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[18], 303, [1], 46, 49-100, [2], 69-232, [2], 79-80, [26], 76, 79-82, 80-98, [2], 109-156, 257-993 [i.e. 399], [1] p.; fol.
Numbering peculiarities: 1st count: p.50 misnumbered 58; p.59 misnumbered 51; p.86 misnumbered 88; p.153 misnumbered 151; p.161 misnumbered] 163; p.164 misnumbered 162; p. 165 misnumbered 163; p. 189 misnumbered 187; p. 249 misnumbered 251; p.250 misnumbered 252; p. 265 misnumbered 273 -- 2nd count: p.37 misnumbered 39 in some copies; p.89 misnumbered 91; p. 90 misnumbered 92 -- 3rd count: p.165-166 numbered 167 and 168 respectively; p. 216 numbered 218 -- 5th count: p. 279 misnumbered 259; p. 282 misnumbered 280; p.308 misnumbered 38; p. 379 misnumbered 389; p. 399 misnumbered 993.
The signatures varies between sources, with the most commonly cited being Hinman's and West's: 1. Hinman: πA⁶ (πA1+1) [πB²], ²A-2B⁶ 2C² a-g⁶ χgg⁸ h-v⁶ x⁴ χ1.2 [para.]-2[para.]⁶ 3[para]¹ aa-ff⁶ gg² Gg⁶ hh⁶ kk-bbb⁶; 2. West: πA⁶ (πA1+1, πA5+1.2)²A-2B⁶ 2C² a-g⁶ ²g⁸ h-v⁶ x⁴ 'gg3.4' (±'gg3') [para.]-2[para.]⁶ 3[para]¹ 2a-2f⁶ 2g² 2G⁶ 2h⁶ 2k-2v⁶ x⁶ 2y-3b⁶.
Mis-signed leaves: a3 mis-signed Aa3; ³gg1 mis-signed Gg; nn1-nn2 mis-signed Nn and Nn2 and oo1 mis-signed Oo.
"The life and death of King Iohn" begins new pagination on leaf a1 recto; "The tragedy of Coriolanus" begins new pagination on leaf aa1 recto.
Predominantly printed in double columns.
Text within simple lined frame.
Colophon reads: "Printed at the charges of W. Iaggard, Ed. Blount, I. Smithweeke, and W. Aspley. 1623.".
Editors’ dedication signed: Iohn Heminge. Henry Condell.
Two MS verses on first endpaper verso: 1. 9 lines of verse by an unknown author, first line reads "An active swain to make a leap was seen". 2. A copy of Ben Jonson’s printed "To the Reader"; MS note on t.p. (mutilated) appears to read "Honest [Shakes]peare". Minor annotations on leaf 2n4 (Macbeth). All in an early English hand, presumably added after leaving the Library.
Seventeenth-century (1624) English (Oxford) smooth calf. Bound for the Bodleian Library by William Wildgoose, with evidence of two cloth ties, red sprinkled edge. Formerly chained, with evidence of chain staple at the head of the upper cover. Remains of paper label at the head of the spine. Enclosed in 20th century book box by Maltby of Oxford. See S. Gibson in Original Bodleian Copy of First Folio, p. 12-13. One of four items sent out on 17th February 1624 for binding by Wildgoose containing printed waste from a copy of Cicero’s "De Officiis, et al." [Deventer: Richard Pafraet, between 1480 and 1485] as paste-downs. For more information on this work see: Bod. Inc. Cat., C-322.
For further details on the printing of this item see Hinman, Charleton. The printing and proof-reading of the First Folio of Shakespeare: Oxford, 1963.
Acquired by the Bodleian in 1623, presumably in sheets. It
was sent out to
After leaving the Bodleian this copy entered
the collection of
For a full discussion of this copy and the digital version see http://shakespeare.bodleian.ox.ac.uk/ and West and Rasmussen (2011), 31.
Camillo) to visit Bohemia, on
the like
occasion whereon my seruices are now
on‑foot, you shall see (as
I haue said) great dif
ference betwixt our Bohemia, and your Sicilia.
