The Plays of Shakespeare

the height of heart-heaviness, by how much I shall think my brother happy in having what he wishes for. Ros. Why then, to-morrow I cannot serve your turn for Rosalind?

Orl. I can live no longer by thinking.

you

Ros. I will weary you, then, no longer with idle talking. Know of me, then, (for now I speak to some purpose) that I know you are a gentleman of good conceit. I speak not this, that you should bear a good opinion of my knowledge, insomuch, I say, I know are; neither do I labour for a greater esteem than may in some little measure draw a belief from you, to do yourself good, and not to grace me. Believe then, if you please, that I can do strange things. I have, since I was three years old, conversed with a magician, most profound in his art, and yet not damnable. If you do love Rosalind so near the heart as your gesture cries it out, when your brother marries Aliena, shall you marry her. I know into what straits of fortune she is driven; and it is not impossible to me, if it appear not inconvenient to you, to set her before your eyes to-morrow, human as she is, and without any danger.

Enter SILVIUS and PHEBE. Look; here comes a lover of mine, and a lover of hers. Phe. Youth, you have done me much ungentleness,

To show the letter that I writ to you.

Ros. I care not, if I have: it is my study
To seem despiteful and ungentle to you.
You are there follow'd by a faithful shepherd:
Look upon him, love him; he worships you.

Phe. Good shepherd, tell this youth what 'tis to love.
Sil. It is to be all made of sighs and tears;

And so am I for Phebe.

Phe. And I for Ganymede.

Orl. And I for Rosalind.

Ros. And I for no woman.

Sil. It is to be all made of faith and service;

And so am I for Phebe.

Phe. And I for Ganymede.

Orl. And I for Rosalind.

Ros. And I for no woman.

Sil. It is to be all made of fantasy,

All made of passion, and all made of wishes;

All adoration, duty, and obedience;
All humbleness, all patience, and impatience;
All purity, all trial, all observance;
And so am I for Phebe.

Phe. And so am I for Ganymede.
Orl. And so am I for Rosalind.
Ros. And so am I for no woman.

Phe. If this be so, why blame you me to love you? [To ROSALIND. Sil. If this be so, why blame you me to love you? [TO PHEBE. Orl. If this be so, why blame you me to love you? Ros. Who do you speak to, "why blame you me to love you?"

Orl. To her, that is not here, nor doth not hear. Ros. Pray you, no more of this: 'tis like the howling of Irish wolves against the moon.-I will help you, [TO SILVIUS] if I can:-I would love you, [To PHEBE] if I could.-To-morrow meet me all together.-I will marry you, [To PHEBE] if ever I marry woman, and I'll be married to-morrow:-I will satisfy you, [To

In spring time, &c.

And therefore take the present time,

With a hey, and a ho, and a hey nonino,

For love is crowned with the prime

In spring time, &c.

Touch. Truly, young gentlemen, though there was no great matter in the ditty, yet the note was very untimeable.

1 Page. You are deceived, sir: we kept time; we lost not our time.

Touch. By my troth, yes; I count it but time lost to hear such a foolish song. God be wi' you; and God mend your voices.-Come, Audrey. [Exeunt.

SCENE IV.-Another Part of the Forest. Enter DUKE Senior, AMIENS, JAQUES, ORLANDO, OLIVER, and CELIA.

Duke S. Dost thou believe, Orlando, that the boy Can do all this that he hath promised?

Orl. I sometimes do believe, and sometimes do not, As those that fear to hope, and know they fear. Enter ROSALIND, SILVIUS, and PHEBE. Ros. Patience once more, whiles our compact is heard.

[To the DUKE.] You say, if I bring in your Rosalind, You will bestow her on Orlando here?

Duke S. That would I, had I kingdoms to give with her,

Ros. [To ORLANDO.] And you say, you will have her, when I bring her?

Orl. That would I, were I of all kingdoms king. Ros. [To PHEBE.] You say, you'll marry me, if I be willing?

Phe. That will I, should I die the hour after. Ros. But if you do refuse to marry me, You'll give yourself to this most faithful shepherd? Phe. So is the bargain.

Ros. [To SILVIUS.] You say, that you'll have Phebe, if she will?

