ALLS WELL THAT ENDS WELL by William Shakespeare Dramatis Personae KING OF FRANCE THE DUKE OF FLORENCE BERTRAM, Count of Rousillon LAFEU, an old lord PAROLLES, a follower of Bertram TWO FRENCH LORDS, serving with Bertram STEWARD, Servant to the Countess of Rousillon LAVACHE, a clown and Servant to the Countess of Rousillon A PAGE, Servant to the Countess of Rousillon COUNTESS OF ROUSILLON, mother to Bertram HELENA, a gentlewoman protected by the Countess A WIDOW OF FLORENCE. DIANA, daughter to the Widow VIOLENTA, neighbour and friend to the Widow MARIANA, neighbour and friend to the Widow Lords, Officers, Soldiers, etc., French and Florentine SCENE: Rousillon; Paris; Florence; Marseilles ACT I. SCENE 1. Rousillon. The COUNT'S palace Enter BERTRAM, the COUNTESS OF ROUSILLON, HELENA, and LAFEU, all in black COUNTESS. In delivering my son from me, I bury a second husband. BERTRAM. And I in going, madam, weep o'er my father's death anew; but I must attend his Majesty's command, to whom I am now in ward, evermore in subjection. LAFEU. You shall find of the King a husband, madam; you, sir, a father. He that so generally is at all times good must of necessity hold his virtue to you, whose worthiness would stir it up where it wanted, rather than lack it where there is such abundance. COUNTESS. What hope is there of his Majesty's amendment? LAFEU. He hath abandon'd his physicians, madam; under whose practices he hath persecuted time with hope, and finds no other advantage in the process but only the losing of hope by time. COUNTESS. This young gentlewoman had a father- O, that 'had,' how sad a passage 'tis!-whose skill was almost as great as his honesty; had it stretch'd so far, would have made nature immortal, and death should have play for lack of work. Would, for the King's sake, he were living! I think it would be the death of the King's disease. LAFEU. How call'd you the man you speak of, madam? COUNTESS. He was famous, sir, in his profession, and it was his great right to be so- Gerard de Narbon. LAFEU. He was excellent indeed, madam; the King very lately spoke of him admiringly and mourningly; he was skilful enough to have liv'd still, if knowledge could be set up against mortality. BERTRAM. What is it, my good lord, the King languishes of? LAFEU. A fistula, my lord. BERTRAM. I heard not of it before. LAFEU. I would it were not notorious. Was this gentlewoman the daughter of Gerard de Narbon? COUNTESS. His sole child, my lord, and bequeathed to my overlooking. I have those hopes of her good that her education promises; her dispositions she inherits, which makes fair gifts fairer; for where an unclean mind carries virtuous qualities, there commendations go with pity-they are virtues and traitors too. In her they are the better for their simpleness; she derives her honesty, and achieves her goodness. LAFEU. Your commendations, madam, get from her tears. COUNTESS. 'Tis the best brine a maiden can season her praise in. The remembrance of her father never approaches her heart but the tyranny of her sorrows takes all livelihood from her cheek. No more of this, Helena; go to, no more, lest it be rather thought you affect a sorrow than to have- HELENA. I do affect a sorrow indeed, but I have it too. LAFEU. Moderate lamentation is the right of the dead: excessive grief the enemy to the living. COUNTESS. If the living be enemy to the grief, the excess makes it soon mortal. BERTRAM. Madam, I desire your holy wishes. LAFEU. How understand we that? COUNTESS. Be thou blest, Bertram, and succeed thy father In manners, as in shape! Thy blood and virtue Contend for empire in thee, and thy goodness Share with thy birthright! Love all, trust a few, Do wrong to none; be able for thine enemy Rather in power than use, and keep thy friend Under thy own life's key; be check'd for silence, But never tax'd for speech. What heaven more will, That thee may furnish, and my prayers pluck down, Fall on thy head! Farewell. My lord, 'Tis an unseason'd courtier; good my lord, Advise him. LAFEU. He cannot want the best That shall attend his love. COUNTESS. Heaven bless him! Farewell, Bertram. Exit BERTRAM. The best wishes that can be forg'd in your thoughts be servants to you! [To HELENA] Be comfortable to my mother, your mistress, and make much of her. LAFEU. Farewell, pretty lady; you must hold the credit of your father. Exeunt BERTRAM and LAFEU HELENA. O, were that all! I think not on my father; And these great tears grace his remembrance more Than those I shed for him. What was he like? I have forgot him; my imagination Carries no favour in't but Bertram's. I am undone; there is no living, none, If Bertram be away. 'Twere all one That I should love a bright particular star And think to wed it, he is so above me. In his bright radiance and collateral light Must I be comforted, not in his sphere. Th' ambition in my love thus plagues itself: The hind that would be mated by the lion Must die for love. 'Twas pretty, though a plague, To see him every hour; to sit and draw His arched brows, his hawking eye, his curls, In our heart's table-heart too capable Of every line and trick of his sweet favour. But now he's gone, and my idolatrous fancy Must sanctify his relics. Who comes here? Enter PAROLLES [Aside] One that goes with him. I love him for his sake; And yet I know him a notorious liar, Think him a great way fool, solely a coward; Yet these fix'd evils sit so fit in him That they take place when virtue's steely bones Looks bleak i' th' cold wind; withal, full oft we see Cold wisdom waiting on superfluous folly. PAROLLES. Save you, fair queen! HELENA. And you, monarch! PAROLLES. No. HELENA. And no. PAROLLES. Are you meditating on virginity? HELENA. Ay. You have some stain of soldier in you; let me ask you a question. Man is enemy to virginity; how may we barricado it against him? PAROLLES. Keep him out. HELENA. But he assails; and our virginity, though valiant in the defence, yet is weak. Unfold to us some warlike resistance. PAROLLES. There is none. Man, setting down before you, will undermine you and blow you up. HELENA. Bless our poor virginity from underminers and blowers-up! Is there no military policy how virgins might blow up men? PAROLLES. Virginity being blown down, man will quicklier be blown up; marry, in blowing him down again, with the breach yourselves made, you lose your city. It is not politic in the commonwealth of nature to preserve virginity. Loss of virginity is rational increase; and there was never virgin got till virginity was first lost. That you were made of is metal to make virgins. Virginity by being once lost may be ten times found; by being ever kept, it is ever lost. 'Tis too cold a companion; away with't. HELENA. I will stand for 't a little, though therefore I die a virgin. PAROLLES. There's little can be said in 't; 'tis against the rule of nature. To speak on the part of virginity is to accuse your mothers; which is most infallible disobedience. He that hangs himself is a virgin; virginity murders itself, and should be buried in highways, out of all sanctified limit, as a desperate offendress against nature. Virginity breeds mites, much like a cheese; consumes itself to the very paring, and so dies with feeding his own stomach. Besides, virginity is peevish, proud, idle, made of self-love, which is the most inhibited sin in the canon. Keep it not; you cannot choose but lose by't. Out with't. Within ten year it will make itself ten, which is a goodly increase; and the principal itself not much the worse. Away with't. HELENA. How might one do, sir, to lose it to her own liking? PAROLLES. Let me see. Marry, ill to like him that ne'er it likes. 'Tis a commodity will lose the gloss with lying; the longer kept, the less worth. Off with't while 'tis vendible; answer the time of request. Virginity, like an old courtier, wears her cap out of fashion, richly suited but unsuitable; just like the brooch and the toothpick, which wear not now. Your date is better in your pie and your porridge than in your cheek. And your virginity, your old virginity, is like one of our French wither'd pears: it looks ill, it eats drily; marry, 'tis a wither'd pear; it was formerly better; marry, yet 'tis a wither'd pear. Will you anything with it? HELENA. Not my virginity yet. There shall your master have a thousand loves, A mother, and a mistress, and a friend, A phoenix, captain, and an enemy, A guide, a goddess, and a sovereign, A counsellor, a traitress, and a dear; His humble ambition, proud humility, His jarring concord, and his discord dulcet, His faith, his sweet disaster; with a world Of pretty, fond, adoptious christendoms That blinking Cupid gossips. Now shall he- I know not what he shall. God send him well! The court's a learning-place, and he is one- PAROLLES. What one, i' faith? HELENA. That I wish well. 'Tis pity- PAROLLES. What's pity? HELENA. That wishing well had not a body in't Which might be felt; that we, the poorer born, Whose baser stars do shut us up in wishes, Might with effects of them follow our friends And show what we alone must think, which never Returns us thanks. Enter PAGE PAGE. Monsieur Parolles, my lord calls for you. Exit PAGE PAROLLES. Little Helen, farewell; if I can remember thee, I will think of thee at court. HELENA. Monsieur Parolles, you were born under a charitable star. PAROLLES. Under Mars, I. HELENA. I especially think, under Mars. PAROLLES. Why under Man? HELENA. The wars hath so kept you under that you must needs be born under Mars. PAROLLES. When he was predominant. HELENA. When he was retrograde, I think, rather. PAROLLES. Why think you so? HELENA. You go so much backward when you fight. PAROLLES. That's for advantage. HELENA. So is running away, when fear proposes the safety: but the composition that your valour and fear makes in you is a virtue of a good wing, and I like the wear well. PAROLLES. I am so full of business I cannot answer thee acutely. I will return perfect courtier; in the which my instruction shall serve to naturalize thee, so thou wilt be capable of a courtier's counsel, and understand what advice shall thrust upon thee; else thou diest in thine unthankfulness, and thine ignorance makes thee away. Farewell. When thou hast leisure, say thy prayers; when thou hast none, remember thy friends. Get thee a good husband and use him as he uses thee. So, farewell. Exit HELENA. Our remedies oft in ourselves do lie, Which we ascribe to heaven. The fated sky Gives us free scope; only doth backward pull Our slow designs when we ourselves are dull. What power is it which mounts my love so high, That makes me see, and cannot feed mine eye? The mightiest space in fortune nature brings To join like likes, and kiss like native things. Impossible be strange attempts to those That weigh their pains in sense, and do suppose What hath been cannot be. Who ever strove To show her merit that did miss her love? The King's disease-my project may deceive me, But my intents are fix'd, and will not leave me. Exit ACT I. SCENE 2. Paris. The KING'S palace Flourish of cornets. Enter the KING OF FRANCE, with letters, and divers ATTENDANTS KING. The Florentines and Senoys are by th' ears; Have fought with equal fortune, and continue A braving war. FIRST LORD. So 'tis reported, sir. KING. Nay, 'tis most credible. We here receive it, A certainty, vouch'd from our cousin Austria, With caution, that the Florentine will move us For speedy aid; wherein our dearest friend Prejudicates the business, and would seem To have us make denial. FIRST LORD. His love and wisdom, Approv'd so to your Majesty, may plead For amplest credence. KING. He hath arm'd our answer, And Florence is denied before he comes; Yet, for our gentlemen that mean to see The Tuscan service, freely have they leave To stand on either part. SECOND LORD. It well may serve A nursery to our gentry, who are sick For breathing and exploit. KING. What's he comes here? Enter BERTRAM, LAFEU, and PAROLLES FIRST LORD. It is the Count Rousillon, my good lord, Young Bertram. KING. Youth, thou bear'st thy father's face; Frank nature, rather curious than in haste, Hath well compos'd thee. Thy father's moral parts Mayst thou inherit too! Welcome to Paris. BERTRAM. My thanks and duty are your Majesty's. KING. I would I had that corporal soundness now, As when thy father and myself in friendship First tried our soldiership. He did look far Into the service of the time, and was Discipled of the bravest. He lasted long; But on us both did haggish age steal on, And wore us out of act. It much repairs me To talk of your good father. In his youth He had the wit which I can well observe To-day in our young lords; but they may jest Till their own scorn return to them unnoted Ere they can hide their levity in honour. So like a courtier, contempt nor bitterness Were in his pride or sharpness; if they were, His equal had awak'd them; and his honour, Clock to itself, knew the true minute when Exception bid him speak, and at this time His tongue obey'd his hand. Who were below him He us'd as creatures of another place; And bow'd his eminent top to their low ranks, Making them proud of his humility In their poor praise he humbled. Such a man Might be a copy to these younger times; Which, followed well, would demonstrate them now But goers backward. BERTRAM. His good remembrance, sir, Lies richer in your thoughts than on his tomb; So in approof lives not his epitaph As in your royal speech. KING. Would I were with him! He would always say- Methinks I hear him now; his plausive words He scatter'd not in ears, but grafted them To grow there, and to bear- 'Let me not live'- This his good melancholy oft began, On the catastrophe and heel of pastime, When it was out-'Let me not live' quoth he 'After my flame lacks oil, to be the snuff Of younger spirits, whose apprehensive senses All but new things disdain; whose judgments are Mere fathers of their garments; whose constancies Expire before their fashions.' This he wish'd. I, after him, do after him wish too, Since I nor wax nor honey can bring home, I quickly were dissolved from my hive, To give some labourers room. SECOND LORD. You're loved, sir; They that least lend it you shall lack you first. KING. I fill a place, I know't. How long is't, Count, Since the physician at your father's died? He was much fam'd. BERTRAM. Some six months since, my lord. KING. If he were living, I would try him yet- Lend me an arm-the rest have worn me out With several applications. Nature and sickness Debate it at their leisure. Welcome, Count; My son's no dearer. BERTRAM. Thank your Majesty. Exeunt [Flourish] ACT I. SCENE 3. Rousillon. The COUNT'S palace Enter COUNTESS, STEWARD, and CLOWN COUNTESS. I will now hear; what say you of this gentlewoman? STEWARD. Madam, the care I have had to even your content I wish might be found in the calendar of my past endeavours; for then we wound our modesty, and make foul the clearness of our deservings, when of ourselves we publish them. COUNTESS. What does this knave here? Get you gone, sirrah. The complaints I have heard of you I do not all believe; 'tis my slowness that I do not, for I know you lack not folly to commit them and have ability enough to make such knaveries yours. CLOWN. 'Tis not unknown to you, madam, I am a poor fellow. COUNTESS. Well, sir. CLOWN. No, madam, 'tis not so well that I am poor, though many of the rich are damn'd; but if I may have your ladyship's good will to go to the world, Isbel the woman and I will do as we may. COUNTESS. Wilt thou needs be a beggar? CLOWN. I do beg your good will in this case. COUNTESS. In what case? CLOWN. In Isbel's case and mine own. Service is no heritage; and I think I shall never have the blessing of God till I have issue o' my body; for they say bames are blessings. COUNTESS. Tell me thy reason why thou wilt marry. CLOWN. My poor body, madam, requires it. I am driven on by the flesh; and he must needs go that the devil drives. COUNTESS. Is this all your worship's reason? CLOWN. Faith, madam, I have other holy reasons, such as they are. COUNTESS. May the world know them? CLOWN. I have been, madam, a wicked creature, as you and all flesh and blood are; and, indeed, I do marry that I may repent. COUNTESS. Thy marriage, sooner than thy wickedness. CLOWN. I am out o' friends, madam, and I hope to have friends for my wife's sake. COUNTESS. Such friends are thine enemies, knave. CLOWN. Y'are shallow, madam-in great friends; for the knaves come to do that for me which I am aweary of. He that ears my land spares my team, and gives me leave to in the crop. If I be his cuckold, he's my drudge. He that comforts my wife is the cherisher of my flesh and blood; he that cherishes my flesh and blood loves my flesh and blood; he that loves my flesh and blood is my friend; ergo, he that kisses my wife is my friend. If men could be contented to be what they are, there were no fear in marriage; for young Charbon the puritan and old Poysam the papist, howsome'er their hearts are sever'd in religion, their heads are both one; they may jowl horns together like any deer i' th' herd. COUNTESS. Wilt thou ever be a foul-mouth'd and calumnious knave? CLOWN. A prophet I, madam; and I speak the truth the next way: For I the ballad will repeat, Which men full true shall find: Your marriage comes by destiny, Your cuckoo sings by kind. COUNTESS. Get you gone, sir; I'll talk with you more anon. STEWARD. May it please you, madam, that he bid Helen come to you. Of her I am to speak. COUNTESS. Sirrah, tell my gentlewoman I would speak with her; Helen I mean. CLOWN. [Sings] 'Was this fair face the cause' quoth she 'Why the Grecians sacked Troy? Fond done, done fond, Was this King Priam's joy?' With that she sighed as she stood, With that she sighed as she stood, And gave this sentence then: 'Among nine bad if one be good, Among nine bad if one be good, There's yet one good in ten.' COUNTESS. What, one good in ten? You corrupt the song, sirrah. CLOWN. One good woman in ten, madam, which is a purifying o' th' song. Would God would serve the world so all the year! We'd find no fault with the tithe-woman, if I were the parson. One in ten, quoth 'a! An we might have a good woman born before every blazing star, or at an earthquake, 'twould mend the lottery well: a man may draw his heart out ere 'a pluck one. COUNTESS. You'll be gone, sir knave, and do as I command you. CLOWN. That man should be at woman's command, and yet no hurt done! Though honesty be no puritan, yet it will do no hurt; it will wear the surplice of humility over the black gown of a big heart. I am going, forsooth. The business is for Helen to come hither. Exit COUNTESS. Well, now. STEWARD. I know, madam, you love your gentlewoman entirely. COUNTESS. Faith I do. Her father bequeath'd her to me; and she herself, without other advantage, may lawfully make title to as much love as she finds. There is more owing her than is paid; and more shall be paid her than she'll demand. STEWARD. Madam, I was very late more near her than I think she wish'd me. Alone she was, and did communicate to herself her own words to her own ears; she thought, I dare vow for her, they touch'd not any stranger sense. Her matter was, she loved your son. Fortune, she said, was no goddess, that had put such difference betwixt their two estates; Love no god, that would not extend his might only where qualities were level; Diana no queen of virgins, that would suffer her poor knight surpris'd without rescue in the first assault, or ransom afterward. This she deliver'd in the most bitter touch of sorrow that e'er I heard virgin exclaim in; which I held my duty speedily to acquaint you withal; sithence, in the loss that may happen, it concerns you something to know it. COUNTESS. YOU have discharg'd this honestly; keep it to yourself. Many likelihoods inform'd me of this before, which hung so tott'ring in the balance that I could neither believe nor misdoubt. Pray you leave me. Stall this in your bosom; and I thank you for your honest care. I will speak with you further anon. Exit STEWARD Enter HELENA Even so it was with me when I was young. If ever we are nature's, these are ours; this thorn Doth to our rose of youth rightly belong; Our blood to us, this to our blood is born. It is the show and seal of nature's truth, Where love's strong passion is impress'd in youth. By our remembrances of days foregone, Such were our faults, or then we thought them none. Her eye is sick on't; I observe her now. HELENA. What is your pleasure, madam? COUNTESS. You know, Helen, I am a mother to you. HELENA. Mine honourable mistress. COUNTESS. Nay, a mother. Why not a mother? When I said 'a mother,' Methought you saw a serpent. What's in 'mother' That you start at it? I say I am your mother, And put you in the catalogue of those That were enwombed mine. 'Tis often seen Adoption strives with nature, and choice breeds A native slip to us from foreign seeds. You ne'er oppress'd me with a mother's groan, Yet I express to you a mother's care. God's mercy, maiden! does it curd thy blood To say I am thy mother? What's the matter, That this distempered messenger of wet, The many-colour'd Iris, rounds thine eye? Why, that you are my daughter? HELENA. That I am not. COUNTESS. I say I am your mother. HELENA. Pardon, madam. The Count Rousillon cannot be my brother: I am from humble, he from honoured name; No note upon my parents, his all noble. My master, my dear lord he is; and I His servant live, and will his vassal die. He must not be my brother. COUNTESS. Nor I your mother? HELENA. You are my mother, madam; would you were- So that my lord your son were not my brother- Indeed my mother! Or were you both our mothers, I care no more for than I do for heaven, So I were not his sister. Can't no other, But, I your daughter, he must be my brother? COUNTESS. Yes, Helen, you might be my daughter-in-law. God shield you mean it not! 'daughter' and 'mother' So strive upon your pulse. What! pale again? My fear hath catch'd your fondness. Now I see The myst'ry of your loneliness, and find Your salt tears' head. Now to all sense 'tis gross You love my son; invention is asham'd, Against the proclamation of thy passion, To say thou dost not. Therefore tell me true; But tell me then, 'tis so; for, look, thy cheeks Confess it, th' one to th' other; and thine eyes See it so grossly shown in thy behaviours That in their kind they speak it; only sin And hellish obstinacy tie thy tongue, That truth should be suspected. Speak, is't so? If it be so, you have wound a goodly clew; If it be not, forswear't; howe'er, I charge thee, As heaven shall work in me for thine avail, To tell me truly. HELENA. Good madam, pardon me. COUNTESS. Do you love my son? HELENA. Your pardon, noble mistress. COUNTESS. Love you my son? HELENA. Do not you love him, madam? COUNTESS. Go not about; my love hath in't a bond Whereof the world takes note. Come, come, disclose The state of your affection; for your passions Have to the full appeach'd. HELENA. Then I confess, Here on my knee, before high heaven and you, That before you, and next unto high heaven, I love your son. My friends were poor, but honest; so's my love. Be not offended, for it hurts not him That he is lov'd of me; I follow him not By any token of presumptuous suit, Nor would I have him till I do deserve him; Yet never know how that desert should be. I know I love in vain, strive against hope; Yet in this captious and intenible sieve I still pour in the waters of my love, And lack not to lose still. Thus, Indian-like, Religious in mine error, I adore The sun that looks upon his worshipper But knows of him no more. My dearest madam, Let not your hate encounter with my love, For loving where you do; but if yourself, Whose aged honour cites a virtuous youth, Did ever in so true a flame of liking Wish chastely and love dearly that your Dian Was both herself and Love; O, then, give pity To her whose state is such that cannot choose But lend and give where she is sure to lose; That seeks not to find that her search implies, But, riddle-like, lives sweetly where she dies! COUNTESS. Had you not lately an intent-speak truly- To go to Paris? HELENA. Madam, I had. COUNTESS. Wherefore? Tell true. HELENA. I will tell truth; by grace itself I swear. You know my father left me some prescriptions Of rare and prov'd effects, such as his reading And manifest experience had collected For general sovereignty; and that he will'd me In heedfull'st reservation to bestow them, As notes whose faculties inclusive were More than they were in note. Amongst the rest There is a remedy, approv'd, set down, To cure the desperate languishings whereof The King is render'd lost. COUNTESS. This was your motive For Paris, was it? Speak. HELENA. My lord your son made me to think of this, Else Paris, and the medicine, and the King, Had from the conversation of my thoughts Haply been absent then. COUNTESS. But think you, Helen, If you should tender your supposed aid, He would receive it? He and his physicians Are of a mind: he, that they cannot help him; They, that they cannot help. How shall they credit A poor unlearned virgin, when the schools, Embowell'd of their doctrine, have let off The danger to itself? HELENA. There's something in't More than my father's skill, which was the great'st Of his profession, that his good receipt Shall for my legacy be sanctified By th' luckiest stars in heaven; and, would your honour But give me leave to try success, I'd venture The well-lost life of mine on his Grace's cure. By such a day and hour. COUNTESS. Dost thou believe't? HELENA. Ay, madam, knowingly. COUNTESS. Why, Helen, thou shalt have my leave and love, Means and attendants, and my loving greetings To those of mine in court. I'll stay at home, And pray God's blessing into thy attempt. Be gone to-morrow; and be sure of this, What I can help thee to thou shalt not miss. Exeunt ACT II. SCENE 1. Paris. The KING'S palace Flourish of cornets. Enter the KING with divers young LORDS taking leave for the Florentine war; BERTRAM and PAROLLES; ATTENDANTS KING. Farewell, young lords; these war-like principles Do not throw from you. And you, my lords, farewell; Share the advice betwixt you; if both gain all, The gift doth stretch itself as 'tis receiv'd, And is enough for both. FIRST LORD. 'Tis our hope, sir, After well-ent'red soldiers, to return And find your Grace in health. KING. No, no, it cannot be; and yet my heart Will not confess he owes the malady That doth my life besiege. Farewell, young lords; Whether I live or die, be you the sons Of worthy Frenchmen; let higher Italy- Those bated that inherit but the fall Of the last monarchy-see that you come Not to woo honour, but to wed it; when The bravest questant shrinks, find what you seek, That fame may cry you aloud. I say farewell. SECOND LORD. Health, at your bidding, serve your Majesty! KING. Those girls of Italy, take heed of them; They say our French lack language to deny, If they demand; beware of being captives Before you serve. BOTH. Our hearts receive your warnings. KING. Farewell. [To ATTENDANTS] Come hither to me. The KING retires attended FIRST LORD. O my sweet lord, that you will stay behind us! PAROLLES. 