Shakespeare's First Folio · William Shakespeare
Letter.
I am S[aint]. Iaques Pilgrim, thither gone: Ambitious loue hath so in me offended, That bare-foot plod I the cold ground vpon With sainted vow my faults to haue amended Write, write, that from the bloodie course of warre, My deerest Master your deare sonne, may hie, Blesse him at home in peace. Whilst I from farre, His name with zealous feruour sanctifie: His taken labours bid him me forgiue: I his despightfull Iuno sent him forth, From Courtly friends, with Camping foes to liue, Where death and danger dogges the heeles of worth. He is too good and faire for death, and mee, Whom I my selfe embrace, to set him free. Ah what sharpe stings are in her mildest words? Rynaldo, you did neuer lacke aduice so much, As letting her passe so: had I spoke with her, I could haue well diuerted her intents, Which thus she hath preuented Ste. Pardon me Madam, If I had giuen you this at ouer-night, She might haue beene ore-tane: and yet she writes Pursuite would be but vaine La. What Angell shall Blesse this vnworthy husband, he cannot thriue, Vnlesse her prayers, whom heauen delights to heare And loues to grant, repreeue him from the wrath Of greatest Iustice. Write, write Rynaldo, To this vnworthy husband of his wife, Let euerie word waigh heauie of her worth, That he does waigh too light: my greatest greefe, Though little he do feele it, set downe sharpely. Dispatch the most conuenient messenger, When haply he shall heare that she is gone, He will returne, and hope I may that shee Hearing so much, will speede her foote againe, Led hither by pure loue: which of them both Is deerest to me, I haue no skill in sence To make distinction: prouide this Messenger: My heart is heauie, and mine age is weake, Greefe would haue teares, and sorrow bids me speake.
Cap.G. It were fit you knew him, least reposing too farre in his vertue which he hath not, he might at some great and trustie businesse, in a maine daunger, fayle you Ber. I would I knew in what particular action to try him Cap.G. None better then to let him fetch off his drumme, which you heare him so confidently vndertake to do C.E. I with a troop of Florentines wil sodainly surprize him; such I will haue whom I am sure he knowes not from the enemie: wee will binde and hoodwinke him so, that he shall suppose no other but that he is carried into the Leager of the aduersaries, when we bring him to our owne tents: be but your Lordship present at his examination, if he do not for the promise of his life, and in the highest compulsion of base feare, offer to betray you, and deliuer all the intelligence in his power against you, and that with the diuine forfeite of his soule vpon oath, neuer trust my iudgement in anie thing Cap.G. O for the loue of laughter, let him fetch his drumme, he sayes he has a stratagem for't: when your Lordship sees the bottome of this successe in't, and to what mettle this counterfeyt lump of ours will be melted if you giue him not Iohn drummes entertainement, your inclining cannot be remoued. Heere he comes. Enter Parrolles.
Hel. Why then to night Let vs assay our plot, which if it speed, Is wicked meaning in a lawfull deede; And lawfull meaning in a lawfull act, Where both not sinne, and yet a sinfull fact. But let's about it. Actus Quartus. Enter one of the Frenchmen, with fiue or sixe other souldiers in ambush. Lord E. He can come no other way but by this hedge corner: when you sallie vpon him, speake what terrible Language you will: though you vnderstand it not your selues, no matter: for we must not seeme to vnderstand him, vnlesse some one among vs, whom wee must produce for an Interpreter 1.Sol. Good Captaine, let me be th' Interpreter Lor.E. Art not acquainted with him? knowes he not thy voice? 1.Sol. No sir I warrant you Lo.E. But what linsie wolsy hast thou to speake to vs againe 1.Sol. E'n such as you speake to me Lo.E. He must thinke vs some band of strangers, i'th aduersaries entertainment. Now he hath a smacke of all neighbouring Languages: therefore we must euery one be a man of his owne fancie, not to know what we speak one to another: so we seeme to know, is to know straight our purpose: Choughs language, gabble enough, and good enough. As for you interpreter, you must seeme very politicke. But couch hoa, heere hee comes, to beguile two houres in a sleepe, and then to returne & swear the lies he forges. Enter Parrolles.
