บทที่ บทที่ 20 · THE MERRY WIVES OF WINDSOR
ents
ACT I
Scene I. Windsor. Before Page’s house
Scene II. The same
Scene III. A room in the Garter Inn
Scene IV. A room in Doctor Caius’s house
ACT II
Scene I. Before Page’s house
Scene II. A room in the Garter Inn
Scene III. A field near Windsor
ACT III
Scene I. A field near Frogmore
Scene II. A street in Windsor
Scene III. A room in Ford’s house
Scene IV. A room in Page’s house
Scene V. A room in the Garter Inn
ACT IV
Scene I. The street
Scene II. A room in Ford’s house
Scene III. A room in the Garter Inn
Scene IV. A room in Ford’s house
Scene V. A room in the Garter Inn
Scene VI. Another room in the Garter Inn
ACT V
Scene I. A room in the Garter Inn
Scene II. Windsor Park
Scene III. The street in Windsor
Scene IV. Windsor Park
Scene V. Another part of the Park
Dramatis Personæ
HOST of the Garter Inn
SIR JOHN FALSTAFF
ROBIN, page to Falstaff
BARDOLPH, follower of Falstaff
PISTOL, follower of Falstaff
NYM, follower of Falstaff
Robert SHALLOW, a country justice
Abraham SLENDER, cousin to Shallow
Peter SIMPLE, servant to Slender
FENTON, a young gentleman
George PAGE, a Gentleman dwelling at Windsor
MISTRESS PAGE, his wife
MISTRESS ANNE PAGE, her daughter, in love with Fenton
WILLIAM PAGE, a boy, son to Page
Frank FORD, a Gentleman dwelling at Windsor
MISTRESS FORD, his wife
JOHN, Servant to Ford
ROBERT, Servant to Ford
SIR HUGH EVANS, a Welsh parson
DOCTOR CAIUS, a French physician
MISTRESS QUICKLY, servant to Doctor Caius
John RUGBY, servant to Doctor Caius
SERVANTS to Page, &c.
SCENE: Windsor and the neighbourhood
ACT I
SCENE I. Windsor. Before Page’s house
Enter Justice Shallow, Slender and Sir Hugh Evans.
SHALLOW.
Sir Hugh, persuade me not. I will make a Star Chamber matter of it. If
he were twenty Sir John Falstaffs, he shall not abuse Robert Shallow,
esquire.
SLENDER.
In the county of Gloucester, Justice of Peace and Coram.
SHALLOW.
Ay, cousin Slender, and Custalorum.
SLENDER.
Ay, and Ratolorum too; and a gentleman born, Master Parson, who writes
himself “Armigero” in any bill, warrant, quittance, or
obligation—“Armigero.”
SHALLOW.
Ay, that I do, and have done any time these three hundred years.
SLENDER.
All his successors, gone before him hath done’t; and all his ancestors
that come after him may. They may give the dozen white luces in their
coat.
SHALLOW.
It is an old coat.
EVANS.
The dozen white louses do become an old coat well. It agrees well,
passant. It is a familiar beast to man, and signifies love.
SHALLOW.
The luce is the fresh fish. The salt fish is an old coat.
SLENDER.
I may quarter, coz.
SHALLOW.
You may, by marrying.
EVANS.
It is marring indeed, if he quarter it.
SHALLOW.
Not a whit.
EVANS.
Yes, py’r Lady. If he has a quarter of your coat, there is but three
skirts for yourself, in my simple conjectures. But that is all one. If
Sir John Falstaff have committed disparagements unto you, I am of the
Church, and will be glad to do my benevolence to make atonements and
compremises between you.
SHALLOW.
The Council shall hear it; it is a riot.
EVANS.
It is not meet the Council hear a riot. There is no fear of Got in a
riot. The Council, look you, shall desire to hear the fear of Got, and
not to hear a riot. Take your vizaments in that.
SHALLOW.
Ha! O’ my life, if I were young again, the sword should end it.
EVANS.
It is petter that friends is the sword, and end it; and there is also
another device in my prain, which peradventure prings goot discretions
with it. There is Anne Page, which is daughter to Master George Page,
which is pretty virginity.
SLENDER.
Mistress Anne Page? She has brown hair, and speaks small like a woman?
EVANS.
It is that fery person for all the ’orld, as just as you will desire,
and seven hundred pounds of moneys, and gold, and silver, is her
grandsire upon his death’s-bed—Got deliver to a joyful
resurrections!—give, when she is able to overtake seventeen years old.
It were a goot motion if we leave our pribbles and prabbles, and desire
a marriage between Master Abraham and Mistress Anne Page.
SHALLOW.
Did her grandsire leave her seven hundred pound?
EVANS.
Ay, and her father is make her a petter penny.
SHALLOW.
I know the young gentlewoman; she has good gifts.
EVANS.
Seven hundred pounds, and possibilities, is goot gifts.
SHALLOW.
Well, let us see honest Master Page. Is Falstaff there?
EVANS.
Shall I tell you a lie? I do despise a liar as I do despise one that is
false, or as I despise one that is not true. The knight Sir John is
there, and I beseech you be ruled by your well-willers. I will peat the
door for Master Page.
[_Knocks._]
What, ho! Got pless your house here!
PAGE.
[_Within_.] Who’s there?
EVANS.
Here is Got’s plessing, and your friend, and Justice Shallow, and here
young Master Slender, that peradventures shall tell you another tale,
if matters grow to your likings.
Enter Page.
PAGE.
I am glad to see your worships well. I thank you for my venison, Master
Shallow.
SHALLOW.
Master Page, I am glad to see you, much good do it your good heart! I
wished your venison better; it was ill killed. How doth good Mistress
Page? And I thank you always with my heart, la, with my heart.
PAGE.
Sir, I thank you.
SHALLOW.
Sir, I thank you; by yea and no, I do.
PAGE.
I am glad to see you, good Master Slender.
SLENDER.
How does your fallow greyhound, sir? I heard say he was outrun on
Cotsall.
PAGE.
It could not be judged, sir.
SLENDER.
You’ll not confess, you’ll not confess.
SHALLOW.
That he will not. ’Tis your fault; ’tis your fault. ’Tis a good dog.
PAGE.
A cur, sir.
SHALLOW.
Sir, he’s a good dog, and a fair dog, can there be more said? He is
good, and fair. Is Sir John Falstaff here?
PAGE.
Sir, he is within; and I would I could do a good office between you.
EVANS.
It is spoke as a Christians ought to speak.
SHALLOW.
He hath wronged me, Master Page.
PAGE.
Sir, he doth in some sort confess it.
SHALLOW.
If it be confessed, it is not redressed. Is not that so, Master Page?
He hath wronged me, indeed he hath, at a word, he hath. Believe me.
Robert Shallow, esquire, saith he is wronged.
PAGE.
Here comes Sir John.
Enter Sir John Falstaff, Bardolph, Nym and Pistol.
FALSTAFF.
Now, Master Shallow, you’ll complain of me to the King?
SHALLOW.
Knight, you have beaten my men, killed my deer, and broke open my
lodge.
FALSTAFF.
But not kissed your keeper’s daughter!
SHALLOW.
Tut, a pin! This shall be answered.
FALSTAFF.
I will answer it straight: I have done all this. That is now answered.
SHALLOW.
The Council shall know this.
FALSTAFF.
’Twere better for you if it were known in counsel: you’ll be laughed
at.
EVANS.
_Pauca verba_, Sir John; goot worts.
FALSTAFF.
Good worts? Good cabbage!—Slender, I broke your head. What matter have
you against me?
SLENDER.
Marry, sir, I have matter in my head against you, and against your
cony-catching rascals, Bardolph, Nym, and Pistol. They carried me to
the tavern and made me drunk, and afterwards picked my pocket.
BARDOLPH.
You Banbury cheese!
SLENDER.
Ay, it is no matter.
PISTOL.
How now, Mephostophilus?
SLENDER.
Ay, it is no matter.
NYM.
Slice, I say! _Pauca, pauca_, slice, that’s my humour.
SLENDER.
Where’s Simple, my man? Can you tell, cousin?
EVANS.
Peace, I pray you. Now let us understand; there is three umpires in
this matter, as I understand: that is, Master Page, _fidelicet_ Master
Page; and there is myself, _fidelicet_ myself; and the three party is,
lastly and finally, mine host of the Garter.
PAGE.
We three to hear it and end it between them.
EVANS.
Fery goot. I will make a prief of it in my notebook, and we will
afterwards ’ork upon the cause with as great discreetly as we can.
FALSTAFF.
Pistol!
PISTOL.
He hears with ears.
EVANS.
The tevil and his tam! What phrase is this, “He hears with ear”? Why,
it is affectations.
FALSTAFF.
Pistol, did you pick Master Slender’s purse?
SLENDER.
Ay, by these gloves, did he, or I would I might never come in mine own
great chamber again else! Of seven groats in mill-sixpences, and two
Edward shovel-boards that cost me two shilling and two pence a-piece of
Yed Miller, by these gloves.
FALSTAFF.
Is this true, Pistol?
EVANS.
No, it is false, if it is a pick-purse.
PISTOL.
Ha, thou mountain-foreigner!—Sir John and master mine,
I combat challenge of this latten bilbo.—
Word of denial in thy _labras_ here!
Word of denial! Froth and scum, thou liest.
SLENDER.
[_Points at Nym_.] By these gloves, then, ’twas he.
NYM.
Be avised, sir, and pass good humours. I will say “marry trap with
you”, if you run the nuthook’s humour on me. That is the very note of
it.
SLENDER.
By this hat, then, he in the red face had it. For though I cannot
remember what I did when you made me drunk, yet I am not altogether an
ass.
FALSTAFF.
What say you, Scarlet and John?
BARDOLPH.
Why, sir, for my part, I say the gentleman had drunk himself out of his
five sentences.
EVANS.
It is his “five senses”. Fie, what the ignorance is!
BARDOLPH.
And being fap, sir, was, as they say, cashiered; and so conclusions
passed the careers.
SLENDER.
Ay, you spake in Latin then too; but ’tis no matter. I’ll ne’er be
drunk whilst I live again, but in honest, civil, godly company, for
this trick. If I be drunk, I’ll be drunk with those that have the fear
of God, and not with drunken knaves.
EVANS.
So Got ’udge me, that is a virtuous mind.
FALSTAFF.
You hear all these matters denied, gentlemen; you hear it.
Enter Mistress Ford, Mistress Page and her daughter Anne Page with
wine.
PAGE
Nay, daughter, carry the wine in, we’ll drink within.
[_Exit Anne Page._]
SLENDER
O heaven, this is Mistress Anne Page.
PAGE.
How now, Mistress Ford?
FALSTAFF.
Mistress Ford, by my troth, you are very well met. By your leave, good
mistress.
[_Kisses her._]
PAGE.
Wife, bid these gentlemen welcome. Come, we have a hot venison pasty to
dinner. Come, gentlemen, I hope we shall drink down all unkindness.
[_Exeunt all but Slender._]
SLENDER.
I had rather than forty shillings I had my book of _Songs and Sonnets_
here.
Enter Simple.
How now, Simple, where have you been? I must wait on myself, must I?
You have not the _Book of Riddles_ about you, have you?
SIMPLE.
_Book of Riddles?_ Why, did you not lend it to Alice Shortcake upon
Allhallowmas last, a fortnight afore Michaelmas?
Enter Shallow and Sir Hugh Evans.
SHALLOW.
Come, coz; come, coz, we stay for you. A word with you, coz. Marry,
this, coz: there is, as ’twere, a tender, a kind of tender, made afar
off by Sir Hugh here. Do you understand me?
SLENDER.
Ay, sir, you shall find me reasonable. If it be so, I shall do that
that is reason.
SHALLOW.
Nay, but understand me.
SLENDER.
So I do, sir.
EVANS.
Give ear to his motions, Master Slender. I will description the matter
to you, if you be capacity of it.
SLENDER.
Nay, I will do as my cousin Shallow says. I pray you pardon me, he’s a
Justice of Peace in his country, simple though I stand here.
EVANS.
But that is not the question. The question is concerning your marriage.
SHALLOW.
Ay, there’s the point, sir.
EVANS.
Marry, is it; the very point of it—to Mistress Anne Page.
SLENDER.
Why, if it be so, I will marry her upon any reasonable demands.
EVANS.
But can you affection the ’oman? Let us command to know that of your
mouth, or of your lips; for divers philosophers hold that the lips is
parcel of the mouth. Therefore, precisely, can you carry your good will
to the maid?
SHALLOW.
Cousin Abraham Slender, can you love her?
SLENDER.
I hope, sir, I will do as it shall become one that would do reason.
EVANS.
Nay, Got’s lords and his ladies! You must speak possitable, if you can
carry her your desires towards her.
SHALLOW.
That you must. Will you, upon good dowry, marry her?
SLENDER.
I will do a greater thing than that, upon your request, cousin, in any
reason.
SHALLOW.
Nay, conceive me, conceive me, sweet coz. What I do is to pleasure you,
coz. Can you love the maid?
SLENDER.
I will marry her, sir, at your request. But if there be no great love
in the beginning, yet heaven may decrease it upon better acquaintance,
when we are married and have more occasion to know one another. I hope
upon familiarity will grow more contempt. But if you say “Marry her,” I
will marry her. That I am freely dissolved, and dissolutely.
EVANS.
It is a fery discretion answer, save the fall is in the ’ord
“dissolutely.” The ’ort is, according to our meaning, “resolutely.” His
meaning is good.
SHALLOW.
Ay, I think my cousin meant well.
SLENDER.
Ay, or else I would I might be hanged, la!
SHALLOW.
Here comes fair Mistress Anne.
Enter Anne Page.
SHALLOW.
Here comes fair Mistress Anne.—Would I were young for your sake,
Mistress Anne.
ANNE.
The dinner is on the table, my father desires your worships’ company.
SHALLOW.
I will wait on him, fair Mistress Anne.
EVANS.
’Od’s plessed will! I will not be absence at the grace.
[_Exeunt Shallow and Sir Hugh Evans._]
ANNE
Will’t please your worship to come in, sir?
SLENDER.
No, I thank you, forsooth, heartily; I am very well.
ANNE.
The dinner attends you, sir.
SLENDER.
I am not a-hungry, I thank you, forsooth. [_To Simple_.] Go, sirrah,
for all you are my man, go wait upon my cousin Shallow.
[_Exit Simple._]
A Justice of Peace sometime may be beholding to his friend for a man. I
keep but three men and a boy yet, till my mother be dead. But what
though? Yet I live like a poor gentleman born.
ANNE.
I may not go in without your worship. They will not sit till you come.
SLENDER.
I’ faith, I’ll eat nothing. I thank you as much as though I did.
ANNE.
I pray you, sir, walk in.
SLENDER.
I had rather walk here, I thank you. I bruised my shin th’ other day
with playing at sword and dagger with a master of fence—three veneys
for a dish of stewed prunes—and, by my troth, I cannot abide the smell
of hot meat since. Why do your dogs bark so? Be there bears i’ the
town?
ANNE.
I think there are, sir; I heard them talked of.
SLENDER.
I love the sport well, but I shall as soon quarrel at it as any man in
England. You are afraid, if you see the bear loose, are you not?
ANNE.
Ay, indeed, sir.
SLENDER.
That’s meat and drink to me now. I have seen Sackerson loose twenty
times, and have taken him by the chain. But, I warrant you, the women
have so cried and shrieked at it that it passed. But women, indeed,
cannot abide ’em; they are very ill-favoured rough things.
Enter Page.
PAGE
Come, gentle Master Slender, come. We stay for you.
SLENDER.
I’ll eat nothing, I thank you, sir.
PAGE.
By cock and pie, you shall not choose, sir! Come, come.
SLENDER.
Nay, pray you lead the way.
PAGE.
Come on, sir.
SLENDER.
Mistress Anne, yourself shall go first.
ANNE.
Not I, sir; pray you keep on.
SLENDER.
Truly, I will not go first; truly, la! I will not do you that wrong.
ANNE.
I pray you, sir.
SLENDER.
I’ll rather be unmannerly than troublesome. You do yourself wrong,
indeed, la!
[_Exeunt._]
SCENE II. The same
Enter Sir Hugh Evans and Simple.
EVANS.
Go your ways, and ask of Doctor Caius’ house which is the way. And
there dwells one Mistress Quickly, which is in the manner of his nurse,
or his dry nurse, or his cook, or his laundry, his washer and his
wringer.
SIMPLE.
Well, sir.
EVANS.
Nay, it is petter yet. Give her this letter. For it is a ’oman that
altogether’s acquaintance with Mistress Anne Page; and the letter is to
desire and require her to solicit your master’s desires to Mistress
Anne Page. I pray you be gone. I will make an end of my dinner; there’s
pippins and cheese to come.
[_Exeunt._]
SCENE III. A room in the Garter Inn
Enter Falstaff, Host, Bardolph, Nym, Pistol and Robin.
FALSTAFF.
Mine host of the Garter!
HOST.
What says my bully rook? Speak scholarly and wisely.
FALSTAFF.
Truly, mine host, I must turn away some of my followers.
HOST.
Discard, bully Hercules; cashier. Let them wag; trot, trot.
FALSTAFF.
I sit at ten pounds a week.
HOST.
Thou’rt an emperor—Caesar, Keiser, and Pheazar. I will entertain
Bardolph. He shall draw, he shall tap. Said I well, bully Hector?
FALSTAFF.
Do so, good mine host.
HOST.
I have spoke, let him follow.—Let me see thee froth and lime. I am at a
word, follow.
[_Exit Host._]
FALSTAFF.
Bardolph, follow him. A tapster is a good trade. An old cloak makes a
new jerkin; a withered servingman a fresh tapster. Go, adieu.
BARDOLPH.
It is a life that I have desired. I will thrive.
PISTOL.
O base Hungarian wight, wilt thou the spigot wield?
[_Exit Bardolph._]
NYM
He was gotten in drink. Is not the humour conceited?
FALSTAFF.
I am glad I am so acquit of this tinderbox. His thefts were too open.
His filching was like an unskilful singer, he kept not time.
NYM.
The good humour is to steal at a minute’s rest.
PISTOL.
“Convey,” the wise it call. “Steal?” Foh! A _fico_ for the phrase!
FALSTAFF.
Well, sirs, I am almost out at heels.
PISTOL.
Why, then, let kibes ensue.
FALSTAFF.
There is no remedy, I must cony-catch, I must shift.
PISTOL.
Young ravens must have food.
FALSTAFF.
Which of you know Ford of this town?
PISTOL.
I ken the wight, he is of substance good.
FALSTAFF.
My honest lads, I will tell you what I am about.
PISTOL.
Two yards, and more.
FALSTAFF.
No quips now, Pistol. Indeed, I am in the waist two yards about, but I
am now about no waste; I am about thrift. Briefly, I do mean to make
love to Ford’s wife. I spy entertainment in her. She discourses, she
carves, she gives the leer of invitation. I can construe the action of
her familiar style; and the hardest voice of her behaviour, to be
Englished rightly, is “I am Sir John Falstaff’s.”
PISTOL.
He hath studied her will and translated her will—out of honesty into
English.
NYM.
The anchor is deep. Will that humour pass?
FALSTAFF.
Now, the report goes she has all the rule of her husband’s purse. He
hath a legion of angels.
PISTOL.
As many devils entertain, and “To her, boy,” say I.
NYM.
The humour rises; it is good. Humour me the angels.
FALSTAFF.
I have writ me here a letter to her; and here another to Page’s wife,
who even now gave me good eyes too, examined my parts with most
judicious oeillades. Sometimes the beam of her view gilded my foot,
sometimes my portly belly.
PISTOL.
Then did the sun on dunghill shine.
NYM.
I thank thee for that humour.
FALSTAFF.
O, she did so course o’er my exteriors with such a greedy intention
that the appetite of her eye did seem to scorch me up like a
burning-glass. Here’s another letter to her. She bears the purse too;
she is a region in Guiana, all gold and bounty. I will be cheaters to
them both, and they shall be exchequers to me; they shall be my East
and West Indies, and I will trade to them both. Go, bear thou this
letter to Mistress Page;—and thou this to Mistress Ford. We will
thrive, lads, we will thrive.
PISTOL.
Shall I Sir Pandarus of Troy become,
And by my side wear steel? Then Lucifer take all!
NYM.
I will run no base humour. Here, take the humour-letter. I will keep
the ’haviour of reputation.
FALSTAFF.
[_To Robin_.] Hold, sirrah, bear you these letters tightly;
Sail like my pinnace to these golden shores.—
Rogues, hence, avaunt! Vanish like hailstones, go!
Trudge, plod away o’ th’ hoof, seek shelter, pack!
Falstaff will learn the humour of this age:
French thrift, you rogues—myself and skirted page.
[_Exeunt Falstaff and Robin._]
PISTOL
Let vultures gripe thy guts! For gourd and fullam holds,
And high and low beguile the rich and poor.
Tester I’ll have in pouch when thou shalt lack,
Base Phrygian Turk!
NYM.
I have operations in my head which be humours of revenge.
PISTOL.
Wilt thou revenge?
NYM.
By welkin and her star!
PISTOL.
With wit or steel?
NYM.
With both the humours, I.
I will discuss the humour of this love to Ford.
PISTOL.
And I to Page shall eke unfold
How Falstaff, varlet vile,
His dove will prove, his gold will hold,
And his soft couch defile.
NYM.
My humour shall not cool. I will incense Ford to deal with poison, I
will possess him with yellowness, for the revolt of mine is dangerous.
That is my true humour.
PISTOL.
Thou art the Mars of malcontents. I second thee. Troop on.
[_Exeunt._]
SCENE IV. A room in Doctor Caius’s house
Enter Mistress Quickly and Simple.
MISTRESS QUICKLY.
What, John Rugby!
Enter Rugby.
I pray thee go to the casement, and see if you can see my master,
Master Doctor Caius, coming. If he do, i’ faith, and find anybody in
the house, here will be an old abusing of God’s patience and the King’s
English.
RUGBY.
I’ll go watch.
MISTRESS QUICKLY.
Go; and we’ll have a posset for’t soon at night, in faith, at the
latter end of a sea-coal fire.
[_Exit Rugby._]
An honest, willing, kind fellow, as ever servant shall come in house
withal; and, I warrant you, no tell-tale nor no breed-bate. His worst
fault is that he is given to prayer; he is something peevish that way,
but nobody but has his fault. But let that pass. Peter Simple you say
your name is?
SIMPLE.
Ay, for fault of a better.
MISTRESS QUICKLY.
And Master Slender’s your master?
SIMPLE.
Ay, forsooth.
MISTRESS QUICKLY.
Does he not wear a great round beard, like a glover’s paring-knife?
SIMPLE.
No, forsooth, he hath but a little wee face, with a little yellow
beard, a Cain-coloured beard.
MISTRESS QUICKLY.
A softly-sprighted man, is he not?
SIMPLE.
Ay, forsooth. But he is as tall a man of his hands as any is between
this and his head. He hath fought with a warrener.
MISTRESS QUICKLY.
How say you? O, I should remember him. Does he not hold up his head, as
it were, and strut in his gait?
SIMPLE.
Yes, indeed, does he.
MISTRESS QUICKLY.
Well, heaven send Anne Page no worse fortune! Tell Master Parson Evans
I will do what I can for your master. Anne is a good girl, and I wish—
Enter Rugby.
RUGBY
Out, alas! Here comes my master.
MISTRESS QUICKLY.
We shall all be shent. Run in here, good young man, go into this
closet. He will not stay long.
[_Simple steps into the closet._]
What, John Rugby! John! What, John, I say! Go, John, go inquire for my
master. I doubt he be not well, that he comes not home.
[_Exit Rugby._]
[_Sings_.] _And down, down, adown-a, etc._
Enter Doctor Caius.
CAIUS
Vat is you sing? I do not like dese toys. Pray you, go and vetch me in
my closet _une boîtine verte_, a box, a green-a box. Do intend vat I
speak? A green-a box.
MISTRESS QUICKLY.
Ay, forsooth, I’ll fetch it you.
[_Aside_.] I am glad he went not in himself. If he had found the young
man, he would have been horn-mad.
CAIUS.
_Fe, fe, fe fe! Ma foi, il fait fort chaud. Je m’en vais à la cour—la
grande affaire._
MISTRESS QUICKLY.
Is it this, sir?
CAIUS.
_Oui, mette-le au mon_ pocket. _Dépêche_, quickly—Vere is dat knave
Rugby?
MISTRESS QUICKLY.
What, John Rugby, John!
Enter Rugby.
RUGBY
Here, sir.
CAIUS.
You are John Rugby, and you are Jack Rugby. Come, take-a your rapier,
and come after my heel to the court.
RUGBY.
’Tis ready, sir, here in the porch.
CAIUS.
By my trot, I tarry too long. ’Od’s me! _Qu’ay j’oublié?_ Dere is some
simples in my closet dat I vill not for the varld I shall leave behind.
MISTRESS QUICKLY.
Ay me, he’ll find the young man there, and be mad!
CAIUS.
_O diable, diable!_ Vat is in my closet? Villainy! _Larron!_ [_Pulling
Simple out_.] Rugby, my rapier!
MISTRESS QUICKLY.
Good master, be content.
CAIUS.
Wherefore shall I be content-a?
MISTRESS QUICKLY.
The young man is an honest man.
CAIUS.
What shall de honest man do in my closet? Dere is no honest man dat
shall come in my closet.
MISTRESS QUICKLY.
I beseech you, be not so phlegmatic. Hear the truth of it. He came of
an errand to me from Parson Hugh.
CAIUS.
Vell?
SIMPLE.
Ay, forsooth, to desire her to—
MISTRESS QUICKLY.
Peace, I pray you.
CAIUS.
Peace-a your tongue!—Speak-a your tale.
SIMPLE.
To desire this honest gentlewoman, your maid, to speak a good word to
Mistress Anne Page for my master in the way of marriage.
MISTRESS QUICKLY.
This is all, indeed, la! But I’ll ne’er put my finger in the fire, and
need not.
CAIUS.
Sir Hugh send-a you?—Rugby, _baille_ me some paper.—Tarry you a
little-a while.
[_Writes._]
MISTRESS QUICKLY.
[_Aside to Simple_.] I am glad he is so quiet. If he had been throughly
moved, you should have heard him so loud and so melancholy. But
notwithstanding, man, I’ll do you your master what good I can; and the
very yea and the no is, the French doctor, my master—I may call him my
master, look you, for I keep his house, and I wash, wring, brew, bake,
scour, dress meat and drink, make the beds, and do all myself—
SIMPLE.
[_Aside to Mistress Quickly_.] ’Tis a great charge to come under one
body’s hand.
MISTRESS QUICKLY.
[_Aside to Simple_.] Are you avised o’ that? You shall find it a great
charge, and to be up early and down late; but notwithstanding—to tell
you in your ear, I would have no words of it—my master himself is in
love with Mistress Anne Page; but notwithstanding that, I know Anne’s
mind. That’s neither here nor there.
CAIUS.
You jack’nape, give-a dis letter to Sir Hugh. By gar, it is a
shallenge. I will cut his troat in de park, and I will teach a scurvy
jackanape priest to meddle or make. You may be gone, it is not good you
tarry here.—By gar, I will cut all his two stones. By gar, he shall not
have a stone to throw at his dog.
[_Exit Simple._]
MISTRESS QUICKLY.
Alas, he speaks but for his friend.
CAIUS.
It is no matter-a ver dat. Do not you tell-a me dat I shall have Anne
Page for myself? By gar, I vill kill de Jack priest; and I have
appointed mine host of de Jarteer to measure our weapon. By gar, I will
myself have Anne Page.
MISTRESS QUICKLY.
Sir, the maid loves you, and all shall be well. We must give folks
leave to prate. What, the good-year!
CAIUS.
Rugby, come to the court with me. [_To Mistress Quickly_.] By gar, if I
have not Anne Page, I shall turn your head out of my door.—Follow my
heels, Rugby.
[_Exeunt Caius and Rugby._]
MISTRESS QUICKLY.
You shall have An—fool’s head of your own. No, I know Anne’s mind for
that. Never a woman in Windsor knows more of Anne’s mind than I do, nor
can do more than I do with her, I thank heaven.
FENTON.
[_Within_.] Who’s within there, ho?
MISTRESS QUICKLY.
Who’s there, I trow? Come near the house, I pray you.
Enter Fenton.
FENTON
How now, good woman? How dost thou?
MISTRESS QUICKLY.
The better, that it pleases your good worship to ask.
FENTON.
What news? How does pretty Mistress Anne?
MISTRESS QUICKLY.
In truth, sir, and she is pretty, and honest, and gentle; and one that
is your friend, I can tell you that by the way, I praise heaven for it.
FENTON.
Shall I do any good, think’st thou? Shall I not lose my suit?
MISTRESS QUICKLY.
Troth, sir, all is in His hands above. But notwithstanding, Master
Fenton, I’ll be sworn on a book she loves you. Have not your worship a
wart above your eye?
FENTON.
Yes, marry, have I; what of that?
