn both him and thee.
                SUFFOLK I'll turn my part thereof into thy throat.
                SOMERSET Away, away, good William de la Pole!
                We grace the yeoman by conversing with him.
                WARWICK Now, by God's will, thou wrong'st him, Somerset;
                His grandfather was Lionel Duke of Clarence,
                Third son to the third Edward King of England:
                Spring crestless yeomen from so deep a root?
                RICHARD
                PLANTAGENET He bears him on the place's privilege,
                Or durst not, for his craven heart, say thus.
                SOMERSET By him that made me, I'll maintain my words
                On any plot of ground in Christendom.
                Was not thy father, Richard Earl of Cambridge,
                For treason executed in our late king's days?
                And, by his treason, stand'st not thou attainted,
                Corrupted, and exempt from ancient gentry?
                His trespass yet lives guilty in thy blood;
                And, till thou be restored, thou art a yeoman.
                RICHARD
                PLANTAGENET My father was attached, not attainted,
                Condemn'd to die for treason, but no traitor;
                And that I'll prove on better men than Somerset,
                Were growing time once ripen'd to my will.
                For your partaker Pole and you yourself,
                I'll note you in my book of memory,
                To scourge you for this apprehension:
                Look to it well and say you are well warn'd.
                SOMERSET Ah, thou shalt find us ready for thee still;
                And know us by these colours for thy foes,
                For these my friends in spite of thee shall wear.
                RICHARD
                PLANTAGENET And, by my soul, this pale and angry rose,
                As cognizance of my blood-drinking hate,
                Will I for ever and my faction wear,
                Until it wither with me to my grave
                Or flourish to the height of my degree.
                SUFFOLK Go forward and be choked with thy ambition!
                And so farewell until I meet thee next.
                Exit
                SOMERSET Have with thee, Pole. Farewell, ambitious Richard.
                Exit
                RICHARD
                PLANTAGENET How I am braved and must perforce endure it!
                WARWICK This blot that they object against your house
                Shall be wiped out in the next parliament
                Call'd for the truce of Winchester and Gloucester;
                And if thou be not then created York,
                I will not live to be accounted Warwick.
                Meantime, in signal of my love to thee,
                Against proud Somerset and William Pole,
                Will I upon thy party wear this rose:
                And here I prophesy: this brawl to-day,
                Grown to this faction in the Temple-garden,
                Shall send between the red rose and the white
                A thousand souls to death and deadly night.
                RICHARD
                PLANTAGENET Good Master Vernon, I am bound to you,
                That you on my behalf would pluck a flower.
                VERNON In your behalf still will I wear the same.
                Lawyer And so will I.
                RICHARD
                PLANTAGENET Thanks, gentle sir.
                Come, let us four to dinner: I dare say
                This quarrel will drink blood another day.
                Exeunt 
                SCENE V. The Tower of London. 
                Enter MORTIMER, brought in a chair, and Gaolers MORTIMER Kind keepers of my weak decaying age,
                Let dying Mortimer here rest himself.
                Even like a man new haled from the rack,
                So fare my limbs with long imprisonment.
                And these grey locks, the pursuivants of death,
                Nestor-like aged in an age of care,
                Argue the end of Edmund Mortimer.
                These eyes, like lamps whose wasting oil is spent,
                Wax dim, as drawing to their exigent;
                Weak shoulders, overborne with burthening grief,
                And pithless arms, like to a wither'd vine
                That droops his sapless branches to the ground;
                Yet are these feet, whose strengthless stay is numb,
                Unable to support this lump of clay,
                Swift-winged with desire to get a grave,
                As witting I no other comfort have.
                But tell me, keeper, will my nephew come?
                First Gaoler Richard Plantagenet, my lord, will come:
                We sent unto the Temple, unto his chamber;
                And answer was return'd that he will come.
                MORTIMER Enough: my soul shall then be satisfied.
                Poor gentleman! his wrong doth equal mine.
                Since Henry Monmouth first began to reign,
                Before whose glory I was great in arms,
                This loathsome sequestration have I had:
                And even since then hath Richard been obscured,
                Deprived of honour and inheritance.
                But now the arbitrator of despairs,
                Just death, kind umpire of men's miseries,
                With sweet enlargement doth dismiss me hence:
                I would his troubles likewise were expired,
                That so he might recover what was lost.
                Enter RICHARD PLANTAGENET
                First Gaoler My lord, your loving nephew now is come.
                MORTIMER Richard Plantagenet, my friend, is he come?
                RICHARD
                PLANTAGENET Ay, noble uncle, thus ignobly used,
                Your nephew, late despised Richard, comes.
                MORTIMER Direct mine arms I may embrace his neck,
                And in his bosom spend my latter gasp:
                O, tell me when my lips do touch his cheeks,
                That I may kindly give one fainting kiss.
                And now declare, sweet stem from York's great stock,
                Why didst thou say, of late thou wert despised?
                RICHARD
                PLANTAGENET First, lean thine aged back against mine arm;
                And, in that ease, I'll tell thee my disease.
                This day, in argument upon a case,
                Some words there grew 'twixt Somerset and me;
                Among which terms he used his lavish tongue
                And did upbraid me with my father's death:
                Which obloquy set bars before my tongue,
                Else with the like I had requited him.
                Therefore, good uncle, for my father's sake,
                In honour of a true Plantagenet
                And for alliance sake, declare the cause
                My father, Earl of Cambridge, lost his head.
                MORTIMER That cause, fair nephew, that imprison'd me
                And hath detain'd me all my flowering youth
                Within a loathsome dungeon, there to pine,
                Was cursed instrument of his decease.
                RICHARD
                PLANTAGENET Discover more at large what cause that was,
                For I am ignorant and cannot guess.
                MORTIMER I will, if that my fading breath permit
                And death approach not ere my tale be done.
                Henry the Fourth, grandfather to this king,
                Deposed his nephew Richard, Edward's son,
                The first-begotten and the lawful heir,
                Of Edward king, the third of that descent:
                During whose reign the Percies of the north,
                Finding his usurpation most unjust,
                Endeavor'd my advancement to the throne:
                The reason moved these warlike lords to this
                Was, for that--young King Richard thus removed,
                Leaving no heir begotten of his body--
                I was the next by birth and parentage;
                For by my mother I derived am
                From Lionel Duke of Clarence, the third son
                To King Edward the Third; whereas he
                From John of Gaunt doth bring his pedigree,
                Being but fourth of that heroic line.
                But mark: as in this haughty attempt
                They laboured to plant the rightful heir,
                I lost my liberty and they their lives.
                Long after this, when Henry the Fifth,
                Succeeding his father Bolingbroke, did reign,
                Thy father, Earl of Cambridge, then derived
                From famous Edmund Langley, Duke of York,
                Marrying my sister that thy mother was,
                Again in pity of my hard distress
                Levied an army, weening to redeem
                And have install'd me in the diadem:
                But, as the rest, so fell that noble earl
                And was beheaded. Thus the Mortimers,
                In whom the tide rested, were suppress'd.
                RICHARD
                PLANTAGENET Of which, my lord, your honour is the last.
                MORTIMER True; and thou seest that I no issue have
                And that my fainting words do warrant death;
                Thou art my heir; the rest I wish thee gather:
                But yet be wary in thy studious care.
                RICHARD
                PLANTAGENET Thy grave admonishments prevail with me:
                But yet, methinks, my father's execution
                Was nothing less than bloody tyranny.
                MORTIMER With silence, nephew, be thou politic:
                Strong-fixed is the house of Lancaster,
                And like a mountain, not to be removed.
                But now thy uncle is removing hence:
                As princes do their courts, when they are cloy'd
                With long continuance in a settled place.
                RICHARD
                PLANTAGENET O, uncle, would some part of my young years
                Might but redeem the passage of your age!
                MORTIMER Thou dost then wrong me, as that slaughterer doth
                Which giveth many wounds when one will kill.
                Mourn not, except thou sorrow for my good;
                Only give order for my funeral:
                And so farewell, and fair be all thy hopes
                And prosperous be thy life in peace and war!
                Dies
                RICHARD
                PLANTAGENET And peace, no war, befall thy parting soul!
                In prison hast thou spent a pilgrimage
                And like a hermit overpass'd thy days.
                Well, I will lock his counsel in my breast;
                And what I do imagine let that rest.
                Keepers, convey him hence, and I myself
                Will see his burial better than his life.
                Exeunt Gaolers, bearing out the body of MORTIMER
                Here dies the dusky torch of Mortimer,
                Choked with ambition of the meaner sort:
                And for those wrongs, those bitter injuries,
                Which Somerset hath offer'd to my house:
                I doubt not but with honour to redress;
                And therefore haste I to the parliament,
                Either to be restored to my blood,
                Or make my ill the advantage of my good.
                Exit
                ACT III SCENE I. London. The Parliament-house. 
                Flourish. Enter KING HENRY VI, EXETER, GLOUCESTER, WARWICK, SOMERSET, and SUFFOLK; the BISHOP OF WINCHESTER, RICHARD PLANTAGENET, and others. GLOUCESTER offers to put up a bill; BISHOP OF WINCHESTER snatches it, and tears it BISHOP
                OF WINCHESTER Comest thou with deep premeditated lines,
                With written pamphlets studiously devised,
                Humphrey of Gloucester? If thou canst accuse,
                Or aught intend'st to lay unto my charge,
                Do it without invention, suddenly;
                As I with sudden and extemporal speech
                Purpose to answer what thou canst object.
                GLOUCESTER Presumptuous priest! this place commands my patience,
                Or thou shouldst find thou hast dishonour'd me.
                Think not, although in writing I preferr'd
                The manner of thy vile outrageous crimes,
                That therefore I have forged, or am not able
                Verbatim to rehearse the method of my pen:
                No, prelate; such is thy audacious wickedness,
                Thy lewd, pestiferous and dissentious pranks,
                As very infants prattle of thy pride.
                Thou art a most pernicious usurer,
                Forward by nature, enemy to peace;
                Lascivious, wanton, more than well beseems
                A man of thy profession and degree;
                And for thy treachery, what's more manifest?
                In that thou laid'st a trap to take my life,
                As well at London bridge as at the Tower.
                Beside, I fear me, if thy thoughts were sifted,
                The king, thy sovereign, is not quite exempt
                From envious malice of thy swelling heart.
                BISHOP
                OF WINCHESTER Gloucester, I do defy thee. Lords, vouchsafe
                To give me hearing what I shall reply.
                If I were covetous, ambitious or perverse,
                As he will have me, how am I so poor?
                Or how haps it I seek not to advance
                Or raise myself, but keep my wonted calling?
                And for dissension, who preferreth peace
                More than I do?--except I be provoked.
                No, my good lords, it is not that offends;
                It is not that that hath incensed the duke:
                It is, because no one should sway but he;
                No one but he should be about the king;
                And that engenders thunder in his breast
                And makes him roar these accusations forth.
                But he shall know I am as good--
                GLOUCESTER As good!
                Thou bastard of my grandfather!
                BISHOP
                OF WINCHESTER Ay, lordly sir; for what are you, I pray,
                But one imperious in another's throne?
                GLOUCESTER Am I not protector, saucy priest?
                BISHOP
                OF WINCHESTER And am not I a prelate of the church?
                GLOUCESTER Yes, as an outlaw in a castle keeps
                And useth it to patronage his theft.
                BISHOP
                OF WINCHESTER Unreverent Gloster!
                GLOUCESTER Thou art reverent
                Touching thy spiritual function, not thy life.
                BISHOP
                OF WINCHESTER Rome shall remedy this.
                WARWICK Roam thither, then.
                SOMERSET My lord, it were your duty to forbear.
                WARWICK Ay, see the bishop be not overborne.
                SOMERSET Methinks my lord should be religious
                And know the office that belongs to such.
                WARWICK Methinks his lordship should be humbler;
                it fitteth not a prelate so to plead.
                SOMERSET Yes, when his holy state is touch'd so near.
                WARWICK State holy or unhallow'd, what of that?
                Is not his grace protector to the king?
                RICHARD
                PLANTAGENET [Aside] Plantagenet, I see, must hold his tongue,
                Lest it be said 'Speak, sirrah, when you should;
                Must your bold verdict enter talk with lords?'
                Else would I have a fling at Winchester.
                KING HENRY VI Uncles of Gloucester and of Winchester,
                The special watchmen of our English weal,
                I would prevail, if prayers might prevail,
                To join your hearts in love and amity.
                O, what a scandal is it to our crown,
                That two such noble peers as ye should jar!
                Believe me, lords, my tender years can tell
                Civil dissension is a viperous worm
                That gnaws the bowels of the commonwealth.
                A noise within, 'Down with the tawny-coats!'
                What tumult's this?
                WARWICK An uproar, I dare warrant,
                Begun through malice of the bishop's men.
                A noise again, 'Stones! stones!' Enter Mayor
                Mayor O, my good lords, and virtuous Henry,
                Pity the city of London, pity us!
                The bishop and the Duke of Gloucester's men,
                Forbidden late to carry any weapon,
                Have fill'd their pockets full of pebble stones
                And banding themselves in contrary parts
                Do pelt so fast at one another's pate
                That many have their giddy brains knock'd out:
                Our windows are broke down in every street
                And we for fear compell'd to shut our shops.
                Enter Serving-men, in skirmish, with bloody pates
                KING HENRY VI We charge you, on allegiance to ourself,
                To hold your slaughtering hands and keep the peace.
                Pray, uncle Gloucester, mitigate this strife.
                First Serving-man Nay, if we be forbidden stones,
                We'll fall to it with our teeth.
                Second Serving-man Do what ye dare, we are as resolute.
                Skirmish again
                GLOUCESTER You of my household, leave this peevish broil
                And set this unaccustom'd fight aside.
                Third Serving-man My lord, we know your grace to be a man
                Just and upright; and, for your royal birth,
                Inferior to none but to his majesty:
                And ere that we will suffer such a prince,
                So kind a father of the commonweal,
                To be disgraced by an inkhorn mate,
                We and our wives and children all will fight
                And have our bodies slaughtered by thy foes.
                First Serving-man Ay, and the very parings of our nails
                Shall pitch a field when we are dead.
                Begin again
                GLOUCESTER Stay, stay, I say!
                And if you love me, as you say you do,
                Let me persuade you to forbear awhile.
                KING HENRY VI O, how this discord doth afflict my soul!
                Can you, my Lord of Winchester, behold
                My sighs and tears and will not once relent?
                Who should be pitiful, if you be not?
                Or who should study to prefer a peace.
                If holy churchmen take delight in broils?
                WARWICK Yield, my lord protector; yield, Winchester;
                Except you mean with obstinate repulse
                To slay your sovereign and destroy the realm.
                You see what mischief and what murder too
                Hath been enacted through your enmity;
                Then be at peace except ye thirst for blood.
                BISHOP
                OF WINCHESTER He shall submit, or I will never yield.
                GLOUCESTER Compassion on the king commands me stoop;
                Or I would see his heart out, ere the priest
                Should ever get that privilege of me.
                WARWICK Behold, my Lord of Winchester, the duke
                Hath banish'd moody discontented fury,
                As by his smoothed brows it doth appear:
                Why look you still so stern and tragical?
                GLOUCESTER Here, Winchester, I offer thee my hand.
                KING HENRY VI Fie, uncle Beaufort! I have heard you preach
                That malice was a great and grievous sin;
                And will not you maintain the thing you teach,
                But prove a chief offender in the same?
                WARWICK Sweet king! the bishop hath a kindly gird.
                For shame, my lord of Winchester, relent!
                What, shall a child instruct you what to do?
                BISHOP
                OF WINCHESTER Well, Duke of Gloucester, I will yield to thee;
                Love for thy love and hand for hand I give.
                GLOUCESTER [Aside] Ay, but, I fear me, with a hollow heart.--
                See here, my friends and loving countrymen,
                This token serveth for a flag of truce
                Betwixt ourselves and all our followers:
                So help me God, as I dissemble not!
                BISHOP
                OF WINCHESTER [Aside] So help me God, as I intend it not!
                KING HENRY VI O, loving uncle, kind Duke of Gloucester,
                How joyful am I made by this contract!
                Away, my masters! trouble us no more;
                But join in friendship, as your lords have done.
                First Serving-man Content: I'll to the surgeon's.
                Second Serving-man And so will I.
                Third Serving-man And I will see what physic the tavern affords.
                Exeunt Serving-men, Mayor, & c
                WARWICK Accept this scroll, most gracious sovereign,
                Which in the right of Richard Plantagenet
                We do exhibit to your majesty.
                GLOUCESTER Well urged, my Lord of Warwick: or sweet prince,
                And if your grace mark every circumstance,
                You have great reason to do Richard right;
                Especially for those occasions
                At Eltham Place I told your majesty.
                KING HENRY VI And those occasions, uncle, were of force:
                Therefore, my loving lords, our pleasure is
                That Richard be restored to his blood.
                WARWICK Let Richard be restored to his blood;
                So shall his father's wrongs be recompensed.
                BISHOP
                OF WINCHESTER As will the rest, so willeth Winchester.
                KING HENRY VI If Richard will be true, not that alone
                But all the whole inheritance I give
                That doth belong unto the house of York,
                From whence you spring by lineal descent.
                RICHARD
                PLANTAGENET Thy humble servant vows obedience
                And humble service till the point of death.
                KING HENRY VI Stoop then and set your knee against my foot;
                And, in reguerdon of that duty done,
                I gird thee with the valiant sword of York:
                Rise Richard, like a true Plantagenet,
                And rise created princely Duke of York.
                RICHARD
                PLANTAGENET And so thrive Richard as thy foes may fall!
                And as my duty springs, so perish they
                That grudge one thought against your majesty!
                ALL Welcome, high prince, the mighty Duke of York!
                SOMERSET [Aside] Perish, base prince, ignoble Duke of York!
                GLOUCESTER Now will it best avail your majesty
                To cross the seas and to be crown'd in France:
                The presence of a king engenders love
                Amongst his subjects and his loyal friends,
                As it disanimates his enemies.
                KING HENRY VI When Gloucester says the word, King Henry goes;
                For friendly counsel cuts off many foes.
                GLOUCESTER Your ships already are in readiness.
                Sennet. Flourish. Exeunt all but EXETER
                EXETER Ay, we may march in England or in France,
                Not seeing what is likely to ensue.
                This late dissension grown betwixt the peers
                Burns under feigned ashes of forged love
                And will at last break out into a flame:
                As fester'd members rot but by degree,
                Till bones and flesh and sinews fall away,
                So will this base and envious discord breed.
                And now I fear that fatal prophecy
                Which in the time of Henry named the Fifth
                Was in the mouth of every sucking babe;
                That Henry born at Monmouth should win all
                And Henry born at Windsor lose all:
                Which is so plain that Exeter doth wish
                His days may finish ere that hapless time.
                Exit 
                SCENE II. France. Before Rouen. 
                Enter JOAN LA PUCELLE disguised, with four Soldiers with sacks upon their backs JOAN LA PUCELLE These are the city gates, the gates of Rouen,
                Through which our policy must make a breach:
                Take heed, be wary how you place your words;
                Talk like the vulgar sort of market men
                That come to gather money for their corn.
                If we have entrance, as I hope we shall,
                And that we find the slothful watch but weak,
                I'll by a sign give notice to our friends,
                That Charles the Dauphin may encounter them.
                First Soldier Our sacks shall be a mean to sack the city,
                And we be lords and rulers over Rouen;
                Therefore we'll knock.
                Knocks
                Watch [Within] Qui est la?
                JOAN LA PUCELLE Paysans, pauvres gens de France;
                Poor market folks that come to sell their corn.
                Watch Enter, go in; the market bell is rung.
                JOAN LA PUCELLE Now, Rouen, I'll shake thy bulwarks to the ground.
                Exeunt
                Enter CHARLES, the BASTARD OF ORLEANS, ALENCON, REIGNIER, and forces
                CHARLES Saint Denis bless this happy stratagem!
                And once again we'll sleep secure in Rouen.
                BASTARD OF ORLEANS Here enter'd Pucelle and her practisants;
                Now she is there, how will she specify
                Where is the best and safest passage in?
                REIGNIER By thrusting out a torch from yonder tower;
                Which, once discern'd, shows that her meaning is,
                No way to that, for weakness, which she enter'd.
                Enter JOAN LA PUCELLE on the top, thrusting out a torch burning
                JOAN LA PUCELLE Behold, this is the happy wedding torch
                That joineth Rouen unto her countrymen,
                But burning fatal to the Talbotites!
                Exit
                BASTARD OF ORLEANS See, noble Charles, the beacon of our friend;
                The burning torch in yonder turret stands.
                CHARLES Now shine it like a comet of revenge,
                A prophet to the fall of all our foes!
                REIGNIER Defer no time, delays have dangerous ends;
                Enter, and cry 'The Dauphin!' presently,
                And then do execution on the watch.
                Alarum. Exeunt
                An alarum. Enter TALBOT in an excursion
                TALBOT France, thou shalt rue this treason with thy tears,
                If Talbot but survive thy treachery.
                Pucelle, that witch, that damned sorceress,
                Hath wrought this hellish mischief unawares,
                That hardly we escaped the pride of France.
                Exit
                An alarum: excursions. BEDFORD, brought in sick in a chair. Enter TALBOT and BURGUNDY without: within JOAN LA PUCELLE, CHARLES, BASTARD OF ORLEANS, ALENCON, and REIGNIER, on the walls
                JOAN LA PUCELLE Good morrow, gallants! want ye corn for bread?
                I think the Duke of Burgundy will fast
                Before he'll buy again at such a rate:
                'Twas full of darnel; do you like the taste?
                BURGUNDY Scoff on, vile fiend and shameless courtezan!
                I trust ere long to choke thee with thine own
                And make thee curse the harvest of that corn.
                CHARLES Your grace may starve perhaps before that time.
                BEDFORD O, let no words, but deeds, revenge this treason!
                JOAN LA PUCELLE What will you do, good grey-beard? break a lance,
                And run a tilt at death within a chair?
                TALBOT Foul fiend of France, and hag of all despite,
                Encompass'd with thy lustful paramours!
                Becomes it thee to taunt his valiant age
                And twit with cowardice a man half dead?
                Damsel, I'll have a bout with you again,
                Or else let Talbot perish with this shame.
                JOAN LA PUCELLE Are ye so hot, sir? yet, Pucelle, hold thy peace;
                If Talbot do but thunder, rain will follow.
                The English whisper together in council
                God speed the parliament! who shall be the speaker?
                TALBOT Dare ye come forth and meet us in the field?
                JOAN LA PUCELLE Belike your lordship takes us then for fools,
                To try if that our own be ours or no.
                TALBOT I speak not to that railing Hecate,
                But unto thee, Alencon, and the rest;
                Will ye, like soldiers, come and fight it out?
                ALENCON Signior, no.
                TALBOT Signior, hang! base muleters of France!
                Like peasant foot-boys do they keep the walls
                And dare not take up arms like gentlemen.
                JOAN LA PUCELLE Away, captains! let's get us from the walls;
                For Talbot means no goodness by his looks.
                God be wi' you, my lord! we came but to tell you
                That we are here.
                Exeunt from the walls
                TALBOT And there will we be too, ere it be long,
                Or else reproach be Talbot's greatest fame!
                Vow, Burgundy, by honour of thy house,
                Prick'd on by public wrongs sustain'd in France,
                Either to get the town again or die:
                And I, as sure as English Henry lives
                And as his father here was conqueror,
                As sure as in this late-betrayed town
                Great Coeur-de-lion's heart was buried,
                So sure I swear to get the town or die.
                BURGUNDY My vows are equal partners with thy vows.
                TALBOT But, ere we go, regard this dying prince,
                The valiant Duke of Bedford. Come, my lord,
                We will bestow you in some better place,
                Fitter for sickness and for crazy age.
                BEDFORD Lord Talbot, do not so dishonour me:
                Here will I sit before the walls of Rouen
                And will be partner of your weal or woe.
                BURGUNDY Courageous Bedford, let us now persuade you.
                BEDFORD Not to be gone from hence; for once I read
                That stout Pendragon in his litter sick
                Came to the field and vanquished his foes:
                Methinks I should revive the soldiers' hearts,
                Because I ever found them as myself.
                TALBOT Undaunted spirit in a dying breast!
                Then be it so: heavens keep old Bedford safe!
                And now no more ado, brave Burgundy,
                But gather we our forces out of hand
                And set upon our boasting enemy.
                Exeunt all but BEDFORD and Attendants
                An alarum: excursions. Enter FASTOLFE and a Captain
                Captain Whither away, Sir John Fastolfe, in such haste?
                FASTOLFE Whither away! to save myself by flight:
                We are like to have the overthrow again.
                Captain What! will you fly, and leave Lord Talbot?
                FASTOLFE Ay,
                All the Talbots in the world, to save my life!
                Exit
                Captain Cowardly knight! ill fortune follow thee!
                Exit
                Retreat: excursions. JOAN LA PUCELLE, ALENCON, and CHARLES fly
                BEDFORD Now, quiet soul, depart when heaven please,
                For I have seen our enemies' overthrow.
                What is the trust or strength of foolish man?
                They that of late were daring with their scoffs
                Are glad and fain by flight to save themselves.
                BEDFORD dies, and is carried in by two in his chair
                An alarum. Re-enter TALBOT, BURGUNDY, and the rest
                TALBOT Lost, and recover'd in a day again!
                This is a double honour, Burgundy:
                Yet heavens have glory for this victory!
                BURGUNDY Warlike and martial Talbot, Burgundy
                Enshrines thee in his heart and there erects
                Thy noble deeds as valour's monuments.
                TALBOT Thanks, gentle duke. But where is Pucelle now?
                I think her old familiar is asleep:
                Now where's the Bastard's braves, and Charles his gleeks?
                What, all amort? Rouen hangs her head for grief
                That such a valiant company are fled.
                Now will we take some order in the town,
                Placing therein some expert officers,
                And then depart to Paris to the king,
                For there young Henry with his nobles lie.
                BURGUNDY What wills Lord Talbot pleaseth Burgundy.
                TALBOT But yet, before we go, let's not forget
                The noble Duke of Bedford late deceased,
                But see his exequies fulfill'd in Rouen:
                A braver soldier never couched lance,
                A gentler heart did never sway in court;
                But kings and mightiest potentates must die,
                For that's the end of human misery.
                Exeunt 
                SCENE III. The plains near Rouen. 
                Enter CHARLES, the BASTARD OF ORLEANS, ALENCON, JOAN LA PUCELLE, and forces JOAN LA PUCELLE Dismay not, princes, at this accident,
                Nor grieve that Rouen is so recovered:
                Care is no cure, but rather corrosive,
                For things that are not to be remedied.
                Let frantic Talbot triumph for a while
                And like a peacock sweep along his tail;
                We'll pull his plumes and take away his train,
                If Dauphin and the rest will be but ruled.
                CHARLES We have been guided by thee hitherto,
                And of thy cunning had no diffidence:
                One sudden foil shall never breed distrust.
                BASTARD OF ORLEANS Search out thy wit for secret policies,
                And we will make thee famous through the world.
                ALENCON We'll set thy statue in some holy place,
                And have thee reverenced like a blessed saint:
                Employ thee then, sweet virgin, for our good.
                JOAN LA PUCELLE Then thus it must be; this doth Joan devise:
                By fair persuasions mix'd with sugar'd words
                We will entice the Duke of Burgundy
                To leave the Talbot and to follow us.
                CHARLES Ay, marry, sweeting, if we could do that,
                France were no place for Henry's warriors;
                Nor should that nation boast it so with us,
                But be extirped from our provinces.
                ALENCON For ever should they be expulsed from France
                And not have title of an earldom here.
                JOAN LA PUCELLE Your honours shall perceive how I will work
                To bring this matter to the wished end.
                Drum sounds afar off
                Hark! by the sound of drum you may perceive
                Their powers are marching unto Paris-ward.
                Here sound an English march. Enter, and pass over at a distance, TALBOT and his forces
                There goes the Talbot, with his colours spread,
                And all the troops of English after him.
                French march. Enter BURGUNDY and forces
                Now in the rearward comes the duke and his:
                Fortune in favour makes him lag behind.
                Summon a parley; we will talk with him.
                Trumpets sound a parley
                CHARLES A parley with the Duke of Burgundy!
                BURGUNDY Who craves a parley with the Burgundy?
                JOAN LA PUCELLE The princely Charles of France, thy countryman.
                BURGUNDY What say'st thou, Charles? for I am marching hence.
                CHARLES Speak, Pucelle, and enchant him with thy words.
                JOAN LA PUCELLE Brave Burgundy, undoubted hope of France!
                Stay, let thy humble handmaid speak to thee.
                BURGUNDY Speak on; but be not over-tedious.
                JOAN LA PUCELLE Look on thy country, look on fertile France,
                And see the cities and the towns defaced
                By wasting ruin of the cruel foe.
                As looks the mother on her lowly babe
                When death doth close his tender dying eyes,
                See, see the pining malady of France;
                Behold the wounds, the most unnatural wounds,
                Which thou thyself hast given her woful breast.
                O, turn thy edged sword another way;
                Strike those that hurt, and hurt not those that help.
                One drop of blood drawn from thy country's bosom
                Should grieve thee more than streams of foreign gore:
                Return thee therefore with a flood of tears,
                And wash away thy country's stained spots.
                BURGUNDY Either she hath bewitch'd me with her words,
                Or nature makes me suddenly relent.
                JOAN LA PUCELLE Besides, all French and France exclaims on thee,
                Doubting thy birth and lawful progeny.
                Who joint'st thou with but with a lordly nation
                That will not trust thee but for profit's sake?
                When Talbot hath set footing once in France
                And fashion'd thee that instrument of ill,
                Who then but English Henry will be lord
                And thou be thrust out like a fugitive?
                Call we to mind, and mark but this for proof,
                Was not the Duke of Orleans thy foe?
                And was he not in England prisoner?
                But when they heard he was thine enemy,
                They set him free without his ransom paid,
                In spite of Burgundy and all his friends.
                See, then, thou fight'st against thy countrymen
                And joint'st with them will be thy slaughtermen.
                Come, come, return; return, thou wandering lord:
                Charles and the rest will take thee in their arms.
                BURGUNDY I am vanquished; these haughty words of hers
                Have batter'd me like roaring cannon-shot,
                And made me almost yield upon my knees.
                Forgive me, country, and sweet countrymen,
                And, lords, accept this hearty kind embrace:
                My forces and my power of men are yours:
                So farewell, Talbot; I'll no longer trust thee.
                JOAN LA PUCELLE [Aside] Done like a Frenchman: turn, and turn again!
                CHARLES Welcome, brave duke! thy friendship makes us fresh.
                BASTARD OF ORLEANS And doth beget new courage in our breasts.
                ALENCON Pucelle hath bravely play'd her part in this,
                And doth deserve a coronet of gold.
                CHARLES Now let us on, my lords, and join our powers,
                And seek how we may prejudice the foe.
                Exeunt 
                SCENE IV. Paris. The palace. 
                Enter KING HENRY VI, GLOUCESTER, BISHOP OF WINCHESTER, YORK, SUFFOLK, SOMERSET, WARWICK, EXETER, VERNON BASSET, and others. To them with his Soldiers, TALBOT TALBOT My gracious prince, and honourable peers,
                Hearing of your arrival in this realm,
                I have awhile given truce unto my wars,
                To do my duty to my sovereign:
                In sign, whereof, this arm, that hath reclaim'd
                To your obedience fifty fortresses,
                Twelve cities and seven walled towns of strength,
                Beside five hundred prisoners of esteem,
                Lets fall his sword before your highness' feet,
                And with submissive loyalty of heart
                Ascribes the glory of his conquest got
                First to my God and next unto your grace.
                Kneels
                KING HENRY VI Is this the Lord Talbot, uncle Gloucester,
                That hath so long been resident in France?
                GLOUCESTER Yes, if it please your majesty, my liege.
                KING HENRY VI Welcome, brave captain and victorious lord!
                When I was young, as yet I am not old,
                I do remember how my father said
                A stouter champion never handled sword.
                Long since we were resolved of your truth,
                Your faithful service and your toil in war;
                Yet never have you tasted our reward,
                Or been reguerdon'd with so much as thanks,
                Because till now we never saw your face:
                Therefore, stand up; and, for these good deserts,
                We here create you Earl of Shrewsbury;
                And in our coronation take your place.
                Sennet. Flourish. Exeunt all but VERNON and BASSET
                VERNON Now, sir, to you, that were so hot at sea,
                Disgracing of these colours that I wear
                In honour of my noble Lord of York:
                Darest thou maintain the former words thou spakest?
                BASSET Yes, sir; as well as you dare patronage
                The envious barking of your saucy tongue
                Against my lord the Duke of Somerset.
                VERNON Sirrah, thy lord I honour as he is.
                BASSET Why, what is he? as good a man as York.
                VERNON Hark ye; not so: in witness, take ye that.
                Strikes him
                BASSET Villain, thou know'st the law of arms is such
                That whoso draws a sword, 'tis present death,
                Or else this blow should broach thy dearest blood.
                But I'll unto his majesty, and crave
                I may have liberty to venge this wrong;
                When thou shalt see I'll meet thee to thy cost.
                VERNON Well, miscreant, I'll be there as soon as you;
                And, after, meet you sooner than you would.
                Exeunt
                ACT IV SCENE I. Paris. A hall of state. 
                Enter KING HENRY VI, GLOUCESTER, BISHOP OF WINCHESTER, YORK, SUFFOLK, SOMERSET, WARWICK, TALBOT, EXETER, the Governor, of Paris, and others GLOUCESTER Lord bishop, set the crown upon his head.
                BISHOP
                OF WINCHESTER God save King Henry, of that name the sixth!
                GLOUCESTER Now, governor of Paris, take your oath,
                That you elect no other king but him;
                Esteem none friends but such as are his friends,
                And none your foes but such as shall pretend
                Malicious practises against his state:
                This shall ye do, so help you righteous God!
                Enter FASTOLFE
                FASTOLFE My gracious sovereign, as I rode from Calais,
                To haste unto your coronation,
                A letter was deliver'd to my hands,
                Writ to your grace from the Duke of Burgundy.
                TALBOT Shame to the Duke of Burgundy and thee!
                I vow'd, base knight, when I did meet thee next,
                To tear the garter from thy craven's leg,
                Plucking it off
                Which I have done, because unworthily
                Thou wast installed in that high degree.