Cap.E. Let it be forbid sir, so should I bee a great deale of his act Cap.G. Sir, his wife some two months since fledde from his house, her pretence is a pilgrimage to Saint Iaques le grand; which holy vndertaking, with most austere sanctimonie she accomplisht: and there residing, the tendernesse of her Nature, became as a prey to her greefe: in fine, made a groane of her last breath, & now she sings in heauen Cap.E. How is this iustified? Cap.G. The stronger part of it by her owne Letters, which makes her storie true, euen to the poynt of her death: her death it selfe, which could not be her office to say, is come: was faithfully confirm'd by the Rector of the place Cap.E. Hath the Count all this intelligence? Cap.G. I, and the particular confirmations, point from point, to the full arming of the veritie Cap.E. I am heartily sorrie that hee'l bee gladde of this Cap.G. How mightily sometimes, we make vs comforts of our losses Cap.E. And how mightily some other times, wee drowne our gaine in teares, the great dignitie that his valour hath here acquir'd for him, shall at home be encountred with a shame as ample Cap.G. The webbe of our life, is of a mingled yarne, good and ill together: our vertues would bee proud, if our faults whipt them not, and our crimes would dispaire if they were not cherish'd by our vertues. Enter a Messenger.
Int. If your life be saued, will you vndertake to betray the Florentine Par. I, and the Captaine of his horse, Count Rossillion Int. Ile whisper with the Generall, and knowe his pleasure Par. Ile no more drumming, a plague of all drummes, onely to seeme to deserue well, and to beguile the supposition of that lasciuious yong boy the Count, haue I run into this danger: yet who would haue suspected an ambush where I was taken? Int. There is no remedy sir, but you must dye: the Generall sayes, you that haue so traitorously discouerd the secrets of your army, and made such pestifferous reports of men very nobly held, can serue the world for no honest vse: therefore you must dye. Come headesman, off with his head Par. O Lord sir let me liue, or let me see my death Int. That shall you, and take your leaue of all your friends: So, looke about you, know you any heere? Count. Good morrow noble Captaine Lo.E. God blesse you Captaine Parolles Cap.G. God saue you noble Captaine Lo.E. Captain, what greeting will you to my Lord Lafew? I am for France Cap.G. Good Captaine will you giue me a Copy of the sonnet you writ to Diana in behalfe of the Count Rossillion, and I were not a verie Coward, I'de compell it of you, but far you well.
Laf. I like him well, 'tis not amisse: and I was about to tell you, since I heard of the good Ladies death, and that my Lord your sonne was vpon his returne home. I moued the King my master to speake in the behalfe of my daughter, which in the minoritie of them both, his Maiestie out of a selfe gracious remembrance did first propose, his Highnesse hath promis'd me to doe it, and to stoppe vp the displeasure he hath conceiued against your sonne, there is no fitter matter. How do's your Ladyship like it? La. With verie much content my Lord, and I wish it happily effected Laf. His Highnesse comes post from Marcellus, of as able bodie as when he number'd thirty, a will be heere to morrow, or I am deceiu'd by him that in such intelligence hath seldome fail'd La. It reioyces me, that I hope I shall see him ere I die. I haue letters that my sonne will be heere to night: I shall beseech your Lordship to remaine with mee, till they meete together Laf. Madam, I was thinking with what manners I might safely be admitted Lad. You neede but pleade your honourable priuiledge Laf. Ladie, of that I haue made a bold charter, but I thanke my God, it holds yet. Enter Clowne.
Gent. I haue beene sometimes there Hel. I do presume sir, that you are not falne From the report that goes vpon your goodnesse, And therefore goaded with most sharpe occasions, Which lay nice manners by, I put you to The vse of your owne vertues, for the which I shall continue thankefull Gent. What's your will? Hel. That it will please you To giue this poore petition to the King, And ayde me with that store of power you haue To come into his presence Gen. The Kings not heere Hel. Not heere sir? Gen. Not indeed, He hence remou'd last night, and with more hast Then is his vse Wid. Lord how we loose our paines Hel. All's well that ends well yet, Though time seeme so aduerse, and meanes vnfit: I do beseech you, whither is he gone? Gent. Marrie as I take it to Rossillion, Whither I am going Hel. I do beseech you sir, Since you are like to see the King before me, Commend the paper to his gracious hand, Which I presume shall render you no blame, But rather make you thanke your paines for it, I will come after you with what good speede Our meanes will make vs meanes Gent. This Ile do for you Hel. And you shall finde your selfe to be well thankt what e're falles more. We must to horse againe, Go, go, prouide. Enter Clowne and Parrolles.
