The Dramatic Works and Poems of William Shakespeare

and will lend nothing for God's sake: 'Pray Bene. O, stay but till then!

you, examine him upon that point. [pains. Beat. Then, is spoken; fare you well now :Leon. I thank thee for thy care and honest and yet, ere I go, let me go with that I came Dogb. Your worship speaks like a most thank- for, which is, with knowing what hath passed beful and reverend youth; and I praise God for tween you and Claudio. Leon. There's for thy pains. Dogb. God save the foundation. Leon. Go, I discharge thee of thy prisoner, | and I thank thee.

[you.

Dogb. I leave an errant knave with your worship; which, I beseech your worship, to correct yourself, for the example of others. God keep your worship; I wish your worship well; God restore you to health: I humbly give you leave to depart; and if a merry meeting may be wished, God prohibit it.-Come, neighbour. [Exeunt DOGBERRY, VERGES, and Watch. Leon. Until to-morrow morning, lords, farewell. [to-morrow. Ant. Farewell, my lords: we look for you D. Pedro. We will not fail. Clarul.

To-night I'll monrn with Hero. [Exeunt DON PEDRO and CLAUDIO, Leon. Bring you these fellows on; we'll talk with Margaret,

How her acquaintance grew with this lewd fel [Exeunt

low.

SCENE II. Leonato's Garden. Enter BENEDICK and MARGARET, meeting. Bene. 'Pray thee, sweet mistress Margaret, deserve well at my hands, by helping me to the speech of Beatrice.

Marg. Will you then write me a sonnet in praise of my beauty?

Bene. In so high a style, Margaret, that no man living shall come over it; for, in most comely truth, thou deservest it.

Marg. To have no man come over me? why, shall I always keep below stairs?

Bene. Thy wit is as quick as the greyhound's

mouth: it catches.

Marg. And yours as blunt as the fencer's foils, which hit, but hurt not.

Bene. A most manly wit, Margaret, it will not hurt a woman; and so, I pray thee, call Beatrice I give thee the bucklers.

Marg. Give us the swords, we have bucklers of our own.

Pene. If you use them, Margaret, you must

Bene. Only foul words: and thereupon I will kiss thee.

Beat. Foul words is but foul wind, and foul wind is but foul breath, and foul breath is noisome; therefore I will depart unkissed.

Bene. Thou hast frighted the word out of his right sense, so forcible is thy wit: But, I must tell thee plainly, Claudio undergoes my challenge: and either I must shortly hear from him, or I will subscribe him a coward. And I pray thee now, tell me, for which of my bad parts didst thou first fall in love with me?

Beat. For them altogether; which maintained so politic a state of evil, that they will not admit any good part to intermingle with them. But for which of my good parts did you first suffer love for me?

Bene. Suffer love; a good epithet! I do suffer love, indeed, for I love thee against my will.

Beat. In spite of your heart, I think; alas! poor heart! If you spite it for my sake, I will spite it for yours; for I will never love that which my friend hates. [ably.

Bene. Thou and I are too wise to woo peaceBeat. It appears not in this confession: there's not one wise man among twenty that will praise

himself.

Bene. An old, an old instance, Beatrice, that lived in the time of good neighbours: if a man do not erect in this age his own tomb ere he dies, he shall live no longer in monument, than the bell rings, and the widow weeps.

Beat. And how long is that, think you?

Bene. Question-Why, an hour in clamour, and a quarter in rheum: Therefore it is most expedient for the wise (if Don Worm, his conscience, find no impediment to the contrary), to be the trumpet of his own virtues, as I am to myself: So much for praising myself (who, I myself will bear witness, is praise-worthy), and now tell me, How doth your cousin?

Beat. Very ill.

Bene. And how do you?

Beat. Very ill too.

Bene. Serve God, love me, and mend: there

put in the pikes with a vice; and they are dan-will I leave you too, for here comes one in haste. gerous weapons for maids.

Marg. Well, I will call Beatrice to you, who,
I think, hath legs.
[Exit MARGARET.
Bene. And therefore will come.

And knows me, and knows me,

Hoe pitiful I deserve,

[Singing.

Enter URSULA.

Urs. Madam, you must come to your uncle; yonder's old coil at home: it is proved, my lady Hero hath been falsely accused, the Prince and Claudio mightily abused; and Don John is the author of all, who is fled and gone: will you come presently?