Sil. Though to have her and death were both one thing. Ros. I have promis'd to make all this matter even. Keep you your word, O duke! to give your daughter;You yours, Orlando, to receive his daughter:Keep you your word, Phebe, that you'll marry me; Or else, refusing me, to wed this shepherd :Keep your word, Silvius, that you'll marry her, If she refuse me :-and from hence I go, To make these doubts all even-even so.

[Exeunt ROSALIND and CELIA. Duke S. I do remember in this shepherd-boy Some lively touches of my daughter's favour. Orl. My lord, the first time that I ever saw him, Methought he was a brother to your daughter: But, my good lord, this boy is forest-born, And hath been tutor'd in the rudiments Of many desperate studies by his uncle, Whom he reports to be a great magician, Obscured in the circle of this forest.

Enter TOUCHSTONE and AUDREY.

Jaq. There is, sure, another flood toward, and these couples are coming to the ark. Here comes a pair of very strange beasts, which in all tongues are called fools. Touch. Salutation and greeting to you all.

Jaq. Good my lord, bid him welcome. This is the motley-minded gentleman, that I have so often met in the forest: he hath been a courtier, he swears.

Touch. If any man doubt that, let him put me to my purgation. I have trod a measure; I have flattered a lady; I have been politic with my friend, smooth with mine enemy; I have undone three tailors; I have had four quarrels, and like to have fought one.

Jaq. And how was that ta'en up?

Touch. 'Faith, we met, and found the quarrel was upon the seventh cause.

Jaq. How the seventh cause?-Good my lord, like this fellow.

Duke S. I like him very well.

Touch. God'ild you, sir; I desire you of the like. I press in here, sir, amongst the rest of the country copulatives, to swear, and to forswear, according as marriage binds, and blood breaks.-A poor virgin, sir, an illfavoured thing, sir, but mine own: a poor humour of mine, sir, to take that that no man else will. Rich honesty dwells like a miser, sir, in a poor-house, as your pearl in your foul oyster.

Duke S. By my faith, he is very swift and senten

tious.

Touch. According to the fool's bolt, sir, and such dulcet diseases.

Jaq. But, for the seventh cause; how did you find the quarrel on the seventh cause?

Touch. Upon a lie seven times removed.-Bear your body more seeming, Audrey.-As thus, sir. I did dislike the cut of a certain courtier's beard: he sent me word, if I said his beard was not cut well, he was in the mind it was: this is called the "retort courteous." If I sent him word again, it was not well cut, he would send me word, he cut it to please him

self: this is called the "quip modest." If again, it was not well cut, he disabled my judgment: this is called the "reply churlish." If again, it was not well cut, he would answer, I spake not true: this is called the "reproof valiant." If again, it was not well cut, he would say, I lied: this is called the "countercheck quarrelsome:" and so to the "lie circumstantial," and the "lie direct."

Jaq. And how oft did you say, his beard was not well cut?

Touch. I durst go no farther than the "lie circumstantial," nor he durst not give me the "lie direct;" and so we measured swords, and parted.

Jaq. Can you nominate in order now the degrees

of the lie?

Touch. O sir, we quarrel in print, by the book, as you have books for good manners: I will name you the degrees. The first, the retort courteous; the second, the quip modest; the third, the reply churlish; the fourth, the reproof valiant; the fifth, the countercheck quarrelsome; the sixth, the lie with circumstance; the seventh, the lie direct. All these you may avoid, but the lie direct; and you may avoid that too, with an if. I knew when seven justices could not take up a quarrel; but when the parties were met themselves, one of them thought but of an if, as If you said so, then I said so; and they shook hands and swore brothers. Your if is the only peace-maker; much virtue in if.

Jaq. Is not this a rare fellow, my lord? he's as good at any thing, and yet a fool.

Duke S. He uses his folly like a stalking-horse, and under the presentation of that he shoots his wit. Enter HYMEN, leading ROSALIND in woman's clothes; and CELIA. Still Music.

Hym. Then is there mirth in heaven,
When earthly things made even

Atone together.

Good duke, receive thy daughter,
Hymen from heaven brought her;

Yea, brought her hither,

That thou might'st join her hand with his,
Whose heart within her bosom is.

Ros. [To DUKE S.] To you I give myself, for I am

[TO PHEBE.] Nor ne'er wed woman, if you be not she. Hym. Peace, ho! I bar confusion.