                Pardon me, princely Henry, and the rest
                This dastard, at the battle of Patay,
                When but in all I was six thousand strong
                And that the French were almost ten to one,
                Before we met or that a stroke was given,
                Like to a trusty squire did run away:
                In which assault we lost twelve hundred men;
                Myself and divers gentlemen beside
                Were there surprised and taken prisoners.
                Then judge, great lords, if I have done amiss;
                Or whether that such cowards ought to wear
                This ornament of knighthood, yea or no.
                GLOUCESTER To say the truth, this fact was infamous
                And ill beseeming any common man,
                Much more a knight, a captain and a leader.
                TALBOT When first this order was ordain'd, my lords,
                Knights of the garter were of noble birth,
                Valiant and virtuous, full of haughty courage,
                Such as were grown to credit by the wars;
                Not fearing death, nor shrinking for distress,
                But always resolute in most extremes.
                He then that is not furnish'd in this sort
                Doth but usurp the sacred name of knight,
                Profaning this most honourable order,
                And should, if I were worthy to be judge,
                Be quite degraded, like a hedge-born swain
                That doth presume to boast of gentle blood.
                KING HENRY VI Stain to thy countrymen, thou hear'st thy doom!
                Be packing, therefore, thou that wast a knight:
                Henceforth we banish thee, on pain of death.
                Exit FASTOLFE
                And now, my lord protector, view the letter
                Sent from our uncle Duke of Burgundy.
                GLOUCESTER What means his grace, that he hath changed his style?
                No more but, plain and bluntly, 'To the king!'
                Hath he forgot he is his sovereign?
                Or doth this churlish superscription
                Pretend some alteration in good will?
                What's here?
                Reads
                'I have, upon especial cause,
                Moved with compassion of my country's wreck,
                Together with the pitiful complaints
                Of such as your oppression feeds upon,
                Forsaken your pernicious faction
                And join'd with Charles, the rightful King of France.'
                O monstrous treachery! can this be so,
                That in alliance, amity and oaths,
                There should be found such false dissembling guile?
                KING HENRY VI What! doth my uncle Burgundy revolt?
                GLOUCESTER He doth, my lord, and is become your foe.
                KING HENRY VI Is that the worst this letter doth contain?
                GLOUCESTER It is the worst, and all, my lord, he writes.
                KING HENRY VI Why, then, Lord Talbot there shall talk with him
                And give him chastisement for this abuse.
                How say you, my lord? are you not content?
                TALBOT Content, my liege! yes, but that I am prevented,
                I should have begg'd I might have been employ'd.
                KING HENRY VI Then gather strength and march unto him straight:
                Let him perceive how ill we brook his treason
                And what offence it is to flout his friends.
                TALBOT I go, my lord, in heart desiring still
                You may behold confusion of your foes.
                Exit
                Enter VERNON and BASSET
                VERNON Grant me the combat, gracious sovereign.
                BASSET And me, my lord, grant me the combat too.
                YORK This is my servant: hear him, noble prince.
                SOMERSET And this is mine: sweet Henry, favour him.
                KING HENRY VI Be patient, lords; and give them leave to speak.
                Say, gentlemen, what makes you thus exclaim?
                And wherefore crave you combat? or with whom?
                VERNON With him, my lord; for he hath done me wrong.
                BASSET And I with him; for he hath done me wrong.
                KING HENRY VI What is that wrong whereof you both complain?
                First let me know, and then I'll answer you.
                BASSET Crossing the sea from England into France,
                This fellow here, with envious carping tongue,
                Upbraided me about the rose I wear;
                Saying, the sanguine colour of the leaves
                Did represent my master's blushing cheeks,
                When stubbornly he did repugn the truth
                About a certain question in the law
                Argued betwixt the Duke of York and him;
                With other vile and ignominious terms:
                In confutation of which rude reproach
                And in defence of my lord's worthiness,
                I crave the benefit of law of arms.
                VERNON And that is my petition, noble lord:
                For though he seem with forged quaint conceit
                To set a gloss upon his bold intent,
                Yet know, my lord, I was provoked by him;
                And he first took exceptions at this badge,
                Pronouncing that the paleness of this flower
                Bewray'd the faintness of my master's heart.
                YORK Will not this malice, Somerset, be left?
                SOMERSET Your private grudge, my Lord of York, will out,
                Though ne'er so cunningly you smother it.
                KING HENRY VI Good Lord, what madness rules in brainsick men,
                When for so slight and frivolous a cause
                Such factious emulations shall arise!
                Good cousins both, of York and Somerset,
                Quiet yourselves, I pray, and be at peace.
                YORK Let this dissension first be tried by fight,
                And then your highness shall command a peace.
                SOMERSET The quarrel toucheth none but us alone;
                Betwixt ourselves let us decide it then.
                YORK There is my pledge; accept it, Somerset.
                VERNON Nay, let it rest where it began at first.
                BASSET Confirm it so, mine honourable lord.
                GLOUCESTER Confirm it so! Confounded be your strife!
                And perish ye, with your audacious prate!
                Presumptuous vassals, are you not ashamed
                With this immodest clamorous outrage
                To trouble and disturb the king and us?
                And you, my lords, methinks you do not well
                To bear with their perverse objections;
                Much less to take occasion from their mouths
                To raise a mutiny betwixt yourselves:
                Let me persuade you take a better course.
                EXETER It grieves his highness: good my lords, be friends.
                KING HENRY VI Come hither, you that would be combatants:
                Henceforth I charge you, as you love our favour,
                Quite to forget this quarrel and the cause.
                And you, my lords, remember where we are,
                In France, amongst a fickle wavering nation:
                If they perceive dissension in our looks
                And that within ourselves we disagree,
                How will their grudging stomachs be provoked
                To wilful disobedience, and rebel!
                Beside, what infamy will there arise,
                When foreign princes shall be certified
                That for a toy, a thing of no regard,
                King Henry's peers and chief nobility
                Destroy'd themselves, and lost the realm of France!
                O, think upon the conquest of my father,
                My tender years, and let us not forego
                That for a trifle that was bought with blood
                Let me be umpire in this doubtful strife.
                I see no reason, if I wear this rose,
                Putting on a red rose
                That any one should therefore be suspicious
                I more incline to Somerset than York:
                Both are my kinsmen, and I love them both:
                As well they may upbraid me with my crown,
                Because, forsooth, the king of Scots is crown'd.
                But your discretions better can persuade
                Than I am able to instruct or teach:
                And therefore, as we hither came in peace,
                So let us still continue peace and love.
                Cousin of York, we institute your grace
                To be our regent in these parts of France:
                And, good my Lord of Somerset, unite
                Your troops of horsemen with his bands of foot;
                And, like true subjects, sons of your progenitors,
                Go cheerfully together and digest.
                Your angry choler on your enemies.
                Ourself, my lord protector and the rest
                After some respite will return to Calais;
                From thence to England; where I hope ere long
                To be presented, by your victories,
                With Charles, Alencon and that traitorous rout.
                Flourish. Exeunt all but YORK, WARWICK, EXETER and VERNON
                WARWICK My Lord of York, I promise you, the king
                Prettily, methought, did play the orator.
                YORK And so he did; but yet I like it not,
                In that he wears the badge of Somerset.
                WARWICK Tush, that was but his fancy, blame him not;
                I dare presume, sweet prince, he thought no harm.
                YORK An if I wist he did,--but let it rest;
                Other affairs must now be managed.
                Exeunt all but EXETER
                EXETER Well didst thou, Richard, to suppress thy voice;
                For, had the passions of thy heart burst out,
                I fear we should have seen decipher'd there
                More rancorous spite, more furious raging broils,
                Than yet can be imagined or supposed.
                But howsoe'er, no simple man that sees
                This jarring discord of nobility,
                This shouldering of each other in the court,
                This factious bandying of their favourites,
                But that it doth presage some ill event.
                'Tis much when sceptres are in children's hands;
                But more when envy breeds unkind division;
                There comes the rain, there begins confusion.
                Exit 
                SCENE II. Before Bourdeaux. 
                Enter TALBOT, with trump and drum TALBOT Go to the gates of Bourdeaux, trumpeter:
                Summon their general unto the wall.
                Trumpet sounds. Enter General and others, aloft
                English John Talbot, captains, calls you forth,
                Servant in arms to Harry King of England;
                And thus he would: Open your city gates;
                Be humble to us; call my sovereign yours,
                And do him homage as obedient subjects;
                And I'll withdraw me and my bloody power:
                But, if you frown upon this proffer'd peace,
                You tempt the fury of my three attendants,
                Lean famine, quartering steel, and climbing fire;
                Who in a moment even with the earth
                Shall lay your stately and air-braving towers,
                If you forsake the offer of their love.
                General Thou ominous and fearful owl of death,
                Our nation's terror and their bloody scourge!
                The period of thy tyranny approacheth.
                On us thou canst not enter but by death;
                For, I protest, we are well fortified
                And strong enough to issue out and fight:
                If thou retire, the Dauphin, well appointed,
                Stands with the snares of war to tangle thee:
                On either hand thee there are squadrons pitch'd,
                To wall thee from the liberty of flight;
                And no way canst thou turn thee for redress,
                But death doth front thee with apparent spoil
                And pale destruction meets thee in the face.
                Ten thousand French have ta'en the sacrament
                To rive their dangerous artillery
                Upon no Christian soul but English Talbot.
                Lo, there thou stand'st, a breathing valiant man,
                Of an invincible unconquer'd spirit!
                This is the latest glory of thy praise
                That I, thy enemy, due thee withal;
                For ere the glass, that now begins to run,
                Finish the process of his sandy hour,
                These eyes, that see thee now well coloured,
                Shall see thee wither'd, bloody, pale and dead.
                Drum afar off
                Hark! hark! the Dauphin's drum, a warning bell,
                Sings heavy music to thy timorous soul;
                And mine shall ring thy dire departure out.
                Exeunt General, & c
                TALBOT He fables not; I hear the enemy:
                Out, some light horsemen, and peruse their wings.
                O, negligent and heedless discipline!
                How are we park'd and bounded in a pale,
                A little herd of England's timorous deer,
                Mazed with a yelping kennel of French curs!
                If we be English deer, be then in blood;
                Not rascal-like, to fall down with a pinch,
                But rather, moody-mad and desperate stags,
                Turn on the bloody hounds with heads of steel
                And make the cowards stand aloof at bay:
                Sell every man his life as dear as mine,
                And they shall find dear deer of us, my friends.
                God and Saint George, Talbot and England's right,
                Prosper our colours in this dangerous fight!
                Exeunt 
                SCENE III. Plains in Gascony. 
                Enter a Messenger that meets YORK. Enter YORK with trumpet and many Soldiers YORK Are not the speedy scouts return'd again,
                That dogg'd the mighty army of the Dauphin?
                Messenger They are return'd, my lord, and give it out
                That he is march'd to Bourdeaux with his power,
                To fight with Talbot: as he march'd along,
                By your espials were discovered
                Two mightier troops than that the Dauphin led,
                Which join'd with him and made their march for Bourdeaux.
                YORK A plague upon that villain Somerset,
                That thus delays my promised supply
                Of horsemen, that were levied for this siege!
                Renowned Talbot doth expect my aid,
                And I am lowted by a traitor villain
                And cannot help the noble chevalier:
                God comfort him in this necessity!
                If he miscarry, farewell wars in France.
                Enter Sir William LUCY
                LUCY Thou princely leader of our English strength,
                Never so needful on the earth of France,
                Spur to the rescue of the noble Talbot,
                Who now is girdled with a waist of iron
                And hemm'd about with grim destruction:
                To Bourdeaux, warlike duke! to Bourdeaux, York!
                Else, farewell Talbot, France, and England's honour.
                YORK O God, that Somerset, who in proud heart
                Doth stop my cornets, were in Talbot's place!
                So should we save a valiant gentleman
                By forfeiting a traitor and a coward.
                Mad ire and wrathful fury makes me weep,
                That thus we die, while remiss traitors sleep.
                LUCY O, send some succor to the distress'd lord!
                YORK He dies, we lose; I break my warlike word;
                We mourn, France smiles; we lose, they daily get;
                All 'long of this vile traitor Somerset.
                LUCY Then God take mercy on brave Talbot's soul;
                And on his son young John, who two hours since
                I met in travel toward his warlike father!
                This seven years did not Talbot see his son;
                And now they meet where both their lives are done.
                YORK Alas, what joy shall noble Talbot have
                To bid his young son welcome to his grave?
                Away! vexation almost stops my breath,
                That sunder'd friends greet in the hour of death.
                Lucy, farewell; no more my fortune can,
                But curse the cause I cannot aid the man.
                Maine, Blois, Poictiers, and Tours, are won away,
                'Long all of Somerset and his delay.
                Exit, with his soldiers
                LUCY Thus, while the vulture of sedition
                Feeds in the bosom of such great commanders,
                Sleeping neglection doth betray to loss
                The conquest of our scarce cold conqueror,
                That ever living man of memory,
                Henry the Fifth: whiles they each other cross,
                Lives, honours, lands and all hurry to loss.
                Exit 
                SCENE IV. Other plains in Gascony. 
                Enter SOMERSET, with his army; a Captain of TALBOT's with him SOMERSET It is too late; I cannot send them now:
                This expedition was by York and Talbot
                Too rashly plotted: all our general force
                Might with a sally of the very town
                Be buckled with: the over-daring Talbot
                Hath sullied all his gloss of former honour
                By this unheedful, desperate, wild adventure:
                York set him on to fight and die in shame,
                That, Talbot dead, great York might bear the name.
                Captain Here is Sir William Lucy, who with me
                Set from our o'ermatch'd forces forth for aid.
                Enter Sir William LUCY
                SOMERSET How now, Sir William! whither were you sent?
                LUCY Whither, my lord? from bought and sold Lord Talbot;
                Who, ring'd about with bold adversity,
                Cries out for noble York and Somerset,
                To beat assailing death from his weak legions:
                And whiles the honourable captain there
                Drops bloody sweat from his war-wearied limbs,
                And, in advantage lingering, looks for rescue,
                You, his false hopes, the trust of England's honour,
                Keep off aloof with worthless emulation.
                Let not your private discord keep away
                The levied succors that should lend him aid,
                While he, renowned noble gentleman,
                Yields up his life unto a world of odds:
                Orleans the Bastard, Charles, Burgundy,
                Alencon, Reignier, compass him about,
                And Talbot perisheth by your default.
                SOMERSET York set him on; York should have sent him aid.
                LUCY And York as fast upon your grace exclaims;
                Swearing that you withhold his levied host,
                Collected for this expedition.
                SOMERSET York lies; he might have sent and had the horse;
                I owe him little duty, and less love;
                And take foul scorn to fawn on him by sending.
                LUCY The fraud of England, not the force of France,
                Hath now entrapp'd the noble-minded Talbot:
                Never to England shall he bear his life;
                But dies, betray'd to fortune by your strife.
                SOMERSET Come, go; I will dispatch the horsemen straight:
                Within six hours they will be at his aid.
                LUCY Too late comes rescue: he is ta'en or slain;
                For fly he could not, if he would have fled;
                And fly would Talbot never, though he might.
                SOMERSET If he be dead, brave Talbot, then adieu!
                LUCY His fame lives in the world, his shame in you.
                Exeunt 
                SCENE V. The English camp near Bourdeaux. 
                Enter TALBOT and JOHN his son TALBOT O young John Talbot! I did send for thee
                To tutor thee in stratagems of war,
                That Talbot's name might be in thee revived
                When sapless age and weak unable limbs
                Should bring thy father to his drooping chair.
                But, O malignant and ill-boding stars!
                Now thou art come unto a feast of death,
                A terrible and unavoided danger:
                Therefore, dear boy, mount on my swiftest horse;
                And I'll direct thee how thou shalt escape
                By sudden flight: come, dally not, be gone.
                JOHN TALBOT Is my name Talbot? and am I your son?
                And shall I fly? O if you love my mother,
                Dishonour not her honourable name,
                To make a bastard and a slave of me!
                The world will say, he is not Talbot's blood,
                That basely fled when noble Talbot stood.
                TALBOT Fly, to revenge my death, if I be slain.
                JOHN TALBOT He that flies so will ne'er return again.
                TALBOT If we both stay, we both are sure to die.
                JOHN TALBOT Then let me stay; and, father, do you fly:
                Your loss is great, so your regard should be;
                My worth unknown, no loss is known in me.
                Upon my death the French can little boast;
                In yours they will, in you all hopes are lost.
                Flight cannot stain the honour you have won;
                But mine it will, that no exploit have done:
                You fled for vantage, everyone will swear;
                But, if I bow, they'll say it was for fear.
                There is no hope that ever I will stay,
                If the first hour I shrink and run away.
                Here on my knee I beg mortality,
                Rather than life preserved with infamy.
                TALBOT Shall all thy mother's hopes lie in one tomb?
                JOHN TALBOT Ay, rather than I'll shame my mother's womb.
                TALBOT Upon my blessing, I command thee go.
                JOHN TALBOT To fight I will, but not to fly the foe.
                TALBOT Part of thy father may be saved in thee.
                JOHN TALBOT No part of him but will be shame in me.
                TALBOT Thou never hadst renown, nor canst not lose it.
                JOHN TALBOT Yes, your renowned name: shall flight abuse it?
                TALBOT Thy father's charge shall clear thee from that stain.
                JOHN TALBOT You cannot witness for me, being slain.
                If death be so apparent, then both fly.
                TALBOT And leave my followers here to fight and die?
                My age was never tainted with such shame.
                JOHN TALBOT And shall my youth be guilty of such blame?
                No more can I be sever'd from your side,
                Than can yourself yourself in twain divide:
                Stay, go, do what you will, the like do I;
                For live I will not, if my father die.
                TALBOT Then here I take my leave of thee, fair son,
                Born to eclipse thy life this afternoon.
                Come, side by side together live and die.
                And soul with soul from France to heaven fly.
                Exeunt 
                SCENE VI. A field of battle. 
                Alarum: excursions, wherein JOHN TALBOT is hemmed about, and TALBOT rescues him TALBOT Saint George and victory! fight, soldiers, fight.
                The regent hath with Talbot broke his word
                And left us to the rage of France his sword.
                Where is John Talbot? Pause, and take thy breath;
                I gave thee life and rescued thee from death.
                JOHN TALBOT O, twice my father, twice am I thy son!
                The life thou gavest me first was lost and done,
                Till with thy warlike sword, despite of late,
                To my determined time thou gavest new date.
                TALBOT When from the Dauphin's crest thy sword struck fire,
                It warm'd thy father's heart with proud desire
                Of bold-faced victory. Then leaden age,
                Quicken'd with youthful spleen and warlike rage,
                Beat down Alencon, Orleans, Burgundy,
                And from the pride of Gallia rescued thee.
                The ireful bastard Orleans, that drew blood
                From thee, my boy, and had the maidenhood
                Of thy first fight, I soon encountered,
                And interchanging blows I quickly shed
                Some of his bastard blood; and in disgrace
                Bespoke him thus; 'Contaminated, base
                And misbegotten blood I spill of thine,
                Mean and right poor, for that pure blood of mine
                Which thou didst force from Talbot, my brave boy:'
                Here, purposing the Bastard to destroy,
                Came in strong rescue. Speak, thy father's care,
                Art thou not weary, John? how dost thou fare?
                Wilt thou yet leave the battle, boy, and fly,
                Now thou art seal'd the son of chivalry?
                Fly, to revenge my death when I am dead:
                The help of one stands me in little stead.
                O, too much folly is it, well I wot,
                To hazard all our lives in one small boat!
                If I to-day die not with Frenchmen's rage,
                To-morrow I shall die with mickle age:
                By me they nothing gain an if I stay;
                'Tis but the shortening of my life one day:
                In thee thy mother dies, our household's name,
                My death's revenge, thy youth, and England's fame:
                All these and more we hazard by thy stay;
                All these are saved if thou wilt fly away.
                JOHN TALBOT The sword of Orleans hath not made me smart;
                These words of yours draw life-blood from my heart:
                On that advantage, bought with such a shame,
                To save a paltry life and slay bright fame,
                Before young Talbot from old Talbot fly,
                The coward horse that bears me fail and die!
                And like me to the peasant boys of France,
                To be shame's scorn and subject of mischance!
                Surely, by all the glory you have won,
                An if I fly, I am not Talbot's son:
                Then talk no more of flight, it is no boot;
                If son to Talbot, die at Talbot's foot.
                TALBOT Then follow thou thy desperate sire of Crete,
                Thou Icarus; thy life to me is sweet:
                If thou wilt fight, fight by thy father's side;
                And, commendable proved, let's die in pride.
                Exeunt 
                SCENE VII. Another part of the field. 
                Alarum: excursions. Enter TALBOT led by a Servant TALBOT Where is my other life? mine own is gone;
                O, where's young Talbot? where is valiant John?
                Triumphant death, smear'd with captivity,
                Young Talbot's valour makes me smile at thee:
                When he perceived me shrink and on my knee,
                His bloody sword he brandish'd over me,
                And, like a hungry lion, did commence
                Rough deeds of rage and stern impatience;
                But when my angry guardant stood alone,
                Tendering my ruin and assail'd of none,
                Dizzy-eyed fury and great rage of heart
                Suddenly made him from my side to start
                Into the clustering battle of the French;
                And in that sea of blood my boy did drench
                His over-mounting spirit, and there died,
                My Icarus, my blossom, in his pride.
                Servant O, my dear lord, lo, where your son is borne!
                Enter Soldiers, with the body of JOHN TALBOT
                TALBOT Thou antic death, which laugh'st us here to scorn,
                Anon, from thy insulting tyranny,
                Coupled in bonds of perpetuity,
                Two Talbots, winged through the lither sky,
                In thy despite shall 'scape mortality.
                O, thou, whose wounds become hard-favour'd death,
                Speak to thy father ere thou yield thy breath!
                Brave death by speaking, whether he will or no;
                Imagine him a Frenchman and thy foe.
                Poor boy! he smiles, methinks, as who should say,
                Had death been French, then death had died to-day.
                Come, come and lay him in his father's arms:
                My spirit can no longer bear these harms.
                Soldiers, adieu! I have what I would have,
                Now my old arms are young John Talbot's grave.
                Dies
                Enter CHARLES, ALENCON, BURGUNDY, BASTARD OF ORLEANS, JOAN LA PUCELLE, and forces
                CHARLES Had York and Somerset brought rescue in,
                We should have found a bloody day of this.
                BASTARD OF ORLEANS How the young whelp of Talbot's, raging-wood,
                Did flesh his puny sword in Frenchmen's blood!
                JOAN LA PUCELLE Once I encounter'd him, and thus I said:
                'Thou maiden youth, be vanquish'd by a maid:'
                But, with a proud majestical high scorn,
                He answer'd thus: 'Young Talbot was not born
                To be the pillage of a giglot wench:'
                So, rushing in the bowels of the French,
                He left me proudly, as unworthy fight.
                BURGUNDY Doubtless he would have made a noble knight;
                See, where he lies inhearsed in the arms
                Of the most bloody nurser of his harms!
                BASTARD OF ORLEANS Hew them to pieces, hack their bones asunder
                Whose life was England's glory, Gallia's wonder.
                CHARLES O, no, forbear! for that which we have fled
                During the life, let us not wrong it dead.
                Enter Sir William LUCY, attended; Herald of the French preceding
                LUCY Herald, conduct me to the Dauphin's tent,
                To know who hath obtained the glory of the day.
                CHARLES On what submissive message art thou sent?
                LUCY Submission, Dauphin! 'tis a mere French word;
                We English warriors wot not what it means.
                I come to know what prisoners thou hast ta'en
                And to survey the bodies of the dead.
                CHARLES For prisoners ask'st thou? hell our prison is.
                But tell me whom thou seek'st.
                LUCY But where's the great Alcides of the field,
                Valiant Lord Talbot, Earl of Shrewsbury,
                Created, for his rare success in arms,
                Great Earl of Washford, Waterford and Valence;
                Lord Talbot of Goodrig and Urchinfield,
                Lord Strange of Blackmere, Lord Verdun of Alton,
                Lord Cromwell of Wingfield, Lord Furnival of Sheffield,
                The thrice-victorious Lord of Falconbridge;
                Knight of the noble order of Saint George,
                Worthy Saint Michael and the Golden Fleece;
                Great marshal to Henry the Sixth
                Of all his wars within the realm of France?
                JOAN LA PUCELLE Here is a silly stately style indeed!
                The Turk, that two and fifty kingdoms hath,
                Writes not so tedious a style as this.
                Him that thou magnifiest with all these titles
                Stinking and fly-blown lies here at our feet.
                LUCY Is Talbot slain, the Frenchmen's only scourge,
                Your kingdom's terror and black Nemesis?
                O, were mine eyeballs into bullets turn'd,
                That I in rage might shoot them at your faces!
                O, that I could but call these dead to life!
                It were enough to fright the realm of France:
                Were but his picture left amongst you here,
                It would amaze the proudest of you all.
                Give me their bodies, that I may bear them hence
                And give them burial as beseems their worth.
                JOAN LA PUCELLE I think this upstart is old Talbot's ghost,
                He speaks with such a proud commanding spirit.
                For God's sake let him have 'em; to keep them here,
                They would but stink, and putrefy the air.
                CHARLES Go, take their bodies hence.
                LUCY I'll bear them hence; but from their ashes shall be rear'd
                A phoenix that shall make all France afeard.
                CHARLES So we be rid of them, do with 'em what thou wilt.
                And now to Paris, in this conquering vein:
                All will be ours, now bloody Talbot's slain.
                Exeunt
                ACT V SCENE I. London. The palace. 
                Sennet. Enter KING HENRY VI, GLOUCESTER, and EXETER KING HENRY VI Have you perused the letters from the pope,
                The emperor and the Earl of Armagnac?
                GLOUCESTER I have, my lord: and their intent is this:
                They humbly sue unto your excellence
                To have a godly peace concluded of
                Between the realms of England and of France.
                KING HENRY VI How doth your grace affect their motion?
                GLOUCESTER Well, my good lord; and as the only means
                To stop effusion of our Christian blood
                And 'stablish quietness on every side.
                KING HENRY VI Ay, marry, uncle; for I always thought
                It was both impious and unnatural
                That such immanity and bloody strife
                Should reign among professors of one faith.
                GLOUCESTER Beside, my lord, the sooner to effect
                And surer bind this knot of amity,
                The Earl of Armagnac, near knit to Charles,
                A man of great authority in France,
                Proffers his only daughter to your grace
                In marriage, with a large and sumptuous dowry.
                KING HENRY VI Marriage, uncle! alas, my years are young!
                And fitter is my study and my books
                Than wanton dalliance with a paramour.
                Yet call the ambassador; and, as you please,
                So let them have their answers every one:
                I shall be well content with any choice
                Tends to God's glory and my country's weal.
                Enter CARDINAL OF WINCHESTER in Cardinal's habit, a Legate and two Ambassadors
                EXETER What! is my Lord of Winchester install'd,
                And call'd unto a cardinal's degree?
                Then I perceive that will be verified
                Henry the Fifth did sometime prophesy,
                'If once he come to be a cardinal,
                He'll make his cap co-equal with the crown.'
                KING HENRY VI My lords ambassadors, your several suits
                Have been consider'd and debated on.
                And therefore are we certainly resolved
                To draw conditions of a friendly peace;
                Which by my Lord of Winchester we mean
                Shall be transported presently to France.
                GLOUCESTER And for the proffer of my lord your master,
                I have inform'd his highness so at large
                As liking of the lady's virtuous gifts,
                Her beauty and the value of her dower,
                He doth intend she shall be England's queen.
                KING HENRY VI In argument and proof of which contract,
                Bear her this jewel, pledge of my affection.
                And so, my lord protector, see them guarded
                And safely brought to Dover; where inshipp'd
                Commit them to the fortune of the sea.
                Exeunt all but CARDINAL OF WINCHESTER and Legate
                CARDINAL
                OF WINCHESTER Stay, my lord legate: you shall first receive
                The sum of money which I promised
                Should be deliver'd to his holiness
                For clothing me in these grave ornaments.
                Legate I will attend upon your lordship's leisure.
                CARDINAL
                OF WINCHESTER [Aside] Now Winchester will not submit, I trow,
                Or be inferior to the proudest peer.
                Humphrey of Gloucester, thou shalt well perceive
                That, neither in birth or for authority,
                The bishop will be overborne by thee:
                I'll either make thee stoop and bend thy knee,
                Or sack this country with a mutiny.
                Exeunt 
                SCENE II. France. Plains in Anjou. 
                Enter CHARLES, BURGUNDY, ALENCON, BASTARD OF ORLEANS, REIGNIER, JOAN LA PUCELLE, and forces CHARLES These news, my lord, may cheer our drooping spirits:
                'Tis said the stout Parisians do revolt
                And turn again unto the warlike French.
                ALENCON Then march to Paris, royal Charles of France,
                And keep not back your powers in dalliance.
                JOAN LA PUCELLE Peace be amongst them, if they turn to us;
                Else, ruin combat with their palaces!
                Enter Scout
                Scout Success unto our valiant general,
                And happiness to his accomplices!
                CHARLES What tidings send our scouts? I prithee, speak.
                Scout The English army, that divided was
                Into two parties, is now conjoined in one,
                And means to give you battle presently.
                CHARLES Somewhat too sudden, sirs, the warning is;
                But we will presently provide for them.
                BURGUNDY I trust the ghost of Talbot is not there:
                Now he is gone, my lord, you need not fear.
                JOAN LA PUCELLE Of all base passions, fear is most accursed.
                Command the conquest, Charles, it shall be thine,
                Let Henry fret and all the world repine.
                CHARLES Then on, my lords; and France be fortunate!
                Exeunt 
                SCENE III. Before Angiers. 
                Alarum. Excursions. Enter JOAN LA PUCELLE JOAN LA PUCELLE The regent conquers, and the Frenchmen fly.
                Now help, ye charming spells and periapts;
                And ye choice spirits that admonish me
                And give me signs of future accidents.
                Thunder
                You speedy helpers, that are substitutes
                Under the lordly monarch of the north,
                Appear and aid me in this enterprise.
                Enter Fiends
                This speedy and quick appearance argues proof
                Of your accustom'd diligence to me.
                Now, ye familiar spirits, that are cull'd
                Out of the powerful regions under earth,
                Help me this once, that France may get the field.
                They walk, and speak not
                O, hold me not with silence over-long!
                Where I was wont to feed you with my blood,
                I'll lop a member off and give it you
                In earnest of further benefit,
                So you do condescend to help me now.
                They hang their heads
                No hope to have redress? My body shall
                Pay recompense, if you will grant my suit.
                They shake their heads
                Cannot my body nor blood-sacrifice
                Entreat you to your wonted furtherance?
                Then take my soul, my body, soul and all,
                Before that England give the French the foil.
                They depart
                See, they forsake me! Now the time is come
                That France must vail her lofty-plumed crest
                And let her head fall into England's lap.
                My ancient incantations are too weak,
                And hell too strong for me to buckle with:
                Now, France, thy glory droopeth to the dust.
                Exit
                Excursions. Re-enter JOAN LA PUCELLE fighting hand to hand with YORK. JOAN LA PUCELLE is taken. The French fly.
                YORK Damsel of France, I think I have you fast:
                Unchain your spirits now with spelling charms
                And try if they can gain your liberty.
                A goodly prize, fit for the devil's grace!
                See, how the ugly wench doth bend her brows,
                As if with Circe she would change my shape!
                JOAN LA PUCELLE Changed to a worser shape thou canst not be.
                YORK O, Charles the Dauphin is a proper man;
                No shape but his can please your dainty eye.
                JOAN LA PUCELLE A plaguing mischief light on Charles and thee!
                And may ye both be suddenly surprised
                By bloody hands, in sleeping on your beds!
                YORK Fell banning hag, enchantress, hold thy tongue!
                JOAN LA PUCELLE I prithee, give me leave to curse awhile.
                YORK Curse, miscreant, when thou comest to the stake.
                Exeunt
                Alarum. Enter SUFFOLK with MARGARET in his hand
                SUFFOLK Be what thou wilt, thou art my prisoner.
                Gazes on her
                O fairest beauty, do not fear nor fly!
                For I will touch thee but with reverent hands;
                I kiss these fingers for eternal peace,
                And lay them gently on thy tender side.
                Who art thou? say, that I may honour thee.
                MARGARET Margaret my name, and daughter to a king,
                The King of Naples, whosoe'er thou art.
                SUFFOLK An earl I am, and Suffolk am I call'd.
                Be not offended, nature's miracle,
                Thou art allotted to be ta'en by me:
                So doth the swan her downy cygnets save,
                Keeping them prisoner underneath her wings.
                Yet, if this servile usage once offend.
                Go, and be free again, as Suffolk's friend.
                She is going
                O, stay! I have no power to let her pass;
                My hand would free her, but my heart says no
                As plays the sun upon the glassy streams,
                Twinkling another counterfeited beam,
                So seems this gorgeous beauty to mine eyes.
                Fain would I woo her, yet I dare not speak:
                I'll call for pen and ink, and write my mind.
                Fie, de la Pole! disable not thyself;
                Hast not a tongue? is she not here?
                Wilt thou be daunted at a woman's sight?
                Ay, beauty's princely majesty is such,
                Confounds the tongue and makes the senses rough.
                MARGARET Say, Earl of Suffolk--if thy name be so--
                What ransom must I pay before I pass?
                For I perceive I am thy prisoner.
                SUFFOLK How canst thou tell she will deny thy suit,
                Before thou make a trial of her love?
                MARGARET Why speak'st thou not? what ransom must I pay?
                SUFFOLK She's beautiful, and therefore to be woo'd;
                She is a woman, therefore to be won.
                MARGARET Wilt thou accept of ransom? yea, or no.
                SUFFOLK Fond man, remember that thou hast a wife;
                Then how can Margaret be thy paramour?
                MARGARET I were best to leave him, for he will not hear.
                SUFFOLK There all is marr'd; there lies a cooling card.
                MARGARET He talks at random; sure, the man is mad.
                SUFFOLK And yet a dispensation may be had.
                MARGARET And yet I would that you would answer me.
                SUFFOLK I'll win this Lady Margaret. For whom?
                Why, for my king: tush, that's a wooden thing!
                MARGARET He talks of wood: it is some carpenter.
                SUFFOLK Yet so my fancy may be satisfied,
                And peace established between these realms
                But there remains a scruple in that too;
                For though her father be the King of Naples,
                Duke of Anjou and Maine, yet is he poor,
                And our nobility will scorn the match.