'Tis not his fault, the spark. SECOND LORD. O, 'tis brave wars! PAROLLES. Most admirable! I have seen those wars. BERTRAM. I am commanded here and kept a coil with 'Too young' and next year' and "Tis too early.' PAROLLES. An thy mind stand to 't, boy, steal away bravely. BERTRAM. I shall stay here the forehorse to a smock, Creaking my shoes on the plain masonry, Till honour be bought up, and no sword worn But one to dance with. By heaven, I'll steal away. FIRST LORD. There's honour in the theft. PAROLLES. Commit it, Count. SECOND LORD. I am your accessary; and so farewell. BERTRAM. I grow to you, and our parting is a tortur'd body. FIRST LORD. Farewell, Captain. SECOND LORD. Sweet Monsieur Parolles! PAROLLES. Noble heroes, my sword and yours are kin. Good sparks and lustrous, a word, good metals: you shall find in the regiment of the Spinii one Captain Spurio, with his cicatrice, an emblem of war, here on his sinister cheek; it was this very sword entrench'd it. Say to him I live; and observe his reports for me. FIRST LORD. We shall, noble Captain. PAROLLES. Mars dote on you for his novices! Exeunt LORDS What will ye do? Re-enter the KING BERTRAM. Stay; the King! PAROLLES. Use a more spacious ceremony to the noble lords; you have restrain'd yourself within the list of too cold an adieu. Be more expressive to them; for they wear themselves in the cap of the time; there do muster true gait; eat, speak, and move, under the influence of the most receiv'd star; and though the devil lead the measure, such are to be followed. After them, and take a more dilated farewell. BERTRAM. And I will do so. PAROLLES. Worthy fellows; and like to prove most sinewy sword-men. Exeunt BERTRAM and PAROLLES Enter LAFEU LAFEU. [Kneeling] Pardon, my lord, for me and for my tidings. KING. I'll fee thee to stand up. LAFEU. Then here's a man stands that has brought his pardon. I would you had kneel'd, my lord, to ask me mercy; And that at my bidding you could so stand up. KING. I would I had; so I had broke thy pate, And ask'd thee mercy for't. LAFEU. Good faith, across! But, my good lord, 'tis thus: will you be cur'd Of your infirmity? KING. No. LAFEU. O, will you eat No grapes, my royal fox? Yes, but you will My noble grapes, an if my royal fox Could reach them: I have seen a medicine That's able to breathe life into a stone, Quicken a rock, and make you dance canary With spritely fire and motion; whose simple touch Is powerful to araise King Pepin, nay, To give great Charlemain a pen in's hand And write to her a love-line. KING. What her is this? LAFEU. Why, Doctor She! My lord, there's one arriv'd, If you will see her. Now, by my faith and honour, If seriously I may convey my thoughts In this my light deliverance, I have spoke With one that in her sex, her years, profession, Wisdom, and constancy, hath amaz'd me more Than I dare blame my weakness. Will you see her, For that is her demand, and know her business? That done, laugh well at me. KING. Now, good Lafeu, Bring in the admiration, that we with the May spend our wonder too, or take off thine By wond'ring how thou took'st it. LAFEU. Nay, I'll fit you, And not be all day neither. Exit LAFEU KING. Thus he his special nothing ever prologues. Re-enter LAFEU with HELENA LAFEU. Nay, come your ways. KING. This haste hath wings indeed. LAFEU. Nay, come your ways; This is his Majesty; say your mind to him. A traitor you do look like; but such traitors His Majesty seldom fears. I am Cressid's uncle, That dare leave two together. Fare you well. Exit KING. Now, fair one, does your business follow us? HELENA. Ay, my good lord. Gerard de Narbon was my father, In what he did profess, well found. KING. I knew him. HELENA. The rather will I spare my praises towards him; Knowing him is enough. On's bed of death Many receipts he gave me; chiefly one, Which, as the dearest issue of his practice, And of his old experience th' only darling, He bade me store up as a triple eye, Safer than mine own two, more dear. I have so: And, hearing your high Majesty is touch'd With that malignant cause wherein the honour Of my dear father's gift stands chief in power, I come to tender it, and my appliance, With all bound humbleness. KING. We thank you, maiden; But may not be so credulous of cure, When our most learned doctors leave us, and The congregated college have concluded That labouring art can never ransom nature From her inaidable estate-I say we must not So stain our judgment, or corrupt our hope, To prostitute our past-cure malady To empirics; or to dissever so Our great self and our credit to esteem A senseless help, when help past sense we deem. HELENA. My duty then shall pay me for my pains. I will no more enforce mine office on you; Humbly entreating from your royal thoughts A modest one to bear me back again. KING. I cannot give thee less, to be call'd grateful. Thou thought'st to help me; and such thanks I give As one near death to those that wish him live. But what at full I know, thou know'st no part; I knowing all my peril, thou no art. HELENA. What I can do can do no hurt to try, Since you set up your rest 'gainst remedy. He that of greatest works is finisher Oft does them by the weakest minister. So holy writ in babes hath judgment shown, When judges have been babes. Great floods have flown From simple sources, and great seas have dried When miracles have by the greatest been denied. Oft expectation fails, and most oft there Where most it promises; and oft it hits Where hope is coldest, and despair most fits. KING. I must not hear thee. Fare thee well, kind maid; Thy pains, not us'd, must by thyself be paid; Proffers not took reap thanks for their reward. HELENA. Inspired merit so by breath is barr'd. It is not so with Him that all things knows, As 'tis with us that square our guess by shows; But most it is presumption in us when The help of heaven we count the act of men. Dear sir, to my endeavours give consent; Of heaven, not me, make an experiment. I am not an impostor, that proclaim Myself against the level of mine aim; But know I think, and think I know most sure, My art is not past power nor you past cure. KING. Art thou so confident? Within what space Hop'st thou my cure? HELENA. The greatest Grace lending grace. Ere twice the horses of the sun shall bring Their fiery torcher his diurnal ring, Ere twice in murk and occidental damp Moist Hesperus hath quench'd his sleepy lamp, Or four and twenty times the pilot's glass Hath told the thievish minutes how they pass, What is infirm from your sound parts shall fly, Health shall live free, and sickness freely die. KING. Upon thy certainty and confidence What dar'st thou venture? HELENA. Tax of impudence, A strumpet's boldness, a divulged shame, Traduc'd by odious ballads; my maiden's name Sear'd otherwise; ne worse of worst-extended With vilest torture let my life be ended. KING. Methinks in thee some blessed spirit doth speak His powerful sound within an organ weak; And what impossibility would slay In common sense, sense saves another way. Thy life is dear; for all that life can rate Worth name of life in thee hath estimate: Youth, beauty, wisdom, courage, all That happiness and prime can happy call. Thou this to hazard needs must intimate Skill infinite or monstrous desperate. Sweet practiser, thy physic I will try, That ministers thine own death if I die. HELENA. If I break time, or flinch in property Of what I spoke, unpitied let me die; And well deserv'd. Not helping, death's my fee; But, if I help, what do you promise me? KING. Make thy demand. HELENA. But will you make it even? KING. Ay, by my sceptre and my hopes of heaven. HELENA. Then shalt thou give me with thy kingly hand What husband in thy power I will command. Exempted be from me the arrogance To choose from forth the royal blood of France, My low and humble name to propagate With any branch or image of thy state; But such a one, thy vassal, whom I know Is free for me to ask, thee to bestow. KING. Here is my hand; the premises observ'd, Thy will by my performance shall be serv'd. So make the choice of thy own time, for I, Thy resolv'd patient, on thee still rely. More should I question thee, and more I must, Though more to know could not be more to trust, From whence thou cam'st, how tended on. But rest Unquestion'd welcome and undoubted blest. Give me some help here, ho! If thou proceed As high as word, my deed shall match thy deed. [Flourish. Exeunt] ACT II. SCENE 2. Rousillon. The COUNT'S palace Enter COUNTESS and CLOWN COUNTESS. Come on, sir; I shall now put you to the height of your breeding. CLOWN. I will show myself highly fed and lowly taught. I know my business is but to the court. COUNTESS. To the court! Why, what place make you special, when you put off that with such contempt? But to the court! CLOWN. Truly, madam, if God have lent a man any manners, he may easily put it off at court. He that cannot make a leg, put off's cap, kiss his hand, and say nothing, has neither leg, hands, lip, nor cap; and indeed such a fellow, to say precisely, were not for the court; but for me, I have an answer will serve all men. COUNTESS. Marry, that's a bountiful answer that fits all questions. CLOWN. It is like a barber's chair, that fits all buttocks-the pin buttock, the quatch buttock, the brawn buttock, or any buttock. COUNTESS. Will your answer serve fit to all questions? CLOWN. As fit as ten groats is for the hand of an attorney, as your French crown for your taffety punk, as Tib's rush for Tom's forefinger, as a pancake for Shrove Tuesday, a morris for Mayday, as the nail to his hole, the cuckold to his horn, as a scolding quean to a wrangling knave, as the nun's lip to the friar's mouth; nay, as the pudding to his skin. COUNTESS. Have you, I, say, an answer of such fitness for all questions? CLOWN. From below your duke to beneath your constable, it will fit any question. COUNTESS. It must be an answer of most monstrous size that must fit all demands. CLOWN. But a trifle neither, in good faith, if the learned should speak truth of it. Here it is, and all that belongs to't. Ask me if I am a courtier: it shall do you no harm to learn. COUNTESS. To be young again, if we could, I will be a fool in question, hoping to be the wiser by your answer. I pray you, sir, are you a courtier? CLOWN. O Lord, sir!-There's a simple putting off. More, more, a hundred of them. COUNTESS. Sir, I am a poor friend of yours, that loves you. CLOWN. O Lord, sir!-Thick, thick; spare not me. COUNTESS. I think, sir, you can eat none of this homely meat. CLOWN. O Lord, sir!-Nay, put me to't, I warrant you. COUNTESS. You were lately whipp'd, sir, as I think. CLOWN. O Lord, sir!-Spare not me. COUNTESS. Do you cry 'O Lord, sir!' at your whipping, and 'spare not me'? Indeed your 'O Lord, sir!' is very sequent to your whipping. You would answer very well to a whipping, if you were but bound to't. CLOWN. I ne'er had worse luck in my life in my 'O Lord, sir!' I see thing's may serve long, but not serve ever. COUNTESS. I play the noble housewife with the time, To entertain it so merrily with a fool. CLOWN. O Lord, sir!-Why, there't serves well again. COUNTESS. An end, sir! To your business: give Helen this, And urge her to a present answer back; Commend me to my kinsmen and my son. This is not much. CLOWN. Not much commendation to them? COUNTESS. Not much employment for you. You understand me? CLOWN. Most fruitfully; I am there before my legs. COUNTESS. Haste you again. Exeunt ACT II. SCENE 3. Paris. The KING'S palace Enter BERTRAM, LAFEU, and PAROLLES LAFEU. They say miracles are past; and we have our philosophical persons to make modern and familiar things supernatural and causeless. Hence is it that we make trifles of terrors, ensconcing ourselves into seeming knowledge when we should submit ourselves to an unknown fear. PAROLLES. Why, 'tis the rarest argument of wonder that hath shot out in our latter times. BERTRAM. And so 'tis. LAFEU. To be relinquish'd of the artists- PAROLLES. So I say-both of Galen and Paracelsus. LAFEU. Of all the learned and authentic fellows- PAROLLES. Right; so I say. LAFEU. That gave him out incurable- PAROLLES. Why, there 'tis; so say I too. LAFEU. Not to be help'd- PAROLLES. Right; as 'twere a man assur'd of a- LAFEU. Uncertain life and sure death. PAROLLES. Just; you say well; so would I have said. LAFEU. I may truly say it is a novelty to the world. PAROLLES. It is indeed. If you will have it in showing, you shall read it in what-do-ye-call't here. LAFEU. [Reading the ballad title] 'A Showing of a Heavenly Effect in an Earthly Actor.' PAROLLES. That's it; I would have said the very same. LAFEU. Why, your dolphin is not lustier. 'Fore me, I speak in respect- PAROLLES. Nay, 'tis strange, 'tis very strange; that is the brief and the tedious of it; and he's of a most facinerious spirit that will not acknowledge it to be the- LAFEU. Very hand of heaven. PAROLLES. Ay; so I say. LAFEU. In a most weak- PAROLLES. And debile minister, great power, great transcendence; which should, indeed, give us a further use to be made than alone the recov'ry of the King, as to be- LAFEU. Generally thankful. Enter KING, HELENA, and ATTENDANTS PAROLLES. I would have said it; you say well. Here comes the King. LAFEU. Lustig, as the Dutchman says. I'll like a maid the better, whilst I have a tooth in my head. Why, he's able to lead her a coranto. PAROLLES. Mort du vinaigre! Is not this Helen? LAFEU. 'Fore God, I think so. KING. Go, call before me all the lords in court. Exit an ATTENDANT Sit, my preserver, by thy patient's side; And with this healthful hand, whose banish'd sense Thou has repeal'd, a second time receive The confirmation of my promis'd gift, Which but attends thy naming. Enter three or four LORDS Fair maid, send forth thine eye. This youthful parcel Of noble bachelors stand at my bestowing, O'er whom both sovereign power and father's voice I have to use. Thy frank election make; Thou hast power to choose, and they none to forsake. HELENA. To each of you one fair and virtuous mistress Fall, when love please. Marry, to each but one! LAFEU. I'd give bay Curtal and his furniture My mouth no more were broken than these boys', And writ as little beard. KING. Peruse them well. Not one of those but had a noble father. HELENA. Gentlemen, Heaven hath through me restor'd the King to health. ALL. We understand it, and thank heaven for you. HELENA. I am a simple maid, and therein wealthiest That I protest I simply am a maid. Please it your Majesty, I have done already. The blushes in my cheeks thus whisper me: 'We blush that thou shouldst choose; but, be refused, Let the white death sit on thy cheek for ever, We'll ne'er come there again.' KING. Make choice and see: Who shuns thy love shuns all his love in me. HELENA. Now, Dian, from thy altar do I fly, And to imperial Love, that god most high, Do my sighs stream. Sir, will you hear my suit? FIRST LORD. And grant it. HELENA. Thanks, sir; all the rest is mute. LAFEU. I had rather be in this choice than throw ames-ace for my life. HELENA. The honour, sir, that flames in your fair eyes, Before I speak, too threat'ningly replies. Love make your fortunes twenty times above Her that so wishes, and her humble love! SECOND LORD. No better, if you please. HELENA. My wish receive, Which great Love grant; and so I take my leave. LAFEU. Do all they deny her? An they were sons of mine I'd have them whipt; or I would send them to th' Turk to make eunuchs of. HELENA. Be not afraid that I your hand should take; I'll never do you wrong for your own sake. Blessing upon your vows; and in your bed Find fairer fortune, if you ever wed! LAFEU. These boys are boys of ice; they'll none have her. Sure, they are bastards to the English; the French ne'er got 'em. HELENA. You are too young, too happy, and too good, To make yourself a son out of my blood. FOURTH LORD. Fair one, I think not so. LAFEU. There's one grape yet; I am sure thy father drunk wine-but if thou be'st not an ass, I am a youth of fourteen; I have known thee already. HELENA. [To BERTRAM] I dare not say I take you; but I give Me and my service, ever whilst I live, Into your guiding power. This is the man. KING. Why, then, young Bertram, take her; she's thy wife. BERTRAM. My wife, my liege! I shall beseech your Highness, In such a business give me leave to use The help of mine own eyes. KING. Know'st thou not, Bertram, What she has done for me? BERTRAM. Yes, my good lord; But never hope to know why I should marry her. KING. Thou know'st she has rais'd me from my sickly bed. BERTRAM. But follows it, my lord, to bring me down Must answer for your raising? I know her well: She had her breeding at my father's charge. A poor physician's daughter my wife! Disdain Rather corrupt me ever! KING. 'Tis only title thou disdain'st in her, the which I can build up. Strange is it that our bloods, Of colour, weight, and heat, pour'd all together, Would quite confound distinction, yet stand off In differences so mighty. If she be All that is virtuous-save what thou dislik'st, A poor physician's daughter-thou dislik'st Of virtue for the name; but do not so. From lowest place when virtuous things proceed, The place is dignified by the doer's deed; Where great additions swell's, and virtue none, It is a dropsied honour. Good alone Is good without a name. Vileness is so: The property by what it is should go, Not by the title. She is young, wise, fair; In these to nature she's immediate heir; And these breed honour. That is honour's scorn Which challenges itself as honour's born And is not like the sire. Honours thrive When rather from our acts we them derive Than our fore-goers. The mere word's a slave, Debauch'd on every tomb, on every grave A lying trophy; and as oft is dumb Where dust and damn'd oblivion is the tomb Of honour'd bones indeed. What should be said? If thou canst like this creature as a maid, I can create the rest. Virtue and she Is her own dower; honour and wealth from me. BERTRAM. I cannot love her, nor will strive to do 't. KING. Thou wrong'st thyself, if thou shouldst strive to choose. HELENA. That you are well restor'd, my lord, I'm glad. Let the rest go. KING. My honour's at the stake; which to defeat, I must produce my power. Here, take her hand, Proud scornful boy, unworthy this good gift, That dost in vile misprision shackle up My love and her desert; that canst not dream We, poising us in her defective scale, Shall weigh thee to the beam; that wilt not know It is in us to plant thine honour where We please to have it grow. Check thy contempt; Obey our will, which travails in thy good; Believe not thy disdain, but presently Do thine own fortunes that obedient right Which both thy duty owes and our power claims; Or I will throw thee from my care for ever Into the staggers and the careless lapse Of youth and ignorance; both my revenge and hate Loosing upon thee in the name of justice, Without all terms of pity. Speak; thine answer. BERTRAM. Pardon, my gracious lord; for I submit My fancy to your eyes. When I consider What great creation and what dole of honour Flies where you bid it, I find that she which late Was in my nobler thoughts most base is now The praised of the King; who, so ennobled, Is as 'twere born so. KING. Take her by the hand, And tell her she is thine; to whom I promise A counterpoise, if not to thy estate A balance more replete. BERTRAM. I take her hand. KING. Good fortune and the favour of the King Smile upon this contract; whose ceremony Shall seem expedient on the now-born brief, And be perform'd to-night. The solemn feast Shall more attend upon the coming space, Expecting absent friends. As thou lov'st her, Thy love's to me religious; else, does err. Exeunt all but LAFEU and PAROLLES who stay behind, commenting of this wedding LAFEU. Do you hear, monsieur? A word with you. PAROLLES. Your pleasure, sir? LAFEU. Your lord and master did well to make his recantation. PAROLLES. Recantation! My Lord! my master! LAFEU. Ay; is it not a language I speak? PAROLLES. A most harsh one, and not to be understood without bloody succeeding. My master! LAFEU. Are you companion to the Count Rousillon? PAROLLES. To any count; to all counts; to what is man. LAFEU. To what is count's man: count's master is of another style. PAROLLES. You are too old, sir; let it satisfy you, you are too old. LAFEU. I must tell thee, sirrah, I write man; to which title age cannot bring thee. PAROLLES. What I dare too well do, I dare not do. LAFEU. I did think thee, for two ordinaries, to be a pretty wise fellow; thou didst make tolerable vent of thy travel; it might pass. Yet the scarfs and the bannerets about thee did manifoldly dissuade me from believing thee a vessel of too great a burden. I have now found thee; when I lose thee again I care not; yet art thou good for nothing but taking up; and that thou'rt scarce worth. PAROLLES. Hadst thou not the privilege of antiquity upon thee- LAFEU. Do not plunge thyself too far in anger, lest thou hasten thy trial; which if-Lord have mercy on thee for a hen! So, my good window of lattice, fare thee well; thy casement I need not open, for I look through thee. Give me thy hand. PAROLLES. My lord, you give me most egregious indignity. LAFEU. Ay, with all my heart; and thou art worthy of it. PAROLLES. I have not, my lord, deserv'd it. LAFEU. Yes, good faith, ev'ry dram of it; and I will not bate thee a scruple. PAROLLES. Well, I shall be wiser. LAFEU. Ev'n as soon as thou canst, for thou hast to pull at a smack o' th' contrary. If ever thou be'st bound in thy scarf and beaten, thou shalt find what it is to be proud of thy bondage. I have a desire to hold my acquaintance with thee, or rather my knowledge, that I may say in the default 'He is a man I know.' PAROLLES. My lord, you do me most insupportable vexation. LAFEU. I would it were hell pains for thy sake, and my poor doing eternal; for doing I am past, as I will by thee, in what motion age will give me leave. Exit PAROLLES. Well, thou hast a son shall take this disgrace off me: scurvy, old, filthy, scurvy lord! Well, I must be patient; there is no fettering of authority. I'll beat him, by my life, if I can meet him with any convenience, an he were double and double a lord. I'll have no more pity of his age than I would have of- I'll beat him, and if I could but meet him again. Re-enter LAFEU LAFEU. Sirrah, your lord and master's married; there's news for you; you have a new mistress. PAROLLES. I most unfeignedly beseech your lordship to make some reservation of your wrongs. He is my good lord: whom I serve above is my master. LAFEU. Who? God? PAROLLES. Ay, sir. LAFEU. The devil it is that's thy master. Why dost thou garter up thy arms o' this fashion? Dost make hose of thy sleeves? Do other servants so? Thou wert best set thy lower part where thy nose stands. By mine honour, if I were but two hours younger, I'd beat thee. Methink'st thou art a general offence, and every man should beat thee. I think thou wast created for men to breathe themselves upon thee. PAROLLES. This is hard and undeserved measure, my lord. LAFEU. Go to, sir; you were beaten in Italy for picking a kernel out of a pomegranate; you are a vagabond, and no true traveller; you are more saucy with lords and honourable personages than the commission of your birth and virtue gives you heraldry. You are not worth another word, else I'd call you knave. I leave you. Exit Enter BERTRAM PAROLLES. Good, very, good, it is so then. Good, very good; let it be conceal'd awhile. BERTRAM. Undone, and forfeited to cares for ever! PAROLLES. What's the matter, sweetheart? BERTRAM. Although before the solemn priest I have sworn, I will not bed her. PAROLLES. What, what, sweetheart? BERTRAM. O my Parolles, they have married me! I'll to the Tuscan wars, and never bed her. PAROLLES. France is a dog-hole, and it no more merits The tread of a man's foot. To th' wars! BERTRAM. There's letters from my mother; what th' import is I know not yet. PAROLLES. Ay, that would be known. To th' wars, my boy, to th' wars! He wears his honour in a box unseen That hugs his kicky-wicky here at home, Spending his manly marrow in her arms, Which should sustain the bound and high curvet Of Mars's fiery steed. To other regions! France is a stable; we that dwell in't jades; Therefore, to th' war! BERTRAM. It shall be so; I'll send her to my house, Acquaint my mother with my hate to her, And wherefore I am fled; write to the King That which I durst not speak. His present gift Shall furnish me to those Italian fields Where noble fellows strike. War is no strife To the dark house and the detested wife. PAROLLES. Will this capriccio hold in thee, art sure? BERTRAM. Go with me to my chamber and advise me. I'll send her straight away. To-morrow I'll to the wars, she to her single sorrow. PAROLLES. Why, these balls bound; there's noise in it. 'Tis hard: A young man married is a man that's marr'd. Therefore away, and leave her bravely; go. The King has done you wrong; but, hush, 'tis so. Exeunt ACT II. SCENE 4. Paris. The KING'S palace Enter HELENA and CLOWN HELENA. My mother greets me kindly; is she well? CLOWN. She is not well, but yet she has her health; she's very merry, but yet she is not well. But thanks be given, she's very well, and wants nothing i' th' world; but yet she is not well. HELENA. If she be very well, what does she ail that she's not very well? CLOWN. Truly, she's very well indeed, but for two things. HELENA. What two things? CLOWN. One, that she's not in heaven, whither God send her quickly! The other, that she's in earth, from whence God send her quickly! Enter PAROLLES PAROLLES. Bless you, my fortunate lady! HELENA. I hope, sir, I have your good will to have mine own good fortunes. PAROLLES. You had my prayers to lead them on; and to keep them on, have them still. O, my knave, how does my old lady? CLOWN. So that you had her wrinkles and I her money, I would she did as you say. PAROLLES. Why, I say nothing. CLOWN. Marry, you are the wiser man; for many a man's tongue shakes out his master's undoing. To say nothing, to do nothing, to know nothing, and to have nothing, is to be a great part of your title, which is within a very little of nothing. PAROLLES. Away! th'art a knave. CLOWN. You should have said, sir, 'Before a knave th'art a knave'; that's 'Before me th'art a knave.' This had been truth, sir. PAROLLES. Go to, thou art a witty fool; I have found thee. CLOWN. Did you find me in yourself, sir, or were you taught to find me? The search, sir, was profitable; and much fool may you find in you, even to the world's pleasure and the increase of laughter. PAROLLES. A good knave, i' faith, and well fed. Madam, my lord will go away to-night: A very serious business calls on him. The great prerogative and rite of love, Which, as your due, time claims, he does acknowledge; But puts it off to a compell'd restraint; Whose want, and whose delay, is strew'd with sweets, Which they distil now in the curbed time, To make the coming hour o'erflow with joy And pleasure drown the brim. HELENA. What's his else? PAROLLES. That you will take your instant leave o' th' King, And make this haste as your own good proceeding, Strength'ned with what apology you think May make it probable need. HELENA. What more commands he? PAROLLES. That, having this obtain'd, you presently Attend his further pleasure. HELENA. In everything I wait upon his will. PAROLLES. I shall report it so. HELENA. I pray you. Exit PAROLLES Come, sirrah. Exeunt ACT II. SCENE 5. Paris. The KING'S palace Enter LAFEU and BERTRAM LAFEU. But I hope your lordship thinks not him a soldier. BERTRAM. Yes, my lord, and of very valiant approof. LAFEU. You have it from his own deliverance. BERTRAM. And by other warranted testimony. LAFEU. Then my dial goes not true; I took this lark for a bunting. BERTRAM. I do assure you, my lord, he is very great in knowledge, and accordingly valiant. LAFEU. I have then sinn'd against his experience and transgress'd against his valour; and my state that way is dangerous, since I cannot yet find in my heart to repent. Here he comes; I pray you make us friends; I will pursue the amity Enter PAROLLES PAROLLES. [To BERTRAM] These things shall be done, sir. LAFEU. Pray you, sir, who's his tailor? PAROLLES. Sir! LAFEU. O, I know him well. Ay, sir; he, sir, 's a good workman, a very good tailor. BERTRAM. [Aside to PAROLLES] Is she gone to the King? PAROLLES. She is. BERTRAM. Will she away to-night? PAROLLES. As you'll have her. BERTRAM. I have writ my letters, casketed my treasure, Given order for our horses; and to-night, When I should take possession of the bride, End ere I do begin. LAFEU. A good traveller is something at the latter end of a dinner; but one that lies three-thirds and uses a known truth to pass a thousand nothings with, should be once heard and thrice beaten. God save you, Captain. BERTRAM. Is there any unkindness between my lord and you, monsieur? PAROLLES. I know not how I have deserved to run into my lord's displeasure. LAFEU. You have made shift to run into 't, boots and spurs and all, like him that leapt into the custard; and out of it you'll run again, rather than suffer question for your residence. BERTRAM. It may be you have mistaken him, my lord. LAFEU. And shall do so ever, though I took him at's prayers. Fare you well, my lord; and believe this of me: there can be no kernal in this light nut; the soul of this man is his clothes; trust him not in matter of heavy consequence; I have kept of them tame, and know their natures. Farewell, monsieur; I have spoken better of you than you have or will to deserve at my hand; but we must do good against evil. Exit PAROLLES. An idle lord, I swear. BERTRAM. I think so. PAROLLES. Why, do you not know him? BERTRAM. Yes, I do know him well; and common speech Gives him a worthy pass. Here comes my clog. Enter HELENA HELENA. 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. BERTRAM. I shall obey his will. 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. HELENA. Sir, I can nothing say But that I am your most obedient servant. BERTRAM. Come, come, no more of that. HELENA. And ever shall With true observance seek to eke out that Wherein toward me my homely stars have fail'd To equal my great fortune. BERTRAM. Let that go. My haste is very great. Farewell; hie home. HELENA. Pray, sir, your pardon. BERTRAM. Well, what would you say? HELENA. I am not worthy of the wealth I owe, Nor dare I say 'tis mine, and yet it is; But, like a timorous thief, most fain would steal What law does vouch mine own. BERTRAM. What would you have? HELENA. Something; and scarce so much; nothing, indeed. I would not tell you what I would, my lord. Faith, yes: Strangers and foes do sunder and not kiss. BERTRAM. I pray you, stay not, but in haste to horse. HELENA. I shall not break your bidding, good my lord. BERTRAM. 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. Away, and for our flight. PAROLLES. Bravely, coragio! Exeunt ACT III. SCENE 1. Florence. The DUKE's palace Flourish. Enter the DUKE OF FLORENCE, attended; two FRENCH LORDS, with a TROOP OF SOLDIERS DUKE. So that, from point to point, now have you hear The fundamental reasons of this war; Whose great decision hath much blood let forth And more thirsts after. FIRST LORD. Holy seems the quarrel Upon your Grace's part; black and fearful On the opposer. DUKE. Therefore we marvel much our cousin France Would in so just a business shut his bosom Against our borrowing prayers. SECOND LORD. Good my lord, The reasons of our state I cannot yield, But like a common and an outward man That the great figure of a council frames By self-unable motion; therefore dare not Say what I think of it, since I have found Myself in my incertain grounds to fail As often as I guess'd. DUKE. Be it his pleasure. FIRST LORD. But I am sure the younger of our nature, That surfeit on their ease, will day by day Come here for physic. DUKE. Welcome shall they be And all the honours that can fly from us Shall on them settle. You know your places well; When better fall, for your avails they fell. To-morrow to th' field. Flourish. Exeunt ACT III. SCENE 2. Rousillon. The COUNT'S palace Enter COUNTESS and CLOWN COUNTESS. It hath happen'd all as I would have had it, save that he comes not along with her. CLOWN. By my troth, I take my young lord to be a very melancholy man. COUNTESS. By what observance, I pray you? CLOWN. 