I mean, in singing; but in loving,-Leander the Beat. Will you go hear this news, signior! good swimmer, Trolius the first employer of panBene. I will live in thy heart, die in thy lap, ders, and a whole book fall of these quondam and be buried in thy eyes; and moreover, I will carpet-mongers, whose names yet run smoothly go with thee to thy uncle's. Exeunt. in the even road of a blank verse, why, they were never so truly turned over and over as my poor self, in love: Marry, I cannot show it in rhyme; I have tried; I can find out no rhyme to lady but baby, an innocent rhyme; for scorn, horn, a hard rhyme; for school, fool, a babbling rhyme; very ominous endings: No, I was not born under a rhyming planet, nor I cannot woo in festival

tornis.

Enter BEATRICE. Sweet Beatrice, would'st thou come when I called thee?

Beat. Yea, signior, and depart when you bid me.

SCENE III. The Inside of a Church.
Enter DON PEDRO, CLAUDIO, and Attendants, with
Music and Tapers.

Claud. Is this the monument of Leonato?
Atten. It is, my lord.
Claud. [Reads from a scroll.]

Done to death by slanderous tongues
Was the Hero that here lies:
Death in guerdon of her wrongs
Gives her fame which never dies:
So the life, that died with shame,
Lives in death with glorious jame.

Hang thou there upon the tomb, [affixing it.
Praising her when I am dumb.-

Now, music, sound, and sing your solemn hymn.
SONG.

Pardon, Goddess of the night,
Those that slew thy virgin knight;
For the which, with songs of woe,
Round about her tomb they go.
Midnight, assist our moan;
Help us to sigh and groan,
Heavily, heavily:

Graves, yawn, and yield your dead,
Till death be uttered,

Heavily, heavily.

Claud. Now, unto thy bones good night!
Yearly will I do this rite.

D. Pedro. Good morrow, masters; put your torches out; [tle day, The wolves have prey'd; and look, the genBefore the wheels of Phoebus, round about

Dapples the drowsy east with spots of gray: Thanks to you all, and leave us, fare you well. Claud. Good morrow, masters; each his several way.

D. Pedro. Come, let us hence, and put on other weeds;

And then to Leonato's we will go. [speeds, Claud. And, Hymen, now with luckier issue Than this, for whom we render'd up this woe! [Exeunt.

SCENE IV. A Room in Leonato's House. Enter LEONATO, ANTONIO, BENEDICK, BEATRICE, URSULA, Friar, and HERO.

Friar. Did I not tell you she was innocent? Leon. So are the prince and Claudio, who accus'd her

Upon the error that you heard debated:
But Margaret was in some fault for this;
Although against her will, as it appears
In the true course of all the question.

[well.

Ant. Well, I am glad that all things sort so Bene. And so am I, being else by faith enforc'd To call young Claudio to a reckoning for it.

Leon. Well, daughter, and you gentlewomen Withdraw into a chamber by yourselves; [all, And, when I send for you, come hither, mask'd: The prince and Claudio promis'd by this hour To visit me:-You know your office, brother; You must be father to your brother's daughter, And give her to young Claudio. [Exeunt Ladies. Ant. Which I will do with confirm'd countenance.

Bene. Friar, I must entreat your pains, Ithink. Friar. To do what, signior?

Bene. To bind me, or undo me, one of them.Signior Leonato, truth it is, good signior, Your niece regards me with an eye of favour. Leon. That eye my daughter lent her; 'Tis

most true.

Bene. And I do with an eye of love requite her.
Leon. The sight whereof, I think, you had from
me,
[will?

From Claudio and the prince: But what's your
Bene. Your answer, sir, is enigmatical:
But, for my will, my will is, your good will
May stand with ours, this day to be conjoined
In the estate of honourable marriage;

In which, good friar, I shall desire your help.
Leon. My heart is with your liking.
Friar.
And my help.

Here comes the prince, and Claudio.
Enter DON PEDRO, and CLAUDIO with Attendants.
D. Pedro. Good morrow to this fair assembly.

Leon. Good morrow, prince; good morrow, Claudio.