'Tis I must make conclusion

Of these most strange events:
Here's eight that must take hands,
To join in Hymen's bands,

If truth holds true contents.
[TO ORLANDO and ROSALIND.] You and you
no cross shall part:

[TO OLIVER and CELIA.] You and you are heart in heart:

[To PHEBE.] You to his love must accord, Or have a woman to your lord:

[TO TOUCHSTONE and AUDREY.] You and you
are sure together,

As the winter to foul weather.
Whiles a wedlock-hymn we sing,
Feed yourselves with questioning,
That reason wonder may diminish,
How thus we met, and thus we finish.

SONG.

Wedding is great Juno's crown:

O, blessed bond of board and bed!
'Tis Hymen peoples every town ;

High wedlock, then, be honoured:
Honour, high honour, and renown,
To Hymen, god in every town!

Duke S. O, my dear niece! welcome thou art to me:
Even daughter, welcome in no less degree.

Phe. [To SILVIUS.] I will not eat my word, now thou art mine;

Thy faith my fancy to thee doth combine.

Enter Second Brother.

2 Bro. Let me have audience for a word or two.
I am the second son of old Sir Rowland,
That brings these tidings to this fair assembly.-
Duke Frederick, hearing how that every day
Men of great worth resorted to this forest,
Address'd a mighty power, which were on foot
In his own conduct, purposely to take
His brother here, and put him to the sword.
And to the skirts of this wild wood he came,
Where, meeting with an old religious man,
After some question with him, was converted
Both from his enterprize, and from the world;
His crown bequeathing to his banish'd brother,
And all their lands restor'd to them again,
That were with him exil'd. This to be true,
I do engage my life.

Welcome, young man.

Duke S.
Thou offer'st fairly to thy brothers' wedding:
To one, his lands withheld; and to the other,
A land itself at large, a potent dukedom.
First, in this forest, let us do those ends
That here were well begun, and well begot;
And after, every of this happy number,
That have endur'd shrewd days and nights with us,
Shall share the good of our returned fortune,
According to the measure of their 'states.
Meantime, forget this new-fall'n dignity,
And fall into our rustic revelry.-

Play, music! and you brides and bridegrooms all,
With measure heap'd in joy, to the measures fall.

Jaq. Sir, by your patience.-If I heard you rightly,
The duke hath put on a religious life,

And thrown into neglect the pompous court?
2 Bro. He hath.

Jaq. To him will I: out of these convertites
There is much matter to be heard and learn'd.—
You [To DUKE S.] to your former honour I bequeath;
Your patience, and your virtue, well deserve it:-
You [To ORLANDO] to a love, that your true faith doth
merit:-

You [To OLIVER] to your land, and love, and great
allies:-

You [To SILVIUS] to a long and well deserved bed :-
And you [To TOUCHSTONE] to wrangling; for thy
loving voyage

Is but for two months victuall'd.-So, to your pleasures:
I am for other than for dancing measures.
Duke S. Stay, Jaques, stay.

Jaq. To see no pastime, I:-what you would have,
I'll stay to know at your abandon'd cave. [Exit.
Duke S. Proceed, proceed: we will begin these rites,
As we do trust they'll end, in true delights.

EPILOGUE.

Ros. It is not the fashion to see the lady the Epi- | charge you, O women! for the love you bear to men, logue; but it is no more unhandsome, than to see the to like as much of this play as please you: and I lord the Prologue. If it be true, that good wine charge you, O men! for the love you bear to women, needs no bush, 'tis true that a good play needs no (as I perceive by your simpering none of you hates epilogue; yet to good wine they do use good bushes, them) that between you and the women, the play may and good plays prove the better by the help of good please. If I were a woman, I would kiss as many of epilogues. What a case am I in, then, that am neither you as had beards that pleased me, complexions that a good epilogue, nor cannot insinuate with you in the liked me, and breaths that I defied not; and, I am behalf of a good play? I am not furnished like a beg-sure, as many as have good beards, or good faces, or gar, therefore to beg will not become me my way is, sweet breaths, will, for my kind offer, when I make to conjure you; and I'll begin with the women. I curtsey, bid me farewell. [Exeunt.

Tailor, Haberdasher, and Servants attending on Baptista and Petruchio.
SCENE, sometimes in Padua; and sometimes in Petruchio's House in the Country.

INDUCTION.

SCENE I.-Before an Alehouse on a Heath.
Enter HOSTESS and CHRISTOPHERO SLY.