                MARGARET Hear ye, captain, are you not at leisure?
                SUFFOLK It shall be so, disdain they ne'er so much.
                Henry is youthful and will quickly yield.
                Madam, I have a secret to reveal.
                MARGARET What though I be enthrall'd? he seems a knight,
                And will not any way dishonour me.
                SUFFOLK Lady, vouchsafe to listen what I say.
                MARGARET Perhaps I shall be rescued by the French;
                And then I need not crave his courtesy.
                SUFFOLK Sweet madam, give me a hearing in a cause--
                MARGARET Tush, women have been captivate ere now.
                SUFFOLK Lady, wherefore talk you so?
                MARGARET I cry you mercy, 'tis but Quid for Quo.
                SUFFOLK Say, gentle princess, would you not suppose
                Your bondage happy, to be made a queen?
                MARGARET To be a queen in bondage is more vile
                Than is a slave in base servility;
                For princes should be free.
                SUFFOLK And so shall you,
                If happy England's royal king be free.
                MARGARET Why, what concerns his freedom unto me?
                SUFFOLK I'll undertake to make thee Henry's queen,
                To put a golden sceptre in thy hand
                And set a precious crown upon thy head,
                If thou wilt condescend to be my--
                MARGARET What?
                SUFFOLK His love.
                MARGARET I am unworthy to be Henry's wife.
                SUFFOLK No, gentle madam; I unworthy am
                To woo so fair a dame to be his wife,
                And have no portion in the choice myself.
                How say you, madam, are ye so content?
                MARGARET An if my father please, I am content.
                SUFFOLK Then call our captains and our colours forth.
                And, madam, at your father's castle walls
                We'll crave a parley, to confer with him.
                A parley sounded. Enter REIGNIER on the walls
                See, Reignier, see, thy daughter prisoner!
                REIGNIER To whom?
                SUFFOLK To me.
                REIGNIER Suffolk, what remedy?
                I am a soldier, and unapt to weep,
                Or to exclaim on fortune's fickleness.
                SU FFOLK Yes, there is remedy enough, my lord:
                Consent, and for thy honour give consent,
                Thy daughter shall be wedded to my king;
                Whom I with pain have woo'd and won thereto;
                And this her easy-held imprisonment
                Hath gained thy daughter princely liberty.
                REIGNIER Speaks Suffolk as he thinks?
                SUFFOLK Fair Margaret knows
                That Suffolk doth not flatter, face, or feign.
                REIGNIER Upon thy princely warrant, I descend
                To give thee answer of thy just demand.
                Exit from the walls
                SUFFOLK And here I will expect thy coming.
                Trumpets sound. Enter REIGNIER, below
                REIGNIER Welcome, brave earl, into our territories:
                Command in Anjou what your honour pleases.
                SUFFOLK Thanks, Reignier, happy for so sweet a child,
                Fit to be made companion with a king:
                What answer makes your grace unto my suit?
                REIGNIER Since thou dost deign to woo her little worth
                To be the princely bride of such a lord;
                Upon condition I may quietly
                Enjoy mine own, the country Maine and Anjou,
                Free from oppression or the stroke of war,
                My daughter shall be Henry's, if he please.
                SUFFOLK That is her ransom; I deliver her;
                And those two counties I will undertake
                Your grace shall well and quietly enjoy.
                REIGNIER And I again, in Henry's royal name,
                As deputy unto that gracious king,
                Give thee her hand, for sign of plighted faith.
                SUFFOLK Reignier of France, I give thee kingly thanks,
                Because this is in traffic of a king.
                Aside
                And yet, methinks, I could be well content
                To be mine own attorney in this case.
                I'll over then to England with this news,
                And make this marriage to be solemnized.
                So farewell, Reignier: set this diamond safe
                In golden palaces, as it becomes.
                REIGNIER I do embrace thee, as I would embrace
                The Christian prince, King Henry, were he here.
                MARGARET Farewell, my lord: good wishes, praise and prayers
                Shall Suffolk ever have of Margaret.
                Going
                SUFFOLK Farewell, sweet madam: but hark you, Margaret;
                No princely commendations to my king?
                MARGARET Such commendations as becomes a maid,
                A virgin and his servant, say to him.
                SUFFOLK Words sweetly placed and modestly directed.
                But madam, I must trouble you again;
                No loving token to his majesty?
                MARGARET Yes, my good lord, a pure unspotted heart,
                Never yet taint with love, I send the king.
                SUFFOLK And this withal.
                Kisses her
                MARGARET That for thyself: I will not so presume
                To send such peevish tokens to a king.
                Exeunt REIGNIER and MARGARET
                SUFFOLK O, wert thou for myself! But, Suffolk, stay;
                Thou mayst not wander in that labyrinth;
                There Minotaurs and ugly treasons lurk.
                Solicit Henry with her wondrous praise:
                Bethink thee on her virtues that surmount,
                And natural graces that extinguish art;
                Repeat their semblance often on the seas,
                That, when thou comest to kneel at Henry's feet,
                Thou mayst bereave him of his wits with wonder.
                Exit 
                SCENE IV. Camp of the YORK in Anjou. 
                Enter YORK, WARWICK, and others YORK Bring forth that sorceress condemn'd to burn.
                Enter JOAN LA PUCELLE, guarded, and a Shepherd
                Shepherd Ah, Joan, this kills thy father's heart outright!
                Have I sought every country far and near,
                And, now it is my chance to find thee out,
                Must I behold thy timeless cruel death?
                Ah, Joan, sweet daughter Joan, I'll die with thee!
                JOAN LA PUCELLE Decrepit miser! base ignoble wretch!
                I am descended of a gentler blood:
                Thou art no father nor no friend of mine.
                Shepherd Out, out! My lords, an please you, 'tis not so;
                I did beget her, all the parish knows:
                Her mother liveth yet, can testify
                She was the first fruit of my bachelorship.
                WARWICK Graceless! wilt thou deny thy parentage?
                YORK This argues what her kind of life hath been,
                Wicked and vile; and so her death concludes.
                Shepherd Fie, Joan, that thou wilt be so obstacle!
                God knows thou art a collop of my flesh;
                And for thy sake have I shed many a tear:
                Deny me not, I prithee, gentle Joan.
                JOAN LA PUCELLE Peasant, avaunt! You have suborn'd this man,
                Of purpose to obscure my noble birth.
                Shepherd 'Tis true, I gave a noble to the priest
                The morn that I was wedded to her mother.
                Kneel down and take my blessing, good my girl.
                Wilt thou not stoop? Now cursed be the time
                Of thy nativity! I would the milk
                Thy mother gave thee when thou suck'dst her breast,
                Had been a little ratsbane for thy sake!
                Or else, when thou didst keep my lambs a-field,
                I wish some ravenous wolf had eaten thee!
                Dost thou deny thy father, cursed drab?
                O, burn her, burn her! hanging is too good.
                Exit
                YORK Take her away; for she hath lived too long,
                To fill the world with vicious qualities.
                JOAN LA PUCELLE First, let me tell you whom you have condemn'd:
                Not me begotten of a shepherd swain,
                But issued from the progeny of kings;
                Virtuous and holy; chosen from above,
                By inspiration of celestial grace,
                To work exceeding miracles on earth.
                I never had to do with wicked spirits:
                But you, that are polluted with your lusts,
                Stain'd with the guiltless blood of innocents,
                Corrupt and tainted with a thousand vices,
                Because you want the grace that others have,
                You judge it straight a thing impossible
                To compass wonders but by help of devils.
                No, misconceived! Joan of Arc hath been
                A virgin from her tender infancy,
                Chaste and immaculate in very thought;
                Whose maiden blood, thus rigorously effused,
                Will cry for vengeance at the gates of heaven.
                YORK Ay, ay: away with her to execution!
                WARWICK And hark ye, sirs; because she is a maid,
                Spare for no faggots, let there be enow:
                Place barrels of pitch upon the fatal stake,
                That so her torture may be shortened.
                JOAN LA PUCELLE Will nothing turn your unrelenting hearts?
                Then, Joan, discover thine infirmity,
                That warranteth by law to be thy privilege.
                I am with child, ye bloody homicides:
                Murder not then the fruit within my womb,
                Although ye hale me to a violent death.
                YORK Now heaven forfend! the holy maid with child!
                WARWICK The greatest miracle that e'er ye wrought:
                Is all your strict preciseness come to this?
                YORK She and the Dauphin have been juggling:
                I did imagine what would be her refuge.
                WARWICK Well, go to; we'll have no bastards live;
                Especially since Charles must father it.
                JOAN LA PUCELLE You are deceived; my child is none of his:
                It was Alencon that enjoy'd my love.
                YORK Alencon! that notorious Machiavel!
                It dies, an if it had a thousand lives.
                JOAN LA PUCELLE O, give me leave, I have deluded you:
                'Twas neither Charles nor yet the duke I named,
                But Reignier, king of Naples, that prevail'd.
                WARWICK A married man! that's most intolerable.
                YORK Why, here's a girl! I think she knows not well,
                There were so many, whom she may accuse.
                WARWICK It's sign she hath been liberal and free.
                YORK And yet, forsooth, she is a virgin pure.
                Strumpet, thy words condemn thy brat and thee:
                Use no entreaty, for it is in vain.
                JOAN LA PUCELLE Then lead me hence; with whom I leave my curse:
                May never glorious sun reflex his beams
                Upon the country where you make abode;
                But darkness and the gloomy shade of death
                Environ you, till mischief and despair
                Drive you to break your necks or hang yourselves!
                Exit, guarded
                YORK Break thou in pieces and consume to ashes,
                Thou foul accursed minister of hell!
                Enter CARDINAL OF WINCHESTER, attended
                CARDINAL
                OF WINCHESTER Lord regent, I do greet your excellence
                With letters of commission from the king.
                For know, my lords, the states of Christendom,
                Moved with remorse of these outrageous broils,
                Have earnestly implored a general peace
                Betwixt our nation and the aspiring French;
                And here at hand the Dauphin and his train
                Approacheth, to confer about some matter.
                YORK Is all our travail turn'd to this effect?
                After the slaughter of so many peers,
                So many captains, gentlemen and soldiers,
                That in this quarrel have been overthrown
                And sold their bodies for their country's benefit,
                Shall we at last conclude effeminate peace?
                Have we not lost most part of all the towns,
                By treason, falsehood and by treachery,
                Our great progenitors had conquered?
                O Warwick, Warwick! I foresee with grief
                The utter loss of all the realm of France.
                WARWICK Be patient, York: if we conclude a peace,
                It shall be with such strict and severe covenants
                As little shall the Frenchmen gain thereby.
                Enter CHARLES, ALENCON, BASTARD OF ORLEANS, REIGNIER, and others
                CHARLES Since, lords of England, it is thus agreed
                That peaceful truce shall be proclaim'd in France,
                We come to be informed by yourselves
                What the conditions of that league must be.
                YORK Speak, Winchester; for boiling choler chokes
                The hollow passage of my poison'd voice,
                By sight of these our baleful enemies.
                CARDINAL
                OF WINCHESTER Charles, and the rest, it is enacted thus:
                That, in regard King Henry gives consent,
                Of mere compassion and of lenity,
                To ease your country of distressful war,
                And suffer you to breathe in fruitful peace,
                You shall become true liegemen to his crown:
                And Charles, upon condition thou wilt swear
                To pay him tribute, submit thyself,
                Thou shalt be placed as viceroy under him,
                And still enjoy thy regal dignity.
                ALENCON Must he be then as shadow of himself?
                Adorn his temples with a coronet,
                And yet, in substance and authority,
                Retain but privilege of a private man?
                This proffer is absurd and reasonless.
                CHARLES 'Tis known already that I am possess'd
                With more than half the Gallian territories,
                And therein reverenced for their lawful king:
                Shall I, for lucre of the rest unvanquish'd,
                Detract so much from that prerogative,
                As to be call'd but viceroy of the whole?
                No, lord ambassador, I'll rather keep
                That which I have than, coveting for more,
                Be cast from possibility of all.
                YORK Insulting Charles! hast thou by secret means
                Used intercession to obtain a league,
                And, now the matter grows to compromise,
                Stand'st thou aloof upon comparison?
                Either accept the title thou usurp'st,
                Of benefit proceeding from our king
                And not of any challenge of desert,
                Or we will plague thee with incessant wars.
                REIGNIER My lord, you do not well in obstinacy
                To cavil in the course of this contract:
                If once it be neglected, ten to one
                We shall not find like opportunity.
                ALENCON To say the truth, it is your policy
                To save your subjects from such massacre
                And ruthless slaughters as are daily seen
                By our proceeding in hostility;
                And therefore take this compact of a truce,
                Although you break it when your pleasure serves.
                WARWICK How say'st thou, Charles? shall our condition stand?
                CHARLES It shall;
                Only reserved, you claim no interest
                In any of our towns of garrison.
                YORK Then swear allegiance to his majesty,
                As thou art knight, never to disobey
                Nor be rebellious to the crown of England,
                Thou, nor thy nobles, to the crown of England.
                So, now dismiss your army when ye please:
                Hang up your ensign, let your drums be still,
                For here we entertain a solemn peace.
                Exeunt 
                SCENE V. London. The palace. 
                Enter SUFFOLK in conference with KING HENRY VI, GLOUCESTER and EXETER KING HENRY VI Your wondrous rare description, noble earl,
                Of beauteous Margaret hath astonish'd me:
                Her virtues graced with external gifts
                Do breed love's settled passions in my heart:
                And like as rigor of tempestuous gusts
                Provokes the mightiest hulk against the tide,
                So am I driven by breath of her renown
                Either to suffer shipwreck or arrive
                Where I may have fruition of her love.
                SUFFOLK Tush, my good lord, this superficial tale
                Is but a preface of her worthy praise;
                The chief perfections of that lovely dame
                Had I sufficient skill to utter them,
                Would make a volume of enticing lines,
                Able to ravish any dull conceit:
                And, which is more, she is not so divine,
                So full-replete with choice of all delights,
                But with as humble lowliness of mind
                She is content to be at your command;
                Command, I mean, of virtuous chaste intents,
                To love and honour Henry as her lord.
                KING HENRY VI And otherwise will Henry ne'er presume.
                Therefore, my lord protector, give consent
                That Margaret may be England's royal queen.
                GLOUCESTER So should I give consent to flatter sin.
                You know, my lord, your highness is betroth'd
                Unto another lady of esteem:
                How shall we then dispense with that contract,
                And not deface your honour with reproach?
                SUFFOLK As doth a ruler with unlawful oaths;
                Or one that, at a triumph having vow'd
                To try his strength, forsaketh yet the lists
                By reason of his adversary's odds:
                A poor earl's daughter is unequal odds,
                And therefore may be broke without offence.
                GLOUCESTER Why, what, I pray, is Margaret more than that?
                Her father is no better than an earl,
                Although in glorious titles he excel.
                SUFFOLK Yes, lord, her father is a king,
                The King of Naples and Jerusalem;
                And of such great authority in France
                As his alliance will confirm our peace
                And keep the Frenchmen in allegiance.
                GLOUCESTER And so the Earl of Armagnac may do,
                Because he is near kinsman unto Charles.
                EXETER Beside, his wealth doth warrant a liberal dower,
                Where Reignier sooner will receive than give.
                SUFFOLK A dower, my lords! disgrace not so your king,
                That he should be so abject, base and poor,
                To choose for wealth and not for perfect love.
                Henry is able to enrich his queen
                And not seek a queen to make him rich:
                So worthless peasants bargain for their wives,
                As market-men for oxen, sheep, or horse.
                Marriage is a matter of more worth
                Than to be dealt in by attorneyship;
                Not whom we will, but whom his grace affects,
                Must be companion of his nuptial bed:
                And therefore, lords, since he affects her most,
                It most of all these reasons bindeth us,
                In our opinions she should be preferr'd.
                For what is wedlock forced but a hell,
                An age of discord and continual strife?
                Whereas the contrary bringeth bliss,
                And is a pattern of celestial peace.
                Whom should we match with Henry, being a king,
                But Margaret, that is daughter to a king?
                Her peerless feature, joined with her birth,
                Approves her fit for none but for a king:
                Her valiant courage and undaunted spirit,
                More than in women commonly is seen,
                Will answer our hope in issue of a king;
                For Henry, son unto a conqueror,
                Is likely to beget more conquerors,
                If with a lady of so high resolve
                As is fair Margaret he be link'd in love.
                Then yield, my lords; and here conclude with me
                That Margaret shall be queen, and none but she.
                KING HENRY VI Whether it be through force of your report,
                My noble Lord of Suffolk, or for that
                My tender youth was never yet attaint
                With any passion of inflaming love,
                I cannot tell; but this I am assured,
                I feel such sharp dissension in my breast,
                Such fierce alarums both of hope and fear,
                As I am sick with working of my thoughts.
                Take, therefore, shipping; post, my lord, to France;
                Agree to any covenants, and procure
                That Lady Margaret do vouchsafe to come
                To cross the seas to England and be crown'd
                King Henry's faithful and anointed queen:
                For your expenses and sufficient charge,
                Among the people gather up a tenth.
                Be gone, I say; for, till you do return,
                I rest perplexed with a thousand cares.
                And you, good uncle, banish all offence:
                If you do censure me by what you were,
                Not what you are, I know it will excuse
                This sudden execution of my will.
                And so, conduct me where, from company,
                I may revolve and ruminate my grief.
                Exit
                GLOUCESTER Ay, grief, I fear me, both at first and last.
                Exeunt GLOUCESTER and EXETER
                SUFFOLK Thus Suffolk hath prevail'd; and thus he goes,
                As did the youthful Paris once to Greece,
                With hope to find the like event in love,
                But prosper better than the Trojan did.
                Margaret shall now be queen, and rule the king;
                But I will rule both her, the king and realm.
                Exit 
                The Second part of King Henry the Sixth 
                ACT I SCENE I. London. The palace. 
                Flourish of trumpets: then hautboys. Enter KING HENRY VI, GLOUCESTER, SALISBURY, WARWICK, and CARDINAL, on the one side; QUEEN MARGARET, SUFFOLK, YORK, SOMERSET, and BUCKINGHAM, on the other SUFFOLK As by your high imperial majesty
                I had in charge at my depart for France,
                As procurator to your excellence,
                To marry Princess Margaret for your grace,
                So, in the famous ancient city, Tours,
                In presence of the Kings of France and Sicil,
                The Dukes of Orleans, Calaber, Bretagne and Alencon,
                Seven earls, twelve barons and twenty reverend bishops,
                I have perform'd my task and was espoused:
                And humbly now upon my bended knee,
                In sight of England and her lordly peers,
                Deliver up my title in the queen
                To your most gracious hands, that are the substance
                Of that great shadow I did represent;
                The happiest gift that ever marquess gave,
                The fairest queen that ever king received.
                KING HENRY VI Suffolk, arise. Welcome, Queen Margaret:
                I can express no kinder sign of love
                Than this kind kiss. O Lord, that lends me life,
                Lend me a heart replete with thankfulness!
                For thou hast given me in this beauteous face
                A world of earthly blessings to my soul,
                If sympathy of love unite our thoughts.
                QUEEN MARGARET Great King of England and my gracious lord,
                The mutual conference that my mind hath had,
                By day, by night, waking and in my dreams,
                In courtly company or at my beads,
                With you, mine alder-liefest sovereign,
                Makes me the bolder to salute my king
                With ruder terms, such as my wit affords
                And over-joy of heart doth minister.
                KING HENRY VI Her sight did ravish; but her grace in speech,
                Her words y-clad with wisdom's majesty,
                Makes me from wondering fall to weeping joys;
                Such is the fulness of my heart's content.
                Lords, with one cheerful voice welcome my love.
                ALL [Kneeling] Long live Queen Margaret, England's
                happiness!
                QUEEN MARGARET We thank you all.
                Flourish
                SUFFOLK My lord protector, so it please your grace,
                Here are the articles of contracted peace
                Between our sovereign and the French king Charles,
                For eighteen months concluded by consent.
                GLOUCESTER [Reads] 'Imprimis, it is agreed between the French
                king Charles, and William de la Pole, Marquess of
                Suffolk, ambassador for Henry King of England, that
                the said Henry shall espouse the Lady Margaret,
                daughter unto Reignier King of Naples, Sicilia and
                Jerusalem, and crown her Queen of England ere the
                thirtieth of May next ensuing. Item, that the duchy
                of Anjou and the county of Maine shall be released
                and delivered to the king her father'--
                Lets the paper fall
                KING HENRY VI Uncle, how now!
                GLOUCESTER Pardon me, gracious lord;
                Some sudden qualm hath struck me at the heart
                And dimm'd mine eyes, that I can read no further.
                KING HENRY VI Uncle of Winchester, I pray, read on.
                CARDINAL [Reads] 'Item, It is further agreed between them,
                that the duchies of Anjou and Maine shall be
                released and delivered over to the king her father,
                and she sent over of the King of England's own
                proper cost and charges, without having any dowry.'
                KING HENRY VI They please us well. Lord marquess, kneel down:
                We here create thee the first duke of Suffolk,
                And gird thee with the sword. Cousin of York,
                We here discharge your grace from being regent
                I' the parts of France, till term of eighteen months
                Be full expired. Thanks, uncle Winchester,
                Gloucester, York, Buckingham, Somerset,
                Salisbury, and Warwick;
                We thank you all for the great favour done,
                In entertainment to my princely queen.
                Come, let us in, and with all speed provide
                To see her coronation be perform'd.
                Exeunt KING HENRY VI, QUEEN MARGARET, and SUFFOLK
                GLOUCESTER Brave peers of England, pillars of the state,
                To you Duke Humphrey must unload his grief,
                Your grief, the common grief of all the land.
                What! did my brother Henry spend his youth,
                His valour, coin and people, in the wars?
                Did he so often lodge in open field,
                In winter's cold and summer's parching heat,
                To conquer France, his true inheritance?
                And did my brother Bedford toil his wits,
                To keep by policy what Henry got?
                Have you yourselves, Somerset, Buckingham,
                Brave York, Salisbury, and victorious Warwick,
                Received deep scars in France and Normandy?
                Or hath mine uncle Beaufort and myself,
                With all the learned council of the realm,
                Studied so long, sat in the council-house
                Early and late, debating to and fro
                How France and Frenchmen might be kept in awe,
                And had his highness in his infancy
                Crowned in Paris in despite of foes?
                And shall these labours and these honours die?
                Shall Henry's conquest, Bedford's vigilance,
                Your deeds of war and all our counsel die?
                O peers of England, shameful is this league!
                Fatal this marriage, cancelling your fame,
                Blotting your names from books of memory,
                Razing the characters of your renown,
                Defacing monuments of conquer'd France,
                Undoing all, as all had never been!
                CARDINAL Nephew, what means this passionate discourse,
                This peroration with such circumstance?
                For France, 'tis ours; and we will keep it still.
                GLOUCESTER Ay, uncle, we will keep it, if we can;
                But now it is impossible we should:
                Suffolk, the new-made duke that rules the roast,
                Hath given the duchy of Anjou and Maine
                Unto the poor King Reignier, whose large style
                Agrees not with the leanness of his purse.
                SALISBURY Now, by the death of Him that died for all,
                These counties were the keys of Normandy.
                But wherefore weeps Warwick, my valiant son?
                WARWICK For grief that they are past recovery:
                For, were there hope to conquer them again,
                My sword should shed hot blood, mine eyes no tears.
                Anjou and Maine! myself did win them both;
                Those provinces these arms of mine did conquer:
                And are the cities, that I got with wounds,
                Delivered up again with peaceful words?
                Mort Dieu!
                YORK For Suffolk's duke, may he be suffocate,
                That dims the honour of this warlike isle!
                France should have torn and rent my very heart,
                Before I would have yielded to this league.
                I never read but England's kings have had
                Large sums of gold and dowries with their wives:
                And our King Henry gives away his own,
                To match with her that brings no vantages.
                GLOUCESTER A proper jest, and never heard before,
                That Suffolk should demand a whole fifteenth
                For costs and charges in transporting her!
                She should have stayed in France and starved
                in France, Before--
                CARDINAL My Lord of Gloucester, now ye grow too hot:
                It was the pleasure of my lord the King.
                GLOUCESTER My Lord of Winchester, I know your mind;
                'Tis not my speeches that you do mislike,
                But 'tis my presence that doth trouble ye.
                Rancour will out: proud prelate, in thy face
                I see thy fury: if I longer stay,
                We shall begin our ancient bickerings.
                Lordings, farewell; and say, when I am gone,
                I prophesied France will be lost ere long.
                Exit
                CARDINAL So, there goes our protector in a rage.
                'Tis known to you he is mine enemy,
                Nay, more, an enemy unto you all,
                And no great friend, I fear me, to the king.
                Consider, lords, he is the next of blood,
                And heir apparent to the English crown:
                Had Henry got an empire by his marriage,
                And all the wealthy kingdoms of the west,
                There's reason he should be displeased at it.
                Look to it, lords! let not his smoothing words
                Bewitch your hearts; be wise and circumspect.
                What though the common people favour him,
                Calling him 'Humphrey, the good Duke of
                Gloucester,'
                Clapping their hands, and crying with loud voice,
                'Jesu maintain your royal excellence!'
                With 'God preserve the good Duke Humphrey!'
                I fear me, lords, for all this flattering gloss,
                He will be found a dangerous protector.
                BUCKINGHAM Why should he, then, protect our sovereign,
                He being of age to govern of himself?
                Cousin of Somerset, join you with me,
                And all together, with the Duke of Suffolk,
                We'll quickly hoise Duke Humphrey from his seat.
                CARDINAL This weighty business will not brook delay:
                I'll to the Duke of Suffolk presently.
                Exit
                SOMERSET Cousin of Buckingham, though Humphrey's pride
                And greatness of his place be grief to us,
                Yet let us watch the haughty cardinal:
                His insolence is more intolerable
                Than all the princes in the land beside:
                If Gloucester be displaced, he'll be protector.
                BUCKINGHAM Or thou or I, Somerset, will be protector,
                Despite Duke Humphrey or the cardinal.
                Exeunt BUCKINGHAM and SOMERSET
                SALISBURY Pride went before, ambition follows him.
                While these do labour for their own preferment,
                Behoves it us to labour for the realm.
                I never saw but Humphrey Duke of Gloucester
                Did bear him like a noble gentleman.
                Oft have I seen the haughty cardinal,
                More like a soldier than a man o' the church,
                As stout and proud as he were lord of all,
                Swear like a ruffian and demean himself
                Unlike the ruler of a commonweal.
                Warwick, my son, the comfort of my age,
                Thy deeds, thy plainness and thy housekeeping,
                Hath won the greatest favour of the commons,
                Excepting none but good Duke Humphrey:
                And, brother York, thy acts in Ireland,
                In bringing them to civil discipline,
                Thy late exploits done in the heart of France,
                When thou wert regent for our sovereign,
                Have made thee fear'd and honour'd of the people:
                Join we together, for the public good,
                In what we can, to bridle and suppress
                The pride of Suffolk and the cardinal,
                With Somerset's and Buckingham's ambition;
                And, as we may, cherish Duke Humphrey's deeds,
                While they do tend the profit of the land.
                WARWICK So God help Warwick, as he loves the land,
                And common profit of his country!
                YORK [Aside] And so says York, for he hath greatest cause.
                SALISBURY Then let's make haste away, and look unto the main.
                WARWICK Unto the main! O father, Maine is lost;
                That Maine which by main force Warwick did win,
                And would have kept so long as breath did last!
                Main chance, father, you meant; but I meant Maine,
                Which I will win from France, or else be slain,
                Exeunt WARWICK and SALISBURY
                YORK Anjou and Maine are given to the French;
                Paris is lost; the state of Normandy
                Stands on a tickle point, now they are gone:
                Suffolk concluded on the articles,
                The peers agreed, and Henry was well pleased
                To change two dukedoms for a duke's fair daughter.
                I cannot blame them all: what is't to them?
                'Tis thine they give away, and not their own.
                Pirates may make cheap pennyworths of their pillage
                And purchase friends and give to courtezans,
                Still revelling like lords till all be gone;
                While as the silly owner of the goods
                Weeps over them and wrings his hapless hands
                And shakes his head and trembling stands aloof,
                While all is shared and all is borne away,
                Ready to starve and dare not touch his own:
                So York must sit and fret and bite his tongue,
                While his own lands are bargain'd for and sold.
                Methinks the realms of England, France and Ireland
                Bear that proportion to my flesh and blood
                As did the fatal brand Althaea burn'd
                Unto the prince's heart of Calydon.
                Anjou and Maine both given unto the French!
                Cold news for me, for I had hope of France,
                Even as I have of fertile England's soil.
                A day will come when York shall claim his own;
                And therefore I will take the Nevils' parts
                And make a show of love to proud Duke Humphrey,
                And, when I spy advantage, claim the crown,
                For that's the golden mark I seek to hit:
                Nor shall proud Lancaster usurp my right,
                Nor hold the sceptre in his childish fist,
                Nor wear the diadem upon his head,
                Whose church-like humours fits not for a crown.
                Then, York, be still awhile, till time do serve:
                Watch thou and wake when others be asleep,
                To pry into the secrets of the state;
                Till Henry, surfeiting in joys of love,
                With his new bride and England's dear-bought queen,
                And Humphrey with the peers be fall'n at jars:
                Then will I raise aloft the milk-white rose,
                With whose sweet smell the air shall be perfumed;
                And in my standard bear the arms of York
                To grapple with the house of Lancaster;
                And, force perforce, I'll make him yield the crown,
                Whose bookish rule hath pull'd fair England down.
                Exit 
                SCENE II. GLOUCESTER'S house. 
                Enter GLOUCESTER and his DUCHESS DUCHESS Why droops my lord, like over-ripen'd corn,
                Hanging the head at Ceres' plenteous load?
                Why doth the great Duke Humphrey knit his brows,
                As frowning at the favours of the world?
                Why are thine eyes fixed to the sullen earth,
                Gazing on that which seems to dim thy sight?
                What seest thou there? King Henry's diadem,
                Enchased with all the honours of the world?
                If so, gaze on, and grovel on thy face,
                Until thy head be circled with the same.
                Put forth thy hand, reach at the glorious gold.
                What, is't too short? I'll lengthen it with mine:
                And, having both together heaved it up,
                We'll both together lift our heads to heaven,
                And never more abase our sight so low
                As to vouchsafe one glance unto the ground.
                GLOUCESTER O Nell, sweet Nell, if thou dost love thy lord,
                Banish the canker of ambitious thoughts.
                And may that thought, when I imagine ill
                Against my king and nephew, virtuous Henry,
                Be my last breathing in this mortal world!
                My troublous dream this night doth make me sad.
                DUCHESS What dream'd my lord? tell me, and I'll requite it
                With sweet rehearsal of my morning's dream.
                GLOUCESTER Methought this staff, mine office-badge in court,
                Was broke in twain; by whom I have forgot,
                But, as I think, it was by the cardinal;
                And on the pieces of the broken wand
                Were placed the heads of Edmund Duke of Somerset,
                And William de la Pole, first duke of Suffolk.
                This was my dream: what it doth bode, God knows.
                DUCHESS Tut, this was nothing but an argument
                That he that breaks a stick of Gloucester's grove
                Shall lose his head for his presumption.
                But list to me, my Humphrey, my sweet duke:
                Methought I sat in seat of majesty
                In the cathedral church of Westminster,
                And in that chair where kings and queens are crown'd;
                Where Henry and dame Margaret kneel'd to me
                And on my head did set the diadem.
                GLOUCESTER Nay, Eleanor, then must I chide outright:
                Presumptuous dame, ill-nurtured Eleanor,
                Art thou not second woman in the realm,
                And the protector's wife, beloved of him?
                Hast thou not worldly pleasure at command,
                Above the reach or compass of thy thought?
                And wilt thou still be hammering treachery,
                To tumble down thy husband and thyself
                From top of honour to disgrace's feet?
                Away from me, and let me hear no more!
                DUCHESS What, what, my lord! are you so choleric
                With Eleanor, for telling but her dream?
                Next time I'll keep my dreams unto myself,
                And not be cheque'd.
                GLOUCESTER Nay, be not angry; I am pleased again.
                Enter Messenger
                Messenger My lord protector, 'tis his highness' pleasure
                You do prepare to ride unto Saint Alban's,
                Where as the king and queen do mean to hawk.
                GLOUCESTER I go. Come, Nell, thou wilt ride with us?
                DUCHESS Yes, my good lord, I'll follow presently.
                Exeunt GLOUCESTER and Messenger
                Follow I must; I cannot go before,
                While Gloucester bears this base and humble mind.
                Were I a man, a duke, and next of blood,
                I would remove these tedious stumbling-blocks
                And smooth my way upon their headless necks;
                And, being a woman, I will not be slack
                To play my part in Fortune's pageant.
                Where are you there? Sir John! nay, fear not, man,
                We are alone; here's none but thee and I.
                Enter HUME
                HUME Jesus preserve your royal majesty!
                DUCHESS What say'st thou? majesty! I am but grace.
                HUME But, by the grace of God, and Hume's advice,
                Your grace's title shall be multiplied.
                DUCHESS What say'st thou, man? hast thou as yet conferr'd
                With Margery Jourdain, the cunning witch,
                With Roger Bolingbroke, the conjurer?
                And will they undertake to do me good?
                HUME This they have promised, to show your highness
                A spirit raised from depth of under-ground,
                That shall make answer to such questions
                As by your grace shall be propounded him.
                DUCHESS It is enough; I'll think upon the questions:
                When from St. Alban's we do make return,
                We'll see these things effected to the full.
                Here, Hume, take this reward; make merry, man,
                With thy confederates in this weighty cause.
                Exit
                HUME Hume must make merry with the duchess' gold;
                Marry, and shall. But how now, Sir John Hume!
                Seal up your lips, and give no words but mum:
                The business asketh silent secrecy.
                Dame Eleanor gives gold to bring the witch:
                Gold cannot come amiss, were she a devil.
                Yet have I gold flies from another coast;
                I dare not say, from the rich cardinal
                And from the great and new-made Duke of Suffolk,
                Yet I do find it so; for to be plain,
                They, knowing Dame Eleanor's aspiring humour,
                Have hired me to undermine the duchess
                And buz these conjurations in her brain.
                They say 'A crafty knave does need no broker;'
                Yet am I Suffolk and the cardinal's broker.
                Hume, if you take not heed, you shall go near
                To call them both a pair of crafty knaves.
