The Plays of William Shakspeare

Hel. I have, sir, as I was commanded from you, Spoke with the king, and have procur'd his leave For present parting; only, he desires, Some private speech with you.

Ber.

And ever shall

Hel. With true observance seck to eke out that, Wherein toward me my homely stars have fail'd To equal my great fortune. Ber. Let that go:

My haste is very great: Farewell; hie home. Hel. Pray, sir, your pardon.

Ber.

Well, what would you say? Hel. I am not worthy of the wealth I owe;

I shall obey his will. Nor dare I say, 'tis mine; and yet it is;

You must not marvel, Helen, at my course,
Which holds not colour with the time, nor does
The ministration and required office

On my particular: prepar'd I was not
For such a business; therefore am I found

So much unsettled : This drives me to entreat you,
That presently you take your way for home;
And rather muse, than ask, why I entreat you:
For my respects are better than they seem;
And my appointments have in them a need,
Greater than shows itself, at the first view,
To you that know them not. This to my mother:
[Giving a letter.
"Twill be two days ere I shall see you; so
I leave you to your wisdom.

But, like a timorous thief, most fain would steal What law does vouch mine own.

Ber. Where are my other men, monsieur?— Farewell. [Exit HELENA. Go thou toward home; where I will never come, Whilst I can shake my sword, or hear the drum :Sir, I can nothing say, Away, and for our flight. But that I am your most obedient servant. Ber. Come, come, no more of that.

Hel.

Par.

Bravely, coragio!

[Exeunt.

ACT III.

A Room in the Duke's | SCENE II. — Rousillon, A Room in the Coun

Palace.

Enter the DUKE OF FLORENCE, attended; two French Lords, and others.

Duke. So that, from point to point, now have you heard

The fundamental reasons of this war;
Whose great decision hath much blood let forth,
And more thirsts after.

1 Lord.

Holy seems the quarrel Upon your grace's part; black and fearful

On the opposer.

tess's Palace.

Enter COUNTESS and Clown.

Count. It hath happened all as I would have had it, save, that he comes not along with her.

Clo. By my troth, I take my young lord to be a very melancholy man.

Count. By what observance, I pray you?

Clo. Why, he will look upon his boot, and sing; mend the ruff, and sing; ask questions, and sing; pick his teeth, and sing: I know a man that had this trick of melancholy, sold a goodly manor for a song. Count. Let me see what he writes, and when he means to come. [Opening a letter.

Clo. I have no mind to Isbel, since I was at court; our old ling and our Isbels o' the country are nothing like your old ling and your Isbels o' the court: the brains of my Cupid's knocked out; and I begin to love, as an old man loves money, with no stomach.

Count. What have we here?
Clo. E'en that you have there.

Ch. O madam, yonder is heavy news within, be- My son corrupts a well-derived nature
tween two soldiers and my young lady.
Count. What is the matter?

Cla. Nay, there is some comfort in the news, some comfort; your son will not be killed so soon as I thought he would.

Count. Why should he be kill'd?'

Cla. So say I, madam, if he run away, as I hear he does: the danger is in standing to't; that's the loss of men, though it be the getting of children. Here they come, will tell you more: for my part, I only hear, your son was run away. [Exit Clown.

Enter HELENA and two Gentlemen.

1 Gen. Save you, good madam.

Ha. Madam, my lord is gone, for ever gone.
2 Gen. Do not say so.

Count. Think upon patience. - 'Pray you, gen-
tlemen,

I have felt so many quirks of joy, and grief,
That the first face of neither, on the start,

Can woman me unto't:- Where is my son, I pray
you?

2 Gent. Madam, he's gone to serve the duke of

Florence:

We met him thitherward; from thence we came,
And, after some despatch in hand at court,
Thither we bend again.

He. Look on his letter, madam; here's my

With his inducement.

1 Gen.
Indeed, good lady,
The fellow has a deal of that, too much,
Which holds him much to have.

Count. You are welcome, gentlemen,
I will entreat you, when you see my son,
To tell him that his sword can never win
The honour that he loses : more I'll entreat you
Written to bear along.

2 Gen.

We serve you, madam,
In that and all your worthiest affairs.
Count. Not so, but as we change our courtesies.
Will you draw near?