We here attend you; are you yet determin'd
To-day to marry with my brother's daughter?
Claud. I'll hold my mind, were she an Ethiope.
Leon. Call her forth, brother, here's the friar
ready.
[Exit ANTONIO.
D. Pedro. Good morrow, Benedick: Why,
what's the matter,

That you have such a February face,
So full of frost, of storm, and cloudiness?
Claud. I think, he thinks upon the savage
bull:
[gold,
Tush, fear not, man, we'll tip thy horns with
And all Europa shall rejoice at thee;
As once Europa did at lusty Jove,
When he would play the noble beast in love.
Bene. Bull Jove, sir, had an amiable low:
And some such strange bull leap'd your father's
And got a calf in that same noble feat, [cow,
Much like to you, for you have just his bleat.

Re-enter ANTONIO, with the Ladies masked. Claud. For this I owe you: here come other reckonings.

Which is the lady I must seize upon?
Ant. This same is she, and I do give you her.
Claud. Why, then she's mine: Sweet, let me
Thand

see your face. Leon. No that you shall not, till you take her Before this friar, and swear to marry her. Claud. Give me your hand before this holy. I am your husband, if you like of me. [friar; Hero. And when I liv'd, I was your other wife: [Unmasking.

And when you lov'd, you were my other hus-
Claud. Another Hero!
Hero.

[band.

Nothing certainer: One Hero died defil'd; but I do live, And, surely as I live, I am a maid.

D. Pedro. The former Hero! Hero that is
dead!
[der lived.
Leon. She died, my lord, but whiles her slan-
When, after that the holy rites are ended,
Friar. All this amazement can I qualify;
Mean time, let wonder seem familiar,
I'll tell you largely of fair Hero's death:
And to the chapel let us presently.

Bene. Soft, and fair, friar.-Which is Beatrice
Beat. I answer to that name; [Unmasking.
What is your will?
Bene. Do not you love me?
Beat.

Why, no, no more than reason. Bene. Why, then your uncle, and the prince, and Claudio,

Have been deceived; for they swore you did.

Beat. Do not you love me? Bene. Troth, no, no more than reason. Beat. Why, then, my cousin, Margaret, and Are much deceiv'd; for they did swear you did. Ursula, Bene. They swore that you were almost sick

for me.

Deat. They swore that you were well-nigh dead for me. [love me? Bene. 'Tis no such matter:-Then, you do not Beat. No, truly, but in friendly recompense. Leon. Come, cousin, I am sure you love the gentleman. [her;

Claud. And I'll be sworn upon't, that he loves For here's a paper written in his hand, A halting sonnet of his own pure brain, Fashion'd to Beatrice.

Hero. And here's another, Writ in my cousin's hand, stolen from her pocket, Containing her affection unto Benedick.

Bene. A miracle! here's our own hands against in that thou art like to be my kinsman, live our hearts!-Come, I will have thee; but, by unbruised, and love my cousin. this light, I take thee for pity.

Beat. I would not deny you; but, by this good day, I yield upon great persuasion; and, partly, to save your life, for I was told you were in a consumption.

Bene. Peace, I will stop your mouth.

[Kissing her. D. Pedro. How lost thou, Benedick the married man?

Bene. I'll tell thee what, prince; a college of wit-crackers cannot flout me out of my humour: Dost thou think I care for a satire, or an epigram? No: if a man will be beaten with brains, he shail wear nothing handsome about him: In brief, since I do propose to marry, I will think nothing to any purpose that the world can say against it; and therefore never flout at me for what I have said against it; for man is a giddy thing, and this is my conclusion.-For thy part, Claudio, I did think to have beaten thee, but

Claud. I had well hoped thou wouldst have denied Beatrice, that I might have cudgelled thee out of thy single life, to make thee a double dealer; which, out of question, thou wilt be, if my cousin do not look exceeding narrowly to thee. Bene. Come, come, we are friends:-let's have a dance ere we are married, that we may lighten our own hearts, and our wives' heels.

Leon. We'll have dancing afterwards. Bene. First, o'my word; therefore, play, musick.-Prince, thou art sad: get thee a wife, get thee a wife: there is no staff more reverend than one tipp'd with horn. Enter a Messenger.

Mess. My lord, your brother John is ta'en in flight, and brought with armed men back to Messina.

Bene. Think not on him till to-morrow, I'll devise thee brave punishments for him.-Strike up, pipers. [Dance. Exeunt.

