The Works of Shakespeare

Change not your offer made in heat of blood;
If frosts, and fasts, hard lodging, and thin weeds,
Nip not the gaudy blossoms of your love,
But that it bear this trial, and last love;
Then, at the expiration of the year,

Come challenge me, challenge me by these deserts,
And, by this virgin palm, now kissing thine,

I will be thine; and, till that instant, shut
My woeful self up in a mourning house,
Raining the tears of lamentation

For the remembrance of my father's death.
If this thou do deny, let our hands part,
Neither intitled in the other's heart.

KING. If this, or more than this, I would deny,
To flatter up these powers of mine with rest,
The sudden hand of death close up mine eye!
Hence ever, then, my heart is in thy breast.
DUM. But what to me, my love? but what to me?
KATH. A wife !-A beard, fair health, and
honesty;

With three-fold love I wish you all these three.
DUM. O, shall I say, I thank you, gentle wife?
KATH. Not so, my lord; a twelvemonth and a day,
I'll mark no words that smooth-fac'd wooers say:
Come when the king doth to my lady come,
Then, if I have much love, I'll give you some.

DUM. I'll serve thee true and faithfully till then.
KATH. Yet swear not, lest you be forsworn agen.
LONG. What says Maria?
MAR.

At the twelvemonth's end, I'll change my black gown for a faithful friend. LONG. I'll stay with patience; but the time is long.

MAR. The liker you; few taller are so young.
BIRON. Studies my lady? mistress, look on me,
Behold the window of my heart, mine eye,
What humble suit attends thy answer there;
Impose some service on me for thy love.

Ros. Oft have I heard of you, my lord Biron,
Before I saw you; and the world's large tongue
Proclaims you for a man replete with mocks :
Full of comparisons and wounding flouts,
Which you on all estates will execute,
That lie within the mercy of your wit:
To weed this wormwood from your fruitful brain,
And, therewithal, to win me, if you please,
(Without the which I am not to be won,)
You shall this twelvemonth term, from day to day,
Visit the speechless sick, and still converse

With groaning wretches; and your task shall be,

With all the fierce endeavour of your wit,
To enforce the pained impotent to smile.
BIRON. To move wild laughter in the throat of
death?

It cannot be; it is impossible:

Mirth cannot move a soul in agony.

Ros. Why, that's the way to choke a gibing spirit,
Whose influence is begot of that loose grace
Which shallow laughing hearers give to fools:
A jest's prosperity lies in the ear

Of him that hears it, never in the tongue
Of him that makes it: then, if sickly ears,
Deaf'd with the clamours of their own dear groans,
Will hear your idle scorns, continue then,
And I will have you, and that fault withal;
But, if they will not, throw away that spirit,
And I shall find you, empty of that fault,
Right joyful of your reformation.

BIRON. A twelvemonth? well, befal what will befal,

I'll jest a twelvemonth in an hospital.

PRIN. Ay, sweet my lord; and so I take my leave. [To the KING.

KING. No, madam, we will bring you on your

way.

one maintained by the owl, the other by the cuckoo. Ver, begin.

THE SONG.

SPRING. When daises pied, and violets blue,
And lady-smocks all silver white,
And cuckoo-buds of yellow hue,

Do paint the meadows with delight,
The cuckoo then, on every tree,
Mocks married men, for thus sings he.
Cuckoo ;

Cuckoo, cuckoo-O word of fear,
Unpleasing to a married ear!

II.

When shepherds pipe on oaten straws,

And merry larks are ploughmen's clocks, When turtles tread, and rooks, and daws,

And maidens bleach their summer-smocks,
The cuckoo then, on every tree,
Mocks married men, for thus sings he,
Cuckoo ;

Cuckoo, cuckoo-O word of fear,
Unpleasing to a married ear!

BIRON. Our wooing doth not end like an old play ; Jack hath not Jill: these ladies' courtesy Might well have made our sport a comedy. KING. Come, sir, it wants a twelvemonth and a WINTER. When icicles hang by the wall,

day, And then 't will end. BIRON.

That 's too long for a play. Enter ARMADO.

ARM. Sweet majesty vouchsafe mePRIN. Was not that Hector ? DUM. The worthy knight of Troy. ARM. I will kiss thy royal finger, and take leave: I am a votary; I have vowed to Jaquenetta to hold the plough for her sweet love three years. But, most esteemed greatness, will you hear the dialogue that the two learned men have compiled, in praise of the owl and the cuckoo? it should have followed in the end of our show.

KING. Call them forth quickly, we will do so.
ARM. Holloa! approach.

[Enter HOLOFERNES, NATHANIEL, MOTH, COSTARD, and others. This side is Hiems, winter: this Ver, the spring: the

III.