                Well, so it stands; and thus, I fear, at last
                Hume's knavery will be the duchess' wreck,
                And her attainture will be Humphrey's fall:
                Sort how it will, I shall have gold for all.
                Exit 
                SCENE III. The palace. 
                Enter three or four Petitioners, PETER, the Armourer's man, being one First Petitioner My masters, let's stand close: my lord protector
                will come this way by and by, and then we may deliver
                our supplications in the quill.
                Second Petitioner Marry, the Lord protect him, for he's a good man!
                Jesu bless him!
                Enter SUFFOLK and QUEEN MARGARET
                PETER Here a' comes, methinks, and the queen with him.
                I'll be the first, sure.
                Second Petitioner Come back, fool; this is the Duke of Suffolk, and
                not my lord protector.
                SUFFOLK How now, fellow! would'st anything with me?
                First Petitioner I pray, my lord, pardon me; I took ye for my lord
                protector.
                QUEEN MARGARET [Reading] 'To my Lord Protector!' Are your
                supplications to his lordship? Let me see them:
                what is thine?
                First Petitioner Mine is, an't please your grace, against John
                Goodman, my lord cardinal's man, for keeping my
                house, and lands, and wife and all, from me.
                SUFFOLK Thy wife, too! that's some wrong, indeed. What's
                yours? What's here!
                Reads
                'Against the Duke of Suffolk, for enclosing the
                commons of Melford.' How now, sir knave!
                Second Petitioner Alas, sir, I am but a poor petitioner of our whole township.
                PETER [Giving his petition] Against my master, Thomas
                Horner, for saying that the Duke of York was rightful
                heir to the crown.
                QUEEN MARGARET What sayst thou? did the Duke of York say he was
                rightful heir to the crown?
                PETER That my master was? no, forsooth: my master said
                that he was, and that the king was an usurper.
                SUFFOLK Who is there?
                Enter Servant
                Take this fellow in, and send for
                his master with a pursuivant presently: we'll hear
                more of your matter before the King.
                Exit Servant with PETER
                QUEEN MARGARET And as for you, that love to be protected
                Under the wings of our protector's grace,
                Begin your suits anew, and sue to him.
                Tears the supplication
                Away, base cullions! Suffolk, let them go.
                ALL Come, let's be gone.
                Exeunt
                QUEEN MARGARET My Lord of Suffolk, say, is this the guise,
                Is this the fashion in the court of England?
                Is this the government of Britain's isle,
                And this the royalty of Albion's king?
                What shall King Henry be a pupil still
                Under the surly Gloucester's governance?
                Am I a queen in title and in style,
                And must be made a subject to a duke?
                I tell thee, Pole, when in the city Tours
                Thou ran'st a tilt in honour of my love
                And stolest away the ladies' hearts of France,
                I thought King Henry had resembled thee
                In courage, courtship and proportion:
                But all his mind is bent to holiness,
                To number Ave-Maries on his beads;
                His champions are the prophets and apostles,
                His weapons holy saws of sacred writ,
                His study is his tilt-yard, and his loves
                Are brazen images of canonized saints.
                I would the college of the cardinals
                Would choose him pope, and carry him to Rome,
                And set the triple crown upon his head:
                That were a state fit for his holiness.
                SUFFOLK Madam, be patient: as I was cause
                Your highness came to England, so will I
                In England work your grace's full content.
                QUEEN MARGARET Beside the haughty protector, have we Beaufort,
                The imperious churchman, Somerset, Buckingham,
                And grumbling York: and not the least of these
                But can do more in England than the king.
                SUFFOLK And he of these that can do most of all
                Cannot do more in England than the Nevils:
                Salisbury and Warwick are no simple peers.
                QUEEN MARGARET Not all these lords do vex me half so much
                As that proud dame, the lord protector's wife.
                She sweeps it through the court with troops of ladies,
                More like an empress than Duke Humphrey's wife:
                Strangers in court do take her for the queen:
                She bears a duke's revenues on her back,
                And in her heart she scorns our poverty:
                Shall I not live to be avenged on her?
                Contemptuous base-born callet as she is,
                She vaunted 'mongst her minions t'other day,
                The very train of her worst wearing gown
                Was better worth than all my father's lands,
                Till Suffolk gave two dukedoms for his daughter.
                SUFFOLK Madam, myself have limed a bush for her,
                And placed a quire of such enticing birds,
                That she will light to listen to the lays,
                And never mount to trouble you again.
                So, let her rest: and, madam, list to me;
                For I am bold to counsel you in this.
                Although we fancy not the cardinal,
                Yet must we join with him and with the lords,
                Till we have brought Duke Humphrey in disgrace.
                As for the Duke of York, this late complaint
                Will make but little for his benefit.
                So, one by one, we'll weed them all at last,
                And you yourself shall steer the happy helm.
                Sound a sennet. Enter KING HENRY VI, GLOUCESTER, CARDINAL, BUCKINGHAM, YORK, SOMERSET, SALISBURY, WARWICK, and the DUCHESS
                KING HENRY VI For my part, noble lords, I care not which;
                Or Somerset or York, all's one to me.
                YORK If York have ill demean'd himself in France,
                Then let him be denay'd the regentship.
                SOMERSET If Somerset be unworthy of the place,
                Let York be regent; I will yield to him.
                WARWICK Whether your grace be worthy, yea or no,
                Dispute not that: York is the worthier.
                CARDINAL Ambitious Warwick, let thy betters speak.
                WARWICK The cardinal's not my better in the field.
                BUCKINGHAM All in this presence are thy betters, Warwick.
                WARWICK Warwick may live to be the best of all.
                SALISBURY Peace, son! and show some reason, Buckingham,
                Why Somerset should be preferred in this.
                QUEEN MARGARET Because the king, forsooth, will have it so.
                GLOUCESTER Madam, the king is old enough himself
                To give his censure: these are no women's matters.
                QUEEN MARGARET If he be old enough, what needs your grace
                To be protector of his excellence?
                GLOUCESTER Madam, I am protector of the realm;
                And, at his pleasure, will resign my place.
                SUFFOLK Resign it then and leave thine insolence.
                Since thou wert king--as who is king but thou?--
                The commonwealth hath daily run to wreck;
                The Dauphin hath prevail'd beyond the seas;
                And all the peers and nobles of the realm
                Have been as bondmen to thy sovereignty.
                CARDINAL The commons hast thou rack'd; the clergy's bags
                Are lank and lean with thy extortions.
                SOMERSET Thy sumptuous buildings and thy wife's attire
                Have cost a mass of public treasury.
                BUCKINGHAM Thy cruelty in execution
                Upon offenders, hath exceeded law,
                And left thee to the mercy of the law.
                QUEEN MARGARET They sale of offices and towns in France,
                If they were known, as the suspect is great,
                Would make thee quickly hop without thy head.
                Exit GLOUCESTER. QUEEN MARGARET drops her fan
                Give me my fan: what, minion! can ye not?
                She gives the DUCHESS a box on the ear
                I cry you mercy, madam; was it you?
                DUCHESS Was't I! yea, I it was, proud Frenchwoman:
                Could I come near your beauty with my nails,
                I'd set my ten commandments in your face.
                KING HENRY VI Sweet aunt, be quiet; 'twas against her will.
                DUCHESS Against her will! good king, look to't in time;
                She'll hamper thee, and dandle thee like a baby:
                Though in this place most master wear no breeches,
                She shall not strike Dame Eleanor unrevenged.
                Exit
                BUCKINGHAM Lord cardinal, I will follow Eleanor,
                And listen after Humphrey, how he proceeds:
                She's tickled now; her fume needs no spurs,
                She'll gallop far enough to her destruction.
                Exit
                Re-enter GLOUCESTER
                GLOUCESTER Now, lords, my choler being over-blown
                With walking once about the quadrangle,
                I come to talk of commonwealth affairs.
                As for your spiteful false objections,
                Prove them, and I lie open to the law:
                But God in mercy so deal with my soul,
                As I in duty love my king and country!
                But, to the matter that we have in hand:
                I say, my sovereign, York is meetest man
                To be your regent in the realm of France.
                SUFFOLK Before we make election, give me leave
                To show some reason, of no little force,
                That York is most unmeet of any man.
                YORK I'll tell thee, Suffolk, why I am unmeet:
                First, for I cannot flatter thee in pride;
                Next, if I be appointed for the place,
                My Lord of Somerset will keep me here,
                Without discharge, money, or furniture,
                Till France be won into the Dauphin's hands:
                Last time, I danced attendance on his will
                Till Paris was besieged, famish'd, and lost.
                WARWICK That can I witness; and a fouler fact
                Did never traitor in the land commit.
                SUFFOLK Peace, headstrong Warwick!
                WARWICK Image of pride, why should I hold my peace?
                Enter HORNER, the Armourer, and his man PETER, guarded
                SUFFOLK Because here is a man accused of treason:
                Pray God the Duke of York excuse himself!
                YORK Doth any one accuse York for a traitor?
                KING HENRY VI What mean'st thou, Suffolk; tell me, what are these?
                SUFFOLK Please it your majesty, this is the man
                That doth accuse his master of high treason:
                His words were these: that Richard, Duke of York,
                Was rightful heir unto the English crown
                And that your majesty was a usurper.
                KING HENRY VI Say, man, were these thy words?
                HORNER An't shall please your majesty, I never said nor
                thought any such matter: God is my witness, I am
                falsely accused by the villain.
                PETER By these ten bones, my lords, he did speak them to
                me in the garret one night, as we were scouring my
                Lord of York's armour.
                YORK Base dunghill villain and mechanical,
                I'll have thy head for this thy traitor's speech.
                I do beseech your royal majesty,
                Let him have all the rigor of the law.
                HORNER Alas, my lord, hang me, if ever I spake the words.
                My accuser is my 'prentice; and when I did correct
                him for his fault the other day, he did vow upon his
                knees he would be even with me: I have good
                witness of this: therefore I beseech your majesty,
                do not cast away an honest man for a villain's
                accusation.
                KING HENRY VI Uncle, what shall we say to this in law?
                GLOUCESTER This doom, my lord, if I may judge:
                Let Somerset be regent over the French,
                Because in York this breeds suspicion:
                And let these have a day appointed them
                For single combat in convenient place,
                For he hath witness of his servant's malice:
                This is the law, and this Duke Humphrey's doom.
                SOMERSET I humbly thank your royal majesty.
                HORNER And I accept the combat willingly.
                PETER Alas, my lord, I cannot fight; for God's sake, pity
                my case. The spite of man prevaileth against me. O
                Lord, have mercy upon me! I shall never be able to
                fight a blow. O Lord, my heart!
                GLOUCESTER Sirrah, or you must fight, or else be hang'd.
                KING HENRY VI Away with them to prison; and the day of combat
                shall be the last of the next month. Come,
                Somerset, we'll see thee sent away.
                Flourish. Exeunt 
                SCENE IV. GLOUCESTER's garden. 
                Enter MARGARET JOURDAIN, HUME, SOUTHWELL, and BOLINGBROKE HUME Come, my masters; the duchess, I tell you, expects
                performance of your promises.
                BOLINGBROKE Master Hume, we are therefore provided: will her
                ladyship behold and hear our exorcisms?
                HUME Ay, what else? fear you not her courage.
                BOLINGBROKE I have heard her reported to be a woman of an
                invincible spirit: but it shall be convenient,
                Master Hume, that you be by her aloft, while we be
                busy below; and so, I pray you, go, in God's name,
                and leave us.
                Exit HUME
                Mother Jourdain, be you
                prostrate and grovel on the earth; John Southwell,
                read you; and let us to our work.
                Enter the DUCHESS aloft, HUME following
                DUCHESS Well said, my masters; and welcome all. To this
                gear the sooner the better.
                BOLINGBROKE Patience, good lady; wizards know their times:
                Deep night, dark night, the silent of the night,
                The time of night when Troy was set on fire;
                The time when screech-owls cry and ban-dogs howl,
                And spirits walk and ghosts break up their graves,
                That time best fits the work we have in hand.
                Madam, sit you and fear not: whom we raise,
                We will make fast within a hallow'd verge.
                Here they do the ceremonies belonging, and make the circle; BOLINGBROKE or SOUTHWELL reads, Conjuro te, & c. It thunders and lightens terribly; then the Spirit riseth
                Spirit Adsum.
                MARGARET JOURDAIN Asmath,
                By the eternal God, whose name and power
                Thou tremblest at, answer that I shall ask;
                For, till thou speak, thou shalt not pass from hence.
                Spirit Ask what thou wilt. That I had said and done!
                BOLINGBROKE 'First of the king: what shall of him become?'
                Reading out of a paper
                Spirit The duke yet lives that Henry shall depose;
                But him outlive, and die a violent death.
                As the Spirit speaks, SOUTHWELL writes the answer
                BOLINGBROKE 'What fates await the Duke of Suffolk?'
                Spirit By water shall he die, and take his end.
                BOLINGBROKE 'What shall befall the Duke of Somerset?'
                Spirit Let him shun castles;
                Safer shall he be upon the sandy plains
                Than where castles mounted stand.
                Have done, for more I hardly can endure.
                BOLINGBROKE Descend to darkness and the burning lake!
                False fiend, avoid!
                Thunder and lightning. Exit Spirit
                Enter YORK and BUCKINGHAM with their Guard and break in
                YORK Lay hands upon these traitors and their trash.
                Beldam, I think we watch'd you at an inch.
                What, madam, are you there? the king and commonweal
                Are deeply indebted for this piece of pains:
                My lord protector will, I doubt it not,
                See you well guerdon'd for these good deserts.
                DUCHESS Not half so bad as thine to England's king,
                Injurious duke, that threatest where's no cause.
                BUCKINGHAM True, madam, none at all: what call you this?
                Away with them! let them be clapp'd up close.
                And kept asunder. You, madam, shall with us.
                Stafford, take her to thee.
                Exeunt above DUCHESS and HUME, guarded
                We'll see your trinkets here all forthcoming.
                All, away!
                Exeunt guard with MARGARET JOURDAIN, SOUTHWELL, & c
                YORK Lord Buckingham, methinks, you watch'd her well:
                A pretty plot, well chosen to build upon!
                Now, pray, my lord, let's see the devil's writ.
                What have we here?
                Reads
                'The duke yet lives, that Henry shall depose;
                But him outlive, and die a violent death.'
                Why, this is just
                'Aio te, AEacida, Romanos vincere posse.'
                Well, to the rest:
                'Tell me what fate awaits the Duke of Suffolk?
                By water shall he die, and take his end.
                What shall betide the Duke of Somerset?
                Let him shun castles;
                Safer shall he be upon the sandy plains
                Than where castles mounted stand.'
                Come, come, my lords;
                These oracles are hardly attain'd,
                And hardly understood.
                The king is now in progress towards Saint Alban's,
                With him the husband of this lovely lady:
                Thither go these news, as fast as horse can
                carry them:
                A sorry breakfast for my lord protector.
                BUCKINGHAM Your grace shall give me leave, my Lord of York,
                To be the post, in hope of his reward.
                YORK At your pleasure, my good lord. Who's within
                there, ho!
                Enter a Servingman
                Invite my Lords of Salisbury and Warwick
                To sup with me to-morrow night. Away!
                Exeunt
                ACT II SCENE I. Saint Alban's. 
                Enter KING HENRY VI, QUEEN MARGARET, GLOUCESTER, CARDINAL, and SUFFOLK, with Falconers halloing QUEEN MARGARET Believe me, lords, for flying at the brook,
                I saw not better sport these seven years' day:
                Yet, by your leave, the wind was very high;
                And, ten to one, old Joan had not gone out.
                KING HENRY VI But what a point, my lord, your falcon made,
                And what a pitch she flew above the rest!
                To see how God in all his creatures works!
                Yea, man and birds are fain of climbing high.
                SUFFOLK No marvel, an it like your majesty,
                My lord protector's hawks do tower so well;
                They know their master loves to be aloft,
                And bears his thoughts above his falcon's pitch.
                GLOUCESTER My lord, 'tis but a base ignoble mind
                That mounts no higher than a bird can soar.
                CARDINAL I thought as much; he would be above the clouds.
                GLOUCESTER Ay, my lord cardinal? how think you by that?
                Were it not good your grace could fly to heaven?
                KING HENRY VI The treasury of everlasting joy.
                CARDINAL Thy heaven is on earth; thine eyes and thoughts
                Beat on a crown, the treasure of thy heart;
                Pernicious protector, dangerous peer,
                That smooth'st it so with king and commonweal!
                GLOUCESTER What, cardinal, is your priesthood grown peremptory?
                Tantaene animis coelestibus irae?
                Churchmen so hot? good uncle, hide such malice;
                With such holiness can you do it?
                SUFFOLK No malice, sir; no more than well becomes
                So good a quarrel and so bad a peer.
                GLOUCESTER As who, my lord?
                SUFFOLK Why, as you, my lord,
                An't like your lordly lord-protectorship.
                GLOUCESTER Why, Suffolk, England knows thine insolence.
                QUEEN MARGARET And thy ambition, Gloucester.
                KING HENRY VI I prithee, peace, good queen,
                And whet not on these furious peers;
                For blessed are the peacemakers on earth.
                CARDINAL Let me be blessed for the peace I make,
                Against this proud protector, with my sword!
                GLOUCESTER [Aside to CARDINAL] Faith, holy uncle, would
                'twere come to that!
                CARDINAL [Aside to GLOUCESTER] Marry, when thou darest.
                GLOUCESTER [Aside to CARDINAL] Make up no factious
                numbers for the matter;
                In thine own person answer thy abuse.
                CARDINAL [Aside to GLOUCESTER] Ay, where thou darest
                not peep: an if thou darest,
                This evening, on the east side of the grove.
                KING HENRY VI How now, my lords!
                CARDINAL Believe me, cousin Gloucester,
                Had not your man put up the fowl so suddenly,
                We had had more sport.
                Aside to GLOUCESTER
                Come with thy two-hand sword.
                GLOUCESTER True, uncle.
                CARDINAL [Aside to GLOUCESTER] Are ye advised? the
                east side of the grove?
                GLOUCESTER [Aside to CARDINAL] Cardinal, I am with you.
                KING HENRY VI Why, how now, uncle Gloucester!
                GLOUCESTER Talking of hawking; nothing else, my lord.
                Aside to CARDINAL
                Now, by God's mother, priest, I'll shave your crown for this,
                Or all my fence shall fail.
                CARDINAL [Aside to GLOUCESTER] Medice, teipsum--
                Protector, see to't well, protect yourself.
                KING HENRY VI The winds grow high; so do your stomachs, lords.
                How irksome is this music to my heart!
                When such strings jar, what hope of harmony?
                I pray, my lords, let me compound this strife.
                Enter a Townsman of Saint Alban's, crying 'A miracle!'
                GLOUCESTER What means this noise?
                Fellow, what miracle dost thou proclaim?
                Townsman A miracle! a miracle!
                SUFFOLK Come to the king and tell him what miracle.
                Townsman Forsooth, a blind man at Saint Alban's shrine,
                Within this half-hour, hath received his sight;
                A man that ne'er saw in his life before.
                KING HENRY VI Now, God be praised, that to believing souls
                Gives light in darkness, comfort in despair!
                Enter the Mayor of Saint Alban's and his brethren, bearing SIMPCOX, between two in a chair, SIMPCOX's Wife following
                CARDINAL Here comes the townsmen on procession,
                To present your highness with the man.
                KING HENRY VI Great is his comfort in this earthly vale,
                Although by his sight his sin be multiplied.
                GLOUCESTER Stand by, my masters: bring him near the king;
                His highness' pleasure is to talk with him.
                KING HENRY VI Good fellow, tell us here the circumstance,
                That we for thee may glorify the Lord.
                What, hast thou been long blind and now restored?
                SIMPCOX Born blind, an't please your grace.
                Wife Ay, indeed, was he.
                SUFFOLK What woman is this?
                Wife His wife, an't like your worship.
                GLOUCESTER Hadst thou been his mother, thou couldst have
                better told.
                KING HENRY VI Where wert thou born?
                SIMPCOX At Berwick in the north, an't like your grace.
                KING HENRY VI Poor soul, God's goodness hath been great to thee:
                Let never day nor night unhallow'd pass,
                But still remember what the Lord hath done.
                QUEEN MARGARET Tell me, good fellow, camest thou here by chance,
                Or of devotion, to this holy shrine?
                SIMPCOX God knows, of pure devotion; being call'd
                A hundred times and oftener, in my sleep,
                By good Saint Alban; who said, 'Simpcox, come,
                Come, offer at my shrine, and I will help thee.'
                Wife Most true, forsooth; and many time and oft
                Myself have heard a voice to call him so.
                CARDINAL What, art thou lame?
                SIMPCOX Ay, God Almighty help me!
                SUFFOLK How camest thou so?
                SIMPCOX A fall off of a tree.
                Wife A plum-tree, master.
                GLOUCESTER How long hast thou been blind?
                SIMPCOX Born so, master.
                GLOUCESTER What, and wouldst climb a tree?
                SIMPCOX But that in all my life, when I was a youth.
                Wife Too true; and bought his climbing very dear.
                GLOUCESTER Mass, thou lovedst plums well, that wouldst
                venture so.
                SIMPCOX Alas, good master, my wife desired some damsons,
                And made me climb, with danger of my life.
                GLOUCESTER A subtle knave! but yet it shall not serve.
                Let me see thine eyes: wink now: now open them:
                In my opinion yet thou seest not well.
                SIMPCOX Yes, master, clear as day, I thank God and
                Saint Alban.
                GLOUCESTER Say'st thou me so? What colour is this cloak of?
                SIMPCOX Red, master; red as blood.
                GLOUCESTER Why, that's well said. What colour is my gown of?
                SIMPCOX Black, forsooth: coal-black as jet.
                KING HENRY VI Why, then, thou know'st what colour jet is of?
                SUFFOLK And yet, I think, jet did he never see.
                GLOUCESTER But cloaks and gowns, before this day, a many.
                Wife Never, before this day, in all his life.
                GLOUCESTER Tell me, sirrah, what's my name?
                SIMPCOX Alas, master, I know not.
                GLOUCESTER What's his name?
                SIMPCOX I know not.
                GLOUCESTER Nor his?
                SIMPCOX No, indeed, master.
                GLOUCESTER What's thine own name?
                SIMPCOX Saunder Simpcox, an if it please you, master.
                GLOUCESTER Then, Saunder, sit there, the lyingest knave in
                Christendom. If thou hadst been born blind, thou
                mightest as well have known all our names as thus to
                name the several colours we do wear. Sight may
                distinguish of colours, but suddenly to nominate them
                all, it is impossible. My lords, Saint Alban here
                hath done a miracle; and would ye not think his
                cunning to be great, that could restore this cripple
                to his legs again?
                SIMPCOX O master, that you could!
                GLOUCESTER My masters of Saint Alban's, have you not beadles in
                your town, and things called whips?
                Mayor Yes, my lord, if it please your grace.
                GLOUCESTER Then send for one presently.
                Mayor Sirrah, go fetch the beadle hither straight.
                Exit an Attendant
                GLOUCESTER Now fetch me a stool hither by and by. Now, sirrah,
                if you mean to save yourself from whipping, leap me
                over this stool and run away.
                SIMPCOX Alas, master, I am not able to stand alone:
                You go about to torture me in vain.
                Enter a Beadle with whips
                GLOUCESTER Well, sir, we must have you find your legs. Sirrah
                beadle, whip him till he leap over that same stool.
                Beadle I will, my lord. Come on, sirrah; off with your
                doublet quickly.
                SIMPCOX Alas, master, what shall I do? I am not able to stand.
                After the Beadle hath hit him once, he leaps over the stool and runs away; and they follow and cry, 'A miracle!'
                KING HENRY VI O God, seest Thou this, and bearest so long?
                QUEEN MARGARET It made me laugh to see the villain run.
                GLOUCESTER Follow the knave; and take this drab away.
                Wife Alas, sir, we did it for pure need.
                GLOUCESTER Let them be whipped through every market-town, till
                they come to Berwick, from whence they came.
                Exeunt Wife, Beadle, Mayor, & c
                CARDINAL Duke Humphrey has done a miracle to-day.
                SUFFOLK True; made the lame to leap and fly away.
                GLOUCESTER But you have done more miracles than I;
                You made in a day, my lord, whole towns to fly.
                Enter BUCKINGHAM
                KING HENRY VI What tidings with our cousin Buckingham?
                BUCKINGHAM Such as my heart doth tremble to unfold.
                A sort of naughty persons, lewdly bent,
                Under the countenance and confederacy
                Of Lady Eleanor, the protector's wife,
                The ringleader and head of all this rout,
                Have practised dangerously against your state,
                Dealing with witches and with conjurers:
                Whom we have apprehended in the fact;
                Raising up wicked spirits from under ground,
                Demanding of King Henry's life and death,
                And other of your highness' privy-council;
                As more at large your grace shall understand.
                CARDINAL [Aside to GLOUCESTER] And so, my lord protector,
                by this means
                Your lady is forthcoming yet at London.
                This news, I think, hath turn'd your weapon's edge;
                'Tis like, my lord, you will not keep your hour.
                GLOUCESTER Ambitious churchman, leave to afflict my heart:
                Sorrow and grief have vanquish'd all my powers;
                And, vanquish'd as I am, I yield to thee,
                Or to the meanest groom.
                KING HENRY VI O God, what mischiefs work the wicked ones,
                Heaping confusion on their own heads thereby!
                QUEEN MARGARET Gloucester, see here the tainture of thy nest.
                And look thyself be faultless, thou wert best.
                GLOUCESTER Madam, for myself, to heaven I do appeal,
                How I have loved my king and commonweal:
                And, for my wife, I know not how it stands;
                Sorry I am to hear what I have heard:
                Noble she is, but if she have forgot
                Honour and virtue and conversed with such
                As, like to pitch, defile nobility,
                I banish her my bed and company
                And give her as a prey to law and shame,
                That hath dishonour'd Gloucester's honest name.
                KING HENRY VI Well, for this night we will repose us here:
                To-morrow toward London back again,
                To look into this business thoroughly
                And call these foul offenders to their answers
                And poise the cause in justice' equal scales,
                Whose beam stands sure, whose rightful cause prevails.
                Flourish. Exeunt 
                SCENE II. London. YORK'S garden. 
                Enter YORK, SALISBURY, and WARWICK YORK Now, my good Lords of Salisbury and Warwick,
                Our simple supper ended, give me leave
                In this close walk to satisfy myself,
                In craving your opinion of my title,
                Which is infallible, to England's crown.
                SALISBURY My lord, I long to hear it at full.
                WARWICK Sweet York, begin: and if thy claim be good,
                The Nevils are thy subjects to command.
                YORK Then thus:
                Edward the Third, my lords, had seven sons:
                The first, Edward the Black Prince, Prince of Wales;
                The second, William of Hatfield, and the third,
                Lionel Duke of Clarence: next to whom
                Was John of Gaunt, the Duke of Lancaster;
                The fifth was Edmund Langley, Duke of York;
                The sixth was Thomas of Woodstock, Duke of Gloucester;
                William of Windsor was the seventh and last.
                Edward the Black Prince died before his father
                And left behind him Richard, his only son,
                Who after Edward the Third's death reign'd as king;
                Till Henry Bolingbroke, Duke of Lancaster,
                The eldest son and heir of John of Gaunt,
                Crown'd by the name of Henry the Fourth,
                Seized on the realm, deposed the rightful king,
                Sent his poor queen to France, from whence she came,
                And him to Pomfret; where, as all you know,
                Harmless Richard was murder'd traitorously.
                WARWICK Father, the duke hath told the truth:
                Thus got the house of Lancaster the crown.
                YORK Which now they hold by force and not by right;
                For Richard, the first son's heir, being dead,
                The issue of the next son should have reign'd.
                SALISBURY But William of Hatfield died without an heir.
                YORK The third son, Duke of Clarence, from whose line
                I claimed the crown, had issue, Philippe, a daughter,
                Who married Edmund Mortimer, Earl of March:
                Edmund had issue, Roger Earl of March;
                Roger had issue, Edmund, Anne and Eleanor.
                SALISBURY This Edmund, in the reign of Bolingbroke,
                As I have read, laid claim unto the crown;
                And, but for Owen Glendower, had been king,
                Who kept him in captivity till he died.
                But to the rest.
                YORK His eldest sister, Anne,
                My mother, being heir unto the crown
                Married Richard Earl of Cambridge; who was son
                To Edmund Langley, Edward the Third's fifth son.
                By her I claim the kingdom: she was heir
                To Roger Earl of March, who was the son
                Of Edmund Mortimer, who married Philippe,
                Sole daughter unto Lionel Duke of Clarence:
                So, if the issue of the elder son
                Succeed before the younger, I am king.
                WARWICK What plain proceeding is more plain than this?
                Henry doth claim the crown from John of Gaunt,
                The fourth son; York claims it from the third.
                Till Lionel's issue fails, his should not reign:
                It fails not yet, but flourishes in thee
                And in thy sons, fair slips of such a stock.
                Then, father Salisbury, kneel we together;
                And in this private plot be we the first
                That shall salute our rightful sovereign
                With honour of his birthright to the crown.
                BOTH Long live our sovereign Richard, England's king!
                YORK We thank you, lords. But I am not your king
                Till I be crown'd and that my sword be stain'd
                With heart-blood of the house of Lancaster;
                And that's not suddenly to be perform'd,
                But with advice and silent secrecy.
                Do you as I do in these dangerous days:
                Wink at the Duke of Suffolk's insolence,
                At Beaufort's pride, at Somerset's ambition,
                At Buckingham and all the crew of them,
                Till they have snared the shepherd of the flock,
                That virtuous prince, the good Duke Humphrey:
                'Tis that they seek, and they in seeking that
                Shall find their deaths, if York can prophesy.
                SALISBURY My lord, break we off; we know your mind at full.
                WARWICK My heart assures me that the Earl of Warwick
                Shall one day make the Duke of York a king.
                YORK And, Nevil, this I do assure myself:
                Richard shall live to make the Earl of Warwick
                The greatest man in England but the king.
                Exeunt 
                SCENE III. A hall of justice. 
                Sound trumpets. Enter KING HENRY VI, QUEEN MARGARET, GLOUCESTER, YORK, SUFFOLK, and SALISBURY; the DUCHESS, MARGARET JOURDAIN, SOUTHWELL, HUME, and BOLINGBROKE, under guard KING HENRY VI Stand forth, Dame Eleanor Cobham, Gloucester's wife:
                In sight of God and us, your guilt is great:
                Receive the sentence of the law for sins
                Such as by God's book are adjudged to death.
                You four, from hence to prison back again;
                From thence unto the place of execution:
                The witch in Smithfield shall be burn'd to ashes,
                And you three shall be strangled on the gallows.
                You, madam, for you are more nobly born,
                Despoiled of your honour in your life,
                Shall, after three days' open penance done,
                Live in your country here in banishment,
                With Sir John Stanley, in the Isle of Man.
                DUCHESS Welcome is banishment; welcome were my death.
                GLOUCESTER Eleanor, the law, thou see'st, hath judged thee:
                I cannot justify whom the law condemns.
                Exeunt DUCHESS and other prisoners, guarded
                Mine eyes are full of tears, my heart of grief.
                Ah, Humphrey, this dishonour in thine age
                Will bring thy head with sorrow to the ground!
                I beseech your majesty, give me leave to go;
                Sorrow would solace and mine age would ease.
                KING HENRY VI Stay, Humphrey Duke of Gloucester: ere thou go,
                Give up thy staff: Henry will to himself
                Protector be; and God shall be my hope,
                My stay, my guide and lantern to my feet:
                And go in peace, Humphrey, no less beloved
                Than when thou wert protector to thy King.
                QUEEN MARGARET I see no reason why a king of years
                Should be to be protected like a child.
                God and King Henry govern England's realm.
                Give up your staff, sir, and the king his realm.
                GLOUCESTER My staff? here, noble Henry, is my staff:
                As willingly do I the same resign
                As e'er thy father Henry made it mine;
                And even as willingly at thy feet I leave it
                As others would ambitiously receive it.
                Farewell, good king: when I am dead and gone,
                May honourable peace attend thy throne!
                Exit
                QUEEN MARGARET Why, now is Henry king, and Margaret queen;
                And Humphrey Duke of Gloucester scarce himself,
                That bears so shrewd a maim; two pulls at once;
                His lady banish'd, and a limb lopp'd off.
                This staff of honour raught, there let it stand
                Where it best fits to be, in Henry's hand.
                SUFFOLK Thus droops this lofty pine and hangs his sprays;
                Thus Eleanor's pride dies in her youngest days.
                YORK Lords, let him go. Please it your majesty,
                This is the day appointed for the combat;
                And ready are the appellant and defendant,
                The armourer and his man, to enter the lists,
                So please your highness to behold the fight.
                QUEEN MARGARET Ay, good my lord; for purposely therefore
                Left I the court, to see this quarrel tried.
                KING HENRY VI O God's name, see the lists and all things fit:
                Here let them end it; and God defend the right!
                YORK I never saw a fellow worse bested,
                Or more afraid to fight, than is the appellant,
                The servant of this armourer, my lords.
                Enter at one door, HORNER, the Armourer, and his Neighbours, drinking to him so much that he is drunk; and he enters with a drum before him and his staff with a sand-bag fastened to it; and at the other door PETER, his man, with a drum and sand-bag, and 'Prentices drinking to him
                First Neighbour Here, neighbour Horner, I drink to you in a cup of
                sack: and fear not, neighbour, you shall do well enough.
                Second Neighbour And here, neighbour, here's a cup of charneco.
                Third Neighbour And here's a pot of good double beer, neighbour:
                drink, and fear not your man.
                HORNER Let it come, i' faith, and I'll pledge you all; and
                a fig for Peter!
                First 'Prentice Here, Peter, I drink to thee: and be not afraid.
                Second 'Prentice Be merry, Peter, and fear not thy master: fight
                for credit of the 'prentices.
                PETER I thank you all: drink, and pray for me, I pray
                you; for I think I have taken my last draught in
                this world. Here, Robin, an if I die, I give thee
                my apron: and, Will, thou shalt have my hammer:
                and here, Tom, take all the money that I have. O
                Lord bless me! I pray God! for I am never able to
                deal with my master, he hath learnt me so much fence already.
                SALISBURY Come, leave your drinking, and fall to blows.
                Sirrah, what's thy name?
                PETER Peter, forsooth.
                SALISBURY Peter! what more?
                PETER Thump.
                SALISBURY Thump! then see thou thump thy master well.