Midsummer Night's Dream.

Act First.

SCENE I. Athens.

A Room in the Palace of Theseus.
Enter THESEUS, HIPPOLYTA, PHILOSTRATE, and
Attendants.

The. Now, fair Hippolyta, our nuptial hour
Draws on apace: four happy days bring in
Another moon: but, oh, methinks how slow
This old moon wanes! she lingers my desires,
Like to a step-dame, or a dowager,
Long withering out a young man's revenue.
Hip, Four days will quickly steep themselves
in nights;

Four nights will quickly dream away the time;
And then the moon, like to a silver bow
New bent in heaven, shall behold the night
Of our solemnities.

The.
Go, Philostrate,
Stir up the Athenian youth to merriments;
Awake the pert and nimble spirit of mirth;
Turn melancholy forth to funerals,
The pale companion is not for our pomp.-
[E PHILOSTRATE.
Hippolyta, I woo'd thee with my sword,
And won thy love, doing thee injuries;
But I will wed thee in another key,

With pomp, with triumph, and with revelling.
Enter EGEUS, HERMIA, LYSANDER, and Demetrius.
Ege. Happy be Theseus, our renowned duke!
The. Thanks, good Egeus: What's the news
with thee?

Ege. Full of vexation come I, with complaint
Against my child, my daughter Hermia-
Stand forth, Demetrius;-My noble lord,
This man hath my consent to marry her:-
Stand forth, Lysander;-and, my gracious duke,
This hath bewitch'd the bosom of my child:
Thou,thou,Lysander, thouhastgiven her rhymes,
And interchang'd love tokens with my child:
Thou hast by moonlight at her window sung,
With feigning voice, verses of feigning love;
And stol'n the impression of her fantasy
With bracelets of thy hair, rings, gauds, conceits,
Knacks, trifles, nosegays, sweet-meats; mes-

As she is mine, I may dispose of her:
My mind did lose it. But, Demetrius, come;
Which shall be either to this gentleman, And come, Egeus; you shall go with me,
Or to her death; according to our law,
I have some private schooling for you both.-
Immediately provided in that case. [maid: For you, fair Hermia, look you arm yourself
The. What say you, Hermia? be advis'd, fair | To fit your fancies to your father's will;
To you your father should be as a god;

But, in this kind, wanting your father's voice, The other must be held the worthier.

Her. I would my father look'd but with my eyes. [look. The. Rather your eyes must with his judgment Her. I do entreat your grace to pardon me. I know not by what power I am made bold; Nor how it may concern my modesty, In such a presence here, to plead my thoughts; But I beseech your grace that I may know The worst that may befall me in this case, If I refuse to wed Demetrius.

The. Either to die the death, or to abjure
For ever the society of men.

Therefore, fair Hermia, question your desires,
Know of your youth, examine well your blood,
Whether, if you yield not to your father's choice,
You can endure the livery of a nun;
For aye to be in shady cloister mew'd,
To live a barren sister all your life,
Chanting faint hymns to the cold fruitless moon.
Thrice blessed they, that master so their blood,
To undergo such maiden pilgrimage:
But earthlier happy is the rose distill'd,
Than that, which, withering on the virgin thorn,
Grows, lives, and dies, in single blessedness.
Her. So will I grow, so live, so die my lord,
Ere I will yield my virgin patent up
Unto his lordship, whose unwished yoke
My soul consents not to give sovereignty.
The. Take time to pause: and by the next

new-moon

(The sealing-day betwixt my love and me,
For everlasting bond of fellowship),
Upon that day either prepare to die,
For disobedience to your father's will;
Or else to wed Demetrius, as he would:
Or on Diana's altar to protest,
For aye, austerity and single life.

[yield Dem. Relent, sweet Hermia;-And, Lysander, Thy crazed title to my certain right.

Lys. You have her father's love, Demetrius: Let me have Hermia's: do you marry him. [love, Ege. Scornful Lysander! true, he hath my And what is mine my love shall render him; And she is mine: and all my right of her I do estate unto Demetrius.

Lys. I am, my lord, as well deriv'd as he, As well possess'd: my love is more than his; My fortunes every way as fairly rank'd, If not with vantage, as Demetrius: And, which is more than all these boasts can be, I am belov'd of beauteous Hermia: Why should not I then prosecute my right? Demetrics, I'll avouch it to his head, Made love to Nedar's daughter, Helena, And won her soul; and she, sweet lady, dotes, Devoutly dotes, dotes in idolatry, Upon this spotted and inconstant man.