MISTRESS QUICKLY.
Well, thereby hangs a tale. Good faith, it is such another Nan! But, I
detest, an honest maid as ever broke bread. We had an hour’s talk of
that wart. I shall never laugh but in that maid’s company. But, indeed,
she is given too much to allicholy and musing. But for you—well, go to.
FENTON.
Well, I shall see her today. Hold, there’s money for thee. Let me have
thy voice in my behalf. If thou seest her before me, commend me.
MISTRESS QUICKLY.
Will I? I’ faith, that we will! And I will tell your worship more of
the wart the next time we have confidence, and of other wooers.
FENTON.
Well, farewell, I am in great haste now.
MISTRESS QUICKLY.
Farewell to your worship.
[_Exit Fenton._]
Truly, an honest gentleman—but Anne loves him not, for I know Anne’s
mind as well as another does. Out upon ’t, what have I forgot?
[_Exit._]
ACT II
SCENE I. Before Page’s house
Enter Mistress Page reading a letter.
MISTRESS PAGE.
What, have I scaped love-letters in the holiday-time of my beauty, and
am I now a subject for them? Let me see.
[_Reads_.] _Ask me no reason why I love you, for though Love use Reason
for his precisian, he admits him not for his counsellor. You are not
young, no more am I. Go to, then, there’s sympathy. You are merry, so
am I. Ha, ha, then there’s more sympathy. You love sack, and so do I.
Would you desire better sympathy? Let it suffice thee, Mistress Page,
at the least, if the love of soldier can suffice, that I love thee. I
will not say, pity me—’tis not a soldier-like phrase—but I say love me.
By me,
Thine own true knight,
By day or night,
Or any kind of light,
With all his might,
For thee to fight,
John Falstaff._
What a Herod of Jewry is this! O wicked, wicked world! One that is
well-nigh worn to pieces with age, to show himself a young gallant!
What an unweighed behaviour hath this Flemish drunkard picked—with the
devil’s name!—out of my conversation, that he dares in this manner
assay me? Why, he hath not been thrice in my company! What should I say
to him? I was then frugal of my mirth. Heaven forgive me! Why, I’ll
exhibit a bill in the parliament for the putting down of men. How shall
I be revenged on him? For revenged I will be, as sure as his guts are
made of puddings.
Enter Mistress Ford.
MISTRESS FORD.
Mistress Page! Trust me, I was going to your house.
MISTRESS PAGE.
And, trust me, I was coming to you. You look very ill.
MISTRESS FORD.
Nay, I’ll ne’er believe that. I have to show to the contrary.
MISTRESS PAGE.
Faith, but you do, in my mind.
MISTRESS FORD.
Well, I do, then. Yet I say I could show you to the contrary. O,
Mistress Page, give me some counsel.
MISTRESS PAGE.
What’s the matter, woman?
MISTRESS FORD.
O woman, if it were not for one trifling respect, I could come to such
honour!
MISTRESS PAGE.
Hang the trifle, woman; take the honour. What is it? Dispense with
trifles. What is it?
MISTRESS FORD.
If I would but go to hell for an eternal moment or so, I could be
knighted.
MISTRESS PAGE.
What? Thou liest! Sir Alice Ford! These knights will hack, and so thou
shouldst not alter the article of thy gentry.
MISTRESS FORD.
We burn daylight. Here, read, read. Perceive how I might be knighted. I
shall think the worse of fat men as long as I have an eye to make
difference of men’s liking. And yet he would not swear; praised women’s
modesty; and gave such orderly and well-behaved reproof to all
uncomeliness that I would have sworn his disposition would have gone to
the truth of his words. But they do no more adhere and keep place
together than the Hundredth Psalm to the tune of “Greensleeves.” What
tempest, I trow, threw this whale, with so many tuns of oil in his
belly, ashore at Windsor? How shall I be revenged on him? I think the
best way were to entertain him with hope, till the wicked fire of lust
have melted him in his own grease. Did you ever hear the like?
MISTRESS PAGE.
Letter for letter, but that the name of Page and Ford differs! To thy
great comfort in this mystery of ill opinions, here’s the twin brother
of thy letter. But let thine inherit first, for I protest mine never
shall. I warrant he hath a thousand of these letters, writ with blank
space for different names—sure, more, and these are of the second
edition. He will print them, out of doubt; for he cares not what he
puts into the press, when he would put us two. I had rather be a
giantess and lie under Mount Pelion. Well, I will find you twenty
lascivious turtles ere one chaste man.
MISTRESS FORD.
Why, this is the very same—the very hand, the very words. What doth he
think of us?
MISTRESS PAGE.
Nay, I know not. It makes me almost ready to wrangle with mine own
honesty. I’ll entertain myself like one that I am not acquainted
withal; for, sure, unless he know some strain in me that I know not
myself, he would never have boarded me in this fury.
MISTRESS FORD.
“Boarding” call you it? I’ll be sure to keep him above deck.
MISTRESS PAGE.
So will I. If he come under my hatches, I’ll never to sea again. Let’s
be revenged on him. Let’s appoint him a meeting, give him a show of
comfort in his suit, and lead him on with a fine-baited delay, till he
hath pawned his horses to mine host of the Garter.
MISTRESS FORD.
Nay, I will consent to act any villainy against him that may not sully
the chariness of our honesty. O, that my husband saw this letter! It
would give eternal food to his jealousy.
MISTRESS PAGE.
Why, look where he comes; and my good man too. He’s as far from
jealousy as I am from giving him cause, and that, I hope, is an
unmeasurable distance.
MISTRESS FORD.
You are the happier woman.
MISTRESS PAGE.
Let’s consult together against this greasy knight. Come hither.
[_They retire._]
Enter Ford with Pistol, and Page with Nym.
FORD
Well, I hope it be not so.
PISTOL.
Hope is a curtal dog in some affairs.
Sir John affects thy wife.
FORD.
Why, sir, my wife is not young.
PISTOL.
He woos both high and low, both rich and poor,
Both young and old, one with another, Ford.
He loves the gallimaufry. Ford, perpend.
FORD.
Love my wife?
PISTOL.
With liver burning hot.
Prevent, or go thou like Sir Actaeon he,
With Ringwood at thy heels.
O, odious is the name!
FORD.
What name, sir?
PISTOL.
The horn, I say. Farewell.
Take heed, have open eye, for thieves do foot by night.
Take heed, ere summer comes, or cuckoo birds do sing.—
Away, Sir Corporal Nym.—Believe it, Page, he speaks sense.
[_Exit Pistol._]
FORD
[_Aside_.] I will be patient. I will find out this.
NYM.
[_To Page_.] And this is true, I like not the humour of lying. He hath
wronged me in some humours. I should have borne the humoured letter to
her; but I have a sword, and it shall bite upon my necessity. He loves
your wife; there’s the short and the long. My name is Corporal Nym. I
speak, and I avouch ’tis true. My name is Nym, and Falstaff loves your
wife. Adieu. I love not the humour of bread and cheese. Adieu.
[_Exit Nym._]
PAGE
[_Aside_.] “The humour of it,” quoth ’a! Here’s a fellow frights
English out of his wits.
FORD.
[_Aside_.] I will seek out Falstaff.
PAGE.
[_Aside_.] I never heard such a drawling, affecting rogue.
FORD.
[_Aside_.] If I do find it—well.
PAGE.
[_Aside_.] I will not believe such a Cataian, though the priest o’ the
town commended him for a true man.
FORD.
[_Aside_.] ’Twas a good sensible fellow—well.
Mistress Page and Mistress Ford come forward.
PAGE.
How now, Meg?
MISTRESS PAGE.
Whither go you, George? Hark you.
MISTRESS FORD.
How now, sweet Frank, why art thou melancholy?
FORD.
I melancholy? I am not melancholy. Get you home, go.
MISTRESS FORD.
Faith, thou hast some crotchets in thy head now.—Will you go, Mistress
Page?
MISTRESS PAGE.
Have with you. You’ll come to dinner, George?
[_Aside to Mistress Ford_.] Look who comes yonder. She shall be our
messenger to this paltry knight.
MISTRESS FORD.
[_Aside to Mistress Page_.] Trust me, I thought on her. She’ll fit it.
Enter Mistress Quickly.
MISTRESS PAGE.
You are come to see my daughter Anne?
MISTRESS QUICKLY.
Ay, forsooth. And, I pray, how does good Mistress Anne?
MISTRESS PAGE.
Go in with us and see. We’d have an hour’s talk with you.
[_Exeunt Mistress Page, Mistress Ford and Mistress Quickly._]
PAGE
How now, Master Ford?
FORD.
You heard what this knave told me, did you not?
PAGE.
Yes, and you heard what the other told me?
FORD.
Do you think there is truth in them?
PAGE.
Hang ’em, slaves! I do not think the knight would offer it, but these
that accuse him in his intent towards our wives are a yoke of his
discarded men, very rogues, now they be out of service.
FORD.
Were they his men?
PAGE.
Marry, were they.
FORD.
I like it never the better for that. Does he lie at the Garter?
PAGE.
Ay, marry, does he. If he should intend this voyage toward my wife, I
would turn her loose to him; and what he gets more of her than sharp
words, let it lie on my head.
FORD.
I do not misdoubt my wife, but I would be loath to turn them together.
A man may be too confident. I would have nothing lie on my head. I
cannot be thus satisfied.
Enter Host.
PAGE.
Look where my ranting host of the Garter comes. There is either liquor
in his pate or money in his purse when he looks so merrily.—How now,
mine host?
HOST.
How now, bully rook? Thou’rt a gentleman.—Cavaliero Justice, I say!
Enter Shallow.
SHALLOW.
I follow, mine host, I follow.—Good even and twenty, good Master Page.
Master Page, will you go with us? We have sport in hand.
HOST.
Tell him, Cavaliero Justice; tell him, bully rook.
SHALLOW.
Sir, there is a fray to be fought between Sir Hugh the Welsh priest and
Caius the French doctor.
FORD.
Good mine host o’ the Garter, a word with you.
HOST.
What say’st thou, my bully rook?
[_Ford and the Host talk apart._]
SHALLOW
[_To Page_.] Will you go with us to behold it? My merry host hath had
the measuring of their weapons, and, I think, hath appointed them
contrary places; for, believe me, I hear the parson is no jester. Hark,
I will tell you what our sport shall be.
[_Shallow and Page talk apart. Ford and the Host come forward._]
HOST
Hast thou no suit against my knight, my guest cavaliero?
FORD.
None, I protest. But I’ll give you a pottle of burnt sack to give me
recourse to him, and tell him my name is Brook, only for a jest.
HOST.
My hand, bully. Thou shalt have egress and regress—said I well?—and thy
name shall be Brook. It is a merry knight. Will you go, myn-heers?
SHALLOW.
Have with you, mine host.
PAGE.
I have heard the Frenchman hath good skill in his rapier.
SHALLOW.
Tut, sir, I could have told you more. In these times you stand on
distance—your passes, stoccadoes, and I know not what. ’Tis the heart,
Master Page; ’tis here, ’tis here. I have seen the time, with my long
sword I would have made you four tall fellows skip like rats.
HOST.
Here, boys, here, here! Shall we wag?
PAGE.
Have with you. I had rather hear them scold than fight.
[_Exeunt Host, Shallow and Page._]
FORD
Though Page be a secure fool, and stands so firmly on his wife’s
frailty, yet I cannot put off my opinion so easily. She was in his
company at Page’s house, and what they made there I know not. Well, I
will look further into ’t, and I have a disguise to sound Falstaff. If
I find her honest, I lose not my labour. If she be otherwise, ’tis
labour well bestowed.
[_Exit._]
SCENE II. A room in the Garter Inn
Enter Falstaff and Pistol.
FALSTAFF.
I will not lend thee a penny.
PISTOL.
Why then, the world’s mine oyster,
Which I with sword will open.
FALSTAFF.
Not a penny. I have been content, sir, you should lay my countenance to
pawn; I have grated upon my good friends for three reprieves for you
and your coach-fellow Nym, or else you had looked through the grate
like a gemini of baboons. I am damned in hell for swearing to gentlemen
my friends you were good soldiers and tall fellows. And when Mistress
Bridget lost the handle of her fan, I took ’t upon mine honour thou
hadst it not.
PISTOL.
Didst not thou share? Hadst thou not fifteen pence?
FALSTAFF.
Reason, you rogue, reason. Think’st thou I’ll endanger my soul gratis?
At a word, hang no more about me, I am no gibbet for you. Go—a short
knife and a throng—to your manor of Pickt-hatch, go. You’ll not bear a
letter for me, you rogue? You stand upon your honour! Why, thou
unconfinable baseness, it is as much as I can do to keep the terms of
my honour precise. Ay, ay, I myself sometimes, leaving the fear of God
on the left hand, and hiding mine honour in my necessity, am fain to
shuffle, to hedge, and to lurch; and yet you, rogue, will ensconce your
rags, your cat-a-mountain looks, your red-lattice phrases, and your
bold beating oaths, under the shelter of your honour! You will not do
it! You!
PISTOL.
I do relent. What wouldst thou more of man?
Enter Robin.
ROBIN
Sir, here’s a woman would speak with you.
FALSTAFF.
Let her approach.
Enter Mistress Quickly.
MISTRESS QUICKLY.
Give your worship good morrow.
FALSTAFF.
Good morrow, goodwife.
MISTRESS QUICKLY.
Not so, an’t please your worship.
FALSTAFF.
Good maid, then.
MISTRESS QUICKLY.
I’ll be sworn, as my mother was, the first hour I was born.
FALSTAFF.
I do believe the swearer. What with me?
MISTRESS QUICKLY.
Shall I vouchsafe your worship a word or two?
FALSTAFF.
Two thousand, fair woman; and I’ll vouchsafe thee the hearing.
MISTRESS QUICKLY.
There is one Mistress Ford, sir—I pray, come a little nearer this ways.
I myself dwell with Master Doctor Caius.
FALSTAFF.
Well, on; Mistress Ford, you say—
MISTRESS QUICKLY.
Your worship says very true. I pray your worship come a little nearer
this ways.
FALSTAFF.
I warrant thee, nobody hears. Mine own people, mine own people.
MISTRESS QUICKLY.
Are they so? God bless them, and make them His servants!
FALSTAFF.
Well, Mistress Ford, what of her?
MISTRESS QUICKLY.
Why, sir, she’s a good creature. Lord, Lord, your worship’s a wanton!
Well, heaven forgive you, and all of us, I pray!
FALSTAFF.
Mistress Ford, come, Mistress Ford.
MISTRESS QUICKLY.
Marry, this is the short and the long of it: you have brought her into
such a canaries as ’tis wonderful. The best courtier of them all, when
the court lay at Windsor, could never have brought her to such a
canary. Yet there has been knights, and lords, and gentlemen, with
their coaches, I warrant you, coach after coach, letter after letter,
gift after gift, smelling so sweetly, all musk, and so rushling, I
warrant you, in silk and gold, and in such alligant terms, and in such
wine and sugar of the best and the fairest, that would have won any
woman’s heart; and I warrant you, they could never get an eye-wink of
her. I had myself twenty angels given me this morning, but I defy all
angels in any such sort, as they say, but in the way of honesty. And, I
warrant you, they could never get her so much as sip on a cup with the
proudest of them all. And yet there has been earls—nay, which is more,
pensioners—but, I warrant you, all is one with her.
FALSTAFF.
But what says she to me? Be brief, my good she-Mercury.
MISTRESS QUICKLY.
Marry, she hath received your letter, for the which she thanks you a
thousand times; and she gives you to notify that her husband will be
absence from his house between ten and eleven.
FALSTAFF.
Ten and eleven?
MISTRESS QUICKLY.
Ay, forsooth; and then you may come and see the picture, she says, that
you wot of. Master Ford, her husband, will be from home. Alas, the
sweet woman leads an ill life with him. He’s a very jealousy man; she
leads a very frampold life with him, good heart.
FALSTAFF.
Ten and eleven. Woman, commend me to her; I will not fail her.
MISTRESS QUICKLY.
Why, you say well. But I have another messenger to your worship.
Mistress Page hath her hearty commendations to you too; and let me tell
you in your ear, she’s as fartuous a civil modest wife, and one, I tell
you, that will not miss you morning nor evening prayer, as any is in
Windsor, whoe’er be the other; and she bade me tell your worship that
her husband is seldom from home, but she hopes there will come a time.
I never knew a woman so dote upon a man. Surely I think you have
charms, la! Yes, in truth.
FALSTAFF.
Not I, I assure thee. Setting the attraction of my good parts aside, I
have no other charms.
MISTRESS QUICKLY.
Blessing on your heart for ’t!
FALSTAFF.
But, I pray thee, tell me this: has Ford’s wife and Page’s wife
acquainted each other how they love me?
MISTRESS QUICKLY.
That were a jest indeed! They have not so little grace, I hope. That
were a trick indeed! But Mistress Page would desire you to send her
your little page, of all loves. Her husband has a marvellous infection
to the little page; and, truly, Master Page is an honest man. Never a
wife in Windsor leads a better life than she does. Do what she will,
say what she will, take all, pay all, go to bed when she list, rise
when she list, all is as she will, and truly she deserves it, for if
there be a kind woman in Windsor, she is one. You must send her your
page, no remedy.
FALSTAFF.
Why, I will.
MISTRESS QUICKLY.
Nay, but do so then, and, look you, he may come and go between you
both; and in any case have a nay-word, that you may know one another’s
mind, and the boy never need to understand anything; for ’tis not good
that children should know any wickedness. Old folks, you know, have
discretion, as they say, and know the world.
FALSTAFF.
Fare thee well, commend me to them both. There’s my purse; I am yet thy
debtor. Boy, go along with this woman.—This news distracts me.
[_Exeunt Mistress Quickly and Robin._]
PISTOL.
This punk is one of Cupid’s carriers;
Clap on more sails, pursue; up with your fights;
Give fire! She is my prize, or ocean whelm them all!
[_Exit Pistol._]
FALSTAFF.
Sayst thou so, old Jack? Go thy ways, I’ll make more of thy old body
than I have done. Will they yet look after thee? Wilt thou, after the
expense of so much money, be now a gainer? Good body, I thank thee. Let
them say ’tis grossly done; so it be fairly done, no matter.
Enter Bardolph with a cup of sack.
BARDOLPH
Sir John, there’s one Master Brook below would fain speak with you and
be acquainted with you, and hath sent your worship a morning’s draught
of sack.
FALSTAFF.
Brook is his name?
BARDOLPH.
Ay, sir.
FALSTAFF.
Call him in.
[_Exit Bardolph._]
Such Brooks are welcome to me, that o’erflow such liquor. Ah, ha,
Mistress Ford and Mistress Page, have I encompassed you? Go to, _via!_
Enter Bardolph with Ford disguised as Brook.
FORD
God bless you, sir.
FALSTAFF.
And you, sir. Would you speak with me?
FORD.
I make bold to press with so little preparation upon you.
FALSTAFF.
You’re welcome. What’s your will?—Give us leave, drawer.
[_Exit Bardolph._]
FORD
Sir, I am a gentleman that have spent much. My name is Brook.
FALSTAFF.
Good Master Brook, I desire more acquaintance of you.
FORD.
Good Sir John, I sue for yours; not to charge you, for I must let you
understand I think myself in better plight for a lender than you are,
the which hath something emboldened me to this unseasoned intrusion;
for they say, if money go before, all ways do lie open.
FALSTAFF.
Money is a good soldier, sir, and will on.
FORD.
Troth, and I have a bag of money here troubles me. If you will help to
bear it, Sir John, take all, or half, for easing me of the carriage.
FALSTAFF.
Sir, I know not how I may deserve to be your porter.
FORD.
I will tell you, sir, if you will give me the hearing.
FALSTAFF.
Speak, good Master Brook. I shall be glad to be your servant.
FORD.
Sir, I hear you are a scholar—I will be brief with you—and you have
been a man long known to me, though I had never so good means as desire
to make myself acquainted with you. I shall discover a thing to you,
wherein I must very much lay open mine own imperfection. But, good Sir
John, as you have one eye upon my follies, as you hear them unfolded,
turn another into the register of your own, that I may pass with a
reproof the easier, sith you yourself know how easy it is to be such an
offender.
FALSTAFF.
Very well, sir, proceed.
FORD.
There is a gentlewoman in this town, her husband’s name is Ford.
FALSTAFF.
Well, sir.
FORD.
I have long loved her, and, I protest to you, bestowed much on her,
followed her with a doting observance, engrossed opportunities to meet
her, fee’d every slight occasion that could but niggardly give me sight
of her, not only bought many presents to give her, but have given
largely to many to know what she would have given. Briefly, I have
pursued her as love hath pursued me, which hath been on the wing of all
occasions. But whatsoever I have merited, either in my mind or in my
means, meed, I am sure, I have received none, unless experience be a
jewel. That I have purchased at an infinite rate, and that hath taught
me to say this:
Love like a shadow flies when substance love pursues,
Pursuing that that flies, and flying what pursues.
FALSTAFF.
Have you received no promise of satisfaction at her hands?
FORD.
Never.
FALSTAFF.
Have you importuned her to such a purpose?
FORD.
Never.
FALSTAFF.
Of what quality was your love, then?
FORD.
Like a fair house built on another man’s ground, so that I have lost my
edifice by mistaking the place where I erected it.
FALSTAFF.
To what purpose have you unfolded this to me?
FORD.
When I have told you that, I have told you all. Some say that though
she appear honest to me, yet in other places she enlargeth her mirth so
far that there is shrewd construction made of her. Now, Sir John, here
is the heart of my purpose: you are a gentleman of excellent breeding,
admirable discourse, of great admittance, authentic in your place and
person, generally allowed for your many warlike, courtlike, and learned
preparations.
FALSTAFF.
O, sir!
FORD.
Believe it, for you know it. There is money. Spend it, spend it; spend
more; spend all I have; only give me so much of your time in exchange
of it as to lay an amiable siege to the honesty of this Ford’s wife.
Use your art of wooing, win her to consent to you. If any man may, you
may as soon as any.
FALSTAFF.
Would it apply well to the vehemency of your affection that I should
win what you would enjoy? Methinks you prescribe to yourself very
preposterously.
FORD.
O, understand my drift. She dwells so securely on the excellency of her
honour that the folly of my soul dares not present itself; she is too
bright to be looked against. Now, could I come to her with any
detection in my hand, my desires had instance and argument to commend
themselves. I could drive her then from the ward of her purity, her
reputation, her marriage vow, and a thousand other her defences, which
now are too too strongly embattled against me. What say you to’t, Sir
John?
FALSTAFF.
Master Brook, I will first make bold with your money; next, give me
your hand; and last, as I am a gentleman, you shall, if you will, enjoy
Ford’s wife.
FORD.
O good sir!
FALSTAFF.
I say you shall.
FORD.
Want no money, Sir John; you shall want none.
FALSTAFF.
Want no Mistress Ford, Master Brook; you shall want none. I shall be
with her, I may tell you, by her own appointment; even as you came in
to me, her assistant or go-between parted from me. I say I shall be
with her between ten and eleven, for at that time the jealous rascally
knave her husband will be forth. Come you to me at night. You shall
know how I speed.
FORD.
I am blessed in your acquaintance. Do you know Ford, sir?
FALSTAFF.
Hang him, poor cuckoldly knave! I know him not. Yet I wrong him to call
him poor. They say the jealous wittolly knave hath masses of money, for
the which his wife seems to me well-favoured. I will use her as the key
of the cuckoldly rogue’s coffer, and there’s my harvest-home.
FORD.
I would you knew Ford, sir, that you might avoid him if you saw him.
FALSTAFF.
Hang him, mechanical salt-butter rogue! I will stare him out of his
wits, I will awe him with my cudgel; it shall hang like a meteor o’er
the cuckold’s horns. Master Brook, thou shalt know I will predominate
over the peasant, and thou shalt lie with his wife. Come to me soon at
night. Ford’s a knave, and I will aggravate his style. Thou, Master
Brook, shalt know him for knave and cuckold. Come to me soon at night.
[_Exit Falstaff._]
FORD.
What a damned epicurean rascal is this! My heart is ready to crack with
impatience. Who says this is improvident jealousy? My wife hath sent to
him, the hour is fixed, the match is made. Would any man have thought
this? See the hell of having a false woman: my bed shall be abused, my
coffers ransacked, my reputation gnawn at; and I shall not only receive
this villanous wrong, but stand under the adoption of abominable terms,
and by him that does me this wrong. Terms, names! Amaimon sounds well;
Lucifer, well; Barbason, well; yet they are devils’ additions, the
names of fiends. But cuckold? Wittol? Cuckold? The devil himself hath
not such a name. Page is an ass, a secure ass; he will trust his wife,
he will not be jealous. I will rather trust a Fleming with my butter,
Parson Hugh the Welshman with my cheese, an Irishman with my aqua-vitae
bottle, or a thief to walk my ambling gelding, than my wife with
herself. Then she plots, then she ruminates, then she devises; and what
they think in their hearts they may effect, they will break their
hearts but they will effect. God be praised for my jealousy! Eleven
o’clock the hour. I will prevent this, detect my wife, be revenged on
Falstaff, and laugh at Page. I will about it. Better three hours too
soon than a minute too late. Fie, fie, fie! Cuckold, cuckold, cuckold!
[_Exit._]
SCENE III. A field near Windsor
Enter Doctor Caius and Rugby.
CAIUS.
Jack Rugby!
RUGBY.
Sir?
CAIUS.
Vat is de clock, Jack?
RUGBY.
’Tis past the hour, sir, that Sir Hugh promised to meet.
CAIUS.
By gar, he has save his soul, dat he is no come. He has pray his Pible
well dat he is no come. By gar, Jack Rugby, he is dead already, if he
be come.
RUGBY.
He is wise, sir; he knew your worship would kill him if he came.
CAIUS.
By gar, de herring is no dead so as I vill kill him. Take your rapier,
Jack; I vill tell you how I vill kill him.
RUGBY.
Alas, sir, I cannot fence.
CAIUS.
Villainy, take your rapier.
RUGBY.
Forbear; here’s company.
Enter Page, Shallow, Slender and Host.
HOST
God bless thee, bully doctor!
SHALLOW.
God save you, Master Doctor Caius!
PAGE.
Now, good Master Doctor!
SLENDER.
Give you good morrow, sir.
CAIUS.
Vat be all you, one, two, tree, four, come for?
HOST.
To see thee fight, to see thee foin, to see thee traverse; to see thee
here, to see thee there; to see thee pass thy punto, thy stock, thy
reverse, thy distance, thy montant. Is he dead, my Ethiopian? Is he
dead, my Francisco? Ha, bully? What says my Aesculapius, my Galen, my
heart of elder, ha? Is he dead, bully stale? Is he dead?
CAIUS.
By gar, he is de coward Jack-priest of de vorld. He is not show his
face.
HOST.
Thou art a Castalion King Urinal Hector of Greece, my boy!
CAIUS.
I pray you, bear witness that me have stay six or seven, two, tree
hours for him, and he is no come.
SHALLOW.
He is the wiser man, Master doctor. He is a curer of souls, and you a
curer of bodies. If you should fight, you go against the hair of your
professions. Is it not true, Master Page?
PAGE.
Master Shallow, you have yourself been a great fighter, though now a
man of peace.
SHALLOW.
Bodykins, Master Page, though I now be old, and of the peace, if I see
a sword out, my finger itches to make one. Though we are justices and
doctors and churchmen, Master Page, we have some salt of our youth in
us. We are the sons of women, Master Page.
PAGE.
’Tis true, Master Shallow.
SHALLOW.
It will be found so, Master Page.—Master Doctor Caius, I come to fetch
you home. I am sworn of the peace. You have showed yourself a wise
physician, and Sir Hugh hath shown himself a wise and patient
churchman. You must go with me, Master Doctor.
HOST.
Pardon, guest justice.—A word, Monsieur Mockwater.
CAIUS.
Mockvater? Vat is dat?
HOST.
Mockwater, in our English tongue, is valour, bully.
CAIUS.
By gar, then I have as much mockvater as de Englishman. Scurvy jack-dog
priest! By gar, me vill cut his ears.
HOST.
He will clapper-claw thee tightly, bully.
CAIUS.
Clapper-de-claw? Vat is dat?
HOST.
That is, he will make thee amends.
CAIUS.
By gar, me do look he shall clapper-de-claw me, for, by gar, me vill
have it.
HOST.
And I will provoke him to’t, or let him wag.
CAIUS.
Me tank you for dat.
HOST.
And, moreover, bully—but first, Master guest, and Master Page, and eke
Cavaliero Slender, go you through the town to Frogmore.
PAGE
[_Aside to Host_.] Sir Hugh is there, is he?
HOST.
[_Aside to Page_.] He is there. See what humour he is in; and I will
bring the doctor about by the fields. Will it do well?
SHALLOW.
[_Aside to Host_.] We will do it.
PAGE, SHALLOW and SLENDER
Adieu, good Master Doctor.