                HORNER Masters, I am come hither, as it were, upon my man's
                instigation, to prove him a knave and myself an
                honest man: and touching the Duke of York, I will
                take my death, I never meant him any ill, nor the
                king, nor the queen: and therefore, Peter, have at
                thee with a downright blow!
                YORK Dispatch: this knave's tongue begins to double.
                Sound, trumpets, alarum to the combatants!
                Alarum. They fight, and PETER strikes him down
                HORNER Hold, Peter, hold! I confess, I confess treason.
                Dies
                YORK Take away his weapon. Fellow, thank God, and the
                good wine in thy master's way.
                PETER O God, have I overcome mine enemy in this presence?
                O Peter, thou hast prevailed in right!
                KING HENRY VI Go, take hence that traitor from our sight;
                For his death we do perceive his guilt:
                And God in justice hath revealed to us
                The truth and innocence of this poor fellow,
                Which he had thought to have murder'd wrongfully.
                Come, fellow, follow us for thy reward.
                Sound a flourish. Exeunt 
                SCENE IV. A street. 
                Enter GLOUCESTER and his Servingmen, in mourning cloaks GLOUCESTER Thus sometimes hath the brightest day a cloud;
                And after summer evermore succeeds
                Barren winter, with his wrathful nipping cold:
                So cares and joys abound, as seasons fleet.
                Sirs, what's o'clock?
                Servants Ten, my lord.
                GLOUCESTER Ten is the hour that was appointed me
                To watch the coming of my punish'd duchess:
                Uneath may she endure the flinty streets,
                To tread them with her tender-feeling feet.
                Sweet Nell, ill can thy noble mind abrook
                The abject people gazing on thy face,
                With envious looks, laughing at thy shame,
                That erst did follow thy proud chariot-wheels
                When thou didst ride in triumph through the streets.
                But, soft! I think she comes; and I'll prepare
                My tear-stain'd eyes to see her miseries.
                Enter the DUCHESS in a white sheet, and a taper burning in her hand; with STANLEY, the Sheriff, and Officers
                Servant So please your grace, we'll take her from the sheriff.
                GLOUCESTER No, stir not, for your lives; let her pass by.
                DUCHESS Come you, my lord, to see my open shame?
                Now thou dost penance too. Look how they gaze!
                See how the giddy multitude do point,
                And nod their heads, and throw their eyes on thee!
                Ah, Gloucester, hide thee from their hateful looks,
                And, in thy closet pent up, rue my shame,
                And ban thine enemies, both mine and thine!
                GLOUCESTER Be patient, gentle Nell; forget this grief.
                DUCHESS Ah, Gloucester, teach me to forget myself!
                For whilst I think I am thy married wife
                And thou a prince, protector of this land,
                Methinks I should not thus be led along,
                Mail'd up in shame, with papers on my back,
                And followed with a rabble that rejoice
                To see my tears and hear my deep-fet groans.
                The ruthless flint doth cut my tender feet,
                And when I start, the envious people laugh
                And bid me be advised how I tread.
                Ah, Humphrey, can I bear this shameful yoke?
                Trow'st thou that e'er I'll look upon the world,
                Or count them happy that enjoy the sun?
                No; dark shall be my light and night my day;
                To think upon my pomp shall be my hell.
                Sometime I'll say, I am Duke Humphrey's wife,
                And he a prince and ruler of the land:
                Yet so he ruled and such a prince he was
                As he stood by whilst I, his forlorn duchess,
                Was made a wonder and a pointing-stock
                To every idle rascal follower.
                But be thou mild and blush not at my shame,
                Nor stir at nothing till the axe of death
                Hang over thee, as, sure, it shortly will;
                For Suffolk, he that can do all in all
                With her that hateth thee and hates us all,
                And York and impious Beaufort, that false priest,
                Have all limed bushes to betray thy wings,
                And, fly thou how thou canst, they'll tangle thee:
                But fear not thou, until thy foot be snared,
                Nor never seek prevention of thy foes.
                GLOUCESTER Ah, Nell, forbear! thou aimest all awry;
                I must offend before I be attainted;
                And had I twenty times so many foes,
                And each of them had twenty times their power,
                All these could not procure me any scathe,
                So long as I am loyal, true and crimeless.
                Wouldst have me rescue thee from this reproach?
                Why, yet thy scandal were not wiped away
                But I in danger for the breach of law.
                Thy greatest help is quiet, gentle Nell:
                I pray thee, sort thy heart to patience;
                These few days' wonder will be quickly worn.
                Enter a Herald
                Herald I summon your grace to his majesty's parliament,
                Holden at Bury the first of this next month.
                GLOUCESTER And my consent ne'er ask'd herein before!
                This is close dealing. Well, I will be there.
                Exit Herald
                My Nell, I take my leave: and, master sheriff,
                Let not her penance exceed the king's commission.
                Sheriff An't please your grace, here my commission stays,
                And Sir John Stanley is appointed now
                To take her with him to the Isle of Man.
                GLOUCESTER Must you, Sir John, protect my lady here?
                STANLEY So am I given in charge, may't please your grace.
                GLOUCESTER Entreat her not the worse in that I pray
                You use her well: the world may laugh again;
                And I may live to do you kindness if
                You do it her: and so, Sir John, farewell!
                DUCHESS What, gone, my lord, and bid me not farewell!
                GLOUCESTER Witness my tears, I cannot stay to speak.
                Exeunt GLOUCESTER and Servingmen
                DUCHESS Art thou gone too? all comfort go with thee!
                For none abides with me: my joy is death;
                Death, at whose name I oft have been afear'd,
                Because I wish'd this world's eternity.
                Stanley, I prithee, go, and take me hence;
                I care not whither, for I beg no favour,
                Only convey me where thou art commanded.
                STANLEY Why, madam, that is to the Isle of Man;
                There to be used according to your state.
                DUCHESS That's bad enough, for I am but reproach:
                And shall I then be used reproachfully?
                STANLEY Like to a duchess, and Duke Humphrey's lady;
                According to that state you shall be used.
                DUCHESS Sheriff, farewell, and better than I fare,
                Although thou hast been conduct of my shame.
                Sheriff It is my office; and, madam, pardon me.
                DUCHESS Ay, ay, farewell; thy office is discharged.
                Come, Stanley, shall we go?
                STANLEY Madam, your penance done, throw off this sheet,
                And go we to attire you for our journey.
                DUCHESS My shame will not be shifted with my sheet:
                No, it will hang upon my richest robes
                And show itself, attire me how I can.
                Go, lead the way; I long to see my prison.
                Exeunt
                ACT III SCENE I. The Abbey at Bury St. Edmund's. 
                Sound a sennet. Enter KING HENRY VI, QUEEN MARGARET, CARDINAL, SUFFOLK, YORK, BUCKINGHAM, SALISBURY and WARWICK to the Parliament KING HENRY VI I muse my Lord of Gloucester is not come:
                'Tis not his wont to be the hindmost man,
                Whate'er occasion keeps him from us now.
                QUEEN MARGARET Can you not see? or will ye not observe
                The strangeness of his alter'd countenance?
                With what a majesty he bears himself,
                How insolent of late he is become,
                How proud, how peremptory, and unlike himself?
                We know the time since he was mild and affable,
                And if we did but glance a far-off look,
                Immediately he was upon his knee,
                That all the court admired him for submission:
                But meet him now, and, be it in the morn,
                When every one will give the time of day,
                He knits his brow and shows an angry eye,
                And passeth by with stiff unbowed knee,
                Disdaining duty that to us belongs.
                Small curs are not regarded when they grin;
                But great men tremble when the lion roars;
                And Humphrey is no little man in England.
                First note that he is near you in descent,
                And should you fall, he as the next will mount.
                Me seemeth then it is no policy,
                Respecting what a rancorous mind he bears
                And his advantage following your decease,
                That he should come about your royal person
                Or be admitted to your highness' council.
                By flattery hath he won the commons' hearts,
                And when he please to make commotion,
                'Tis to be fear'd they all will follow him.
                Now 'tis the spring, and weeds are shallow-rooted;
                Suffer them now, and they'll o'ergrow the garden
                And choke the herbs for want of husbandry.
                The reverent care I bear unto my lord
                Made me collect these dangers in the duke.
                If it be fond, call it a woman's fear;
                Which fear if better reasons can supplant,
                I will subscribe and say I wrong'd the duke.
                My Lord of Suffolk, Buckingham, and York,
                Reprove my allegation, if you can;
                Or else conclude my words effectual.
                SUFFOLK Well hath your highness seen into this duke;
                And, had I first been put to speak my mind,
                I think I should have told your grace's tale.
                The duchess, by his subornation,
                Upon my life, began her devilish practises:
                Or, if he were not privy to those faults,
                Yet, by reputing of his high descent,
                As next the king he was successive heir,
                And such high vaunts of his nobility,
                Did instigate the bedlam brain-sick duchess
                By wicked means to frame our sovereign's fall.
                Smooth runs the water where the brook is deep;
                And in his simple show he harbours treason.
                The fox barks not when he would steal the lamb.
                No, no, my sovereign; Gloucester is a man
                Unsounded yet and full of deep deceit.
                CARDINAL Did he not, contrary to form of law,
                Devise strange deaths for small offences done?
                YORK And did he not, in his protectorship,
                Levy great sums of money through the realm
                For soldiers' pay in France, and never sent it?
                By means whereof the towns each day revolted.
                BUCKINGHAM Tut, these are petty faults to faults unknown.
                Which time will bring to light in smooth
                Duke Humphrey.
                KING HENRY VI My lords, at once: the care you have of us,
                To mow down thorns that would annoy our foot,
                Is worthy praise: but, shall I speak my conscience,
                Our kinsman Gloucester is as innocent
                From meaning treason to our royal person
                As is the sucking lamb or harmless dove:
                The duke is virtuous, mild and too well given
                To dream on evil or to work my downfall.
                QUEEN MARGARET Ah, what's more dangerous than this fond affiance!
                Seems he a dove? his feathers are but borrowed,
                For he's disposed as the hateful raven:
                Is he a lamb? his skin is surely lent him,
                For he's inclined as is the ravenous wolf.
                Who cannot steal a shape that means deceit?
                Take heed, my lord; the welfare of us all
                Hangs on the cutting short that fraudful man.
                Enter SOMERSET
                SOMERSET All health unto my gracious sovereign!
                KING HENRY VI Welcome, Lord Somerset. What news from France?
                SOMERSET That all your interest in those territories
                Is utterly bereft you; all is lost.
                KING HENRY VI Cold news, Lord Somerset: but God's will be done!
                YORK [Aside] Cold news for me; for I had hope of France
                As firmly as I hope for fertile England.
                Thus are my blossoms blasted in the bud
                And caterpillars eat my leaves away;
                But I will remedy this gear ere long,
                Or sell my title for a glorious grave.
                Enter GLOUCESTER
                GLOUCESTER All happiness unto my lord the king!
                Pardon, my liege, that I have stay'd so long.
                SUFFOLK Nay, Gloucester, know that thou art come too soon,
                Unless thou wert more loyal than thou art:
                I do arrest thee of high treason here.
                GLOUCESTER Well, Suffolk, thou shalt not see me blush
                Nor change my countenance for this arrest:
                A heart unspotted is not easily daunted.
                The purest spring is not so free from mud
                As I am clear from treason to my sovereign:
                Who can accuse me? wherein am I guilty?
                YORK 'Tis thought, my lord, that you took bribes of France,
                And, being protector, stayed the soldiers' pay;
                By means whereof his highness hath lost France.
                GLOUCESTER Is it but thought so? what are they that think it?
                I never robb'd the soldiers of their pay,
                Nor ever had one penny bribe from France.
                So help me God, as I have watch'd the night,
                Ay, night by night, in studying good for England,
                That doit that e'er I wrested from the king,
                Or any groat I hoarded to my use,
                Be brought against me at my trial-day!
                No; many a pound of mine own proper store,
                Because I would not tax the needy commons,
                Have I disbursed to the garrisons,
                And never ask'd for restitution.
                CARDINAL It serves you well, my lord, to say so much.
                GLOUCESTER I say no more than truth, so help me God!
                YORK In your protectorship you did devise
                Strange tortures for offenders never heard of,
                That England was defamed by tyranny.
                GLOUCESTER Why, 'tis well known that, whiles I was
                protector,
                Pity was all the fault that was in me;
                For I should melt at an offender's tears,
                And lowly words were ransom for their fault.
                Unless it were a bloody murderer,
                Or foul felonious thief that fleeced poor passengers,
                I never gave them condign punishment:
                Murder indeed, that bloody sin, I tortured
                Above the felon or what trespass else.
                SUFFOLK My lord, these faults are easy, quickly answered:
                But mightier crimes are laid unto your charge,
                Whereof you cannot easily purge yourself.
                I do arrest you in his highness' name;
                And here commit you to my lord cardinal
                To keep, until your further time of trial.
                KING HENRY VI My lord of Gloucester, 'tis my special hope
                That you will clear yourself from all suspect:
                My conscience tells me you are innocent.
                GLOUCESTER Ah, gracious lord, these days are dangerous:
                Virtue is choked with foul ambition
                And charity chased hence by rancour's hand;
                Foul subornation is predominant
                And equity exiled your highness' land.
                I know their complot is to have my life,
                And if my death might make this island happy,
                And prove the period of their tyranny,
                I would expend it with all willingness:
                But mine is made the prologue to their play;
                For thousands more, that yet suspect no peril,
                Will not conclude their plotted tragedy.
                Beaufort's red sparkling eyes blab his heart's malice,
                And Suffolk's cloudy brow his stormy hate;
                Sharp Buckingham unburthens with his tongue
                The envious load that lies upon his heart;
                And dogged York, that reaches at the moon,
                Whose overweening arm I have pluck'd back,
                By false accuse doth level at my life:
                And you, my sovereign lady, with the rest,
                Causeless have laid disgraces on my head,
                And with your best endeavour have stirr'd up
                My liefest liege to be mine enemy:
                Ay, all you have laid your heads together--
                Myself had notice of your conventicles--
                And all to make away my guiltless life.
                I shall not want false witness to condemn me,
                Nor store of treasons to augment my guilt;
                The ancient proverb will be well effected:
                'A staff is quickly found to beat a dog.'
                CARDINAL My liege, his railing is intolerable:
                If those that care to keep your royal person
                From treason's secret knife and traitors' rage
                Be thus upbraided, chid and rated at,
                And the offender granted scope of speech,
                'Twill make them cool in zeal unto your grace.
                SUFFOLK Hath he not twit our sovereign lady here
                With ignominious words, though clerkly couch'd,
                As if she had suborned some to swear
                False allegations to o'erthrow his state?
                QUEEN MARGARET But I can give the loser leave to chide.
                GLOUCESTER Far truer spoke than meant: I lose, indeed;
                Beshrew the winners, for they play'd me false!
                And well such losers may have leave to speak.
                BUCKINGHAM He'll wrest the sense and hold us here all day:
                Lord cardinal, he is your prisoner.
                CARDINAL Sirs, take away the duke, and guard him sure.
                GLOUCESTER Ah! thus King Henry throws away his crutch
                Before his legs be firm to bear his body.
                Thus is the shepherd beaten from thy side,
                And wolves are gnarling who shall gnaw thee first.
                Ah, that my fear were false! ah, that it were!
                For, good King Henry, thy decay I fear.
                Exit, guarded
                KING HENRY VI My lords, what to your wisdoms seemeth best,
                Do or undo, as if ourself were here.
                QUEEN MARGARET What, will your highness leave the parliament?
                KING HENRY VI Ay, Margaret; my heart is drown'd with grief,
                Whose flood begins to flow within mine eyes,
                My body round engirt with misery,
                For what's more miserable than discontent?
                Ah, uncle Humphrey! in thy face I see
                The map of honour, truth and loyalty:
                And yet, good Humphrey, is the hour to come
                That e'er I proved thee false or fear'd thy faith.
                What louring star now envies thy estate,
                That these great lords and Margaret our queen
                Do seek subversion of thy harmless life?
                Thou never didst them wrong, nor no man wrong;
                And as the butcher takes away the calf
                And binds the wretch, and beats it when it strays,
                Bearing it to the bloody slaughter-house,
                Even so remorseless have they borne him hence;
                And as the dam runs lowing up and down,
                Looking the way her harmless young one went,
                And can do nought but wail her darling's loss,
                Even so myself bewails good Gloucester's case
                With sad unhelpful tears, and with dimm'd eyes
                Look after him and cannot do him good,
                So mighty are his vowed enemies.
                His fortunes I will weep; and, 'twixt each groan
                Say 'Who's a traitor? Gloucester he is none.'
                Exeunt all but QUEEN MARGARET, CARDINAL, SUFFOLK, and YORK; SOMERSET remains apart
                QUEEN MARGARET Free lords, cold snow melts with the sun's hot beams.
                Henry my lord is cold in great affairs,
                Too full of foolish pity, and Gloucester's show
                Beguiles him as the mournful crocodile
                With sorrow snares relenting passengers,
                Or as the snake roll'd in a flowering bank,
                With shining chequer'd slough, doth sting a child
                That for the beauty thinks it excellent.
                Believe me, lords, were none more wise than I--
                And yet herein I judge mine own wit good--
                This Gloucester should be quickly rid the world,
                To rid us of the fear we have of him.
                CARDINAL That he should die is worthy policy;
                But yet we want a colour for his death:
                'Tis meet he be condemn'd by course of law.
                SUFFOLK But, in my mind, that were no policy:
                The king will labour still to save his life,
                The commons haply rise, to save his life;
                And yet we have but trivial argument,
                More than mistrust, that shows him worthy death.
                YORK So that, by this, you would not have him die.
                SUFFOLK Ah, York, no man alive so fain as I!
                YORK 'Tis York that hath more reason for his death.
                But, my lord cardinal, and you, my Lord of Suffolk,
                Say as you think, and speak it from your souls,
                Were't not all one, an empty eagle were set
                To guard the chicken from a hungry kite,
                As place Duke Humphrey for the king's protector?
                QUEEN MARGARET So the poor chicken should be sure of death.
                SUFFOLK Madam, 'tis true; and were't not madness, then,
                To make the fox surveyor of the fold?
                Who being accused a crafty murderer,
                His guilt should be but idly posted over,
                Because his purpose is not executed.
                No; let him die, in that he is a fox,
                By nature proved an enemy to the flock,
                Before his chaps be stain'd with crimson blood,
                As Humphrey, proved by reasons, to my liege.
                And do not stand on quillets how to slay him:
                Be it by gins, by snares, by subtlety,
                Sleeping or waking, 'tis no matter how,
                So he be dead; for that is good deceit
                Which mates him first that first intends deceit.
                QUEEN MARGARET Thrice-noble Suffolk, 'tis resolutely spoke.
                SUFFOLK Not resolute, except so much were done;
                For things are often spoke and seldom meant:
                But that my heart accordeth with my tongue,
                Seeing the deed is meritorious,
                And to preserve my sovereign from his foe,
                Say but the word, and I will be his priest.
                CARDINAL But I would have him dead, my Lord of Suffolk,
                Ere you can take due orders for a priest:
                Say you consent and censure well the deed,
                And I'll provide his executioner,
                I tender so the safety of my liege.
                SUFFOLK Here is my hand, the deed is worthy doing.
                QUEEN MARGARET And so say I.
                YORK And I and now we three have spoke it,
                It skills not greatly who impugns our doom.
                Enter a Post
                Post Great lords, from Ireland am I come amain,
                To signify that rebels there are up
                And put the Englishmen unto the sword:
                Send succors, lords, and stop the rage betime,
                Before the wound do grow uncurable;
                For, being green, there is great hope of help.
                CARDINAL A breach that craves a quick expedient stop!
                What counsel give you in this weighty cause?
                YORK That Somerset be sent as regent thither:
                'Tis meet that lucky ruler be employ'd;
                Witness the fortune he hath had in France.
                SOMERSET If York, with all his far-fet policy,
                Had been the regent there instead of me,
                He never would have stay'd in France so long.
                YORK No, not to lose it all, as thou hast done:
                I rather would have lost my life betimes
                Than bring a burthen of dishonour home
                By staying there so long till all were lost.
                Show me one scar character'd on thy skin:
                Men's flesh preserved so whole do seldom win.
                QUEEN MARGARET Nay, then, this spark will prove a raging fire,
                If wind and fuel be brought to feed it with:
                No more, good York; sweet Somerset, be still:
                Thy fortune, York, hadst thou been regent there,
                Might happily have proved far worse than his.
                YORK What, worse than nought? nay, then, a shame take all!
                SOMERSET And, in the number, thee that wishest shame!
                CARDINAL My Lord of York, try what your fortune is.
                The uncivil kerns of Ireland are in arms
                And temper clay with blood of Englishmen:
                To Ireland will you lead a band of men,
                Collected choicely, from each county some,
                And try your hap against the Irishmen?
                YORK I will, my lord, so please his majesty.
                SUFFOLK Why, our authority is his consent,
                And what we do establish he confirms:
                Then, noble York, take thou this task in hand.
                YORK I am content: provide me soldiers, lords,
                Whiles I take order for mine own affairs.
                SUFFOLK A charge, Lord York, that I will see perform'd.
                But now return we to the false Duke Humphrey.
                CARDINAL No more of him; for I will deal with him
                That henceforth he shall trouble us no more.
                And so break off; the day is almost spent:
                Lord Suffolk, you and I must talk of that event.
                YORK My Lord of Suffolk, within fourteen days
                At Bristol I expect my soldiers;
                For there I'll ship them all for Ireland.
                SUFFOLK I'll see it truly done, my Lord of York.
                Exeunt all but YORK
                YORK Now, York, or never, steel thy fearful thoughts,
                And change misdoubt to resolution:
                Be that thou hopest to be, or what thou art
                Resign to death; it is not worth the enjoying:
                Let pale-faced fear keep with the mean-born man,
                And find no harbour in a royal heart.
                Faster than spring-time showers comes thought
                on thought,
                And not a thought but thinks on dignity.
                My brain more busy than the labouring spider
                Weaves tedious snares to trap mine enemies.
                Well, nobles, well, 'tis politicly done,
                To send me packing with an host of men:
                I fear me you but warm the starved snake,
                Who, cherish'd in your breasts, will sting
                your hearts.
                'Twas men I lack'd and you will give them me:
                I take it kindly; and yet be well assured
                You put sharp weapons in a madman's hands.
                Whiles I in Ireland nourish a mighty band,
                I will stir up in England some black storm
                Shall blow ten thousand souls to heaven or hell;
                And this fell tempest shall not cease to rage
                Until the golden circuit on my head,
                Like to the glorious sun's transparent beams,
                Do calm the fury of this mad-bred flaw.
                And, for a minister of my intent,
                I have seduced a headstrong Kentishman,
                John Cade of Ashford,
                To make commotion, as full well he can,
                Under the title of John Mortimer.
                In Ireland have I seen this stubborn Cade
                Oppose himself against a troop of kerns,
                And fought so long, till that his thighs with darts
                Were almost like a sharp-quill'd porpentine;
                And, in the end being rescued, I have seen
                Him caper upright like a wild Morisco,
                Shaking the bloody darts as he his bells.
                Full often, like a shag-hair'd crafty kern,
                Hath he conversed with the enemy,
                And undiscover'd come to me again
                And given me notice of their villanies.
                This devil here shall be my substitute;
                For that John Mortimer, which now is dead,
                In face, in gait, in speech, he doth resemble:
                By this I shall perceive the commons' mind,
                How they affect the house and claim of York.
                Say he be taken, rack'd and tortured,
                I know no pain they can inflict upon him
                Will make him say I moved him to those arms.
                Say that he thrive, as 'tis great like he will,
                Why, then from Ireland come I with my strength
                And reap the harvest which that rascal sow'd;
                For Humphrey being dead, as he shall be,
                And Henry put apart, the next for me.
                Exit 
                SCENE II. Bury St. Edmund's. A room of state. 
                Enter certain Murderers, hastily First Murderer Run to my Lord of Suffolk; let him know
                We have dispatch'd the duke, as he commanded.
                Second Murderer O that it were to do! What have we done?
                Didst ever hear a man so penitent?
                Enter SUFFOLK
                First Murder Here comes my lord.
                SUFFOLK Now, sirs, have you dispatch'd this thing?
                First Murderer Ay, my good lord, he's dead.
                SUFFOLK Why, that's well said. Go, get you to my house;
                I will reward you for this venturous deed.
                The king and all the peers are here at hand.
                Have you laid fair the bed? Is all things well,
                According as I gave directions?
                First Murderer 'Tis, my good lord.
                SUFFOLK Away! be gone.
                Exeunt Murderers
                Sound trumpets. Enter KING HENRY VI, QUEEN MARGARET, CARDINAL, SOMERSET, with Attendants
                KING HENRY VI Go, call our uncle to our presence straight;
                Say we intend to try his grace to-day.
                If he be guilty, as 'tis published.
                SUFFOLK I'll call him presently, my noble lord.
                Exit
                KING HENRY VI Lords, take your places; and, I pray you all,
                Proceed no straiter 'gainst our uncle Gloucester
                Than from true evidence of good esteem
                He be approved in practise culpable.
                QUEEN MARGARET God forbid any malice should prevail,
                That faultless may condemn a nobleman!
                Pray God he may acquit him of suspicion!
                KING HENRY VI I thank thee, Meg; these words content me much.
                Re-enter SUFFOLK
                How now! why look'st thou pale? why tremblest thou?
                Where is our uncle? what's the matter, Suffolk?
                SUFFOLK Dead in his bed, my lord; Gloucester is dead.
                QUEEN MARGARET Marry, God forfend!
                CARDINAL God's secret judgment: I did dream to-night
                The duke was dumb and could not speak a word.
                KING HENRY VI swoons
                QUEEN MARGARET How fares my lord? Help, lords! the king is dead.
                SOMERSET Rear up his body; wring him by the nose.
                QUEEN MARGARET Run, go, help, help! O Henry, ope thine eyes!
                SUFFOLK He doth revive again: madam, be patient.
                KING HENRY VI O heavenly God!
                QUEEN MARGARET How fares my gracious lord?
                SUFFOLK Comfort, my sovereign! gracious Henry, comfort!
                KING HENRY VI What, doth my Lord of Suffolk comfort me?
                Came he right now to sing a raven's note,
                Whose dismal tune bereft my vital powers;
                And thinks he that the chirping of a wren,
                By crying comfort from a hollow breast,
                Can chase away the first-conceived sound?
                Hide not thy poison with such sugar'd words;
                Lay not thy hands on me; forbear, I say;
                Their touch affrights me as a serpent's sting.
                Thou baleful messenger, out of my sight!
                Upon thy eye-balls murderous tyranny
                Sits in grim majesty, to fright the world.
                Look not upon me, for thine eyes are wounding:
                Yet do not go away: come, basilisk,
                And kill the innocent gazer with thy sight;
                For in the shade of death I shall find joy;
                In life but double death, now Gloucester's dead.
                QUEEN MARGARET Why do you rate my Lord of Suffolk thus?
                Although the duke was enemy to him,
                Yet he most Christian-like laments his death:
                And for myself, foe as he was to me,
                Might liquid tears or heart-offending groans
                Or blood-consuming sighs recall his life,
                I would be blind with weeping, sick with groans,
                Look pale as primrose with blood-drinking sighs,
                And all to have the noble duke alive.
                What know I how the world may deem of me?
                For it is known we were but hollow friends:
                It may be judged I made the duke away;
                So shall my name with slander's tongue be wounded,
                And princes' courts be fill'd with my reproach.
                This get I by his death: ay me, unhappy!
                To be a queen, and crown'd with infamy!
                KING HENRY VI Ah, woe is me for Gloucester, wretched man!
                QUEEN MARGARET Be woe for me, more wretched than he is.
                What, dost thou turn away and hide thy face?
                I am no loathsome leper; look on me.
                What! art thou, like the adder, waxen deaf?
                Be poisonous too and kill thy forlorn queen.
                Is all thy comfort shut in Gloucester's tomb?
                Why, then, dame Margaret was ne'er thy joy.
                Erect his statue and worship it,
                And make my image but an alehouse sign.
                Was I for this nigh wreck'd upon the sea
                And twice by awkward wind from England's bank
                Drove back again unto my native clime?
                What boded this, but well forewarning wind
                Did seem to say 'Seek not a scorpion's nest,
                Nor set no footing on this unkind shore'?
                What did I then, but cursed the gentle gusts
                And he that loosed them forth their brazen caves:
                And bid them blow towards England's blessed shore,
                Or turn our stern upon a dreadful rock
                Yet AEolus would not be a murderer,
                But left that hateful office unto thee:
                The pretty-vaulting sea refused to drown me,
                Knowing that thou wouldst have me drown'd on shore,
                With tears as salt as sea, through thy unkindness:
                The splitting rocks cower'd in the sinking sands
                And would not dash me with their ragged sides,
                Because thy flinty heart, more hard than they,
                Might in thy palace perish Margaret.
                As far as I could ken thy chalky cliffs,
                When from thy shore the tempest beat us back,
                I stood upon the hatches in the storm,
                And when the dusky sky began to rob
                My earnest-gaping sight of thy land's view,
                I took a costly jewel from my neck,
                A heart it was, bound in with diamonds,
                And threw it towards thy land: the sea received it,
                And so I wish'd thy body might my heart:
                And even with this I lost fair England's view
                And bid mine eyes be packing with my heart
                And call'd them blind and dusky spectacles,
                For losing ken of Albion's wished coast.
                How often have I tempted Suffolk's tongue,
                The agent of thy foul inconstancy,
                To sit and witch me, as Ascanius did
                When he to madding Dido would unfold
                His father's acts commenced in burning Troy!
                Am I not witch'd like her? or thou not false like him?
                Ay me, I can no more! die, Margaret!
                For Henry weeps that thou dost live so long.
                Noise within. Enter WARWICK, SALISBURY, and many Commons
                WARWICK It is reported, mighty sovereign,
                That good Duke Humphrey traitorously is murder'd
                By Suffolk and the Cardinal Beaufort's means.
                The commons, like an angry hive of bees
                That want their leader, scatter up and down
                And care not who they sting in his revenge.
                Myself have calm'd their spleenful mutiny,
                Until they hear the order of his death.
                KING HENRY VI That he is dead, good Warwick, 'tis too true;
                But how he died God knows, not Henry:
                Enter his chamber, view his breathless corpse,
                And comment then upon his sudden death.
                WARWICK That shall I do, my liege. Stay, Salisbury,
                With the rude multitude till I return.
                Exit
                KING HENRY VI O Thou that judgest all things, stay my thoughts,
                My thoughts, that labour to persuade my soul
                Some violent hands were laid on Humphrey's life!
                If my suspect be false, forgive me, God,
                For judgment only doth belong to thee.
                Fain would I go to chafe his paly lips
                With twenty thousand kisses, and to drain
                Upon his face an ocean of salt tears,
                To tell my love unto his dumb deaf trunk,
                And with my fingers feel his hand unfeeling:
                But all in vain are these mean obsequies;
                And to survey his dead and earthly image,
                What were it but to make my sorrow greater?
                Re-enter WARWICK and others, bearing GLOUCESTER'S body on a bed
                WARWICK Come hither, gracious sovereign, view this body.
                KING HENRY VI That is to see how deep my grave is made;
                For with his soul fled all my worldly solace,
                For seeing him I see my life in death.
                WARWICK As surely as my soul intends to live
                With that dread King that took our state upon him
                To free us from his father's wrathful curse,
                I do believe that violent hands were laid
                Upon the life of this thrice-famed duke.
                SUFFOLK A dreadful oath, sworn with a solemn tongue!
                What instance gives Lord Warwick for his vow?
                WARWICK See how the blood is settled in his face.
                Oft have I seen a timely-parted ghost,
                Of ashy semblance, meagre, pale and bloodless,
                Being all descended to the labouring heart;
                Who, in the conflict that it holds with death,
                Attracts the same for aidance 'gainst the enemy;
                Which with the heart there cools and ne'er returneth
                To blush and beautify the cheek again.
                But see, his face is black and full of blood,
                His eye-balls further out than when he lived,
                Staring full ghastly like a strangled man;
                His hair uprear'd, his nostrils stretched with struggling;
                His hands abroad display'd, as one that grasp'd
                And tugg'd for life and was by strength subdued:
                Look, on the sheets his hair you see, is sticking;
                His well-proportion'd beard made rough and rugged,
                Like to the summer's corn by tempest lodged.
                It cannot be but he was murder'd here;
                The least of all these signs were probable.
                SUFFOLK Why, Warwick, who should do the duke to death?
                Myself and Beaufort had him in protection;
                And we, I hope, sir, are no murderers.
                WARWICK But both of you were vow'd Duke Humphrey's foes,
                And you, forsooth, had the good duke to keep:
                'Tis like you would not feast him like a friend;
                And 'tis well seen he found an enemy.
                QUEEN MARGARET Then you, belike, suspect these noblemen
                As guilty of Duke Humphrey's timeless death.
                WARWICK Who finds the heifer dead and bleeding fresh
                And sees fast by a butcher with an axe,
                But will suspect 'twas he that made the slaughter?
                Who finds the partridge in the puttock's nest,
                But may imagine how the bird was dead,
                Although the kite soar with unbloodied beak?
                Even so suspicious is this tragedy.
                QUEEN MARGARET Are you the butcher, Suffolk? Where's your knife?
                Is Beaufort term'd a kite? Where are his talons?
                SUFFOLK I wear no knife to slaughter sleeping men;
                But here's a vengeful sword, rusted with ease,
                That shall be scoured in his rancorous heart
                That slanders me with murder's crimson badge.
                Say, if thou darest, proud Lord of Warwick-shire,
                That I am faulty in Duke Humphrey's death.
                Exeunt CARDINAL, SOMERSET, and others
                WARWICK What dares not Warwick, if false Suffolk dare him?
                QUEEN MARGARET He dares not calm his contumelious spirit
                Nor cease to be an arrogant controller,
                Though Suffolk dare him twenty thousand times.
                WARWICK Madam, be still; with reverence may I say;
                For every word you speak in his behalf
                Is slander to your royal dignity.
                SUFFOLK Blunt-witted lord, ignoble in demeanor!
                If ever lady wrong'd her lord so much,
                Thy mother took into her blameful bed
                Some stern untutor'd churl, and noble stock
                Was graft with crab-tree slip; whose fruit thou art,
                And never of the Nevils' noble race.