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. COUNTESS. Let me see what he writes, and when he means to come. [Opening a letter] CLOWN. I have no mind to Isbel since I was at court. Our old ling and our Isbels o' th' country are nothing like your old ling and your Isbels o' th' court. The brains of my Cupid's knock'd out; and I begin to love, as an old man loves money, with no stomach. COUNTESS. What have we here? CLOWN. E'en that you have there. Exit COUNTESS. [Reads] 'I have sent you a daughter-in-law; she hath recovered the King and undone me. I have wedded her, not bedded her; and sworn to make the "not" eternal. You shall hear I am run away; know it before the report come. If there be breadth enough in the world, I will hold a long distance. My duty to you. Your unfortunate son, BERTRAM.' This is not well, rash and unbridled boy, To fly the favours of so good a king, To pluck his indignation on thy head By the misprizing of a maid too virtuous For the contempt of empire. Re-enter CLOWN CLOWN. O madam, yonder is heavy news within between two soldiers and my young lady. COUNTESS. What is the -matter? CLOWN. Nay, there is some comfort in the news, some comfort; your son will not be kill'd so soon as I thought he would. COUNTESS. Why should he be kill'd? CLOWN. 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 Enter HELENA and the two FRENCH GENTLEMEN SECOND GENTLEMAN. Save you, good madam. HELENA. Madam, my lord is gone, for ever gone. FIRST GENTLEMAN. Do not say so. COUNTESS. Think upon patience. Pray you, gentlemen- 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? FIRST GENTLEMAN. Madam, he's gone to serve the Duke of Florence. We met him thitherward; for thence we came, And, after some dispatch in hand at court, Thither we bend again. HELENA. Look on this letter, madam; here's my passport. [Reads] 'When thou canst get the ring upon my finger, 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. COUNTESS. Brought you this letter, gentlemen? FIRST GENTLEMAN. Ay, madam; And for the contents' sake are sorry for our pains. COUNTESS. I prithee, 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? FIRST GENTLEMAN. Ay, madam. COUNTESS. And to be a soldier? FIRST GENTLEMAN. Such is his noble purpose; and, believe 't, The Duke will lay upon him all the honour That good convenience claims. COUNTESS. Return you thither? SECOND GENTLEMAN. Ay, madam, with the swiftest wing of speed. HELENA. [Reads] 'Till I have no wife, I have nothing in France.' 'Tis bitter. COUNTESS. Find you that there? HELENA. Ay, madam. SECOND GENTLEMAN. 'Tis but the boldness of his hand haply, which his heart was not consenting to. COUNTESS. Nothing in France until he have no wife! There's nothing here that is too good for him But only she; and she deserves a lord That twenty such rude boys might tend upon, And call her hourly mistress. Who was with him? SECOND GENTLEMAN. A servant only, and a gentleman Which I have sometime known. COUNTESS. Parolles, was it not? SECOND GENTLEMAN. Ay, my good lady, he. COUNTESS. A very tainted fellow, and full of wickedness. My son corrupts a well-derived nature With his inducement. SECOND GENTLEMAN. Indeed, good lady, The fellow has a deal of that too much Which holds him much to have. COUNTESS. Y'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. FIRST GENTLEMAN. We serve you, madam, In that and all your worthiest affairs. COUNTESS. Not so, but as we change our courtesies. Will you draw near? Exeunt COUNTESS and GENTLEMEN HELENA. '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 That chase thee from thy country, and expose Those tender limbs of thine to the event Of the non-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-piecing air, That sings with piercing; do not touch my lord. Whoever shoots at him, I set him there; Whoever charges on his forward breast, I am the caitiff that do hold him to't; 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, Rousillon, 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 To consolate thine ear. Come, night; end, day. For with the dark, poor thief, I'll steal away. Exit ACT III. SCENE 3. Florence. Before the DUKE's palace Flourish. Enter the DUKE OF FLORENCE, BERTRAM, PAROLLES, SOLDIERS, drum and trumpets DUKE. The General of our Horse thou art; and we, Great in our hope, lay our best love and credence Upon thy promising fortune. BERTRAM. Sir, it is A charge too heavy for my strength; but yet We'll strive to bear it for your worthy sake To th' extreme edge of hazard. DUKE. Then go thou forth; And Fortune play upon thy prosperous helm, As thy auspicious mistress! BERTRAM. This very day, Great Mars, I put myself into thy file; Make me but like my thoughts, and I shall prove A lover of thy drum, hater of love. Exeunt ACT III. SCENE 4. Rousillon. The COUNT'S palace Enter COUNTESS and STEWARD COUNTESS. 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. STEWARD. [Reads] 'I am Saint Jaques' pilgrim, thither gone. Ambitious love hath so in me offended That barefoot 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 dogs the heels of worth. He is too good and fair for death and me; Whom I myself embrace to set him free.' COUNTESS. 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. STEWARD. 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. COUNTESS. What angel shall 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. Dispatch 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 ACT III. SCENE 5. Without the walls of Florence A tucket afar off. Enter an old WIDOW OF FLORENCE, her daughter DIANA, VIOLENTA, and MARIANA, with other CITIZENS WIDOW. Nay, come; for if they do approach the city we shall lose all the sight. DIANA. They say the French count has done most honourable service. WIDOW. It is reported that he has taken their great'st commander; and that with his own hand he slew the Duke's brother. [Tucket] We have lost our labour; they are gone a contrary way. Hark! you may know by their trumpets. MARIANA. 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. WIDOW. I have told my neighbour how you have been solicited by a gentleman his companion. MARIANA. 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 threatens 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. DIANA. You shall not need to fear me. Enter HELENA in the dress of a pilgrim WIDOW. 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 bound? HELENA. To Saint Jaques le Grand. Where do the palmers lodge, I do beseech you? WIDOW. At the Saint Francis here, beside the port. HELENA. Is this the way? [A march afar] WIDOW. Ay, marry, is't. Hark you! They come this way. If you will tarry, holy pilgrim, But till the troops come by, I will conduct you where you shall be lodg'd; The rather for I think I know your hostess As ample as myself. HELENA. Is it yourself? WIDOW. If you shall please so, pilgrim. HELENA. I thank you, and will stay upon your leisure. WIDOW. You came, I think, from France? HELENA. I did so. WIDOW. Here you shall see a countryman of yours That has done worthy service. HELENA. His name, I pray you. DIANA. The Count Rousillon. Know you such a one? HELENA. But by the ear, that hears most nobly of him; His face I know not. DIANA. What some'er he is, He's bravely taken here. He stole from France, As 'tis reported, for the King had married him Against his liking. Think you it is so? HELENA. Ay, surely, mere the truth; I know his lady. DIANA. There is a gentleman that serves the Count Reports but coarsely of her. HELENA. What's his name? DIANA. Monsieur Parolles. HELENA. O, I believe with him, In argument of praise, or to the worth Of the great Count himself, she is too mean To have her name repeated; all her deserving Is a reserved honesty, and that I have not heard examin'd. DIANA. Alas, poor lady! 'Tis a hard bondage to become the wife Of a detesting lord. WIDOW. I sweet, good creature, wheresoe'er she is Her heart weighs sadly. This young maid might do her A shrewd turn, if she pleas'd. HELENA. How do you mean? May be the amorous Count solicits her In the unlawful purpose. WIDOW. He does, indeed; And brokes with all that can in such a suit Corrupt the tender honour of a maid; But she is arm'd for him, and keeps her guard In honestest defence. Enter, with drum and colours, BERTRAM, PAROLLES, and the whole ARMY MARIANA. The gods forbid else! WIDOW. So, now they come. That is Antonio, the Duke's eldest son; That, Escalus. HELENA. Which is the Frenchman? DIANA. He- That with the plume; 'tis a most gallant fellow. I would he lov'd his wife; if he were honester He were much goodlier. Is't not a handsome gentleman? HELENA. I like him well. DIANA. 'Tis pity he is not honest. Yond's that same knave That leads him to these places; were I his lady I would poison that vile rascal. HELENA. Which is he? DIANA. That jack-an-apes with scarfs. Why is he melancholy? HELENA. Perchance he's hurt i' th' battle. PAROLLES. Lose our drum! well. MARIANA. He's shrewdly vex'd at something. Look, he has spied us. WIDOW. Marry, hang you! MARIANA. And your courtesy, for a ring-carrier! Exeunt BERTRAM, PAROLLES, and ARMY WIDOW. 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. HELENA. 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 of this virgin, Worthy the note. BOTH. We'll take your offer kindly. Exeunt ACT III. SCENE 6. Camp before Florence Enter BERTRAM, and the two FRENCH LORDS SECOND LORD. Nay, good my lord, put him to't; let him have his way. FIRST LORD. If your lordship find him not a hiding, hold me no more in your respect. SECOND LORD. On my life, my lord, a bubble. BERTRAM. Do you think I am so far deceived in him? SECOND LORD. Believe it, my lord, in mine own direct knowledge, without any malice, but to speak of him as my kinsman, he's a most notable coward, an infinite and endless liar, an hourly promise-breaker, the owner of no one good quality worthy your lordship's entertainment. FIRST 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. BERTRAM. I would I knew in what particular action to try him. FIRST LORD. None better than to let him fetch off his drum, which you hear him so confidently undertake to do. SECOND LORD. I with a troop of Florentines will suddenly surprise him; such I will have whom I am sure he knows not from the enemy. We will bind and hoodwink 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 own 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 anything. FIRST 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 SECOND LORD. O, for the love of laughter, hinder not the honour of his design; let him fetch off his drum in any hand. BERTRAM. How now, monsieur! This drum sticks sorely in your disposition. FIRST LORD. A pox on 't; let it go; 'tis but a drum. PAROLLES. But a drum! Is't but a drum? A drum so lost! There was excellent command: to charge in with our horse upon our own wings, and to rend our own soldiers! FIRST LORD. That was not to be blam'd in the command of the service; it was a disaster of war that Caesar himself could not have prevented, if he had been there to command. BERTRAM. Well, we cannot greatly condemn our success. Some dishonour we had in the loss of that drum; but it is not to be recovered. PAROLLES. It might have been recovered. BERTRAM. It might, but it is not now. PAROLLES. 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.' BERTRAM. 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 enterprise, 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 our worthiness. PAROLLES. By the hand of a soldier, I will undertake it. BERTRAM. But you must not now slumber in it. PAROLLES. I'll about it this evening; and I will presently pen down my dilemmas, encourage myself in my certainty, put myself into my mortal preparation; and by midnight look to hear further from me. BERTRAM. May I be bold to acquaint his Grace you are gone about it? PAROLLES. I know not what the success will be, my lord, but the attempt I vow. BERTRAM. I know th' art valiant; and, to the of thy soldiership, will subscribe for thee. Farewell. PAROLLES. I love not many words. Exit SECOND 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 damn'd than to do 't. FIRST 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. BERTRAM. Why, do you think he will make no deed at all of this that so seriously he does address himself unto? SECOND LORD. None in the world; but return with an invention, and clap upon you two or three probable lies. But we have almost emboss'd him. You shall see his fall to-night; for indeed he is not for your lordship's respect. FIRST LORD. We'll make you some sport with the fox ere we case him. He was first smok'd 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. SECOND LORD. I must go look my twigs; he shall be caught. BERTRAM. Your brother, he shall go along with me. SECOND LORD. As't please your lordship. I'll leave you. Exit BERTRAM. Now will I lead you to the house, and show you The lass I spoke of. FIRST LORD. But you say she's honest. BERTRAM. 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' th' 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? FIRST LORD. With all my heart, my lord. Exeunt ACT III. SCENE 7. Florence. The WIDOW'S house Enter HELENA and WIDOW HELENA. 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. WIDOW. Though my estate be fall'n, I was well born, Nothing acquainted with these businesses; And would not put my reputation now In any staining act. HELENA. Nor would I wish you. 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. WIDOW. I should believe you; For you have show'd me that which well approves Y'are great in fortune. HELENA. 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 woos your daughter Lays down his wanton siege before her beauty, Resolv'd 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. WIDOW. Now I see The bottom of your purpose. HELENA. 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 pass'd already. WIDOW. I have yielded. Instruct my daughter how she shall persever, That time and place with this deceit so lawful May prove coherent. Every night he comes With musics of all sorts, and songs compos'd To her unworthiness. It nothing steads us To chide him from our eaves, for he persists As if his life lay on 't. HELENA. 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. Exeunt ACT IV. SCENE 1. Without the Florentine camp Enter SECOND FRENCH LORD with five or six other SOLDIERS in ambush SECOND 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 seem to understand him, unless some one among us, whom we must produce for an interpreter. FIRST SOLDIER. Good captain, let me be th' interpreter. SECOND LORD. Art not acquainted with him? Knows he not thy voice? FIRST SOLDIER. No, sir, I warrant you. SECOND LORD. But what linsey-woolsey has thou to speak to us again? FIRST SOLDIER. E'en such as you speak to me. SECOND LORD. He must think us some band of strangers i' th' adversary's entertainment. Now he hath a smack of all neighbouring languages, therefore we must every one be a man of his own fancy; not to know what we speak one to another, so we seem to know, is to know straight our purpose: choughs' language, gabble enough, and good enough. As for you, interpreter, you must seem very politic. But couch, ho! here he comes; to beguile two hours in a sleep, and then to return and swear the lies he forges. Enter PAROLLES PAROLLES. Ten o'clock. Within these three hours 'twill be time enough to go home. What shall I say I have done? It must be a very plausive invention that carries it. They begin to smoke me; and disgraces have of late knock'd to often at my door. I find my tongue is too foolhardy; but my heart hath the fear of Mars before it, and of his creatures, not daring the reports of my tongue. SECOND LORD. This is the first truth that e'er thine own tongue was guilty of. PAROLLES. What the devil should move me to undertake the recovery of this drum, being not ignorant of the impossibility, and knowing I had no such purpose? I must give myself some hurts, and say I got them in exploit. Yet slight ones will not carry it. They will say 'Came you off with so little?' And great ones I dare not give. Wherefore, what's the instance? Tongue, I must put you into a butterwoman's mouth, and buy myself another of Bajazet's mule, if you prattle me into these perils. SECOND LORD. Is it possible he should know what he is, and be that he is? PAROLLES. I would the cutting of my garments would serve the turn, or the breaking of my Spanish sword. SECOND LORD. We cannot afford you so. PAROLLES. Or the baring of my beard; and to say it was in stratagem. SECOND LORD. 'Twould not do. PAROLLES. Or to drown my clothes, and say I was stripp'd. SECOND LORD. Hardly serve. PAROLLES. Though I swore I leap'd from the window of the citadel- SECOND LORD. How deep? PAROLLES. Thirty fathom. SECOND LORD. Three great oaths would scarce make that be believed. PAROLLES. I would I had any drum of the enemy's; I would swear I recover'd it. SECOND LORD. You shall hear one anon. [Alarum within] PAROLLES. A drum now of the enemy's! SECOND LORD. Throca movousus, cargo, cargo, cargo. ALL. Cargo, cargo, cargo, villianda par corbo, cargo. PAROLLES. O, ransom, ransom! Do not hide mine eyes. [They blindfold him] FIRST SOLDIER. Boskos thromuldo boskos. PAROLLES. I know you are the Muskos' regiment, And I shall lose my life for want of language. If there be here German, or Dane, Low Dutch, Italian, or French, let him speak to me; I'll discover that which shall undo the Florentine. FIRST SOLDIER. Boskos vauvado. I understand thee, and can speak thy tongue. Kerely-bonto, sir, betake thee to thy faith, for seventeen poniards are at thy bosom. PAROLLES. O! FIRST SOLDIER. O, pray, pray, pray! Manka revania dulche. SECOND LORD. Oscorbidulchos volivorco. FIRST SOLDIER. The General is content to spare thee yet; And, hoodwink'd as thou art, will lead thee on To gather from thee. Haply thou mayst inform Something to save thy life. PAROLLES. O, let me live, And all the secrets of our camp I'll show, Their force, their purposes. Nay, I'll speak that Which you will wonder at. FIRST SOLDIER. But wilt thou faithfully? PAROLLES. If I do not, damn me. FIRST SOLDIER. Acordo linta. Come on; thou art granted space. Exit, PAROLLES guarded. A short alarum within SECOND LORD. Go, tell the Count Rousillon and my brother We have caught the woodcock, and will keep him muffled Till we do hear from them. SECOND SOLDIER. Captain, I will. SECOND LORD. 'A will betray us all unto ourselves- Inform on that. SECOND SOLDIER. So I will, sir. SECOND LORD. Till then I'll keep him dark and safely lock'd. Exeunt ACT IV. SCENE 2. Florence. The WIDOW'S house Enter BERTRAM and DIANA BERTRAM. They told me that your name was Fontibell. DIANA. No, my good lord, Diana. BERTRAM. Titled goddess; And worth it, with addition! But, fair soul, In your fine frame hath love no quality? If the quick fire of youth light not your mind, You are no maiden, but a monument; When you are dead, you should be such a one As you are now, for you are cold and stern; And now you should be as your mother was When your sweet self was got. DIANA. She then was honest. BERTRAM. So should you be. DIANA. No. My mother did but duty; such, my lord, As you owe to your wife. BERTRAM. No more o'that! I prithee do not strive against my vows. I was compell'd to her; but I love the By love's own sweet constraint, and will for ever Do thee all rights of service. DIANA. Ay, so you serve us Till we serve you; but when you have our roses You barely leave our thorns to prick ourselves, And mock us with our bareness. BERTRAM. How have I sworn! DIANA. 'Tis not the many oaths that makes the truth, But the plain single vow that is vow'd true. What is not holy, that we swear not by, But take the High'st to witness. Then, pray you, tell me: If I should swear by Jove's great attributes I lov'd you dearly, would you believe my oaths When I did love you ill? This has no holding, To swear by him whom I protest to love That I will work against him. Therefore your oaths Are words and poor conditions, but unseal'd- At least in my opinion. BERTRAM. Change it, change it; Be not so holy-cruel. Love is holy; And my integrity ne'er knew the crafts That you do charge men with. Stand no more off, But give thyself unto my sick desires, Who then recovers. Say thou art mine, and ever My love as it begins shall so persever. DIANA. I see that men make ropes in such a scarre That we'll forsake ourselves. Give me that ring. BERTRAM. I'll lend it thee, my dear, but have no power To give it from me. DIANA. Will you not, my lord? BERTRAM. It is an honour 'longing to our house, Bequeathed down from many ancestors; Which were the greatest obloquy i' th' world In me to lose. DIANA. Mine honour's such a ring: My chastity's the jewel of our house, Bequeathed down from many ancestors; Which were the greatest obloquy i' th' world In me to lose. Thus your own proper wisdom Brings in the champion Honour on my part Against your vain assault. BERTRAM. Here, take my ring; My house, mine honour, yea, my life, be thine, And I'll be bid by thee. DIANA. When midnight comes, knock at my chamber window; I'll order take my mother shall not hear. Now will I charge you in the band of truth, When you have conquer'd my yet maiden bed, Remain there but an hour, nor speak to me: My reasons are most strong; and you shall know them When back again this ring shall be deliver'd. And on your finger in the night I'll put Another ring, that what in time proceeds May token to the future our past deeds. Adieu till then; then fail not. You have won A wife of me, though there my hope be done. BERTRAM. A heaven on earth I have won by wooing thee. Exit DIANA. For which live long to thank both heaven and me! You may so in the end. My mother told me just how he would woo, As if she sat in's heart; she says all men Have the like oaths. He had sworn to marry me When his wife's dead; therefore I'll lie with him When I am buried. Since Frenchmen are so braid, Marry that will, I live and die a maid. Only, in this disguise, I think't no sin To cozen him that would unjustly win. Exit ACT IV. SCENE 3. The Florentine camp Enter the two FRENCH LORDS, and two or three SOLDIERS SECOND LORD. You have not given him his mother's letter? FIRST LORD. I have deliv'red it an hour since. There is something in't that stings his nature; for on the reading it he chang'd almost into another man. SECOND LORD. He has much worthy blame laid upon him for shaking off so good a wife and so sweet a lady. FIRST LORD. Especially he hath incurred the everlasting displeasure of the King, who had even tun'd his bounty to sing happiness to him. I will tell you a thing, but you shall let it dwell darkly with you. SECOND LORD. When you have spoken it, 'tis dead, and I am the grave of it. FIRST LORD. He hath perverted a young gentlewoman here in Florence, of a most chaste renown; and this night he fleshes his will in the spoil of her honour. He hath given her his monumental ring, and thinks himself made in the unchaste composition. SECOND LORD. Now, God delay our rebellion! As we are ourselves, what things are we! FIRST LORD. Merely our own traitors. And as in the common course of all treasons we still see them reveal themselves till they attain to their abhorr'd ends; so he that in this action contrives against his own nobility, in his proper stream, o'erflows himself. SECOND LORD. Is it not meant damnable in us to be trumpeters of our unlawful intents? We shall not then have his company to-night? FIRST LORD. Not till after midnight; for he is dieted to his hour. SECOND LORD. That approaches apace. I would gladly have him see his company anatomiz'd, that he might take a measure of his own judgments, wherein so curiously he had set this counterfeit. FIRST LORD. We will not meddle with him till he come; for his presence must be the whip of the other. SECOND LORD. In the meantime, what hear you of these wars? FIRST LORD. I hear there is an overture of peace. SECOND LORD. Nay, I assure you, a peace concluded. FIRST LORD. What will Count Rousillon do then? Will he travel higher, or return again into France? SECOND LORD. I perceive, by this demand, you are not altogether of his counsel. FIRST LORD. Let it be forbid, sir! So should I be a great deal of his act. SECOND LORD. Sir, his wife, some two months since, fled from his house. Her pretence is a pilgrimage to Saint Jaques le Grand; which holy undertaking with most austere sanctimony she accomplish'd; and, there residing, the tenderness of her nature became as a prey to her grief; in fine, made a groan of her last breath, and now she sings in heaven. FIRST LORD. How is this justified? SECOND LORD. The stronger part of it by her own letters, which makes her story true even to the point of her death. Her death itself, which could not be her office to say is come, was faithfully confirm'd by the rector of the place. FIRST LORD. Hath the Count all this intelligence? SECOND LORD. Ay, and the particular confirmations, point from point, to the full arming of the verity. FIRST LORD. I am heartily sorry that he'll be glad of this. SECOND LORD. How mightily sometimes we make us comforts of our losses! FIRST LORD. And how mightily some other times we drown our gain in tears! The great dignity that his valour hath here acquir'd for him shall at home be encount'red with a shame as ample. SECOND LORD. The web of our life is of a mingled yarn, good and ill together. Our virtues would be proud if our faults whipt them not; and our crimes would despair if they were not cherish'd by our virtues. Enter a MESSENGER How now? Where's your master? SERVANT. He met the Duke in the street, sir; of whom he hath taken a solemn leave. His lordship will next morning for France. The Duke hath offered him letters of commendations to the King. SECOND LORD. They shall be no more than needful there, if they were more than they can commend. FIRST LORD. They cannot be too sweet for the King's tartness. Here's his lordship now. Enter BERTRAM How now, my lord, is't not after midnight? BERTRAM. I have to-night dispatch'd sixteen businesses, a month's length apiece; by an abstract of success: I have congied with the Duke, done my adieu with his nearest; buried a wife, mourn'd for her; writ to my lady mother I am returning; entertain'd my convoy; and between these main parcels of dispatch effected many nicer needs. The last was the greatest, but that I have not ended yet. SECOND LORD. If the business be of any difficulty and this morning your departure hence, it requires haste of your lordship. BERTRAM. I mean the business is not ended, as fearing to hear of it hereafter. But shall we have this dialogue between the Fool and the Soldier? Come, bring forth this counterfeit module has deceiv'd me like a double-meaning prophesier. SECOND LORD. Bring him forth. [Exeunt SOLDIERS] Has sat i' th' stocks all night, poor gallant knave. BERTRAM. No matter; his heels have deserv'd it, in usurping his spurs so long. How does he carry himself? SECOND LORD. I have told your lordship already the stocks carry him. But to answer you as you would be understood: he weeps like a wench that had shed her milk; he hath confess'd himself to Morgan, whom he supposes to be a friar, from the time of his remembrance to this very instant disaster of his setting i' th' stocks. And what think you he hath confess'd? BERTRAM. Nothing of me, has 'a? SECOND LORD. His confession is taken, and it shall be read to his face; if your lordship be in't, as I believe you are, you must have the patience to hear it. Enter PAROLLES guarded, and FIRST SOLDIER as interpreter BERTRAM. A plague upon him! muffled! He can say nothing of me. SECOND LORD. Hush, hush! Hoodman comes. Portotartarossa. FIRST SOLDIER. He calls for the tortures. What will you say without 'em? PAROLLES. I will confess what I know without constraint; if ye pinch me like a pasty, I can say no more. FIRST SOLDIER. Bosko chimurcho. SECOND LORD. Boblibindo chicurmurco. FIRST SOLDIER. YOU are a merciful general. Our General bids you answer to what I shall ask you out of a note. PAROLLES. And truly, as I hope to live. FIRST SOLDIER. 'First demand of him how many horse the Duke is strong.' What say you to that? PAROLLES. Five or six thousand; but very weak and unserviceable. The troops are all scattered, and the commanders very poor rogues, upon my reputation and credit, and as I hope to live. FIRST SOLDIER. Shall I set down your answer so? PAROLLES. Do; I'll take the sacrament on 't, how and which way you will. BERTRAM. All's one to him. What a past-saving slave is this! SECOND LORD. Y'are deceiv'd, my lord; this is Monsieur Parolles, the gallant militarist-that was his own phrase-that had the whole theoric of war in the knot of his scarf, and the practice in the chape of his dagger. FIRST LORD. I will never trust a man again for keeping his sword clean; nor believe he can have everything in him by wearing his apparel neatly. FIRST SOLDIER. Well, that's set down. PAROLLES. 'Five or six thousand horse' I said-I will say true- 'or thereabouts' set down, for I'll speak truth. SECOND LORD. He's very near the truth in this. BERTRAM. But I con him no thanks for't in the nature he delivers it. PAROLLES. 'Poor rogues' I pray you say. FIRST SOLDIER. Well, that's set down. PAROLLES. I humbly thank you, sir. A truth's a truth-the rogues are marvellous poor. FIRST SOLDIER. 'Demand of him of what strength they are a-foot.' What say you to that? PAROLLES. By my troth, sir, if I were to live this present hour, I will tell true. Let me see: Spurio, a hundred and fifty; Sebastian, so many; Corambus, so many; Jaques, so many; Guiltian, Cosmo, Lodowick, and Gratii, two hundred fifty each; mine own company, Chitopher, Vaumond, Bentii, two hundred fifty each; so that the muster-file, rotten and sound, upon my life, amounts not to fifteen thousand poll; half of the which dare not shake the snow from off their cassocks lest they shake themselves to pieces. BERTRAM. What shall be done to him? SECOND LORD. Nothing, but let him have thanks. Demand of him my condition, and what credit I have with the Duke. FIRST SOLDIER. Well, that's set down. 