Ber. If you shall proue This Ring was euer hers, you shall as easie Proue that I husbanded her bed in Florence, Where yet she neuer was. Enter a Gentleman. King. I am wrap'd in dismall thinkings Gen. Gracious Soueraigne. Whether I haue beene too blame or no, I know not, Here's a petition from a Florentine, Who hath for foure or fiue remoues come short, To tender it her selfe. I vndertooke it, Vanquish'd thereto by the faire grace and speech Of the poore suppliant, who by this I know Is heere attending: her businesse lookes in her With an importing visage, and she told me In a sweet verball breefe, it did concerne Your Highnesse with her selfe. A Letter. Vpon his many protestations to marrie mee when his wife was dead, I blush to say it, he wonne me. Now is the Count Rossillion a Widdower, his vowes are forfeited to mee, and my honors payed to him. Hee stole from Florence, taking no leaue, and I follow him to his Countrey for Iustice: Grant it me, O King, in you it best lies, otherwise a seducer flourishes, and a poore Maid is vndone. Diana Capilet Laf. I will buy me a sonne in Law in a faire, and toule for this. Ile none of him Kin. The heauens haue thought well on thee Lafew, To bring forth this discou'rie, seeke these sutors: Go speedily, and bring againe the Count. Enter Bertram.
Cu. Will you go hunt my Lord? Du. What Curio? Cu. The Hart Du. Why so I do, the Noblest that I haue: O when mine eyes did see Oliuia first, Me thought she purg'd the ayre of pestilence; That instant was I turn'd into a Hart, And my desires like fell and cruell hounds, Ere since pursue me. How now what newes from her? Enter Valentine. Val. So please my Lord, I might not be admitted, But from her handmaid do returne this answer: The Element it selfe, till seuen yeares heate, Shall not behold her face at ample view: But like a Cloystresse she will vailed walke, And water once a day her Chamber round With eye-offending brine: all this to season A brothers dead loue, which she would keepe fresh And lasting, in her sad remembrance Du. O she that hath a heart of that fine frame To pay this debt of loue but to a brother, How will she loue, when the rich golden shaft Hath kill'd the flocke of all affections else That liue in her. When Liuer, Braine, and Heart, These soueraigne thrones, are all supply'd and fill'd Her sweete perfections with one selfe king: Away before me, to sweet beds of Flowres, Loue-thoughts lye rich, when canopy'd with bowres. Exeunt. Scena Secunda. Enter Viola, a Captaine, and Saylors.
Vio. If I did loue you in my masters flame, With such a suffring, such a deadly life: In your deniall, I would finde no sence, I would not vnderstand it Ol. Why, what would you? Vio. Make me a willow Cabine at your gate, And call vpon my soule within the house, Write loyall Cantons of contemned loue, And sing them lowd euen in the dead of night: Hallow your name to the reuerberate hilles, And make the babling Gossip of the aire, Cry out Oliuia: O you should not rest Betweene the elements of ayre, and earth, But you should pittie me Ol. You might do much: What is your Parentage? Vio. Aboue my fortunes, yet my state is well: I am a Gentleman Ol. Get you to your Lord: I cannot loue him: let him send no more, Vnlesse (perchance) you come to me againe, To tell me how he takes it: Fare you well: I thanke you for your paines: spend this for mee Vio. I am no feede poast, Lady; keepe your purse, My Master, not my selfe, lackes recompence. Loue make his heart of flint, that you shal loue, And let your feruour like my masters be, Plac'd in contempt: Farwell fayre crueltie. Exit Ol. What is your Parentage? Aboue my fortunes, yet my state is well; I am a Gentleman. Ile be sworne thou art, Thy tongue, thy face, thy limbes, actions, and spirit, Do giue thee fiue-fold blazon: not too fast: soft, soft, Vnlesse the Master were the man. How now? Euen so quickly may one catch the plague? Me thinkes I feele this youths perfections With an inuisible, and subtle stealth To creepe in at mine eyes. Well, let it be. What hoa, Maluolio. Enter Maluolio.