[_Exeunt Page, Shallow and Slender._]
CAIUS
By gar, me vill kill de priest, for he speak for a jackanape to Anne
Page.
HOST.
Let him die. Sheathe thy impatience; throw cold water on thy choler. Go
about the fields with me through Frogmore. I will bring thee where
Mistress Anne Page is, at a farm-house a-feasting, and thou shalt woo
her. Cried game! Said I well?
CAIUS.
By gar, me tank you for dat. By gar, I love you; and I shall procure-a
you de good guest: de earl, de knight, de lords, de gentlemen, my
patients.
HOST.
For the which I will be thy adversary toward Anne Page. Said I well?
CAIUS.
By gar, ’tis good; vell said.
HOST.
Let us wag, then.
CAIUS.
Come at my heels, Jack Rugby.
[_Exeunt._]
ACT III
SCENE I. A field near Frogmore
Enter Sir Hugh Evans and Simple.
EVANS.
I pray you now, good Master Slender’s servingman, and friend Simple by
your name, which way have you looked for Master Caius, that calls
himself doctor of physic?
SIMPLE.
Marry, sir, the Petty-ward, the Park-ward, every way; old Windsor way,
and every way but the town way.
EVANS.
I most fehemently desire you, you will also look that way.
SIMPLE.
I will, Sir.
[_Exit Simple._]
EVANS
Pless my soul, how full of cholers I am, and trempling of mind! I shall
be glad if he have deceived me. How melancholies I am! I will knog his
urinals about his knave’s costard when I have good opportunities for
the ’ork. Pless my soul!
[_Sings._]
_To shallow rivers, to whose falls
Melodious birds sings madrigals.
There will we make our peds of roses
And a thousand fragrant posies.
To shallow_—
Mercy on me, I have a great dispositions to cry.
[_Sings._]
_Melodious birds sing madrigals—
Whenas I sat in Pabylon—
And a thousand vagram posies.
To shallow rivers, to whose falls
Melodious birds sing madrigals._
Enter Simple.
SIMPLE
Yonder he is, coming this way, Sir Hugh.
EVANS.
He’s welcome.
[_Sings._] _To shallow rivers, to whose falls—_
Heaven prosper the right! What weapons is he?
SIMPLE.
No weapons, sir. There comes my master, Master Shallow, and another
gentleman, from Frogmore, over the stile, this way.
EVANS.
Pray you, give me my gown—or else keep it in your arms.
Enter Page, Shallow and Slender.
SHALLOW
How now, Master Parson? Good morrow, good Sir Hugh. Keep a gamester
from the dice, and a good student from his book, and it is wonderful.
SLENDER.
[_Aside_.] Ah, sweet Anne Page!
PAGE.
God save you, good Sir Hugh!
EVANS.
God pless you from his mercy sake, all of you!
SHALLOW.
What, the sword and the word? Do you study them both, Master Parson?
PAGE.
And youthful still—in your doublet and hose, this raw rheumatic day?
EVANS.
There is reasons and causes for it.
PAGE.
We are come to you to do a good office, Master Parson.
EVANS.
Fery well; what is it?
PAGE.
Yonder is a most reverend gentleman who, belike having received wrong
by some person, is at most odds with his own gravity and patience that
ever you saw.
SHALLOW.
I have lived fourscore years and upward; I never heard a man of his
place, gravity, and learning, so wide of his own respect.
EVANS.
What is he?
PAGE.
I think you know him: Master Doctor Caius, the renowned French
physician.
EVANS.
Got’s will and His passion of my heart! I had as lief you would tell me
of a mess of porridge.
PAGE.
Why?
EVANS.
He has no more knowledge in Hibbocrates and Galen, and he is a knave
besides, a cowardly knave as you would desires to be acquainted withal.
PAGE.
I warrant you, he’s the man should fight with him.
SLENDER.
[_Aside_.] O, sweet Anne Page!
SHALLOW.
It appears so by his weapons. Keep them asunder. Here comes Doctor
Caius.
Enter Host, Caius and Rugby.
PAGE
Nay, good Master Parson, keep in your weapon.
SHALLOW.
So do you, good Master Doctor.
HOST.
Disarm them, and let them question. Let them keep their limbs whole and
hack our English.
CAIUS.
I pray you, let-a me speak a word with your ear. Verefore will you not
meet-a me?
EVANS.
[_Aside to Caius_.] Pray you, use your patience. In good time.
CAIUS.
By gar, you are de coward, de Jack dog, John ape.
EVANS.
[_Aside to Caius_.] Pray you, let us not be laughing stocks to other
men’s humours. I desire you in friendship, and I will one way or other
make you amends.
[_Aloud_.] By Jeshu, I will knog your urinal about your knave’s
cogscomb.
CAIUS.
_Diable!_ Jack Rugby, mine Host de Jarteer, have I not stay for him to
kill him? Have I not, at de place I did appoint?
EVANS.
As I am a Christians soul, now look you, this is the place appointed.
I’ll be judgment by mine host of the Garter.
HOST.
Peace, I say, Gallia and Gaul, French and Welsh, soul-curer and
body-curer!
CAIUS.
Ay, dat is very good; excellent.
HOST.
Peace, I say! Hear mine host of the Garter. Am I politic? Am I subtle?
Am I a Machiavel? Shall I lose my doctor? No, he gives me the potions
and the motions. Shall I lose my parson, my priest, my Sir Hugh? No, he
gives me the proverbs and the no-verbs. [_To Caius_.] Give me thy hand,
terrestrial; so. [_To Evans_.] Give me thy hand, celestial; so. Boys of
art, I have deceived you both. I have directed you to wrong places.
Your hearts are mighty, your skins are whole, and let burnt sack be the
issue. Come, lay their swords to pawn. Follow me, lads of peace,
follow, follow, follow.
[_Exit Host._]
SHALLOW.
Afore God, a mad host! Follow, gentlemen, follow.
SLENDER.
[_Aside_.] O, sweet Anne Page!
[_Exeunt Shallow, Slender and Page._]
CAIUS
Ha, do I perceive dat? Have you make-a de sot of us, ha, ha?
EVANS.
This is well, he has made us his vlouting-stog. I desire you that we
may be friends, and let us knog our prains together to be revenge on
this same scall, scurvy, cogging companion, the host of the Garter.
CAIUS.
By gar, with all my heart. He promise to bring me where is Anne Page;
by gar, he deceive me too.
EVANS.
Well, I will smite his noddles. Pray you follow.
[_Exeunt._]
SCENE II. A street in Windsor
Enter Mistress Page following Robin.
MISTRESS PAGE.
Nay, keep your way, little gallant. You were wont to be a follower, but
now you are a leader. Whether had you rather, lead mine eyes, or eye
your master’s heels?
ROBIN.
I had rather, forsooth, go before you like a man than follow him like a
dwarf.
MISTRESS PAGE.
O, you are a flattering boy! Now I see you’ll be a courtier.
Enter Ford.
FORD
Well met, Mistress Page. Whither go you?
MISTRESS PAGE.
Truly, sir, to see your wife. Is she at home?
FORD.
Ay, and as idle as she may hang together, for want of company. I think
if your husbands were dead you two would marry.
MISTRESS PAGE.
Be sure of that—two other husbands.
FORD.
Where had you this pretty weathercock?
MISTRESS PAGE.
I cannot tell what the dickens his name is my husband had him of. What
do you call your knight’s name, sirrah?
ROBIN.
Sir John Falstaff.
FORD.
Sir John Falstaff!
MISTRESS PAGE.
He, he; I can never hit on’s name. There is such a league between my
good man and he! Is your wife at home indeed?
FORD.
Indeed she is.
MISTRESS PAGE.
By your leave, sir, I am sick till I see her.
[_Exeunt Mistress Page and Robin._]
FORD
Has Page any brains? Hath he any eyes? Hath he any thinking? Sure, they
sleep; he hath no use of them. Why, this boy will carry a letter twenty
mile as easy as a cannon will shoot point-blank twelve score. He pieces
out his wife’s inclination, he gives her folly motion and advantage.
And now she’s going to my wife, and Falstaff’s boy with her. A man may
hear this shower sing in the wind. And Falstaff’s boy with her! Good
plots they are laid, and our revolted wives share damnation together.
Well, I will take him, then torture my wife, pluck the borrowed veil of
modesty from the so-seeming Mistress Page, divulge Page himself for a
secure and wilful Actaeon, and to these violent proceedings all my
neighbours shall cry aim. [_Clock strikes_.] The clock gives me my cue,
and my assurance bids me search. There I shall find Falstaff. I shall
be rather praised for this than mocked, for it is as positive as the
earth is firm that Falstaff is there. I will go.
Enter Page, Shallow, Slender, Host, Sir Hugh Evans, Caius and Rugby.
SHALLOW, PAGE, etc.
Well met, Master Ford.
FORD.
Trust me, a good knot. I have good cheer at home, and I pray you all go
with me.
SHALLOW.
I must excuse myself, Master Ford.
SLENDER.
And so must I, sir; we have appointed to dine with Mistress Anne, and I
would not break with her for more money than I’ll speak of.
SHALLOW.
We have lingered about a match between Anne Page and my cousin Slender,
and this day we shall have our answer.
SLENDER.
I hope I have your good will, father Page.
PAGE.
You have, Master Slender, I stand wholly for you.—But my wife, Master
doctor, is for you altogether.
CAIUS.
Ay, be-gar; and de maid is love-a me! My nursh-a Quickly tell me so
mush.
HOST.
What say you to young Master Fenton? He capers, he dances, he has eyes
of youth, he writes verses, he speaks holiday, he smells April and May.
He will carry ’t, he will carry ’t. ’Tis in his buttons he will carry
’t.
PAGE.
Not by my consent, I promise you. The gentleman is of no having. He
kept company with the wild Prince and Poins. He is of too high a
region, he knows too much. No, he shall not knit a knot in his fortunes
with the finger of my substance. If he take her, let him take her
simply. The wealth I have waits on my consent, and my consent goes not
that way.
FORD.
I beseech you, heartily, some of you go home with me to dinner. Besides
your cheer, you shall have sport: I will show you a monster. Master
Doctor, you shall go; so shall you, Master Page, and you, Sir Hugh.
SHALLOW.
Well, fare you well. We shall have the freer wooing at Master Page’s.
[_Exeunt Shallow and Slender._]
CAIUS
Go home, John Rugby; I come anon.
[_Exit Rugby._]
HOST
Farewell, my hearts. I will to my honest knight Falstaff, and drink
canary with him.
[_Exit Host._]
FORD
[_Aside_.] I think I shall drink in pipe-wine first with him; I’ll make
him dance.—Will you go, gentles?
ALL.
Have with you to see this monster.
[_Exeunt._]
SCENE III. A room in Ford’s house
Enter Mistress Ford and Mistress Page.
MISTRESS FORD.
What, John! What, Robert!
MISTRESS PAGE.
Quickly, quickly! Is the buck-basket—
MISTRESS FORD.
I warrant.—What, Robin, I say!
Enter John and Robert with a great buck-basket.
MISTRESS PAGE.
Come, come, come.
MISTRESS FORD.
Here, set it down.
MISTRESS PAGE.
Give your men the charge; we must be brief.
MISTRESS FORD.
Marry, as I told you before, John and Robert, be ready here hard by in
the brew-house; and when I suddenly call you, come forth, and, without
any pause or staggering, take this basket on your shoulders. That done,
trudge with it in all haste, and carry it among the whitsters in
Datchet Mead, and there empty it in the muddy ditch close by the Thames
side.
MISTRESS PAGE.
You will do it?
MISTRESS FORD.
I ha’ told them over and over, they lack no direction.—Be gone, and
come when you are called.
[_Exeunt John and Robert._]
MISTRESS PAGE.
Here comes little Robin.
Enter Robin.
MISTRESS FORD.
How now, my eyas-musket, what news with you?
ROBIN.
My Master, Sir John, is come in at your back door, Mistress Ford, and
requests your company.
MISTRESS PAGE.
You little Jack-a-Lent, have you been true to us?
ROBIN.
Ay, I’ll be sworn. My master knows not of your being here, and hath
threatened to put me into everlasting liberty if I tell you of it; for
he swears he’ll turn me away.
MISTRESS PAGE.
Thou’rt a good boy, this secrecy of thine shall be a tailor to thee,
and shall make thee a new doublet and hose. I’ll go hide me.
MISTRESS FORD.
Do so.—Go tell thy master I am alone.
[_Exit Robin._]
Mistress Page, remember you your cue.
MISTRESS PAGE.
I warrant thee. If I do not act it, hiss me.
[_Exit Mistress Page._]
MISTRESS FORD.
Go to, then. We’ll use this unwholesome humidity, this gross watery
pumpion; we’ll teach him to know turtles from jays.
Enter Falstaff.
FALSTAFF.
“Have I caught thee, my heavenly jewel?” Why, now let me die, for I
have lived long enough. This is the period of my ambition. O this
blessed hour!
MISTRESS FORD.
O, sweet Sir John!
FALSTAFF.
Mistress Ford, I cannot cog, I cannot prate, Mistress Ford. Now shall I
sin in my wish: I would thy husband were dead. I’ll speak it before the
best lord: I would make thee my lady.
MISTRESS FORD.
I your lady, Sir John? Alas, I should be a pitiful lady.
FALSTAFF.
Let the court of France show me such another. I see how thine eye would
emulate the diamond. Thou hast the right arched beauty of the brow that
becomes the ship-tire, the tire-valiant, or any tire of Venetian
admittance.
MISTRESS FORD.
A plain kerchief, Sir John. My brows become nothing else, nor that well
neither.
FALSTAFF.
By the Lord, thou art a traitor to say so. Thou wouldst make an
absolute courtier, and the firm fixture of thy foot would give an
excellent motion to thy gait in a semi-circled farthingale. I see what
thou wert, if Fortune thy foe were not, Nature thy friend. Come, thou
canst not hide it.
MISTRESS FORD.
Believe me, there’s no such thing in me.
FALSTAFF.
What made me love thee? Let that persuade thee there’s something
extraordinary in thee. Come, I cannot cog and say thou art this and
that, like a many of these lisping hawthorn buds that come like women
in men’s apparel, and smell like Bucklersbury in simple-time. I cannot.
But I love thee, none but thee; and thou deservest it.
MISTRESS FORD.
Do not betray me, sir; I fear you love Mistress Page.
FALSTAFF.
Thou mightst as well say I love to walk by the Counter gate, which is
as hateful to me as the reek of a lime-kiln.
MISTRESS FORD.
Well, heaven knows how I love you, and you shall one day find it.
FALSTAFF.
Keep in that mind, I’ll deserve it.
MISTRESS FORD.
Nay, I must tell you, so you do; or else I could not be in that mind.
Enter Robin.
ROBIN.
Mistress Ford, Mistress Ford, here’s Mistress Page at the door,
sweating and blowing and looking wildly, and would needs speak with you
presently.
FALSTAFF.
She shall not see me; I will ensconce me behind the arras.
MISTRESS FORD.
Pray you, do so; she’s a very tattling woman.
[_Falstaff hides himself behind the arras._]
Enter Mistress Page.
What’s the matter? How now?
MISTRESS PAGE.
O Mistress Ford, what have you done? You’re shamed, you’re overthrown,
you’re undone for ever!
MISTRESS FORD.
What’s the matter, good Mistress Page?
MISTRESS PAGE.
O well-a-day, Mistress Ford, having an honest man to your husband, to
give him such cause of suspicion!
MISTRESS FORD.
What cause of suspicion?
MISTRESS PAGE.
What cause of suspicion? Out upon you! How am I mistook in you!
MISTRESS FORD.
Why, alas, what’s the matter?
MISTRESS PAGE.
Your husband’s coming hither, woman, with all the officers in Windsor,
to search for a gentleman that he says is here now in the house, by
your consent, to take an ill advantage of his absence. You are undone.
MISTRESS FORD.
’Tis not so, I hope.
MISTRESS PAGE.
Pray heaven it be not so, that you have such a man here! But ’tis most
certain your husband’s coming, with half Windsor at his heels, to
search for such a one. I come before to tell you. If you know yourself
clear, why, I am glad of it; but if you have a friend here, convey,
convey him out. Be not amazed, call all your senses to you; defend your
reputation, or bid farewell to your good life for ever.
MISTRESS FORD.
What shall I do? There is a gentleman, my dear friend; and I fear not
mine own shame as much as his peril. I had rather than a thousand pound
he were out of the house.
MISTRESS PAGE.
For shame! Never stand “you had rather” and “you had rather”. Your
husband’s here at hand. Bethink you of some conveyance. In the house
you cannot hide him. O, how have you deceived me! Look, here is a
basket. If he be of any reasonable stature, he may creep in here; and
throw foul linen upon him, as if it were going to bucking. Or—it is
whiting-time—send him by your two men to Datchet Mead.
MISTRESS FORD.
He’s too big to go in there. What shall I do?
FALSTAFF.
[_Comes out of hiding_.] Let me see ’t, let me see ’t! O, let me see
’t! I’ll in, I’ll in. Follow your friend’s counsel. I’ll in.
MISTRESS PAGE.
What, Sir John Falstaff? Are these your letters, knight?
FALSTAFF.
I love thee, and none but thee. Help me away. Let me creep in here.
I’ll never—
[_He goes into the basket; they cover him with dirty clothes._]
MISTRESS PAGE.
Help to cover your master, boy.—Call your men, Mistress Ford.—You
dissembling knight!
[_Exit Robin._]
MISTRESS FORD.
What, John! Robert! John!
Enter John and Robert.
Go, take up these clothes here, quickly. Where’s the cowl-staff? Look
how you drumble! Carry them to the laundress in Datchet Mead; quickly,
come.
Enter Ford, Page, Caius and Sir Hugh Evans.
FORD.
Pray you come near. If I suspect without cause, why then make sport at
me, then let me be your jest; I deserve it.—How now? Whither bear you
this?
JOHN and ROBERT.
To the laundress, forsooth.
MISTRESS FORD.
Why, what have you to do whither they bear it? You were best meddle
with buck-washing!
FORD.
Buck? I would I could wash myself of the buck! Buck, buck, buck! Ay,
buck! I warrant you, buck, and of the season too, it shall appear.
[_Exeunt John and Robert with the basket._]
Gentlemen, I have dreamed tonight; I’ll tell you my dream. Here, here,
here be my keys. Ascend my chambers, search, seek, find out. I’ll
warrant we’ll unkennel the fox. Let me stop this way first. [_Locks the
door_.] So, now uncape.
PAGE.
Good Master Ford, be contented: you wrong yourself too much.
FORD.
True, Master Page.—Up, gentlemen, you shall see sport anon. Follow me,
gentlemen.
[_Exit Ford._]
EVANS
This is fery fantastical humours and jealousies.
CAIUS.
By gar, ’tis no the fashion of France; it is not jealous in France.
PAGE.
Nay, follow him, gentlemen; see the issue of his search.
[_Exeunt Page, Evans and Caius._]
MISTRESS PAGE.
Is there not a double excellency in this?
MISTRESS FORD.
I know not which pleases me better, that my husband is deceived, or Sir
John.
MISTRESS PAGE.
What a taking was he in when your husband asked who was in the basket!
MISTRESS FORD.
I am half afraid he will have need of washing, so throwing him into the
water will do him a benefit.
MISTRESS PAGE.
Hang him, dishonest rascal! I would all of the same strain were in the
same distress.
MISTRESS FORD.
I think my husband hath some special suspicion of Falstaff’s being
here, for I never saw him so gross in his jealousy till now.
MISTRESS PAGE.
I will lay a plot to try that, and we will yet have more tricks with
Falstaff. His dissolute disease will scarce obey this medicine.
MISTRESS FORD.
Shall we send that foolish carrion Mistress Quickly to him, and excuse
his throwing into the water, and give him another hope, to betray him
to another punishment?
MISTRESS PAGE.
We will do it. Let him be sent for tomorrow eight o’clock to have
amends.
Enter Ford, Page, Caius and Sir Hugh Evans.
FORD
I cannot find him. Maybe the knave bragged of that he could not
compass.
MISTRESS PAGE.
[_Aside to Mistress Ford_.] Heard you that?
MISTRESS FORD.
You use me well, Master Ford, do you?
FORD.
Ay, I do so.
MISTRESS FORD.
Heaven make you better than your thoughts!
FORD.
Amen!
MISTRESS PAGE.
You do yourself mighty wrong, Master Ford.
FORD.
Ay, ay; I must bear it.
EVANS.
If there be anypody in the house, and in the chambers, and in the
coffers, and in the presses, heaven forgive my sins at the day of
judgment!
CAIUS.
Be gar, nor I too; there is nobodies.
PAGE.
Fie, fie, Master Ford, are you not ashamed? What spirit, what devil
suggests this imagination? I would not ha’ your distemper in this kind
for the wealth of Windsor Castle.
FORD.
’Tis my fault, Master Page. I suffer for it.
EVANS.
You suffer for a pad conscience. Your wife is as honest a ’omans as I
will desires among five thousand, and five hundred too.
CAIUS.
By gar, I see ’tis an honest woman.
FORD.
Well, I promised you a dinner. Come, come, walk in the park. I pray you
pardon me; I will hereafter make known to you why I have done this.
Come, wife, come, Mistress Page, I pray you pardon me. Pray heartily,
pardon me.
PAGE.
Let’s go in, gentlemen; but, trust me, we’ll mock him. I do invite you
tomorrow morning to my house to breakfast; after, we’ll a-birding
together; I have a fine hawk for the bush. Shall it be so?
FORD.
Anything.
EVANS.
If there is one, I shall make two in the company.
CAIUS.
If there be one or two, I shall make-a the turd.
FORD.
Pray you go, Master Page.
[_Exeunt all but Evans and Caius._]
EVANS.
I pray you now, remembrance tomorrow on the lousy knave, mine host.
CAIUS.
Dat is good, by gar, with all my heart.
EVANS.
A lousy knave, to have his gibes and his mockeries!
[_Exeunt._]
SCENE IV. A room in Page’s house
Enter Fenton and Anne Page.
FENTON.
I see I cannot get thy father’s love;
Therefore no more turn me to him, sweet Nan.
ANNE.
Alas, how then?
FENTON.
Why, thou must be thyself.
He doth object I am too great of birth,
And that my state being galled with my expense,
I seek to heal it only by his wealth.
Besides these, other bars he lays before me:
My riots past, my wild societies—
And tells me ’tis a thing impossible
I should love thee but as a property.
ANNE.
Maybe he tells you true.
FENTON.
No, heaven so speed me in my time to come!
Albeit I will confess thy father’s wealth
Was the first motive that I wooed thee, Anne,
Yet, wooing thee, I found thee of more value
Than stamps in gold or sums in sealed bags.
And ’tis the very riches of thyself
That now I aim at.
ANNE.
Gentle Master Fenton,
Yet seek my father’s love, still seek it, sir.
If opportunity and humblest suit
Cannot attain it, why then—hark you hither.
[_They talk apart._]
Enter Shallow, Slender and Mistress Quickly.
SHALLOW.
Break their talk, Mistress Quickly. My kinsman shall speak for himself.
SLENDER.
I’ll make a shaft or a bolt on ’t. ’Slid, ’tis but venturing.
SHALLOW.
Be not dismayed.
SLENDER.
No, she shall not dismay me. I care not for that, but that I am afeard.
MISTRESS QUICKLY.
Hark ye, Master Slender would speak a word with you.
ANNE.
I come to him.
[_Aside_.] This is my father’s choice.
O, what a world of vile ill-favoured faults
Looks handsome in three hundred pounds a year!
MISTRESS QUICKLY.
And how does good Master Fenton? Pray you, a word with you.
[_They talk aside._]
SHALLOW.
[_To Slender_.] She’s coming; to her, coz. O boy, thou hadst a father!
SLENDER.
I had a father, Mistress Anne; my uncle can tell you good jests of
him.—Pray you, uncle, tell Mistress Anne the jest how my father stole
two geese out of a pen, good uncle.
SHALLOW.
Mistress Anne, my cousin loves you.
SLENDER.
Ay, that I do, as well as I love any woman in Gloucestershire.
SHALLOW.
He will maintain you like a gentlewoman.
SLENDER.
Ay, that I will, come cut and long-tail, under the degree of a squire.
SHALLOW.
He will make you a hundred and fifty pounds jointure.
ANNE.
Good Master Shallow, let him woo for himself.
SHALLOW.
Marry, I thank you for it, I thank you for that good comfort.—She calls
you, coz; I’ll leave you.
ANNE.
Now, Master Slender.
SLENDER.
Now, good Mistress Anne.
ANNE.
What is your will?
SLENDER.
My will? ’Od’s heartlings, that’s a pretty jest indeed! I ne’er made my
will yet, I thank heaven. I am not such a sickly creature, I give
heaven praise.
ANNE.
I mean, Master Slender, what would you with me?
SLENDER.
Truly, for mine own part I would little or nothing with you. Your
father and my uncle hath made motions. If it be my luck, so; if not,
happy man be his dole. They can tell you how things go better than I
can. You may ask your father. Here he comes.
Enter Page and Mistress Page.
PAGE
Now, Master Slender.—Love him, daughter Anne.—
Why, how now? What does Master Fenton here?
You wrong me, sir, thus still to haunt my house.
I told you, sir, my daughter is disposed of.
FENTON.
Nay, Master Page, be not impatient.
MISTRESS PAGE.
Good Master Fenton, come not to my child.
PAGE.
She is no match for you.
FENTON.
Sir, will you hear me?
PAGE.
No, good Master Fenton.—
Come, Master Shallow; come, son Slender, in.—
Knowing my mind, you wrong me, Master Fenton.
[_Exeunt Page, Shallow and Slender._]
MISTRESS QUICKLY.
Speak to Mistress Page.
FENTON.
Good Mistress Page, for that I love your daughter
In such a righteous fashion as I do,
Perforce, against all checks, rebukes, and manners,
I must advance the colours of my love
And not retire. Let me have your good will.
ANNE.
Good mother, do not marry me to yond fool.
MISTRESS PAGE.
I mean it not; I seek you a better husband.
MISTRESS QUICKLY.
That’s my master, Master Doctor.
ANNE.
Alas, I had rather be set quick i’ th’ earth,
And bowled to death with turnips.
MISTRESS PAGE.
Come, trouble not yourself, good Master Fenton,
I will not be your friend, nor enemy.
My daughter will I question how she loves you,
And as I find her, so am I affected.
Till then, farewell, sir. She must needs go in;
Her father will be angry.
FENTON.
Farewell, gentle mistress. Farewell, Nan.
[_Exeunt Mistress Page and Anne._]
MISTRESS QUICKLY.
This is my doing now. “Nay,” said I, “will you cast away your child on
a fool, and a physician? Look on Master Fenton.” This is my doing.
FENTON.
I thank thee; and I pray thee, once tonight
Give my sweet Nan this ring. There’s for thy pains.
MISTRESS QUICKLY.
Now Heaven send thee good fortune!
[_Exit Fenton._]
A kind heart he hath. A woman would run through fire and water for such
a kind heart. But yet I would my master had Mistress Anne, or I would
Master Slender had her; or, in sooth, I would Master Fenton had her. I
will do what I can for them all three, for so I have promised and I’ll
be as good as my word—but speciously for Master Fenton. Well, I must of
another errand to Sir John Falstaff from my two mistresses. What a
beast am I to slack it!
[_Exit._]
SCENE V. A room in the Garter Inn
Enter Falstaff.
FALSTAFF.
Bardolph, I say!
Enter Bardolph.
BARDOLPH.
Here, sir.
FALSTAFF.
Go fetch me a quart of sack; put a toast in ’t.
[_Exit Bardolph._]
Have I lived to be carried in a basket like a barrow of butcher’s
offal, and to be thrown in the Thames? Well, if I be served such
another trick, I’ll have my brains ta’en out and buttered, and give
them to a dog for a New Year’s gift. ’Sblood, the rogues slighted me
into the river with as little remorse as they would have drowned a
blind bitch’s puppies, fifteen i’ the litter; and you may know by my
size that I have a kind of alacrity in sinking; if the bottom were as
deep as hell, I should down. I had been drowned, but that the shore was
shelvy and shallow—a death that I abhor, for the water swells a man,
and what a thing should I have been when I had been swelled! I should
have been a mountain of mummy.
Enter Bardolph with sack.
BARDOLPH
Here’s Mistress Quickly, sir, to speak with you.
FALSTAFF.
Come, let me pour in some sack to the Thames water, for my belly’s as
cold as if I had swallowed snowballs for pills to cool the reins. Call
her in.
BARDOLPH.
Come in, woman.
Enter Mistress Quickly.
MISTRESS QUICKLY.
By your leave, I cry you mercy. Give your worship good morrow.
FALSTAFF.
Take away these chalices. Go, brew me a pottle of sack finely.
BARDOLPH.
With eggs, sir?
FALSTAFF.
Simple of itself. I’ll no pullet sperm in my brewage.
[_Exit Bardolph._]
How now?
MISTRESS QUICKLY.
Marry, sir, I come to your worship from Mistress Ford.
FALSTAFF.