And Dick the shepherd blows his nail,
And Tom bears logs into the hall,

And milk comes frozen home in fail,
When blood is nipp'd, and ways be foul,
Then nightly sings the staring orvi,
To-who:

Tu-whit, to-who, a merry note,
While greasy Joan doth keel the pot.
When all aloud the wind doth blow,
And coughing drowns the parson's saw,
And birds sit brooding in the snow,

And Marian's nose looks red and raw;
When roasted crabs hiss in the bowl,
Then nightly sings the staring owl,
To-who;

Tu-whit, to-who, a merry note,
While greasy Joan doth keel the pot

ARM. The words of Mercury are harsh after the songs of Apollo. You, that way; we, this way. [Exeunt.

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EMILIA, wife to ÆGEON, an Abbess at Ephesus.
ADRIANA, wife to ANTIPHOLUS of Ephesus.
LUCIANA, her sister.

LUCE, her servant.

A COURTEZAN.

Enter DUKE, EGEON, GAOLER, OFFICER and other ATTENDANTS.

EGE. Proceed, Solinus, to procure my fall,
And, by the doom of death, end woes and all.

DUKE. Merchant of Syracusa, plead no more;
I am not partial to infringe our laws.
The enmity and discord which of late

Sprung from the rancorous outrage of your duke,
To merchants, our well-dealing countrymen-
Who, wanting guilders to redeem their lives,
Have seal'd his rigorous statutes with their bloods-
Excludes all pity from our threat'ning looks.
For, since the mortal and intestine jars
"Twixt thy seditious countrymen and us,

It hath in solemn synods been decreed,

Both by the Syracusians and ourselves,
To admit no traffic to our adverse towns.
Nay, more if any born at Ephesus be seen
At any Syracusian marts and fairs-
Again, any Syracusian born
Come to the bay of Ephesus he dies,
His goods confiscate to the duke's dispose;
Unless a thousand marks be levied
To quit the penalty, and to ransom him.
Thy substance, valued at the highest rate,
Cannot amount unto a hundred marks;
Therefore, by law thou art condemn'd to die.

DUKE. Well, Syracusian, say in brief the cause
Why thou departedst from thy native home,
And for what cause thou cam'st to Ephesus.

EGE. A heavier task could not have been impos,
Than I to speak my griefs unspeakable.
Yet, that the world may witness that my end
Was wrought by nature, not by vile offence,
I'll utter what my sorrow gives me leave.
In Syracusa was I born; and wed

Unto a woman, happy but for me,
And by me too, had not our hap been bad.
With her I liv'd in joy; our wealth increas'd,

ÆGE. Yet this my comfort; when your words are By prosperous voyages I often made
done,

My woes end likewise with the evening sun.

DUKE. For we may pity, though not pardon thee.

To Epidamnum, till my factor's death,
And the great care of goods at random left,
Drew me from kind embracements of my spouse.
From whom my absence was not six months old,
Before herself (almost at fainting under
The pleasing punishment that women bear)
Had made provision for her following me;

And soon and safe arrived where I was.

There had she not been long, but she became

A joyful mother of two goodly sons;

And, which was strange, the one so like the other,
As could not be distinguish'd but by names.

That very hour, and in the self-same inn,

A poor mean woman was delivered

Of such a burden-male twins, both alike.

Those for their parents were exceeding poor

I bought, and brought up to attend my sons.

My wife, not meanly proud of two such boys,

Made daily motions for our home return.

Unwilling I agreed-alas! too soon we came aboard:
A league from Epidamnum had we sail'd,

Before the always-wind-obeying deep

Gave any tragic instance of our harm;

But longer did we not retain much hope;

For what obscured light the heavens did gran+

Did but convey unto our fearful minds

A doubtful warrant of immediate death;

Which, though myself would gladly have embrac'd,

Yet the incessant weepings of my wife,

Weeping before for what she saw must come,
And piteous plainings of the pretty babes,
That mourn'd for fashion, ignorant what to fear,
Forc'd me to seek delays for them and me.
And this it was-for other means was none :
The sailors sought for safety by our boat,
And left the ship, then sinking-ripe, to us.
My wife, more careful for the latter-born,
Had fasten'd him unto a small spare mast,
Such as seafaring men provide for storms :
To him one of the other twins was bound,
Whilst I had been like heedful of the other.
The children thus dispos'd, my wife and I,
Fixing our eyes on whom our care was fix'd,

ANT. S. Go, bear it to the Centaur.

The seas wax'd calm, and we discovered
Two ships from far, making amain to us,-
Of Corinth that, of Epidaurus this:
But ere they came-O, let me say no more!
Gather the sequel by that went before.

DUKE. Nay, forward, old man, do not break off so; For we may pity, though not pardon thee.

ÆGE. O, had the gods done so, I had not now
Worthily term'd them merciless to us!