'You shall demand of him whether one Captain Dumain be i' th' camp, a Frenchman; what his reputation is with the Duke, what his valour, honesty, expertness in wars; or whether he thinks it were not possible, with well-weighing sums of gold, to corrupt him to a revolt.' What say you to this? What do you know of it? PAROLLES. I beseech you, let me answer to the particular of the inter'gatories. Demand them singly. FIRST SOLDIER. Do you know this Captain Dumain? PAROLLES. I know him: 'a was a botcher's prentice in Paris, from whence he was whipt for getting the shrieve's fool with child-a dumb innocent that could not say him nay. BERTRAM. Nay, by your leave, hold your hands; though I know his brains are forfeit to the next tile that falls. FIRST SOLDIER. Well, is this captain in the Duke of Florence's camp? PAROLLES. Upon my knowledge, he is, and lousy. SECOND LORD. Nay, look not so upon me; we shall hear of your lordship anon. FIRST SOLDIER. What is his reputation with the Duke? PAROLLES. The Duke knows him for no other but a poor officer of mine; and writ to me this other day to turn him out o' th' band. I think I have his letter in my pocket. FIRST SOLDIER. Marry, we'll search. PAROLLES. In good sadness, I do not know; either it is there or it is upon a file with the Duke's other letters in my tent. FIRST SOLDIER. Here 'tis; here's a paper. Shall I read it to you? PAROLLES. I do not know if it be it or no. BERTRAM. Our interpreter does it well. SECOND LORD. Excellently. FIRST SOLDIER. [Reads] 'Dian, the Count's a fool, and full of gold.' PAROLLES. That is not the Duke's letter, sir; that is an advertisement to a proper maid in Florence, one Diana, to take heed of the allurement of one Count Rousillon, a foolish idle boy, but for all that very ruttish. I pray you, sir, put it up again. FIRST SOLDIER. Nay, I'll read it first by your favour. PAROLLES. My meaning in't, I protest, was very honest in the behalf of the maid; for I knew the young Count to be a dangerous and lascivious boy, who is a whale to virginity, and devours up all the fry it finds. BERTRAM. Damnable both-sides rogue! FIRST SOLDIER. [Reads] 'When he swears oaths, bid him drop gold, and take it; After he scores, he never pays the score. Half won is match well made; match, and well make it; He ne'er pays after-debts, take it before. And say a soldier, Dian, told thee this: Men are to mell with, boys are not to kiss; For count of this, the Count's a fool, I know it, Who pays before, but not when he does owe it. Thine, as he vow'd to thee in thine ear, PAROLLES.' BERTRAM. He shall be whipt through the army with this rhyme in's forehead. FIRST LORD. This is your devoted friend, sir, the manifold linguist, and the amnipotent soldier. BERTRAM. I could endure anything before but a cat, and now he's a cat to me. FIRST SOLDIER. I perceive, sir, by our General's looks we shall be fain to hang you. PAROLLES. My life, sir, in any case! Not that I am afraid to die, but that, my offences being many, I would repent out the remainder of nature. Let me live, sir, in a dungeon, i' th' stocks, or anywhere, so I may live. FIRST SOLDIER. We'll see what may be done, so you confess freely; therefore, once more to this Captain Dumain: you have answer'd to his reputation with the Duke, and to his valour; what is his honesty? PAROLLES. He will steal, sir, an egg out of a cloister; for rapes and ravishments he parallels Nessus. He professes not keeping of oaths; in breaking 'em he is stronger than Hercules. He will lie, sir, with such volubility that you would think truth were a fool. Drunkenness is his best virtue, for he will be swine-drunk; and in his sleep he does little harm, save to his bedclothes about him; but they know his conditions and lay him in straw. I have but little more to say, sir, of his honesty. He has everything that an honest man should not have; what an honest man should have he has nothing. SECOND LORD. I begin to love him for this. BERTRAM. For this description of thine honesty? A pox upon him! For me, he's more and more a cat. FIRST SOLDIER. What say you to his expertness in war? PAROLLES. Faith, sir, has led the drum before the English tragedians-to belie him I will not-and more of his soldier-ship I know not, except in that country he had the honour to be the officer at a place there called Mile-end to instruct for the doubling of files-I would do the man what honour I can-but of this I am not certain. SECOND LORD. He hath out-villain'd villainy so far that the rarity redeems him. BERTRAM. A pox on him! he's a cat still. FIRST SOLDIER. His qualities being at this poor price, I need not to ask you if gold will corrupt him to revolt. PAROLLES. Sir, for a cardecue he will sell the fee-simple of his salvation, the inheritance of it; and cut th' entail from all remainders and a perpetual succession for it perpetually. FIRST SOLDIER. What's his brother, the other Captain Dumain? FIRST LORD. Why does he ask him of me? FIRST SOLDIER. What's he? PAROLLES. E'en a crow o' th' same nest; not altogether so great as the first in goodness, but greater a great deal in evil. He excels his brother for a coward; yet his brother is reputed one of the best that is. In a retreat he outruns any lackey: marry, in coming on he has the cramp. FIRST SOLDIER. If your life be saved, will you undertake to betray the Florentine? PAROLLES. Ay, and the Captain of his Horse, Count Rousillon. FIRST SOLDIER. I'll whisper with the General, and know his pleasure. PAROLLES. [Aside] I'll no more drumming. A plague of all drums! Only to seem to deserve well, and to beguile the supposition of that lascivious young boy the Count, have I run into this danger. Yet who would have suspected an ambush where I was taken? FIRST SOLDIER. There is no remedy, sir, but you must die. The General says you that have so traitorously discover'd the secrets of your army, and made such pestiferous reports of men very nobly held, can serve the world for no honest use; therefore you must die. Come, headsman, of with his head. PAROLLES. O Lord, sir, let me live, or let me see my death! FIRST SOLDIER. That shall you, and take your leave of all your friends. [Unmuffling him] So look about you; know you any here? BERTRAM. Good morrow, noble Captain. FIRST LORD. God bless you, Captain Parolles. SECOND LORD. God save you, noble Captain. FIRST LORD. Captain, what greeting will you to my Lord Lafeu? I am for France. SECOND LORD. Good Captain, will you give me a copy of the sonnet you writ to Diana in behalf of the Count Rousillon? An I were not a very coward I'd compel it of you; but fare you well. Exeunt BERTRAM and LORDS FIRST SOLDIER. You are undone, Captain, all but your scarf; that has a knot on 't yet. PAROLLES. Who cannot be crush'd with a plot? FIRST SOLDIER. If you could find out a country where but women were that had received so much shame, you might begin an impudent nation. Fare ye well, sir; I am for France too; we shall speak of you there. Exit with SOLDIERS PAROLLES. Yet am I thankful. If my heart were great, 'Twould burst at this. Captain I'll be no more; But I will eat, and drink, and sleep as soft As captain shall. Simply the thing I am Shall make me live. Who knows himself a braggart, Let him fear this; for it will come to pass That every braggart shall be found an ass. Rust, sword; cool, blushes; and, Parolles, live Safest in shame. Being fool'd, by fool'ry thrive. There's place and means for every man alive. I'll after them. Exit ACT IV SCENE 4. The WIDOW'S house Enter HELENA, WIDOW, and DIANA HELENA. That you may well perceive I have not wrong'd you! One of the greatest in the Christian world Shall be my surety; fore whose throne 'tis needful, Ere I can perfect mine intents, to kneel. Time was I did him a desired office, Dear almost as his life; which gratitude Through flinty Tartar's bosom would peep forth, And answer 'Thanks.' I duly am inform'd His Grace is at Marseilles, to which place We have convenient convoy. You must know I am supposed dead. The army breaking, My husband hies him home; where, heaven aiding, And by the leave of my good lord the King, We'll be before our welcome. WIDOW. Gentle madam, You never had a servant to whose trust Your business was more welcome. HELENA. Nor you, mistress, Ever a friend whose thoughts more truly labour To recompense your love. Doubt not but heaven Hath brought me up to be your daughter's dower, As it hath fated her to be my motive And helper to a husband. But, O strange men! That can such sweet use make of what they hate, When saucy trusting of the cozen'd thoughts Defiles the pitchy night. So lust doth play With what it loathes, for that which is away. But more of this hereafter. You, Diana, Under my poor instructions yet must suffer Something in my behalf. DIANA. Let death and honesty Go with your impositions, I am yours Upon your will to suffer. HELENA. Yet, I pray you: But with the word the time will bring on summer, When briers shall have leaves as well as thorns And be as sweet as sharp. We must away; Our waggon is prepar'd, and time revives us. All's Well that Ends Well. Still the fine's the crown. Whate'er the course, the end is the renown. Exeunt ACT IV SCENE 5. Rousillon. The COUNT'S palace Enter COUNTESS, LAFEU, and CLOWN LAFEU. No, no, no, son was misled with a snipt-taffeta fellow there, whose villainous saffron would have made all the unbak'd and doughy youth of a nation in his colour. Your daughter-in-law had been alive at this hour, and your son here at home, more advanc'd by the King than by that red-tail'd humble-bee I speak of. COUNTESS. I would I had not known him. It was the death of the most virtuous gentlewoman that ever nature had praise for creating. If she had partaken of my flesh, and cost me the dearest groans of a mother. I could not have owed her a more rooted love. LAFEU. 'Twas a good lady, 'twas a good lady. We may pick a thousand sallets ere we light on such another herb. CLOWN. Indeed, sir, she was the sweet-marjoram of the sallet, or, rather, the herb of grace. LAFEU. They are not sallet-herbs, you knave; they are nose-herbs. CLOWN. I am no great Nebuchadnezzar, sir; I have not much skill in grass. LAFEU. Whether dost thou profess thyself-a knave or a fool? CLOWN. A fool, sir, at a woman's service, and a knave at a man's. LAFEU. Your distinction? CLOWN. I would cozen the man of his wife, and do his service. LAFEU. So you were a knave at his service, indeed. CLOWN. And I would give his wife my bauble, sir, to do her service. LAFEU. I will subscribe for thee; thou art both knave and fool. CLOWN. At your service. LAFEU. No, no, no. CLOWN. Why, sir, if I cannot serve you, I can serve as great a prince as you are. LAFEU. Who's that? A Frenchman? CLOWN. Faith, sir, 'a has an English name; but his fisnomy is more hotter in France than there. LAFEU. What prince is that? CLOWN. The Black Prince, sir; alias, the Prince of Darkness; alias, the devil. LAFEU. Hold thee, there's my purse. I give thee not this to suggest thee from thy master thou talk'st of; serve him still. CLOWN. I am a woodland fellow, sir, that always loved a great fire; and the master I speak of ever keeps a good fire. But, sure, he is the prince of the world; let his nobility remain in's court. I am for the house with the narrow gate, which I take to be too little for pomp to enter. Some that humble themselves may; but the many will be too chill and tender: and they'll be for the flow'ry way that leads to the broad gate and the great fire. LAFEU. Go thy ways, I begin to be aweary of thee; and I tell thee so before, because I would not fall out with thee. Go thy ways; let my horses be well look'd to, without any tricks. CLOWN. If I put any tricks upon 'em, sir, they shall be jades' tricks, which are their own right by the law of nature. Exit LAFEU. A shrewd knave, and an unhappy. COUNTESS. So 'a is. My lord that's gone made himself much sport out of him. By his authority he remains here, which he thinks is a patent for his sauciness; and indeed he has no pace, but runs where he will. LAFEU. I like him well; 'tis not amiss. And I was about to tell you, since I heard of the good lady's death, and that my lord your son was upon his return home, I moved the King my master to speak in the behalf of my daughter; which, in the minority of them both, his Majesty out of a self-gracious remembrance did first propose. His Highness hath promis'd me to do it; and, to stop up the displeasure he hath conceived against your son, there is no fitter matter. How does your ladyship like it? COUNTESS. With very much content, my lord; and I wish it happily effected. LAFEU. His Highness comes post from Marseilles, of as able body as when he number'd thirty; 'a will be here to-morrow, or I am deceiv'd by him that in such intelligence hath seldom fail'd. COUNTESS. It rejoices me that I hope I shall see him ere I die. I have letters that my son will be here to-night. I shall beseech your lordship to remain with me tal they meet together. LAFEU. Madam, I was thinking with what manners I might safely be admitted. COUNTESS. You need but plead your honourable privilege. LAFEU. Lady, of that I have made a bold charter; but, I thank my God, it holds yet. Re-enter CLOWN CLOWN. O madam, yonder's my lord your son with a patch of velvet on's face; whether there be a scar under 't or no, the velvet knows; but 'tis a goodly patch of velvet. His left cheek is a cheek of two pile and a half, but his right cheek is worn bare. LAFEU. A scar nobly got, or a noble scar, is a good liv'ry of honour; so belike is that. CLOWN. But it is your carbonado'd face. LAFEU. Let us go see your son, I pray you; I long to talk with the young noble soldier. CLOWN. Faith, there's a dozen of 'em, with delicate fine hats, and most courteous feathers, which bow the head and nod at every man. Exeunt ACT V. SCENE 1. Marseilles. A street Enter HELENA, WIDOW, and DIANA, with two ATTENDANTS HELENA. But this exceeding posting day and night Must wear your spirits low; we cannot help it. But since you have made the days and nights as one, To wear your gentle limbs in my affairs, Be bold you do so grow in my requital As nothing can unroot you. Enter a GENTLEMAN In happy time! This man may help me to his Majesty's ear, If he would spend his power. God save you, sir. GENTLEMAN. And you. HELENA. Sir, I have seen you in the court of France. GENTLEMAN. I have been sometimes there. HELENA. I do presume, sir, that you are not fall'n From the report that goes upon your goodness; And therefore, goaded with most sharp occasions, Which lay nice manners by, I put you to The use of your own virtues, for the which I shall continue thankful. GENTLEMAN. What's your will? HELENA. That it will please you To give this poor petition to the King; And aid me with that store of power you have To come into his presence. GENTLEMAN. The King's not here. HELENA. Not here, sir? GENTLEMAN. Not indeed. He hence remov'd last night, and with more haste Than is his use. WIDOW. Lord, how we lose our pains! HELENA. All's Well That Ends Well yet, Though time seem so adverse and means unfit. I do beseech you, whither is he gone? GENTLEMAN. Marry, as I take it, to Rousillon; Whither I am going. HELENA. I do beseech you, sir, Since you are like to see the King before me, Commend the paper to his gracious hand; Which I presume shall render you no blame, But rather make you thank your pains for it. I will come after you with what good speed Our means will make us means. GENTLEMAN. This I'll do for you. HELENA. And you shall find yourself to be well thank'd, Whate'er falls more. We must to horse again; Go, go, provide. Exeunt ACT V SCENE 2. Rousillon. The inner court of the COUNT'S palace Enter CLOWN and PAROLLES PAROLLES. Good Monsieur Lavache, give my Lord Lafeu this letter. I have ere now, sir, been better known to you, when I have held familiarity with fresher clothes; but I am now, sir, muddied in Fortune's mood, and smell somewhat strong of her strong displeasure. CLOWN. Truly, Fortune's displeasure is but sluttish, if it smell so strongly as thou speak'st of. I will henceforth eat no fish of Fortune's butt'ring. Prithee, allow the wind. PAROLLES. Nay, you need not to stop your nose, sir; I spake but by a metaphor. CLOWN. Indeed, sir, if your metaphor stink, I will stop my nose; or against any man's metaphor. Prithee, get thee further. PAROLLES. Pray you, sir, deliver me this paper. CLOWN. Foh! prithee stand away. A paper from Fortune's close-stool to give to a nobleman! Look here he comes himself. Enter LAFEU Here is a pur of Fortune's, sir, or of Fortune's cat, but not a musk-cat, that has fall'n into the unclean fishpond of her displeasure, and, as he says, is muddied withal. Pray you, sir, use the carp as you may; for he looks like a poor, decayed, ingenious, foolish, rascally knave. I do pity his distress in my similes of comfort, and leave him to your lordship. Exit PAROLLES. My lord, I am a man whom Fortune hath cruelly scratch'd. LAFEU. And what would you have me to do? 'Tis too late to pare her nails now. Wherein have you played the knave with Fortune, that she should scratch you, who of herself is a good lady and would not have knaves thrive long under her? There's a cardecue for you. Let the justices make you and Fortune friends; I am for other business. PAROLLES. I beseech your honour to hear me one single word. LAFEU. You beg a single penny more; come, you shall ha't; save your word. PAROLLES. My name, my good lord, is Parolles. LAFEU. You beg more than word then. Cox my passion! give me your hand. How does your drum? PAROLLES. O my good lord, you were the first that found me. LAFEU. Was I, in sooth? And I was the first that lost thee. PAROLLES. It lies in you, my lord, to bring me in some grace, for you did bring me out. LAFEU. Out upon thee, knave! Dost thou put upon me at once both the office of God and the devil? One brings the in grace, and the other brings thee out. [Trumpets sound] The King's coming; I know by his trumpets. Sirrah, inquire further after me; I had talk of you last night. Though you are a fool and a knave, you shall eat. Go to; follow. PAROLLES. I praise God for you. Exeunt ACT V SCENE 3. Rousillon. The COUNT'S palace Flourish. Enter KING, COUNTESS, LAFEU, the two FRENCH LORDS, with ATTENDANTS KING. We lost a jewel of her, and our esteem Was made much poorer by it; but your son, As mad in folly, lack'd the sense to know Her estimation home. COUNTESS. 'Tis past, my liege; And I beseech your Majesty to make it Natural rebellion, done i' th' blaze of youth, When oil and fire, too strong for reason's force, O'erbears it and burns on. KING. My honour'd lady, I have forgiven and forgotten all; Though my revenges were high bent upon him And watch'd the time to shoot. LAFEU. This I must say- But first, I beg my pardon: the young lord Did to his Majesty, his mother, and his lady, Offence of mighty note; but to himself The greatest wrong of all. He lost a wife Whose beauty did astonish the survey Of richest eyes; whose words all ears took captive; Whose dear perfection hearts that scorn'd to serve Humbly call'd mistress. KING. Praising what is lost Makes the remembrance dear. Well, call him hither; We are reconcil'd, and the first view shall kill All repetition. Let him not ask our pardon; The nature of his great offence is dead, And deeper than oblivion do we bury Th' incensing relics of it; let him approach, A stranger, no offender; and inform him So 'tis our will he should. GENTLEMAN. I shall, my liege. Exit GENTLEMAN KING. What says he to your daughter? Have you spoke? LAFEU. All that he is hath reference to your Highness. KING. Then shall we have a match. I have letters sent me That sets him high in fame. Enter BERTRAM LAFEU. He looks well on 't. KING. I am not a day of season, For thou mayst see a sunshine and a hail In me at once. But to the brightest beams Distracted clouds give way; so stand thou forth; The time is fair again. BERTRAM. My high-repented blames, Dear sovereign, pardon to me. KING. All is whole; Not one word more of the consumed time. Let's take the instant by the forward top; For we are old, and on our quick'st decrees Th' inaudible and noiseless foot of Time Steals ere we can effect them. You remember The daughter of this lord? BERTRAM. Admiringly, my liege. At first I stuck my choice upon her, ere my heart Durst make too bold herald of my tongue; Where the impression of mine eye infixing, Contempt his scornful perspective did lend me, Which warp'd the line of every other favour, Scorn'd a fair colour or express'd it stol'n, Extended or contracted all proportions To a most hideous object. Thence it came That she whom all men prais'd, and whom myself, Since I have lost, have lov'd, was in mine eye The dust that did offend it. KING. Well excus'd. That thou didst love her, strikes some scores away From the great compt; but love that comes too late, Like a remorseful pardon slowly carried, To the great sender turns a sour offence, Crying 'That's good that's gone.' Our rash faults Make trivial price of serious things we have, Not knowing them until we know their grave. Oft our displeasures, to ourselves unjust, Destroy our friends, and after weep their dust; Our own love waking cries to see what's done, While shameful hate sleeps out the afternoon. Be this sweet Helen's knell. And now forget her. Send forth your amorous token for fair Maudlin. The main consents are had; and here we'll stay To see our widower's second marriage-day. COUNTESS. Which better than the first, O dear heaven, bless! Or, ere they meet, in me, O nature, cesse! LAFEU. Come on, my son, in whom my house's name Must be digested; give a favour from you, To sparkle in the spirits of my daughter, That she may quickly come. [BERTRAM gives a ring] By my old beard, And ev'ry hair that's on 't, Helen, that's dead, Was a sweet creature; such a ring as this, The last that e'er I took her leave at court, I saw upon her finger. BERTRAM. Hers it was not. KING. Now, pray you, let me see it; for mine eye, While I was speaking, oft was fasten'd to't. This ring was mine; and when I gave it Helen I bade her, if her fortunes ever stood Necessitied to help, that by this token I would relieve her. Had you that craft to reave her Of what should stead her most? BERTRAM. My gracious sovereign, Howe'er it pleases you to take it so, The ring was never hers. COUNTESS. Son, on my life, I have seen her wear it; and she reckon'd it At her life's rate. LAFEU. I am sure I saw her wear it. BERTRAM. You are deceiv'd, my lord; she never saw it. In Florence was it from a casement thrown me, Wrapp'd in a paper, which contain'd the name Of her that threw it. Noble she was, and thought I stood engag'd; but when I had subscrib'd To mine own fortune, and inform'd her fully I could not answer in that course of honour As she had made the overture, she ceas'd, In heavy satisfaction, and would never Receive the ring again. KING. Plutus himself, That knows the tinct and multiplying med'cine, Hath not in nature's mystery more science Than I have in this ring. 'Twas mine, 'twas Helen's, Whoever gave it you. Then, if you know That you are well acquainted with yourself, Confess 'twas hers, and by what rough enforcement You got it from her. She call'd the saints to surety That she would never put it from her finger Unless she gave it to yourself in bed- Where you have never come- or sent it us Upon her great disaster. BERTRAM. She never saw it. KING. Thou speak'st it falsely, as I love mine honour; And mak'st conjectural fears to come into me Which I would fain shut out. If it should prove That thou art so inhuman- 'twill not prove so. And yet I know not- thou didst hate her deadly, And she is dead; which nothing, but to close Her eyes myself, could win me to believe More than to see this ring. Take him away. [GUARDS seize BERTRAM] My fore-past proofs, howe'er the matter fall, Shall tax my fears of little vanity, Having vainly fear'd too little. Away with him. We'll sift this matter further. BERTRAM. If you shall prove This ring was ever hers, you shall as easy Prove that I husbanded her bed in Florence, Where she yet never was. Exit, guarded KING. I am wrapp'd in dismal thinkings. Enter a GENTLEMAN GENTLEMAN. Gracious sovereign, Whether I have been to blame or no, I know not: Here's a petition from a Florentine, Who hath, for four or five removes, come short To tender it herself. I undertook it, Vanquish'd thereto by the fair grace and speech Of the poor suppliant, who by this, I know, Is here attending; her business looks in her With an importing visage; and she told me In a sweet verbal brief it did concern Your Highness with herself. KING. [Reads the letter] 'Upon his many protestations to marry me when his wife was dead, I blush to say it, he won me. Now is the Count Rousillon a widower; his vows are forfeited to me, and my honour's paid to him. He stole from Florence, taking no leave, and I follow him to his country for justice. Grant it me, O King! in you it best lies; otherwise a seducer flourishes, and a poor maid is undone. DIANA CAPILET.' LAFEU. I will buy me a son-in-law in a fair, and toll for this. I'll none of him. KING. The heavens have thought well on thee, Lafeu, To bring forth this discov'ry. Seek these suitors. Go speedily, and bring again the Count. Exeunt ATTENDANTS I am afeard the life of Helen, lady, Was foully snatch'd. COUNTESS. Now, justice on the doers! Enter BERTRAM, guarded KING. I wonder, sir, sith wives are monsters to you. And that you fly them as you swear them lordship, Yet you desire to marry. Enter WIDOW and DIANA What woman's that? DIANA. I am, my lord, a wretched Florentine, Derived from the ancient Capilet. My suit, as I do understand, you know, And therefore know how far I may be pitied. WIDOW. I am her mother, sir, whose age and honour Both suffer under this complaint we bring, And both shall cease, without your remedy. KING. Come hither, Count; do you know these women? BERTRAM. My lord, I neither can nor will deny But that I know them. Do they charge me further? DIANA. Why do you look so strange upon your wife? BERTRAM. She's none of mine, my lord. DIANA. If you shall marry, You give away this hand, and that is mine; You give away heaven's vows, and those are mine; You give away myself, which is known mine; For I by vow am so embodied yours That she which marries you must marry me, Either both or none. LAFEU. [To BERTRAM] Your reputation comes too short for my daughter; you are no husband for her. BERTRAM. My lord, this is a fond and desp'rate creature Whom sometime I have laugh'd with. Let your Highness Lay a more noble thought upon mine honour Than for to think that I would sink it here. KING. Sir, for my thoughts, you have them ill to friend Till your deeds gain them. Fairer prove your honour Than in my thought it lies! DIANA. Good my lord, Ask him upon his oath if he does think He had not my virginity. KING. What say'st thou to her? BERTRAM. She's impudent, my lord, And was a common gamester to the camp. DIANA. He does me wrong, my lord; if I were so He might have bought me at a common price. Do not believe him. o, behold this ring, Whose high respect and rich validity Did lack a parallel; yet, for all that, He gave it to a commoner o' th' camp, If I be one. COUNTESS. He blushes, and 'tis it. Of six preceding ancestors, that gem Conferr'd by testament to th' sequent issue, Hath it been ow'd and worn. This is his wife: That ring's a thousand proofs. KING. Methought you said You saw one here in court could witness it. DIANA. I did, my lord, but loath am to produce So bad an instrument; his name's Parolles. LAFEU. I saw the man to-day, if man he be. KING. Find him, and bring him hither. Exit an ATTENDANT BERTRAM. What of him? He's quoted for a most perfidious slave, With all the spots o' th' world tax'd and debauch'd, Whose nature sickens but to speak a truth. Am I or that or this for what he'll utter That will speak anything? KING. She hath that ring of yours. BERTRAM. I think she has. Certain it is I lik'd her, And boarded her i' th' wanton way of youth. She knew her distance, and did angle for me, Madding my eagerness with her restraint, As all impediments in fancy's course Are motives of more fancy; and, in fine, Her infinite cunning with her modern grace Subdu'd me to her rate. She got the ring; And I had that which any inferior might At market-price have bought. DIANA. I must be patient. You that have turn'd off a first so noble wife May justly diet me. I pray you yet- Since you lack virtue, I will lose a husband- Send for your ring, I will return it home, And give me mine again. BERTRAM. I have it not. KING. What ring was yours, I pray you? DIANA. Sir, much like The same upon your finger. KING. Know you this ring? This ring was his of late. DIANA. And this was it I gave him, being abed. KING. The story, then, goes false you threw it him Out of a casement. DIANA. I have spoke the truth. Enter PAROLLES BERTRAM. My lord, I do confess the ring was hers. KING. You boggle shrewdly; every feather starts you. Is this the man you speak of? DIANA. Ay, my lord. KING. Tell me, sirrah-but tell me true I charge you, Not fearing the displeasure of your master, Which, on your just proceeding, I'll keep off- By him and by this woman here what know you? PAROLLES. So please your Majesty, my master hath been an honourable gentleman; tricks he hath had in him, which gentlemen have. KING. Come, come, to th' purpose. Did he love this woman? PAROLLES. Faith, sir, he did love her; but how? KING. How, I pray you? PAROLLES. He did love her, sir, as a gentleman loves a woman. KING. How is that? PAROLLES. He lov'd her, sir, and lov'd her not. KING. As thou art a knave and no knave. What an equivocal companion is this! PAROLLES. I am a poor man, and at your Majesty's command. LAFEU. He's a good drum, my lord, but a naughty orator. DIANA. Do you know he promis'd me marriage? PAROLLES. Faith, I know more than I'll speak. KING. But wilt thou not speak all thou know'st? PAROLLES. Yes, so please your Majesty. I did go between them, as I said; but more than that, he loved her-for indeed he was mad for her, and talk'd of Satan, and of Limbo, and of Furies, and I know not what. Yet I was in that credit with them at that time that I knew of their going to bed; and of other motions, as promising her marriage, and things which would derive me ill will to speak of; therefore I will not speak what I know. KING. Thou hast spoken all already, unless thou canst say they are married; but thou art too fine in thy evidence; therefore stand aside. This ring, you say, was yours? DIANA. Ay, my good lord. KING. Where did you buy it? Or who gave it you? DIANA. It was not given me, nor I did not buy it. KING. Who lent it you? DIANA. It was not lent me neither. KING. Where did you find it then? DIANA. I found it not. KING. If it were yours by none of all these ways, How could you give it him? DIANA. I never gave it him. LAFEU. This woman's an easy glove, my lord; she goes of and on at pleasure. KING. This ring was mine, I gave it his first wife. DIANA. It might be yours or hers, for aught I know. KING. Take her away, I do not like her now; To prison with her. And away with him. Unless thou tell'st me where thou hadst this ring, Thou diest within this hour. DIANA. I'll never tell you. KING. Take her away. DIANA. I'll put in bail, my liege. KING. I think thee now some common customer. DIANA. By Jove, if ever I knew man, 'twas you. KING. Wherefore hast thou accus'd him all this while? DIANA. Because he's guilty, and he is not guilty. He knows I am no maid, and he'll swear to't: I'll swear I am a maid, and he knows not. Great King, I am no strumpet, by my life; I am either maid, or else this old man's wife. [Pointing to LAFEU] KING. She does abuse our ears; to prison with her. DIANA. Good mother, fetch my bail. Stay, royal sir; Exit WIDOW The jeweller that owes the ring is sent for, And he shall surety me. But for this lord Who hath abus'd me as he knows himself, Though yet he never harm'd me, here I quit him. He knows himself my bed he hath defil'd; And at that time he got his wife with child. Dead though she be, she feels her young one kick; So there's my riddle: one that's dead is quick- And now behold the meaning. Re-enter WIDOW with HELENA KING. Is there no exorcist Beguiles the truer office of mine eyes? Is't real that I see? HELENA. No, my good lord; 'Tis but the shadow of a wife you see, The name and not the thing. BERTRAM. Both, both; o, pardon! HELENA. O, my good lord, when I was like this maid, I found you wondrous kind. There is your ring, And, look you, here's your letter. This it says: 'When from my finger you can get this ring, And are by me with child,' etc. This is done. Will you be mine now you are doubly won? BERTRAM. If she, my liege, can make me know this clearly, I'll love her dearly, ever, ever dearly. HELENA. If it appear not plain, and prove untrue, Deadly divorce step between me and you! O my dear mother, do I see you living? LAFEU. Mine eyes smell onions; I shall weep anon. [To PAROLLES] Good Tom Drum, lend me a handkercher. So, I thank thee. Wait on me home, I'll make sport with thee; let thy curtsies alone, they are scurvy ones. KING. Let us from point to point this story know, To make the even truth in pleasure flow. [To DIANA] If thou beest yet a fresh uncropped flower, Choose thou thy husband, and I'll pay thy dower; For I can guess that by thy honest aid Thou kept'st a wife herself, thyself a maid.