Mistress Ford? I have had ford enough. I was thrown into the ford, I
have my belly full of ford.
MISTRESS QUICKLY.
Alas the day, good heart, that was not her fault. She does so take on
with her men; they mistook their erection.
FALSTAFF.
So did I mine, to build upon a foolish woman’s promise.
MISTRESS QUICKLY.
Well, she laments, sir, for it, that it would yearn your heart to see
it. Her husband goes this morning a-birding; she desires you once more
to come to her, between eight and nine. I must carry her word quickly.
She’ll make you amends, I warrant you.
FALSTAFF.
Well, I will visit her. Tell her so, and bid her think what a man is.
Let her consider his frailty, and then judge of my merit.
MISTRESS QUICKLY.
I will tell her.
FALSTAFF.
Do so. Between nine and ten, sayst thou?
MISTRESS QUICKLY.
Eight and nine, sir.
FALSTAFF.
Well, be gone. I will not miss her.
MISTRESS QUICKLY.
Peace be with you, sir.
[_Exit Mistress Quickly._]
FALSTAFF.
I marvel I hear not of Master Brook; he sent me word to stay within. I
like his money well. O, here he comes.
Enter Ford disguised.
FORD
God bless you, sir.
FALSTAFF.
Now, Master Brook, you come to know what hath passed between me and
Ford’s wife?
FORD.
That indeed, Sir John, is my business.
FALSTAFF.
Master Brook, I will not lie to you. I was at her house the hour she
appointed me.
FORD.
And how sped you, sir?
FALSTAFF.
Very ill-favouredly, Master Brook.
FORD.
How so, sir? Did she change her determination?
FALSTAFF.
No. Master Brook, but the peaking cornuto her husband, Master Brook,
dwelling in a continual ’larum of jealousy, comes me in the instant of
our encounter, after we had embraced, kissed, protested, and, as it
were, spoke the prologue of our comedy; and at his heels a rabble of
his companions, thither provoked and instigated by his distemper, and,
forsooth, to search his house for his wife’s love.
FORD.
What, while you were there?
FALSTAFF.
While I was there.
FORD.
And did he search for you, and could not find you?
FALSTAFF.
You shall hear. As good luck would have it, comes in one Mistress Page,
gives intelligence of Ford’s approach; and, in her invention and Ford’s
wife’s distraction, they conveyed me into a buck-basket.
FORD.
A buck-basket!
FALSTAFF.
By the Lord, a buck-basket! Rammed me in with foul shirts and smocks,
socks, foul stockings, greasy napkins, that, Master Brook, there was
the rankest compound of villainous smell that ever offended nostril.
FORD.
And how long lay you there?
FALSTAFF.
Nay, you shall hear, Master Brook, what I have suffered to bring this
woman to evil for your good. Being thus crammed in the basket, a couple
of Ford’s knaves, his hinds, were called forth by their mistress to
carry me in the name of foul clothes to Datchet Lane. They took me on
their shoulders, met the jealous knave their master in the door, who
asked them once or twice what they had in their basket. I quaked for
fear lest the lunatic knave would have searched it; but Fate, ordaining
he should be a cuckold, held his hand. Well, on went he for a search,
and away went I for foul clothes. But mark the sequel, Master Brook. I
suffered the pangs of three several deaths: first, an intolerable
fright to be detected with a jealous rotten bell-wether; next, to be
compassed like a good bilbo in the circumference of a peck, hilt to
point, heel to head; and then, to be stopped in, like a strong
distillation, with stinking clothes that fretted in their own grease.
Think of that, a man of my kidney, think of that—that am as subject to
heat as butter; a man of continual dissolution and thaw. It was a
miracle to ’scape suffocation. And in the height of this bath, when I
was more than half stewed in grease, like a Dutch dish, to be thrown
into the Thames and cooled, glowing hot, in that surge, like a
horseshoe! Think of that—hissing hot—think of that, Master Brook.
FORD.
In good sadness, sir, I am sorry that for my sake you have suffered all
this. My suit, then, is desperate. You’ll undertake her no more?
FALSTAFF.
Master Brook, I will be thrown into Etna, as I have been into Thames,
ere I will leave her thus. Her husband is this morning gone a-birding;
I have received from her another embassy of meeting. ’Twixt eight and
nine is the hour, Master Brook.
FORD.
’Tis past eight already, sir.
FALSTAFF.
Is it? I will then address me to my appointment. Come to me at your
convenient leisure, and you shall know how I speed; and the conclusion
shall be crowned with your enjoying her. Adieu. You shall have her,
Master Brook. Master Brook, you shall cuckold Ford.
[_Exit Falstaff._]
FORD
Hum! Ha! Is this a vision? Is this a dream? Do I sleep? Master Ford,
awake; awake, Master Ford! There’s a hole made in your best coat,
Master Ford. This ’tis to be married; this ’tis to have linen and
buck-baskets! Well, I will proclaim myself what I am. I will now take
the lecher. He is at my house. He cannot scape me. ’Tis impossible he
should. He cannot creep into a half-penny purse, nor into a pepperbox.
But, lest the devil that guides him should aid him, I will search
impossible places. Though what I am I cannot avoid, yet to be what I
would not shall not make me tame. If I have horns to make one mad, let
the proverb go with me: I’ll be horn-mad.
[_Exit._]
ACT IV
SCENE I. The street
Enter Mistress Page, Mistress Quickly and William.
MISTRESS PAGE.
Is he at Master Ford’s already, think’st thou?
MISTRESS QUICKLY.
Sure he is by this; or will be presently. But truly he is very
courageous mad about his throwing into the water. Mistress Ford desires
you to come suddenly.
MISTRESS PAGE.
I’ll be with her by and by. I’ll but bring my young man here to school.
Look where his master comes; ’tis a playing day, I see.
Enter Sir Hugh Evans.
How now, Sir Hugh, no school today?
EVANS.
No, Master Slender is let the boys leave to play.
MISTRESS QUICKLY.
Blessing of his heart!
MISTRESS PAGE.
Sir Hugh, my husband says my son profits nothing in the world at his
book. I pray you ask him some questions in his accidence.
EVANS.
Come hither, William. Hold up your head, come.
MISTRESS PAGE.
Come on, sirrah. Hold up your head. Answer your master, be not afraid.
EVANS.
William, how many numbers is in nouns?
WILLIAM.
Two.
MISTRESS QUICKLY.
Truly, I thought there had been one number more, because they say
“’Od’s nouns.”
EVANS.
Peace your tattlings! What is “fair,” William?
WILLIAM.
_Pulcher_.
MISTRESS QUICKLY.
Polecats? There are fairer things than polecats, sure.
EVANS.
You are a very simplicity ’oman; I pray you, peace.—What is _lapis_,
William?
WILLIAM.
A stone.
EVANS.
And what is “a stone,” William?
WILLIAM.
A pebble.
EVANS.
No, it is _lapis_. I pray you remember in your prain.
WILLIAM.
_Lapis_.
EVANS.
That is a good William. What is he, William, that does lend articles?
WILLIAM.
Articles are borrowed of the pronoun, and be thus declined:
_singulariter, nominativo, hic, haec, hoc_.
EVANS.
_Nominativo, hig, haeg, hog_, pray you, mark: _genitivo, huius_. Well,
what is your accusative case?
WILLIAM.
_Accusativo, hinc_.
EVANS.
I pray you, have your remembrance, child. _Accusativo, hung, hang,
hog_.
MISTRESS QUICKLY.
“Hang-hog” is Latin for bacon, I warrant you.
EVANS.
Leave your prabbles, ’oman.—What is the focative case, William?
WILLIAM.
O—_vocativo_—O—
EVANS.
Remember, William; focative is _caret_.
MISTRESS QUICKLY.
And that’s a good root.
EVANS.
’Oman, forbear.
MISTRESS PAGE.
Peace.
EVANS.
What is your genitive case plural, William?
WILLIAM.
Genitive case?
EVANS.
Ay.
WILLIAM.
Genitive: _horum, harum, horum_.
MISTRESS QUICKLY.
Vengeance of Jenny’s case, fie on her! Never name her, child, if she be
a whore.
EVANS.
For shame, ’oman.
MISTRESS QUICKLY.
You do ill to teach the child such words.—He teaches him to hick and to
hack, which they’ll do fast enough of themselves; and to call “whore
’m”!—Fie upon you!
EVANS.
’Oman, art thou lunatics? Hast thou no understandings for thy cases,
and the numbers of the genders? Thou art as foolish Christian creatures
as I would desires.
MISTRESS PAGE.
[_To Quickly_.] Prithee, hold thy peace.
EVANS.
Show me now, William, some declensions of your pronouns.
WILLIAM.
Forsooth, I have forgot.
EVANS.
It is _qui, quae, quod_. If you forget your _quis_, your _quaes_, and
your _quods_, you must be preeches. Go your ways and play, go.
MISTRESS PAGE.
He is a better scholar than I thought he was.
EVANS.
He is a good sprag memory. Farewell, Mistress Page.
MISTRESS PAGE.
Adieu, good Sir Hugh.
[_Exit Sir Hugh Evans._]
Get you home, boy. Come, we stay too long.
[_Exeunt._]
SCENE II. A room in Ford’s house
Enter Falstaff and Mistress Ford.
FALSTAFF.
Mistress Ford, your sorrow hath eaten up my sufferance. I see you are
obsequious in your love, and I profess requital to a hair’s breadth,
not only, Mistress Ford, in the simple office of love, but in all the
accoutrement, compliment, and ceremony of it. But are you sure of your
husband now?
MISTRESS FORD.
He’s a-birding, sweet Sir John.
MISTRESS PAGE.
[_Within_.] What ho, gossip Ford, what ho!
MISTRESS FORD.
Step into the chamber, Sir John.
[_Exit Falstaff._]
Enter Mistress Page.
MISTRESS PAGE.
How now, sweetheart, who’s at home besides yourself?
MISTRESS FORD.
Why, none but mine own people.
MISTRESS PAGE.
Indeed?
MISTRESS FORD.
No, certainly.
[_Aside to her_.] Speak louder.
MISTRESS PAGE.
Truly, I am so glad you have nobody here.
MISTRESS FORD.
Why?
MISTRESS PAGE.
Why, woman, your husband is in his old lunes again. He so takes on
yonder with my husband, so rails against all married mankind, so curses
all Eve’s daughters, of what complexion soever, and so buffets himself
on the forehead, crying “Peer out, peer out!” that any madness I ever
yet beheld seemed but tameness, civility, and patience, to this his
distemper he is in now. I am glad the fat knight is not here.
MISTRESS FORD.
Why, does he talk of him?
MISTRESS PAGE.
Of none but him, and swears he was carried out, the last time he
searched for him, in a basket; protests to my husband he is now here;
and hath drawn him and the rest of their company from their sport, to
make another experiment of his suspicion. But I am glad the knight is
not here. Now he shall see his own foolery.
MISTRESS FORD.
How near is he, Mistress Page?
MISTRESS PAGE.
Hard by, at street end. He will be here anon.
MISTRESS FORD.
I am undone! The knight is here.
MISTRESS PAGE.
Why, then, you are utterly shamed, and he’s but a dead man. What a
woman are you! Away with him, away with him! Better shame than murder.
MISTRESS FORD.
Which way should he go? How should I bestow him? Shall I put him into
the basket again?
Enter Falstaff.
FALSTAFF.
No, I’ll come no more i’ the basket. May I not go out ere he come?
MISTRESS PAGE.
Alas, three of Master Ford’s brothers watch the door with pistols, that
none shall issue out, otherwise you might slip away ere he came. But
what make you here?
FALSTAFF.
What shall I do? I’ll creep up into the chimney.
MISTRESS FORD.
There they always use to discharge their birding-pieces.
MISTRESS PAGE.
Creep into the kiln-hole.
FALSTAFF.
Where is it?
MISTRESS FORD.
He will seek there, on my word. Neither press, coffer, chest, trunk,
well, vault, but he hath an abstract for the remembrance of such
places, and goes to them by his note. There is no hiding you in the
house.
FALSTAFF.
I’ll go out then.
MISTRESS PAGE.
If you go out in your own semblance, you die, Sir John—unless you go
out disguised.
MISTRESS FORD.
How might we disguise him?
MISTRESS PAGE.
Alas the day, I know not. There is no woman’s gown big enough for him;
otherwise he might put on a hat, a muffler, and a kerchief, and so
escape.
FALSTAFF.
Good hearts, devise something. Any extremity rather than a mischief.
MISTRESS FORD.
My maid’s aunt, the fat woman of Brentford, has a gown above.
MISTRESS PAGE.
On my word, it will serve him. She’s as big as he is. And there’s her
thrummed hat, and her muffler too.—Run up, Sir John.
MISTRESS FORD.
Go, go, sweet Sir John. Mistress Page and I will look some linen for
your head.
MISTRESS PAGE.
Quick, quick! We’ll come dress you straight; put on the gown the while.
[_Exit Falstaff._]
MISTRESS FORD.
I would my husband would meet him in this shape. He cannot abide the
old woman of Brentford; he swears she’s a witch, forbade her my house,
and hath threatened to beat her.
MISTRESS PAGE.
Heaven guide him to thy husband’s cudgel and the devil guide his cudgel
afterwards!
MISTRESS FORD.
But is my husband coming?
MISTRESS PAGE.
Ay, in good sadness is he, and talks of the basket too, howsoever he
hath had intelligence.
MISTRESS FORD.
We’ll try that; for I’ll appoint my men to carry the basket again, to
meet him at the door with it as they did last time.
MISTRESS PAGE.
Nay, but he’ll be here presently. Let’s go dress him like the witch of
Brentford.
MISTRESS FORD.
I’ll first direct my men what they shall do with the basket. Go up,
I’ll bring linen for him straight.
[_Exit Mistress Ford._]
MISTRESS PAGE.
Hang him, dishonest varlet! We cannot misuse him enough.
We’ll leave a proof, by that which we will do,
Wives may be merry and yet honest too.
We do not act that often jest and laugh;
’Tis old but true: “Still swine eats all the draff.”
[_Exit._]
Enter Mistress Ford with John and Robert.
MISTRESS FORD.
Go, sirs, take the basket again on your shoulders. Your master is hard
at door; if he bid you set it down, obey him. Quickly, dispatch.
[_Exit Mistress Ford._]
JOHN.
Come, come, take it up.
ROBERT.
Pray heaven it be not full of knight again.
JOHN.
I hope not, I had lief as bear so much lead.
Enter Ford, Page, Shallow, Caius and Sir Hugh Evans.
FORD
Ay, but if it prove true, Master Page, have you any way then to unfool
me again?—Set down the basket, villain! Somebody call my wife. Youth in
a basket! O you panderly rascals! There’s a knot, a gin, a pack, a
conspiracy against me. Now shall the devil be shamed.—What, wife, I
say! Come, come forth! Behold what honest clothes you send forth to
bleaching!
PAGE.
Why, this passes, Master Ford! You are not to go loose any longer; you
must be pinioned.
EVANS.
Why, this is lunatics, this is mad as a mad dog.
SHALLOW.
Indeed, Master Ford, this is not well, indeed.
FORD.
So say I too, sir.
Enter Mistress Ford.
Come hither, Mistress Ford—Mistress Ford, the honest woman, the modest
wife, the virtuous creature, that hath the jealous fool to her husband!
I suspect without cause, mistress, do I?
MISTRESS FORD.
Heaven be my witness you do, if you suspect me in any dishonesty.
FORD.
Well said, brazen-face, hold it out.—Come forth, sirrah.
[_Pulls clothes out of the basket._]
PAGE.
This passes.
MISTRESS FORD.
Are you not ashamed? Let the clothes alone.
FORD.
I shall find you anon.
EVANS.
’Tis unreasonable. Will you take up your wife’s clothes? Come, away.
FORD.
Empty the basket, I say.
MISTRESS FORD.
Why, man, why?
FORD.
Master Page, as I am a man, there was one conveyed out of my house
yesterday in this basket. Why may not he be there again? In my house I
am sure he is. My intelligence is true, my jealousy is
reasonable.—Pluck me out all the linen.
MISTRESS FORD.
If you find a man there, he shall die a flea’s death.
PAGE.
Here’s no man.
SHALLOW.
By my fidelity, this is not well, Master Ford, this wrongs you.
EVANS.
Master Ford, you must pray, and not follow the imaginations of your own
heart. This is jealousies.
FORD.
Well, he’s not here I seek for.
PAGE.
No, nor nowhere else but in your brain.
FORD
Help to search my house this one time. If I find not what I seek, show
no colour for my extremity, let me for ever be your table-sport. Let
them say of me “As jealous as Ford, that searched a hollow walnut for
his wife’s leman.” Satisfy me once more, once more search with me.
[_Exeunt John and Robert with the basket._]
MISTRESS FORD.
What, ho, Mistress Page! Come you and the old woman down; my husband
will come into the chamber.
FORD.
Old woman? What old woman’s that?
MISTRESS FORD.
Why, it is my maid’s aunt of Brentford.
FORD.
A witch, a quean, an old cozening quean! Have I not forbid her my
house? She comes of errands, does she? We are simple men; we do not
know what’s brought to pass under the profession of fortune-telling.
She works by charms, by spells, by the figure, and such daubery as this
is, beyond our element. We know nothing.—Come down, you witch, you hag,
you! Come down, I say!
MISTRESS FORD.
Nay, good sweet husband!—Good gentlemen, let him not strike the old
woman.
Enter Falstaff disguised as an old woman, led by Mistress Page.
MISTRESS PAGE.
Come, Mother Prat; come, give me your hand.
FORD.
I’ll prat her. [_Beats him_.] Out of my door, you witch, you rag, you
baggage, you polecat, you runnion! Out, out! I’ll conjure you, I’ll
fortune-tell you.
[_Exit Falstaff._]
MISTRESS PAGE.
Are you not ashamed? I think you have killed the poor woman.
MISTRESS FORD.
Nay, he will do it. ’Tis a goodly credit for you.
FORD.
Hang her, witch!
EVANS.
By yea and no, I think the ’oman is a witch indeed. I like not when a
’oman has a great peard. I spy a great peard under her muffler.
FORD.
Will you follow, gentlemen? I beseech you follow, see but the issue of
my jealousy. If I cry out thus upon no trail, never trust me when I
open again.
PAGE.
Let’s obey his humour a little further. Come, gentlemen.
[_Exeunt Ford, Page, Caius, Evans and Shallow._]
MISTRESS PAGE.
Trust me, he beat him most pitifully.
MISTRESS FORD.
Nay, by th’ mass, that he did not; he beat him most unpitifully,
methought.
MISTRESS PAGE.
I’ll have the cudgel hallowed and hung o’er the altar. It hath done
meritorious service.
MISTRESS FORD.
What think you? May we, with the warrant of womanhood and the witness
of a good conscience, pursue him with any further revenge?
MISTRESS PAGE.
The spirit of wantonness is sure scared out of him. If the devil have
him not in fee-simple, with fine and recovery, he will never, I think,
in the way of waste, attempt us again.
MISTRESS FORD.
Shall we tell our husbands how we have served him?
MISTRESS PAGE.
Yes, by all means, if it be but to scrape the figures out of your
husband’s brains. If they can find in their hearts the poor unvirtuous
fat knight shall be any further afflicted, we two will still be the
ministers.
MISTRESS FORD.
I’ll warrant they’ll have him publicly shamed, and methinks there would
be no period to the jest should he not be publicly shamed.
MISTRESS PAGE.
Come, to the forge with it, then shape it. I would not have things
cool.
[_Exeunt._]
SCENE III. A room in the Garter Inn
Enter Host and Bardolph.
BARDOLPH.
Sir, the Germans desire to have three of your horses. The Duke himself
will be tomorrow at court, and they are going to meet him.
HOST.
What duke should that be comes so secretly? I hear not of him in the
court. Let me speak with the gentlemen. They speak English?
BARDOLPH.
Ay, sir. I’ll call them to you.
HOST.
They shall have my horses, but I’ll make them pay, I’ll sauce them.
They have had my house a week at command; I have turned away my other
guests. They must come off, I’ll sauce them. Come.
[_Exeunt._]
SCENE IV. A room in Ford’s house
Enter Page, Ford, Mistress Page, Mistress Ford and Sir Hugh Evans.
EVANS.
’Tis one of the best discretions of a ’oman as ever I did look upon.
PAGE.
And did he send you both these letters at an instant?
MISTRESS PAGE.
Within a quarter of an hour.
FORD.
Pardon me, wife. Henceforth, do what thou wilt.
I rather will suspect the sun with cold
Than thee with wantonness. Now doth thy honour stand,
In him that was of late an heretic,
As firm as faith.
PAGE.
’Tis well, ’tis well, no more.
Be not as extreme in submission as in offence.
But let our plot go forward. Let our wives
Yet once again, to make us public sport,
Appoint a meeting with this old fat fellow,
Where we may take him and disgrace him for it.
FORD.
There is no better way than that they spoke of.
PAGE.
How? To send him word they’ll meet him in the park at midnight? Fie,
fie, he’ll never come.
EVANS.
You say he has been thrown in the rivers, and has been grievously
peaten as an old ’oman. Methinks there should be terrors in him, that
he should not come. Methinks his flesh is punished; he shall have no
desires.
PAGE.
So think I too.
MISTRESS FORD.
Devise but how you’ll use him when he comes,
And let us two devise to bring him thither.
MISTRESS PAGE.
There is an old tale goes that Herne the hunter,
Sometime a keeper here in Windsor Forest,
Doth all the winter time, at still midnight,
Walk round about an oak, with great ragged horns,
And there he blasts the tree, and takes the cattle,
And makes milch-kine yield blood, and shakes a chain
In a most hideous and dreadful manner.
You have heard of such a spirit, and well you know
The superstitious idle-headed eld
Received and did deliver to our age,
This tale of Herne the hunter for a truth.
PAGE.
Why, yet there want not many that do fear
In deep of night to walk by this Herne’s oak.
But what of this?
MISTRESS FORD.
Marry, this is our device,
That Falstaff at that oak shall meet with us,
Disguised like Herne, with huge horns on his head.
PAGE.
Well, let it not be doubted but he’ll come,
And in this shape; when you have brought him thither,
What shall be done with him? What is your plot?
MISTRESS PAGE.
That likewise have we thought upon, and thus:
Nan Page my daughter, and my little son,
And three or four more of their growth, we’ll dress
Like urchins, oafs and fairies, green and white,
With rounds of waxen tapers on their heads
And rattles in their hands. Upon a sudden,
As Falstaff, she, and I are newly met,
Let them from forth a sawpit rush at once
With some diffused song; upon their sight
We two in great amazedness will fly.
Then let them all encircle him about,
And fairy-like, to pinch the unclean knight,
And ask him why, that hour of fairy revel,
In their so sacred paths he dares to tread
In shape profane.
MISTRESS FORD.
And till he tell the truth,
Let the supposed fairies pinch him sound
And burn him with their tapers.
MISTRESS PAGE.
The truth being known,
We’ll all present ourselves, dis-horn the spirit,
And mock him home to Windsor.
FORD.
The children must
Be practised well to this, or they’ll ne’er do ’t.
EVANS.
I will teach the children their behaviours, and I will be like a
jackanapes also, to burn the knight with my taber.
FORD.
That will be excellent. I’ll go buy them vizards.
MISTRESS PAGE.
My Nan shall be the queen of all the fairies,
Finely attired in a robe of white.
PAGE.
That silk will I go buy.
[_Aside_.] And in that time
Shall Master Slender steal my Nan away,
And marry her at Eton.—Go, send to Falstaff straight.
FORD.
Nay, I’ll to him again in name of Brook.
He’ll tell me all his purpose. Sure, he’ll come.
MISTRESS PAGE.
Fear not you that. Go, get us properties
And tricking for our fairies.
EVANS.
Let us about it. It is admirable pleasures and fery honest knaveries.
[_Exeunt Page, Ford and Evans._]
MISTRESS PAGE.
Go, Mistress Ford.
Send quickly to Sir John to know his mind.
[_Exit Mistress Ford._]
I’ll to the Doctor. He hath my good will,
And none but he, to marry with Nan Page.
That Slender, though well landed, is an idiot,
And he my husband best of all affects.
The Doctor is well moneyed, and his friends
Potent at court. He, none but he, shall have her,
Though twenty thousand worthier come to crave her.
[_Exit._]
SCENE V. A room in the Garter Inn
Enter Host and Simple.
HOST.
What wouldst thou have, boor? What, thick-skin? Speak, breathe,
discuss; brief, short, quick, snap.
SIMPLE.
Marry, sir, I come to speak with Sir John Falstaff from Master Slender.
HOST.
There’s his chamber, his house, his castle, his standing-bed and
truckle-bed. ’Tis painted about with the story of the Prodigal, fresh
and new. Go, knock and call. He’ll speak like an Anthropophaginian unto
thee. Knock, I say.
SIMPLE.
There’s an old woman, a fat woman, gone up into his chamber. I’ll be so
bold as stay, sir, till she come down. I come to speak with her,
indeed.
HOST.
Ha? A fat woman? The knight may be robbed. I’ll call.—Bully knight!
Bully Sir John! Speak from thy lungs military. Art thou there? It is
thine host, thine Ephesian, calls.
FALSTAFF.
[_Above_.] How now, mine host?
HOST.
Here’s a Bohemian-Tartar tarries the coming down of thy fat woman. Let
her descend, bully, let her descend. My chambers are honourable. Fie!
Privacy? Fie!
Enter Falstaff.
FALSTAFF.
There was, mine host, an old fat woman even now with me, but she’s
gone.
SIMPLE.
Pray you, sir, was’t not the wise woman of Brentford?
FALSTAFF.
Ay, marry was it, mussel-shell. What would you with her?
SIMPLE.
My master, sir, my Master Slender, sent to her, seeing her go through
the streets, to know, sir, whether one Nym, sir, that beguiled him of a
chain, had the chain or no.
FALSTAFF.
I spake with the old woman about it.
SIMPLE.
And what says she, I pray, sir?
FALSTAFF.
Marry, she says that the very same man that beguiled Master Slender of
his chain cozened him of it.
SIMPLE.
I would I could have spoken with the woman herself. I had other things
to have spoken with her too, from him.
FALSTAFF.
What are they? Let us know.
HOST.
Ay, come. Quick.
SIMPLE.
I may not conceal them, sir.
FALSTAFF.
Conceal them, or thou diest.
SIMPLE.
Why, sir, they were nothing but about Mistress Anne Page, to know if it
were my master’s fortune to have her or no.
FALSTAFF.
’Tis, ’tis his fortune.
SIMPLE.
What sir?
FALSTAFF.
To have her, or no. Go, say the woman told me so.
SIMPLE.
May I be bold to say so, sir?
FALSTAFF.
Ay, sir; like who more bold?
SIMPLE.
I thank your worship; I shall make my master glad with these tidings.
[_Exit Simple._]
HOST
Thou art clerkly, thou art clerkly, Sir John. Was there a wise woman
with thee?
FALSTAFF.
Ay, that there was, mine host; one that hath taught me more wit than
ever I learned before in my life; and I paid nothing for it neither,
but was paid for my learning.
Enter Bardolph.
BARDOLPH
Out, alas, sir, cozenage, mere cozenage!
HOST.
Where be my horses? Speak well of them, varletto.
BARDOLPH.
Run away, with the cozeners. For so soon as I came beyond Eton, they
threw me off from behind one of them, in a slough of mire, and set
spurs and away, like three German devils, three Doctor Faustuses.
HOST.
They are gone but to meet the Duke, villain, do not say they be fled.
Germans are honest men.
Enter Sir Hugh Evans.
EVANS
Where is mine host?
HOST.
What is the matter, sir?
EVANS.
Have a care of your entertainments. There is a friend of mine come to
town tells me there is three cozen-Germans that has cozened all the
hosts of Readings, of Maidenhead, of Colebrook, of horses and money. I
tell you for good will, look you. You are wise, and full of gibes and
vlouting-stocks, and ’tis not convenient you should be cozened. Fare
you well.
[_Exit Evans._]
Enter Doctor Caius.
CAIUS.
Vere is mine host de Jarteer?
HOST.
Here, Master Doctor, in perplexity and doubtful dilemma.
CAIUS.
I cannot tell vat is dat, but it is tell-a me dat you make grand
preparation for a Duke de Jamany. By my trot, dere is no duke that the
court is know to come. I tell you for good will. Adieu.
[_Exit Doctor Caius._]
HOST
Hue and cry, villain, go!—Assist me, knight, I am undone.—Fly, run, hue
and cry, villain, I am undone!
[_Exeunt Host and Bardolph._]
FALSTAFF.
I would all the world might be cozened, for I have been cozened and
beaten too. If it should come to the ear of the court how I have been
transformed, and how my transformation hath been washed and cudgelled,
they would melt me out of my fat drop by drop, and liquor fishermen’s
boots with me. I warrant they would whip me with their fine wits till I
were as crestfallen as a dried pear. I never prospered since I forswore
myself at primero. Well, if my wind were but long enough, I would
repent.