[Exeunt COUNTESS and Gentlemen.
Hel. Till I have no wife, I have nothing in France.
Nothing in France, until he has no wife!
Thou shalt have none, Rousillon, none in France,
Then hast thou all again. Poor lord! is't I
That chase thee from thy country, and expose
Those tender limbs of thine to the event

Of the none-sparing war? and is it I

That drive thee from the sportive court, where thou
Wast shot at with fair eyes, to be the mark
Of smoky muskets? O you leaden messengers,
That ride upon the violent speed of fire,

Fly with false aim; move the still-piercing air,
That sings with piercing, do not touch my lord!
pass-Whoever shoots at him, I set him there;
Whoever charges on his forward breast,
I am the caitiff, that do hold him to it;
And, though I kill him not, I am the cause
His death was so effected: better 'twere,
I met the ravin lion when he roar'd
With sharp constraint of hunger; better 'twere
That all the miseries, which nature owes,
Were mine at once: No, come thou home, Rou-
sillon,

port.
[Beads.] When thou canst get the ring upon my fin-
ger, which never shall come off, and show me a child
begotten of thy body, that I am father to, then call
me husband: but in such a then I write a never.
This is a dreadful sentence.

Count. Brought you this letter, gentlemen?
1 Gen.

Ay, madam;

And, for the contents' sake, are sorry for our pains.
Count. I pr'ythee, lady, have a better cheer;
If thou engrossest all the griefs are thine,
Thou robb'st me of a moiety: He was my son;
But I do wash his name out of my blood,
And thou art all my child.-Towards Florence is he?
Gen. Ay, madam.

And to be a soldier?

Count.
2 Gen. Such is his noble purpose: and, believe't,
The duke will lay upon him all the honour
That good convenience claims.

Count.

Return you thither?

1 Gen. Ay, madam, with the swiftest wing of
speed.

Hel. [Reads.] Till I have no wife, I have nothing

in France.

Whence honour but of danger wins a scar,
As oft it loses all; I will be gone :
My being here it is, that holds thee hence:
Shall I stay here to do't? no, no, although
The air of paradise did fan the house,
And angels offic'd all: I will be gone;
That pitiful rumour may report my flight,
Come, night; end, day!
To consolate thine ear.
For, with the dark, poor thief, I'll steal away.

[Exit. SCENE III. - Florence. Before the Duke's

Palace.

Make me but like my thoughts; and I shall prove A lover of thy drum, hater of love. [Exeunt.

SCENE IV. - Rousillon. A Room in the
Countess's Palace.

Enter COUNTESS and Steward.

Count. Alas! and would you take the letter of her?

Might you not know, she would do as she has done,

By sending me a letter? Read it again.
Stew. I am St. Jaques' pilgrim, thither gone:
Ambitious love hath so in me offended,
That bare-foot plod I the cold ground upon,

With sainted vow my faults to have amended.
Write, write, that, from the bloody course of war,
My dearest master, your dear son may hie;
Bless him at home in peace, whilst I from far,
His name with zealous fervour sanctify:
His taken labours bid him me forgive;

I, his despiteful Juno, sent him forth
From courtly friends, with camping foes to live,
Where death and danger dog the heels of worth:
He is too good and fair for death and me;
Whom I myself embrace, to set him free.

Count. Ah, what sharp stings are in her mildest words!

Rinaldo, you did never lack advice so much,
As letting her pass so; had I spoke with her,
I could have well diverted her intents,
Which thus she hath prevented.

Stew.

Pardon me, madam: If I had given you this at over-night,

She might have been o'er-ta'en; and yet she writes, Pursuit would be but vain.

Bless this unworthy husband? he cannot thrive,
Unless her prayers, whom heaven delights to hear,
And loves to grant, reprieve him from the wrath
Of greatest justice.Write, write, Rinaldo,
To this unworthy husband of his wife :
Let every word weigh heavy of her worth,
That he does weigh too light: my greatest grief,
Though little he do feel it, set down sharply.
Despatch the most convenient messenger :-
When, haply, he shall hear that she is gone,
He will return; and hope I may, that she,
Hearing so much, will speed her foot again,
Led hither by pure love: which of them both
Is dearest to me, I have no skill in sense
To make distinction: - Provide this messenger:
My heart is heavy, and mine age is weak;
Grief would have tears, and sorrow bids me speak.
[Exeunt.
SCENE V. Without the Walls of Florence.
A tucket afar off. Enter an old Widow of Flo-
rence, DIANA, VIOLENTA, MARIANA, and other
Citizens.

Wid. Nay, come; for if they do approach the city, we shall lose all the sight.

Dia. They say, the French count has done most honourable service.

Wid. It is reported that he has taken their greatest commander; and that with his own hand he slew the duke's brother. We have lost our labour: they are gone a contrary way: hark! you may know by their trumpets.

Mar. Come, let's return again, and suffice ourselves with the report of it. Well, Diana take heed of this French earl: the honour of a maid is her name; and no legacy is so rich as honesty.

Wid. I have told my neighbour, how you have been solicited by a gentleman his companion.