For, ere the ships could meet by twice five leagues,
We were encounter'd by a mighty rock;
Which, being violently borne upon,

Our helpful ship was splitted in the midst;
So that, in this unjust divorce of us,
Fortune had left to both of us alike,
What to delight in, what to sorrow for.
Her part, poor soul! seeming as burdened
With lesser weight, but not with lesser woe,
Was carried with more speed before the wind;
And, in our sight, they three were taken up
By fishermen of Corinth, as we thought.
At length another ship had seiz'd on us;
And, knowing whom it was their hap to save,

Gave healthful welcome to their shipwreck'd guests;
And would have reft the fishers of their prey,

Had not their bark been very slow of sail;

And therefore homeward did they bend their course.

Thus have you heard me sever'd from my bliss ;

That by misfortunes was my life prolong'd,

To tell sad stories of my own mishaps.

DUKE. And, for the sake of them thou sorrowest for,

Do me the favour to dilate at full,

What hath befall'n of them and thee till now.

EGE. My youngest boy, and yet my eldest care,

At eighteen years became inquisitive

After his brother; and importun'd me
That his attendant (so his case was like,
Reft of his brother, but retain'd his name)
Might bear him company in the quest of him;
Whom, whilst I labour'd of a love to see,
I hazarded the loss of whom I lov'd.
Five summers have I spent in farthest Greece;
Roaming clean through the bounds of Asia,
And, coasting homeward, came to Ephesus;
Hopeless to find, yet loath to leave unsought
Or that or any place that harbours men.
But here must end the story of my life;
And happy were I in my timely death,
Could all my travels warrant me they live.

DUKE. Hapless Egeon, whom the fates have mark'd

To bear the extremity of dire mishap!
Now, trust me, were it not against our laws,
Against my crown, my oath, my dignity,
Which princes, would they, may not disannul
My soul should sue as advocate for thee.
But, though thou art adjudged to the death,
And passed sentence may not be recall'd

And live; if no, then thou art doom'd to die :-
Gaoler, take him to thy custody.
GAOL.
I will, my lord.
EGE. Hopeless and helpless doth Egeon wend,
But to procrastinate his liveless end.

SCENE II.-A Public Place.

[Exeunt.

And then return, and sleep within mine inn; For with long travel I am stiff and weary.

Get thee away.

DRO. S. Many a man would take you at your word, And go indeed, having so good a mean.

[Exit DRO. S. ANT. S. A trusty villain, sir; that very oft, When I am dull with care and melancholy, Lightens my humour with his merry jests. What, will you walk with me about the town, And then go to my inn, and dine with me? MER. I am invited, sir, to certain merchants, Of whom I hope to make much benefit; I crave your pardon. Soon, at five o'clock, Please you, I'll meet with you upon the mart, And afterward consort with you till bed-time : My present business calls me from you now.

ANT. S. Farewell till then; I will go lose myself, And wander up and down to view the city.

MER. Sir, I commend you to your own content. [Exit MERCHANT. ANT. S. He that commends me to mine own

content,

Commends me to the thing I cannot get.

I to the world am like a drop of water,
That in the ocean seeks another drop;
Who, failing there to find his fellow forth,
Unseen inquisitive! confounds himself:
So I, to find a mother and a brother,
In quest of them, unhappy, lose myself.

Enter DROMIO of Ephesus.

Here comes the almanack of my true date.-
What now? how chance thou art return'd so soon?
DRO. E. Return'd so soon! rather approach'd too
late.

The capon burns, the pig falls from the spit;
The clock hath strucken twelve upon the bell;
My mistress made it one upon my cheek:
She is so hot, because the meat is cold;
The meat is cold, because you come not home;
You come not home, because you have no stomach;
You have no stomach, having broke your fast;

Enter ANTIPHOLUS and DROMIO OF SYRACUSE, and But we, that know what 'tis to fast and pray,

a MERCHANT.

MER. Therefore, give out you are of Epidamnum, Lest that your goods too soon be confiscate. This very day a Syracusian merchant Is apprehended for arrival here; And, not being able to buy out his life, According to the statute of the town, Dies ere the weary sun set in the west. There is your money that I had to keep.

Are penitent for your default to-day.

ANT. S. Stop in your wind, sir: tell me this, I pray

Where have you left the money that I gave you?
DRO. E. Ó! sixpence, that I had o' Wednesday
last,

To pay the saddler for my mistress' crupper-
The saddler had it, sir; I kept it not.

ANT. S. I am not in a sportive humour now:
Tell me, and dally not, where is the money?

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For she will score your fault upon my pate.
Methinks your maw, like mine, should be your clock,
And strike you home without a messenger.

ANT. S. Come, Dromio, come, these jests are out of season;

Reserve them till a merrier hour than this.
Where is the gold I gave in charge to thee?

DRO. E. To me, sir? Why, you gave no gold to me. ANT. S. Come on, sir knave; have done your foolishness,

And tell me how thou hast dispos'd thy charge.