Enter Mistress Quickly.
Now, whence come you?
MISTRESS QUICKLY.
From the two parties, forsooth.
FALSTAFF.
The devil take one party and his dam the other, and so they shall be
both bestowed. I have suffered more for their sakes, more than the
villainous inconstancy of man’s disposition is able to bear.
MISTRESS QUICKLY.
And have not they suffered? Yes, I warrant, speciously one of them.
Mistress Ford, good heart, is beaten black and blue, that you cannot
see a white spot about her.
FALSTAFF.
What tellst thou me of black and blue? I was beaten myself into all the
colours of the rainbow, and was like to be apprehended for the witch of
Brentford. But that my admirable dexterity of wit, my counterfeiting
the action of an old woman, delivered me, the knave constable had set
me i’ the stocks, i’ the common stocks, for a witch.
MISTRESS QUICKLY.
Sir, let me speak with you in your chamber, you shall hear how things
go, and, I warrant, to your content. Here is a letter will say
somewhat. Good hearts, what ado here is to bring you together! Sure,
one of you does not serve heaven well, that you are so crossed.
FALSTAFF.
Come up into my chamber.
[_Exeunt._]
SCENE VI. Another room in the Garter Inn
Enter Fenton and Host.
HOST.
Master Fenton, talk not to me. My mind is heavy. I will give over all.
FENTON.
Yet hear me speak. Assist me in my purpose,
And, as I am a gentleman, I’ll give thee
A hundred pound in gold more than your loss.
HOST.
I will hear you, Master Fenton, and I will, at the least, keep your
counsel.
FENTON.
From time to time I have acquainted you
With the dear love I bear to fair Anne Page,
Who mutually hath answered my affection,
So far forth as herself might be her chooser,
Even to my wish. I have a letter from her
Of such contents as you will wonder at,
The mirth whereof so larded with my matter
That neither singly can be manifested
Without the show of both, wherein fat Falstaff
Hath a great scene; the image of the jest
I’ll show you here at large. Hark, good mine host:
Tonight at Herne’s oak, just ’twixt twelve and one,
Must my sweet Nan present the Fairy Queen—
The purpose why is here—in which disguise,
While other jests are something rank on foot,
Her father hath commanded her to slip
Away with Slender, and with him at Eton
Immediately to marry. She hath consented. Now, sir,
Her mother, even strong against that match
And firm for Doctor Caius, hath appointed
That he shall likewise shuffle her away,
While other sports are tasking of their minds,
And at the dean’ry, where a priest attends,
Straight marry her. To this her mother’s plot
She, seemingly obedient, likewise hath
Made promise to the doctor. Now thus it rests:
Her father means she shall be all in white
And in that habit, when Slender sees his time
To take her by the hand and bid her go,
She shall go with him. Her mother hath intended
The better to denote her to the doctor,
For they must all be masked and vizarded—
That quaint in green she shall be loose enrobed,
With ribbons pendant flaring ’bout her head;
And when the doctor spies his vantage ripe,
To pinch her by the hand, and on that token
The maid hath given consent to go with him.
HOST.
Which means she to deceive, father or mother?
FENTON.
Both, my good host, to go along with me.
And here it rests, that you’ll procure the vicar
To stay for me at church, ’twixt twelve and one,
And, in the lawful name of marrying,
To give our hearts united ceremony.
HOST.
Well, husband your device; I’ll to the vicar.
Bring you the maid, you shall not lack a priest.
FENTON.
So shall I evermore be bound to thee;
Besides, I’ll make a present recompense.
[_Exeunt._]
ACT V
SCENE I. A room in the Garter Inn
Enter Falstaff and Mistress Quickly.
FALSTAFF.
Prithee, no more prattling. Go. I’ll hold. This is the third time; I
hope good luck lies in odd numbers. Away, go! They say there is
divinity in odd numbers, either in nativity, chance, or death. Away!
MISTRESS QUICKLY.
I’ll provide you a chain, and I’ll do what I can to get you a pair of
horns.
FALSTAFF.
Away, I say; time wears. Hold up your head, and mince.
[_Exit Mistress Quickly._]
Enter Ford.
How now, Master Brook! Master Brook, the matter will be known tonight
or never. Be you in the park about midnight, at Herne’s oak, and you
shall see wonders.
FORD.
Went you not to her yesterday, sir, as you told me you had appointed?
FALSTAFF.
I went to her, Master Brook, as you see, like a poor old man, but I
came from her, Master Brook, like a poor old woman. That same knave
Ford, her husband, hath the finest mad devil of jealousy in him, Master
Brook, that ever governed frenzy. I will tell you he beat me
grievously, in the shape of a woman; for in the shape of man, Master
Brook, I fear not Goliath with a weaver’s beam, because I know also
life is a shuttle. I am in haste. Go along with me; I’ll tell you all,
Master Brook. Since I plucked geese, played truant, and whipped top, I
knew not what ’twas to be beaten till lately. Follow me, I’ll tell you
strange things of this knave Ford, on whom tonight I will be revenged,
and I will deliver his wife into your hand. Follow. Strange things in
hand, Master Brook! Follow.
[_Exeunt._]
SCENE II. Windsor Park
Enter Page, Shallow and Slender.
PAGE.
Come, come. We’ll couch i’ the castle ditch till we see the light of
our fairies. Remember, son Slender, my daughter—
SLENDER.
Ay, forsooth. I have spoke with her, and we have a nay-word how to know
one another. I come to her in white and cry “mum”; she cries “budget”;
and by that we know one another.
SHALLOW.
That’s good too. But what needs either your “mum” or her “budget”? The
white will decipher her well enough. It hath struck ten o’clock.
PAGE.
The night is dark. Light and spirits will become it well. Heaven
prosper our sport! No man means evil but the devil, and we shall know
him by his horns. Let’s away; follow me.
[_Exeunt._]
SCENE III. The street in Windsor
Enter Mistress Page, Mistress Ford and Doctor Caius.
MISTRESS PAGE.
Master Doctor, my daughter is in green. When you see your time, take
her by the hand, away with her to the deanery, and dispatch it quickly.
Go before into the park. We two must go together.
CAIUS.
I know vat I have to do. Adieu.
MISTRESS PAGE.
Fare you well, sir.
[_Exit Caius._]
My husband will not rejoice so much at the abuse of Falstaff as he will
chafe at the doctor’s marrying my daughter. But ’tis no matter. Better
a little chiding than a great deal of heartbreak.
MISTRESS FORD.
Where is Nan now, and her troop of fairies, and the Welsh devil Hugh?
MISTRESS PAGE.
They are all couched in a pit hard by Herne’s oak, with obscured
lights, which, at the very instant of Falstaff’s and our meeting, they
will at once display to the night.
MISTRESS FORD.
That cannot choose but amaze him.
MISTRESS PAGE.
If he be not amazed, he will be mocked; if he be amazed, he will every
way be mocked.
MISTRESS FORD.
We’ll betray him finely.
MISTRESS PAGE.
Against such lewdsters and their lechery,
Those that betray them do no treachery.
MISTRESS FORD.
The hour draws on. To the oak, to the oak!
[_Exeunt._]
SCENE IV. Windsor Park
Enter Sir Hugh Evans disguised, and children as Fairies.
EVANS.
Trib, trib, fairies. Come, and remember your parts. Be pold, I pray
you, follow me into the pit, and when I give the watch-’ords, do as I
pid you. Come, come; trib, trib.
[_Exeunt._]
SCENE V. Another part of the Park
Enter Falstaff wearing a buck’s head.
FALSTAFF.
The Windsor bell hath struck twelve, the minute draws on. Now the
hot-blooded gods assist me! Remember, Jove, thou wast a bull for thy
Europa; love set on thy horns. O powerful love, that in some respects,
makes a beast a man, in some other a man a beast! You were also,
Jupiter, a swan for the love of Leda. O omnipotent love, how near the
god drew to the complexion of a goose! A fault done first in the form
of a beast; O Jove, a beastly fault! And then another fault in the
semblance of a fowl; think on’t, Jove, a foul fault! When gods have hot
backs, what shall poor men do? For me, I am here a Windsor stag, and
the fattest, I think, i’ the forest. Send me a cool rut-time, Jove, or
who can blame me to piss my tallow? Who comes here? My doe?
Enter Mistress Ford and Mistress Page.
MISTRESS FORD.
Sir John? Art thou there, my deer, my male deer?
FALSTAFF.
My doe with the black scut! Let the sky rain potatoes, let it thunder
to the tune of “Greensleeves”, hail kissing-comfits and snow eringoes;
let there come a tempest of provocation, I will shelter me here.
[_He embraces her._]
MISTRESS FORD.
Mistress Page is come with me, sweetheart.
FALSTAFF.
Divide me like a bribed buck, each a haunch. I will keep my sides to
myself, my shoulders for the fellow of this walk, and my horns I
bequeath your husbands. Am I a woodman, ha? Speak I like Herne the
hunter? Why, now is Cupid a child of conscience; he makes restitution.
As I am a true spirit, welcome!
[_A noise of horns within._]
MISTRESS PAGE.
Alas, what noise?
MISTRESS FORD.
Heaven forgive our sins!
FALSTAFF.
What should this be?
MISTRESS FORD and MISTRESS PAGE.
Away, away!
[_They run off._]
FALSTAFF.
I think the devil will not have me damned, lest the oil that’s in me
should set hell on fire; he would never else cross me thus.
Enter Mistress Quickly as the Queen of Fairies, Sir Hugh Evans as a
Satyr, Pistol as Hobgoblin, Anne Page and children as Fairies, carrying
tapers.
MISTRESS QUICKLY.
Fairies, black, grey, green, and white,
You moonshine revellers and shades of night,
You orphan heirs of fixed destiny,
Attend your office and your quality.
Crier Hobgoblin, make the fairy oyes.
PISTOL.
Elves, list your names; silence, you airy toys!
Cricket, to Windsor chimneys shalt thou leap,
Where fires thou find’st unraked and hearths unswept,
There pinch the maids as blue as bilberry.
Our radiant queen hates sluts and sluttery.
FALSTAFF.
They are fairies, he that speaks to them shall die.
I’ll wink and couch. No man their works must eye.
[_Lies down upon his face._]
EVANS
Where’s Bead? Go you, and where you find a maid
That ere she sleep has thrice her prayers said,
Rein up the organs of her fantasy;
Sleep she as sound as careless infancy.
But those as sleep and think not on their sins,
Pinch them, arms, legs, backs, shoulders, sides, and shins.
MISTRESS QUICKLY.
About, about!
Search Windsor castle, elves, within and out.
Strew good luck, oafs, on every sacred room,
That it may stand till the perpetual doom
In state as wholesome as in state ’tis fit,
Worthy the owner and the owner it.
The several chairs of order look you scour
With juice of balm and every precious flower.
Each fair instalment, coat, and several crest,
With loyal blazon, evermore be blest!
And nightly, meadow-fairies, look you sing,
Like to the Garter’s compass, in a ring.
Th’ expressure that it bears, green let it be,
More fertile-fresh than all the field to see;
And _Honi soit qui mal y pense_ write
In em’rald tufts, flowers purple, blue and white,
Like sapphire, pearl, and rich embroidery,
Buckled below fair knighthood’s bending knee.
Fairies use flowers for their charactery.
Away, disperse! But till ’tis one o’clock,
Our dance of custom round about the oak
Of Herne the hunter let us not forget.
EVANS.
Pray you, lock hand in hand, yourselves in order set;
And twenty glow-worms shall our lanterns be,
To guide our measure round about the tree.
But stay, I smell a man of middle earth.
FALSTAFF.
Heavens defend me from that Welsh fairy, lest he transform me to a
piece of cheese!
PISTOL.
Vile worm, thou wast o’erlooked even in thy birth.
MISTRESS QUICKLY.
With trial-fire touch me his finger-end.
If he be chaste, the flame will back descend
And turn him to no pain; but if he start,
It is the flesh of a corrupted heart.
PISTOL.
A trial, come.
EVANS.
Come, will this wood take fire?
[_They put the tapers to his fingers, and he starts._]
FALSTAFF.
O, o, o!
MISTRESS QUICKLY.
Corrupt, corrupt, and tainted in desire!
About him, fairies, sing a scornful rhyme,
And, as you trip, still pinch him to your time.
SONG.
Fie on sinful fantasy!
Fie on lust and luxury!
Lust is but a bloody fire,
Kindled with unchaste desire,
Fed in heart, whose flames aspire,
As thoughts do blow them, higher and higher.
Pinch him, fairies, mutually;
Pinch him for his villainy.
Pinch him and burn him and turn him about,
Till candles and starlight and moonshine be out.
[_During the song they pinch him, and Doctor Caius comes one way and
steals away a boy in green; and Slender another way takes a boy in
white; Fenton comes in and steals away Anne Page. A noise of hunting is
heard within and all the fairies run away. Falstaff pulls off his
buck’s head, and rises up._]
Enter Page, Ford, Mistress Page and Mistress Ford.
PAGE.
Nay, do not fly. I think we have watched you now.
Will none but Herne the hunter serve your turn?
MISTRESS PAGE.
I pray you, come, hold up the jest no higher.—
Now, good Sir John, how like you Windsor wives?
See you these, husband?
[_She points to the horns._]
Do not these fair yokes
Become the forest better than the town?
FORD.
Now, sir, who’s a cuckold now? Master Brook, Falstaff’s a knave, a
cuckoldly knave. Here are his horns, Master Brook. And, Master Brook,
he hath enjoyed nothing of Ford’s but his buck-basket, his cudgel, and
twenty pounds of money, which must be paid to Master Brook. His horses
are arrested for it, Master Brook.
MISTRESS FORD.
Sir John, we have had ill luck, we could never meet. I will never take
you for my love again, but I will always count you my deer.
FALSTAFF.
I do begin to perceive that I am made an ass.
FORD.
Ay, and an ox too. Both the proofs are extant.
FALSTAFF.
And these are not fairies? I was three or four times in the thought
they were not fairies; and yet the guiltiness of my mind, the sudden
surprise of my powers, drove the grossness of the foppery into a
received belief, in despite of the teeth of all rhyme and reason, that
they were fairies. See now how wit may be made a Jack-a-Lent when ’tis
upon ill employment!
EVANS.
Sir John Falstaff, serve Got, and leave your desires, and fairies will
not pinse you.
FORD.
Well said, fairy Hugh.
EVANS.
And leave you your jealousies too, I pray you.
FORD.
I will never mistrust my wife again, till thou art able to woo her in
good English.
FALSTAFF.
Have I laid my brain in the sun, and dried it, that it wants matter to
prevent so gross o’erreaching as this? Am I ridden with a Welsh goat
too? Shall I have a cox-comb of frieze? ’Tis time I were choked with a
piece of toasted cheese.
EVANS.
Seese is not good to give putter. Your belly is all putter.
FALSTAFF.
“Seese” and “putter”? Have I lived to stand at the taunt of one that
makes fritters of English? This is enough to be the decay of lust and
late-walking through the realm.
MISTRESS PAGE.
Why, Sir John, do you think, though we would have thrust virtue out of
our hearts by the head and shoulders, and have given ourselves without
scruple to hell, that ever the devil could have made you our delight?
FORD.
What, a hodge-pudding? A bag of flax?
MISTRESS PAGE.
A puffed man?
PAGE.
Old, cold, withered, and of intolerable entrails?
FORD.
And one that is as slanderous as Satan?
PAGE.
And as poor as Job?
FORD.
And as wicked as his wife?
EVANS.
And given to fornications, and to taverns, and sack, and wine, and
metheglins, and to drinkings and swearings and starings, pribbles and
prabbles?
FALSTAFF.
Well, I am your theme. You have the start of me. I am dejected, I am
not able to answer the Welsh flannel. Ignorance itself is a plummet
o’er me. Use me as you will.
FORD.
Marry, sir, we’ll bring you to Windsor to one Master Brook, that you
have cozened of money, to whom you should have been a pander. Over and
above that you have suffered, I think to repay that money will be a
biting affliction.
PAGE.
Yet be cheerful, knight. Thou shalt eat a posset tonight at my house,
where I will desire thee to laugh at my wife, that now laughs at thee.
Tell her Master Slender hath married her daughter.
MISTRESS PAGE.
[_Aside_.] Doctors doubt that. If Anne Page be my daughter, she is, by
this, Doctor Caius’ wife.
Enter Slender.
SLENDER
Whoa, ho, ho, father Page!
PAGE.
Son, how now! How now, son, have you dispatched?
SLENDER.
Dispatched? I’ll make the best in Gloucestershire know on’t. Would I
were hanged, la, else!
PAGE.
Of what, son?
SLENDER.
I came yonder at Eton to marry Mistress Anne Page, and she’s a great
lubberly boy. If it had not been i’ the church, I would have swinged
him, or he should have swinged me. If I did not think it had been Anne
Page, would I might never stir! And ’tis a postmaster’s boy.
PAGE.
Upon my life, then, you took the wrong.
SLENDER.
What need you tell me that? I think so, when I took a boy for a girl.
If I had been married to him, for all he was in woman’s apparel, I
would not have had him.
PAGE.
Why, this is your own folly. Did not I tell you how you should know my
daughter by her garments?
SLENDER.
I went to her in white and cried “mum”, and she cried “budget”, as Anne
and I had appointed, and yet it was not Anne, but a postmaster’s boy.
MISTRESS PAGE.
Good George, be not angry. I knew of your purpose, turned my daughter
into green, and indeed she is now with the doctor at the deanery, and
there married.
Enter Doctor Caius.
CAIUS
Vere is Mistress Page? By gar, I am cozened, I ha’ married _un garçon_,
a boy; _un paysan_, by gar, a boy. It is not Anne Page. By gar, I am
cozened.
MISTRESS PAGE.
Why, did you take her in green?
CAIUS.
Ay, by gar, and ’tis a boy. By gar, I’ll raise all Windsor.
FORD
This is strange. Who hath got the right Anne?
Enter Fenton and Anne Page.
PAGE.
My heart misgives me. Here comes Master Fenton.—How now, Master Fenton!
ANNE.
Pardon, good father. Good my mother, pardon.
PAGE.
Now, mistress, how chance you went not with Master Slender?
MISTRESS PAGE.
Why went you not with Master Doctor, maid?
FENTON.
You do amaze her. Hear the truth of it.
You would have married her most shamefully,
Where there was no proportion held in love.
The truth is, she and I, long since contracted,
Are now so sure that nothing can dissolve us.
Th’ offence is holy that she hath committed,
And this deceit loses the name of craft,
Of disobedience, or unduteous title,
Since therein she doth evitate and shun
A thousand irreligious cursed hours,
Which forced marriage would have brought upon her.
FORD.
Stand not amazed, here is no remedy.
In love, the heavens themselves do guide the state.
Money buys lands, and wives are sold by fate.
FALSTAFF.
I am glad, though you have ta’en a special stand to strike at me, that
your arrow hath glanced.
PAGE.
Well, what remedy? Fenton, heaven give thee joy!
What cannot be eschewed must be embraced.
FALSTAFF.
When night-dogs run, all sorts of deer are chased.
MISTRESS PAGE.
Well, I will muse no further.—Master Fenton,
Heaven give you many, many merry days!
Good husband, let us every one go home,
And laugh this sport o’er by a country fire,
Sir John and all.
FORD.
Let it be so, Sir John,
To Master Brook you yet shall hold your word,
For he tonight shall lie with Mistress Ford.
[_Exeunt._]
A MIDSUMMER NIGHT’S DREAM
Contents
ACT I
Scene I.
Athens. A room in the Palace of Theseus
Scene II.
The Same. A Room in a Cottage
ACT II
Scene I.
A wood near Athens
Scene II.
Another part of the wood
ACT III
Scene I.
The Wood.
Scene II.
Another part of the wood
ACT IV
Scene I.
The Wood
Scene II.
Athens. A Room in Quince’s House
ACT V
Scene I.
Athens. An Apartment in the Palace of Theseus
Dramatis Personæ
THESEUS, Duke of Athens
HIPPOLYTA, Queen of the Amazons, bethrothed to Theseus
EGEUS, Father to Hermia
HERMIA, daughter to Egeus, in love with Lysander
HELENA, in love with Demetrius
LYSANDER, in love with Hermia
DEMETRIUS, in love with Hermia
PHILOSTRATE, Master of the Revels to Theseus
QUINCE, the Carpenter
SNUG, the Joiner
BOTTOM, the Weaver
FLUTE, the Bellows-mender
SNOUT, the Tinker
STARVELING, the Tailor
OBERON, King of the Fairies
TITANIA, Queen of the Fairies
PUCK, or ROBIN GOODFELLOW, a Fairy
PEASEBLOSSOM, Fairy
COBWEB, Fairy
MOTH, Fairy
MUSTARDSEED, Fairy
PYRAMUS, THISBE, WALL, MOONSHINE, LION; Characters in the Interlude
performed by the Clowns
Other Fairies attending their King and Queen
Attendants on Theseus and Hippolyta
SCENE: Athens, and a wood not far from it
ACT I
SCENE I. Athens. A room in the Palace of Theseus
Enter Theseus, Hippolyta, Philostrate and Attendants.
THESEUS.
Now, fair Hippolyta, our nuptial hour
Draws on apace; four happy days bring in
Another moon; but oh, methinks, how slow
This old moon wanes! She lingers my desires,
Like to a step-dame or a dowager,
Long withering out a young man’s revenue.
HIPPOLYTA.
Four days will quickly steep themselves in night;
Four nights will quickly dream away the time;
And then the moon, like to a silver bow
New bent in heaven, shall behold the night
Of our solemnities.
THESEUS.
Go, Philostrate,
Stir up the Athenian youth to merriments;
Awake the pert and nimble spirit of mirth;
Turn melancholy forth to funerals;
The pale companion is not for our pomp.
[_Exit Philostrate._]
Hippolyta, I woo’d thee with my sword,
And won thy love doing thee injuries;
But I will wed thee in another key,
With pomp, with triumph, and with revelling.
Enter Egeus, Hermia, Lysander and Demetrius.
EGEUS.
Happy be Theseus, our renownèd Duke!
THESEUS.
Thanks, good Egeus. What’s the news with thee?
EGEUS.
Full of vexation come I, with complaint
Against my child, my daughter Hermia.
Stand forth, Demetrius. My noble lord,
This man hath my consent to marry her.
Stand forth, Lysander. And, my gracious Duke,
This man hath bewitch’d the bosom of my child.
Thou, thou, Lysander, thou hast given her rhymes,
And interchang’d love-tokens with my child.
Thou hast by moonlight at her window sung,
With feigning voice, verses of feigning love;
And stol’n the impression of her fantasy
With bracelets of thy hair, rings, gauds, conceits,
Knacks, trifles, nosegays, sweetmeats (messengers
Of strong prevailment in unharden’d youth)
With cunning hast thou filch’d my daughter’s heart,
Turn’d her obedience (which is due to me)
To stubborn harshness. And, my gracious Duke,
Be it so she will not here before your grace
Consent to marry with Demetrius,
I beg the ancient privilege of Athens:
As she is mine I may dispose of her;
Which shall be either to this gentleman
Or to her death, according to our law
Immediately provided in that case.
THESEUS.
What say you, Hermia? Be advis’d, fair maid.
To you your father should be as a god;
One that compos’d your beauties, yea, and one
To whom you are but as a form in wax
By him imprinted, and within his power
To leave the figure, or disfigure it.
Demetrius is a worthy gentleman.
HERMIA.
So is Lysander.
THESEUS.
In himself he is.
But in this kind, wanting your father’s voice,
The other must be held the worthier.
HERMIA.
I would my father look’d but with my eyes.
THESEUS.
Rather your eyes must with his judgment look.
HERMIA.
I do entreat your Grace to pardon me.
I know not by what power I am made bold,
Nor how it may concern my modesty
In such a presence here to plead my thoughts:
But I beseech your Grace that I may know
The worst that may befall me in this case,
If I refuse to wed Demetrius.
THESEUS.
Either to die the death, or to abjure
For ever the society of men.
Therefore, fair Hermia, question your desires,
Know of your youth, examine well your blood,
Whether, if you yield not to your father’s choice,
You can endure the livery of a nun,
For aye to be in shady cloister mew’d,
To live a barren sister all your life,
Chanting faint hymns to the cold fruitless moon.
Thrice-blessèd they that master so their blood
To undergo such maiden pilgrimage,
But earthlier happy is the rose distill’d
Than that which, withering on the virgin thorn,
Grows, lives, and dies, in single blessedness.
HERMIA.
So will I grow, so live, so die, my lord,
Ere I will yield my virgin patent up
Unto his lordship, whose unwishèd yoke
My soul consents not to give sovereignty.
THESEUS.
Take time to pause; and by the next new moon
The sealing-day betwixt my love and me
For everlasting bond of fellowship,
Upon that day either prepare to die
For disobedience to your father’s will,
Or else to wed Demetrius, as he would,
Or on Diana’s altar to protest
For aye austerity and single life.
DEMETRIUS.
Relent, sweet Hermia; and, Lysander, yield
Thy crazèd title to my certain right.
LYSANDER.
You have her father’s love, Demetrius.
Let me have Hermia’s. Do you marry him.
EGEUS.
Scornful Lysander, true, he hath my love;
And what is mine my love shall render him;
And she is mine, and all my right of her
I do estate unto Demetrius.
LYSANDER.
I am, my lord, as well deriv’d as he,
As well possess’d; my love is more than his;
My fortunes every way as fairly rank’d,
If not with vantage, as Demetrius’;
And, which is more than all these boasts can be,
I am belov’d of beauteous Hermia.
Why should not I then prosecute my right?
Demetrius, I’ll avouch it to his head,
Made love to Nedar’s daughter, Helena,
And won her soul; and she, sweet lady, dotes,
Devoutly dotes, dotes in idolatry,
Upon this spotted and inconstant man.
THESEUS.
I must confess that I have heard so much,
And with Demetrius thought to have spoke thereof;
But, being over-full of self-affairs,
My mind did lose it.—But, Demetrius, come,
And come, Egeus; you shall go with me.
I have some private schooling for you both.—
For you, fair Hermia, look you arm yourself
To fit your fancies to your father’s will,
Or else the law of Athens yields you up
(Which by no means we may extenuate)
To death, or to a vow of single life.
Come, my Hippolyta. What cheer, my love?
Demetrius and Egeus, go along;
I must employ you in some business
Against our nuptial, and confer with you
Of something nearly that concerns yourselves.
EGEUS.
With duty and desire we follow you.
[_Exeunt all but Lysander and Hermia._]
LYSANDER.
How now, my love? Why is your cheek so pale?
How chance the roses there do fade so fast?
HERMIA.
Belike for want of rain, which I could well
Beteem them from the tempest of my eyes.
LYSANDER.
Ay me! For aught that I could ever read,
Could ever hear by tale or history,
The course of true love never did run smooth.
But either it was different in blood—
HERMIA.
O cross! Too high to be enthrall’d to low.
LYSANDER.
Or else misgraffèd in respect of years—
HERMIA.
O spite! Too old to be engag’d to young.
LYSANDER.
Or else it stood upon the choice of friends—
HERMIA.
O hell! to choose love by another’s eyes!
LYSANDER.
Or, if there were a sympathy in choice,
War, death, or sickness did lay siege to it,
Making it momentany as a sound,
Swift as a shadow, short as any dream,
Brief as the lightning in the collied night
That, in a spleen, unfolds both heaven and earth,
And, ere a man hath power to say, ‘Behold!’
The jaws of darkness do devour it up:
So quick bright things come to confusion.
HERMIA.
If then true lovers have ever cross’d,
It stands as an edict in destiny.
Then let us teach our trial patience,
Because it is a customary cross,
As due to love as thoughts and dreams and sighs,
Wishes and tears, poor fancy’s followers.
LYSANDER.
A good persuasion; therefore, hear me, Hermia.
I have a widow aunt, a dowager
Of great revenue, and she hath no child.
From Athens is her house remote seven leagues,
And she respects me as her only son.
There, gentle Hermia, may I marry thee,
And to that place the sharp Athenian law
Cannot pursue us. If thou lovest me then,
Steal forth thy father’s house tomorrow night;
And in the wood, a league without the town
(Where I did meet thee once with Helena
To do observance to a morn of May),
There will I stay for thee.
HERMIA.
My good Lysander!
I swear to thee by Cupid’s strongest bow,
By his best arrow with the golden head,
By the simplicity of Venus’ doves,
By that which knitteth souls and prospers loves,
And by that fire which burn’d the Carthage queen
When the false Trojan under sail was seen,
By all the vows that ever men have broke
(In number more than ever women spoke),
In that same place thou hast appointed me,
Tomorrow truly will I meet with thee.
LYSANDER.
Keep promise, love. Look, here comes Helena.
Enter Helena.
HERMIA.
God speed fair Helena! Whither away?
HELENA.
Call you me fair? That fair again unsay.
Demetrius loves your fair. O happy fair!
Your eyes are lode-stars and your tongue’s sweet air
More tuneable than lark to shepherd’s ear,
When wheat is green, when hawthorn buds appear.