Mar. I know that knave; hang him! one Parolles a filthy officer he is in those suggestions for the young earl.- Beware of them, Diana; their promises, enticements, oaths, tokens, and all these engines of lust, are not the things they go under many a maid hath been seduced by them; and the misery is, example that so terrible shows in the wreck of maidenhood, cannot for all that dissuade succession, but that they are limed with the twigs that threaten them. I hope I need not to advise you further; but, I hope, your own grace will keep you where you are, though there were no further danger known, but the modesty which is so lost. Dia. You shall not need to fear me.

Enter HELENA, in the dress of a pilgrim. Wid. I hope so. - Look, here comes a pilgrim: I know she will lie at my house: thither they send one another; I'll question her.

God save you, pilgrim! Whither are you bound?
Hel. To Saint Jaques le grand.

Where do the palmers lodge, I do beseech you?
Wid. At the Saint Francis here, beside the port.
Hel. Is this the way?
Wid.

Ay, marry, is it. - Hark you! [A march afar off They come this way: - If you will tarry, holy

[merged small][merged small][merged small][merged small][merged small][merged small][ocr errors][merged small][merged small][merged small][merged small][merged small][merged small][merged small][merged small][merged small][merged small][merged small][merged small]

Hel.

Which is he?

the owner of no one good quality worthy your lordship's entertainment.

2 Lord. It were fit you knew him; lest, reposing too far in his virtue, which he hath not, he might, at some great and trusty business, in a main danger, fail you.

Ber. I would, I knew in what particular action to try him.

2 Lord. None better than to let him fetch off his drum, which you hear him so confidently undertake to do.

1 Lord. I, with a troop of Florentines, will suddenly surprize him; such I will have, whom I am sure, he knows not from the enemy: we will bind and hood-wink him so, that he shall suppose no other but that he is carried into the leaguer of the adversaries, when we bring him to our tents: Be but your lordship present at his examination: if he do not, for the promise of his life, and in the highest compulsion of base fear, offer to betray you, and deliver all the intelligence in his power against you, and that with the divine forfeit of his soul upon oath, never trust my judgment in any thing.

2 Lord. O, for the love of laughter, let him fetch his drum; he says, he has a stratagem for't: when your lordship sees the bottom of his success in't, and to what metal this counterfeit lump of ore will be melted, if you give him not John Drum's entertainment, your inclining cannot be removed. Here

he comes.

Enter PAROLLES.

1 Lord. O, for the love of laughter, hinder not

Din. That jack-an-apes with scarfs: Why is he the humour of his design: let him fetch off his

melancholy?

Hd. Perchance he's hurt i'the battle.

Par. Lose our drum! well.

Mr. He's shrewdly vexed at something: Look,

be has spied us.

Wid. Marry, hang you!

Mar. And your courtesy, for a ring-carrier!

[Exeunt BERTRAM, PAROLLES, Officers,
and Soldiers.

Wid. The troop is past: Come pilgrim, I will

bring you

Where you shall host: of enjoin'd penitents
There's four or five, to great Saint Jaques bound,
Already at my house.

Hel.

I humbly thank you :
Please it this matron, and this gentle maid,
To eat with us to-night, the charge and thanking,
Shall be for me; and, to requite you further,
I will bestow some precepts on this virgin,
Warthy the note.

Both

We'll take your offer kindly.
[Exeunt.

SCENE VI.—Camp before Florence.
Enter BERTRAM, and the two French Lords.
1 Lord. Nay, good my lord, put him to't; let
him have his way.

Ind. If your lordship find him not a hilding, bold me no more in your respect.

1 Lord. On my life, my lord, a bubble. Ber. Do you think, I am so far deceived in him? 1 Lord. Believe it, my lord, in mine own direct knowledge, without any malice, but to speak of him my kinsman, he's a most notable coward, an infaite and endless liar, an hourly promise-breaker,

drum in any hand.

Ber. How now, monsieur? this drum sticks sorely in your disposition.

drum.

Lord. A pox on't, let it go; 'tis but a

Par. But a drum! Is't but a drum? A drum so lost! There was an excellent command! to charge in with our horse upon our own wings, and to rend our own soldiers.

2 Lord. That was not to be blamed in the command of the service; it was a disaster of war that Cæsar himself could not have prevented, if he had been there to command.

Ber. Well, we cannot greatly condemn our success : some dishonour we had in the loss of that drum; but it is not to be recovered.

Par. It might have been recovered.
Ber. It might, but it is not now.

Par. It is to be recovered: but that the merit of service is seldom attributed to the true and exact performer, I would have that drum or another, or hic jacet.

Ber. Why, if you have a stomach to't, monsieur, if you think your mystery in stratagem can bring this instrument of honour again into his native quarter, be magnanimous in the enterprize, and go on; I will grace the attempt for a worthy exploit: if you speed well in it, the duke shall both speak of it, and extend to you what further becomes his greatness, even to the utmost syllable of your worthiness.