DRO. E. My charge was but to fetch you from the

mart,

Home to your house, the Phoenix, sir, to dinner; My mistress and her sister stay for you.

ANT. S. Now, as I am a Christian, answer me, In what safe place you have bestow'd my money;

Or I shall break that merry sconce of yours,
That stands on tricks when I am undispos'd:
Where is the thousand marks thou hadst of me?
DRO. E. I have some marks of yours upon my
pate;

Some of my mistress' marks upon my shoulders;
But not a thousand marks between you both.
If I should pay your worship those again,
Perchance you will not bear them patiently.
ANT. S. Thy mistress' marks? What mistress,
slave, hast thou?

DRO. E. Your worship's wife, my mistress, at the
Phoenix ;

She that doth fast till you come home to dinner.
And prays that you will hie you home to dinner,
ANT. S. What! wilt thou flout me thus unto my
face,

Being forbid? There, take you that, sir knave.

DRO. E. What mean you, sir? for God's sake, hold

your hands;

Nay, an you will not, sir, I'll take my heels.

[Exit DRO. E ANT. S. Upon my life, by some device or other, The villain is o'erraught of all my money. They say this town is full of cozenage; As nimble jugglers, that deceive the eye, Dark-working sorcerers, that change the mind, Soul-killing witches, that deform the body, Disguised cheaters, prating mountebanks, And many such like liberties of sin. If it prove so, I will be gone the sooner. I'll to the Centaur, to go seek this slave; I greatly fear my money is not safe.

Enter ADRIANA and LUCIANA. ADR. Neither my husband nor the slave return'd, That in such haste I sent to seek his master ! Sure, Luciana, it is two o'clock.

LUC. Perhaps some merchant hath invited him, And from the mart he's somewhere gone to dinner. Good sister, let us dine, and never fret: A man is master of his liberty; Time is their master; and, when they see time, They'll go or come: If so, be patient, sister. ADR. Why should their liberty than ours be more? Luc. Because their business still lies out o' door. ADR. Look, when I serve him so, he takes it ill. Luc. O, know, he is the bridle of your will. ADR. There's none but asses will be bridled so. Luc. Why, headstrong liberty is lash'd with woe. There's nothing situate under heaven's eye But hath his bound, in earth, in sea, in sky: The beasts, the fishes, and the winged fowls, Are their males' subjects, and at their controls. Men, more divine, the masters of all these, Lords of the wide world and wild wat'ry seas, Indued with intellectual sense and souls, Of more pre-eminence than fish and fowls, Are masters to their females, and their lords; Then let your will attend on their accords.

ADR. This servitude makes you to keep unwed.

sway.

Luc. Ere I learn love, I'll practice to obey.
ADR. How if your husband'start some otherwhere?
LUC. Till he come home again, I would forbear.
ADR. Patience unmov'd! no marvel though she
pause;

They can be meek that have no other cause.
A wretched soul, bruis'd with adversity,
We bid be quiet, when we hear it cry;
But, were we burden'd with like weight of pain,
As much or more we should ourselves complain:
So thou, that hast no unkind mate to grieve thee,
With urging helpless patience would relieve me;
But, if thou live to see like right bereft,
This fool-begg'd patience in thee will be left.

Luc. Well, I will marry one day, but to try. Here comes your man-now is your husband nigh.

Enter DROMIO of Ephesus.

ADR. Say, is your tardy master now at hand? DRO. E. Nay, he's at two hands with me, and that my two ears can witness.

ADR. Say, didst thou speak with him? Know'st thou his mind?

DRO. E. Ay; he told his mind upon mine ear. Beshrew his hand, I scarce could understand it. LUC. Spake he so doubtfully, thou couldst not feel his meaning?

DRO. E. Nay, he struck so plainly, I could too well feel his blows; and withal so doubtfully that 1 could scarce understand them.

ADR. But say, I pr'ythee, is he coming home? It seems he hath great care to please his wife. DRO. E. Why, mistress, sure my master is hornmad.

ADR. Horn-mad, thou villain?

DRO. E. I mean not, cuckold-mad;

But sure he is stark mad.

When I desir'd him to come home to dinner,
He ask'd me for a thousand marks in gold:
'Tis dinner time, quoth I.-My gold, quoth he:
Your meat doth burn, quoth I.-My gold, quoth he:
Will you come home? quoth I.-My gold, quoth he
Where is the thousand marks I gave thee, villain?
The pig, quoth I, is burn'd.-My gold, quoth he.
My mistress, sir, quoth I.-Hang up thy mistress;
I know not thy mistress: out on thy mistress!
LUC. Quoth who?

DRO. E. Quoth my master :

I know, quoth he, no house, no wife, no mistress
So that my errand, due unto my tongue,

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