- Of that and all the progress, more and less, Resolvedly more leisure shall express. All yet seems well; and if it end so meet, The bitter past, more welcome is the sweet. [Flourish] EPILOGUE EPILOGUE. KING. The King's a beggar, now the play is done. All is well ended if this suit be won, That you express content; which we will pay With strife to please you, day exceeding day. Ours be your patience then, and yours our parts; Your gentle hands lend us, and take our hearts. Exeunt omnes THE END THE TRAGEDY OF JULIUS CAESAR by William Shakespeare Dramatis Personae JULIUS CAESAR, Roman statesman and general OCTAVIUS, Triumvir after Caesar's death, later Augustus Caesar, first emperor of Rome MARK ANTONY, general and friend of Caesar, a Triumvir after his death LEPIDUS, third member of the Triumvirate MARCUS BRUTUS, leader of the conspiracy against Caesar CASSIUS, instigator of the conspiracy CASCA, conspirator against Caesar TREBONIUS, " " " CAIUS LIGARIUS, " " " DECIUS BRUTUS, " " " METELLUS CIMBER, " " " CINNA, " " " CALPURNIA, wife of Caesar PORTIA, wife of Brutus CICERO, senator POPILIUS, " POPILIUS LENA, " FLAVIUS, tribune MARULLUS, tribune CATO, supportor of Brutus LUCILIUS, " " " TITINIUS, " " " MESSALA, " " " VOLUMNIUS, " " " ARTEMIDORUS, a teacher of rhetoric CINNA, a poet VARRO, servant to Brutus CLITUS, " " " CLAUDIO, " " " STRATO, " " " LUCIUS, " " " DARDANIUS, " " " PINDARUS, servant to Cassius The Ghost of Caesar A Soothsayer A Poet Senators, Citizens, Soldiers, Commoners, Messengers, and Servants SCENE: Rome, the conspirators' camp near Sardis, and the plains of Philippi. ACT I. SCENE I. Rome. A street. Enter Flavius, Marullus, and certain Commoners. FLAVIUS. Hence, home, you idle creatures, get you home. Is this a holiday? What, know you not, Being mechanical, you ought not walk Upon a laboring day without the sign Of your profession? Speak, what trade art thou? FIRST COMMONER. Why, sir, a carpenter. MARULLUS. Where is thy leather apron and thy rule? What dost thou with thy best apparel on? You, sir, what trade are you? SECOND COMMONER. Truly, sir, in respect of a fine workman, I am but, as you would say, a cobbler. MARULLUS. But what trade art thou? Answer me directly. SECOND COMMONER. A trade, sir, that, I hope, I may use with a safe conscience, which is indeed, sir, a mender of bad soles. MARULLUS. What trade, thou knave? Thou naughty knave, what trade? SECOND COMMONER. Nay, I beseech you, sir, be not out with me; yet, if you be out, sir, I can mend you. MARULLUS. What mean'st thou by that? Mend me, thou saucy fellow! SECOND COMMONER. Why, sir, cobble you. FLAVIUS. Thou art a cobbler, art thou? SECOND COMMONER. Truly, Sir, all that I live by is with the awl; I meddle with no tradesman's matters, nor women's matters, but with awl. I am indeed, sir, a surgeon to old shoes; when they are in great danger, I recover them. As proper men as ever trod upon neat's leather have gone upon my handiwork. FLAVIUS. But wherefore art not in thy shop today? Why dost thou lead these men about the streets? SECOND COMMONER. Truly, sir, to wear out their shoes to get myself into more work. But indeed, sir, we make holiday to see Caesar and to rejoice in his triumph. MARULLUS. Wherefore rejoice? What conquest brings he home? What tributaries follow him to Rome To grace in captive bonds his chariot wheels? You blocks, you stones, you worse than senseless things! O you hard hearts, you cruel men of Rome, Knew you not Pompey? Many a time and oft Have you climb'd up to walls and battlements, To towers and windows, yea, to chimney tops, Your infants in your arms, and there have sat The livelong day with patient expectation To see great Pompey pass the streets of Rome. And when you saw his chariot but appear, Have you not made an universal shout That Tiber trembled underneath her banks To hear the replication of your sounds Made in her concave shores? And do you now put on your best attire? And do you now cull out a holiday? And do you now strew flowers in his way That comes in triumph over Pompey's blood? Be gone! Run to your houses, fall upon your knees, Pray to the gods to intermit the plague That needs must light on this ingratitude. FLAVIUS. Go, go, good countrymen, and, for this fault, Assemble all the poor men of your sort, Draw them to Tiber banks, and weep your tears Into the channel, till the lowest stream Do kiss the most exalted shores of all. Exeunt all Commoners. See whether their basest metal be not moved; They vanish tongue-tied in their guiltiness. Go you down that way towards the Capitol; This way will I. Disrobe the images If you do find them deck'd with ceremonies. MARULLUS. May we do so? You know it is the feast of Lupercal. FLAVIUS. It is no matter; let no images Be hung with Caesar's trophies. I'll about And drive away the vulgar from the streets; So do you too, where you perceive them thick. These growing feathers pluck'd from Caesar's wing Will make him fly an ordinary pitch, Who else would soar above the view of men And keep us all in servile fearfulness. Exeunt. SCENE II. A public place. Flourish. Enter Caesar; Antony, for the course; Calpurnia, Portia, Decius, Cicero, Brutus, Cassius, and Casca; a great crowd follows, among them a Soothsayer. CAESAR. Calpurnia! CASCA. Peace, ho! Caesar speaks. Music ceases. CAESAR. Calpurnia! CALPURNIA. Here, my lord. CAESAR. Stand you directly in Antonio's way, When he doth run his course. Antonio! ANTONY. Caesar, my lord? CAESAR. Forget not in your speed, Antonio, To touch Calpurnia, for our elders say The barren, touched in this holy chase, Shake off their sterile curse. ANTONY. I shall remember. When Caesar says "Do this," it is perform'd. CAESAR. Set on, and leave no ceremony out. Flourish. SOOTHSAYER. Caesar! CAESAR. Ha! Who calls? CASCA. Bid every noise be still. Peace yet again! CAESAR. Who is it in the press that calls on me? I hear a tongue, shriller than all the music, Cry "Caesar." Speak, Caesar is turn'd to hear. SOOTHSAYER. Beware the ides of March. CAESAR. What man is that? BRUTUS. A soothsayer you beware the ides of March. CAESAR. Set him before me let me see his face. CASSIUS. Fellow, come from the throng; look upon Caesar. CAESAR. What say'st thou to me now? Speak once again. SOOTHSAYER. Beware the ides of March. CAESAR. He is a dreamer; let us leave him. Pass. Sennet. Exeunt all but Brutus and Cassius. CASSIUS. Will you go see the order of the course? BRUTUS. Not I. CASSIUS. I pray you, do. BRUTUS. I am not gamesome; I do lack some part Of that quick spirit that is in Antony. Let me not hinder, Cassius, your desires; I'll leave you. CASSIUS. Brutus, I do observe you now of late; I have not from your eyes that gentleness And show of love as I was wont to have; You bear too stubborn and too strange a hand Over your friend that loves you. BRUTUS. Cassius, Be not deceived; if I have veil'd my look, I turn the trouble of my countenance Merely upon myself. Vexed I am Of late with passions of some difference, Conceptions only proper to myself, Which give some soil perhaps to my behaviors; But let not therefore my good friends be grieved- Among which number, Cassius, be you one- Nor construe any further my neglect Than that poor Brutus with himself at war Forgets the shows of love to other men. CASSIUS. Then, Brutus, I have much mistook your passion, By means whereof this breast of mine hath buried Thoughts of great value, worthy cogitations. Tell me, good Brutus, can you see your face? BRUTUS. No, Cassius, for the eye sees not itself But by reflection, by some other things. CASSIUS. 'Tis just, And it is very much lamented, Brutus, That you have no such mirrors as will turn Your hidden worthiness into your eye That you might see your shadow. I have heard Where many of the best respect in Rome, Except immortal Caesar, speaking of Brutus And groaning underneath this age's yoke, Have wish'd that noble Brutus had his eyes. BRUTUS. Into what dangers would you lead me, Cassius, That you would have me seek into myself For that which is not in me? CASSIUS. Therefore, good Brutus, be prepared to hear, And since you know you cannot see yourself So well as by reflection, I your glass Will modestly discover to yourself That of yourself which you yet know not of. And be not jealous on me, gentle Brutus; Were I a common laugher, or did use To stale with ordinary oaths my love To every new protester, if you know That I do fawn on men and hug them hard And after scandal them, or if you know That I profess myself in banqueting To all the rout, then hold me dangerous. Flourish and shout. BRUTUS. What means this shouting? I do fear the people Choose Caesar for their king. CASSIUS. Ay, do you fear it? Then must I think you would not have it so. BRUTUS. I would not, Cassius, yet I love him well. But wherefore do you hold me here so long? What is it that you would impart to me? If it be aught toward the general good, Set honor in one eye and death i' the other And I will look on both indifferently. For let the gods so speed me as I love The name of honor more than I fear death. CASSIUS. I know that virtue to be in you, Brutus, As well as I do know your outward favor. Well, honor is the subject of my story. I cannot tell what you and other men Think of this life, but, for my single self, I had as lief not be as live to be In awe of such a thing as I myself. I was born free as Caesar, so were you; We both have fed as well, and we can both Endure the winter's cold as well as he. For once, upon a raw and gusty day, The troubled Tiber chafing with her shores, Caesar said to me, "Darest thou, Cassius, now Leap in with me into this angry flood And swim to yonder point?" Upon the word, Accoutred as I was, I plunged in And bade him follow. So indeed he did. The torrent roar'd, and we did buffet it With lusty sinews, throwing it aside And stemming it with hearts of controversy. But ere we could arrive the point proposed, Caesar cried, "Help me, Cassius, or I sink! I, as Aeneas our great ancestor Did from the flames of Troy upon his shoulder The old Anchises bear, so from the waves of Tiber Did I the tired Caesar. And this man Is now become a god, and Cassius is A wretched creature and must bend his body If Caesar carelessly but nod on him. He had a fever when he was in Spain, And when the fit was on him I did mark How he did shake. 'Tis true, this god did shake; His coward lips did from their color fly, And that same eye whose bend doth awe the world Did lose his luster. I did hear him groan. Ay, and that tongue of his that bade the Romans Mark him and write his speeches in their books, Alas, it cried, "Give me some drink, Titinius," As a sick girl. Ye gods! It doth amaze me A man of such a feeble temper should So get the start of the majestic world And bear the palm alone. Shout. Flourish. BRUTUS. Another general shout! I do believe that these applauses are For some new honors that are heap'd on Caesar. CASSIUS. Why, man, he doth bestride the narrow world Like a Colossus, and we petty men Walk under his huge legs and peep about To find ourselves dishonorable graves. Men at some time are masters of their fates: The fault, dear Brutus, is not in our stars, But in ourselves that we are underlings. Brutus and Caesar: what should be in that "Caesar"? Why should that name be sounded more than yours? Write them together, yours is as fair a name; Sound them, it doth become the mouth as well; Weigh them, it is as heavy; conjure with 'em, "Brutus" will start a spirit as soon as "Caesar." Now, in the names of all the gods at once, Upon what meat doth this our Caesar feed That he is grown so great? Age, thou art shamed! Rome, thou hast lost the breed of noble bloods! When went there by an age since the great flood But it was famed with more than with one man? When could they say till now that talk'd of Rome That her wide walls encompass'd but one man? Now is it Rome indeed, and room enough, When there is in it but one only man. O, you and I have heard our fathers say There was a Brutus once that would have brook'd The eternal devil to keep his state in Rome As easily as a king. BRUTUS. That you do love me, I am nothing jealous; What you would work me to, I have some aim. How I have thought of this and of these times, I shall recount hereafter; for this present, I would not, so with love I might entreat you, Be any further moved. What you have said I will consider; what you have to say I will with patience hear, and find a time Both meet to hear and answer such high things. Till then, my noble friend, chew upon this: Brutus had rather be a villager Than to repute himself a son of Rome Under these hard conditions as this time Is like to lay upon us. CASSIUS. I am glad that my weak words Have struck but thus much show of fire from Brutus. Re-enter Caesar and his Train. BRUTUS. The games are done, and Caesar is returning. CASSIUS. As they pass by, pluck Casca by the sleeve, And he will, after his sour fashion, tell you What hath proceeded worthy note today. BRUTUS. I will do so. But, look you, Cassius, The angry spot doth glow on Caesar's brow, And all the rest look like a chidden train: Calpurnia's cheek is pale, and Cicero Looks with such ferret and such fiery eyes As we have seen him in the Capitol, Being cross'd in conference by some senators. CASSIUS. Casca will tell us what the matter is. CAESAR. Antonio! ANTONY. Caesar? CAESAR. Let me have men about me that are fat, Sleek-headed men, and such as sleep o' nights: Yond Cassius has a lean and hungry look; He thinks too much; such men are dangerous. ANTONY. Fear him not, Caesar; he's not dangerous; He is a noble Roman and well given. CAESAR. Would he were fatter! But I fear him not, Yet if my name were liable to fear, I do not know the man I should avoid So soon as that spare Cassius. He reads much, He is a great observer, and he looks Quite through the deeds of men. He loves no plays, As thou dost, Antony; he hears no music; Seldom he smiles, and smiles in such a sort As if he mock'd himself and scorn'd his spirit That could be moved to smile at anything. Such men as he be never at heart's ease Whiles they behold a greater than themselves, And therefore are they very dangerous. I rather tell thee what is to be fear'd Than what I fear, for always I am Caesar. Come on my right hand, for this ear is deaf, And tell me truly what thou think'st of him. Sennet. Exeunt Caesar and all his Train but Casca. CASCA. You pull'd me by the cloak; would you speak with me? BRUTUS. Ay, Casca, tell us what hath chanced today That Caesar looks so sad. CASCA. Why, you were with him, were you not? BRUTUS. I should not then ask Casca what had chanced. CASCA. Why, there was a crown offered him, and being offered him, he put it by with the back of his hand, thus, and then the people fell ashouting. BRUTUS. What was the second noise for? CASCA. Why, for that too. CASSIUS. They shouted thrice. What was the last cry for? CASCA. Why, for that too. BRUTUS. Was the crown offered him thrice? CASCA. Ay, marry, wast, and he put it by thrice, every time gentler than other, and at every putting by mine honest neighbors shouted. CASSIUS. Who offered him the crown? CASCA. Why, Antony. BRUTUS. Tell us the manner of it, gentle Casca. CASCA. I can as well be hang'd as tell the manner of it. It was mere foolery; I did not mark it. I saw Mark Antony offer him a crown (yet 'twas not a crown neither, 'twas one of these coronets) and, as I told you, he put it by once. But for all that, to my thinking, he would fain have had it. Then he offered it to him again; then he put it by again. But, to my thinking, he was very loath to lay his fingers off it. And then he offered it the third time; he put it the third time by; and still as he refused it, the rabblement hooted and clapped their chopped hands and threw up their sweaty nightcaps and uttered such a deal of stinking breath because Caesar refused the crown that it had almost choked Caesar, for he swounded and fell down at it. And for mine own part, I durst not laugh for fear of opening my lips and receiving the bad air. CASSIUS. But, soft, I pray you, what, did Caesars wound? CASCA. He fell down in the marketplace and foamed at mouth and was speechless. BRUTUS. 'Tis very like. He hath the falling sickness. CASSIUS. No, Caesar hath it not, but you, and I, And honest Casca, we have the falling sickness. CASCA. I know not what you mean by that, but I am sure Caesar fell down. If the tagrag people did not clap him and hiss him according as he pleased and displeased them, as they use to do the players in the theatre, I am no true man. BRUTUS. What said he when he came unto himself? CASCA. Marry, before he fell down, when he perceived the common herd was glad he refused the crown, he plucked me ope his doublet and offered them his throat to cut. An had been a man of any occupation, if I would not have taken him at a word, I would I might go to hell among the rogues. And so he fell. When he came to himself again, he said, if he had done or said anything amiss, he desired their worships to think it was his infirmity. Three or four wenches where I stood cried, "Alas, good soul!" and forgave him with all their hearts. But there's no heed to be taken of them; if Caesar had stabbed their mothers, they would have done no less. BRUTUS. And after that he came, thus sad, away? CASCA. Ay. CASSIUS. Did Cicero say anything? CASCA. Ay, he spoke Greek. CASSIUS. To what effect? CASCA. Nay, an I tell you that, I'll ne'er look you i' the face again; but those that understood him smiled at one another and shook their heads; but for mine own part, it was Greek to me. I could tell you more news too: Marullus and Flavius, for pulling scarfs off Caesar's images, are put to silence. Fare you well. There was more foolery yet, if could remember it. CASSIUS. Will you sup with me tonight, Casca? CASCA. No, I am promised forth. CASSIUS. Will you dine with me tomorrow? CASCA. Ay, if I be alive, and your mind hold, and your dinner worth the eating. CASSIUS. Good, I will expect you. CASCA. Do so, farewell, both. Exit. BRUTUS. What a blunt fellow is this grown to be! He was quick mettle when he went to school. CASSIUS. So is he now in execution Of any bold or noble enterprise, However he puts on this tardy form. This rudeness is a sauce to his good wit, Which gives men stomach to digest his words With better appetite. BRUTUS. And so it is. For this time I will leave you. Tomorrow, if you please to speak with me, I will come home to you, or, if you will, Come home to me and I will wait for you. CASSIUS. I will do so. Till then, think of the world. Exit Brutus. Well, Brutus, thou art noble; yet, I see Thy honorable mettle may be wrought From that it is disposed; therefore it is meet That noble minds keep ever with their likes; For who so firm that cannot be seduced? Caesar doth bear me hard, but he loves Brutus. If I were Brutus now and he were Cassius, He should not humor me. I will this night, In several hands, in at his windows throw, As if they came from several citizens, Writings, all tending to the great opinion That Rome holds of his name, wherein obscurely Caesar's ambition shall be glanced at. And after this let Caesar seat him sure; For we will shake him, or worse days endure. Exit. SCENE III. A street. Thunder and lightning. Enter, from opposite sides, Casca, with his sword drawn, and Cicero. CICERO. Good even, Casca. Brought you Caesar home? Why are you breathless, and why stare you so? CASCA. Are not you moved, when all the sway of earth Shakes like a thing unfirm? O Cicero, I have seen tempests when the scolding winds Have rived the knotty oaks, and I have seen The ambitious ocean swell and rage and foam To be exalted with the threatening clouds, But never till tonight, never till now, Did I go through a tempest dropping fire. Either there is a civil strife in heaven, Or else the world too saucy with the gods Incenses them to send destruction. CICERO. Why, saw you anything more wonderful? CASCA. A common slave- you know him well by sight- Held up his left hand, which did flame and burn Like twenty torches join'd, and yet his hand Not sensible of fire remain'd unscorch'd. Besides- I ha' not since put up my sword- Against the Capitol I met a lion, Who glaz'd upon me and went surly by Without annoying me. And there were drawn Upon a heap a hundred ghastly women Transformed with their fear, who swore they saw Men all in fire walk up and down the streets. And yesterday the bird of night did sit Even at noonday upon the marketplace, Howling and shrieking. When these prodigies Do so conjointly meet, let not men say "These are their reasons; they are natural": For I believe they are portentous things Unto the climate that they point upon. CICERO. Indeed, it is a strange-disposed time. But men may construe things after their fashion, Clean from the purpose of the things themselves. Comes Caesar to the Capitol tomorrow? CASCA. He doth, for he did bid Antonio Send word to you he would be there tomorrow. CICERO. Good then, Casca. This disturbed sky Is not to walk in. CASCA. Farewell, Cicero. Exit Cicero. Enter Cassius. CASSIUS. Who's there? CASCA. A Roman. CASSIUS. Casca, by your voice. CASCA. Your ear is good. Cassius, what night is this! CASSIUS. A very pleasing night to honest men. CASCA. Who ever knew the heavens menace so? CASSIUS. Those that have known the earth so full of faults. For my part, I have walk'd about the streets, Submitting me unto the perilous night, And thus unbraced, Casca, as you see, Have bared my bosom to the thunderstone; And when the cross blue lightning seem'd to open The breast of heaven, I did present myself Even in the aim and very flash of it. CASCA. But wherefore did you so much tempt the heavens? It is the part of men to fear and tremble When the most mighty gods by tokens send Such dreadful heralds to astonish us. CASSIUS. You are dull, Casca, and those sparks of life That should be in a Roman you do want, Or else you use not. You look pale and gaze And put on fear and cast yourself in wonder To see the strange impatience of the heavens. But if you would consider the true cause Why all these fires, why all these gliding ghosts, Why birds and beasts from quality and kind, Why old men, fools, and children calculate, Why all these things change from their ordinance, Their natures, and preformed faculties To monstrous quality, why, you shall find That heaven hath infused them with these spirits To make them instruments of fear and warning Unto some monstrous state. Now could I, Casca, name to thee a man Most like this dreadful night, That thunders, lightens, opens graves, and roars As doth the lion in the Capitol, A man no mightier than thyself or me In personal action, yet prodigious grown And fearful, as these strange eruptions are. CASCA. 'Tis Caesar that you mean, is it not, Cassius? CASSIUS. Let it be who it is, for Romans now Have thews and limbs like to their ancestors. But, woe the while! Our fathers' minds are dead, And we are govern'd with our mothers' spirits; Our yoke and sufferance show us womanish. CASCA. Indeed they say the senators tomorrow Mean to establish Caesar as a king, And he shall wear his crown by sea and land In every place save here in Italy. CASSIUS. I know where I will wear this dagger then: Cassius from bondage will deliver Cassius. Therein, ye gods, you make the weak most strong; Therein, ye gods, you tyrants do defeat. Nor stony tower, nor walls of beaten brass, Nor airless dungeon, nor strong links of iron Can be retentive to the strength of spirit; But life, being weary of these worldly bars, Never lacks power to dismiss itself. If I know this, know all the world besides, That part of tyranny that I do bear I can shake off at pleasure. Thunder still. CASCA. So can I. So every bondman in his own hand bears The power to cancel his captivity. CASSIUS. And why should Caesar be a tyrant then? Poor man! I know he would not be a wolf But that he sees the Romans are but sheep. He were no lion, were not Romans hinds. Those that with haste will make a mighty fire Begin it with weak straws. What trash is Rome, What rubbish, and what offal, when it serves For the base matter to illuminate So vile a thing as Caesar? But, O grief, Where hast thou led me? I perhaps speak this Before a willing bondman; then I know My answer must be made. But I am arm'd, And dangers are to me indifferent. CASCA. You speak to Casca, and to such a man That is no fleering tell-tale. Hold, my hand. Be factious for redress of all these griefs, And I will set this foot of mine as far As who goes farthest. CASSIUS. There's a bargain made. Now know you, Casca, I have moved already Some certain of the noblest-minded Romans To undergo with me an enterprise Of honorable-dangerous consequence; And I do know by this, they stay for me In Pompey's Porch. For now, this fearful night, There is no stir or walking in the streets, And the complexion of the element In favor's like the work we have in hand, Most bloody, fiery, and most terrible. Enter Cinna. CASCA. Stand close awhile, for here comes one in haste. CASSIUS. 