Sly. I'll pheese you, in faith.
Host. A pair of stocks, you rogue!
Sly. Y'are a baggage: the Slys are no rogues; look
in the chronicles, we came in with Richard Conqueror.
Therefore, paucas pallabris; let the world slide. Sessa!
Host. You will not pay for the glasses you have burst?
Sly. No, not a denier. Go by, Jeronimy: go to
thy cold bed, and warm thee.

Host. I know my remedy; I must go fetch the
headborough.
[Exit.
Sly. Third, or fourth, or fifth borough, I'll answer him
by law. I'll not budge an inch, boy: let him come, and
kindly.
[Lies down, and falls asleep.
Wind Horns. Enter a Lord from hunting, with Hunts-
men and Servants.

Lord. Huntsman, I charge thee, tender well my
hounds:

Brach Merriman,-the poor cur is emboss'd,
And couple Clowder with the deep-mouth'd brach.
Saw'st thou not, boy, how Silver made it good
At the hedge corner, in the coldest fault?

I would not lose the dog for twenty pound.

1 Hun. Why, Belman is as good as he, my lord;
He cried upon it at the merest loss,
And twice to-day pick'd out the dullest scent:
Trust me, I take him for the better dog.

Lord. Thou art a fool: if Echo were as fleet,
I would esteem him worth a dozen such.
But sup them well, and look unto them all:
To-morrow I intend to hunt again.

1 Hun. I will, my lord.

2 Hun. He breathes, my lord. Were he not warm'd with ale,

This were a bed but cold to sleep so soundly.

Lord. O, monstrous beast! how like a swine he lies.
Grim death, how foul and loathsome is thine image!
Sirs, I will practise on this drunken man.
What think you, if he were convey'd to bed,
Wrapp'd in sweet clothes, rings put upon his fingers,
A most delicious banquet by his bed,
And brave attendants near him when he wakes,
Would not the beggar then forget himself?

1 Hun. Believe me, lord, I think he cannot choose.
2 Hun. It would seem strange unto him when he wak'd.
Lord. Even as a flattering dream, or worthless fancy.
Then take him up, and manage well the jest.
Carry him gently to my fairest chamber,
And hang it round with all my wanton pictures;
Balm his foul head with warm distilled waters,
And burn sweet wood to make the lodging sweet:
Procure me music ready when he wakes,
To make a dulcet and a heavenly sound;
And if he chance to speak, be ready straight,
And, with a low submissive reverence,
Say, what is it your honour will command?
Let one attend him with a silver bason,
Full of rose-water, and bestrew'd with flowers;
Another bear the ewer, the third a diaper,
And say,-will't please your lordship cool your
Some one be ready with a costly suit,
And ask him what apparel he will wear;
Another tell him of his hounds and horse,
And that his lady mourns at his disease.
Persuade him, that he hath been lunatic;
When he says what he is, say, that he dreams,

Lord. What's here? one dead, or drunk? See, doth For he is nothing but a mighty lord.

he breathe?

This do, and do it kindly, gentle sirs:

hands?

It will be pastime passing excellent, If it be husbanded with modesty.

Anon I'll give thee more instructions. [Exit Servant.
I know, the boy will well usurp the grace,

1 Hun. My lord, I warrant you, we will play our part, Voice, gait, and action of a gentlewoman:
As he shall think, by our true diligence,
He is no less than what we say he is.

Lord. Take him up gently, and to bed with him, And each one to his office when he wakes.

[SLY is borne out. A trumpet sounds. Sirrah, go see what trumpet 'tis that sounds:

[Exit Servant.

Belike, some noble gentleman, that means,
Travelling some journey, to repose him here.-
Re-enter Servant.

How now? who is't?
Serv.
An 't please your honour, players
That offer humble service to your lordship.
Lord. Bid them come near.

Enter five or six Players.

Now, fellows, you are welcome. Players. We thank your honour. Lord. Do you intend to stay with me to-night? 2 Play. So please your lordship to accept our duty. Lord. With all my heart.-This fellow I remember, Since once he play'd a farmer's eldest son :'Twas where you woo'd the gentlewoman so well. I have forgot your name; but, sure, that part Was aptly fitted, and naturally perform'd.