Mal. Come sir, you peeuishly threw it to her: and her will is, it should be so return'd: If it bee worth stooping for, there it lies, in your eye: if not, bee it his that findes it. Enter. Vio. I left no Ring with her: what meanes this Lady? Fortune forbid my out-side haue not charm'd her: She made good view of me, indeed so much, That me thought her eyes had lost her tongue, For she did speake in starts distractedly. She loues me sure, the cunning of her passion Inuites me in this churlish messenger: None of my Lords Ring? Why he sent her none; I am the man, if it be so, as tis, Poore Lady, she were better loue a dreame: Disguise, I see thou art a wickednesse, Wherein the pregnant enemie does much. How easie is it, for the proper false In womens waxen hearts to set their formes: Alas, O frailtie is the cause, not wee, For such as we are made, if such we bee: How will this fadge? My master loues her deerely, And I (poore monster) fond asmuch on him: And she (mistaken) seemes to dote on me: What will become of this? As I am man, My state is desperate for my maisters loue: As I am woman (now alas the day) What thriftlesse sighes shall poore Oliuia breath? O time, thou must vntangle this, not I, It is too hard a knot for me t' vnty.
Mal. Sir Toby, I must be round with you. My Lady bad me tell you, that though she harbors you as her kinsman, she's nothing ally'd to your disorders. If you can separate your selfe and your misdemeanors, you are welcome to the house: if not, and it would please you to take leaue of her, she is very willing to bid you farewell To. Farewell deere heart, since I must needs be gone Mar. Nay good Sir Toby Clo. His eyes do shew his dayes are almost done Mal. Is't euen so? To. But I will neuer dye Clo. Sir Toby there you lye Mal. This is much credit to you To. Shall I bid him go Clo. What and if you do? To. Shall I bid him go, and spare not? Clo. O no, no, no, no, you dare not To. Out o' tune sir, ye lye: Art any more then a Steward? Dost thou thinke because thou art vertuous, there shall be no more Cakes and Ale? Clo. Yes by S[aint]. Anne, and Ginger shall bee hotte y'th mouth too To. Th'art i'th right. Goe sir, rub your Chaine with crums. A stope of Wine Maria Mal. Mistris Mary, if you priz'd my Ladies fauour at any thing more then contempt, you would not giue meanes for this vnciuill rule; she shall know of it by this hand.
Du. But di'de thy sister of her loue my Boy? Vio. I am all the daughters of my Fathers house, And all the brothers too: and yet I know not. Sir, shall I to this Lady? Du. I that's the Theame, To her in haste: giue her this Iewell: say, My loue can giue no place, bide no denay. Exeunt. Scena Quinta. Enter Sir Toby, Sir Andrew, and Fabian. To. Come thy wayes Signior Fabian Fab. Nay Ile come: if I loose a scruple of this sport, let me be boyl'd to death with Melancholly To. Wouldst thou not be glad to haue the niggardly Rascally sheepe-biter, come by some notable shame? Fa. I would exult man: you know he brought me out o' fauour with my Lady, about a Beare-baiting heere To. To anger him wee'l haue the Beare againe, and we will foole him blacke and blew, shall we not sir Andrew? An. And we do not, it is pittie of our liues. Enter Maria. To. Heere comes the little villaine: How now my Mettle of India? Mar. Get ye all three into the box tree: Maluolio's comming downe this walke, he has beene yonder i'the Sunne practising behauiour to his own shadow this halfe houre: obserue him for the loue of Mockerie: for I know this Letter wil make a contemplatiue Ideot of him. Close in the name of ieasting, lye thou there: for heere comes the Trowt, that must be caught with tickling.
Fab. Sowter will cry vpon't for all this, though it bee as ranke as a Fox Mal. M. Maluolio, M. why that begins my name Fab. Did not I say he would worke it out, the Curre is excellent at faults Mal. M. But then there is no consonancy in the sequell that suffers vnder probation: A. should follow, but O. does Fa. And O shall end, I hope To. I, or Ile cudgell him, and make him cry O Mal. And then I. comes behind Fa. I, and you had any eye behinde you, you might see more detraction at your heeles, then Fortunes before you Mal. M,O,A,I. This simulation is not as the former: and yet to crush this a little, it would bow to mee, for euery one of these Letters are in my name. Soft, here followes prose: If this fall into thy hand, reuolue. In my stars I am aboue thee, but be not affraid of greatnesse: Some are become great, some atcheeues greatnesse, and some haue greatnesse thrust vppon em. Thy fates open theyr hands, let thy blood and spirit embrace them, and to invre thy selfe to what thou art like to be: cast thy humble slough, and appeare fresh. Be opposite with a kinsman, surly with seruants: Let thy tongue tang arguments of state; put thy selfe into the tricke of singularitie. Shee thus aduises thee, that sighes for thee.