                WARWICK But that the guilt of murder bucklers thee
                And I should rob the deathsman of his fee,
                Quitting thee thereby of ten thousand shames,
                And that my sovereign's presence makes me mild,
                I would, false murderous coward, on thy knee
                Make thee beg pardon for thy passed speech,
                And say it was thy mother that thou meant'st
                That thou thyself was born in bastardy;
                And after all this fearful homage done,
                Give thee thy hire and send thy soul to hell,
                Pernicious blood-sucker of sleeping men!
                SUFFOLK Thou shall be waking well I shed thy blood,
                If from this presence thou darest go with me.
                WARWICK Away even now, or I will drag thee hence:
                Unworthy though thou art, I'll cope with thee
                And do some service to Duke Humphrey's ghost.
                Exeunt SUFFOLK and WARWICK
                KING HENRY VI What stronger breastplate than a heart untainted!
                Thrice is he armed that hath his quarrel just,
                And he but naked, though lock'd up in steel
                Whose conscience with injustice is corrupted.
                A noise within
                QUEEN MARGARET What noise is this?
                Re-enter SUFFOLK and WARWICK, with their weapons drawn
                KING HENRY VI Why, how now, lords! your wrathful weapons drawn
                Here in our presence! dare you be so bold?
                Why, what tumultuous clamour have we here?
                SUFFOLK The traitorous Warwick with the men of Bury
                Set all upon me, mighty sovereign.
                SALISBURY [To the Commons, entering] Sirs, stand apart;
                the king shall know your mind.
                Dread lord, the commons send you word by me,
                Unless Lord Suffolk straight be done to death,
                Or banished fair England's territories,
                They will by violence tear him from your palace
                And torture him with grievous lingering death.
                They say, by him the good Duke Humphrey died;
                They say, in him they fear your highness' death;
                And mere instinct of love and loyalty,
                Free from a stubborn opposite intent,
                As being thought to contradict your liking,
                Makes them thus forward in his banishment.
                They say, in care of your most royal person,
                That if your highness should intend to sleep
                And charge that no man should disturb your rest
                In pain of your dislike or pain of death,
                Yet, notwithstanding such a strait edict,
                Were there a serpent seen, with forked tongue,
                That slily glided towards your majesty,
                It were but necessary you were waked,
                Lest, being suffer'd in that harmful slumber,
                The mortal worm might make the sleep eternal;
                And therefore do they cry, though you forbid,
                That they will guard you, whether you will or no,
                From such fell serpents as false Suffolk is,
                With whose envenomed and fatal sting,
                Your loving uncle, twenty times his worth,
                They say, is shamefully bereft of life.
                Commons [Within] An answer from the king, my
                Lord of Salisbury!
                SUFFOLK 'Tis like the commons, rude unpolish'd hinds,
                Could send such message to their sovereign:
                But you, my lord, were glad to be employ'd,
                To show how quaint an orator you are:
                But all the honour Salisbury hath won
                Is, that he was the lord ambassador
                Sent from a sort of tinkers to the king.
                Commons [Within] An answer from the king, or we will all break in!
                KING HENRY VI Go, Salisbury, and tell them all from me.
                I thank them for their tender loving care;
                And had I not been cited so by them,
                Yet did I purpose as they do entreat;
                For, sure, my thoughts do hourly prophesy
                Mischance unto my state by Suffolk's means:
                And therefore, by His majesty I swear,
                Whose far unworthy deputy I am,
                He shall not breathe infection in this air
                But three days longer, on the pain of death.
                Exit SALISBURY
                QUEEN MARGARET O Henry, let me plead for gentle Suffolk!
                KING HENRY VI Ungentle queen, to call him gentle Suffolk!
                No more, I say: if thou dost plead for him,
                Thou wilt but add increase unto my wrath.
                Had I but said, I would have kept my word,
                But when I swear, it is irrevocable.
                If, after three days' space, thou here be'st found
                On any ground that I am ruler of,
                The world shall not be ransom for thy life.
                Come, Warwick, come, good Warwick, go with me;
                I have great matters to impart to thee.
                Exeunt all but QUEEN MARGARET and SUFFOLK
                QUEEN MARGARET Mischance and sorrow go along with you!
                Heart's discontent and sour affliction
                Be playfellows to keep you company!
                There's two of you; the devil make a third!
                And threefold vengeance tend upon your steps!
                SUFFOLK Cease, gentle queen, these execrations,
                And let thy Suffolk take his heavy leave.
                QUEEN MARGARET Fie, coward woman and soft-hearted wretch!
                Hast thou not spirit to curse thine enemy?
                SUFFOLK A plague upon them! wherefore should I curse them?
                Would curses kill, as doth the mandrake's groan,
                I would invent as bitter-searching terms,
                As curst, as harsh and horrible to hear,
                Deliver'd strongly through my fixed teeth,
                With full as many signs of deadly hate,
                As lean-faced Envy in her loathsome cave:
                My tongue should stumble in mine earnest words;
                Mine eyes should sparkle like the beaten flint;
                Mine hair be fixed on end, as one distract;
                Ay, every joint should seem to curse and ban:
                And even now my burthen'd heart would break,
                Should I not curse them. Poison be their drink!
                Gall, worse than gall, the daintiest that they taste!
                Their sweetest shade a grove of cypress trees!
                Their chiefest prospect murdering basilisks!
                Their softest touch as smart as lizards' sting!
                Their music frightful as the serpent's hiss,
                And boding screech-owls make the concert full!
                All the foul terrors in dark-seated hell--
                QUEEN MARGARET Enough, sweet Suffolk; thou torment'st thyself;
                And these dread curses, like the sun 'gainst glass,
                Or like an overcharged gun, recoil,
                And turn the force of them upon thyself.
                SUFFOLK You bade me ban, and will you bid me leave?
                Now, by the ground that I am banish'd from,
                Well could I curse away a winter's night,
                Though standing naked on a mountain top,
                Where biting cold would never let grass grow,
                And think it but a minute spent in sport.
                QUEEN MARGARET O, let me entreat thee cease. Give me thy hand,
                That I may dew it with my mournful tears;
                Nor let the rain of heaven wet this place,
                To wash away my woful monuments.
                O, could this kiss be printed in thy hand,
                That thou mightst think upon these by the seal,
                Through whom a thousand sighs are breathed for thee!
                So, get thee gone, that I may know my grief;
                'Tis but surmised whiles thou art standing by,
                As one that surfeits thinking on a want.
                I will repeal thee, or, be well assured,
                Adventure to be banished myself:
                And banished I am, if but from thee.
                Go; speak not to me; even now be gone.
                O, go not yet! Even thus two friends condemn'd
                Embrace and kiss and take ten thousand leaves,
                Loather a hundred times to part than die.
                Yet now farewell; and farewell life with thee!
                SUFFOLK Thus is poor Suffolk ten times banished;
                Once by the king, and three times thrice by thee.
                'Tis not the land I care for, wert thou thence;
                A wilderness is populous enough,
                So Suffolk had thy heavenly company:
                For where thou art, there is the world itself,
                With every several pleasure in the world,
                And where thou art not, desolation.
                I can no more: live thou to joy thy life;
                Myself no joy in nought but that thou livest.
                Enter VAUX
                QUEEN MARGARET Wither goes Vaux so fast? what news, I prithee?
                VAUX To signify unto his majesty
                That Cardinal Beaufort is at point of death;
                For suddenly a grievous sickness took him,
                That makes him gasp and stare and catch the air,
                Blaspheming God and cursing men on earth.
                Sometimes he talks as if Duke Humphrey's ghost
                Were by his side; sometime he calls the king,
                And whispers to his pillow, as to him,
                The secrets of his overcharged soul;
                And I am sent to tell his majesty
                That even now he cries aloud for him.
                QUEEN MARGARET Go tell this heavy message to the king.
                Exit VAUX
                Ay me! what is this world! what news are these!
                But wherefore grieve I at an hour's poor loss,
                Omitting Suffolk's exile, my soul's treasure?
                Why only, Suffolk, mourn I not for thee,
                And with the southern clouds contend in tears,
                Theirs for the earth's increase, mine for my sorrows?
                Now get thee hence: the king, thou know'st, is coming;
                If thou be found by me, thou art but dead.
                SUFFOLK If I depart from thee, I cannot live;
                And in thy sight to die, what were it else
                But like a pleasant slumber in thy lap?
                Here could I breathe my soul into the air,
                As mild and gentle as the cradle-babe
                Dying with mother's dug between its lips:
                Where, from thy sight, I should be raging mad,
                And cry out for thee to close up mine eyes,
                To have thee with thy lips to stop my mouth;
                So shouldst thou either turn my flying soul,
                Or I should breathe it so into thy body,
                And then it lived in sweet Elysium.
                To die by thee were but to die in jest;
                From thee to die were torture more than death:
                O, let me stay, befall what may befall!
                QUEEN MARGARET Away! though parting be a fretful corrosive,
                It is applied to a deathful wound.
                To France, sweet Suffolk: let me hear from thee;
                For wheresoe'er thou art in this world's globe,
                I'll have an Iris that shall find thee out.
                SUFFOLK I go.
                QUEEN MARGARET And take my heart with thee.
                SUFFOLK A jewel, lock'd into the wofull'st cask
                That ever did contain a thing of worth.
                Even as a splitted bark, so sunder we
                This way fall I to death.
                QUEEN MARGARET This way for me.
                Exeunt severally 
                SCENE III. A bedchamber. 
                Enter the KING, SALISBURY, WARWICK, to the CARDINAL in bed KING HENRY VI How fares my lord? speak, Beaufort, to
                thy sovereign.
                CARDINAL If thou be'st death, I'll give thee England's treasure,
                Enough to purchase such another island,
                So thou wilt let me live, and feel no pain.
                KING HENRY VI Ah, what a sign it is of evil life,
                Where death's approach is seen so terrible!
                WARWICK Beaufort, it is thy sovereign speaks to thee.
                CARDINAL Bring me unto my trial when you will.
                Died he not in his bed? where should he die?
                Can I make men live, whether they will or no?
                O, torture me no more! I will confess.
                Alive again? then show me where he is:
                I'll give a thousand pound to look upon him.
                He hath no eyes, the dust hath blinded them.
                Comb down his hair; look, look! it stands upright,
                Like lime-twigs set to catch my winged soul.
                Give me some drink; and bid the apothecary
                Bring the strong poison that I bought of him.
                KING HENRY VI O thou eternal Mover of the heavens.
                Look with a gentle eye upon this wretch!
                O, beat away the busy meddling fiend
                That lays strong siege unto this wretch's soul.
                And from his bosom purge this black despair!
                WARWICK See, how the pangs of death do make him grin!
                SALISBURY Disturb him not; let him pass peaceably.
                KING HENRY VI Peace to his soul, if God's good pleasure be!
                Lord cardinal, if thou think'st on heaven's bliss,
                Hold up thy hand, make signal of thy hope.
                He dies, and makes no sign. O God, forgive him!
                WARWICK So bad a death argues a monstrous life.
                KING HENRY VI Forbear to judge, for we are sinners all.
                Close up his eyes and draw the curtain close;
                And let us all to meditation.
                Exeunt
                ACT IV SCENE I. The coast of Kent. 
                Alarum. Fight at sea. Ordnance goes off. Enter a Captain, a Master, a Master's-mate, WALTER WHITMORE, and others; with them SUFFOLK, and others, prisoners Captain The gaudy, blabbing and remorseful day
                Is crept into the bosom of the sea;
                And now loud-howling wolves arouse the jades
                That drag the tragic melancholy night;
                Who, with their drowsy, slow and flagging wings,
                Clip dead men's graves and from their misty jaws
                Breathe foul contagious darkness in the air.
                Therefore bring forth the soldiers of our prize;
                For, whilst our pinnace anchors in the Downs,
                Here shall they make their ransom on the sand,
                Or with their blood stain this discolour'd shore.
                Master, this prisoner freely give I thee;
                And thou that art his mate, make boot of this;
                The other, Walter Whitmore, is thy share.
                First Gentleman What is my ransom, master? let me know.
                Master A thousand crowns, or else lay down your head.
                Master's-Mate And so much shall you give, or off goes yours.
                Captain What, think you much to pay two thousand crowns,
                And bear the name and port of gentlemen?
                Cut both the villains' throats; for die you shall:
                The lives of those which we have lost in fight
                Be counterpoised with such a petty sum!
                First Gentleman I'll give it, sir; and therefore spare my life.
                Second Gentleman And so will I and write home for it straight.
                WHITMORE I lost mine eye in laying the prize aboard,
                And therefore to revenge it, shalt thou die;
                To SUFFOLK
                And so should these, if I might have my will.
                Captain Be not so rash; take ransom, let him live.
                SUFFOLK Look on my George; I am a gentleman:
                Rate me at what thou wilt, thou shalt be paid.
                WHITMORE And so am I; my name is Walter Whitmore.
                How now! why start'st thou? what, doth
                death affright?
                SUFFOLK Thy name affrights me, in whose sound is death.
                A cunning man did calculate my birth
                And told me that by water I should die:
                Yet let not this make thee be bloody-minded;
                Thy name is Gaultier, being rightly sounded.
                WHITMORE Gaultier or Walter, which it is, I care not:
                Never yet did base dishonour blur our name,
                But with our sword we wiped away the blot;
                Therefore, when merchant-like I sell revenge,
                Broke be my sword, my arms torn and defaced,
                And I proclaim'd a coward through the world!
                SUFFOLK Stay, Whitmore; for thy prisoner is a prince,
                The Duke of Suffolk, William de la Pole.
                WHITMORE The Duke of Suffolk muffled up in rags!
                SUFFOLK Ay, but these rags are no part of the duke:
                Jove sometimes went disguised, and why not I?
                Captain But Jove was never slain, as thou shalt be.
                SUFFOLK Obscure and lowly swain, King Henry's blood,
                The honourable blood of Lancaster,
                Must not be shed by such a jaded groom.
                Hast thou not kiss'd thy hand and held my stirrup?
                Bare-headed plodded by my foot-cloth mule
                And thought thee happy when I shook my head?
                How often hast thou waited at my cup,
                Fed from my trencher, kneel'd down at the board.
                When I have feasted with Queen Margaret?
                Remember it and let it make thee crest-fall'n,
                Ay, and allay this thy abortive pride;
                How in our voiding lobby hast thou stood
                And duly waited for my coming forth?
                This hand of mine hath writ in thy behalf,
                And therefore shall it charm thy riotous tongue.
                WHITMORE Speak, captain, shall I stab the forlorn swain?
                Captain First let my words stab him, as he hath me.
                SUFFOLK Base slave, thy words are blunt and so art thou.
                Captain Convey him hence and on our longboat's side
                Strike off his head.
                SUFFOLK Thou darest not, for thy own.
                Captain Yes, Pole.
                SUFFOLK Pole!
                Captain Pool! Sir Pool! lord!
                Ay, kennel, puddle, sink; whose filth and dirt
                Troubles the silver spring where England drinks.
                Now will I dam up this thy yawning mouth
                For swallowing the treasure of the realm:
                Thy lips that kiss'd the queen shall sweep the ground;
                And thou that smiledst at good Duke Humphrey's death,
                Against the senseless winds shalt grin in vain,
                Who in contempt shall hiss at thee again:
                And wedded be thou to the hags of hell,
                For daring to affy a mighty lord
                Unto the daughter of a worthless king,
                Having neither subject, wealth, nor diadem.
                By devilish policy art thou grown great,
                And, like ambitious Sylla, overgorged
                With gobbets of thy mother's bleeding heart.
                By thee Anjou and Maine were sold to France,
                The false revolting Normans thorough thee
                Disdain to call us lord, and Picardy
                Hath slain their governors, surprised our forts,
                And sent the ragged soldiers wounded home.
                The princely Warwick, and the Nevils all,
                Whose dreadful swords were never drawn in vain,
                As hating thee, are rising up in arms:
                And now the house of York, thrust from the crown
                By shameful murder of a guiltless king
                And lofty proud encroaching tyranny,
                Burns with revenging fire; whose hopeful colours
                Advance our half-faced sun, striving to shine,
                Under the which is writ 'Invitis nubibus.'
                The commons here in Kent are up in arms:
                And, to conclude, reproach and beggary
                Is crept into the palace of our king.
                And all by thee. Away! convey him hence.
                SUFFOLK O that I were a god, to shoot forth thunder
                Upon these paltry, servile, abject drudges!
                Small things make base men proud: this villain here,
                Being captain of a pinnace, threatens more
                Than Bargulus the strong Illyrian pirate.
                Drones suck not eagles' blood but rob beehives:
                It is impossible that I should die
                By such a lowly vassal as thyself.
                Thy words move rage and not remorse in me:
                I go of message from the queen to France;
                I charge thee waft me safely cross the Channel.
                Captain Walter,--
                WHITMORE Come, Suffolk, I must waft thee to thy death.
                SUFFOLK Gelidus timor occupat artus it is thee I fear.
                WHITMORE Thou shalt have cause to fear before I leave thee.
                What, are ye daunted now? now will ye stoop?
                First Gentleman My gracious lord, entreat him, speak him fair.
                SUFFOLK Suffolk's imperial tongue is stern and rough,
                Used to command, untaught to plead for favour.
                Far be it we should honour such as these
                With humble suit: no, rather let my head
                Stoop to the block than these knees bow to any
                Save to the God of heaven and to my king;
                And sooner dance upon a bloody pole
                Than stand uncover'd to the vulgar groom.
                True nobility is exempt from fear:
                More can I bear than you dare execute.
                Captain Hale him away, and let him talk no more.
                SUFFOLK Come, soldiers, show what cruelty ye can,
                That this my death may never be forgot!
                Great men oft die by vile bezonians:
                A Roman sworder and banditto slave
                Murder'd sweet Tully; Brutus' bastard hand
                Stabb'd Julius Caesar; savage islanders
                Pompey the Great; and Suffolk dies by pirates.
                Exeunt Whitmore and others with Suffolk
                Captain And as for these whose ransom we have set,
                It is our pleasure one of them depart;
                Therefore come you with us and let him go.
                Exeunt all but the First Gentleman
                Re-enter WHITMORE with SUFFOLK's body
                WHITMORE There let his head and lifeless body lie,
                Until the queen his mistress bury it.
                Exit
                First Gentleman O barbarous and bloody spectacle!
                His body will I bear unto the king:
                If he revenge it not, yet will his friends;
                So will the queen, that living held him dear.
                Exit with the body 
                SCENE II. Blackheath. 
                Enter GEORGE BEVIS and JOHN HOLLAND BEVIS Come, and get thee a sword, though made of a lath;
                they have been up these two days.
                HOLLAND They have the more need to sleep now, then.
                BEVIS I tell thee, Jack Cade the clothier means to dress
                the commonwealth, and turn it, and set a new nap upon it.
                HOLLAND So he had need, for 'tis threadbare. Well, I say it
                was never merry world in England since gentlemen came up.
                BEVIS O miserable age! virtue is not regarded in handicrafts-men.
                HOLLAND The nobility think scorn to go in leather aprons.
                BEVIS Nay, more, the king's council are no good workmen.
                HOLLAND True; and yet it is said, labour in thy vocation;
                which is as much to say as, let the magistrates be
                labouring men; and therefore should we be
                magistrates.
                BEVIS Thou hast hit it; for there's no better sign of a
                brave mind than a hard hand.
                HOLLAND I see them! I see them! there's Best's son, the
                tanner of Wingham,--
                BEVIS He shall have the skin of our enemies, to make
                dog's-leather of.
                HOLLAND And Dick the Butcher,--
                BEVIS Then is sin struck down like an ox, and iniquity's
                throat cut like a calf.
                HOLLAND And Smith the weaver,--
                BEVIS Argo, their thread of life is spun.
                HOLLAND Come, come, let's fall in with them.
                Drum. Enter CADE, DICK the Butcher, SMITH the Weaver, and a Sawyer, with infinite numbers
                CADE We John Cade, so termed of our supposed father,--
                DICK [Aside] Or rather, of stealing a cade of herrings.
                CADE For our enemies shall fall before us, inspired with
                the spirit of putting down kings and princes,
                --Command silence.
                DICK Silence!
                CADE My father was a Mortimer,--
                DICK [Aside] He was an honest man, and a good
                bricklayer.
                CADE My mother a Plantagenet,--
                DICK [Aside] I knew her well; she was a midwife.
                CADE My wife descended of the Lacies,--
                DICK [Aside] She was, indeed, a pedler's daughter, and
                sold many laces.
                SMITH [Aside] But now of late, notable to travel with her
                furred pack, she washes bucks here at home.
                CADE Therefore am I of an honourable house.
                DICK [Aside] Ay, by my faith, the field is honourable;
                and there was he borne, under a hedge, for his
                father had never a house but the cage.
                CADE Valiant I am.
                SMITH [Aside] A' must needs; for beggary is valiant.
                CADE I am able to endure much.
                DICK [Aside] No question of that; for I have seen him
                whipped three market-days together.
                CADE I fear neither sword nor fire.
                SMITH [Aside] He need not fear the sword; for his coat is of proof.
                DICK [Aside] But methinks he should stand in fear of
                fire, being burnt i' the hand for stealing of sheep.
                CADE Be brave, then; for your captain is brave, and vows
                reformation. There shall be in England seven
                halfpenny loaves sold for a penny: the three-hooped
                pot; shall have ten hoops and I will make it felony
                to drink small beer: all the realm shall be in
                common; and in Cheapside shall my palfrey go to
                grass: and when I am king, as king I will be,--
                ALL God save your majesty!
                CADE I thank you, good people: there shall be no money;
                all shall eat and drink on my score; and I will
                apparel them all in one livery, that they may agree
                like brothers and worship me their lord.
                DICK The first thing we do, let's kill all the lawyers.
                CADE Nay, that I mean to do. Is not this a lamentable
                thing, that of the skin of an innocent lamb should
                be made parchment? that parchment, being scribbled
                o'er, should undo a man? Some say the bee stings:
                but I say, 'tis the bee's wax; for I did but seal
                once to a thing, and I was never mine own man
                since. How now! who's there?
                Enter some, bringing forward the Clerk of Chatham
                SMITH The clerk of Chatham: he can write and read and
                cast accompt.
                CADE O monstrous!
                SMITH We took him setting of boys' copies.
                CADE Here's a villain!
                SMITH Has a book in his pocket with red letters in't.
                CADE Nay, then, he is a conjurer.
                DICK Nay, he can make obligations, and write court-hand.
                CADE I am sorry for't: the man is a proper man, of mine
                honour; unless I find him guilty, he shall not die.
                Come hither, sirrah, I must examine thee: what is thy name?
                Clerk Emmanuel.
                DICK They use to write it on the top of letters: 'twill
                go hard with you.
                CADE Let me alone. Dost thou use to write thy name? or
                hast thou a mark to thyself, like an honest
                plain-dealing man?
                CLERK Sir, I thank God, I have been so well brought up
                that I can write my name.
                ALL He hath confessed: away with him! he's a villain
                and a traitor.
                CADE Away with him, I say! hang him with his pen and
                ink-horn about his neck.
                Exit one with the Clerk
                Enter MICHAEL
                MICHAEL Where's our general?
                CADE Here I am, thou particular fellow.
                MICHAEL Fly, fly, fly! Sir Humphrey Stafford and his
                brother are hard by, with the king's forces.
                CADE Stand, villain, stand, or I'll fell thee down. He
                shall be encountered with a man as good as himself:
                he is but a knight, is a'?
                MICHAEL No.
                CADE To equal him, I will make myself a knight presently.
                Kneels
                Rise up Sir John Mortimer.
                Rises
                Now have at him!
                Enter SIR HUMPHREY and WILLIAM STAFFORD, with drum and soldiers
                SIR HUMPHREY Rebellious hinds, the filth and scum of Kent,
                Mark'd for the gallows, lay your weapons down;
                Home to your cottages, forsake this groom:
                The king is merciful, if you revolt.
                WILLIAM STAFFORD But angry, wrathful, and inclined to blood,
                If you go forward; therefore yield, or die.
                CADE As for these silken-coated slaves, I pass not:
                It is to you, good people, that I speak,
                Over whom, in time to come, I hope to reign;
                For I am rightful heir unto the crown.
                SIR HUMPHREY Villain, thy father was a plasterer;
                And thou thyself a shearman, art thou not?
                CADE And Adam was a gardener.
                WILLIAM STAFFORD And what of that?
                CADE Marry, this: Edmund Mortimer, Earl of March.
                Married the Duke of Clarence' daughter, did he not?
                SIR HUMPHREY Ay, sir.
                CADE By her he had two children at one birth.
                WILLIAM STAFFORD That's false.
                CADE Ay, there's the question; but I say, 'tis true:
                The elder of them, being put to nurse,
                Was by a beggar-woman stolen away;
                And, ignorant of his birth and parentage,
                Became a bricklayer when he came to age:
                His son am I; deny it, if you can.
                DICK Nay, 'tis too true; therefore he shall be king.
                SMITH Sir, he made a chimney in my father's house, and
                the bricks are alive at this day to testify it;
                therefore deny it not.
                SIR HUMPHREY And will you credit this base drudge's words,
                That speaks he knows not what?
                ALL Ay, marry, will we; therefore get ye gone.
                WILLIAM STAFFORD Jack Cade, the Duke of York hath taught you this.
                CADE [Aside] He lies, for I invented it myself.
                Go to, sirrah, tell the king from me, that, for his
                father's sake, Henry the Fifth, in whose time boys
                went to span-counter for French crowns, I am content
                he shall reign; but I'll be protector over him.
                DICK And furthermore, well have the Lord Say's head for
                selling the dukedom of Maine.
                CADE And good reason; for thereby is England mained, and
                fain to go with a staff, but that my puissance holds
                it up. Fellow kings, I tell you that that Lord Say
                hath gelded the commonwealth, and made it an eunuch:
                and more than that, he can speak French; and
                therefore he is a traitor.
                SIR HUMPHREY O gross and miserable ignorance!
                CADE Nay, answer, if you can: the Frenchmen are our
                enemies; go to, then, I ask but this: can he that
                speaks with the tongue of an enemy be a good
                counsellor, or no?
                ALL No, no; and therefore we'll have his head.
                WILLIAM STAFFORD Well, seeing gentle words will not prevail,
                Assail them with the army of the king.
                SIR HUMPHREY Herald, away; and throughout every town
                Proclaim them traitors that are up with Cade;
                That those which fly before the battle ends
                May, even in their wives' and children's sight,
                Be hang'd up for example at their doors:
                And you that be the king's friends, follow me.
                Exeunt WILLIAM STAFFORD and SIR HUMPHREY, and soldiers
                CADE And you that love the commons, follow me.
                Now show yourselves men; 'tis for liberty.
                We will not leave one lord, one gentleman:
                Spare none but such as go in clouted shoon;
                For they are thrifty honest men, and such
                As would, but that they dare not, take our parts.
                DICK They are all in order and march toward us.
                CADE But then are we in order when we are most
                out of order. Come, march forward.
                Exeunt 
                SCENE III. Another part of Blackheath. 
                Alarums to the fight, wherein SIR HUMPHREY and WILLIAM STAFFORD are slain. Enter CADE and the rest CADE Where's Dick, the butcher of Ashford?
                DICK Here, sir.
                CADE They fell before thee like sheep and oxen, and thou
                behavedst thyself as if thou hadst been in thine own
                slaughter-house: therefore thus will I reward thee,
                the Lent shall be as long again as it is; and thou
                shalt have a licence to kill for a hundred lacking
                one.
                DICK I desire no more.
                CADE And, to speak truth, thou deservest no less. This
                monument of the victory will I bear;
                Putting on SIR HUMPHREY'S brigandine
                and the bodies shall be dragged at my horse' heels
                till I do come to London, where we will have the
                mayor's sword borne before us.
                DICK If we mean to thrive and do good, break open the
                gaols and let out the prisoners.
                CADE Fear not that, I warrant thee. Come, let's march
                towards London.
                Exeunt 
                SCENE IV. London. The palace. 
                Enter KING HENRY VI with a supplication, and the QUEEN with SUFFOLK'S head, BUCKINGHAM and Lord SAY QUEEN MARGARET Oft have I heard that grief softens the mind,
                And makes it fearful and degenerate;
                Think therefore on revenge and cease to weep.
                But who can cease to weep and look on this?
                Here may his head lie on my throbbing breast:
                But where's the body that I should embrace?
                BUCKINGHAM What answer makes your grace to the rebels'
                supplication?
                KING HENRY VI I'll send some holy bishop to entreat;
                For God forbid so many simple souls
                Should perish by the sword! And I myself,
                Rather than bloody war shall cut them short,
                Will parley with Jack Cade their general:
                But stay, I'll read it over once again.
                QUEEN MARGARET Ah, barbarous villains! hath this lovely face
                Ruled, like a wandering planet, over me,
                And could it not enforce them to relent,
                That were unworthy to behold the same?
                KING HENRY VI Lord Say, Jack Cade hath sworn to have thy head.
                SAY Ay, but I hope your highness shall have his.
                KING HENRY VI How now, madam!
                Still lamenting and mourning for Suffolk's death?
                I fear me, love, if that I had been dead,
                Thou wouldst not have mourn'd so much for me.
                QUEEN MARGARET No, my love, I should not mourn, but die for thee.
                Enter a Messenger
                KING HENRY VI How now! what news? why comest thou in such haste?
                Messenger The rebels are in Southwark; fly, my lord!
                Jack Cade proclaims himself Lord Mortimer,
                Descended from the Duke of Clarence' house,
                And calls your grace usurper openly
                And vows to crown himself in Westminster.
                His army is a ragged multitude
                Of hinds and peasants, rude and merciless:
                Sir Humphrey Stafford and h is brother's death
                Hath given them heart and courage to proceed:
                All scholars, lawyers, courtiers, gentlemen,
                They call false caterpillars, and intend their death.
                KING HENRY VI O graceless men! they know not what they do.
                BUCKINGHAM My gracious lord, return to Killingworth,
                Until a power be raised to put them down.
                QUEEN MARGARET Ah, were the Duke of Suffolk now alive,
                These Kentish rebels would be soon appeased!
                KING HENRY VI Lord Say, the traitors hate thee;
                Therefore away with us to Killingworth.
                SAY So might your grace's person be in danger.
                The sight of me is odious in their eyes;
                And therefore in this city will I stay
                And live alone as secret as I may.
                Enter another Messenger
                Messenger Jack Cade hath gotten London bridge:
                The citizens fly and forsake their houses:
                The rascal people, thirsting after prey,
                Join with the traitor, and they jointly swear
                To spoil the city and your royal court.
                BUCKINGHAM Then linger not, my lord, away, take horse.
                KING HENRY VI Come, Margaret; God, our hope, will succor us.
                QUEEN MARGARET My hope is gone, now Suffolk is deceased.
                KING HENRY VI Farewell, my lord: trust not the Kentish rebels.
                BUCKINGHAM Trust nobody, for fear you be betray'd.
                SAY The trust I have is in mine innocence,
                And therefore am I bold and resolute.
                Exeunt 
                SCENE V. London. The Tower. 
                Enter SCALES upon the Tower, walking. Then enter two or three Citizens below SCALES How now! is Jack Cade slain?
                First Citizen No, my lord, nor likely to be slain; for they have
                won the bridge, killing all those that withstand
                them: the lord mayor craves aid of your honour from
                the Tower, to defend the city from the rebels.
                SCALES Such aid as I can spare you shall command;
                But I am troubled here with them myself;
                The rebels have assay'd to win the Tower.
                But get you to Smithfield, and gather head,
                And thither I will send you Matthew Goffe;
                Fight for your king, your country and your lives;
                And so, farewell, for I must hence again.
                Exeunt 
                SCENE VI. London. Cannon Street. 
                Enter CADE and the rest, and strikes his staff on London-stone CADE Now is Mortimer lord of this city. And here, sitting
                upon London-stone, I charge and command that, of the
                city's cost, the pissing-conduit run nothing but
                claret wine this first year of our reign. And now
                henceforward it shall be treason for any that calls
                me other than Lord Mortimer.
                Enter a Soldier, running
                Soldier Jack Cade! Jack Cade!
                CADE Knock him down there.
                They kill him
                SMITH If this fellow be wise, he'll never call ye Jack
                Cade more: I think he hath a very fair warning.
                DICK My lord, there's an army gathered together in
                Smithfield.
                CADE Come, then, let's go fight with them; but first, go
                and set London bridge on fire; and, if you can, burn
                down the Tower too. Come, let's away.
                Exeunt 
                SCENE VII. London. Smithfield. 
                Alarums. MATTHEW GOFFE is slain, and all the rest. Then enter CADE, with his company. CADE So, sirs: now go some and pull down the Savoy;
                others to the inns of court; down with them all.
                DICK I have a suit unto your lordship.
                CADE Be it a lordship, thou shalt have it for that word.
                DICK Only that the laws of England may come out of your mouth.
                HOLLAND [Aside] Mass, 'twill be sore law, then; for he was
                thrust in the mouth with a spear, and 'tis not whole
                yet.
                SMITH [Aside] Nay, John, it will be stinking law for his
                breath stinks with eating toasted cheese.
                CADE I have thought upon it, it shall be so. Away, burn
                all the records of the realm: my mouth shall be
                the parliament of England.
                HOLLAND [Aside] Then we are like to have biting statutes,
                unless his teeth be pulled out.
                CADE And henceforward all things shall be in common.
                Enter a Messenger
                Messenger My lord, a prize, a prize! here's the Lord Say,
                which sold the towns in France; he that made us pay
                one and twenty fifteens, and one shilling to the
                pound, the last subsidy.
                Enter BEVIS, with Lord SAY
                CADE Well, he shall be beheaded for it ten times. Ah,
                thou say, thou serge, nay, thou buckram lord! now
                art thou within point-blank of our jurisdiction
                regal. What canst thou answer to my majesty for
                giving up of Normandy unto Mounsieur Basimecu, the
                dauphin of France? Be it known unto thee by these
                presence, even the presence of Lord Mortimer, that I
                am the besom that must sweep the court clean of such
                filth as thou art. Thou hast most traitorously
                corrupted the youth of the realm in erecting a
                grammar school; and whereas, before, our forefathers
                had no other books but the score and the tally, thou
                hast caused printing to be used, and, contrary to
                the king, his crown and dignity, thou hast built a
                paper-mill. It will be proved to thy face that thou
                hast men about thee that usually talk of a noun and
                a verb, and such abominable words as no Christian
                ear can endure to hear. Thou hast appointed
                justices of peace, to call poor men before them
                about matters they were not able to answer.