1 Play. I think, 'twas Soto that your honour means. Lord. 'Tis very true: thou didst it excellent. Well, you are come to me in happy time, The rather for I have some sport in hand, Wherein your cunning can assist me much. There is a lord will hear you play to-night; But I am doubtful of your modesties, Lest, over-eying of his odd behaviour, (For yet his honour never heard a play) You break into some merry passion, And so offend him; for I tell you, sirs, If you should smile he grows impatient.

i Play. Fear not, my lord: we can contain ourselves, Were he the veriest antic in the world.

Lord. Go, sirrah, take them to the buttery, And give them friendly welcome every one: Let them want nothing that my house affords.

[Exeunt Servant and Players. Sirrah, go you to Bartholmew my page, [To a Servant. And see him dress'd in all suits like a lady: That done, conduct him to the drunkard's chamber; And call him madam, do him obeisance: Tell him from me, as he will win my love, He bear himself with honourable action, Such as he hath observ'd in noble ladies Unto their lords by them accomplished: Such duty to the drunkard let him do, With soft low tongue, and lowly courtesy; And say,-what is't your honour will command, Wherein your lady, and your humble wife May show her duty, and make known her love? And then, with kind embracements, tempting kisses, And with declining head into his bosom, Bid him shed tears, as being overjoy'd To see her noble lord restor'd to health, Who for this seven years hath esteemed him No better than a poor and loathsome beggar. And if the boy have not a woman's gift, To rain a shower of commanded tears, An onion will do well for such a shift, Which, in a napkin being close convey'd, Shall in despite enforce a watery eye.

See this despatch'd with all the haste thou canst:

I long to hear him call the drunkard husband,
And how my men will stay themselves from laughter,
When they do homage to this simple peasant.
I'll in to counsel them: haply, my presence
May well abate their over-merry spleen,
Which otherwise would grow into extremes. [Exeunt.
SCENE II.-A Bedchamber in the Lord's House.
SLY is discovered, with Attendants; some with apparel,
others with bason, ewer, and appurtenances. Enter
LORD, dressed like a Servant.

Sly. For God's sake, a pot of small ale.

1 Serv. Will't please your lordship drink a cup of sack? 2 Serv. Will't please your honour taste of these conserves?

3 Serv. What raiment will your honour wear to-day? Sly. I am Christophero Sly; call not me honour, nor lordship: I ne'er drank sack in my life; and if you give me any conserves, give me conserves of beef. Ne'er ask me what raiment I'll wear, for I have no more doublets than backs, no more stockings than legs, nor no more shoes than feet; nay, sometime, more feet than shoes, or such shoes as my toes look through the overleather.

Lord. Heaven cease this evil humour in your honour! O! that a mighty man, of such descent, Of such possessions, and so high esteem, Should be infused with so foul a spirit!

Sly. What! would you make me mad? Am not I Christophero Sly, old Sly's son, of Burton-heath; by birth a pedlar, by education a card-maker, by transmutation a bear-herd, and now by present profession a tinker? Ask Marian Hacket, the fat alewife of Wincot, if she know me not: if she say I am not fourteen pence on the score for Warwickshire ale, score me up for the lying'st knave in Christendom. What! I am not bestraught. Here's

1 Serv. O! this it is that makes your lady mourn.
3 Serv. O! this it is that makes your servants droop.
Lord. Hence comes it that your kindred shun your
house,

As beaten hence by your strange lunacy.
O, noble lord! bethink thee of thy birth;
Call home thy ancient thoughts from banishment,
And banish hence these abject lowly dreams.
Look how thy servants do attend on thee,
Each in his office ready at thy beck:

Wilt thou have music? hark! Apollo plays, [Music.
And twenty caged nightingales do sing:

Or wilt thou sleep? we'll have thee to a couch,
Softer and sweeter than the lustful bed

On purpose trimm'd up for Semiramis.
Say thou wilt walk, we will bestrew the ground:
Or wilt thou ride, thy horses shall be trapp'd,
Their harness studded all with gold and pearl.
Dost thou love hawking? thou hast hawks will soar
Above the morning lark: or wilt thou hunt?
Thy hounds shall make the welkin answer them,
And fetch shrill echoes from the hollow earth.

1 Serv. Say thou wilt course, thy greyhounds are as swift

As breathed stags, ay, fleeter than the roe.

2 Serv. Dost thou love pictures? we will fetch thee

« Předchozí Pokračovat »

Knihy

The Plays of Shakespeare: The Text Regulated by the Old Copies, and by the ...