Remember who commended thy yellow stockings, and wish'd to see thee euer crosse garter'd: I say remember, goe too, thou art made if thou desir'st to be so: If not, let me see thee a steward still, the fellow of seruants, and not woorthie to touch Fortunes fingers Farewell, Shee that would alter seruices with thee, the fortunate vnhappy daylight and champian discouers not more: This is open, I will bee proud, I will reade politicke Authours, I will baffle Sir Toby, I will wash off grosse acquaintance, I will be point deuise, the very man. I do not now foole my selfe, to let imagination iade mee; for euery reason excites to this, that my Lady loues me. She did commend my yellow stockings of late, shee did praise my legge being crosse-garter'd, and in this she manifests her selfe to my loue, & with a kinde of iniunction driues mee to these habites of her liking. I thanke my starres, I am happy: I will bee strange, stout, in yellow stockings, and crosse Garter'd, euen with the swiftnesse of putting on. Ioue, and my starres be praised. Heere is yet a postscript. Thou canst not choose but know who I am. If thou entertainst my loue, let it appeare in thy smiling, thy smiles become thee well. Therefore in my presence still smile, deero my sweete, I prethee. Ioue I thanke thee, I will smile, I wil do euery thing that thou wilt haue me.
Ol. If I thinke so, I thinke the same of you Vio. Then thinke you right: I am not what I am Ol. I would you were, as I would haue you be Vio. Would it be better Madam, then I am? I wish it might, for now I am your foole Ol. O what a deale of scorne, lookes beautifull? In the contempt and anger of his lip, A murdrous guilt shewes not it selfe more soone, Then loue that would seeme hid: Loues night, is noone. Cesario, by the Roses of the Spring, By maid-hood, honor, truth, and euery thing, I loue thee so, that maugre all thy pride, Nor wit, nor reason, can my passion hide: Do not extort thy reasons from this clause, For that I woo, thou therefore hast no cause: But rather reason thus, with reason fetter; Loue sought, is good: but giuen vnsought, is better Vio. By innocence I sweare, and by my youth, I haue one heart, one bosome, and one truth, And that no woman has, nor neuer none Shall mistris be of it, saue I alone. And so adieu good Madam, neuer more, Will I my Masters teares to you deplore Ol. Yet come againe: for thou perhaps mayst moue That heart which now abhorres, to like his loue. Exeunt.
Clo. I will help you too't. But tel me true, are you not mad indeed, or do you but counterfeit Mal. Beleeue me I am not, I tell thee true Clo. Nay, Ile nere beleeue a madman till I see his brains I will fetch you light, and paper, and inke Mal. Foole, Ile requite it in the highest degree: I prethee be gone Clo. I am gone sir, and anon sir, Ile be with you againe: In a trice, like to the old vice, your neede to sustaine. Who with dagger of lath, in his rage and his wrath, cries ah ha, to the diuell: Like a mad lad, paire thy nayles dad, Adieu good man diuell. Exit Scaena Tertia. Enter Sebastian. This is the ayre, that is the glorious Sunne, This pearle she gaue me, I do feel't, and see't, And though tis wonder that enwraps me thus, Yet 'tis not madnesse. Where's Anthonio then, I could not finde him at the Elephant, Yet there he was, and there I found this credite, That he did range the towne to seeke me out, His councell now might do me golden seruice, For though my soule disputes well with my sence, That this may be some error, but no madnesse, Yet doth this accident and flood of Fortune, So farre exceed all instance, all discourse, That I am readie to distrust mine eyes, And wrangle with my reason that perswades me To any other trust, but that I am mad, Or else the Ladies mad; yet if 'twere so, She could not sway her house, command her followers, Take, and giue backe affayres, and their dispatch, With such a smooth, discreet, and stable bearing As I perceiue she do's: there's something in't That is deceiueable. But heere the Lady comes. Enter Oliuia, and Priest.
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