Par. By the hand of a soldier, I will undertake it.
Ber. But you must not now slumber in it.

Par. I'll about it this evening: and I will presently pen down my dilemmas, encourage myself in my certainty, put myself into my mortal prepar

ation, and, by midnight, look to hear further from |

me.

Ber. May I be bold to acquaint his grace, you are gone about it?

Par. I know not what the success will be, my lord; but the attempt I vow.

Ber. I know, thou art valiant; and to the possibility of thy soldiership, will subscribe for thee. Farewell.

Par. I love not many words.

[Exit.

1 Lord. No more than a fish loves water. Is not this a strange fellow, my lord? that so confidently seems to undertake this business, which he knows is not to be done; damns himself to do, and dares better be damned than to do't.

2 Lord. You do not know him, my lord, as we do: certain it is, that he will steal himself into a man's favour, and, for a week, escape a great deal of discoveries; but when you find him out, you have him ever after.

Ber. Why, do you think, he will make no deed at all of this, that so seriously he does address himself unto?

1 Lord. None in the world; but return with an invention, and clap upon you two or three probable lies: but we have almost embossed him, you shall see his fall to-night: for, indeed, he is not for your lordship's respect.

2 Lord. We'll make you some sport with the fox, ere we case him. He was first smoked by the old lord Lafeu: when his disguise and he is parted, tell me what a sprat you shall find him ; which you shall see this very night.

1 Lord. I must go look my twigs; he shall be caught.

Ber. Your brother, he shall go along with me. 1 Lord. As't please your lordship: I'll leave you. [Exit. Ber. Now will I lead you to the house, and show you

The lass I spoke of.

2 Lord.

But, you say, she's honest. Ber. That's all the fault: I spoke with her but once, And found her wondrous cold; but I sent to her, By this same coxcomb that we have i'the wind, Tokens and letters which she did re-send; And this is all I have done: She's a fair creature ; Will you go see her? 2 Lord.

SCENE VII.

With all my heart, my lord. [Exeunt.

- Florence. A Room in the Widow's House.

t Enter HELENA and Widow.

Hel. If you misdoubt me that I am not she,

I know not how I shall assure you further,
But I shall lose the grounds I work upon.
Wid. Though my estate be fallen, I was wel
born,

Nothing acquainted with these businesses;
And would not put my reputation now
In any staining act.

Wid.

Nor would I wish you.

Hel. First, give me trust, the count he is my husband; And, what to your sworn counsel I have spoken, Is so, from word to word; and then you cannot, By the good aid that I of you shall borrow, Err in bestowing it. I should believe you; For you have show'd me that, which well approve You are great in fortune. Hel. Take this purse of gold And let me buy your friendly help thus far, Which I will over-pay, and pay again, When I have found it. The count he wooes you daughter,

Lays down his wanton siege before her beauty, Resolves to carry her; let her, in fine, consent, As we'll direct her how 'tis best to bear it, Now his important blood will nought deny That she'll demand: A ring the county wears, That downward hath succeeded in his house, From son to son, some four or five descents Since the first father wore it: this ring he holds In most rich choice; yet, in his idle fire, To buy his will, it would not seem too dear, Howe'er repented after. Wid. Now I see The bottom of your purpose.

Hel. You see it lawful then: It is no more, But that your daughter, ere she seems as won, Desires this ring; appoints him an encounter ; In fine, delivers me to fill the time, Herself most chastely absent; after this, To marry her, I'll add three thousand crowns To what is past already.

Wid.

I have yielded :

Instruct my daughter how she shall perséver,
That time and place, with this deceit so lawful,
May prove coherent. Every night he comes
With musicks of all sorts, and songs compos'd
To her unworthiness: It nothing steads us,
To chide him from our caves; for he persists,
As if his life lay on't.

Hel.
Why then, to-night
Let us assay our plot; which, if it speed,
Is wicked meaning in a lawful deed,
And lawful meaning in a lawful act;
Where both not sin, and yet a sinful fact :
But let's about it.

ACT IV.

SCENE I. Without the Florentine Camp. Enter first Lord,

with five or six Soldiers in ambush.

1 Lord. He can come no other way but by this hedge' corner: When you sally upon him, speak what terrible language you will; though you understand it not yourselves, no matter; for we must not

[Exeu

seem to understand him; unless some one amo us, whom we must produce for an interpreter. 1 Sold. Good captain, let me be the interpretes 1 Lord. Art not acquainted with him? knows not thy voice?

1 Sold. No, sir, I warrant you.

1 Lord. But what linsy-woolsy hast thou to spe to us again?

« Předchozí Pokračovat »

Knihy

The Plays of William Shakspeare, Svazky 11–12