                Moreover, thou hast put them in prison; and because
                they could not read, thou hast hanged them; when,
                indeed, only for that cause they have been most
                worthy to live. Thou dost ride in a foot-cloth, dost thou not?
                SAY What of that?
                CADE Marry, thou oughtest not to let thy horse wear a
                cloak, when honester men than thou go in their hose
                and doublets.
                DICK And work in their shirt too; as myself, for example,
                that am a butcher.
                SAY You men of Kent,--
                DICK What say you of Kent?
                SAY Nothing but this; 'tis 'bona terra, mala gens.'
                CADE Away with him, away with him! he speaks Latin.
                SAY Hear me but speak, and bear me where you will.
                Kent, in the Commentaries Caesar writ,
                Is term'd the civil'st place of this isle:
                Sweet is the country, because full of riches;
                The people liberal, valiant, active, wealthy;
                Which makes me hope you are not void of pity.
                I sold not Maine, I lost not Normandy,
                Yet, to recover them, would lose my life.
                Justice with favour have I always done;
                Prayers and tears have moved me, gifts could never.
                When have I aught exacted at your hands,
                But to maintain the king, the realm and you?
                Large gifts have I bestow'd on learned clerks,
                Because my book preferr'd me to the king,
                And seeing ignorance is the curse of God,
                Knowledge the wing wherewith we fly to heaven,
                Unless you be possess'd with devilish spirits,
                You cannot but forbear to murder me:
                This tongue hath parley'd unto foreign kings
                For your behoof,--
                CADE Tut, when struck'st thou one blow in the field?
                SAY Great men have reaching hands: oft have I struck
                Those that I never saw and struck them dead.
                BEVIS O monstrous coward! what, to come behind folks?
                SAY These cheeks are pale for watching for your good.
                CADE Give him a box o' the ear and that will make 'em red again.
                SAY Long sitting to determine poor men's causes
                Hath made me full of sickness and diseases.
                CADE Ye shall have a hempen caudle, then, and the help of hatchet.
                DICK Why dost thou quiver, man?
                SAY The palsy, and not fear, provokes me.
                CADE Nay, he nods at us, as who should say, I'll be even
                with you: I'll see if his head will stand steadier
                on a pole, or no. Take him away, and behead him.
                SAY Tell me wherein have I offended most?
                Have I affected wealth or honour? speak.
                Are my chests fill'd up with extorted gold?
                Is my apparel sumptuous to behold?
                Whom have I injured, that ye seek my death?
                These hands are free from guiltless bloodshedding,
                This breast from harbouring foul deceitful thoughts.
                O, let me live!
                CADE [Aside] I feel remorse in myself with his words;
                but I'll bridle it: he shall die, an it be but for
                pleading so well for his life. Away with him! he
                has a familiar under his tongue; he speaks not o'
                God's name. Go, take him away, I say, and strike
                off his head presently; and then break into his
                son-in-law's house, Sir James Cromer, and strike off
                his head, and bring them both upon two poles hither.
                ALL It shall be done.
                SAY Ah, countrymen! if when you make your prayers,
                God should be so obdurate as yourselves,
                How would it fare with your departed souls?
                And therefore yet relent, and save my life.
                CADE Away with him! and do as I command ye.
                Exeunt some with Lord SAY
                The proudest peer in the realm shall not wear a head
                on his shoulders, unless he pay me tribute; there
                shall not a maid be married, but she shall pay to me
                her maidenhead ere they have it: men shall hold of
                me in capite; and we charge and command that their
                wives be as free as heart can wish or tongue can tell.
                DICK My lord, when shall we go to Cheapside and take up
                commodities upon our bills?
                CADE Marry, presently.
                ALL O, brave!
                Re-enter one with the heads
                CADE But is not this braver? Let them kiss one another,
                for they loved well when they were alive. Now part
                them again, lest they consult about the giving up of
                some more towns in France. Soldiers, defer the
                spoil of the city until night: for with these borne
                before us, instead of maces, will we ride through
                the streets, and at every corner have them kiss. Away!
                Exeunt 
                SCENE VIII. Southwark. 
                Alarum and retreat. Enter CADE and all his rabblement CADE Up Fish Street! down Saint Magnus' Corner! Kill
                and knock down! throw them into Thames!
                Sound a parley
                What noise is this I hear? Dare any be so bold to
                sound retreat or parley, when I command them kill?
                Enter BUCKINGHAM and CLIFFORD, attended
                BUCKINGHAM Ay, here they be that dare and will disturb thee:
                Know, Cade, we come ambassadors from the king
                Unto the commons whom thou hast misled;
                And here pronounce free pardon to them all
                That will forsake thee and go home in peace.
                CLIFFORD What say ye, countrymen? will ye relent,
                And yield to mercy whilst 'tis offer'd you;
                Or let a rebel lead you to your deaths?
                Who loves the king and will embrace his pardon,
                Fling up his cap, and say 'God save his majesty!'
                Who hateth him and honours not his father,
                Henry the Fifth, that made all France to quake,
                Shake he his weapon at us and pass by.
                ALL God save the king! God save the king!
                CADE What, Buckingham and Clifford, are ye so brave? And
                you, base peasants, do ye believe him? will you
                needs be hanged with your pardons about your necks?
                Hath my sword therefore broke through London gates,
                that you should leave me at the White Hart in
                Southwark? I thought ye would never have given out
                these arms till you had recovered your ancient
                freedom: but you are all recreants and dastards,
                and delight to live in slavery to the nobility. Let
                them break your backs with burthens, take your
                houses over your heads, ravish your wives and
                daughters before your faces: for me, I will make
                shift for one; and so, God's curse light upon you
                all!
                ALL We'll follow Cade, we'll follow Cade!
                CLIFFORD Is Cade the son of Henry the Fifth,
                That thus you do exclaim you'll go with him?
                Will he conduct you through the heart of France,
                And make the meanest of you earls and dukes?
                Alas, he hath no home, no place to fly to;
                Nor knows he how to live but by the spoil,
                Unless by robbing of your friends and us.
                Were't not a shame, that whilst you live at jar,
                The fearful French, whom you late vanquished,
                Should make a start o'er seas and vanquish you?
                Methinks already in this civil broil
                I see them lording it in London streets,
                Crying 'Villiago!' unto all they meet.
                Better ten thousand base-born Cades miscarry
                Than you should stoop unto a Frenchman's mercy.
                To France, to France, and get what you have lost;
                Spare England, for it is your native coast;
                Henry hath money, you are strong and manly;
                God on our side, doubt not of victory.
                ALL A Clifford! a Clifford! we'll follow the king and Clifford.
                CADE Was ever feather so lightly blown to and fro as this
                multitude? The name of Henry the Fifth hales them
                to an hundred mischiefs, and makes them leave me
                desolate. I see them lay their heads together to
                surprise me. My sword make way for me, for here is
                no staying. In despite of the devils and hell, have
                through the very middest of you? and heavens and
                honour be witness, that no want of resolution in me.
                but only my followers' base and ignominious
                treasons, makes me betake me to my heels.
                Exit
                BUCKINGHAM What, is he fled? Go some, and follow him;
                And he that brings his head unto the king
                Shall have a thousand crowns for his reward.
                Exeunt some of them
                Follow me, soldiers: we'll devise a mean
                To reconcile you all unto the king.
                Exeunt 
                SCENE IX. Kenilworth Castle. 
                Sound Trumpets. Enter KING HENRY VI, QUEEN MARGARET, and SOMERSET, on the terrace KING HENRY VI Was ever king that joy'd an earthly throne,
                And could command no more content than I?
                No sooner was I crept out of my cradle
                But I was made a king, at nine months old.
                Was never subject long'd to be a king
                As I do long and wish to be a subject.
                Enter BUCKINGHAM and CLIFFORD
                BUCKINGHAM Health and glad tidings to your majesty!
                KING HENRY VI Why, Buckingham, is the traitor Cade surprised?
                Or is he but retired to make him strong?
                Enter below, multitudes, with halters about their necks
                CLIFFORD He is fled, my lord, and all his powers do yield;
                And humbly thus, with halters on their necks,
                Expect your highness' doom of life or death.
                KING HENRY VI Then, heaven, set ope thy everlasting gates,
                To entertain my vows of thanks and praise!
                Soldiers, this day have you redeemed your lives,
                And show'd how well you love your prince and country:
                Continue still in this so good a mind,
                And Henry, though he be infortunate,
                Assure yourselves, will never be unkind:
                And so, with thanks and pardon to you all,
                I do dismiss you to your several countries.
                ALL God save the king! God save the king!
                Enter a Messenger
                Messenger Please it your grace to be advertised
                The Duke of York is newly come from Ireland,
                And with a puissant and a mighty power
                Of gallowglasses and stout kerns
                Is marching hitherward in proud array,
                And still proclaimeth, as he comes along,
                His arms are only to remove from thee
                The Duke of Somerset, whom he terms traitor.
                KING HENRY VI Thus stands my state, 'twixt Cade and York distress'd.
                Like to a ship that, having 'scaped a tempest,
                Is straightway calm'd and boarded with a pirate:
                But now is Cade driven back, his men dispersed;
                And now is York in arms to second him.
                I pray thee, Buckingham, go and meet him,
                And ask him what's the reason of these arms.
                Tell him I'll send Duke Edmund to the Tower;
                And, Somerset, we'll commit thee thither,
                Until his army be dismiss'd from him.
                SOMERSET My lord,
                I'll yield myself to prison willingly,
                Or unto death, to do my country good.
                KING HENRY VI In any case, be not too rough in terms;
                For he is fierce and cannot brook hard language.
                BUCKINGHAM I will, my lord; and doubt not so to deal
                As all things shall redound unto your good.
                KING HENRY VI Come, wife, let's in, and learn to govern better;
                For yet may England curse my wretched reign.
                Flourish. Exeunt 
                SCENE X. Kent. IDEN's garden. 
                Enter CADE CADE Fie on ambition! fie on myself, that have a sword,
                and yet am ready to famish! These five days have I
                hid me in these woods and durst not peep out, for
                all the country is laid for me; but now am I so
                hungry that if I might have a lease of my life for a
                thousand years I could stay no longer. Wherefore,
                on a brick wall have I climbed into this garden, to
                see if I can eat grass, or pick a sallet another
                while, which is not amiss to cool a man's stomach
                this hot weather. And I think this word 'sallet'
                was born to do me good: for many a time, but for a
                sallet, my brainpan had been cleft with a brown
                bill; and many a time, when I have been dry and
                bravely marching, it hath served me instead of a
                quart pot to drink in; and now the word 'sallet'
                must serve me to feed on.
                Enter IDEN
                IDEN Lord, who would live turmoiled in the court,
                And may enjoy such quiet walks as these?
                This small inheritance my father left me
                Contenteth me, and worth a monarchy.
                I seek not to wax great by others' waning,
                Or gather wealth, I care not, with what envy:
                Sufficeth that I have maintains my state
                And sends the poor well pleased from my gate.
                CADE Here's the lord of the soil come to seize me for a
                stray, for entering his fee-simple without leave.
                Ah, villain, thou wilt betray me, and get a thousand
                crowns of the king carrying my head to him: but
                I'll make thee eat iron like an ostrich, and swallow
                my sword like a great pin, ere thou and I part.
                IDEN Why, rude companion, whatsoe'er thou be,
                I know thee not; why, then, should I betray thee?
                Is't not enough to break into my garden,
                And, like a thief, to come to rob my grounds,
                Climbing my walls in spite of me the owner,
                But thou wilt brave me with these saucy terms?
                CADE Brave thee! ay, by the best blood that ever was
                broached, and beard thee too. Look on me well: I
                have eat no meat these five days; yet, come thou and
                thy five men, and if I do not leave you all as dead
                as a doornail, I pray God I may never eat grass more.
                IDEN Nay, it shall ne'er be said, while England stands,
                That Alexander Iden, an esquire of Kent,
                Took odds to combat a poor famish'd man.
                Oppose thy steadfast-gazing eyes to mine,
                See if thou canst outface me with thy looks:
                Set limb to limb, and thou art far the lesser;
                Thy hand is but a finger to my fist,
                Thy leg a stick compared with this truncheon;
                My foot shall fight with all the strength thou hast;
                And if mine arm be heaved in the air,
                Thy grave is digg'd already in the earth.
                As for words, whose greatness answers words,
                Let this my sword report what speech forbears.
                CADE By my valour, the most complete champion that ever I
                heard! Steel, if thou turn the edge, or cut not out
                the burly-boned clown in chines of beef ere thou
                sleep in thy sheath, I beseech God on my knees thou
                mayst be turned to hobnails.
                Here they fight. CADE falls
                O, I am slain! famine and no other hath slain me:
                let ten thousand devils come against me, and give me
                but the ten meals I have lost, and I'll defy them
                all. Wither, garden; and be henceforth a
                burying-place to all that do dwell in this house,
                because the unconquered soul of Cade is fled.
                IDEN Is't Cade that I have slain, that monstrous traitor?
                Sword, I will hollow thee for this thy deed,
                And hang thee o'er my tomb when I am dead:
                Ne'er shall this blood be wiped from thy point;
                But thou shalt wear it as a herald's coat,
                To emblaze the honour that thy master got.
                CADE Iden, farewell, and be proud of thy victory. Tell
                Kent from me, she hath lost her best man, and exhort
                all the world to be cowards; for I, that never
                feared any, am vanquished by famine, not by valour.
                Dies
                IDEN How much thou wrong'st me, heaven be my judge.
                Die, damned wretch, the curse of her that bare thee;
                And as I thrust thy body in with my sword,
                So wish I, I might thrust thy soul to hell.
                Hence will I drag thee headlong by the heels
                Unto a dunghill which shall be thy grave,
                And there cut off thy most ungracious head;
                Which I will bear in triumph to the king,
                Leaving thy trunk for crows to feed upon.
                Exit
                ACT V SCENE I. Fields between Dartford and Blackheath. 
                Enter YORK, and his army of Irish, with drum and colours YORK From Ireland thus comes York to claim his right,
                And pluck the crown from feeble Henry's head:
                Ring, bells, aloud; burn, bonfires, clear and bright,
                To entertain great England's lawful king.
                Ah! sancta majestas, who would not buy thee dear?
                Let them obey that know not how to rule;
                This hand was made to handle naught but gold.
                I cannot give due action to my words,
                Except a sword or sceptre balance it:
                A sceptre shall it have, have I a soul,
                On which I'll toss the flower-de-luce of France.
                Enter BUCKINGHAM
                Whom have we here? Buckingham, to disturb me?
                The king hath sent him, sure: I must dissemble.
                BUCKINGHAM York, if thou meanest well, I greet thee well.
                YORK Humphrey of Buckingham, I accept thy greeting.
                Art thou a messenger, or come of pleasure?
                BUCKINGHAM A messenger from Henry, our dread liege,
                To know the reason of these arms in peace;
                Or why thou, being a subject as I am,
                Against thy oath and true allegiance sworn,
                Should raise so great a power without his leave,
                Or dare to bring thy force so near the court.
                YORK [Aside] Scarce can I speak, my choler is so great:
                O, I could hew up rocks and fight with flint,
                I am so angry at these abject terms;
                And now, like Ajax Telamonius,
                On sheep or oxen could I spend my fury.
                I am far better born than is the king,
                More like a king, more kingly in my thoughts:
                But I must make fair weather yet a while,
                Till Henry be more weak and I more strong,--
                Buckingham, I prithee, pardon me,
                That I have given no answer all this while;
                My mind was troubled with deep melancholy.
                The cause why I have brought this army hither
                Is to remove proud Somerset from the king,
                Seditious to his grace and to the state.
                BUCKINGHAM That is too much presumption on thy part:
                But if thy arms be to no other end,
                The king hath yielded unto thy demand:
                The Duke of Somerset is in the Tower.
                YORK Upon thine honour, is he prisoner?
                BUCKINGHAM Upon mine honour, he is prisoner.
                YORK Then, Buckingham, I do dismiss my powers.
                Soldiers, I thank you all; disperse yourselves;
                Meet me to-morrow in St. George's field,
                You shall have pay and every thing you wish.
                And let my sovereign, virtuous Henry,
                Command my eldest son, nay, all my sons,
                As pledges of my fealty and love;
                I'll send them all as willing as I live:
                Lands, goods, horse, armour, any thing I have,
                Is his to use, so Somerset may die.
                BUCKINGHAM York, I commend this kind submission:
                We twain will go into his highness' tent.
                Enter KING HENRY VI and Attendants
                KING HENRY VI Buckingham, doth York intend no harm to us,
                That thus he marcheth with thee arm in arm?
                YORK In all submission and humility
                York doth present himself unto your highness.
                KING HENRY VI Then what intends these forces thou dost bring?
                YORK To heave the traitor Somerset from hence,
                And fight against that monstrous rebel Cade,
                Who since I heard to be discomfited.
                Enter IDEN, with CADE'S head
                IDEN If one so rude and of so mean condition
                May pass into the presence of a king,
                Lo, I present your grace a traitor's head,
                The head of Cade, whom I in combat slew.
                KING HENRY VI The head of Cade! Great God, how just art Thou!
                O, let me view his visage, being dead,
                That living wrought me such exceeding trouble.
                Tell me, my friend, art thou the man that slew him?
                IDEN I was, an't like your majesty.
                KING HENRY VI How art thou call'd? and what is thy degree?
                IDEN Alexander Iden, that's my name;
                A poor esquire of Kent, that loves his king.
                BUCKINGHAM So please it you, my lord, 'twere not amiss
                He were created knight for his good service.
                KING HENRY VI Iden, kneel down.
                He kneels
                Rise up a knight.
                We give thee for reward a thousand marks,
                And will that thou henceforth attend on us.
                IDEN May Iden live to merit such a bounty.
                And never live but true unto his liege!
                Rises
                Enter QUEEN MARGARET and SOMERSET
                KING HENRY VI See, Buckingham, Somerset comes with the queen:
                Go, bid her hide him quickly from the duke.
                QUEEN MARGARET For thousand Yorks he shall not hide his head,
                But boldly stand and front him to his face.
                YORK How now! is Somerset at liberty?
                Then, York, unloose thy long-imprison'd thoughts,
                And let thy tongue be equal with thy heart.
                Shall I endure the sight of Somerset?
                False king! why hast thou broken faith with me,
                Knowing how hardly I can brook abuse?
                King did I call thee? no, thou art not king,
                Not fit to govern and rule multitudes,
                Which darest not, no, nor canst not rule a traitor.
                That head of thine doth not become a crown;
                Thy hand is made to grasp a palmer's staff,
                And not to grace an awful princely sceptre.
                That gold must round engirt these brows of mine,
                Whose smile and frown, like to Achilles' spear,
                Is able with the change to kill and cure.
                Here is a hand to hold a sceptre up
                And with the same to act controlling laws.
                Give place: by heaven, thou shalt rule no more
                O'er him whom heaven created for thy ruler.
                SOMERSET O monstrous traitor! I arrest thee, York,
                Of capital treason 'gainst the king and crown;
                Obey, audacious traitor; kneel for grace.
                YORK Wouldst have me kneel? first let me ask of these,
                If they can brook I bow a knee to man.
                Sirrah, call in my sons to be my bail;
                Exit Attendant
                I know, ere they will have me go to ward,
                They'll pawn their swords for my enfranchisement.
                QUEEN MARGARET Call hither Clifford! bid him come amain,
                To say if that the bastard boys of York
                Shall be the surety for their traitor father.
                Exit BUCKINGHAM
                YORK O blood-besotted Neapolitan,
                Outcast of Naples, England's bloody scourge!
                The sons of York, thy betters in their birth,
                Shall be their father's bail; and bane to those
                That for my surety will refuse the boys!
                Enter EDWARD and RICHARD
                See where they come: I'll warrant they'll
                make it good.
                Enter CLIFFORD and YOUNG CLIFFORD
                QUEEN MARGARET And here comes Clifford to deny their bail.
                CLIFFORD Health and all happiness to my lord the king!
                Kneels
                YORK I thank thee, Clifford: say, what news with thee?
                Nay, do not fright us with an angry look;
                We are thy sovereign, Clifford, kneel again;
                For thy mistaking so, we pardon thee.
                CLIFFORD This is my king, York, I do not mistake;
                But thou mistakest me much to think I do:
                To Bedlam with him! is the man grown mad?
                KING HENRY VI Ay, Clifford; a bedlam and ambitious humour
                Makes him oppose himself against his king.
                CLIFFORD He is a traitor; let him to the Tower,
                And chop away that factious pate of his.
                QUEEN MARGARET He is arrested, but will not obey;
                His sons, he says, shall give their words for him.
                YORK Will you not, sons?
                EDWARD Ay, noble father, if our words will serve.
                RICHARD And if words will not, then our weapons shall.
                CLIFFORD Why, what a brood of traitors have we here!
                YORK Look in a glass, and call thy image so:
                I am thy king, and thou a false-heart traitor.
                Call hither to the stake my two brave bears,
                That with the very shaking of their chains
                They may astonish these fell-lurking curs:
                Bid Salisbury and Warwick come to me.
                Enter the WARWICK and SALISBURY
                CLIFFORD Are these thy bears? we'll bait thy bears to death.
                And manacle the bear-ward in their chains,
                If thou darest bring them to the baiting place.
                RICHARD Oft have I seen a hot o'erweening cur
                Run back and bite, because he was withheld;
                Who, being suffer'd with the bear's fell paw,
                Hath clapp'd his tail between his legs and cried:
                And such a piece of service will you do,
                If you oppose yourselves to match Lord Warwick.
                CLIFFORD Hence, heap of wrath, foul indigested lump,
                As crooked in thy manners as thy shape!
                YORK Nay, we shall heat you thoroughly anon.
                CLIFFORD Take heed, lest by your heat you burn yourselves.
                KING HENRY VI Why, Warwick, hath thy knee forgot to bow?
                Old Salisbury, shame to thy silver hair,
                Thou mad misleader of thy brain-sick son!
                What, wilt thou on thy death-bed play the ruffian,
                And seek for sorrow with thy spectacles?
                O, where is faith? O, where is loyalty?
                If it be banish'd from the frosty head,
                Where shall it find a harbour in the earth?
                Wilt thou go dig a grave to find out war,
                And shame thine honourable age with blood?
                Why art thou old, and want'st experience?
                Or wherefore dost abuse it, if thou hast it?
                For shame! in duty bend thy knee to me
                That bows unto the grave with mickle age.
                SALISBURY My lord, I have consider'd with myself
                The title of this most renowned duke;
                And in my conscience do repute his grace
                The rightful heir to England's royal seat.
                KING HENRY VI Hast thou not sworn allegiance unto me?
                SALISBURY I have.
                KING HENRY VI Canst thou dispense with heaven for such an oath?
                SALISBURY It is great sin to swear unto a sin,
                But greater sin to keep a sinful oath.
                Who can be bound by any solemn vow
                To do a murderous deed, to rob a man,
                To force a spotless virgin's chastity,
                To reave the orphan of his patrimony,
                To wring the widow from her custom'd right,
                And have no other reason for this wrong
                But that he was bound by a solemn oath?
                QUEEN MARGARET A subtle traitor needs no sophister.
                KING HENRY VI Call Buckingham, and bid him arm himself.
                YORK Call Buckingham, and all the friends thou hast,
                I am resolved for death or dignity.
                CLIFFORD The first I warrant thee, if dreams prove true.
                WARWICK You were best to go to bed and dream again,
                To keep thee from the tempest of the field.
                CLIFFORD I am resolved to bear a greater storm
                Than any thou canst conjure up to-day;
                And that I'll write upon thy burgonet,
                Might I but know thee by thy household badge.
                WARWICK Now, by my father's badge, old Nevil's crest,
                The rampant bear chain'd to the ragged staff,
                This day I'll wear aloft my burgonet,
                As on a mountain top the cedar shows
                That keeps his leaves in spite of any storm,
                Even to affright thee with the view thereof.
                CLIFFORD And from thy burgonet I'll rend thy bear
                And tread it under foot with all contempt,
                Despite the bear-ward that protects the bear.
                YOUNG CLIFFORD And so to arms, victorious father,
                To quell the rebels and their complices.
                RICHARD Fie! charity, for shame! speak not in spite,
                For you shall sup with Jesu Christ to-night.
                YOUNG CLIFFORD Foul stigmatic, that's more than thou canst tell.
                RICHARD If not in heaven, you'll surely sup in hell.
                Exeunt severally 
                SCENE II. Saint Alban's. 
                Alarums to the battle. Enter WARWICK WARWICK Clifford of Cumberland, 'tis Warwick calls:
                And if thou dost not hide thee from the bear,
                Now, when the angry trumpet sounds alarum
                And dead men's cries do fill the empty air,
                Clifford, I say, come forth and fight with me:
                Proud northern lord, Clifford of Cumberland,
                Warwick is hoarse with calling thee to arms.
                Enter YORK
                How now, my noble lord? what, all afoot?
                YORK The deadly-handed Clifford slew my steed,
                But match to match I have encounter'd him
                And made a prey for carrion kites and crows
                Even of the bonny beast he loved so well.
                Enter CLIFFORD
                WARWICK Of one or both of us the time is come.
                YORK Hold, Warwick, seek thee out some other chase,
                For I myself must hunt this deer to death.
                WARWICK Then, nobly, York; 'tis for a crown thou fight'st.
                As I intend, Clifford, to thrive to-day,
                It grieves my soul to leave thee unassail'd.
                Exit
                CLIFFORD What seest thou in me, York? why dost thou pause?
                YORK With thy brave bearing should I be in love,
                But that thou art so fast mine enemy.
                CLIFFORD Nor should thy prowess want praise and esteem,
                But that 'tis shown ignobly and in treason.
                YORK So let it help me now against thy sword
                As I in justice and true right express it.
                CLIFFORD My soul and body on the action both!
                YORK A dreadful lay! Address thee instantly.
                They fight, and CLIFFORD falls
                CLIFFORD La fin couronne les oeuvres.
                Dies
                YORK Thus war hath given thee peace, for thou art still.
                Peace with his soul, heaven, if it be thy will!
                Exit
                Enter YOUNG CLIFFORD
                YOUNG CLIFFORD Shame and confusion! all is on the rout;
                Fear frames disorder, and disorder wounds
                Where it should guard. O war, thou son of hell,
                Whom angry heavens do make their minister
                Throw in the frozen bosoms of our part
                Hot coals of vengeance! Let no soldier fly.
                He that is truly dedicate to war
                Hath no self-love, nor he that loves himself
                Hath not essentially but by circumstance
                The name of valour.
                Seeing his dead father
                O, let the vile world end,
                And the premised flames of the last day
                Knit earth and heaven together!
                Now let the general trumpet blow his blast,
                Particularities and petty sounds
                To cease! Wast thou ordain'd, dear father,
                To lose thy youth in peace, and to achieve
                The silver livery of advised age,
                And, in thy reverence and thy chair-days, thus
                To die in ruffian battle? Even at this sight
                My heart is turn'd to stone: and while 'tis mine,
                It shall be stony. York not our old men spares;
                No more will I their babes: tears virginal
                Shall be to me even as the dew to fire,
                And beauty that the tyrant oft reclaims
                Shall to my flaming wrath be oil and flax.
                Henceforth I will not have to do with pity:
                Meet I an infant of the house of York,
                Into as many gobbets will I cut it
                As wild Medea young Absyrtus did:
                In cruelty will I seek out my fame.
                Come, thou new ruin of old Clifford's house:
                As did AEneas old Anchises bear,
                So bear I thee upon my manly shoulders;
                But then AEneas bare a living load,
                Nothing so heavy as these woes of mine.
                Exit, bearing off his father
                Enter RICHARD and SOMERSET to fight. SOMERSET is killed
                RICHARD So, lie thou there;
                For underneath an alehouse' paltry sign,
                The Castle in Saint Alban's, Somerset
                Hath made the wizard famous in his death.
                Sword, hold thy temper; heart, be wrathful still:
                Priests pray for enemies, but princes kill.
                Exit
                Fight: excursions. Enter KING HENRY VI, QUEEN MARGARET, and others
                QUEEN MARGARET Away, my lord! you are slow; for shame, away!
                KING HENRY VI Can we outrun the heavens? good Margaret, stay.
                QUEEN MARGARET What are you made of? you'll nor fight nor fly:
                Now is it manhood, wisdom and defence,
                To give the enemy way, and to secure us
                By what we can, which can no more but fly.
                Alarum afar off
                If you be ta'en, we then should see the bottom
                Of all our fortunes: but if we haply scape,
                As well we may, if not through your neglect,
                We shall to London get, where you are loved
                And where this breach now in our fortunes made
                May readily be stopp'd.
                Re-enter YOUNG CLIFFORD
                YOUNG CLIFFORD But that my heart's on future mischief set,
                I would speak blasphemy ere bid you fly:
                But fly you must; uncurable discomfit
                Reigns in the hearts of all our present parts.
                Away, for your relief! and we will live
                To see their day and them our fortune give:
                Away, my lord, away!
                Exeunt 
                SCENE III. Fields near St. Alban's. 
                Alarum. Retreat. Enter YORK, RICHARD, WARWICK, and Soldiers, with drum and colours YORK Of Salisbury, who can report of him,
                That winter lion, who in rage forgets
                Aged contusions and all brush of time,
                And, like a gallant in the brow of youth,
                Repairs him with occasion? This happy day
                Is not itself, nor have we won one foot,
                If Salisbury be lost.
                RICHARD My noble father,
                Three times to-day I holp him to his horse,
                Three times bestrid him; thrice I led him off,
                Persuaded him from any further act:
                But still, where danger was, still there I met him;
                And like rich hangings in a homely house,
                So was his will in his old feeble body.
                But, noble as he is, look where he comes.
                Enter SALISBURY
                SALISBURY Now, by my sword, well hast thou fought to-day;
                By the mass, so did we all. I thank you, Richard:
                God knows how long it is I have to live;
                And it hath pleased him that three times to-day
                You have defended me from imminent death.
                Well, lords, we have not got that which we have:
                'Tis not enough our foes are this time fled,
                Being opposites of such repairing nature.
                YORK I know our safety is to follow them;
                For, as I hear, the king is fled to London,
                To call a present court of parliament.
                Let us pursue him ere the writs go forth.
                What says Lord Warwick? shall we after them?
                WARWICK After them! nay, before them, if we can.
                Now, by my faith, lords, 'twas a glorious day:
                Saint Alban's battle won by famous York
                Shall be eternized in all age to come.
                Sound drums and trumpets, and to London all:
                And more such days as these to us befall!
                Exeunt 
                The Third part of King Henry the Sixth 
                ACT I SCENE I. London. The Parliament-house. 
                Alarum. Enter YORK, EDWARD, RICHARD, NORFOLK, MONTAGUE, WARWICK, and Soldiers WARWICK I wonder how the king escaped our hands.
                YORK While we pursued the horsemen of the north,
                He slily stole away and left his men:
                Whereat the great Lord of Northumberland,
                Whose warlike ears could never brook retreat,
                Cheer'd up the drooping army; and himself,
                Lord Clifford and Lord Stafford, all abreast,
                Charged our main battle's front, and breaking in
                Were by the swords of common soldiers slain.
                EDWARD Lord Stafford's father, Duke of Buckingham,
                Is either slain or wounded dangerously;
                I cleft his beaver with a downright blow:
                That this is true, father, behold his blood.
                MONTAGUE And, brother, here's the Earl of Wiltshire's blood,
                Whom I encounter'd as the battles join'd.
                RICHARD Speak thou for me and tell them what I did.
                Throwing down SOMERSET's head
                YORK Richard hath best deserved of all my sons.
                But is your grace dead, my Lord of Somerset?
                NORFOLK Such hope have all the line of John of Gaunt!
                RICHARD Thus do I hope to shake King Henry's head.
                WARWICK And so do I. Victorious Prince of York,
                Before I see thee seated in that throne
                Which now the house of Lancaster usurps,
                I vow by heaven these eyes shall never close.
                This is the palace of the fearful king,
                And this the regal seat: possess it, York;
                For this is thine and not King Henry's heirs'
                YORK Assist me, then, sweet Warwick, and I will;
                For hither we have broken in by force.
                NORFOLK We'll all assist you; he that flies shall die.
                YORK Thanks, gentle Norfolk: stay by me, my lords;
                And, soldiers, stay and lodge by me this night.
                They go up
                WARWICK And when the king comes, offer no violence,
                Unless he seek to thrust you out perforce.
                YORK The queen this day here holds her parliament,
                But little thinks we shall be of her council:
                By words or blows here let us win our right.
                RICHARD Arm'd as we are, let's stay within this house.
                WARWICK The bloody parliament shall this be call'd,
                Unless Plantagenet, Duke of York, be king,
                And bashful Henry deposed, whose cowardice
                Hath made us by-words to our enemies.
                YORK Then leave me not, my lords; be resolute;
                I mean to take possession of my right.
                WARWICK Neither the king, nor he that loves him best,
                The proudest he that holds up Lancaster,
                Dares stir a wing, if Warwick shake his bells.
                I'll plant Plantagenet, root him up who dares:
                Resolve thee, Richard; claim the English crown.
                Flourish. Enter KING HENRY VI, CLIFFORD, NORTHUMBERLAND, WESTMORELAND, EXETER, and the rest
                KING HENRY VI My lords, look where the sturdy rebel sits,
                Even in the chair of state: belike he means,
                Back'd by the power of Warwick, that false peer,
                To aspire unto the crown and reign as king.
                Earl of Northumberland, he slew thy father.
                And thine, Lord Clifford; and you both have vow'd revenge
                On him, his sons, his favourites and his friends.
                NORTHUMBERLAND If I be not, heavens be revenged on me!
                CLIFFORD The hope thereof makes Clifford mourn in steel.
                WESTMORELAND What, shall we suffer this? let's pluck him down:
                My heart for anger burns; I cannot brook it.
                KING HENRY VI Be patient, gentle Earl of Westmoreland.
                CLIFFORD Patience is for poltroons, such as he:
                He durst not sit there, had your father lived.
                My gracious lord, here in the parliament
                Let us assail the family of York.
                NORTHUMBERLAND Well hast thou spoken, cousin: be it so.
                KING HENRY VI Ah, know you not the city favours them,
                And they have troops of soldiers at their beck?
                EXETER But when the duke is slain, they'll quickly fly.
                KING HENRY VI Far be the thought of this from Henry's heart,
                To make a shambles of the parliament-house!
                Cousin of Exeter, frowns, words and threats
                Shall be the war that Henry means to use.