The. I must confess, that I have heard so much, And with Demetrius thought to have spoke But, being over full of self-affairs, [thereof;

Or else the law of Athens yield you up
(Which by no means we may extenuate)
To death, or to a vow of single life.-
Come, my Hippolita; What cheer, my love?-
Demetrius, and Egeus, go along:

I must employ you in some business
Against our nuptial; and confer with you
Of something nearly that concerns yourselves.
Ege. With duty and desire we follow you.
[Exeunt THESEUS, HIPPOLYTA, EGEUS,
DEMETRIUS, and Train.
Lys. How now, my love? Why is your cheek
so pale?

How chance the roses there do fade so fast? Her. Belike, for want of rain; which I could well

Beteem them from the tempest of mine eyes. Lys. Ah me! for aught that ever I could read, Could ever hear by tale or history,

The course of true love never did run smooth: But, either it was different in blood;

Her. O cross! too high to be enthrall'd too low! Lys. Or else misgraffed, in respect of years; Her. O spite! too old to be engaged to young! Lys. Or else it stood upon the choice of friends: Her. O hell! to choose love by another's eye! Lys. Or, if there were a sympathy in choice, War, death, or sickness did lay siege to it; Making it momentary as a sound, Swift as a shadow, short as any dream; Brief as the lightning in the collied night, That, in a spleen, unfolds both heaven and earth, And ere a man hath power to say,-Behold! The jaws of darkness do devour it up; So quick bright things come to confusion. Her. If then true lovers have been ever cross'd, It stands as an edict in destiny: Then let us teach our trial patience, Because it is a customary cross; As due to love, as thoughts, and dreams, and Wishes, and tears, poor fancy's followers. Lys. A good persuasion; therefore hear me, I have a widow aunt, a dowager [Hermia.

[sighs,

Of great revenue, and she hath no child:
From Athens is her house remote seven leagues;
And she respects me as her only son.
There, gentle Hermia, may I marry thee;
And to that place the sharp Athenian law
Cannot pursue us: If thou lovs't me then,
Steal forth thy father's house to-morrow night;
And in the wood, a league without the town,
Where I did meet thee once with Helena,
To do observance to a morn of May,
There will I stay for thee.

Her.

My good Lysander! I swear to thee, by Cupid's strongest bow; By his best arrow with the golden head, By the simplicity of Venus' doves: By that which knitteth souls, and prospers loves, And by that fire which burn'd the Carthage

Demetrius loves your fair: O happy fair!
Your eyes are lode-stars; and your tongue's sweet
More tuneable than lark to shepherd's ear, [air.
When wheat is green, when hawthorn buds ap-

pear.

Sickness is catching; O, were favour so!
Yours would I catch, fair Hermia, ere I go;
My ear should catch your voice, my eye your eye,
My tongue should catch your tongue's sweet
melody.

Were the world mine, Demetrius being bated,
The rest I'll give to be to you translated.
O, teach me how you look; and with what art
You sway the motion of Demetrius' heart.

But herein mean I to enrich my pain,
To have his sight thither and back again. [Exit.
SCENE II. The same. A Room in a Cottage.
Enter SNUG, BOTTOM, FLUTE, SNOUT, QUINCE
and STARVELING.

Quin. Is all our company here?
Bot. You were best to call them generally,
man by man, according to the scrip.

Quin. Here is the scroll of every man's name, which is thought fit, through all Athens, to play in our interlude before the duke and duchess, on his wedding-day at night.

Bot. First, good Peter Quince, say what the Her. I frown upon him, yet he loves me still.play treats on; then read the names of the actors; Hel. O, that your frowns would teach my and so grow to a point.

smiles such skill!

Quin. Marry, our play is-The most lamentHer I give him curses, yet he gives me love.able comedy, and most cruel death of Pyramus Hel. O, that my prayers could such affection and Thisby.

move!