'Tis Cinna, I do know him by his gait; He is a friend. Cinna, where haste you so? CINNA. To find out you. Who's that? Metellus Cimber? CASSIUS. No, it is Casca, one incorporate To our attempts. Am I not stay'd for, Cinna? CINNA. I am glad on't. What a fearful night is this! There's two or three of us have seen strange sights. CASSIUS. Am I not stay'd for? Tell me. CINNA. Yes, you are. O Cassius, if you could But win the noble Brutus to our party- CASSIUS. Be you content. Good Cinna, take this paper, And look you lay it in the praetor's chair, Where Brutus may but find it; and throw this In at his window; set this up with wax Upon old Brutus' statue. All this done, Repair to Pompey's Porch, where you shall find us. Is Decius Brutus and Trebonius there? CINNA. All but Metellus Cimber, and he's gone To seek you at your house. Well, I will hie And so bestow these papers as you bade me. CASSIUS. That done, repair to Pompey's Theatre. Exit Cinna. Come, Casca, you and I will yet ere day See Brutus at his house. Three parts of him Is ours already, and the man entire Upon the next encounter yields him ours. CASCA. O, he sits high in all the people's hearts, And that which would appear offense in us, His countenance, like richest alchemy, Will change to virtue and to worthiness. CASSIUS. Him and his worth and our great need of him You have right well conceited. Let us go, For it is after midnight, and ere day We will awake him and be sure of him. Exeunt. ACT II. SCENE I. Enter Brutus in his orchard. BRUTUS. What, Lucius, ho! I cannot, by the progress of the stars, Give guess how near to day. Lucius, I say! I would it were my fault to sleep so soundly. When, Lucius, when? Awake, I say! What, Lucius! Enter Lucius. LUCIUS. Call'd you, my lord? BRUTUS. Get me a taper in my study, Lucius. When it is lighted, come and call me here. LUCIUS. I will, my lord. Exit. BRUTUS. It must be by his death, and, for my part, I know no personal cause to spurn at him, But for the general. He would be crown'd: How that might change his nature, there's the question. It is the bright day that brings forth the adder And that craves wary walking. Crown him that, And then, I grant, we put a sting in him That at his will he may do danger with. The abuse of greatness is when it disjoins Remorse from power, and, to speak truth of Caesar, I have not known when his affections sway'd More than his reason. But 'tis a common proof That lowliness is young ambition's ladder, Whereto the climber-upward turns his face; But when he once attains the upmost round, He then unto the ladder turns his back, Looks in the clouds, scorning the base degrees By which he did ascend. So Caesar may; Then, lest he may, prevent. And, since the quarrel Will bear no color for the thing he is, Fashion it thus, that what he is, augmented, Would run to these and these extremities; And therefore think him as a serpent's egg Which hatch'd would as his kind grow mischievous, And kill him in the shell. Re-enter Lucius. LUCIUS. The taper burneth in your closet, sir. Searching the window for a flint I found This paper thus seal'd up, and I am sure It did not lie there when I went to bed. Gives him the letter. BRUTUS. Get you to bed again, it is not day. Is not tomorrow, boy, the ides of March? LUCIUS. I know not, sir. BRUTUS. Look in the calendar and bring me word. LUCIUS. I will, sir. Exit. BRUTUS. The exhalations whizzing in the air Give so much light that I may read by them. Opens the letter and reads. "Brutus, thou sleep'st: awake and see thyself! Shall Rome, etc. Speak, strike, redress!" "Brutus, thou sleep'st: awake!" Such instigations have been often dropp'd Where I have took them up. "Shall Rome, etc." Thus must I piece it out. Shall Rome stand under one man's awe? What, Rome? My ancestors did from the streets of Rome The Tarquin drive, when he was call'd a king. "Speak, strike, redress!" Am I entreated To speak and strike? O Rome, I make thee promise, If the redress will follow, thou receivest Thy full petition at the hand of Brutus! Re-enter Lucius. LUCIUS. Sir, March is wasted fifteen days. Knocking within. BRUTUS. 'Tis good. Go to the gate, somebody knocks. Exit Lucius. Since Cassius first did whet me against Caesar I have not slept. Between the acting of a dreadful thing And the first motion, all the interim is Like a phantasma or a hideous dream; The genius and the mortal instruments Are then in council, and the state of man, Like to a little kingdom, suffers then The nature of an insurrection. Re-enter Lucius. LUCIUS. Sir, 'tis your brother Cassius at the door, Who doth desire to see you. BRUTUS. Is he alone? LUCIUS. No, sir, there are more with him. BRUTUS. Do you know them? LUCIUS. No, sir, their hats are pluck'd about their ears, And half their faces buried in their cloaks, That by no means I may discover them By any mark of favor. BRUTUS. Let 'em enter. Exit Lucius. They are the faction. O Conspiracy, Shamest thou to show thy dangerous brow by night, When evils are most free? O, then, by day Where wilt thou find a cavern dark enough To mask thy monstrous visage? Seek none, Conspiracy; Hide it in smiles and affability; For if thou path, thy native semblance on, Not Erebus itself were dim enough To hide thee from prevention. Enter the conspirators, Cassius, Casca, Decius, Cinna, Metellus Cimber, and Trebonius. CASSIUS. I think we are too bold upon your rest. Good morrow, Brutus, do we trouble you? BRUTUS. I have been up this hour, awake all night. Know I these men that come along with you? CASSIUS. Yes, every man of them, and no man here But honors you, and every one doth wish You had but that opinion of yourself Which every noble Roman bears of you. This is Trebonius. BRUTUS. He is welcome hither. CASSIUS. This, Decius Brutus. BRUTUS. He is welcome too. CASSIUS. This, Casca; this, Cinna; and this, Metellus Cimber. BRUTUS. They are all welcome. What watchful cares do interpose themselves Betwixt your eyes and night? CASSIUS. Shall I entreat a word? They whisper. DECIUS. Here lies the east. Doth not the day break here? CASCA. No. CINNA. O, pardon, sir, it doth, and yongrey lines That fret the clouds are messengers of day. CASCA. You shall confess that you are both deceived. Here, as I point my sword, the sun arises, Which is a great way growing on the south, Weighing the youthful season of the year. Some two months hence up higher toward the north He first presents his fire, and the high east Stands as the Capitol, directly here. BRUTUS. Give me your hands all over, one by one. CASSIUS. And let us swear our resolution. BRUTUS. No, not an oath. If not the face of men, The sufferance of our souls, the time's abuse- If these be motives weak, break off betimes, And every man hence to his idle bed; So let high-sighted tyranny range on Till each man drop by lottery. But if these, As I am sure they do, bear fire enough To kindle cowards and to steel with valor The melting spirits of women, then, countrymen, What need we any spur but our own cause To prick us to redress? What other bond Than secret Romans that have spoke the word And will not palter? And what other oath Than honesty to honesty engaged That this shall be or we will fall for it? Swear priests and cowards and men cautelous, Old feeble carrions and such suffering souls That welcome wrongs; unto bad causes swear Such creatures as men doubt; but do not stain The even virtue of our enterprise, Nor the insuppressive mettle of our spirits, To think that or our cause or our performance Did need an oath; when every drop of blood That every Roman bears, and nobly bears, Is guilty of a several bastardy If he do break the smallest particle Of any promise that hath pass'd from him. CASSIUS. But what of Cicero? Shall we sound him? I think he will stand very strong with us. CASCA. Let us not leave him out. CINNA. No, by no means. METELLUS. O, let us have him, for his silver hairs Will purchase us a good opinion, And buy men's voices to commend our deeds. It shall be said his judgement ruled our hands; Our youths and wildness shall no whit appear, But all be buried in his gravity. BRUTUS. O, name him not; let us not break with him, For he will never follow anything That other men begin. CASSIUS. Then leave him out. CASCA. Indeed he is not fit. DECIUS. Shall no man else be touch'd but only Caesar? CASSIUS. Decius, well urged. I think it is not meet Mark Antony, so well beloved of Caesar, Should outlive Caesar. We shall find of him A shrewd contriver; and you know his means, If he improve them, may well stretch so far As to annoy us all, which to prevent, Let Antony and Caesar fall together. BRUTUS. Our course will seem too bloody, Caius Cassius, To cut the head off and then hack the limbs Like wrath in death and envy afterwards; For Antony is but a limb of Caesar. Let us be sacrificers, but not butchers, Caius. We all stand up against the spirit of Caesar, And in the spirit of men there is no blood. O, that we then could come by Caesar's spirit, And not dismember Caesar! But, alas, Caesar must bleed for it! And, gentle friends, Let's kill him boldly, but not wrathfully; Let's carve him as a dish fit for the gods, Not hew him as a carcass fit for hounds; And let our hearts, as subtle masters do, Stir up their servants to an act of rage And after seem to chide 'em. This shall make Our purpose necessary and not envious, Which so appearing to the common eyes, We shall be call'd purgers, not murderers. And for Mark Antony, think not of him, For he can do no more than Caesar's arm When Caesar's head is off. CASSIUS. Yet I fear him, For in the ingrated love he bears to Caesar- BRUTUS. Alas, good Cassius, do not think of him. If he love Caesar, all that he can do Is to himself, take thought and die for Caesar. And that were much he should, for he is given To sports, to wildness, and much company. TREBONIUS. There is no fear in him-let him not die, For he will live and laugh at this hereafter. Clock strikes. BRUTUS. Peace, count the clock. CASSIUS. The clock hath stricken three. TREBONIUS. 'Tis time to part. CASSIUS. But it is doubtful yet Whether Caesar will come forth today or no, For he is superstitious grown of late, Quite from the main opinion he held once Of fantasy, of dreams, and ceremonies. It may be these apparent prodigies, The unaccustom'd terror of this night, And the persuasion of his augurers May hold him from the Capitol today. DECIUS. Never fear that. If he be so resolved, I can o'ersway him, for he loves to hear That unicorns may be betray'd with trees, And bears with glasses, elephants with holes, Lions with toils, and men with flatterers; But when I tell him he hates flatterers, He says he does, being then most flattered. Let me work; For I can give his humor the true bent, And I will bring him to the Capitol. CASSIUS. Nay, we will all of us be there to fetch him. BRUTUS. By the eighth hour. Is that the utter most? CINNA. Be that the uttermost, and fail not then. METELLUS. Caius Ligarius doth bear Caesar hard, Who rated him for speaking well of Pompey. I wonder none of you have thought of him. BRUTUS. Now, good Metellus, go along by him. He loves me well, and I have given him reasons; Send him but hither, and I'll fashion him. CASSIUS. The morning comes upon 's. We'll leave you, Brutus, And, friends, disperse yourselves, but all remember What you have said and show yourselves true Romans. BRUTUS. Good gentlemen, look fresh and merrily; Let not our looks put on our purposes, But bear it as our Roman actors do, With untired spirits and formal constancy. And so, good morrow to you every one. Exeunt all but Brutus. Boy! Lucius! Fast asleep? It is no matter. Enjoy the honey-heavy dew of slumber; Thou hast no figures nor no fantasies, Which busy care draws in the brains of men; Therefore thou sleep'st so sound. Enter Portia. PORTIA. Brutus, my lord! BRUTUS. Portia, what mean you? Wherefore rise you now? It is not for your health thus to commit Your weak condition to the raw cold morning. PORTIA. Nor for yours neither. have ungently, Brutus, Stole from my bed; and yesternight at supper You suddenly arose and walk'd about, Musing and sighing, with your arms across; And when I ask'd you what the matter was, You stared upon me with ungentle looks. I urged you further; then you scratch'd your head, And too impatiently stamp'd with your foot. Yet I insisted, yet you answer'd not, But with an angry waiter of your hand Gave sign for me to leave you. So I did, Fearing to strengthen that impatience Which seem'd too much enkindled, and withal Hoping it was but an effect of humor, Which sometime hath his hour with every man. It will not let you eat, nor talk, nor sleep, And, could it work so much upon your shape As it hath much prevail'd on your condition, I should not know you, Brutus. Dear my lord, Make me acquainted with your cause of grief. BRUTUS. I am not well in health, and that is all. PORTIA. Brutus is wise, and, were he not in health, He would embrace the means to come by it. BRUTUS. Why, so I do. Good Portia, go to bed. PORTIA. Is Brutus sick, and is it physical To walk unbraced and suck up the humors Of the dank morning? What, is Brutus sick, And will he steal out of his wholesome bed To dare the vile contagion of the night And tempt the rheumy and unpurged air To add unto his sickness? No, my Brutus, You have some sick offense within your mind, Which by the right and virtue of my place I ought to know of; and, upon my knees, I charm you, by my once commended beauty, By all your vows of love and that great vow Which did incorporate and make us one, That you unfold to me, yourself, your half, Why you are heavy and what men tonight Have had resort to you; for here have been Some six or seven, who did hide their faces Even from darkness. BRUTUS. Kneel not, gentle Portia. PORTIA. I should not need, if you were gentle Brutus. Within the bond of marriage, tell me, Brutus, Is it excepted I should know no secrets That appertain to you? Am I yourself But, as it were, in sort or limitation, To keep with you at meals, comfort your bed, And talk to you sometimes? Dwell I but in the suburbs Of your good pleasure? If it be no more, Portia is Brutus' harlot, not his wife. BRUTUS. You are my true and honorable wife, As dear to me as are the ruddy drops That visit my sad heart. PORTIA. If this were true, then should I know this secret. I grant I am a woman, but withal A woman that Lord Brutus took to wife. I grant I am a woman, but withal A woman well reputed, Cato's daughter. Think you I am no stronger than my sex, Being so father'd and so husbanded? Tell me your counsels, I will not disclose 'em. I have made strong proof of my constancy, Giving myself a voluntary wound Here in the thigh. Can I bear that with patience And not my husband's secrets? BRUTUS. O ye gods, Render me worthy of this noble wife! Knocking within. Hark, hark, one knocks. Portia, go in awhile, And by and by thy bosom shall partake The secrets of my heart. All my engagements I will construe to thee, All the charactery of my sad brows. Leave me with haste. [Exit Portia.] Lucius, who's that knocks? Re-enter Lucius with Ligarius. LUCIUS. Here is a sick man that would speak with you. BRUTUS. Caius Ligarius, that Metellus spake of. Boy, stand aside. Caius Ligarius, how? LIGARIUS. Vouchsafe good morrow from a feeble tongue. BRUTUS. O, what a time have you chose out, brave Caius, To wear a kerchief! Would you were not sick! LIGARIUS. I am not sick, if Brutus have in hand Any exploit worthy the name of honor. BRUTUS. Such an exploit have I in hand, Ligarius, Had you a healthful ear to hear of it. LIGARIUS. By all the gods that Romans bow before, I here discard my sickness! Soul of Rome! Brave son, derived from honorable loins! Thou, like an exorcist, hast conjured up My mortified spirit. Now bid me run, And I will strive with things impossible, Yea, get the better of them. What's to do? BRUTUS. A piece of work that will make sick men whole. LIGARIUS. But are not some whole that we must make sick? BRUTUS. That must we also. What it is, my Caius, I shall unfold to thee, as we are going To whom it must be done. LIGARIUS. Set on your foot, And with a heart new-fired I follow you, To do I know not what; but it sufficeth That Brutus leads me on. BRUTUS. Follow me then. Exeunt. SCENE II. Caesar's house. Thunder and lightning. Enter Caesar, in his nightgown. CAESAR. Nor heaven nor earth have been at peace tonight. Thrice hath Calpurnia in her sleep cried out, "Help, ho! They murther Caesar!" Who's within? Enter a Servant. SERVANT. My lord? CAESAR. Go bid the priests do present sacrifice, And bring me their opinions of success. SERVANT. I will, my lord. Exit. Enter Calpurnia. CALPURNIA. What mean you, Caesar? Think you to walk forth? You shall not stir out of your house today. CAESAR. Caesar shall forth: the things that threaten'd me Ne'er look'd but on my back; when they shall see The face of Caesar, they are vanished. CALPURNIA. Caesar, I I stood on ceremonies, Yet now they fright me. There is one within, Besides the things that we have heard and seen, Recounts most horrid sights seen by the watch. A lioness hath whelped in the streets; And graves have yawn'd, and yielded up their dead; Fierce fiery warriors fight upon the clouds, In ranks and squadrons and right form of war, Which drizzled blood upon the Capitol; The noise of battle hurtled in the air, Horses did neigh and dying men did groan, And ghosts did shriek and squeal about the streets. O Caesar! These things are beyond all use, And I do fear them. CAESAR. What can be avoided Whose end is purposed by the mighty gods? Yet Caesar shall go forth, for these predictions Are to the world in general as to Caesar. CALPURNIA. When beggars die, there are no comets seen; The heavens themselves blaze forth the death of princes. CAESAR. Cowards die many times before their deaths; The valiant never taste of death but once. Of all the wonders that I yet have heard, It seems to me most strange that men should fear Seeing that death, a necessary end, Will come when it will come. Re-enter Servant. What say the augurers? SERVANT. They would not have you to stir forth today. Plucking the entrails of an offering forth, They could not find a heart within the beast. CAESAR. The gods do this in shame of cowardice. Caesar should be a beast without a heart If he should stay at home today for fear. No, Caesar shall not. Danger knows full well That Caesar is more dangerous than he. We are two lions litter'd in one day, And I the elder and more terrible. And Caesar shall go forth. CALPURNIA. Alas, my lord, Your wisdom is consumed in confidence. Do not go forth today. Call it my fear That keeps you in the house and not your own. We'll send Mark Antony to the Senate House, And he shall say you are not well today. Let me, upon my knee, prevail in this. CAESAR. Mark Antony shall say I am not well, And, for thy humor, I will stay at home. Enter Decius. Here's Decius Brutus, he shall tell them so. DECIUS. Caesar, all hail! Good morrow, worthy Caesar! I come to fetch you to the Senate House. CAESAR. And you are come in very happy time To bear my greeting to the senators And tell them that I will not come today. Cannot, is false, and that I dare not, falser: I will not come today. Tell them so, Decius. CALPURNIA. Say he is sick. CAESAR. Shall Caesar send a lie? Have I in conquest stretch'd mine arm so far To be afeard to tell greybeards the truth? Decius, go tell them Caesar will not come. DECIUS. Most mighty Caesar, let me know some cause, Lest I be laugh'd at when I tell them so. CAESAR. The cause is in my will: I will not come, That is enough to satisfy the Senate. But, for your private satisfaction, Because I love you, I will let you know. Calpurnia here, my wife, stays me at home; She dreamt tonight she saw my statue, Which, like a fountain with an hundred spouts, Did run pure blood, and many lusty Romans Came smiling and did bathe their hands in it. And these does she apply for warnings and portents And evils imminent, and on her knee Hath begg'd that I will stay at home today. DECIUS. This dream is all amiss interpreted; It was a vision fair and fortunate. Your statue spouting blood in many pipes, In which so many smiling Romans bathed, Signifies that from you great Rome shall suck Reviving blood, and that great men shall press For tinctures, stains, relics, and cognizance. This by Calpurnia's dream is signified. CAESAR. And this way have you well expounded it. DECIUS. I have, when you have heard what I can say. And know it now, the Senate have concluded To give this day a crown to mighty Caesar. If you shall send them word you will not come, Their minds may change. Besides, it were a mock Apt to be render'd, for someone to say "Break up the Senate till another time, When Caesar's wife shall meet with better dreams." If Caesar hide himself, shall they not whisper "Lo, Caesar is afraid"? Pardon me, Caesar, for my dear dear love To your proceeding bids me tell you this, And reason to my love is liable. CAESAR. How foolish do your fears seem now, Calpurnia! I am ashamed I did yield to them. Give me my robe, for I will go. Enter Publius, Brutus, Ligarius, Metellus, Casca, Trebonius, and Cinna. And look where Publius is come to fetch me. PUBLIUS. Good morrow,Caesar. CAESAR. Welcome, Publius. What, Brutus, are you stirr'd so early too? Good morrow, Casca. Caius Ligarius, Caesar was ne'er so much your enemy As that same ague which hath made you lean. What is't o'clock? BRUTUS. Caesar, 'tis strucken eight. CAESAR. I thank you for your pains and courtesy. Enter Antony. See, Antony, that revels long o' nights, Is notwithstanding up. Good morrow, Antony. ANTONY. So to most noble Caesar. CAESAR. Bid them prepare within. I am to blame to be thus waited for. Now, Cinna; now, Metellus; what, Trebonius, I have an hour's talk in store for you; Remember that you call on me today; Be near me, that I may remember you. TREBONIUS. Caesar, I will. [Aside.] And so near will I be That your best friends shall wish I had been further. CAESAR. Good friends, go in and taste some wine with me, And we like friends will straightway go together. BRUTUS. [Aside.] That every like is not the same, O Caesar, The heart of Brutus yearns to think upon! Exeunt. SCENE III. A street near the Capitol. Enter Artemidorus, reading paper. ARTEMIDORUS. "Caesar, beware of Brutus; take heed of Cassius; come not near Casca; have an eye to Cinna; trust not Trebonius; mark well Metellus Cimber; Decius Brutus loves thee not; thou hast wronged Caius Ligarius. There is but one mind in all these men, and it is bent against Caesar. If thou beest not immortal, look about you. Security gives way to conspiracy. The mighty gods defend thee! Thy lover, Artemidorus." Here will I stand till Caesar pass along, And as a suitor will I give him this. My heart laments that virtue cannot live Out of the teeth of emulation. If thou read this, O Caesar, thou mayest live; If not, the Fates with traitors do contrive. Exit. SCENE IV. Another part of the same street, before the house of Brutus. Enter Portia and Lucius. PORTIA. I prithee, boy, run to the Senate House; Stay not to answer me, but get thee gone. Why dost thou stay? LUCIUS. To know my errand, madam. PORTIA. I would have had thee there, and here again, Ere I can tell thee what thou shouldst do there. O constancy, be strong upon my side! Set a huge mountain 'tween my heart and tongue! I have a man's mind, but a woman's might. How hard it is for women to keep counsel! Art thou here yet? LUCIUS. Madam, what should I do? Run to the Capitol, and nothing else? And so return to you, and nothing else? PORTIA. Yes, bring me word, boy, if thy lord look well, For he went sickly forth; and take good note What Caesar doth, what suitors press to him. Hark, boy, what noise is that? LUCIUS. I hear none, madam. PORTIA. Prithee, listen well. I heard a bustling rumor like a fray, And the wind brings it from the Capitol. LUCIUS. Sooth, madam, I hear nothing. Enter the Soothsayer. PORTIA. Come hither, fellow; Which way hast thou been? SOOTHSAYER. At mine own house, good lady. PORTIA. What is't o'clock? SOOTHSAYER. About the ninth hour, lady. PORTIA. Is Caesar yet gone to the Capitol? SOOTHSAYER. Madam, not yet. I go to take my stand To see him pass on to the Capitol. PORTIA. Thou hast some suit to Caesar, hast thou not? SOOTHSAYER. That I have, lady. If it will please Caesar To be so good to Caesar as to hear me, I shall beseech him to befriend himself. PORTIA. Why, know'st thou any harm's intended towards him? SOOTHSAYER. None that I know will be, much that I fear may chance. Good morrow to you. Here the street is narrow, The throng that follows Caesar at the heels, Of senators, of praetors, common suitors, Will crowd a feeble man almost to death. I'll get me to a place more void and there Speak to great Caesar as he comes along. Exit. PORTIA. I must go in. Ay me, how weak a thing The heart of woman is! O Brutus, The heavens speed thee in thine enterprise! Sure, the boy heard me. Brutus hath a suit That Caesar will not grant. O, I grow faint. Run, Lucius, and commend me to my lord; Say I am merry. Come to me again, And bring me word what he doth say to thee. Exeunt severally. ACT III. SCENE I. Rome. Before the Capitol; the Senate sitting above. A crowd of people, among them Artemidorus and the Soothsayer. Flourish. Enter Caesar, Brutus, Cassius, Casca, Decius, Metellus, Trebonius, Cinna, Antony, Lepidus, Popilius, Publius, and others. CAESAR. The ides of March are come. SOOTHSAYER. Ay, Caesar, but not gone. A Hail, Caesar! Read this schedule. DECIUS. Trebonius doth desire you to o'er read, At your best leisure, this his humble suit. ARTEMIDORUS. O Caesar, read mine first, for mine's a suit That touches Caesar nearer. Read it, great Caesar. CAESAR. What touches us ourself shall be last served. ARTEMIDORUS. Delay not, Caesar; read it instantly. CAESAR. What, is the fellow mad? PUBLIUS. Sirrah, give place. CASSIUS. What, urge you your petitions in the street? Come to the Capitol. Caesar goes up to the Senate House, the rest follow. POPILIUS. I wish your enterprise today may thrive. CASSIUS. What enterprise, Popilius? POPILIUS. Fare you well. Advances to Caesar. BRUTUS. What said Popilius Lena? CASSIUS. He wish'd today our enterprise might thrive. I fear our purpose is discovered. BRUTUS. Look, how he makes to Caesar. Mark him. CASSIUS. Casca, Be sudden, for we fear prevention. Brutus, what shall be done? If this be known, Cassius or Caesar never shall turn back, For I will slay myself. BRUTUS. Cassius, be constant. Popilius Lena speaks not of our purposes; For, look, he smiles, and Caesar doth not change. CASSIUS. Trebonius knows his time, for, look you, Brutus, He draws Mark Antony out of the way. Exeunt Antony and Trebonius. DECIUS. Where is Metellus Cimber? Let him And presently prefer his suit to Caesar. BRUTUS. He is address'd; press near and second him. CINNA. Casca, you are the first that rears your hand. CAESAR. Are we all ready? What is now amiss That Caesar and his Senate must redress? METELLUS. Most high, most mighty, and most puissant Caesar, Metellus Cimber throws before thy seat An humble heart. Kneels. CAESAR. I must prevent thee, Cimber. These couchings and these lowly courtesies Might fire the blood of ordinary men And turn preordinance and first decree Into the law of children. Be not fond To think that Caesar bears such rebel blood That will be thaw'd from the true quality With that which melteth fools- I mean sweet words, Low-crooked court'sies, and base spaniel-fawning. Thy brother by decree is banished. If thou dost bend and pray and fawn for him, I spurn thee like a cur out of my way. Know, Caesar doth not wrong, nor without cause Will he be satisfied. METELLUS. Is there no voice more worthy than my own, To sound more sweetly in great Caesar's ear For the repealing of my banish'd brother? BRUTUS. I kiss thy hand, but not in flattery, Caesar, Desiring thee that Publius Cimber may Have an immediate freedom of repeal. CAESAR. What, Brutus? CASSIUS. Pardon, Caesar! Caesar, pardon! As low as to thy foot doth Cassius fall To beg enfranchisement for Publius Cimber. CAESAR. I could be well moved, if I were as you; If I could pray to move, prayers would move me; But I am constant as the northern star, Of whose true-fix'd and resting quality There is no fellow in the firmament. The skies are painted with unnumber'd sparks; They are all fire and every one doth shine; But there's but one in all doth hold his place. So in the world, 'tis furnish'd well with men, And men are flesh and blood, and apprehensive; Yet in the number I do know but one That unassailable holds on his rank, Unshaked of motion; and that I am he, Let me a little show it, even in this; That I was constant Cimber should be banish'd, And constant do remain to keep him so. CINNA. O Caesar- CAESAR. Hence! Wilt thou lift up Olympus? DECIUS. Great Caesar- CAESAR. Doth not Brutus bootless kneel? CASCA. Speak, hands, for me! Casca first, then the other Conspirators and Marcus Brutus stab Caesar. CAESAR. Et tu, Brute?