Sickness is catching. O were favour so,
Yours would I catch, fair Hermia, ere I go.
My ear should catch your voice, my eye your eye,
My tongue should catch your tongue’s sweet melody.
Were the world mine, Demetrius being bated,
The rest I’d give to be to you translated.
O, teach me how you look, and with what art
You sway the motion of Demetrius’ heart!
HERMIA.
I frown upon him, yet he loves me still.
HELENA.
O that your frowns would teach my smiles such skill!
HERMIA.
I give him curses, yet he gives me love.
HELENA.
O that my prayers could such affection move!
HERMIA.
The more I hate, the more he follows me.
HELENA.
The more I love, the more he hateth me.
HERMIA.
His folly, Helena, is no fault of mine.
HELENA.
None but your beauty; would that fault were mine!
HERMIA.
Take comfort: he no more shall see my face;
Lysander and myself will fly this place.
Before the time I did Lysander see,
Seem’d Athens as a paradise to me.
O, then, what graces in my love do dwell,
That he hath turn’d a heaven into hell!
LYSANDER.
Helen, to you our minds we will unfold:
Tomorrow night, when Phoebe doth behold
Her silver visage in the watery glass,
Decking with liquid pearl the bladed grass
(A time that lovers’ flights doth still conceal),
Through Athens’ gates have we devis’d to steal.
HERMIA.
And in the wood where often you and I
Upon faint primrose beds were wont to lie,
Emptying our bosoms of their counsel sweet,
There my Lysander and myself shall meet,
And thence from Athens turn away our eyes,
To seek new friends and stranger companies.
Farewell, sweet playfellow. Pray thou for us,
And good luck grant thee thy Demetrius!
Keep word, Lysander. We must starve our sight
From lovers’ food, till morrow deep midnight.
LYSANDER.
I will, my Hermia.
[_Exit Hermia._]
Helena, adieu.
As you on him, Demetrius dote on you!
[_Exit Lysander._]
HELENA.
How happy some o’er other some can be!
Through Athens I am thought as fair as she.
But what of that? Demetrius thinks not so;
He will not know what all but he do know.
And as he errs, doting on Hermia’s eyes,
So I, admiring of his qualities.
Things base and vile, holding no quantity,
Love can transpose to form and dignity.
Love looks not with the eyes, but with the mind;
And therefore is wing’d Cupid painted blind.
Nor hath love’s mind of any judgment taste.
Wings, and no eyes, figure unheedy haste.
And therefore is love said to be a child,
Because in choice he is so oft beguil’d.
As waggish boys in game themselves forswear,
So the boy Love is perjur’d everywhere.
For, ere Demetrius look’d on Hermia’s eyne,
He hail’d down oaths that he was only mine;
And when this hail some heat from Hermia felt,
So he dissolv’d, and showers of oaths did melt.
I will go tell him of fair Hermia’s flight.
Then to the wood will he tomorrow night
Pursue her; and for this intelligence
If I have thanks, it is a dear expense.
But herein mean I to enrich my pain,
To have his sight thither and back again.
[_Exit Helena._]
SCENE II. The Same. A Room in a Cottage
Enter Quince, Snug, Bottom, Flute, Snout and Starveling.
QUINCE.
Is all our company here?
BOTTOM.
You were best to call them generally, man by man, according to the
scrip.
QUINCE.
Here is the scroll of every man’s name, which is thought fit through
all Athens, to play in our interlude before the Duke and Duchess, on
his wedding-day at night.
BOTTOM.
First, good Peter Quince, say what the play treats on; then read the
names of the actors; and so grow to a point.
QUINCE.
Marry, our play is _The most lamentable comedy and most cruel death of
Pyramus and Thisbe_.
BOTTOM.
A very good piece of work, I assure you, and a merry. Now, good Peter
Quince, call forth your actors by the scroll. Masters, spread
yourselves.
QUINCE.
Answer, as I call you. Nick Bottom, the weaver.
BOTTOM.
Ready. Name what part I am for, and proceed.
QUINCE.
You, Nick Bottom, are set down for Pyramus.
BOTTOM.
What is Pyramus—a lover, or a tyrant?
QUINCE.
A lover, that kills himself most gallantly for love.
BOTTOM.
That will ask some tears in the true performing of it. If I do it, let
the audience look to their eyes. I will move storms; I will condole in
some measure. To the rest—yet my chief humour is for a tyrant. I could
play Ercles rarely, or a part to tear a cat in, to make all split.
The raging rocks
And shivering shocks
Shall break the locks
Of prison gates,
And Phibbus’ car
Shall shine from far,
And make and mar
The foolish Fates.
This was lofty. Now name the rest of the players. This is Ercles’ vein,
a tyrant’s vein; a lover is more condoling.
QUINCE.
Francis Flute, the bellows-mender.
FLUTE.
Here, Peter Quince.
QUINCE.
Flute, you must take Thisbe on you.
FLUTE.
What is Thisbe? A wandering knight?
QUINCE.
It is the lady that Pyramus must love.
FLUTE.
Nay, faith, let not me play a woman. I have a beard coming.
QUINCE.
That’s all one. You shall play it in a mask, and you may speak as small
as you will.
BOTTOM.
And I may hide my face, let me play Thisbe too. I’ll speak in a
monstrous little voice; ‘Thisne, Thisne!’—‘Ah, Pyramus, my lover dear!
thy Thisbe dear! and lady dear!’
QUINCE.
No, no, you must play Pyramus; and, Flute, you Thisbe.
BOTTOM.
Well, proceed.
QUINCE.
Robin Starveling, the tailor.
STARVELING.
Here, Peter Quince.
QUINCE.
Robin Starveling, you must play Thisbe’s mother.
Tom Snout, the tinker.
SNOUT
Here, Peter Quince.
QUINCE.
You, Pyramus’ father; myself, Thisbe’s father;
Snug, the joiner, you, the lion’s part. And, I hope here is a play
fitted.
SNUG
Have you the lion’s part written? Pray you, if it be, give it me, for I
am slow of study.
QUINCE.
You may do it extempore, for it is nothing but roaring.
BOTTOM.
Let me play the lion too. I will roar that I will do any man’s heart
good to hear me. I will roar that I will make the Duke say ‘Let him
roar again, let him roar again.’
QUINCE.
If you should do it too terribly, you would fright the Duchess and the
ladies, that they would shriek; and that were enough to hang us all.
ALL
That would hang us every mother’s son.
BOTTOM.
I grant you, friends, if you should fright the ladies out of their
wits, they would have no more discretion but to hang us. But I will
aggravate my voice so, that I will roar you as gently as any sucking
dove; I will roar you an ’twere any nightingale.
QUINCE.
You can play no part but Pyramus, for Pyramus is a sweet-faced man; a
proper man as one shall see in a summer’s day; a most lovely
gentleman-like man. Therefore you must needs play Pyramus.
BOTTOM.
Well, I will undertake it. What beard were I best to play it in?
QUINCE.
Why, what you will.
BOTTOM.
I will discharge it in either your straw-colour beard, your
orange-tawny beard, your purple-in-grain beard, or your
French-crown-colour beard, your perfect yellow.
QUINCE.
Some of your French crowns have no hair at all, and then you will play
bare-faced. But, masters, here are your parts, and I am to entreat you,
request you, and desire you, to con them by tomorrow night; and meet me
in the palace wood, a mile without the town, by moonlight; there will
we rehearse, for if we meet in the city, we shall be dogg’d with
company, and our devices known. In the meantime I will draw a bill of
properties, such as our play wants. I pray you fail me not.
BOTTOM.
We will meet, and there we may rehearse most obscenely and
courageously. Take pains, be perfect; adieu.
QUINCE.
At the Duke’s oak we meet.
BOTTOM.
Enough. Hold, or cut bow-strings.
[_Exeunt._]
ACT II
SCENE I. A wood near Athens
Enter a Fairy at one door, and Puck at another.
PUCK.
How now, spirit! Whither wander you?
FAIRY
Over hill, over dale,
Thorough bush, thorough brier,
Over park, over pale,
Thorough flood, thorough fire,
I do wander everywhere,
Swifter than the moon’s sphere;
And I serve the Fairy Queen,
To dew her orbs upon the green.
The cowslips tall her pensioners be,
In their gold coats spots you see;
Those be rubies, fairy favours,
In those freckles live their savours.
I must go seek some dew-drops here,
And hang a pearl in every cowslip’s ear.
Farewell, thou lob of spirits; I’ll be gone.
Our Queen and all her elves come here anon.
PUCK.
The King doth keep his revels here tonight;
Take heed the Queen come not within his sight,
For Oberon is passing fell and wrath,
Because that she, as her attendant, hath
A lovely boy, stol’n from an Indian king;
She never had so sweet a changeling.
And jealous Oberon would have the child
Knight of his train, to trace the forests wild:
But she perforce withholds the lovèd boy,
Crowns him with flowers, and makes him all her joy.
And now they never meet in grove or green,
By fountain clear, or spangled starlight sheen,
But they do square; that all their elves for fear
Creep into acorn cups, and hide them there.
FAIRY
Either I mistake your shape and making quite,
Or else you are that shrewd and knavish sprite
Call’d Robin Goodfellow. Are not you he
That frights the maidens of the villagery,
Skim milk, and sometimes labour in the quern,
And bootless make the breathless housewife churn,
And sometime make the drink to bear no barm,
Mislead night-wanderers, laughing at their harm?
Those that Hobgoblin call you, and sweet Puck,
You do their work, and they shall have good luck.
Are not you he?
PUCK.
Thou speak’st aright;
I am that merry wanderer of the night.
I jest to Oberon, and make him smile,
When I a fat and bean-fed horse beguile,
Neighing in likeness of a filly foal;
And sometime lurk I in a gossip’s bowl
In very likeness of a roasted crab,
And, when she drinks, against her lips I bob,
And on her withered dewlap pour the ale.
The wisest aunt, telling the saddest tale,
Sometime for three-foot stool mistaketh me;
Then slip I from her bum, down topples she,
And ‘tailor’ cries, and falls into a cough;
And then the whole quire hold their hips and loffe
And waxen in their mirth, and neeze, and swear
A merrier hour was never wasted there.
But room, fairy. Here comes Oberon.
FAIRY
And here my mistress. Would that he were gone!
Enter Oberon at one door, with his Train, and Titania at another, with
hers.
OBERON.
Ill met by moonlight, proud Titania.
TITANIA.
What, jealous Oberon! Fairies, skip hence;
I have forsworn his bed and company.
OBERON.
Tarry, rash wanton; am not I thy lord?
TITANIA.
Then I must be thy lady; but I know
When thou hast stol’n away from fairyland,
And in the shape of Corin sat all day
Playing on pipes of corn, and versing love
To amorous Phillida. Why art thou here,
Come from the farthest steep of India,
But that, forsooth, the bouncing Amazon,
Your buskin’d mistress and your warrior love,
To Theseus must be wedded; and you come
To give their bed joy and prosperity?
OBERON.
How canst thou thus, for shame, Titania,
Glance at my credit with Hippolyta,
Knowing I know thy love to Theseus?
Didst not thou lead him through the glimmering night
From Perigenia, whom he ravished?
And make him with fair Aegles break his faith,
With Ariadne and Antiopa?
TITANIA.
These are the forgeries of jealousy:
And never, since the middle summer’s spring,
Met we on hill, in dale, forest, or mead,
By pavèd fountain, or by rushy brook,
Or on the beachèd margent of the sea,
To dance our ringlets to the whistling wind,
But with thy brawls thou hast disturb’d our sport.
Therefore the winds, piping to us in vain,
As in revenge, have suck’d up from the sea
Contagious fogs; which, falling in the land,
Hath every pelting river made so proud
That they have overborne their continents.
The ox hath therefore stretch’d his yoke in vain,
The ploughman lost his sweat, and the green corn
Hath rotted ere his youth attain’d a beard.
The fold stands empty in the drownèd field,
And crows are fatted with the murrion flock;
The nine-men’s-morris is fill’d up with mud,
And the quaint mazes in the wanton green,
For lack of tread, are undistinguishable.
The human mortals want their winter here.
No night is now with hymn or carol blest.
Therefore the moon, the governess of floods,
Pale in her anger, washes all the air,
That rheumatic diseases do abound.
And thorough this distemperature we see
The seasons alter: hoary-headed frosts
Fall in the fresh lap of the crimson rose;
And on old Hiems’ thin and icy crown
An odorous chaplet of sweet summer buds
Is, as in mockery, set. The spring, the summer,
The childing autumn, angry winter, change
Their wonted liveries; and the mazed world,
By their increase, now knows not which is which.
And this same progeny of evils comes
From our debate, from our dissension;
We are their parents and original.
OBERON.
Do you amend it, then. It lies in you.
Why should Titania cross her Oberon?
I do but beg a little changeling boy
To be my henchman.
TITANIA.
Set your heart at rest;
The fairyland buys not the child of me.
His mother was a vot’ress of my order,
And in the spicèd Indian air, by night,
Full often hath she gossip’d by my side;
And sat with me on Neptune’s yellow sands,
Marking th’ embarkèd traders on the flood,
When we have laugh’d to see the sails conceive,
And grow big-bellied with the wanton wind;
Which she, with pretty and with swimming gait
Following (her womb then rich with my young squire),
Would imitate, and sail upon the land,
To fetch me trifles, and return again,
As from a voyage, rich with merchandise.
But she, being mortal, of that boy did die;
And for her sake do I rear up her boy,
And for her sake I will not part with him.
OBERON.
How long within this wood intend you stay?
TITANIA.
Perchance till after Theseus’ wedding-day.
If you will patiently dance in our round,
And see our moonlight revels, go with us;
If not, shun me, and I will spare your haunts.
OBERON.
Give me that boy and I will go with thee.
TITANIA.
Not for thy fairy kingdom. Fairies, away.
We shall chide downright if I longer stay.
[_Exit Titania with her Train._]
OBERON.
Well, go thy way. Thou shalt not from this grove
Till I torment thee for this injury.—
My gentle Puck, come hither. Thou rememb’rest
Since once I sat upon a promontory,
And heard a mermaid on a dolphin’s back
Uttering such dulcet and harmonious breath
That the rude sea grew civil at her song
And certain stars shot madly from their spheres
To hear the sea-maid’s music.
PUCK.
I remember.
OBERON.
That very time I saw, (but thou couldst not),
Flying between the cold moon and the earth,
Cupid all arm’d: a certain aim he took
At a fair vestal, thronèd by the west,
And loos’d his love-shaft smartly from his bow
As it should pierce a hundred thousand hearts.
But I might see young Cupid’s fiery shaft
Quench’d in the chaste beams of the watery moon;
And the imperial votress passed on,
In maiden meditation, fancy-free.
Yet mark’d I where the bolt of Cupid fell:
It fell upon a little western flower,
Before milk-white, now purple with love’s wound,
And maidens call it love-in-idleness.
Fetch me that flower, the herb I showed thee once:
The juice of it on sleeping eyelids laid
Will make or man or woman madly dote
Upon the next live creature that it sees.
Fetch me this herb, and be thou here again
Ere the leviathan can swim a league.
PUCK.
I’ll put a girdle round about the earth
In forty minutes.
[_Exit Puck._]
OBERON.
Having once this juice,
I’ll watch Titania when she is asleep,
And drop the liquor of it in her eyes:
The next thing then she waking looks upon
(Be it on lion, bear, or wolf, or bull,
On meddling monkey, or on busy ape)
She shall pursue it with the soul of love.
And ere I take this charm from off her sight
(As I can take it with another herb)
I’ll make her render up her page to me.
But who comes here? I am invisible;
And I will overhear their conference.
Enter Demetrius, Helena following him.
DEMETRIUS.
I love thee not, therefore pursue me not.
Where is Lysander and fair Hermia?
The one I’ll slay, the other slayeth me.
Thou told’st me they were stol’n into this wood,
And here am I, and wode within this wood
Because I cannot meet with Hermia.
Hence, get thee gone, and follow me no more.
HELENA.
You draw me, you hard-hearted adamant,
But yet you draw not iron, for my heart
Is true as steel. Leave you your power to draw,
And I shall have no power to follow you.
DEMETRIUS.
Do I entice you? Do I speak you fair?
Or rather do I not in plainest truth
Tell you I do not, nor I cannot love you?
HELENA.
And even for that do I love you the more.
I am your spaniel; and, Demetrius,
The more you beat me, I will fawn on you.
Use me but as your spaniel, spurn me, strike me,
Neglect me, lose me; only give me leave,
Unworthy as I am, to follow you.
What worser place can I beg in your love,
(And yet a place of high respect with me)
Than to be usèd as you use your dog?
DEMETRIUS.
Tempt not too much the hatred of my spirit;
For I am sick when I do look on thee.
HELENA.
And I am sick when I look not on you.
DEMETRIUS.
You do impeach your modesty too much
To leave the city and commit yourself
Into the hands of one that loves you not,
To trust the opportunity of night
And the ill counsel of a desert place,
With the rich worth of your virginity.
HELENA.
Your virtue is my privilege: for that
It is not night when I do see your face,
Therefore I think I am not in the night;
Nor doth this wood lack worlds of company,
For you, in my respect, are all the world.
Then how can it be said I am alone
When all the world is here to look on me?
DEMETRIUS.
I’ll run from thee and hide me in the brakes,
And leave thee to the mercy of wild beasts.
HELENA.
The wildest hath not such a heart as you.
Run when you will, the story shall be chang’d;
Apollo flies, and Daphne holds the chase;
The dove pursues the griffin, the mild hind
Makes speed to catch the tiger. Bootless speed,
When cowardice pursues and valour flies!
DEMETRIUS.
I will not stay thy questions. Let me go,
Or if thou follow me, do not believe
But I shall do thee mischief in the wood.
HELENA.
Ay, in the temple, in the town, the field,
You do me mischief. Fie, Demetrius!
Your wrongs do set a scandal on my sex.
We cannot fight for love as men may do.
We should be woo’d, and were not made to woo.
[_Exit Demetrius._]
I’ll follow thee, and make a heaven of hell,
To die upon the hand I love so well.
[_Exit Helena._]
OBERON.
Fare thee well, nymph. Ere he do leave this grove,
Thou shalt fly him, and he shall seek thy love.
Enter Puck.
Hast thou the flower there? Welcome, wanderer.
PUCK.
Ay, there it is.
OBERON.
I pray thee give it me.
I know a bank where the wild thyme blows,
Where oxlips and the nodding violet grows,
Quite over-canopied with luscious woodbine,
With sweet musk-roses, and with eglantine.
There sleeps Titania sometime of the night,
Lull’d in these flowers with dances and delight;
And there the snake throws her enamell’d skin,
Weed wide enough to wrap a fairy in.
And with the juice of this I’ll streak her eyes,
And make her full of hateful fantasies.
Take thou some of it, and seek through this grove:
A sweet Athenian lady is in love
With a disdainful youth. Anoint his eyes;
But do it when the next thing he espies
May be the lady. Thou shalt know the man
By the Athenian garments he hath on.
Effect it with some care, that he may prove
More fond on her than she upon her love:
And look thou meet me ere the first cock crow.
PUCK.
Fear not, my lord, your servant shall do so.
[_Exeunt._]
SCENE II. Another part of the wood
Enter Titania with her Train.
TITANIA.
Come, now a roundel and a fairy song;
Then for the third part of a minute, hence;
Some to kill cankers in the musk-rose buds;
Some war with reremice for their leathern wings,
To make my small elves coats; and some keep back
The clamorous owl, that nightly hoots and wonders
At our quaint spirits. Sing me now asleep;
Then to your offices, and let me rest.
Fairies sing.
FIRST FAIRY.
You spotted snakes with double tongue,
Thorny hedgehogs, be not seen;
Newts and blind-worms do no wrong,
Come not near our Fairy Queen:
CHORUS.
Philomel, with melody,
Sing in our sweet lullaby:
Lulla, lulla, lullaby; lulla, lulla, lullaby.
Never harm, nor spell, nor charm,
Come our lovely lady nigh;
So good night, with lullaby.
FIRST FAIRY.
Weaving spiders, come not here;
Hence, you long-legg’d spinners, hence.
Beetles black, approach not near;
Worm nor snail do no offence.
CHORUS.
Philomel with melody, &c.
SECOND FAIRY.
Hence away! Now all is well.
One aloof stand sentinel.
[_Exeunt Fairies. Titania sleeps._]
Enter Oberon.
OBERON.
What thou seest when thou dost wake,
[_Squeezes the flower on Titania’s eyelids._]
Do it for thy true love take;
Love and languish for his sake.
Be it ounce, or cat, or bear,
Pard, or boar with bristled hair,
In thy eye that shall appear
When thou wak’st, it is thy dear.
Wake when some vile thing is near.
[_Exit._]
Enter Lysander and Hermia.
LYSANDER.
Fair love, you faint with wand’ring in the wood.
And, to speak troth, I have forgot our way.
We’ll rest us, Hermia, if you think it good,
And tarry for the comfort of the day.
HERMIA.
Be it so, Lysander: find you out a bed,
For I upon this bank will rest my head.
LYSANDER.
One turf shall serve as pillow for us both;
One heart, one bed, two bosoms, and one troth.
HERMIA.
Nay, good Lysander; for my sake, my dear,
Lie further off yet, do not lie so near.
LYSANDER.
O take the sense, sweet, of my innocence!
Love takes the meaning in love’s conference.
I mean that my heart unto yours is knit,
So that but one heart we can make of it:
Two bosoms interchainèd with an oath,
So then two bosoms and a single troth.
Then by your side no bed-room me deny;
For lying so, Hermia, I do not lie.
HERMIA.
Lysander riddles very prettily.
Now much beshrew my manners and my pride,
If Hermia meant to say Lysander lied!
But, gentle friend, for love and courtesy
Lie further off, in human modesty,
Such separation as may well be said
Becomes a virtuous bachelor and a maid,
So far be distant; and good night, sweet friend:
Thy love ne’er alter till thy sweet life end!
LYSANDER.
Amen, amen, to that fair prayer say I;
And then end life when I end loyalty!
Here is my bed. Sleep give thee all his rest!
HERMIA.
With half that wish the wisher’s eyes be pressed!
[_They sleep._]
Enter Puck.
PUCK.
Through the forest have I gone,
But Athenian found I none,
On whose eyes I might approve
This flower’s force in stirring love.
Night and silence! Who is here?
Weeds of Athens he doth wear:
This is he, my master said,
Despisèd the Athenian maid;
And here the maiden, sleeping sound,
On the dank and dirty ground.
Pretty soul, she durst not lie
Near this lack-love, this kill-courtesy.
Churl, upon thy eyes I throw
All the power this charm doth owe;
When thou wak’st let love forbid
Sleep his seat on thy eyelid.
So awake when I am gone;
For I must now to Oberon.
[_Exit._]
Enter Demetrius and Helena, running.
HELENA.
Stay, though thou kill me, sweet Demetrius.
DEMETRIUS.
I charge thee, hence, and do not haunt me thus.
HELENA.
O, wilt thou darkling leave me? Do not so.
DEMETRIUS.
Stay, on thy peril; I alone will go.
[_Exit Demetrius._]
HELENA.
O, I am out of breath in this fond chase!
The more my prayer, the lesser is my grace.
Happy is Hermia, wheresoe’er she lies,
For she hath blessèd and attractive eyes.
How came her eyes so bright? Not with salt tears.
If so, my eyes are oftener wash’d than hers.
No, no, I am as ugly as a bear,
For beasts that meet me run away for fear:
Therefore no marvel though Demetrius
Do, as a monster, fly my presence thus.
What wicked and dissembling glass of mine
Made me compare with Hermia’s sphery eyne?
But who is here? Lysander, on the ground!
Dead or asleep? I see no blood, no wound.
Lysander, if you live, good sir, awake.
LYSANDER.
[_Waking._] And run through fire I will for thy sweet sake.
Transparent Helena! Nature shows art,
That through thy bosom makes me see thy heart.
Where is Demetrius? O, how fit a word
Is that vile name to perish on my sword!
HELENA.
Do not say so, Lysander, say not so.
What though he love your Hermia? Lord, what though?
Yet Hermia still loves you. Then be content.
LYSANDER.
Content with Hermia? No, I do repent
The tedious minutes I with her have spent.
Not Hermia, but Helena I love.
Who will not change a raven for a dove?
The will of man is by his reason sway’d,
And reason says you are the worthier maid.
Things growing are not ripe until their season;
So I, being young, till now ripe not to reason;
And touching now the point of human skill,
Reason becomes the marshal to my will,
And leads me to your eyes, where I o’erlook
Love’s stories, written in love’s richest book.
HELENA.
Wherefore was I to this keen mockery born?
When at your hands did I deserve this scorn?
Is’t not enough, is’t not enough, young man,
That I did never, no, nor never can
Deserve a sweet look from Demetrius’ eye,
But you must flout my insufficiency?
Good troth, you do me wrong, good sooth, you do,
In such disdainful manner me to woo.
But fare you well; perforce I must confess,
I thought you lord of more true gentleness.
O, that a lady of one man refus’d,
Should of another therefore be abus’d!
[_Exit._]
LYSANDER.
She sees not Hermia. Hermia, sleep thou there,
And never mayst thou come Lysander near!
For, as a surfeit of the sweetest things
The deepest loathing to the stomach brings;
Or as the heresies that men do leave
Are hated most of those they did deceive;
So thou, my surfeit and my heresy,
Of all be hated, but the most of me!
And, all my powers, address your love and might
To honour Helen, and to be her knight!
[_Exit._]
HERMIA.
[_Starting._] Help me, Lysander, help me! Do thy best
To pluck this crawling serpent from my breast!
Ay me, for pity! What a dream was here!
Lysander, look how I do quake with fear.
Methought a serpent eat my heart away,
And you sat smiling at his cruel prey.
Lysander! What, removed? Lysander! lord!
What, out of hearing? Gone? No sound, no word?
Alack, where are you? Speak, and if you hear;
Speak, of all loves! I swoon almost with fear.
No? Then I well perceive you are not nigh.
Either death or you I’ll find immediately.
[_Exit._]
ACT III
SCENE I. The Wood.
The Queen of Fairies still lying asleep.
Enter Bottom, Quince, Snout, Starveling, Snug and Flute.
BOTTOM.
Are we all met?
QUINCE.
Pat, pat; and here’s a marvellous convenient place for our rehearsal.
This green plot shall be our stage, this hawthorn brake our
tiring-house; and we will do it in action, as we will do it before the
Duke.
BOTTOM.
Peter Quince?
QUINCE.
What sayest thou, bully Bottom?
BOTTOM.
There are things in this comedy of Pyramus and Thisbe that will never
please. First, Pyramus must draw a sword to kill himself; which the
ladies cannot abide. How answer you that?
SNOUT
By’r lakin, a parlous fear.
STARVELING.
I believe we must leave the killing out, when all is done.
BOTTOM.
Not a whit; I have a device to make all well. Write me a prologue, and
let the prologue seem to say we will do no harm with our swords, and
that Pyramus is not killed indeed; and for the more better assurance,
tell them that I Pyramus am not Pyramus but Bottom the weaver. This
will put them out of fear.
QUINCE.
Well, we will have such a prologue; and it shall be written in eight
and six.
BOTTOM.
No, make it two more; let it be written in eight and eight.
SNOUT
Will not the ladies be afeard of the lion?
STARVELING.
I fear it, I promise you.
BOTTOM.
Masters, you ought to consider with yourselves, to bring in (God shield
us!) a lion among ladies is a most dreadful thing. For there is not a
more fearful wild-fowl than your lion living; and we ought to look to
it.
SNOUT
Therefore another prologue must tell he is not a lion.
BOTTOM.
Nay, you must name his name, and half his face must be seen through the
lion’s neck; and he himself must speak through, saying thus, or to the
same defect: ‘Ladies,’ or, ‘Fair ladies, I would wish you,’ or, ‘I
would request you,’ or, ’I would entreat you, not to fear, not to
tremble: my life for yours. If you think I come hither as a lion, it
were pity of my life. No, I am no such thing; I am a man as other men
are’: and there, indeed, let him name his name, and tell them plainly
he is Snug the joiner.
QUINCE.
Well, it shall be so. But there is two hard things: that is, to bring
the moonlight into a chamber, for you know, Pyramus and Thisbe meet by
moonlight.
SNOUT
Doth the moon shine that night we play our play?
BOTTOM.
A calendar, a calendar! Look in the almanack; find out moonshine, find
out moonshine.
QUINCE.
Yes, it doth shine that night.
BOTTOM.
Why, then may you leave a casement of the great chamber window, where
we play, open; and the moon may shine in at the casement.
QUINCE.
Ay; or else one must come in with a bush of thorns and a lantern, and
say he comes to disfigure or to present the person of Moonshine. Then
there is another thing: we must have a wall in the great chamber; for
Pyramus and Thisbe, says the story, did talk through the chink of a
wall.
SNOUT
You can never bring in a wall. What say you, Bottom?
BOTTOM.