                Thou factious Duke of York, descend my throne,
                and kneel for grace and mercy at my feet;
                I am thy sovereign.
                YORK I am thine.
                EXETER For shame, come down: he made thee Duke of York.
                YORK 'Twas my inheritance, as the earldom was.
                EXETER Thy father was a traitor to the crown.
                WARWICK Exeter, thou art a traitor to the crown
                In following this usurping Henry.
                CLIFFORD Whom should he follow but his natural king?
                WARWICK True, Clifford; and that's Richard Duke of York.
                KING HENRY VI And shall I stand, and thou sit in my throne?
                YORK It must and shall be so: content thyself.
                WARWICK Be Duke of Lancaster; let him be king.
                WESTMORELAND He is both king and Duke of Lancaster;
                And that the Lord of Westmoreland shall maintain.
                WARWICK And Warwick shall disprove it. You forget
                That we are those which chased you from the field
                And slew your fathers, and with colours spread
                March'd through the city to the palace gates.
                NORTHUMBERLAND Yes, Warwick, I remember it to my grief;
                And, by his soul, thou and thy house shall rue it.
                WESTMORELAND Plantagenet, of thee and these thy sons,
                Thy kinsman and thy friends, I'll have more lives
                Than drops of blood were in my father's veins.
                CLIFFORD Urge it no more; lest that, instead of words,
                I send thee, Warwick, such a messenger
                As shall revenge his death before I stir.
                WARWICK Poor Clifford! how I scorn his worthless threats!
                YORK Will you we show our title to the crown?
                If not, our swords shall plead it in the field.
                KING HENRY VI What title hast thou, traitor, to the crown?
                Thy father was, as thou art, Duke of York;
                Thy grandfather, Roger Mortimer, Earl of March:
                I am the son of Henry the Fifth,
                Who made the Dauphin and the French to stoop
                And seized upon their towns and provinces.
                WARWICK Talk not of France, sith thou hast lost it all.
                KING HENRY VI The lord protector lost it, and not I:
                When I was crown'd I was but nine months old.
                RICHARD You are old enough now, and yet, methinks, you lose.
                Father, tear the crown from the usurper's head.
                EDWARD Sweet father, do so; set it on your head.
                MONTAGUE Good brother, as thou lovest and honourest arms,
                Let's fight it out and not stand cavilling thus.
                RICHARD Sound drums and trumpets, and the king will fly.
                YORK Sons, peace!
                KING HENRY VI Peace, thou! and give King Henry leave to speak.
                WARWICK Plantagenet shall speak first: hear him, lords;
                And be you silent and attentive too,
                For he that interrupts him shall not live.
                KING HENRY VI Think'st thou that I will leave my kingly throne,
                Wherein my grandsire and my father sat?
                No: first shall war unpeople this my realm;
                Ay, and their colours, often borne in France,
                And now in England to our heart's great sorrow,
                Shall be my winding-sheet. Why faint you, lords?
                My title's good, and better far than his.
                WARWICK Prove it, Henry, and thou shalt be king.
                KING HENRY VI Henry the Fourth by conquest got the crown.
                YORK 'Twas by rebellion against his king.
                KING HENRY VI [Aside] I know not what to say; my title's weak.--
                Tell me, may not a king adopt an heir?
                YORK What then?
                KING HENRY VI An if he may, then am I lawful king;
                For Richard, in the view of many lords,
                Resign'd the crown to Henry the Fourth,
                Whose heir my father was, and I am his.
                YORK He rose against him, being his sovereign,
                And made him to resign his crown perforce.
                WARWICK Suppose, my lords, he did it unconstrain'd,
                Think you 'twere prejudicial to his crown?
                EXETER No; for he could not so resign his crown
                But that the next heir should succeed and reign.
                KING HENRY VI Art thou against us, Duke of Exeter?
                EXETER His is the right, and therefore pardon me.
                YORK Why whisper you, my lords, and answer not?
                EXETER My conscience tells me he is lawful king.
                KING HENRY VI [Aside] All will revolt from me, and turn to him.
                NORTHUMBERLAND Plantagenet, for all the claim thou lay'st,
                Think not that Henry shall be so deposed.
                WARWICK Deposed he shall be, in despite of all.
                NORTHUMBERLAND Thou art deceived: 'tis not thy southern power,
                Of Essex, Norfolk, Suffolk, nor of Kent,
                Which makes thee thus presumptuous and proud,
                Can set the duke up in despite of me.
                CLIFFORD King Henry, be thy title right or wrong,
                Lord Clifford vows to fight in thy defence:
                May that ground gape and swallow me alive,
                Where I shall kneel to him that slew my father!
                KING HENRY VI O Clifford, how thy words revive my heart!
                YORK Henry of Lancaster, resign thy crown.
                What mutter you, or what conspire you, lords?
                WARWICK Do right unto this princely Duke of York,
                Or I will fill the house with armed men,
                And over the chair of state, where now he sits,
                Write up his title with usurping blood.
                He stamps with his foot and the soldiers show themselves
                KING HENRY VI My Lord of Warwick, hear me but one word:
                Let me for this my life-time reign as king.
                YORK Confirm the crown to me and to mine heirs,
                And thou shalt reign in quiet while thou livest.
                KING HENRY VI I am content: Richard Plantagenet,
                Enjoy the kingdom after my decease.
                CLIFFORD What wrong is this unto the prince your son!
                WARWICK What good is this to England and himself!
                WESTMORELAND Base, fearful and despairing Henry!
                CLIFFORD How hast thou injured both thyself and us!
                WESTMORELAND I cannot stay to hear these articles.
                NORTHUMBERLAND Nor I.
                CLIFFORD Come, cousin, let us tell the queen these news.
                WESTMORELAND Farewell, faint-hearted and degenerate king,
                In whose cold blood no spark of honour bides.
                NORTHUMBERLAND Be thou a prey unto the house of York,
                And die in bands for this unmanly deed!
                CLIFFORD In dreadful war mayst thou be overcome,
                Or live in peace abandon'd and despised!
                Exeunt NORTHUMBERLAND, CLIFFORD, and WESTMORELAND
                WARWICK Turn this way, Henry, and regard them not.
                EXETER They seek revenge and therefore will not yield.
                KING HENRY VI Ah, Exeter!
                WARWICK Why should you sigh, my lord?
                KING HENRY VI Not for myself, Lord Warwick, but my son,
                Whom I unnaturally shall disinherit.
                But be it as it may: I here entail
                The crown to thee and to thine heirs for ever;
                Conditionally, that here thou take an oath
                To cease this civil war, and, whilst I live,
                To honour me as thy king and sovereign,
                And neither by treason nor hostility
                To seek to put me down and reign thyself.
                YORK This oath I willingly take and will perform.
                WARWICK Long live King Henry! Plantagenet embrace him.
                KING HENRY VI And long live thou and these thy forward sons!
                YORK Now York and Lancaster are reconciled.
                EXETER Accursed be he that seeks to make them foes!
                Sennet. Here they come down
                YORK Farewell, my gracious lord; I'll to my castle.
                WARWICK And I'll keep London with my soldiers.
                NORFOLK And I to Norfolk with my followers.
                MONTAGUE And I unto the sea from whence I came.
                Exeunt YORK, EDWARD, EDMUND, GEORGE, RICHARD, WARWICK, NORFOLK, MONTAGUE, their Soldiers, and Attendants
                KING HENRY VI And I, with grief and sorrow, to the court.
                Enter QUEEN MARGARET and PRINCE EDWARD
                EXETER Here comes the queen, whose looks bewray her anger:
                I'll steal away.
                KING HENRY VI Exeter, so will I.
                QUEEN MARGARET Nay, go not from me; I will follow thee.
                KING HENRY VI Be patient, gentle queen, and I will stay.
                QUEEN MARGARET Who can be patient in such extremes?
                Ah, wretched man! would I had died a maid
                And never seen thee, never borne thee son,
                Seeing thou hast proved so unnatural a father
                Hath he deserved to lose his birthright thus?
                Hadst thou but loved him half so well as I,
                Or felt that pain which I did for him once,
                Or nourish'd him as I did with my blood,
                Thou wouldst have left thy dearest heart-blood there,
                Rather than have that savage duke thine heir
                And disinherited thine only son.
                PRINCE EDWARD Father, you cannot disinherit me:
                If you be king, why should not I succeed?
                KING HENRY VI Pardon me, Margaret; pardon me, sweet son:
                The Earl of Warwick and the duke enforced me.
                QUEEN MARGARET Enforced thee! art thou king, and wilt be forced?
                I shame to hear thee speak. Ah, timorous wretch!
                Thou hast undone thyself, thy son and me;
                And given unto the house of York such head
                As thou shalt reign but by their sufferance.
                To entail him and his heirs unto the crown,
                What is it, but to make thy sepulchre
                And creep into it far before thy time?
                Warwick is chancellor and the lord of Calais;
                Stern Falconbridge commands the narrow seas;
                The duke is made protector of the realm;
                And yet shalt thou be safe? such safety finds
                The trembling lamb environed with wolves.
                Had I been there, which am a silly woman,
                The soldiers should have toss'd me on their pikes
                Before I would have granted to that act.
                But thou preferr'st thy life before thine honour:
                And seeing thou dost, I here divorce myself
                Both from thy table, Henry, and thy bed,
                Until that act of parliament be repeal'd
                Whereby my son is disinherited.
                The northern lords that have forsworn thy colours
                Will follow mine, if once they see them spread;
                And spread they shall be, to thy foul disgrace
                And utter ruin of the house of York.
                Thus do I leave thee. Come, son, let's away;
                Our army is ready; come, we'll after them.
                KING HENRY VI Stay, gentle Margaret, and hear me speak.
                QUEEN MARGARET Thou hast spoke too much already: get thee gone.
                KING HENRY VI Gentle son Edward, thou wilt stay with me?
                QUEEN MARGARET Ay, to be murder'd by his enemies.
                PRINCE EDWARD When I return with victory from the field
                I'll see your grace: till then I'll follow her.
                QUEEN MARGARET Come, son, away; we may not linger thus.
                Exeunt QUEEN MARGARET and PRINCE EDWARD
                KING HENRY VI Poor queen! how love to me and to her son
                Hath made her break out into terms of rage!
                Revenged may she be on that hateful duke,
                Whose haughty spirit, winged with desire,
                Will cost my crown, and like an empty eagle
                Tire on the flesh of me and of my son!
                The loss of those three lords torments my heart:
                I'll write unto them and entreat them fair.
                Come, cousin you shall be the messenger.
                EXETER And I, I hope, shall reconcile them all.
                Exeunt 
                SCENE II. Sandal Castle. 
                Enter RICHARD, EDWARD, and MONTAGUE RICHARD Brother, though I be youngest, give me leave.
                EDWARD No, I can better play the orator.
                MONTAGUE But I have reasons strong and forcible.
                Enter YORK
                YORK Why, how now, sons and brother! at a strife?
                What is your quarrel? how began it first?
                EDWARD No quarrel, but a slight contention.
                YORK About what?
                RICHARD About that which concerns your grace and us;
                The crown of England, father, which is yours.
                YORK Mine boy? not till King Henry be dead.
                RICHARD Your right depends not on his life or death.
                EDWARD Now you are heir, therefore enjoy it now:
                By giving the house of Lancaster leave to breathe,
                It will outrun you, father, in the end.
                YORK I took an oath that he should quietly reign.
                EDWARD But for a kingdom any oath may be broken:
                I would break a thousand oaths to reign one year.
                RICHARD No; God forbid your grace should be forsworn.
                YORK I shall be, if I claim by open war.
                RICHARD I'll prove the contrary, if you'll hear me speak.
                YORK Thou canst not, son; it is impossible.
                RICHARD An oath is of no moment, being not took
                Before a true and lawful magistrate,
                That hath authority over him that swears:
                Henry had none, but did usurp the place;
                Then, seeing 'twas he that made you to depose,
                Your oath, my lord, is vain and frivolous.
                Therefore, to arms! And, father, do but think
                How sweet a thing it is to wear a crown;
                Within whose circuit is Elysium
                And all that poets feign of bliss and joy.
                Why do we finger thus? I cannot rest
                Until the white rose that I wear be dyed
                Even in the lukewarm blood of Henry's heart.
                YORK Richard, enough; I will be king, or die.
                Brother, thou shalt to London presently,
                And whet on Warwick to this enterprise.
                Thou, Richard, shalt to the Duke of Norfolk,
                And tell him privily of our intent.
                You Edward, shall unto my Lord Cobham,
                With whom the Kentishmen will willingly rise:
                In them I trust; for they are soldiers,
                Witty, courteous, liberal, full of spirit.
                While you are thus employ'd, what resteth more,
                But that I seek occasion how to rise,
                And yet the king not privy to my drift,
                Nor any of the house of Lancaster?
                Enter a Messenger
                But, stay: what news? Why comest thou in such post?
                Messenger The queen with all the northern earls and lords
                Intend here to besiege you in your castle:
                She is hard by with twenty thousand men;
                And therefore fortify your hold, my lord.
                YORK Ay, with my sword. What! think'st thou that we fear them?
                Edward and Richard, you shall stay with me;
                My brother Montague shall post to London:
                Let noble Warwick, Cobham, and the rest,
                Whom we have left protectors of the king,
                With powerful policy strengthen themselves,
                And trust not simple Henry nor his oaths.
                MONTAGUE Brother, I go; I'll win them, fear it not:
                And thus most humbly I do take my leave.
                Exit
                Enter JOHN MORTIMER and HUGH MORTIMER
                Sir John and Sir Hugh Mortimer, mine uncles,
                You are come to Sandal in a happy hour;
                The army of the queen mean to besiege us.
                JOHN MORTIMER She shall not need; we'll meet her in the field.
                YORK What, with five thousand men?
                RICHARD Ay, with five hundred, father, for a need:
                A woman's general; what should we fear?
                A march afar off
                EDWARD I hear their drums: let's set our men in order,
                And issue forth and bid them battle straight.
                YORK Five men to twenty! though the odds be great,
                I doubt not, uncle, of our victory.
                Many a battle have I won in France,
                When as the enemy hath been ten to one:
                Why should I not now have the like success?
                Alarum. Exeunt 
                SCENE III. Field of battle betwixt Sandal Castle and Wakefield. 
                Alarums. Enter RUTLAND and his Tutor RUTLAND Ah, whither shall I fly to 'scape their hands?
                Ah, tutor, look where bloody Clifford comes!
                Enter CLIFFORD and Soldiers
                CLIFFORD Chaplain, away! thy priesthood saves thy life.
                As for the brat of this accursed duke,
                Whose father slew my father, he shall die.
                Tutor And I, my lord, will bear him company.
                CLIFFORD Soldiers, away with him!
                Tutor Ah, Clifford, murder not this innocent child,
                Lest thou be hated both of God and man!
                Exit, dragged off by Soldiers
                CLIFFORD How now! is he dead already? or is it fear
                That makes him close his eyes? I'll open them.
                RUTLAND So looks the pent-up lion o'er the wretch
                That trembles under his devouring paws;
                And so he walks, insulting o'er his prey,
                And so he comes, to rend his limbs asunder.
                Ah, gentle Clifford, kill me with thy sword,
                And not with such a cruel threatening look.
                Sweet Clifford, hear me speak before I die.
                I am too mean a subject for thy wrath:
                Be thou revenged on men, and let me live.
                CLIFFORD In vain thou speak'st, poor boy; my father's blood
                Hath stopp'd the passage where thy words should enter.
                RUTLAND Then let my father's blood open it again:
                He is a man, and, Clifford, cope with him.
                CLIFFORD Had thy brethren here, their lives and thine
                Were not revenge sufficient for me;
                No, if I digg'd up thy forefathers' graves
                And hung their rotten coffins up in chains,
                It could not slake mine ire, nor ease my heart.
                The sight of any of the house of York
                Is as a fury to torment my soul;
                And till I root out their accursed line
                And leave not one alive, I live in hell.
                Therefore--
                Lifting his hand
                RUTLAND O, let me pray before I take my death!
                To thee I pray; sweet Clifford, pity me!
                CLIFFORD Such pity as my rapier's point affords.
                RUTLAND I never did thee harm: why wilt thou slay me?
                CLIFFORD Thy father hath.
                RUTLAND But 'twas ere I was born.
                Thou hast one son; for his sake pity me,
                Lest in revenge thereof, sith God is just,
                He be as miserably slain as I.
                Ah, let me live in prison all my days;
                And when I give occasion of offence,
                Then let me die, for now thou hast no cause.
                CLIFFORD No cause!
                Thy father slew my father; therefore, die.
                Stabs him
                RUTLAND Di faciant laudis summa sit ista tuae!
                Dies
                CLIFFORD Plantagenet! I come, Plantagenet!
                And this thy son's blood cleaving to my blade
                Shall rust upon my weapon, till thy blood,
                Congeal'd with this, do make me wipe off both.
                Exit 
                SCENE IV. Another part of the field. 
                Alarum. Enter YORK YORK The army of the queen hath got the field:
                My uncles both are slain in rescuing me;
                And all my followers to the eager foe
                Turn back and fly, like ships before the wind
                Or lambs pursued by hunger-starved wolves.
                My sons, God knows what hath bechanced them:
                But this I know, they have demean'd themselves
                Like men born to renown by life or death.
                Three times did Richard make a lane to me.
                And thrice cried 'Courage, father! fight it out!'
                And full as oft came Edward to my side,
                With purple falchion, painted to the hilt
                In blood of those that had encounter'd him:
                And when the hardiest warriors did retire,
                Richard cried 'Charge! and give no foot of ground!'
                And cried 'A crown, or else a glorious tomb!
                A sceptre, or an earthly sepulchre!'
                With this, we charged again: but, out, alas!
                We bodged again; as I have seen a swan
                With bootless labour swim against the tide
                And spend her strength with over-matching waves.
                A short alarum within
                Ah, hark! the fatal followers do pursue;
                And I am faint and cannot fly their fury:
                And were I strong, I would not shun their fury:
                The sands are number'd that make up my life;
                Here must I stay, and here my life must end.
                Enter QUEEN MARGARET, CLIFFORD, NORTHUMBERLAND, PRINCE EDWARD, and Soldiers
                Come, bloody Clifford, rough Northumberland,
                I dare your quenchless fury to more rage:
                I am your butt, and I abide your shot.
                NORTHUMBERLAND Yield to our mercy, proud Plantagenet.
                CLIFFORD Ay, to such mercy as his ruthless arm,
                With downright payment, show'd unto my father.
                Now Phaethon hath tumbled from his car,
                And made an evening at the noontide prick.
                YORK My ashes, as the phoenix, may bring forth
                A bird that will revenge upon you all:
                And in that hope I throw mine eyes to heaven,
                Scorning whate'er you can afflict me with.
                Why come you not? what! multitudes, and fear?
                CLIFFORD So cowards fight when they can fly no further;
                So doves do peck the falcon's piercing talons;
                So desperate thieves, all hopeless of their lives,
                Breathe out invectives 'gainst the officers.
                YORK O Clifford, but bethink thee once again,
                And in thy thought o'er-run my former time;
                And, if though canst for blushing, view this face,
                And bite thy tongue, that slanders him with cowardice
                Whose frown hath made thee faint and fly ere this!
                CLIFFORD I will not bandy with thee word for word,
                But buckle with thee blows, twice two for one.
                QUEEN MARGARET Hold, valiant Clifford! for a thousand causes
                I would prolong awhile the traitor's life.
                Wrath makes him deaf: speak thou, Northumberland.
                NORTHUMBERLAND Hold, Clifford! do not honour him so much
                To prick thy finger, though to wound his heart:
                What valour were it, when a cur doth grin,
                For one to thrust his hand between his teeth,
                When he might spurn him with his foot away?
                It is war's prize to take all vantages;
                And ten to one is no impeach of valour.
                They lay hands on YORK, who struggles
                CLIFFORD Ay, ay, so strives the woodcock with the gin.
                NORTHUMBERLAND So doth the cony struggle in the net.
                YORK So triumph thieves upon their conquer'd booty;
                So true men yield, with robbers so o'ermatch'd.
                NORTHUMBERLAND What would your grace have done unto him now?
                QUEEN MARGARET Brave warriors, Clifford and Northumberland,
                Come, make him stand upon this molehill here,
                That raught at mountains with outstretched arms,
                Yet parted but the shadow with his hand.
                What! was it you that would be England's king?
                Was't you that revell'd in our parliament,
                And made a preachment of your high descent?
                Where are your mess of sons to back you now?
                The wanton Edward, and the lusty George?
                And where's that valiant crook-back prodigy,
                Dicky your boy, that with his grumbling voice
                Was wont to cheer his dad in mutinies?
                Or, with the rest, where is your darling Rutland?
                Look, York: I stain'd this napkin with the blood
                That valiant Clifford, with his rapier's point,
                Made issue from the bosom of the boy;
                And if thine eyes can water for his death,
                I give thee this to dry thy cheeks withal.
                Alas poor York! but that I hate thee deadly,
                I should lament thy miserable state.
                I prithee, grieve, to make me merry, York.
                What, hath thy fiery heart so parch'd thine entrails
                That not a tear can fall for Rutland's death?
                Why art thou patient, man? thou shouldst be mad;
                And I, to make thee mad, do mock thee thus.
                Stamp, rave, and fret, that I may sing and dance.
                Thou wouldst be fee'd, I see, to make me sport:
                York cannot speak, unless he wear a crown.
                A crown for York! and, lords, bow low to him:
                Hold you his hands, whilst I do set it on.
                Putting a paper crown on his head
                Ay, marry, sir, now looks he like a king!
                Ay, this is he that took King Henry's chair,
                And this is he was his adopted heir.
                But how is it that great Plantagenet
                Is crown'd so soon, and broke his solemn oath?
                As I bethink me, you should not be king
                Till our King Henry had shook hands with death.
                And will you pale your head in Henry's glory,
                And rob his temples of the diadem,
                Now in his life, against your holy oath?
                O, 'tis a fault too too unpardonable!
                Off with the crown, and with the crown his head;
                And, whilst we breathe, take time to do him dead.
                CLIFFORD That is my office, for my father's sake.
                QUEEN MARGARET Nay, stay; lets hear the orisons he makes.
                YORK She-wolf of France, but worse than wolves of France,
                Whose tongue more poisons than the adder's tooth!
                How ill-beseeming is it in thy sex
                To triumph, like an Amazonian trull,
                Upon their woes whom fortune captivates!
                But that thy face is, vizard-like, unchanging,
                Made impudent with use of evil deeds,
                I would assay, proud queen, to make thee blush.
                To tell thee whence thou camest, of whom derived,
                Were shame enough to shame thee, wert thou not shameless.
                Thy father bears the type of King of Naples,
                Of both the Sicils and Jerusalem,
                Yet not so wealthy as an English yeoman.
                Hath that poor monarch taught thee to insult?
                It needs not, nor it boots thee not, proud queen,
                Unless the adage must be verified,
                That beggars mounted run their horse to death.
                'Tis beauty that doth oft make women proud;
                But, God he knows, thy share thereof is small:
                'Tis virtue that doth make them most admired;
                The contrary doth make thee wonder'd at:
                'Tis government that makes them seem divine;
                The want thereof makes thee abominable:
                Thou art as opposite to every good
                As the Antipodes are unto us,
                Or as the south to the septentrion.
                O tiger's heart wrapt in a woman's hide!
                How couldst thou drain the life-blood of the child,
                To bid the father wipe his eyes withal,
                And yet be seen to bear a woman's face?
                Women are soft, mild, pitiful and flexible;
                Thou stern, obdurate, flinty, rough, remorseless.
                Bids't thou me rage? why, now thou hast thy wish:
                Wouldst have me weep? why, now thou hast thy will:
                For raging wind blows up incessant showers,
                And when the rage allays, the rain begins.
                These tears are my sweet Rutland's obsequies:
                And every drop cries vengeance for his death,
                'Gainst thee, fell Clifford, and thee, false
                Frenchwoman.
                NORTHUMBERLAND Beshrew me, but his passion moves me so
                That hardly can I cheque my eyes from tears.
                YORK That face of his the hungry cannibals
                Would not have touch'd, would not have stain'd with blood:
                But you are more inhuman, more inexorable,
                O, ten times more, than tigers of Hyrcania.
                See, ruthless queen, a hapless father's tears:
                This cloth thou dip'dst in blood of my sweet boy,
                And I with tears do wash the blood away.
                Keep thou the napkin, and go boast of this:
                And if thou tell'st the heavy story right,
                Upon my soul, the hearers will shed tears;
                Yea even my foes will shed fast-falling tears,
                And say 'Alas, it was a piteous deed!'
                There, take the crown, and, with the crown, my curse;
                And in thy need such comfort come to thee
                As now I reap at thy too cruel hand!
                Hard-hearted Clifford, take me from the world:
                My soul to heaven, my blood upon your heads!
                NORTHUMBERLAND Had he been slaughter-man to all my kin,
                I should not for my life but weep with him.
                To see how inly sorrow gripes his soul.
                QUEEN MARGARET What, weeping-ripe, my Lord Northumberland?
                Think but upon the wrong he did us all,
                And that will quickly dry thy melting tears.
                CLIFFORD Here's for my oath, here's for my father's death.
                Stabbing him
                QUEEN MARGARET And here's to right our gentle-hearted king.
                Stabbing him
                YORK Open Thy gate of mercy, gracious God!
                My soul flies through these wounds to seek out Thee.
                Dies
                QUEEN MARGARET Off with his head, and set it on York gates;
                So York may overlook the town of York.
                Flourish. Exeunt
                ACT II SCENE I. A plain near Mortimer's Cross in Herefordshire. 
                A march. Enter EDWARD, RICHARD, and their power EDWARD I wonder how our princely father 'scaped,
                Or whether he be 'scaped away or no
                From Clifford's and Northumberland's pursuit:
                Had he been ta'en, we should have heard the news;
                Had he been slain, we should have heard the news;
                Or had he 'scaped, methinks we should have heard
                The happy tidings of his good escape.
                How fares my brother? why is he so sad?
                RICHARD I cannot joy, until I be resolved
                Where our right valiant father is become.
                I saw him in the battle range about;
                And watch'd him how he singled Clifford forth.
                Methought he bore him in the thickest troop
                As doth a lion in a herd of neat;
                Or as a bear, encompass'd round with dogs,
                Who having pinch'd a few and made them cry,
                The rest stand all aloof, and bark at him.
                So fared our father with his enemies;
                So fled his enemies my warlike father:
                Methinks, 'tis prize enough to be his son.
                See how the morning opes her golden gates,
                And takes her farewell of the glorious sun!
                How well resembles it the prime of youth,
                Trimm'd like a younker prancing to his love!
                EDWARD Dazzle mine eyes, or do I see three suns?
                RICHARD Three glorious suns, each one a perfect sun;
                Not separated with the racking clouds,
                But sever'd in a pale clear-shining sky.
                See, see! they join, embrace, and seem to kiss,
                As if they vow'd some league inviolable:
                Now are they but one lamp, one light, one sun.
                In this the heaven figures some event.
                EDWARD 'Tis wondrous strange, the like yet never heard of.
                I think it cites us, brother, to the field,
                That we, the sons of brave Plantagenet,
                Each one already blazing by our meeds,
                Should notwithstanding join our lights together
                And over-shine the earth as this the world.
                Whate'er it bodes, henceforward will I bear
                Upon my target three fair-shining suns.
                RICHARD Nay, bear three daughters: by your leave I speak it,
                You love the breeder better than the male.
                Enter a Messenger
                But what art thou, whose heavy looks foretell
                Some dreadful story hanging on thy tongue?
                Messenger Ah, one that was a woful looker-on
                When as the noble Duke of York was slain,
                Your princely father and my loving lord!
                EDWARD O, speak no more, for I have heard too much.
                RICHARD Say how he died, for I will hear it all.
                Messenger Environed he was with many foes,
                And stood against them, as the hope of Troy
                Against the Greeks that would have enter'd Troy.
                But Hercules himself must yield to odds;
                And many strokes, though with a little axe,
                Hew down and fell the hardest-timber'd oak.
                By many hands your father was subdued;
                But only slaughter'd by the ireful arm
                Of unrelenting Clifford and the queen,
                Who crown'd the gracious duke in high despite,
                Laugh'd in his face; and when with grief he wept,
                The ruthless queen gave him to dry his cheeks
                A napkin steeped in the harmless blood
                Of sweet young Rutland, by rough Clifford slain:
                And after many scorns, many foul taunts,
                They took his head, and on the gates of York
                They set the same; and there it doth remain,
                The saddest spectacle that e'er I view'd.
                EDWARD Sweet Duke of York, our prop to lean upon,
                Now thou art gone, we have no staff, no stay.
                O Clifford, boisterous Clifford! thou hast slain
                The flower of Europe for his chivalry;
                And treacherously hast thou vanquish'd him,
                For hand to hand he would have vanquish'd thee.
                Now my soul's palace is become a prison:
                Ah, would she break from hence, that this my body
                Might in the ground be closed up in rest!
                For never henceforth shall I joy again,
                Never, O never shall I see more joy!
                RICHARD I cannot weep; for all my body's moisture
                Scarce serves to quench my furnace-burning heart:
                Nor can my tongue unload my heart's great burthen;
                For selfsame wind that I should speak withal
                Is kindling coals that fires all my breast,
                And burns me up with flames that tears would quench.
                To weep is to make less the depth of grief:
                Tears then for babes; blows and revenge for me
                Richard, I bear thy name; I'll venge thy death,
                Or die renowned by attempting it.
                EDWARD His name that valiant duke hath left with thee;
                His dukedom and his chair with me is left.
                RICHARD Nay, if thou be that princely eagle's bird,
                Show thy descent by gazing 'gainst the sun:
                For chair and dukedom, throne and kingdom say;
                Either that is thine, or else thou wert not his.
                March. Enter WARWICK, MONTAGUE, and their army
                WARWICK How now, fair lords! What fare? what news abroad?
                RICHARD Great Lord of Warwick, if we should recount
                Our baleful news, and at each word's deliverance
                Stab poniards in our flesh till all were told,
                The words would add more anguish than the wounds.
                O valiant lord, the Duke of York is slain!
                EDWARD O Warwick, Warwick! that Plantagenet,
                Which held three dearly as his soul's redemption,
                Is by the stern Lord Clifford done to death.
                WARWICK Ten days ago I drown'd these news in tears;
                And now, to add more measure to your woes,
                I come to tell you things sith then befall'n.
                After the bloody fray at Wakefield fought,
                Where your brave father breathed his latest gasp,
                Tidings, as swiftly as the posts could run,
                Were brought me of your loss and his depart.
                I, then in London keeper of the king,
                Muster'd my soldiers, gather'd flocks of friends,
                And very well appointed, as I thought,
                March'd toward Saint Alban's to intercept the queen,
                Bearing the king in my behalf along;
                For by my scouts I was advertised
                That she was coming with a full intent
                To dash our late decree in parliament
                Touching King Henry's oath and your succession.
                Short tale to make, we at Saint Alban's met
                Our battles join'd, and both sides fiercely fought:
                But whether 'twas the coldness of the king,
                Who look'd full gently on his warlike queen,
                That robb'd my soldiers of their heated spleen;
                Or whether 'twas report of her success;
                Or more than common fear of Clifford's rigour,
                Who thunders to his captives blood and death,
                I cannot judge: but to conclude with truth,
                Their weapons like to lightning came and went;
                Our soldiers', like the night-owl's lazy flight,
                Or like an idle thresher with a flail,
                Fell gently down, as if they struck their friends.
                I cheer'd them up with justice of our cause,
                With promise of high pay and great rewards:
                But all in vain; they had no heart to fight,
                And we in them no hope to win the day;
                So that we fled; the king unto the queen;
                Lord George your brother, Norfolk and myself,
                In haste, post-haste, are come to join with you:
                For in the marches here we heard you were,
                Making another head to fight again.
                EDWARD Where is the Duke of Norfolk, gentle Warwick?
                And when came George from Burgundy to England?
                WARWICK Some six miles off the duke is with the soldiers;
                And for your brother, he was lately sent
                From your kind aunt, Duchess of Burgundy,
                With aid of soldiers to this needful war.
                RICHARD 'Twas odds, belike, when valiant Warwick fled:
                Oft have I heard his praises in pursuit,
                But ne'er till now his scandal of retire.
                WARWICK Nor now my scandal, Richard, dost thou hear;
                For thou shalt know this strong right hand of mine
                Can pluck the diadem from faint Henry's head,
                And wring the awful sceptre from his fist,
                Were he as famous and as bold in war
                As he is famed for mildness, peace, and prayer.
                RICHARD I know it well, Lord Warwick; blame me not:
                'Tis love I bear thy glories makes me speak.
                But in this troublous time what's to be done?
                Shall we go throw away our coats of steel,
                And wrap our bodies in black mourning gowns,
                Numbering our Ave-Maries with our beads?
                Or shall we on the helmets of our foes
                Tell our devotion with revengeful arms?
                If for the last, say ay, and to it, lords.
                WARWICK Why, therefore Warwick came to seek you out;
                And therefore comes my brother Montague.
                Attend me, lords. The proud insulting queen,
                With Clifford and the haught Northumberland,
                And of their feather many more proud birds,
                Have wrought the easy-melting king like wax.
                He swore consent to your succession,
                His oath enrolled in the parliament;
                And now to London all the crew are gone,
                To frustrate both his oath and what beside
                May make against the house of Lancaster.
                Their power, I think, is thirty thousand strong:
                Now, if the help of Norfolk and myself,
                With all the friends that thou, brave Earl of March,
                Amongst the loving Welshmen canst procure,
                Will but amount to five and twenty thousand,
                Why, Via! to London will we march amain,
                And once again bestride our foaming steeds,
                And once again cry 'Charge upon our foes!'
                But never once again turn back and fly.
                RICHARD Ay, now methinks I hear great Warwick speak:
                Ne'er may he live to see a sunshine day,
                That cries 'Retire,' if Warwick bid him stay.
                EDWARD Lord Warwick, on thy shoulder will I lean;
                And when thou fail'st--as God forbid the hour!--
                Must Edward fall, which peril heaven forfend!
                WARWICK No longer Earl of March, but Duke of York:
                The next degree is England's royal throne;
                For King of England shalt thou be proclaim'd
                In every borough as we pass along;
                And he that throws not up his cap for joy
                Shall for the fault make forfeit of his head.
                King Edward, valiant Richard, Montague,
                Stay we no longer, dreaming of renown,
                But sound the trumpets, and about our task.