Her. The more I hate, the more he follows me.
Hel. The more I love, the more he hateth me.
Her. His folly, Helena, is no fault of mine.
Hel. None, but your beauty; 'Would that fault
[face;
were mine!
Her. Take comfort; he no more shall see my
Lysander and myself will fly this place.-
Before the time I did Lysander see,
Seem'd Athens as a paradise to me:
O then, what graces in my love do dwell,
That he hath turn'd a heaven unto hell!
Lys. Helen, to you our minds we will unfold:
To-morrow night when Phoebe doth behold
Her silver visage in the wat'ry glass,
Decking with liquid pearl the bladed grass
(A time that lovers' flights doth still conceal),
Through Athens' gates have we devised to steal.

Her. And in the wood, where often you and I
Upon faint primrose beds were wont to lie,
Emptying our bosoms of their counsel sweet,
There my Lysander and myself shall meet:
And thence, from Athens, turn away our eyes,
To seek new friends and stranger companies.
Farewell, sweet playfellow; pray thou for us,
And good luck grant thee thy Demetrius!
Keep word, Lysander; we must starve our sight
From lovers' food, till morrow deep midnight.
[Exit HERMIA.
Lys. I will, my Hermia.-Helena, adieu:
As you on him, Demetrius dote on you!

[Exit LYSANDER.
Hel. How happy some, o'er other some can be!
Through Athens I am thought as fair as she.
But what of that? Demetrius thinks not so;
He will not know what all but he do know.
And as he errs, doting on Hermia's eyes,
So I, admiring of his qualities.

Bot. A very good piece of work, I assure you. and a merry.-Now, good Peter Quince, call forth your actors by the scroll: Masters, spread yourselves. [the weaver.

Quin. Answer, as I call you,-Nick Bottom Bot. Ready: Name what part I am for, and [Pyramus. proceed.

Quin. You, Nick Bottom, are set down for
Bot. What is Pyramus? a lover, or a tyrant?
Quin. A lover, that kills himself most gallantly

for love.

Bot. That will ask some tears in the true per-
forming of it: If I do it, let the audience look
to their eyes; I will move storms, I will condole
in some measure. To the rest:-Yet my chief
humour is for a tyrant: I could play Ercles rarely,
or a part to tear a cat in, to make all split.
"The raging rocks,

With shivering shocks,
Shall break the locks

Of prison gates:

And Phibbus' car

Shall shine from far,

And make and mar
The foolish fates."

This was lofty!-Now name the rest of the
players.-This is Ercles' vein, a tyrant's vein;
a lover is more condoling.

Quin. Francis Flute, the bellows-mender.
Fiu Here, Peter Quince.

Quin. You must take Thisby on you.
Fiu. What is Thisby? a wandering knight?
Quin. It is the lady that Pyramus must love.
Flu. Nay, faith, let me not play a woman; I
have a beard coming.

Quin. That's all one; you shall play it in a mask, and you may speak as small as you will.

Bot. An I may hide my face, let me play Thisby too: I'll speak in a monstrous little voice;-Thisne, Thisne-Ah, Pyramus, my lover dear; thy Thisby dear! and lady dear!

Quin. No, no; you must play Pyramus; and, Flute, you Thisby.

Bot. Well, proceed.

Quin. Robin Starveling, the tailor.

Star. Here, Peter Quince.

Things base and vile, holding no quantity,
Love can transpose to form and dignity.
Love looks not with the eyes, but with the mind;
And therefore is wing'd Cupid painted blind;
Nor hath love's mind of any judgment taste;
Wings, and no eyes, figure unheedy haste:
And therefore is love said to be a child,
Because in choice he is so oft beguil'd.
As waggish boys in game themselves forswear,
So the boy love is perjur'd every where;
For ere Demetrius look'd on Hermia's eyne,
He hair'd down oaths, that he was only mine:
And when this hail some heat from Hermia felt,
So he dissolv'd, and showers of oaths did melt.-and, I hope, here is a play fitted.
I will go tell him of fair Hermia's flight;
Then to the wood will he, to-morrow night,
Pursue her; and for this intelligence
If I have thanks, it is a dear expense:

Quin. Robin Starveling, you must play This
by's mother.-Tom Snout, the tinker.
Snout. Here, Peter Quince,

Quin. You, Pyramus's father; myself Thisby's father:-Snug, the joiner, you, the lion's part:

Snug. Have you the lion's part written? pray you, if it be, give it me, for I am slow of study. Quin. You may do it extempore, for it is no thing but roaring.

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