Some man or other must present Wall. And let him have some plaster, or
some loam, or some rough-cast about him, to signify wall; and let him
hold his fingers thus, and through that cranny shall Pyramus and Thisbe
whisper.
QUINCE.
If that may be, then all is well. Come, sit down, every mother’s son,
and rehearse your parts. Pyramus, you begin: when you have spoken your
speech, enter into that brake; and so everyone according to his cue.
Enter Puck behind.
PUCK.
What hempen homespuns have we swaggering here,
So near the cradle of the Fairy Queen?
What, a play toward? I’ll be an auditor;
An actor too perhaps, if I see cause.
QUINCE.
Speak, Pyramus.—Thisbe, stand forth.
PYRAMUS.
_Thisbe, the flowers of odious savours sweet_
QUINCE.
Odours, odours.
PYRAMUS.
_. . . odours savours sweet.
So hath thy breath, my dearest Thisbe dear.
But hark, a voice! Stay thou but here awhile,
And by and by I will to thee appear._
[_Exit._]
PUCK.
A stranger Pyramus than e’er played here!
[_Exit._]
THISBE.
Must I speak now?
QUINCE.
Ay, marry, must you, For you must understand he goes but to see a noise
that he heard, and is to come again.
THISBE.
_Most radiant Pyramus, most lily-white of hue,
Of colour like the red rose on triumphant brier,
Most brisky juvenal, and eke most lovely Jew,
As true as truest horse, that yet would never tire,
I’ll meet thee, Pyramus, at Ninny’s tomb._
QUINCE.
Ninus’ tomb, man! Why, you must not speak that yet. That you answer to
Pyramus. You speak all your part at once, cues, and all.—Pyramus enter!
Your cue is past; it is ‘never tire.’
THISBE.
O, _As true as truest horse, that yet would never tire._
Enter Puck and Bottom with an ass’s head.
PYRAMUS.
_If I were fair, Thisbe, I were only thine._
QUINCE.
O monstrous! O strange! We are haunted. Pray, masters, fly, masters!
Help!
[_Exeunt Clowns._]
PUCK.
I’ll follow you. I’ll lead you about a round,
Through bog, through bush, through brake, through brier;
Sometime a horse I’ll be, sometime a hound,
A hog, a headless bear, sometime a fire;
And neigh, and bark, and grunt, and roar, and burn,
Like horse, hound, hog, bear, fire, at every turn.
[_Exit._]
BOTTOM.
Why do they run away? This is a knavery of them to make me afeard.
Enter Snout.
SNOUT
O Bottom, thou art changed! What do I see on thee?
BOTTOM.
What do you see? You see an ass-head of your own, do you?
[_Exit Snout._]
Enter Quince.
QUINCE.
Bless thee, Bottom! bless thee! Thou art translated.
[_Exit._]
BOTTOM.
I see their knavery. This is to make an ass of me, to fright me, if
they could. But I will not stir from this place, do what they can. I
will walk up and down here, and I will sing, that they shall hear I am
not afraid.
[_Sings._]
The ousel cock, so black of hue,
With orange-tawny bill,
The throstle with his note so true,
The wren with little quill.
TITANIA.
[_Waking._] What angel wakes me from my flowery bed?
BOTTOM.
[_Sings._]
The finch, the sparrow, and the lark,
The plain-song cuckoo gray,
Whose note full many a man doth mark,
And dares not answer nay.
for, indeed, who would set his wit to so foolish a bird? Who would give
a bird the lie, though he cry ‘cuckoo’ never so?
TITANIA.
I pray thee, gentle mortal, sing again.
Mine ear is much enamour’d of thy note.
So is mine eye enthrallèd to thy shape;
And thy fair virtue’s force perforce doth move me,
On the first view, to say, to swear, I love thee.
BOTTOM.
Methinks, mistress, you should have little reason for that. And yet, to
say the truth, reason and love keep little company together nowadays.
The more the pity that some honest neighbours will not make them
friends. Nay, I can gleek upon occasion.
TITANIA.
Thou art as wise as thou art beautiful.
BOTTOM.
Not so, neither; but if I had wit enough to get out of this wood, I
have enough to serve mine own turn.
TITANIA.
Out of this wood do not desire to go.
Thou shalt remain here whether thou wilt or no.
I am a spirit of no common rate.
The summer still doth tend upon my state;
And I do love thee: therefore, go with me.
I’ll give thee fairies to attend on thee;
And they shall fetch thee jewels from the deep,
And sing, while thou on pressèd flowers dost sleep.
And I will purge thy mortal grossness so
That thou shalt like an airy spirit go.—
Peaseblossom! Cobweb! Moth! and Mustardseed!
Enter four Fairies.
PEASEBLOSSOM.
Ready.
COBWEB.
And I.
MOTH.
And I.
MUSTARDSEED.
And I.
ALL.
Where shall we go?
TITANIA.
Be kind and courteous to this gentleman;
Hop in his walks and gambol in his eyes;
Feed him with apricocks and dewberries,
With purple grapes, green figs, and mulberries;
The honey-bags steal from the humble-bees,
And for night-tapers, crop their waxen thighs,
And light them at the fiery glow-worm’s eyes,
To have my love to bed and to arise;
And pluck the wings from painted butterflies,
To fan the moonbeams from his sleeping eyes.
Nod to him, elves, and do him courtesies.
PEASEBLOSSOM.
Hail, mortal!
COBWEB.
Hail!
MOTH.
Hail!
MUSTARDSEED.
Hail!
BOTTOM.
I cry your worships mercy, heartily.—I beseech your worship’s name.
COBWEB.
Cobweb.
BOTTOM.
I shall desire you of more acquaintance, good Master Cobweb. If I cut
my finger, I shall make bold with you.—Your name, honest gentleman?
PEASEBLOSSOM.
Peaseblossom.
BOTTOM.
I pray you, commend me to Mistress Squash, your mother, and to Master
Peascod, your father. Good Master Peaseblossom, I shall desire you of
more acquaintance too.—Your name, I beseech you, sir?
MUSTARDSEED.
Mustardseed.
BOTTOM.
Good Master Mustardseed, I know your patience well. That same cowardly
giant-like ox-beef hath devoured many a gentleman of your house. I
promise you, your kindred hath made my eyes water ere now. I desire you
of more acquaintance, good Master Mustardseed.
TITANIA.
Come, wait upon him; lead him to my bower.
The moon, methinks, looks with a watery eye,
And when she weeps, weeps every little flower,
Lamenting some enforced chastity.
Tie up my love’s tongue, bring him silently.
[_Exeunt._]
SCENE II. Another part of the wood
Enter Oberon.
OBERON.
I wonder if Titania be awak’d;
Then, what it was that next came in her eye,
Which she must dote on in extremity.
Enter Puck.
Here comes my messenger. How now, mad spirit?
What night-rule now about this haunted grove?
PUCK.
My mistress with a monster is in love.
Near to her close and consecrated bower,
While she was in her dull and sleeping hour,
A crew of patches, rude mechanicals,
That work for bread upon Athenian stalls,
Were met together to rehearse a play
Intended for great Theseus’ nuptial day.
The shallowest thick-skin of that barren sort
Who Pyramus presented in their sport,
Forsook his scene and enter’d in a brake.
When I did him at this advantage take,
An ass’s nole I fixed on his head.
Anon, his Thisbe must be answerèd,
And forth my mimic comes. When they him spy,
As wild geese that the creeping fowler eye,
Or russet-pated choughs, many in sort,
Rising and cawing at the gun’s report,
Sever themselves and madly sweep the sky,
So at his sight away his fellows fly,
And at our stamp, here o’er and o’er one falls;
He murder cries, and help from Athens calls.
Their sense thus weak, lost with their fears, thus strong,
Made senseless things begin to do them wrong;
For briers and thorns at their apparel snatch;
Some sleeves, some hats, from yielders all things catch.
I led them on in this distracted fear,
And left sweet Pyramus translated there.
When in that moment, so it came to pass,
Titania wak’d, and straightway lov’d an ass.
OBERON.
This falls out better than I could devise.
But hast thou yet latch’d the Athenian’s eyes
With the love-juice, as I did bid thee do?
PUCK.
I took him sleeping—that is finish’d too—
And the Athenian woman by his side,
That, when he wak’d, of force she must be ey’d.
Enter Demetrius and Hermia.
OBERON.
Stand close. This is the same Athenian.
PUCK.
This is the woman, but not this the man.
DEMETRIUS.
O why rebuke you him that loves you so?
Lay breath so bitter on your bitter foe.
HERMIA.
Now I but chide, but I should use thee worse,
For thou, I fear, hast given me cause to curse.
If thou hast slain Lysander in his sleep,
Being o’er shoes in blood, plunge in the deep,
And kill me too.
The sun was not so true unto the day
As he to me. Would he have stol’n away
From sleeping Hermia? I’ll believe as soon
This whole earth may be bor’d, and that the moon
May through the centre creep and so displease
Her brother’s noontide with th’ Antipodes.
It cannot be but thou hast murder’d him.
So should a murderer look, so dead, so grim.
DEMETRIUS.
So should the murder’d look, and so should I,
Pierc’d through the heart with your stern cruelty.
Yet you, the murderer, look as bright, as clear,
As yonder Venus in her glimmering sphere.
HERMIA.
What’s this to my Lysander? Where is he?
Ah, good Demetrius, wilt thou give him me?
DEMETRIUS.
I had rather give his carcass to my hounds.
HERMIA.
Out, dog! Out, cur! Thou driv’st me past the bounds
Of maiden’s patience. Hast thou slain him, then?
Henceforth be never number’d among men!
O once tell true; tell true, even for my sake!
Durst thou have look’d upon him, being awake,
And hast thou kill’d him sleeping? O brave touch!
Could not a worm, an adder, do so much?
An adder did it; for with doubler tongue
Than thine, thou serpent, never adder stung.
DEMETRIUS.
You spend your passion on a mispris’d mood:
I am not guilty of Lysander’s blood;
Nor is he dead, for aught that I can tell.
HERMIA.
I pray thee, tell me then that he is well.
DEMETRIUS.
And if I could, what should I get therefore?
HERMIA.
A privilege never to see me more.
And from thy hated presence part I so:
See me no more, whether he be dead or no.
[_Exit._]
DEMETRIUS.
There is no following her in this fierce vein.
Here, therefore, for a while I will remain.
So sorrow’s heaviness doth heavier grow
For debt that bankrupt sleep doth sorrow owe;
Which now in some slight measure it will pay,
If for his tender here I make some stay.
[_Lies down._]
OBERON.
What hast thou done? Thou hast mistaken quite,
And laid the love-juice on some true-love’s sight.
Of thy misprision must perforce ensue
Some true love turn’d, and not a false turn’d true.
PUCK.
Then fate o’er-rules, that, one man holding troth,
A million fail, confounding oath on oath.
OBERON.
About the wood go swifter than the wind,
And Helena of Athens look thou find.
All fancy-sick she is, and pale of cheer
With sighs of love, that costs the fresh blood dear.
By some illusion see thou bring her here;
I’ll charm his eyes against she do appear.
PUCK.
I go, I go; look how I go,
Swifter than arrow from the Tartar’s bow.
[_Exit._]
OBERON.
Flower of this purple dye,
Hit with Cupid’s archery,
Sink in apple of his eye.
When his love he doth espy,
Let her shine as gloriously
As the Venus of the sky.—
When thou wak’st, if she be by,
Beg of her for remedy.
Enter Puck.
PUCK.
Captain of our fairy band,
Helena is here at hand,
And the youth mistook by me,
Pleading for a lover’s fee.
Shall we their fond pageant see?
Lord, what fools these mortals be!
OBERON.
Stand aside. The noise they make
Will cause Demetrius to awake.
PUCK.
Then will two at once woo one.
That must needs be sport alone;
And those things do best please me
That befall prepost’rously.
Enter Lysander and Helena.
LYSANDER.
Why should you think that I should woo in scorn?
Scorn and derision never come in tears.
Look when I vow, I weep; and vows so born,
In their nativity all truth appears.
How can these things in me seem scorn to you,
Bearing the badge of faith, to prove them true?
HELENA.
You do advance your cunning more and more.
When truth kills truth, O devilish-holy fray!
These vows are Hermia’s: will you give her o’er?
Weigh oath with oath, and you will nothing weigh:
Your vows to her and me, put in two scales,
Will even weigh; and both as light as tales.
LYSANDER.
I had no judgment when to her I swore.
HELENA.
Nor none, in my mind, now you give her o’er.
LYSANDER.
Demetrius loves her, and he loves not you.
DEMETRIUS.
[_Waking._] O Helen, goddess, nymph, perfect, divine!
To what, my love, shall I compare thine eyne?
Crystal is muddy. O how ripe in show
Thy lips, those kissing cherries, tempting grow!
That pure congealèd white, high Taurus’ snow,
Fann’d with the eastern wind, turns to a crow
When thou hold’st up thy hand. O, let me kiss
This princess of pure white, this seal of bliss!
HELENA.
O spite! O hell! I see you all are bent
To set against me for your merriment.
If you were civil, and knew courtesy,
You would not do me thus much injury.
Can you not hate me, as I know you do,
But you must join in souls to mock me too?
If you were men, as men you are in show,
You would not use a gentle lady so;
To vow, and swear, and superpraise my parts,
When I am sure you hate me with your hearts.
You both are rivals, and love Hermia;
And now both rivals, to mock Helena.
A trim exploit, a manly enterprise,
To conjure tears up in a poor maid’s eyes
With your derision! None of noble sort
Would so offend a virgin, and extort
A poor soul’s patience, all to make you sport.
LYSANDER.
You are unkind, Demetrius; be not so,
For you love Hermia; this you know I know.
And here, with all good will, with all my heart,
In Hermia’s love I yield you up my part;
And yours of Helena to me bequeath,
Whom I do love and will do till my death.
HELENA.
Never did mockers waste more idle breath.
DEMETRIUS.
Lysander, keep thy Hermia; I will none.
If e’er I lov’d her, all that love is gone.
My heart to her but as guest-wise sojourn’d;
And now to Helen is it home return’d,
There to remain.
LYSANDER.
Helen, it is not so.
DEMETRIUS.
Disparage not the faith thou dost not know,
Lest to thy peril thou aby it dear.
Look where thy love comes; yonder is thy dear.
Enter Hermia.
HERMIA.
Dark night, that from the eye his function takes,
The ear more quick of apprehension makes;
Wherein it doth impair the seeing sense,
It pays the hearing double recompense.
Thou art not by mine eye, Lysander, found;
Mine ear, I thank it, brought me to thy sound.
But why unkindly didst thou leave me so?
LYSANDER.
Why should he stay whom love doth press to go?
HERMIA.
What love could press Lysander from my side?
LYSANDER.
Lysander’s love, that would not let him bide,
Fair Helena, who more engilds the night
Than all yon fiery oes and eyes of light.
Why seek’st thou me? Could not this make thee know
The hate I bare thee made me leave thee so?
HERMIA.
You speak not as you think; it cannot be.
HELENA.
Lo, she is one of this confederacy!
Now I perceive they have conjoin’d all three
To fashion this false sport in spite of me.
Injurious Hermia, most ungrateful maid!
Have you conspir’d, have you with these contriv’d,
To bait me with this foul derision?
Is all the counsel that we two have shar’d,
The sisters’ vows, the hours that we have spent,
When we have chid the hasty-footed time
For parting us—O, is all forgot?
All school-days’ friendship, childhood innocence?
We, Hermia, like two artificial gods,
Have with our needles created both one flower,
Both on one sampler, sitting on one cushion,
Both warbling of one song, both in one key,
As if our hands, our sides, voices, and minds,
Had been incorporate. So we grew together,
Like to a double cherry, seeming parted,
But yet a union in partition,
Two lovely berries moulded on one stem;
So, with two seeming bodies, but one heart;
Two of the first, like coats in heraldry,
Due but to one, and crownèd with one crest.
And will you rent our ancient love asunder,
To join with men in scorning your poor friend?
It is not friendly, ’tis not maidenly.
Our sex, as well as I, may chide you for it,
Though I alone do feel the injury.
HERMIA.
I am amazèd at your passionate words:
I scorn you not; it seems that you scorn me.
HELENA.
Have you not set Lysander, as in scorn,
To follow me, and praise my eyes and face?
And made your other love, Demetrius,
Who even but now did spurn me with his foot,
To call me goddess, nymph, divine and rare,
Precious, celestial? Wherefore speaks he this
To her he hates? And wherefore doth Lysander
Deny your love, so rich within his soul,
And tender me, forsooth, affection,
But by your setting on, by your consent?
What though I be not so in grace as you,
So hung upon with love, so fortunate,
But miserable most, to love unlov’d?
This you should pity rather than despise.
HERMIA.
I understand not what you mean by this.
HELENA.
Ay, do. Persever, counterfeit sad looks,
Make mouths upon me when I turn my back,
Wink each at other; hold the sweet jest up.
This sport, well carried, shall be chronicled.
If you have any pity, grace, or manners,
You would not make me such an argument.
But fare ye well. ’Tis partly my own fault,
Which death, or absence, soon shall remedy.
LYSANDER.
Stay, gentle Helena; hear my excuse;
My love, my life, my soul, fair Helena!
HELENA.
O excellent!
HERMIA.
Sweet, do not scorn her so.
DEMETRIUS.
If she cannot entreat, I can compel.
LYSANDER.
Thou canst compel no more than she entreat;
Thy threats have no more strength than her weak prayers.
Helen, I love thee, by my life I do;
I swear by that which I will lose for thee
To prove him false that says I love thee not.
DEMETRIUS.
I say I love thee more than he can do.
LYSANDER.
If thou say so, withdraw, and prove it too.
DEMETRIUS.
Quick, come.
HERMIA.
Lysander, whereto tends all this?
LYSANDER.
Away, you Ethiope!
DEMETRIUS.
No, no. He will
Seem to break loose. Take on as you would follow,
But yet come not. You are a tame man, go!
LYSANDER.
Hang off, thou cat, thou burr! Vile thing, let loose,
Or I will shake thee from me like a serpent.
HERMIA.
Why are you grown so rude? What change is this,
Sweet love?
LYSANDER.
Thy love? Out, tawny Tartar, out!
Out, loathèd medicine! O hated potion, hence!
HERMIA.
Do you not jest?
HELENA.
Yes, sooth, and so do you.
LYSANDER.
Demetrius, I will keep my word with thee.
DEMETRIUS.
I would I had your bond; for I perceive
A weak bond holds you; I’ll not trust your word.
LYSANDER.
What, should I hurt her, strike her, kill her dead?
Although I hate her, I’ll not harm her so.
HERMIA.
What, can you do me greater harm than hate?
Hate me? Wherefore? O me! what news, my love?
Am not I Hermia? Are not you Lysander?
I am as fair now as I was erewhile.
Since night you lov’d me; yet since night you left me.
Why then, you left me—O, the gods forbid!—
In earnest, shall I say?
LYSANDER.
Ay, by my life;
And never did desire to see thee more.
Therefore be out of hope, of question, of doubt;
Be certain, nothing truer; ’tis no jest
That I do hate thee and love Helena.
HERMIA.
O me! You juggler! You cankerblossom!
You thief of love! What! have you come by night
And stol’n my love’s heart from him?
HELENA.
Fine, i’ faith!
Have you no modesty, no maiden shame,
No touch of bashfulness? What, will you tear
Impatient answers from my gentle tongue?
Fie, fie, you counterfeit, you puppet, you!
HERMIA.
Puppet! Why so? Ay, that way goes the game.
Now I perceive that she hath made compare
Between our statures; she hath urg’d her height;
And with her personage, her tall personage,
Her height, forsooth, she hath prevail’d with him.
And are you grown so high in his esteem
Because I am so dwarfish and so low?
How low am I, thou painted maypole? Speak,
How low am I? I am not yet so low
But that my nails can reach unto thine eyes.
HELENA.
I pray you, though you mock me, gentlemen,
Let her not hurt me. I was never curst;
I have no gift at all in shrewishness;
I am a right maid for my cowardice;
Let her not strike me. You perhaps may think,
Because she is something lower than myself,
That I can match her.
HERMIA.
Lower! Hark, again.
HELENA.
Good Hermia, do not be so bitter with me.
I evermore did love you, Hermia,
Did ever keep your counsels, never wrong’d you,
Save that, in love unto Demetrius,
I told him of your stealth unto this wood.
He follow’d you; for love I follow’d him;
But he hath chid me hence, and threaten’d me
To strike me, spurn me, nay, to kill me too:
And now, so you will let me quiet go,
To Athens will I bear my folly back,
And follow you no further. Let me go:
You see how simple and how fond I am.
HERMIA.
Why, get you gone. Who is’t that hinders you?
HELENA.
A foolish heart that I leave here behind.
HERMIA.
What! with Lysander?
HELENA.
With Demetrius.
LYSANDER.
Be not afraid; she shall not harm thee, Helena.
DEMETRIUS.
No, sir, she shall not, though you take her part.
HELENA.
O, when she’s angry, she is keen and shrewd.
She was a vixen when she went to school,
And though she be but little, she is fierce.
HERMIA.
Little again! Nothing but low and little?
Why will you suffer her to flout me thus?
Let me come to her.
LYSANDER.
Get you gone, you dwarf;
You minimus, of hind’ring knot-grass made;
You bead, you acorn.
DEMETRIUS.
You are too officious
In her behalf that scorns your services.
Let her alone. Speak not of Helena;
Take not her part; for if thou dost intend
Never so little show of love to her,
Thou shalt aby it.
LYSANDER.
Now she holds me not.
Now follow, if thou dar’st, to try whose right,
Of thine or mine, is most in Helena.
DEMETRIUS.
Follow! Nay, I’ll go with thee, cheek by jole.
[_Exeunt Lysander and Demetrius._]
HERMIA.
You, mistress, all this coil is long of you.
Nay, go not back.
HELENA.
I will not trust you, I,
Nor longer stay in your curst company.
Your hands than mine are quicker for a fray.
My legs are longer though, to run away.
[_Exit._]
HERMIA.
I am amaz’d, and know not what to say.
[_Exit, pursuing Helena._]
OBERON.
This is thy negligence: still thou mistak’st,
Or else commit’st thy knaveries willfully.
PUCK.
Believe me, king of shadows, I mistook.
Did not you tell me I should know the man
By the Athenian garments he had on?
And so far blameless proves my enterprise
That I have ’nointed an Athenian’s eyes:
And so far am I glad it so did sort,
As this their jangling I esteem a sport.
OBERON.
Thou seest these lovers seek a place to fight.
Hie therefore, Robin, overcast the night;
The starry welkin cover thou anon
With drooping fog, as black as Acheron,
And lead these testy rivals so astray
As one come not within another’s way.
Like to Lysander sometime frame thy tongue,
Then stir Demetrius up with bitter wrong;
And sometime rail thou like Demetrius.
And from each other look thou lead them thus,
Till o’er their brows death-counterfeiting sleep
With leaden legs and batty wings doth creep.
Then crush this herb into Lysander’s eye,
Whose liquor hath this virtuous property,
To take from thence all error with his might
And make his eyeballs roll with wonted sight.
When they next wake, all this derision
Shall seem a dream and fruitless vision;
And back to Athens shall the lovers wend,
With league whose date till death shall never end.
Whiles I in this affair do thee employ,
I’ll to my queen, and beg her Indian boy;
And then I will her charmèd eye release
From monster’s view, and all things shall be peace.
PUCK.
My fairy lord, this must be done with haste,
For night’s swift dragons cut the clouds full fast;
And yonder shines Aurora’s harbinger,
At whose approach, ghosts wandering here and there
Troop home to churchyards. Damnèd spirits all,
That in cross-ways and floods have burial,
Already to their wormy beds are gone;
For fear lest day should look their shames upon,
They wilfully themselves exile from light,
And must for aye consort with black-brow’d night.
OBERON.
But we are spirits of another sort:
I with the morning’s love have oft made sport;
And, like a forester, the groves may tread
Even till the eastern gate, all fiery-red,
Opening on Neptune with fair blessèd beams,
Turns into yellow gold his salt-green streams.
But, notwithstanding, haste, make no delay.
We may effect this business yet ere day.
[_Exit Oberon._]
PUCK.
Up and down, up and down,
I will lead them up and down.
I am fear’d in field and town.
Goblin, lead them up and down.
Here comes one.
Enter Lysander.
LYSANDER.
Where art thou, proud Demetrius? Speak thou now.
PUCK.
Here, villain, drawn and ready. Where art thou?
LYSANDER.
I will be with thee straight.
PUCK.
Follow me then to plainer ground.
[_Exit Lysander as following the voice._]
Enter Demetrius.
DEMETRIUS.
Lysander, speak again.
Thou runaway, thou coward, art thou fled?
Speak. In some bush? Where dost thou hide thy head?
PUCK.
Thou coward, art thou bragging to the stars,
Telling the bushes that thou look’st for wars,
And wilt not come? Come, recreant, come, thou child!
I’ll whip thee with a rod. He is defil’d
That draws a sword on thee.
DEMETRIUS.
Yea, art thou there?
PUCK.
Follow my voice; we’ll try no manhood here.
[_Exeunt._]
Enter Lysander.
LYSANDER.
He goes before me, and still dares me on;
When I come where he calls, then he is gone.
The villain is much lighter-heel’d than I:
I follow’d fast, but faster he did fly,
That fallen am I in dark uneven way,
And here will rest me. Come, thou gentle day!
[_Lies down._] For if but once thou show me thy grey light,
I’ll find Demetrius, and revenge this spite.
[_Sleeps._]
Enter Puck and Demetrius.
PUCK.
Ho, ho, ho! Coward, why com’st thou not?
DEMETRIUS.
Abide me, if thou dar’st; for well I wot
Thou runn’st before me, shifting every place,
And dar’st not stand, nor look me in the face.
Where art thou?
PUCK.
Come hither; I am here.
DEMETRIUS.
Nay, then, thou mock’st me. Thou shalt buy this dear
If ever I thy face by daylight see:
Now go thy way. Faintness constraineth me
To measure out my length on this cold bed.
By day’s approach look to be visited.
[_Lies down and sleeps._]
Enter Helena.
HELENA.
O weary night, O long and tedious night,
Abate thy hours! Shine, comforts, from the east,
That I may back to Athens by daylight,
From these that my poor company detest.
And sleep, that sometimes shuts up sorrow’s eye,
Steal me awhile from mine own company.
[_Sleeps._]
PUCK.
Yet but three? Come one more.
Two of both kinds makes up four.
Here she comes, curst and sad.
Cupid is a knavish lad
Thus to make poor females mad.
Enter Hermia.
HERMIA.
Never so weary, never so in woe,
Bedabbled with the dew, and torn with briers,
I can no further crawl, no further go;
My legs can keep no pace with my desires.
Here will I rest me till the break of day.
Heavens shield Lysander, if they mean a fray!
[_Lies down._]
PUCK.
On the ground
Sleep sound.
I’ll apply
To your eye,
Gentle lover, remedy.
[_Squeezing the juice on Lysander’s eye._]
When thou wak’st,
Thou tak’st
True delight
In the sight
Of thy former lady’s eye.
And the country proverb known,
That every man should take his own,
In your waking shall be shown:
Jack shall have Jill;
Nought shall go ill;
The man shall have his mare again, and all shall be well.
[_Exit Puck._]
ACT IV
SCENE I. The Wood
Lysander, Demetrius, Helena and Hermia still asleep.
Enter Titania and Bottom; Peaseblossom, Cobweb, Moth, Mustardseed and
other Fairies attending; Oberon behind, unseen.
TITANIA.
Come, sit thee down upon this flowery bed,
While I thy amiable cheeks do coy,
And stick musk-roses in thy sleek smooth head,
And kiss thy fair large ears, my gentle joy.
BOTTOM.
Where’s Peaseblossom?
PEASEBLOSSOM.
Ready.
BOTTOM.
Scratch my head, Peaseblossom. Where’s Monsieur Cobweb?
COBWEB.
Ready.
BOTTOM.
Monsieur Cobweb; good monsieur, get you your weapons in your hand and
kill me a red-hipped humble-bee on the top of a thistle; and, good
monsieur, bring me the honey-bag. Do not fret yourself too much in the
action, monsieur; and, good monsieur, have a care the honey-bag break
not; I would be loath to have you overflown with a honey-bag, signior.
Where’s Monsieur Mustardseed?
MUSTARDSEED.
Ready.
BOTTOM.
Give me your neaf, Monsieur Mustardseed. Pray you, leave your courtesy,
good monsieur.
MUSTARDSEED.
What’s your will?
BOTTOM.
Nothing, good monsieur, but to help Cavalery Cobweb to scratch. I must
to the barber’s, monsieur, for methinks I am marvellous hairy about the
face; and I am such a tender ass, if my hair do but tickle me, I must
scratch.
TITANIA.
What, wilt thou hear some music, my sweet love?
BOTTOM.
I have a reasonable good ear in music. Let us have the tongs and the
bones.
TITANIA.
Or say, sweet love, what thou desirest to eat.