- Then fall, Caesar! Dies. CINNA. Liberty! Freedom! Tyranny is dead! Run hence, proclaim, cry it about the streets. CASSIUS. Some to the common pulpits and cry out "Liberty, freedom, and enfranchisement!" BRUTUS. People and senators, be not affrighted, Fly not, stand still; ambition's debt is paid. CASCA. Go to the pulpit, Brutus. DECIUS. And Cassius too. BRUTUS. Where's Publius? CINNA. Here, quite confounded with this mutiny. METELLUS. Stand fast together, lest some friend of Caesar's Should chance- BRUTUS. Talk not of standing. Publius, good cheer, There is no harm intended to your person, Nor to no Roman else. So tell them, Publius. CASSIUS. And leave us, Publius, lest that the people Rushing on us should do your age some mischief. BRUTUS. Do so, and let no man abide this deed But we the doers. Re-enter Trebonius. CASSIUS. Where is Antony? TREBONIUS. Fled to his house amazed. Men, wives, and children stare, cry out, and run As it were doomsday. BRUTUS. Fates, we will know your pleasures. That we shall die, we know; 'tis but the time And drawing days out that men stand upon. CASSIUS. Why, he that cuts off twenty years of life Cuts off so many years of fearing death. BRUTUS. Grant that, and then is death a benefit; So are we Caesar's friends that have abridged His time of fearing death. Stoop, Romans, stoop, And let us bathe our hands in Caesar's blood Up to the elbows, and besmear our swords; Then walk we forth, even to the marketplace, And waving our red weapons o'er our heads, Let's all cry, "Peace, freedom, and liberty!" CASSIUS. Stoop then, and wash. How many ages hence Shall this our lofty scene be acted over In states unborn and accents yet unknown! BRUTUS. How many times shall Caesar bleed in sport, That now on Pompey's basis lies along No worthier than the dust! CASSIUS. So oft as that shall be, So often shall the knot of us be call'd The men that gave their country liberty. DECIUS. What, shall we forth? CASSIUS. Ay, every man away. Brutus shall lead, and we will grace his heels With the most boldest and best hearts of Rome. Enter a Servant. BRUTUS. Soft, who comes here? A friend of Antony's. SERVANT. Thus, Brutus, did my master bid me kneel, Thus did Mark Antony bid me fall down, And, being prostrate, thus he bade me say: Brutus is noble, wise, valiant, and honest; Caesar was mighty, bold, royal, and loving. Say I love Brutus and I honor him; Say I fear'd Caesar, honor'd him, and loved him. If Brutus will vouchsafe that Antony May safely come to him and be resolved How Caesar hath deserved to lie in death, Mark Antony shall not love Caesar dead So well as Brutus living, but will follow The fortunes and affairs of noble Brutus Thorough the hazards of this untrod state With all true faith. So says my master Antony. BRUTUS. Thy master is a wise and valiant Roman; I never thought him worse. Tell him, so please him come unto this place, He shall be satisfied and, by my honor, Depart untouch'd. SERVANT. I'll fetch him presently. Exit. BRUTUS. I know that we shall have him well to friend. CASSIUS. I wish we may, but yet have I a mind That fears him much, and my misgiving still Falls shrewdly to the purpose. Re-enter Antony. BRUTUS. But here comes Antony. Welcome, Mark Antony. ANTONY. O mighty Caesar! Dost thou lie so low? Are all thy conquests, glories, triumphs, spoils, Shrunk to this little measure? Fare thee well. I know not, gentlemen, what you intend, Who else must be let blood, who else is rank. If I myself, there is no hour so fit As Caesar's death's hour, nor no instrument Of half that worth as those your swords, made rich With the most noble blood of all this world. I do beseech ye, if you bear me hard, Now, whilst your purpled hands do reek and smoke, Fulfill your pleasure. Live a thousand years, I shall not find myself so apt to die; No place will please me so, no means of death, As here by Caesar, and by you cut off, The choice and master spirits of this age. BRUTUS. O Antony, beg not your death of us! Though now we must appear bloody and cruel, As, by our hands and this our present act You see we do, yet see you but our hands And this the bleeding business they have done. Our hearts you see not; they are pitiful; And pity to the general wrong of Rome- As fire drives out fire, so pity pity- Hath done this deed on Caesar. For your part, To you our swords have leaden points, Mark Antony; Our arms in strength of malice, and our hearts Of brothers' temper, do receive you in With all kind love, good thoughts, and reverence. CASSIUS. Your voice shall be as strong as any man's In the disposing of new dignities. BRUTUS. Only be patient till we have appeased The multitude, beside themselves with fear, And then we will deliver you the cause Why I, that did love Caesar when I struck him, Have thus proceeded. ANTONY. I doubt not of your wisdom. Let each man render me his bloody hand. First, Marcus Brutus, will I shake with you; Next, Caius Cassius, do I take your hand; Now, Decius Brutus, yours; now yours, Metellus; Yours, Cinna; and, my valiant Casca, yours; Though last, not least in love, yours, good Trebonius. Gentlemen all- alas, what shall I say? My credit now stands on such slippery ground, That one of two bad ways you must conceit me, Either a coward or a flatterer. That I did love thee, Caesar, O, 'tis true! If then thy spirit look upon us now, Shall it not grieve thee dearer than thy death To see thy Antony making his peace, Shaking the bloody fingers of thy foes, Most noble! In the presence of thy corse? Had I as many eyes as thou hast wounds, Weeping as fast as they stream forth thy blood, It would become me better than to close In terms of friendship with thine enemies. Pardon me, Julius! Here wast thou bay'd, brave hart, Here didst thou fall, and here thy hunters stand, Sign'd in thy spoil, and crimson'd in thy Lethe. O world, thou wast the forest to this hart, And this, indeed, O world, the heart of thee. How like a deer strucken by many princes Dost thou here lie! CASSIUS. Mark Antony- ANTONY. Pardon me, Caius Cassius. The enemies of Caesar shall say this: Then, in a friend, it is cold modesty. CASSIUS. I blame you not for praising Caesar so; But what compact mean you to have with us? Will you be prick'd in number of our friends, Or shall we on, and not depend on you? ANTONY. Therefore I took your hands, but was indeed Sway'd from the point by looking down on Caesar. Friends am I with you all and love you all, Upon this hope that you shall give me reasons Why and wherein Caesar was dangerous. BRUTUS. Or else were this a savage spectacle. Our reasons are so full of good regard That were you, Antony, the son of Caesar, You should be satisfied. ANTONY. That's all I seek; And am moreover suitor that I may Produce his body to the marketplace, And in the pulpit, as becomes a friend, Speak in the order of his funeral. BRUTUS. You shall, Mark Antony. CASSIUS. Brutus, a word with you. [Aside to Brutus.] You know not what you do. Do not consent That Antony speak in his funeral. Know you how much the people may be moved By that which he will utter? BRUTUS. By your pardon, I will myself into the pulpit first, And show the reason of our Caesar's death. What Antony shall speak, I will protest He speaks by leave and by permission, And that we are contented Caesar shall Have all true rites and lawful ceremonies. It shall advantage more than do us wrong. CASSIUS. I know not what may fall; I like it not. BRUTUS. Mark Antony, here, take you Caesar's body. You shall not in your funeral speech blame us, But speak all good you can devise of Caesar, And say you do't by our permission, Else shall you not have any hand at all About his funeral. And you shall speak In the same pulpit whereto I am going, After my speech is ended. ANTONY. Be it so, I do desire no more. BRUTUS. Prepare the body then, and follow us. Exeunt all but Antony. ANTONY. O, pardon me, thou bleeding piece of earth, That I am meek and gentle with these butchers! Thou art the ruins of the noblest man That ever lived in the tide of times. Woe to the hand that shed this costly blood! Over thy wounds now do I prophesy (Which like dumb mouths do ope their ruby lips To beg the voice and utterance of my tongue) A curse shall light upon the limbs of men; Domestic fury and fierce civil strife Shall cumber all the parts of Italy; Blood and destruction shall be so in use, And dreadful objects so familiar, That mothers shall but smile when they behold Their infants quarter'd with the hands of war; All pity choked with custom of fell deeds, And Caesar's spirit ranging for revenge, With Ate by his side come hot from hell, Shall in these confines with a monarch's voice Cry "Havoc!" and let slip the dogs of war, That this foul deed shall smell above the earth With carrion men, groaning for burial. Enter a Servant. You serve Octavius Caesar, do you not? SERVANT. I do, Mark Antony. ANTONY. Caesar did write for him to come to Rome. SERVANT. He did receive his letters, and is coming, And bid me say to you by word of mouth- O Caesar! Sees the body. ANTONY. Thy heart is big; get thee apart and weep. Passion, I see, is catching, for mine eyes, Seeing those beads of sorrow stand in thine, Began to water. Is thy master coming? SERVANT. He lies tonight within seven leagues of Rome. ANTONY. Post back with speed and tell him what hath chanced. Here is a mourning Rome, a dangerous Rome, No Rome of safety for Octavius yet; Hie hence, and tell him so. Yet stay awhile, Thou shalt not back till I have borne this corse Into the marketplace. There shall I try, In my oration, how the people take The cruel issue of these bloody men, According to the which thou shalt discourse To young Octavius of the state of things. Lend me your hand. Exeunt with Caesar's body. SCENE II. The Forum. Enter Brutus and Cassius, and a throng of Citizens. CITIZENS. We will be satisfied! Let us be satisfied! BRUTUS. Then follow me and give me audience, friends. Cassius, go you into the other street And part the numbers. Those that will hear me speak, let 'em stay here; Those that will follow Cassius, go with him; And public reasons shall be rendered Of Caesar's death. FIRST CITIZEN. I will hear Brutus speak. SECOND CITIZEN. I will hear Cassius and compare their reasons, When severally we hear them rendered. Exit Cassius, with some Citizens. Brutus goes into the pulpit. THIRD CITIZEN. The noble Brutus is ascended. Silence! BRUTUS. Be patient till the last. Romans, countrymen, and lovers! Hear me for my cause, and be silent, that you may hear. Believe me for mine honor, and have respect to mine honor, that you may believe. Censure me in your wisdom, and awake your senses, that you may the better judge. If there be any in this assembly, any dear friend of Caesar's, to him I say that Brutus' love to Caesar was no less than his. If then that friend demand why Brutus rose against Caesar, this is my answer: Not that I loved Caesar less, but that I loved Rome more. Had you rather Caesar were living and die all slaves, than that Caesar were dead to live all freemen? As Caesar loved me, I weep for him; as he was fortunate, I rejoice at it; as he was valiant, I honor him; but as he was ambitious, I slew him. There is tears for his love, joy for his fortune, honor for his valor, and death for his ambition. Who is here so base that would be a bondman? If any, speak, for him have I offended. Who is here so rude that would not be a Roman? If any, speak, for him have I offended. Who is here so vile that will not love his country? If any, speak, for him have I offended. I pause for a reply. ALL. None, Brutus, none. BRUTUS. Then none have I offended. I have done no more to Caesar than you shall do to Brutus. The question of his death is enrolled in the Capitol, his glory not extenuated, wherein he was worthy, nor his offenses enforced, for which he suffered death. Enter Antony and others, with Caesar's body. Here comes his body, mourned by Mark Antony, who, though he had no hand in his death, shall receive the benefit of his dying, a place in the commonwealth, as which of you shall not? With this I depart- that, as I slew my best lover for the good of Rome, I have the same dagger for myself, when it shall please my country to need my death. ALL. Live, Brutus, live, live! FIRST CITIZEN. Bring him with triumph home unto his house. SECOND CITIZEN. Give him a statue with his ancestors. THIRD CITIZEN. Let him be Caesar. FOURTH CITIZEN. Caesar's better parts Shall be crown'd in Brutus. FIRST CITIZEN. We'll bring him to his house with shouts and clamors. BRUTUS. My countrymen- SECOND CITIZEN. Peace! Silence! Brutus speaks. FIRST CITIZEN. Peace, ho! BRUTUS. Good countrymen, let me depart alone, And, for my sake, stay here with Antony. Do grace to Caesar's corse, and grace his speech Tending to Caesar's glories, which Mark Antony, By our permission, is allow'd to make. I do entreat you, not a man depart, Save I alone, till Antony have spoke. Exit. FIRST CITIZEN. Stay, ho, and let us hear Mark Antony. THIRD CITIZEN. Let him go up into the public chair; We'll hear him. Noble Antony, go up. ANTONY. For Brutus' sake, I am beholding to you. Goes into the pulpit. FOURTH CITIZEN. What does he say of Brutus? THIRD CITIZEN. He says, for Brutus' sake, He finds himself beholding to us all. FOURTH CITIZEN. 'Twere best he speak no harm of Brutus here. FIRST CITIZEN. This Caesar was a tyrant. THIRD CITIZEN. Nay, that's certain. We are blest that Rome is rid of him. SECOND CITIZEN. Peace! Let us hear what Antony can say. ANTONY. You gentle Romans- ALL. Peace, ho! Let us hear him. ANTONY. Friends, Romans, countrymen, lend me your ears! I come to bury Caesar, not to praise him. The evil that men do lives after them, The good is oft interred with their bones; So let it be with Caesar. The noble Brutus Hath told you Caesar was ambitious; If it were so, it was a grievous fault, And grievously hath Caesar answer'd it. Here, under leave of Brutus and the rest- For Brutus is an honorable man; So are they all, all honorable men- Come I to speak in Caesar's funeral. He was my friend, faithful and just to me; But Brutus says he was ambitious, And Brutus is an honorable man. He hath brought many captives home to Rome, Whose ransoms did the general coffers fill. Did this in Caesar seem ambitious? When that the poor have cried, Caesar hath wept; Ambition should be made of sterner stuff: Yet Brutus says he was ambitious, And Brutus is an honorable man. You all did see that on the Lupercal I thrice presented him a kingly crown, Which he did thrice refuse. Was this ambition? Yet Brutus says he was ambitious, And sure he is an honorable man. I speak not to disprove what Brutus spoke, But here I am to speak what I do know. You all did love him once, not without cause; What cause withholds you then to mourn for him? O judgement, thou art fled to brutish beasts, And men have lost their reason. Bear with me; My heart is in the coffin there with Caesar, And I must pause till it come back to me. FIRST CITIZEN. Methinks there is much reason in his sayings. SECOND CITIZEN. If thou consider rightly of the matter, Caesar has had great wrong. THIRD CITIZEN. Has he, masters? I fear there will a worse come in his place. FOURTH CITIZEN. Mark'd ye his words? He would not take the crown; Therefore 'tis certain he was not ambitious. FIRST CITIZEN. If it be found so, some will dear abide it. SECOND CITIZEN. Poor soul, his eyes are red as fire with weeping. THIRD CITIZEN. There's not a nobler man in Rome than Antony. FOURTH CITIZEN. Now mark him, he begins again to speak. ANTONY. But yesterday the word of Caesar might Have stood against the world. Now lies he there, And none so poor to do him reverence. O masters! If I were disposed to stir Your hearts and minds to mutiny and rage, I should do Brutus wrong and Cassius wrong, Who, you all know, are honorable men. I will not do them wrong; I rather choose To wrong the dead, to wrong myself and you, Than I will wrong such honorable men. But here's a parchment with the seal of Caesar; I found it in his closet, 'tis his will. Let but the commons hear this testament- Which, pardon me, I do not mean to read- And they would go and kiss dead Caesar's wounds And dip their napkins in his sacred blood, Yea, beg a hair of him for memory, And, dying, mention it within their wills, Bequeathing it as a rich legacy Unto their issue. FOURTH CITIZEN. We'll hear the will. Read it, Mark Antony. ALL. The will, the will! We will hear Caesar's will. ANTONY. Have patience, gentle friends, I must not read it; It is not meet you know how Caesar loved you. You are not wood, you are not stones, but men; And, being men, hearing the will of Caesar, It will inflame you, it will make you mad. 'Tis good you know not that you are his heirs, For if you should, O, what would come of it! FOURTH CITIZEN. Read the will; we'll hear it, Antony. You shall read us the will, Caesar's will. ANTONY. Will you be patient? Will you stay awhile? I have o'ershot myself to tell you of it. I fear I wrong the honorable men Whose daggers have stabb'd Caesar; I do fear it. FOURTH CITIZEN. They were traitors. Honorable men! ALL. The will! The testament! SECOND CITIZEN. They were villains, murtherers. The will! Read the will! ANTONY. You will compel me then to read the will? Then make a ring about the corse of Caesar, And let me show you him that made the will. Shall I descend? And will you give me leave? ALL. Come down. SECOND CITIZEN. Descend. He comes down from the pulpit. THIRD CITIZEN. You shall have leave. FOURTH CITIZEN. A ring, stand round. FIRST CITIZEN. Stand from the hearse, stand from the body. SECOND CITIZEN. Room for Antony, most noble Antony. ANTONY. Nay, press not so upon me, stand far off. ALL. Stand back; room, bear back! ANTONY. If you have tears, prepare to shed them now. You all do know this mantle. I remember The first time ever Caesar put it on; 'Twas on a summer's evening, in his tent, That day he overcame the Nervii. Look, in this place ran Cassius' dagger through; See what a rent the envious Casca made; Through this the well-beloved Brutus stabb'd; And as he pluck'd his cursed steel away, Mark how the blood of Caesar follow'd it, As rushing out of doors, to be resolved If Brutus so unkindly knock'd, or no; For Brutus, as you know, was Caesar's angel. Judge, O you gods, how dearly Caesar loved him! This was the most unkindest cut of all; For when the noble Caesar saw him stab, Ingratitude, more strong than traitors' arms, Quite vanquish'd him. Then burst his mighty heart, And, in his mantle muffling up his face, Even at the base of Pompey's statue, Which all the while ran blood, great Caesar fell. O, what a fall was there, my countrymen! Then I, and you, and all of us fell down, Whilst bloody treason flourish'd over us. O, now you weep, and I perceive you feel The dint of pity. These are gracious drops. Kind souls, what weep you when you but behold Our Caesar's vesture wounded? Look you here, Here is himself, marr'd, as you see, with traitors. FIRST CITIZEN. O piteous spectacle! SECOND CITIZEN. O noble Caesar! THIRD CITIZEN. O woeful day! FOURTH CITIZEN. O traitors villains! FIRST CITIZEN. O most bloody sight! SECOND CITIZEN. We will be revenged. ALL. Revenge! About! Seek! Burn! Fire! Kill! Slay! Let not a traitor live! ANTONY. Stay, countrymen. FIRST CITIZEN. Peace there! Hear the noble Antony. SECOND CITIZEN. We'll hear him, we'll follow him, we'll die with him. ANTONY. Good friends, sweet friends, let me not stir you up To such a sudden flood of mutiny. They that have done this deed are honorable. What private griefs they have, alas, I know not, That made them do it. They are wise and honorable, And will, no doubt, with reasons answer you. I come not, friends, to steal away your hearts. I am no orator, as Brutus is; But, as you know me all, a plain blunt man, That love my friend, and that they know full well That gave me public leave to speak of him. For I have neither wit, nor words, nor worth, Action, nor utterance, nor the power of speech, To stir men's blood. I only speak right on; I tell you that which you yourselves do know; Show you sweet Caesar's wounds, poor dumb mouths, And bid them speak for me. But were I Brutus, And Brutus Antony, there were an Antony Would ruffle up your spirits and put a tongue In every wound of Caesar that should move The stones of Rome to rise and mutiny. ALL. We'll mutiny. FIRST CITIZEN. We'll burn the house of Brutus. THIRD CITIZEN. Away, then! Come, seek the conspirators. ANTONY. Yet hear me, countrymen; yet hear me speak. ALL. Peace, ho! Hear Antony, most noble Antony! ANTONY. Why, friends, you go to do you know not what. Wherein hath Caesar thus deserved your loves? Alas, you know not; I must tell you then. You have forgot the will I told you of. ALL. Most true, the will! Let's stay and hear the will. ANTONY. Here is the will, and under Caesar's seal. To every Roman citizen he gives, To every several man, seventy-five drachmas. SECOND CITIZEN. Most noble Caesar! We'll revenge his death. THIRD CITIZEN. O royal Caesar! ANTONY. Hear me with patience. ALL. Peace, ho! ANTONY. Moreover, he hath left you all his walks, His private arbors, and new-planted orchards, On this side Tiber; he hath left them you, And to your heirs forever- common pleasures, To walk abroad and recreate yourselves. Here was a Caesar! When comes such another? FIRST CITIZEN. Never, never. Come, away, away! We'll burn his body in the holy place And with the brands fire the traitors' houses. Take up the body. SECOND CITIZEN. Go fetch fire. THIRD CITIZEN. Pluck down benches. FOURTH CITIZEN. Pluck down forms, windows, anything. Exeunt Citizens with the body. ANTONY. Now let it work. Mischief, thou art afoot, Take thou what course thou wilt. Enter a Servant. How now, fellow? SERVANT. Sir, Octavius is already come to Rome. ANTONY. Where is he? SERVANT. He and Lepidus are at Caesar's house. ANTONY. And thither will I straight to visit him. He comes upon a wish. Fortune is merry, And in this mood will give us anything. SERVANT. I heard him say Brutus and Cassius Are rid like madmen through the gates of Rome. ANTONY. Be like they had some notice of the people, How I had moved them. Bring me to Octavius. Exeunt. SCENE III. A street. Enter Cinna the poet. CINNA. I dreamt tonight that I did feast with Caesar, And things unluckily charge my fantasy. I have no will to wander forth of doors, Yet something leads me forth. Enter Citizens. FIRST CITIZEN. What is your name? SECOND CITIZEN. Whither are you going? THIRD CITIZEN. Where do you dwell? FOURTH CITIZEN. Are you a married man or a bachelor? SECOND CITIZEN. Answer every man directly. FIRST CITIZEN. Ay, and briefly. FOURTH CITIZEN. Ay, and wisely. THIRD CITIZEN. Ay, and truly, you were best. CINNA. What is my name? Whither am I going? Where do I dwell? Am I a married man or a bachelor? Then, to answer every man directly and briefly, wisely and truly: wisely I say, I am a bachelor. SECOND CITIZEN. That's as much as to say they are fools that marry. You'll bear me a bang for that, I fear. Proceed directly. CINNA. Directly, I am going to Caesar's funeral. FIRST CITIZEN. As a friend or an enemy? CINNA. As a friend. SECOND CITIZEN. That matter is answered directly. FOURTH CITIZEN. For your dwelling, briefly. CINNA. Briefly, I dwell by the Capitol. THIRD CITIZEN. Your name, sir, truly. CINNA. Truly, my name is Cinna. FIRST CITIZEN. Tear him to pieces, he's a conspirator. CINNA. I am Cinna the poet, I am Cinna the poet. FOURTH CITIZEN. Tear him for his bad verses, tear him for his bad verses. CINNA. I am not Cinna the conspirator. FOURTH CITIZEN. It is no matter, his name's Cinna. Pluck but his name out of his heart, and turn him going. THIRD CITIZEN. Tear him, tear him! Come, brands, ho, firebrands. To Brutus', to Cassius'; burn all. Some to Decius' house, and some to Casca's, some to Ligarius'. Away, go! Exeunt. ACT IV. SCENE I. A house in Rome. Antony, Octavius, and Lepidus, seated at a table. ANTONY. These many then shall die, their names are prick'd. OCTAVIUS. Your brother too must die; consent you, Lepidus? LEPIDUS. I do consent- OCTAVIUS. Prick him down, Antony. LEPIDUS. Upon condition Publius shall not live, Who is your sister's son, Mark Antony. ANTONY. He shall not live; look, with a spot I damn him. But, Lepidus, go you to Caesar's house, Fetch the will hither, and we shall determine How to cut off some charge in legacies. LEPIDUS. What, shall I find you here? OCTAVIUS. Or here, or at the Capitol. Exit Lepidus. ANTONY. This is a slight unmeritable man, Meet to be sent on errands. Is it fit, The three-fold world divided, he should stand One of the three to share it? OCTAVIUS. So you thought him, And took his voice who should be prick'd to die In our black sentence and proscription. ANTONY. Octavius, I have seen more days than you, And though we lay these honors on this man To ease ourselves of divers slanderous loads, He shall but bear them as the ass bears gold, To groan and sweat under the business, Either led or driven, as we point the way; And having brought our treasure where we will, Then take we down his load and turn him off, Like to the empty ass, to shake his ears And graze in commons. OCTAVIUS. You may do your will, But he's a tried and valiant soldier. ANTONY. So is my horse, Octavius, and for that I do appoint him store of provender. It is a creature that I teach to fight, To wind, to stop, to run directly on, His corporal motion govern'd by my spirit. And, in some taste, is Lepidus but so: He must be taught, and train'd, and bid go forth; A barren-spirited fellow, one that feeds On objects, arts, and imitations, Which, out of use and staled by other men, Begin his fashion. Do not talk of him But as a property. And now, Octavius, Listen great things. Brutus and Cassius Are levying powers; we must straight make head; Therefore let our alliance be combined, Our best friends made, our means stretch'd; And let us presently go sit in council, How covert matters may be best disclosed, And open perils surest answered. OCTAVIUS. Let us do so, for we are at the stake, And bay'd about with many enemies; And some that smile have in their hearts, I fear, Millions of mischiefs. Exeunt. SCENE II. Camp near Sardis. Before Brutus' tent. Drum. Enter Brutus, Lucilius, Lucius, and Soldiers; Titinius and Pindarus meet them. BRUTUS. Stand, ho! LUCILIUS. Give the word, ho, and stand. BRUTUS. What now, Lucilius, is Cassius near? LUCILIUS. He is at hand, and Pindarus is come To do you salutation from his master. BRUTUS. He greets me well. Your master, Pindarus, In his own change, or by ill officers, Hath given me some worthy cause to wish Things done undone; but if he be at hand, I shall be satisfied. PINDARUS. I do not doubt But that my noble master will appear Such as he is, full of regard and honor. BRUTUS. He is not doubted. A word, Lucilius, How he received you. Let me be resolved. LUCILIUS. With courtesy and with respect enough, But not with such familiar instances, Nor with such free and friendly conference, As he hath used of old. BRUTUS. Thou hast described A hot friend cooling. Ever note, Lucilius, When love begins to sicken and decay It useth an enforced ceremony. There are no tricks in plain and simple faith; But hollow men, like horses hot at hand, Make gallant show and promise of their mettle; But when they should endure the bloody spur, They fall their crests and like deceitful jades Sink in the trial. Comes his army on? LUCILIUS. They meant his night in Sard is to be quarter'd; The greater part, the horse in general, Are come with Cassius. Low march within. BRUTUS. Hark, he is arrived. March gently on to meet him. Enter Cassius and his Powers. CASSIUS. Stand, ho! BRUTUS. Stand, ho! Speak the word along. FIRST SOLDIER. Stand! SECOND SOLDIER. Stand! THIRD SOLDIER. Stand! CASSIUS. Most noble brother, you have done me wrong. BRUTUS. Judge me, you gods! Wrong I mine enemies? And, if not so, how should I wrong a brother? CASSIUS. Brutus, this sober form of yours hides wrongs, And when you do them- BRUTUS. Cassius, be content, Speak your griefs softly, I do know you well. Before the eyes of both our armies here, Which should perceive nothing but love from us, Let us not wrangle. Bid them move away; Then in my tent, Cassius, enlarge your griefs, And I will give you audience. CASSIUS. Pindarus, Bid our commanders lead their charges off A little from this ground. BRUTUS. Lucilius, do you the like, and let no man Come to our tent till we have done our conference. Let Lucius and Titinius guard our door. Exeunt. SCENE III. Brutus' tent. Enter Brutus and Cassius. CASSIUS. That you have wrong'd me doth appear in this: You have condemn'd and noted Lucius Pella For taking bribes here of the Sardians, Wherein my letters, praying on his side, Because I knew the man, were slighted off. BRUTUS. You wrong'd yourself to write in such a case. CASSIUS. In such a time as this it is not meet That every nice offense should bear his comment. BRUTUS. Let me tell you, Cassius, you yourself Are much condemn'd to have an itching palm, To sell and mart your offices for gold To undeservers. CASSIUS. I an itching palm? You know that you are Brutus that speaks this, Or, by the gods, this speech were else your last. BRUTUS. The name of Cassius honors this corruption, And chastisement doth therefore hide his head. CASSIUS. Chastisement? BRUTUS. Remember March, the ides of March remember. Did not great Julius bleed for justice' sake? What villain touch'd his body, that did stab, And not for justice? What, shall one of us, That struck the foremost man of all this world But for supporting robbers, shall we now Contaminate our fingers with base bribes And sell the mighty space of our large honors For so much trash as may be grasped thus? I had rather be a dog, and bay the moon, Than such a Roman. CASSIUS. Brutus, bait not me, I'll not endure it. You forget yourself To hedge me in. I am a soldier, I, Older in practice, abler than yourself To make conditions. BRUTUS. Go to, you are not, Cassius. CASSIUS. I am. BRUTUS. I say you are not. CASSIUS. Urge me no more, I shall forget myself; Have mind upon your health, tempt me no farther. BRUTUS. Away, slight man! CASSIUS. Is't possible? BRUTUS. Hear me, for I will speak. Must I give way and room to your rash choler? Shall I be frighted when a madman stares? CASSIUS. O gods, ye gods! Must I endure all this? BRUTUS. All this? Ay, more. Fret till your proud heart break. Go show your slaves how choleric you are, And make your bondmen tremble. Must I bouge? Must I observe you? Must I stand and crouch Under your testy humor? By the gods, You shall digest the venom of your spleen, Though it do split you, for, from this day forth, I'll use you for my mirth, yea, for my laughter, When you are waspish. CASSIUS. Is it come to this? BRUTUS. You say you are a better soldier: Let it appear so, make your vaunting true, And it shall please me well. For mine own part, I shall be glad to learn of noble men. CASSIUS. You wrong me every way, you wrong me, Brutus. I said, an elder soldier, not a better. Did I say "better"? BRUTUS. If you did, I care not. CASSIUS. When Caesar lived, he durst not thus have moved me. BRUTUS. Peace, peace! You durst not so have tempted him. CASSIUS. I durst not? BRUTUS. No. CASSIUS. What, durst not tempt him? BRUTUS. For your life you durst not. CASSIUS. Do not presume too much upon my love; I may do that I shall be sorry for. BRUTUS. You have done that you should be sorry for. There is no terror, Cassius, in your threats, For I am arm'd so strong in honesty, That they pass by me as the idle wind Which I respect not. I did send to you For certain sums of gold, which you denied me, For I can raise no money by vile means. By heaven, I had rather coin my heart And drop my blood for drachmas than to wring From the hard hands of peasants their vile trash By any indirection. I did send To you for gold to pay my legions, Which you denied me. Was that done like Cassius? Should I have answer'd Caius Cassius so? When Marcus Brutus grows so covetous To lock such rascal counters from his friends, Be ready, gods, with all your thunderbolts, Dash him to pieces! CASSIUS. I denied you not. BRUTUS. You did. CASSIUS. I did not. He was but a fool That brought my answer back. Brutus hath rived my heart. A friend should bear his friend's infirmities, But Brutus makes mine greater than they are. BRUTUS. I do not, till you practise them on me. CASSIUS. You love me not. BRUTUS. I do not like your faults. CASSIUS. A friendly eye could never see such faults. BRUTUS. A flatterer's would not, though they do appear As huge as high Olympus. CASSIUS. Come, Antony, and young Octavius, come, Revenge yourselves alone on