BOTTOM.
Truly, a peck of provender; I could munch your good dry oats. Methinks
I have a great desire to a bottle of hay: good hay, sweet hay, hath no
fellow.
TITANIA.
I have a venturous fairy that shall seek
The squirrel’s hoard, and fetch thee new nuts.
BOTTOM.
I had rather have a handful or two of dried peas. But, I pray you, let
none of your people stir me; I have an exposition of sleep come upon
me.
TITANIA.
Sleep thou, and I will wind thee in my arms.
Fairies, be gone, and be all ways away.
So doth the woodbine the sweet honeysuckle
Gently entwist, the female ivy so
Enrings the barky fingers of the elm.
O, how I love thee! How I dote on thee!
[_They sleep._]
Oberon advances. Enter Puck.
OBERON.
Welcome, good Robin. Seest thou this sweet sight?
Her dotage now I do begin to pity.
For, meeting her of late behind the wood,
Seeking sweet favours for this hateful fool,
I did upbraid her and fall out with her:
For she his hairy temples then had rounded
With coronet of fresh and fragrant flowers;
And that same dew, which sometime on the buds
Was wont to swell like round and orient pearls,
Stood now within the pretty flouriets’ eyes,
Like tears that did their own disgrace bewail.
When I had at my pleasure taunted her,
And she in mild terms begg’d my patience,
I then did ask of her her changeling child;
Which straight she gave me, and her fairy sent
To bear him to my bower in fairyland.
And now I have the boy, I will undo
This hateful imperfection of her eyes.
And, gentle Puck, take this transformèd scalp
From off the head of this Athenian swain,
That he awaking when the other do,
May all to Athens back again repair,
And think no more of this night’s accidents
But as the fierce vexation of a dream.
But first I will release the Fairy Queen.
[_Touching her eyes with an herb._]
Be as thou wast wont to be;
See as thou was wont to see.
Dian’s bud o’er Cupid’s flower
Hath such force and blessed power.
Now, my Titania, wake you, my sweet queen.
TITANIA.
My Oberon, what visions have I seen!
Methought I was enamour’d of an ass.
OBERON.
There lies your love.
TITANIA.
How came these things to pass?
O, how mine eyes do loathe his visage now!
OBERON.
Silence awhile.—Robin, take off this head.
Titania, music call; and strike more dead
Than common sleep, of all these five the sense.
TITANIA.
Music, ho, music, such as charmeth sleep.
PUCK.
Now when thou wak’st, with thine own fool’s eyes peep.
OBERON.
Sound, music.
[_Still music._]
Come, my queen, take hands with me,
And rock the ground whereon these sleepers be.
Now thou and I are new in amity,
And will tomorrow midnight solemnly
Dance in Duke Theseus’ house triumphantly,
And bless it to all fair prosperity:
There shall the pairs of faithful lovers be
Wedded, with Theseus, all in jollity.
PUCK.
Fairy king, attend and mark.
I do hear the morning lark.
OBERON.
Then, my queen, in silence sad,
Trip we after night’s shade.
We the globe can compass soon,
Swifter than the wand’ring moon.
TITANIA.
Come, my lord, and in our flight,
Tell me how it came this night
That I sleeping here was found
With these mortals on the ground.
[_Exeunt. Horns sound within._]
Enter Theseus, Hippolyta, Egeus and Train.
THESEUS.
Go, one of you, find out the forester;
For now our observation is perform’d;
And since we have the vaward of the day,
My love shall hear the music of my hounds.
Uncouple in the western valley; let them go.
Dispatch I say, and find the forester.
[_Exit an Attendant._]
We will, fair queen, up to the mountain’s top,
And mark the musical confusion
Of hounds and echo in conjunction.
HIPPOLYTA.
I was with Hercules and Cadmus once,
When in a wood of Crete they bay’d the bear
With hounds of Sparta. Never did I hear
Such gallant chiding; for, besides the groves,
The skies, the fountains, every region near
Seem’d all one mutual cry. I never heard
So musical a discord, such sweet thunder.
THESEUS.
My hounds are bred out of the Spartan kind,
So flew’d, so sanded; and their heads are hung
With ears that sweep away the morning dew;
Crook-knee’d and dewlap’d like Thessalian bulls;
Slow in pursuit, but match’d in mouth like bells,
Each under each. A cry more tuneable
Was never holla’d to, nor cheer’d with horn,
In Crete, in Sparta, nor in Thessaly.
Judge when you hear.—But, soft, what nymphs are these?
EGEUS.
My lord, this is my daughter here asleep,
And this Lysander; this Demetrius is;
This Helena, old Nedar’s Helena:
I wonder of their being here together.
THESEUS.
No doubt they rose up early to observe
The rite of May; and, hearing our intent,
Came here in grace of our solemnity.
But speak, Egeus; is not this the day
That Hermia should give answer of her choice?
EGEUS.
It is, my lord.
THESEUS.
Go, bid the huntsmen wake them with their horns.
Horns, and shout within. Demetrius, Lysander, Hermia and Helena wake
and start up.
Good morrow, friends. Saint Valentine is past.
Begin these wood-birds but to couple now?
LYSANDER.
Pardon, my lord.
He and the rest kneel to Theseus.
THESEUS.
I pray you all, stand up.
I know you two are rival enemies.
How comes this gentle concord in the world,
That hatred is so far from jealousy
To sleep by hate, and fear no enmity?
LYSANDER.
My lord, I shall reply amazedly,
Half sleep, half waking; but as yet, I swear,
I cannot truly say how I came here.
But, as I think (for truly would I speak)
And now I do bethink me, so it is:
I came with Hermia hither. Our intent
Was to be gone from Athens, where we might be
Without the peril of the Athenian law.
EGEUS.
Enough, enough, my lord; you have enough.
I beg the law, the law upon his head.
They would have stol’n away, they would, Demetrius,
Thereby to have defeated you and me:
You of your wife, and me of my consent,
Of my consent that she should be your wife.
DEMETRIUS.
My lord, fair Helen told me of their stealth,
Of this their purpose hither to this wood;
And I in fury hither follow’d them,
Fair Helena in fancy following me.
But, my good lord, I wot not by what power,
(But by some power it is) my love to Hermia,
Melted as the snow, seems to me now
As the remembrance of an idle gaud
Which in my childhood I did dote upon;
And all the faith, the virtue of my heart,
The object and the pleasure of mine eye,
Is only Helena. To her, my lord,
Was I betroth’d ere I saw Hermia.
But like a sickness did I loathe this food.
But, as in health, come to my natural taste,
Now I do wish it, love it, long for it,
And will for evermore be true to it.
THESEUS.
Fair lovers, you are fortunately met.
Of this discourse we more will hear anon.
Egeus, I will overbear your will;
For in the temple, by and by with us,
These couples shall eternally be knit.
And, for the morning now is something worn,
Our purpos’d hunting shall be set aside.
Away with us to Athens. Three and three,
We’ll hold a feast in great solemnity.
Come, Hippolyta.
[_Exeunt Theseus, Hippolyta, Egeus and Train._]
DEMETRIUS.
These things seem small and undistinguishable,
Like far-off mountains turnèd into clouds.
HERMIA.
Methinks I see these things with parted eye,
When everything seems double.
HELENA.
So methinks.
And I have found Demetrius like a jewel,
Mine own, and not mine own.
DEMETRIUS.
Are you sure
That we are awake? It seems to me
That yet we sleep, we dream. Do not you think
The Duke was here, and bid us follow him?
HERMIA.
Yea, and my father.
HELENA.
And Hippolyta.
LYSANDER.
And he did bid us follow to the temple.
DEMETRIUS.
Why, then, we are awake: let’s follow him,
And by the way let us recount our dreams.
[_Exeunt._]
BOTTOM.
[_Waking._] When my cue comes, call me, and I will answer. My next is
‘Most fair Pyramus.’ Heigh-ho! Peter Quince! Flute, the bellows-mender!
Snout, the tinker! Starveling! God’s my life! Stol’n hence, and left me
asleep! I have had a most rare vision. I have had a dream, past the wit
of man to say what dream it was. Man is but an ass if he go about to
expound this dream. Methought I was—there is no man can tell what.
Methought I was, and methought I had—but man is but a patched fool if
he will offer to say what methought I had. The eye of man hath not
heard, the ear of man hath not seen, man’s hand is not able to taste,
his tongue to conceive, nor his heart to report, what my dream was. I
will get Peter Quince to write a ballad of this dream: it shall be
called ‘Bottom’s Dream’, because it hath no bottom; and I will sing it
in the latter end of a play, before the Duke. Peradventure, to make it
the more gracious, I shall sing it at her death.
[_Exit._]
SCENE II. Athens. A Room in Quince’s House
Enter Quince, Flute, Snout and Starveling.
QUINCE.
Have you sent to Bottom’s house? Is he come home yet?
STARVELING.
He cannot be heard of. Out of doubt he is transported.
FLUTE.
If he come not, then the play is marred. It goes not forward, doth it?
QUINCE.
It is not possible. You have not a man in all Athens able to discharge
Pyramus but he.
FLUTE.
No, he hath simply the best wit of any handicraft man in Athens.
QUINCE.
Yea, and the best person too, and he is a very paramour for a sweet
voice.
FLUTE.
You must say paragon. A paramour is, God bless us, a thing of naught.
Enter Snug.
SNUG
Masters, the Duke is coming from the temple, and there is two or three
lords and ladies more married. If our sport had gone forward, we had
all been made men.
FLUTE.
O sweet bully Bottom! Thus hath he lost sixpence a day during his life;
he could not have ’scaped sixpence a day. An the Duke had not given him
sixpence a day for playing Pyramus, I’ll be hanged. He would have
deserved it: sixpence a day in Pyramus, or nothing.
Enter Bottom.
BOTTOM.
Where are these lads? Where are these hearts?
QUINCE.
Bottom! O most courageous day! O most happy hour!
BOTTOM.
Masters, I am to discourse wonders: but ask me not what; for if I tell
you, I am not true Athenian. I will tell you everything, right as it
fell out.
QUINCE.
Let us hear, sweet Bottom.
BOTTOM.
Not a word of me. All that I will tell you is, that the Duke hath
dined. Get your apparel together, good strings to your beards, new
ribbons to your pumps; meet presently at the palace; every man look
o’er his part. For the short and the long is, our play is preferred. In
any case, let Thisbe have clean linen; and let not him that plays the
lion pare his nails, for they shall hang out for the lion’s claws. And
most dear actors, eat no onions nor garlick, for we are to utter sweet
breath; and I do not doubt but to hear them say it is a sweet comedy.
No more words. Away! Go, away!
[_Exeunt._]
ACT V
SCENE I. Athens. An Apartment in the Palace of Theseus
Enter Theseus, Hippolyta, Philostrate, Lords and Attendants.
HIPPOLYTA.
’Tis strange, my Theseus, that these lovers speak of.
THESEUS.
More strange than true. I never may believe
These antique fables, nor these fairy toys.
Lovers and madmen have such seething brains,
Such shaping fantasies, that apprehend
More than cool reason ever comprehends.
The lunatic, the lover, and the poet
Are of imagination all compact:
One sees more devils than vast hell can hold;
That is the madman: the lover, all as frantic,
Sees Helen’s beauty in a brow of Egypt:
The poet’s eye, in a fine frenzy rolling,
Doth glance from heaven to earth, from earth to heaven;
And as imagination bodies forth
The forms of things unknown, the poet’s pen
Turns them to shapes, and gives to airy nothing
A local habitation and a name.
Such tricks hath strong imagination,
That if it would but apprehend some joy,
It comprehends some bringer of that joy.
Or in the night, imagining some fear,
How easy is a bush supposed a bear?
HIPPOLYTA.
But all the story of the night told over,
And all their minds transfigur’d so together,
More witnesseth than fancy’s images,
And grows to something of great constancy;
But, howsoever, strange and admirable.
Enter lovers: Lysander, Demetrius, Hermia and Helena.
THESEUS.
Here come the lovers, full of joy and mirth.
Joy, gentle friends, joy and fresh days of love
Accompany your hearts!
LYSANDER.
More than to us
Wait in your royal walks, your board, your bed!
THESEUS.
Come now; what masques, what dances shall we have,
To wear away this long age of three hours
Between our after-supper and bed-time?
Where is our usual manager of mirth?
What revels are in hand? Is there no play
To ease the anguish of a torturing hour?
Call Philostrate.
PHILOSTRATE.
Here, mighty Theseus.
THESEUS.
Say, what abridgment have you for this evening?
What masque? What music? How shall we beguile
The lazy time, if not with some delight?
PHILOSTRATE.
There is a brief how many sports are ripe.
Make choice of which your Highness will see first.
[_Giving a paper._]
THESEUS.
[_Reads_] ‘The battle with the Centaurs, to be sung
By an Athenian eunuch to the harp.’
We’ll none of that. That have I told my love
In glory of my kinsman Hercules.
‘The riot of the tipsy Bacchanals,
Tearing the Thracian singer in their rage?’
That is an old device, and it was play’d
When I from Thebes came last a conqueror.
‘The thrice three Muses mourning for the death
Of learning, late deceas’d in beggary.’
That is some satire, keen and critical,
Not sorting with a nuptial ceremony.
‘A tedious brief scene of young Pyramus
And his love Thisbe; very tragical mirth.’
Merry and tragical? Tedious and brief?
That is hot ice and wondrous strange snow.
How shall we find the concord of this discord?
PHILOSTRATE.
A play there is, my lord, some ten words long,
Which is as brief as I have known a play;
But by ten words, my lord, it is too long,
Which makes it tedious. For in all the play
There is not one word apt, one player fitted.
And tragical, my noble lord, it is.
For Pyramus therein doth kill himself,
Which, when I saw rehears’d, I must confess,
Made mine eyes water; but more merry tears
The passion of loud laughter never shed.
THESEUS.
What are they that do play it?
PHILOSTRATE.
Hard-handed men that work in Athens here,
Which never labour’d in their minds till now;
And now have toil’d their unbreath’d memories
With this same play against your nuptial.
THESEUS.
And we will hear it.
PHILOSTRATE.
No, my noble lord,
It is not for you: I have heard it over,
And it is nothing, nothing in the world;
Unless you can find sport in their intents,
Extremely stretch’d and conn’d with cruel pain
To do you service.
THESEUS.
I will hear that play;
For never anything can be amiss
When simpleness and duty tender it.
Go, bring them in: and take your places, ladies.
[_Exit Philostrate._]
HIPPOLYTA.
I love not to see wretchedness o’ercharged,
And duty in his service perishing.
THESEUS.
Why, gentle sweet, you shall see no such thing.
HIPPOLYTA.
He says they can do nothing in this kind.
THESEUS.
The kinder we, to give them thanks for nothing.
Our sport shall be to take what they mistake:
And what poor duty cannot do, noble respect
Takes it in might, not merit.
Where I have come, great clerks have purposed
To greet me with premeditated welcomes;
Where I have seen them shiver and look pale,
Make periods in the midst of sentences,
Throttle their practis’d accent in their fears,
And, in conclusion, dumbly have broke off,
Not paying me a welcome. Trust me, sweet,
Out of this silence yet I pick’d a welcome;
And in the modesty of fearful duty
I read as much as from the rattling tongue
Of saucy and audacious eloquence.
Love, therefore, and tongue-tied simplicity
In least speak most to my capacity.
Enter Philostrate.
PHILOSTRATE.
So please your grace, the Prologue is address’d.
THESEUS.
Let him approach.
Flourish of trumpets. Enter the Prologue.
PROLOGUE
If we offend, it is with our good will.
That you should think, we come not to offend,
But with good will. To show our simple skill,
That is the true beginning of our end.
Consider then, we come but in despite.
We do not come, as minding to content you,
Our true intent is. All for your delight
We are not here. That you should here repent you,
The actors are at hand, and, by their show,
You shall know all that you are like to know.
THESEUS.
This fellow doth not stand upon points.
LYSANDER.
He hath rid his prologue like a rough colt; he knows not the stop. A
good moral, my lord: it is not enough to speak, but to speak true.
HIPPOLYTA.
Indeed he hath played on this prologue like a child on a recorder; a
sound, but not in government.
THESEUS.
His speech was like a tangled chain; nothing impaired, but all
disordered. Who is next?
Enter Pyramus and Thisbe, Wall, Moonshine and Lion as in dumb show.
PROLOGUE
Gentles, perchance you wonder at this show;
But wonder on, till truth make all things plain.
This man is Pyramus, if you would know;
This beauteous lady Thisbe is certain.
This man, with lime and rough-cast, doth present
Wall, that vile wall which did these lovers sunder;
And through Wall’s chink, poor souls, they are content
To whisper, at the which let no man wonder.
This man, with lantern, dog, and bush of thorn,
Presenteth Moonshine, for, if you will know,
By moonshine did these lovers think no scorn
To meet at Ninus’ tomb, there, there to woo.
This grisly beast (which Lion hight by name)
The trusty Thisbe, coming first by night,
Did scare away, or rather did affright;
And as she fled, her mantle she did fall;
Which Lion vile with bloody mouth did stain.
Anon comes Pyramus, sweet youth, and tall,
And finds his trusty Thisbe’s mantle slain;
Whereat with blade, with bloody blameful blade,
He bravely broach’d his boiling bloody breast;
And Thisbe, tarrying in mulberry shade,
His dagger drew, and died. For all the rest,
Let Lion, Moonshine, Wall, and lovers twain,
At large discourse while here they do remain.
[_Exeunt Prologue, Pyramus, Thisbe, Lion and Moonshine._]
THESEUS.
I wonder if the lion be to speak.
DEMETRIUS.
No wonder, my lord. One lion may, when many asses do.
WALL.
In this same interlude it doth befall
That I, one Snout by name, present a wall:
And such a wall as I would have you think
That had in it a crannied hole or chink,
Through which the lovers, Pyramus and Thisbe,
Did whisper often very secretly.
This loam, this rough-cast, and this stone, doth show
That I am that same wall; the truth is so:
And this the cranny is, right and sinister,
Through which the fearful lovers are to whisper.
THESEUS.
Would you desire lime and hair to speak better?
DEMETRIUS.
It is the wittiest partition that ever I heard discourse, my lord.
THESEUS.
Pyramus draws near the wall; silence.
Enter Pyramus.
PYRAMUS.
O grim-look’d night! O night with hue so black!
O night, which ever art when day is not!
O night, O night, alack, alack, alack,
I fear my Thisbe’s promise is forgot!
And thou, O wall, O sweet, O lovely wall,
That stand’st between her father’s ground and mine;
Thou wall, O wall, O sweet and lovely wall,
Show me thy chink, to blink through with mine eyne.
[_Wall holds up his fingers._]
Thanks, courteous wall: Jove shield thee well for this!
But what see I? No Thisbe do I see.
O wicked wall, through whom I see no bliss,
Curs’d be thy stones for thus deceiving me!
THESEUS.
The wall, methinks, being sensible, should curse again.
PYRAMUS.
No, in truth, sir, he should not. ‘Deceiving me’ is Thisbe’s cue: she
is to enter now, and I am to spy her through the wall. You shall see it
will fall pat as I told you. Yonder she comes.
Enter Thisbe.
THISBE.
O wall, full often hast thou heard my moans,
For parting my fair Pyramus and me.
My cherry lips have often kiss’d thy stones,
Thy stones with lime and hair knit up in thee.
PYRAMUS.
I see a voice; now will I to the chink,
To spy an I can hear my Thisbe’s face.
Thisbe?
THISBE.
My love thou art, my love I think.
PYRAMUS.
Think what thou wilt, I am thy lover’s grace;
And like Limander am I trusty still.
THISBE.
And I like Helen, till the fates me kill.
PYRAMUS.
Not Shafalus to Procrus was so true.
THISBE.
As Shafalus to Procrus, I to you.
PYRAMUS.
O kiss me through the hole of this vile wall.
THISBE.
I kiss the wall’s hole, not your lips at all.
PYRAMUS.
Wilt thou at Ninny’s tomb meet me straightway?
THISBE.
’Tide life, ’tide death, I come without delay.
WALL.
Thus have I, Wall, my part discharged so;
And, being done, thus Wall away doth go.
[_Exeunt Wall, Pyramus and Thisbe._]
THESEUS.
Now is the mural down between the two neighbours.
DEMETRIUS.
No remedy, my lord, when walls are so wilful to hear without warning.
HIPPOLYTA.
This is the silliest stuff that ever I heard.
THESEUS.
The best in this kind are but shadows; and the worst are no worse, if
imagination amend them.
HIPPOLYTA.
It must be your imagination then, and not theirs.
THESEUS.
If we imagine no worse of them than they of themselves, they may pass
for excellent men. Here come two noble beasts in, a man and a lion.
Enter Lion and Moonshine.
LION.
You, ladies, you, whose gentle hearts do fear
The smallest monstrous mouse that creeps on floor,
May now, perchance, both quake and tremble here,
When lion rough in wildest rage doth roar.
Then know that I, one Snug the joiner, am
A lion fell, nor else no lion’s dam;
For if I should as lion come in strife
Into this place, ’twere pity on my life.
THESEUS.
A very gentle beast, and of a good conscience.
DEMETRIUS.
The very best at a beast, my lord, that e’er I saw.
LYSANDER.
This lion is a very fox for his valour.
THESEUS.
True; and a goose for his discretion.
DEMETRIUS.
Not so, my lord, for his valour cannot carry his discretion, and the
fox carries the goose.
THESEUS.
His discretion, I am sure, cannot carry his valour; for the goose
carries not the fox. It is well; leave it to his discretion, and let us
listen to the moon.
MOONSHINE.
This lanthorn doth the hornèd moon present.
DEMETRIUS.
He should have worn the horns on his head.
THESEUS.
He is no crescent, and his horns are invisible within the
circumference.
MOONSHINE.
This lanthorn doth the hornèd moon present;
Myself the man i’ the moon do seem to be.
THESEUS.
This is the greatest error of all the rest; the man should be put into
the lantern. How is it else the man i’ the moon?
DEMETRIUS.
He dares not come there for the candle, for you see, it is already in
snuff.
HIPPOLYTA.
I am aweary of this moon. Would he would change!
THESEUS.
It appears by his small light of discretion that he is in the wane; but
yet, in courtesy, in all reason, we must stay the time.
LYSANDER.
Proceed, Moon.
MOON.
All that I have to say, is to tell you that the lantern is the moon; I
the man i’ the moon; this thorn-bush my thorn-bush; and this dog my
dog.
DEMETRIUS.
Why, all these should be in the lantern, for all these are in the moon.
But silence; here comes Thisbe.
Enter Thisbe.
THISBE.
This is old Ninny’s tomb. Where is my love?
LION.
Oh!
[_The Lion roars, Thisbe runs off._]
DEMETRIUS.
Well roared, Lion.
THESEUS.
Well run, Thisbe.
HIPPOLYTA.
Well shone, Moon. Truly, the moon shines with a good grace.
[_The Lion tears Thisbe’s mantle, and exit._]
THESEUS.
Well moused, Lion.
DEMETRIUS.
And then came Pyramus.
LYSANDER.
And so the lion vanished.
Enter Pyramus.
PYRAMUS.
Sweet Moon, I thank thee for thy sunny beams;
I thank thee, Moon, for shining now so bright;
For, by thy gracious golden, glittering gleams,
I trust to take of truest Thisbe sight.
But stay! O spite!
But mark, poor knight,
What dreadful dole is here!
Eyes, do you see?
How can it be?
O dainty duck! O dear!
Thy mantle good,
What, stained with blood?
Approach, ye Furies fell!
O Fates, come, come;
Cut thread and thrum;
Quail, rush, conclude, and quell!
THESEUS.
This passion, and the death of a dear friend, would go near to make a
man look sad.
HIPPOLYTA.
Beshrew my heart, but I pity the man.
PYRAMUS.
O wherefore, Nature, didst thou lions frame,
Since lion vile hath here deflower’d my dear?
Which is—no, no—which was the fairest dame
That liv’d, that lov’d, that lik’d, that look’d with cheer.
Come, tears, confound!
Out, sword, and wound
The pap of Pyramus;
Ay, that left pap,
Where heart doth hop:
Thus die I, thus, thus, thus.
Now am I dead,
Now am I fled;
My soul is in the sky.
Tongue, lose thy light!
Moon, take thy flight!
Now die, die, die, die, die.
[_Dies. Exit Moonshine._]
DEMETRIUS.
No die, but an ace, for him; for he is but one.
LYSANDER.
Less than an ace, man; for he is dead, he is nothing.
THESEUS.
With the help of a surgeon he might yet recover and prove an ass.
HIPPOLYTA.
How chance Moonshine is gone before Thisbe comes back and finds her
lover?
THESEUS.
She will find him by starlight.
Enter Thisbe.
Here she comes, and her passion ends the play.
HIPPOLYTA.
Methinks she should not use a long one for such a Pyramus. I hope she
will be brief.
DEMETRIUS.
A mote will turn the balance, which Pyramus, which Thisbe, is the
better: he for a man, God warrant us; she for a woman, God bless us!
LYSANDER.
She hath spied him already with those sweet eyes.
DEMETRIUS.
And thus she means, _videlicet_—
THISBE.
Asleep, my love?
What, dead, my dove?
O Pyramus, arise,
Speak, speak. Quite dumb?
Dead, dead? A tomb
Must cover thy sweet eyes.
These lily lips,
This cherry nose,
These yellow cowslip cheeks,
Are gone, are gone!
Lovers, make moan;
His eyes were green as leeks.
O Sisters Three,
Come, come to me,
With hands as pale as milk;
Lay them in gore,
Since you have shore
With shears his thread of silk.
Tongue, not a word:
Come, trusty sword,
Come, blade, my breast imbrue;
And farewell, friends.
Thus Thisbe ends.
Adieu, adieu, adieu.
[_Dies._]
THESEUS.
Moonshine and Lion are left to bury the dead.
DEMETRIUS.
Ay, and Wall too.
BOTTOM.
No, I assure you; the wall is down that parted their fathers. Will it
please you to see the epilogue, or to hear a Bergomask dance between
two of our company?
THESEUS.
No epilogue, I pray you; for your play needs no excuse. Never excuse;
for when the players are all dead there need none to be blamed. Marry,
if he that writ it had played Pyramus, and hanged himself in Thisbe’s
garter, it would have been a fine tragedy; and so it is, truly; and
very notably discharged. But come, your Bergomask; let your epilogue
alone.
[_Here a dance of Clowns._]
The iron tongue of midnight hath told twelve.
Lovers, to bed; ’tis almost fairy time.
I fear we shall outsleep the coming morn
As much as we this night have overwatch’d.
This palpable-gross play hath well beguil’d
The heavy gait of night. Sweet friends, to bed.
A fortnight hold we this solemnity
In nightly revels and new jollity.
[_Exeunt._]
Enter Puck.
PUCK.
Now the hungry lion roars,
And the wolf behowls the moon;
Whilst the heavy ploughman snores,
All with weary task fordone.
Now the wasted brands do glow,
Whilst the screech-owl, screeching loud,
Puts the wretch that lies in woe
In remembrance of a shroud.
Now it is the time of night
That the graves, all gaping wide,
Every one lets forth his sprite,
In the church-way paths to glide.
And we fairies, that do run
By the triple Hecate’s team
From the presence of the sun,
Following darkness like a dream,
Now are frolic; not a mouse
Shall disturb this hallow’d house.
I am sent with broom before,
To sweep the dust behind the door.
Enter Oberon and Titania with their Train.
OBERON.
Through the house give glimmering light,
By the dead and drowsy fire.
Every elf and fairy sprite
Hop as light as bird from brier,
And this ditty after me,
Sing and dance it trippingly.
TITANIA.
First rehearse your song by rote,
To each word a warbling note;
Hand in hand, with fairy grace,
Will we sing, and bless this place.
[_Song and Dance._]
OBERON.
Now, until the break of day,
Through this house each fairy stray.
To the best bride-bed will we,
Which by us shall blessèd be;
And the issue there create
Ever shall be fortunate.
So shall all the couples three
Ever true in loving be;
And the blots of Nature’s hand
Shall not in their issue stand:
Never mole, hare-lip, nor scar,
Nor mark prodigious, such as are
Despised in nativity,
Shall upon their children be.
With this field-dew consecrate,
Every fairy take his gait,
And each several chamber bless,
Through this palace, with sweet peace;
And the owner of it blest.
Ever shall it in safety rest,
Trip away. Make no stay;
Meet me all by break of day.
[_Exeunt Oberon, Titania and Train._]
PUCK.
If we shadows have offended,
Think but this, and all is mended,
That you have but slumber’d here
While these visions did appear.
And this weak and idle theme,
No more yielding but a dream,
Gentles, do not reprehend.
If you pardon, we will mend.
And, as I am an honest Puck,
If we have unearnèd luck
Now to ’scape the serpent’s tongue,
We will make amends ere long;
Else the Puck a liar call.
So, good night unto you all.
Give me your hands, if we be friends,
And Robin shall restore amends.
[_Exit._]
Play 21. MUCH