Cassius, For Cassius is aweary of the world: Hated by one he loves; braved by his brother; Check'd like a bondman; all his faults observed, Set in a notebook, learn'd and conn'd by rote, To cast into my teeth. O, I could weep My spirit from mine eyes! There is my dagger, And here my naked breast; within, a heart Dearer than Pluto's mine, richer than gold. If that thou best a Roman, take it forth; I, that denied thee gold, will give my heart. Strike, as thou didst at Caesar, for I know, When thou didst hate him worst, thou lovedst him better Than ever thou lovedst Cassius. BRUTUS. Sheathe your dagger. Be angry when you will, it shall have scope; Do what you will, dishonor shall be humor. O Cassius, you are yoked with a lamb, That carries anger as the flint bears fire, Who, much enforced, shows a hasty spark And straight is cold again. CASSIUS. Hath Cassius lived To be but mirth and laughter to his Brutus, When grief and blood ill-temper'd vexeth him? BRUTUS. When I spoke that, I was ill-temper'd too. CASSIUS. Do you confess so much? Give me your hand. BRUTUS. And my heart too. CASSIUS. O Brutus! BRUTUS. What's the matter? CASSIUS. Have not you love enough to bear with me When that rash humor which my mother gave me Makes me forgetful? BRUTUS. Yes, Cassius, and from henceforth, When you are overearnest with your Brutus, He'll think your mother chides, and leave you so. POET. [Within.] Let me go in to see the generals. There is some grudge between 'em, 'tis not meet They be alone. LUCILIUS. [Within.] You shall not come to them. POET. [Within.] Nothing but death shall stay me. Enter Poet, followed by Lucilius, Titinius, and Lucius. CASSIUS. How now, what's the matter? POET. For shame, you generals! What do you mean? Love, and be friends, as two such men should be; For I have seen more years, I'm sure, than ye. CASSIUS. Ha, ha! How vilely doth this cynic rhyme! BRUTUS. Get you hence, sirrah; saucy fellow, hence! CASSIUS. Bear with him, Brutus; 'tis his fashion. BRUTUS. I'll know his humor when he knows his time. What should the wars do with these jigging fools? Companion, hence! CASSIUS. Away, away, be gone! Exit Poet. BRUTUS. Lucilius and Titinius, bid the commanders Prepare to lodge their companies tonight. CASSIUS. And come yourselves and bring Messala with you Immediately to us. Exeunt Lucilius and Titinius. BRUTUS. Lucius, a bowl of wine! Exit Lucius. CASSIUS. I did not think you could have been so angry. BRUTUS. O Cassius, I am sick of many griefs. CASSIUS. Of your philosophy you make no use, If you give place to accidental evils. BRUTUS. No man bears sorrow better. Portia is dead. CASSIUS. Ha? Portia? BRUTUS. She is dead. CASSIUS. How 'scaped killing when I cross'd you so? O insupportable and touching loss! Upon what sickness? BRUTUS. Impatient of my absence, And grief that young Octavius with Mark Antony Have made themselves so strong- for with her death That tidings came- with this she fell distract, And (her attendants absent) swallow'd fire. CASSIUS. And died so? BRUTUS. Even so. CASSIUS. O ye immortal gods! Re-enter Lucius, with wine and taper. BRUTUS. Speak no more of her. Give me a bowl of wine. In this I bury all unkindness, Cassius. Drinks. CASSIUS. My heart is thirsty for that noble pledge. Fill, Lucius, till the wine o'erswell the cup; I cannot drink too much of Brutus' love. Drinks. BRUTUS. Come in, Titinius! Exit Lucius. Re-enter Titinius, with Messala. Welcome, good Messala. Now sit we close about this taper here, And call in question our necessities. CASSIUS. Portia, art thou gone? BRUTUS. No more, I pray you. Messala, I have here received letters That young Octavius and Mark Antony Come down upon us with a mighty power, Bending their expedition toward Philippi. MESSALA. Myself have letters of the selfsame tenure. BRUTUS. With what addition? MESSALA. That by proscription and bills of outlawry Octavius, Antony, and Lepidus Have put to death an hundred senators. BRUTUS. There in our letters do not well agree; Mine speak of seventy senators that died By their proscriptions, Cicero being one. CASSIUS. Cicero one! MESSALA. Cicero is dead, And by that order of proscription. Had you your letters from your wife, my lord? BRUTUS. No, Messala. MESSALA. Nor nothing in your letters writ of her? BRUTUS. Nothing, Messala. MESSALA. That, methinks, is strange. BRUTUS. Why ask you? Hear you aught of her in yours? MESSALA. No, my lord. BRUTUS. Now, as you are a Roman, tell me true. MESSALA. Then like a Roman bear the truth I tell: For certain she is dead, and by strange manner. BRUTUS. Why, farewell, Portia. We must die, Messala. With meditating that she must die once I have the patience to endure it now. MESSALA. Even so great men great losses should endure. CASSIUS. I have as much of this in art as you, But yet my nature could not bear it so. BRUTUS. Well, to our work alive. What do you think Of marching to Philippi presently? CASSIUS. I do not think it good. BRUTUS. Your reason? CASSIUS. This it is: 'Tis better that the enemy seek us; So shall he waste his means, weary his soldiers, Doing himself offense, whilst we lying still Are full of rest, defense, and nimbleness. BRUTUS. Good reasons must of force give place to better. The people 'twixt Philippi and this ground Do stand but in a forced affection, For they have grudged us contribution. The enemy, marching along by them, By them shall make a fuller number up, Come on refresh'd, new-added, and encouraged; From which advantage shall we cut him off If at Philippi we do face him there, These people at our back. CASSIUS. Hear me, good brother. BRUTUS. Under your pardon. You must note beside That we have tried the utmost of our friends, Our legions are brim-full, our cause is ripe: The enemy increaseth every day; We, at the height, are ready to decline. There is a tide in the affairs of men Which taken at the flood leads on to fortune; Omitted, all the voyage of their life Is bound in shallows and in miseries. On such a full sea are we now afloat, And we must take the current when it serves, Or lose our ventures. CASSIUS. Then, with your will, go on; We'll along ourselves and meet them at Philippi. BRUTUS. The deep of night is crept upon our talk, And nature must obey necessity, Which we will niggard with a little rest. There is no more to say? CASSIUS. No more. Good night. Early tomorrow will we rise and hence. BRUTUS. Lucius! Re-enter Lucius. My gown. Exit Lucius. Farewell, good Messala; Good night, Titinius; noble, noble Cassius, Good night and good repose. CASSIUS. O my dear brother! This was an ill beginning of the night. Never come such division 'tween our souls! Let it not, Brutus. BRUTUS. Everything is well. CASSIUS. Good night, my lord. BRUTUS. Good night, good brother. TITINIUS. MESSALA. Good night, Lord Brutus. BRUTUS. Farewell, everyone. Exeunt all but Brutus. Re-enter Lucius, with the gown. Give me the gown. Where is thy instrument? LUCIUS. Here in the tent. BRUTUS. What, thou speak'st drowsily? Poor knave, I blame thee not, thou art o'erwatch'd. Call Claudio and some other of my men, I'll have them sleep on cushions in my tent. LUCIUS. Varro and Claudio! Enter Varro and Claudio. VARRO. Calls my lord? BRUTUS. I pray you, sirs, lie in my tent and sleep; It may be I shall raise you by and by On business to my brother Cassius. VARRO. So please you, we will stand and watch your pleasure. BRUTUS. I would not have it so. Lie down, good sirs. It may be I shall otherwise bethink me. Look Lucius, here's the book I sought for so; I put it in the pocket of my gown. Varro and Claudio lie down. LUCIUS. I was sure your lordship did not give it me. BRUTUS. Bear with me, good boy, I am much forgetful. Canst thou hold up thy heavy eyes awhile, And touch thy instrument a strain or two? LUCIUS. Ay, my lord, an't please you. BRUTUS. It does, my boy. I trouble thee too much, but thou art willing. LUCIUS. It is my duty, sir. BRUTUS. I should not urge thy duty past thy might; I know young bloods look for a time of rest. LUCIUS. I have slept, my lord, already. BRUTUS. It was well done, and thou shalt sleep again; I will not hold thee long. If I do live, I will be good to thee. Music, and a song. This is a sleepy tune. O murtherous slumber, Layest thou thy leaden mace upon my boy That plays thee music? Gentle knave, good night. I will not do thee so much wrong to wake thee. If thou dost nod, thou break'st thy instrument; I'll take it from thee; and, good boy, good night. Let me see, let me see; is not the leaf turn'd down Where I left reading? Here it is, I think. Sits down. Enter the Ghost of Caesar. How ill this taper burns! Ha, who comes here? I think it is the weakness of mine eyes That shapes this monstrous apparition. It comes upon me. Art thou anything? Art thou some god, some angel, or some devil That makest my blood cold and my hair to stare? Speak to me what thou art. GHOST. Thy evil spirit, Brutus. BRUTUS. Why comest thou? GHOST. To tell thee thou shalt see me at Philippi. BRUTUS. Well, then I shall see thee again? GHOST. Ay, at Philippi. BRUTUS. Why, I will see thee at Philippi then. Exit Ghost. Now I have taken heart thou vanishest. Ill spirit, I would hold more talk with thee. Boy! Lucius! Varro! Claudio! Sirs, awake! Claudio! LUCIUS. The strings, my lord, are false. BRUTUS. He thinks he still is at his instrument. Lucius, awake! LUCIUS. My lord? BRUTUS. Didst thou dream, Lucius, that thou so criedst out? LUCIUS. My lord, I do not know that I did cry. BRUTUS. Yes, that thou didst. Didst thou see anything? LUCIUS. Nothing, my lord. BRUTUS. Sleep again, Lucius. Sirrah Claudio! [To Varro.] Fellow thou, awake! VARRO. My lord? CLAUDIO. My lord? BRUTUS. Why did you so cry out, sirs, in your sleep? VARRO. CLAUDIO. Did we, my lord? BRUTUS. Ay, saw you anything? VARRO. No, my lord, I saw nothing. CLAUDIO. Nor I, my lord. BRUTUS. Go and commend me to my brother Cassius; Bid him set on his powers betimes before, And we will follow. VARRO. CLAUDIO. It shall be done, my lord. Exeunt. ACT V. SCENE I. The plains of Philippi. Enter Octavius, Antony, and their Army. OCTAVIUS. Now, Antony, our hopes are answered. You said the enemy would not come down, But keep the hills and upper regions. It proves not so. Their battles are at hand; They mean to warn us at Philippi here, Answering before we do demand of them. ANTONY. Tut, I am in their bosoms, and I know Wherefore they do it. They could be content To visit other places, and come down With fearful bravery, thinking by this face To fasten in our thoughts that they have courage; But 'tis not so. Enter a Messenger. MESSENGER. Prepare you, generals. The enemy comes on in gallant show; Their bloody sign of battle is hung out, And something to be done immediately. ANTONY. Octavius, lead your battle softly on, Upon the left hand of the even field. OCTAVIUS. Upon the right hand I, keep thou the left. ANTONY. Why do you cross me in this exigent? OCTAVIUS. I do not cross you, but I will do so. March. Drum. Enter Brutus, Cassius, and their Army; Lucilius, Titinius, Messala, and others. BRUTUS. They stand, and would have parley. CASSIUS. Stand fast, Titinius; we must out and talk. OCTAVIUS. Mark Antony, shall we give sign of battle? ANTONY. No, Caesar, we will answer on their charge. Make forth, the generals would have some words. OCTAVIUS. Stir not until the signal not until the signal. BRUTUS. Words before blows. Is it so, countrymen? OCTAVIUS. Not that we love words better, as you do. BRUTUS. Good words are better than bad strokes, Octavius. ANTONY. In your bad strokes, Brutus, you give good words. Witness the hole you made in Caesar's heart, Crying "Long live! Hail, Caesar!" CASSIUS. Antony, The posture of your blows are yet unknown; But for your words, they rob the Hybla bees, And leave them honeyless. ANTONY. Not stingless too. BRUTUS. O, yes, and soundless too, For you have stol'n their buzzing, Antony, And very wisely threat before you sting. ANTONY. Villains! You did not so when your vile daggers Hack'd one another in the sides of Caesar. You show'd your teeth like apes, and fawn'd like hounds, And bow'd like bondmen, kissing Caesar's feet; Whilst damned Casca, like a cur, behind Strooke Caesar on the neck. O you flatterers! CASSIUS. Flatterers? Now, Brutus, thank yourself. This tongue had not offended so today, If Cassius might have ruled. OCTAVIUS. Come, come, the cause. If arguing make us sweat, The proof of it will turn to redder drops. Look, I draw a sword against conspirators; When think you that the sword goes up again? Never, till Caesar's three and thirty wounds Be well avenged, or till another Caesar Have added slaughter to the sword of traitors. BRUTUS. Caesar, thou canst not die by traitors' hands, Unless thou bring'st them with thee. OCTAVIUS. So I hope, I was not born to die on Brutus' sword. BRUTUS. O, if thou wert the noblest of thy strain, Young man, thou couldst not die more honorable. CASSIUS. A peevish school boy, worthless of such honor, Join'd with a masker and a reveler! ANTONY. Old Cassius still! OCTAVIUS. Come, Antony, away! Defiance, traitors, hurl we in your teeth. If you dare fight today, come to the field; If not, when you have stomachs. Exeunt Octavius, Antony, and their Army. CASSIUS. Why, now, blow and, swell billow, and swim bark! The storm is up, and all is on the hazard. BRUTUS. Ho, Lucilius! Hark, a word with you. LUCILIUS. [Stands forth.] My lord? Brutus and Lucilius converse apart. CASSIUS. Messala! MESSALA. [Stands forth.] What says my general? CASSIUS. Messala, This is my birthday, as this very day Was Cassius born. Give me thy hand, Messala. Be thou my witness that, against my will, As Pompey was, am I compell'd to set Upon one battle all our liberties. You know that I held Epicurus strong, And his opinion. Now I change my mind, And partly credit things that do presage. Coming from Sardis, on our former ensign Two mighty eagles fell, and there they perch'd, Gorging and feeding from our soldiers' hands, Who to Philippi here consorted us. This morning are they fled away and gone, And in their steads do ravens, crows, and kites Fly o'er our heads and downward look on us, As we were sickly prey. Their shadows seem A canopy most fatal, under which Our army lies, ready to give up the ghost. MESSALA. Believe not so. CASSIUS. I but believe it partly, For I am fresh of spirit and resolved To meet all perils very constantly. BRUTUS. Even so, Lucilius. CASSIUS. Now, most noble Brutus, The gods today stand friendly that we may, Lovers in peace, lead on our days to age! But, since the affairs of men rest still incertain, Let's reason with the worst that may befall. If we do lose this battle, then is this The very last time we shall speak together. What are you then determined to do? BRUTUS. Even by the rule of that philosophy By which I did blame Cato for the death Which he did give himself- I know not how, But I do find it cowardly and vile, For fear of what might fall, so to prevent The time of life- arming myself with patience To stay the providence of some high powers That govern us below. CASSIUS. Then, if we lose this battle, You are contented to be led in triumph Thorough the streets of Rome? BRUTUS. No, Cassius, no. Think not, thou noble Roman, That ever Brutus will go bound to Rome; He bears too great a mind. But this same day Must end that work the ides of March begun. And whether we shall meet again I know not. Therefore our everlasting farewell take. Forever, and forever, farewell, Cassius! If we do meet again, why, we shall smile; If not, why then this parting was well made. CASSIUS. Forever and forever farewell, Brutus! If we do meet again, we'll smile indeed; If not, 'tis true this parting was well made. BRUTUS. Why then, lead on. O, that a man might know The end of this day's business ere it come! But it sufficeth that the day will end, And then the end is known. Come, ho! Away! Exeunt. SCENE II. The field of battle. Alarum. Enter Brutus and Messala. BRUTUS. Ride, ride, Messala, ride, and give these bills Unto the legions on the other side. Loud alarum. Let them set on at once, for I perceive But cold demeanor in Octavia's wing, And sudden push gives them the overthrow. Ride, ride, Messala. Let them all come down. Exeunt. SCENE III. Another part of the field. Alarums. Enter Cassius and Titinius. CASSIUS. O, look, Titinius, look, the villains fly! Myself have to mine own turn'd enemy. This ensign here of mine was turning back; I slew the coward, and did take it from him. TITINIUS. O Cassius, Brutus gave the word too early, Who, having some advantage on Octavius, Took it too eagerly. His soldiers fell to spoil, Whilst we by Antony are all enclosed. Enter Pindarus. PINDARUS. Fly further off, my lord, fly further off; Mark Antony is in your tents, my lord; Fly, therefore, noble Cassius, fly far off. CASSIUS. This hill is far enough. Look, look, Titinius: Are those my tents where I perceive the fire? TITINIUS. They are, my lord. CASSIUS. Titinius, if thou lovest me, Mount thou my horse and hide thy spurs in him, Till he have brought thee up to yonder troops And here again, that I may rest assured Whether yond troops are friend or enemy. TITINIUS. I will be here again, even with a thought. Exit. CASSIUS. Go, Pindarus, get higher on that hill; My sight was ever thick; regard Titinius, And tell me what thou notest about the field. Pindarus ascends the hill. This day I breathed first: time is come round, And where I did begin, there shall I end; My life is run his compass. Sirrah, what news? PINDARUS. [Above.] O my lord! CASSIUS. What news? PINDARUS. [Above.] Titinius is enclosed round about With horsemen, that make to him on the spur; Yet he spurs on. Now they are almost on him. Now, Titinius! Now some light. O, he lights too. He's ta'en [Shout.] And, hark! They shout for joy. CASSIUS. Come down; behold no more. O, coward that I am, to live so long, To see my best friend ta'en before my face! Pindarus descends. Come hither, sirrah. In Parthia did I take thee prisoner, And then I swore thee, saving of thy life, That whatsoever I did bid thee do, Thou shouldst attempt it. Come now, keep thine oath; Now be a freeman, and with this good sword, That ran through Caesar's bowels, search this bosom. Stand not to answer: here, take thou the hilts; And when my face is cover'd, as 'tis now, Guide thou the sword. [Pindarus stabs him.] Caesar, thou art revenged, Even with the sword that kill'd thee. Dies. PINDARUS. So, I am free, yet would not so have been, Durst I have done my will. O Cassius! Far from this country Pindarus shall run, Where never Roman shall take note of him. Exit. Re-enter Titinius with Messala. MESSALA. It is but change, Titinius, for Octavius Is overthrown by noble Brutus' power, As Cassius' legions are by Antony. TITINIUS. These tidings would well comfort Cassius. MESSALA. Where did you leave him? TITINIUS. All disconsolate, With Pindarus his bondman, on this hill. MESSALA. Is not that he that lies upon the ground? TITINIUS. He lies not like the living. O my heart! MESSALA. Is not that he? TITINIUS. No, this was he, Messala, But Cassius is no more. O setting sun, As in thy red rays thou dost sink to night, So in his red blood Cassius' day is set, The sun of Rome is set! Our day is gone; Clouds, dews, and dangers come; our deeds are done! Mistrust of my success hath done this deed. MESSALA. Mistrust of good success hath done this deed. O hateful error, melancholy's child, Why dost thou show to the apt thoughts of men The things that are not? O error, soon conceived, Thou never comest unto a happy birth, But kill'st the mother that engender'd thee! TITINIUS. What, Pindarus! Where art thou, Pindarus? MESSALA. Seek him, Titinius, whilst I go to meet The noble Brutus, thrusting this report Into his ears. I may say "thrusting" it, For piercing steel and darts envenomed Shall be as welcome to the ears of Brutus As tidings of this sight. TITINIUS. Hie you, Messala, And I will seek for Pindarus the while. Exit Messala. Why didst thou send me forth, brave Cassius? Did I not meet thy friends? And did not they Put on my brows this wreath of victory, And bid me give it thee? Didst thou not hear their shouts? Alas, thou hast misconstrued everything! But, hold thee, take this garland on thy brow; Thy Brutus bid me give it thee, and I Will do his bidding. Brutus, come apace, And see how I regarded Caius Cassius. By your leave, gods, this is a Roman's part. Come, Cassius' sword, and find Titinius' heart. Kills himself. Alarum. Re-enter Messala, with Brutus, young Cato, and others. BRUTUS. Where, where, Messala, doth his body lie? MESSALA. Lo, yonder, and Titinius mourning it. BRUTUS. Titinius' face is upward. CATO. He is slain. BRUTUS. O Julius Caesar, thou art mighty yet! Thy spirit walks abroad, and turns our swords In our own proper entrails. Low alarums. CATO. Brave Titinius! Look whe'er he have not crown'd dead Cassius! BRUTUS. Are yet two Romans living such as these? The last of all the Romans, fare thee well! It is impossible that ever Rome Should breed thy fellow. Friends, I owe moe tears To this dead man than you shall see me pay. I shall find time, Cassius, I shall find time. Come therefore, and to Thasos send his body; His funerals shall not be in our camp, Lest it discomfort us. Lucilius, come, And come, young Cato; let us to the field. Labio and Flavio, set our battles on. 'Tis three o'clock, and Romans, yet ere night We shall try fortune in a second fight. Exeunt. SCENE IV. Another part of the field. Alarum. Enter, fighting, Soldiers of both armies; then Brutus, young Cato, Lucilius, and others. BRUTUS. Yet, countrymen, O, yet hold up your heads! CATO. What bastard doth not? Who will go with me? I will proclaim my name about the field. I am the son of Marcus Cato, ho! A foe to tyrants, and my country's friend. I am the son of Marcus Cato, ho! BRUTUS. And I am Brutus, Marcus Brutus, I; Brutus, my country's friend; know me for Brutus! Exit. LUCILIUS. O young and noble Cato, art thou down? Why, now thou diest as bravely as Titinius, And mayst be honor'd, being Cato's son. FIRST SOLDIER. Yield, or thou diest. LUCILIUS. Only I yield to die. [Offers money.] There is so much that thou wilt kill me straight: Kill Brutus, and be honor'd in his death. FIRST SOLDIER. We must not. A noble prisoner! SECOND SOLDIER. Room, ho! Tell Antony, Brutus is ta'en. FIRST SOLDIER. I'll tell the news. Here comes the general. Enter Antony. Brutus is ta'en, Brutus is ta'en, my lord. ANTONY. Where is he? LUCILIUS. Safe, Antony, Brutus is safe enough. I dare assure thee that no enemy Shall ever take alive the noble Brutus; The gods defend him from so great a shame! When you do find him, or alive or dead, He will be found like Brutus, like himself. ANTONY. This is not Brutus, friend, but, I assure you, A prize no less in worth. Keep this man safe, Give him all kindness; I had rather have Such men my friends than enemies. Go on, And see wheer Brutus be alive or dead, And bring us word unto Octavius' tent How everything is chanced. Exeunt. SCENE V. Another part of the field. Enter Brutus, Dardanius, Clitus, Strato, and Volumnius. BRUTUS. Come, poor remains of friends, rest on this rock. CLITUS. Statilius show'd the torchlight, but, my lord, He came not back. He is or ta'en or slain. BRUTUS. Sit thee down, Clitus. Slaying is the word: It is a deed in fashion. Hark thee, Clitus. Whispers. CLITUS. What, I, my lord? No, not for all the world. BRUTUS. Peace then, no words. CLITUS. I'll rather kill myself. BRUTUS. Hark thee, Dardanius. Whispers. DARDANIUS. Shall I do such a deed? CLITUS. O Dardanius! DARDANIUS. O Clitus! CLITUS. What ill request did Brutus make to thee? DARDANIUS. To kill him, Clitus. Look, he meditates. CLITUS. Now is that noble vessel full of grief, That it runs over even at his eyes. BRUTUS. Come hither, good Volumnius, list a word. VOLUMNIUS. What says my lord? BRUTUS. Why, this, Volumnius: The ghost of Caesar hath appear'd to me Two several times by night; at Sardis once, And this last night here in Philippi fields. I know my hour is come. VOLUMNIUS. Not so, my lord. BRUTUS. Nay I am sure it is, Volumnius. Thou seest the world, Volumnius, how it goes; Our enemies have beat us to the pit; Low alarums. It is more worthy to leap in ourselves Than tarry till they push us. Good Volumnius, Thou know'st that we two went to school together; Even for that our love of old, I prithee, Hold thou my sword-hilts, whilst I run on it. VOLUMNIUS. That's not an office for a friend, my lord. Alarum still. CLITUS. Fly, fly, my lord, there is no tarrying here. BRUTUS. Farewell to you, and you, and you, Volumnius. Strato, thou hast been all this while asleep; Farewell to thee too, Strato. Countrymen, My heart doth joy that yet in all my life I found no man but he was true to me. I shall have glory by this losing day, More than Octavius and Mark Antony By this vile conquest shall attain unto. So, fare you well at once, for Brutus' tongue Hath almost ended his life's history. Night hangs upon mine eyes, my bones would rest That have but labor'd to attain this hour. Alarum. Cry within, "Fly, fly, fly!" CLITUS. Fly, my lord, fly. BRUTUS. Hence! I will follow. Exeunt Clitus, Dardanius, and Volumnius. I prithee, Strato, stay thou by thy lord. Thou art a fellow of a good respect; Thy life hath had some smatch of honor in it. Hold then my sword, and turn away thy face, While I do run upon it. Wilt thou, Strato? STRATO. Give me your hand first. Fare you well, my lord. BRUTUS. Farewell, good Strato. Runs on his sword. Caesar, now be still; I kill'd not thee with half so good a will. Dies. Alarum. Retreat. Enter Octavius, Antony, Messala, Lucilius, and the Army. OCTAVIUS. What man is that? MESSALA. My master's man. Strato, where is thy master? STRATO. Free from the bondage you are in, Messala: The conquerors can but make a fire of him; For Brutus only overcame himself, And no man else hath honor by his death. LUCILIUS. So Brutus should be found. I thank thee, Brutus, That thou hast proved Lucilius' saying true. OCTAVIUS. All that served Brutus, I will entertain them. Fellow, wilt thou bestow thy time with me? STRATO. Ay, if Messala will prefer me to you. OCTAVIUS. Do so, good Messala. MESSALA. How died my master, Strato? STRATO. I held the sword, and he did run on it. MESSALA. Octavius, then take him to follow thee That did the latest service to my master. ANTONY. This was the noblest Roman of them all. All the conspirators, save only he, Did that they did in envy of great Caesar; He only, in a general honest thought And common good to all, made one of them. His life was gentle, and the elements So mix'd in him that Nature might stand up And say to all the world, "This was a man!" OCTAVIUS. According to his virtue let us use him With all respect and rites of burial. Within my tent his bones tonight shall lie, Most like a soldier, ordered honorably. So call the field to rest, and let's away, To part the glories of this happy day. Exeunt. THE END THE COMEDY OF ERRORS by William Shakespeare DRAMATIS PERSONAE SOLINUS, Duke of Ephesus AEGEON, a merchant of Syracuse ANTIPHOLUS OF EPHESUS twin brothers and sons to ANTIPHOLUS OF SYRACUSE Aegion and Aemelia DROMIO OF EPHESUS twin brothers, and attendants on DROMIO OF SYRACUSE the two Antipholuses BALTHAZAR, a merchant ANGELO, a goldsmith FIRST MERCHANT, friend to Antipholus of Syracuse SECOND MERCHANT, to whom Angelo is a debtor PINCH, a schoolmaster AEMILIA, wife to AEgeon; an abbess at Ephesus ADRIANA, wife to Antipholus of Ephesus LUCIANA, her sister LUCE, servant to Adriana A COURTEZAN Gaoler, Officers, Attendants SCENE: Ephesus THE COMEDY OF ERRORS ACT I. SCENE 1 A hall in the DUKE'S palace Enter the DUKE OF EPHESUS, AEGEON, the Merchant of Syracuse, GAOLER, OFFICERS, and other ATTENDANTS AEGEON. Proceed, Solinus, to procure my fall, And by the doom of death end woes and all. DUKE. Merchant of Syracuse, 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, if 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. AEGEON. Yet this my comfort: when your words are done, My woes end likewise with the evening sun. DUKE. Well, Syracusian, say in brief the cause Why thou departed'st from thy native home, And for what cause thou cam'st to Ephesus. AEGEON. A heavier task could not have been impos'd 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 Syracuse was I born, and wed Unto a woman, happy but for me, And by me, had not our hap been bad. With her I liv'd in joy; our wealth increas'd By prosperous voyages I often made 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 disdnguish'd but by names. That very hour, and in the self-same inn, A 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 grant 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 fast'ned him unto a small spare mast, Such as sea-faring 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, Fast'ned ourselves at either end the mast, And, floating straight, obedient to the stream, Was carried towards Corinth, as we thought. At length the sun, gazing upon the earth, Dispers'd those vapours that offended us; And, by the benefit of his wished light, 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. AEGEON. 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 encount'red 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 ship-wreck'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 have befall'n of them and thee till now. AEGEON. 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 laboured 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, Aegeon, 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 But to our honour's great disparagement, Yet will I favour thee in what I can. Therefore, merchant, I'll limit thee this day To seek thy help by beneficial hap. Try all the friends thou hast in Ephesus; Beg thou, or borrow, to make up the sum, And live; if no, then thou art doom'd to die. Gaoler, take him to thy custody. GAOLER. I will, my lord. AEGEON. Hopeless and helpless doth Aegeon wend, But to procrastinate his lifeless end.