I thinke, this comming Summer, the King of
Sicilia meanes to pay Bohemia
the Visitation, which hee
iustly owes him.
Wherein our Entertainment shall shame vs: we
will be iustified in our
Loues: for indeed———
'Beseech you———
Verely I speake it in the freedome of my know
ledge: we cannot
with such magnificence——— in so rare——
I know not what to say——— Wee will giue you
sleepie
Drinkes, that your Sences (vn‑intelligent of our
insuffi
cience) may, though they cannot prayse vs, as little
ac
cuse vs.
You pay a great deale to deare, for what’s giuen
freely.
'Beleeue me, I speake as my vnderstanding in
structs me, and as
mine honestie puts it to vtterance.
Sicilia cannot shew himselfe ouer‑kind to Bohemia: They were trayn’d together in
their Child‑hoods;
I thinke there is not in the World, either Malice
or Matter, to alter
it. You haue an vnspeakable comfort
of your young Prince Mamillius: it is a Gentleman of the
greatest
Promise, that euer came into my Note.
I very well agree with you, in the hopes of him:
it is a gallant Child;
one, that (indeed) Physicks the Sub
iect, makes old hearts
fresh: they that went on Crutches
ere he was borne, desire yet their
life, to see him a Man.
Would they else be content to die?
Yes; if there were no other excuse, why they should
desire to liue.
If the King had no Sonne, they would desire to
liue on Crutches till he
had one.
Nine Changes of the Watry‑Starre hath been
No longer stay.
One Seue’night longer.
Very sooth, to morrow.
Wee’le part the time between’s then: and in that
Ile no
gaine‑saying.
Tongue‑ty’d our Queene? speake you.
Well said, Hermione.
No, Madame.
Nay, but you will?
I may not verily.
Verely?
Is he woon yet?
Hee’le stay (my Lord.)
Neuer?
Neuer, but once.
I, my good Lord.
Yes, if you will (my Lord.)
What meanes Sicilia?
He something seemes vnsetled.
How? my Lord?
What cheere? how is’t with you, best Brother?
You look as if you held a Brow of much distraction:
Are you mou’d (my
Lord?)
No (my Lord) Ile fight.
I am like you say.
I, my good Lord.
Didst note it?
He would not stay at your Petitions, made
His Businesse more
materiall.
At the good Queenes entreatie.
Businesse, my Lord? I thinke most vnderstand
Bohemia stayes here longer.
Ha?
Stayes here longer.
I, but why?
To satisfie your Highnesse, and the Entreaties
Of our most gracious
Mistresse.
Be it forbid (my Lord.)
Ha’ not you seene Camillo?
Say it be, 'tis true.
No, no, my Lord.
Who do’s infect her?
Ile do’t, my Lord.
I wil seeme friendly, as thou hast aduis’d me.
Hayle most Royall Sir.
What is the Newes i’th’Court?
None rare (my Lord.)
I dare not know (my Lord.)
I may not answere.
On, good Camillo.
I am appointed him to murther you.
By whom, Camillo?
By the King.
For what?
How should this grow?
Come (my gracious Lord)
Shall I be your play‑fellow?
No, Ile none of you.
Why (my sweet Lord?)
You’le kisse me hard, and speake to me, as if
I were a Baby still. I
loue you better.
And why so (my Lord?)
Who taught 'this?
I learn’d it out of Womens faces: pray now,
What colour are your
eye‑browes?
Blew (my Lord.)
Nay, that’s a mock: I haue seene a Ladies Nose
That ha’s beene blew,
but not her eye‑browes.
Come on then, and giu’t me in mine eare.
Was hee met there? his Traine? Camillo with
him?
What is this? Sport?
Shall I be heard?
Goe, doe our bidding: hence.
Beseech your Highnesse call the Queene againe.
Hold your peaces.
Good my Lord.
What? lacke I credit?
Well done (my Lord.)
And Madam,
I must be present at your Conference.
A boy?
I do beleeue it.
Do not you feare: vpon mine honor, I
Will stand betwixt you, and
danger.
My Lord.
How do’s the boy?
You must not enter.
That’s enough.
Madam; he hath not slept to night, commanded
None should come at
him.
Who noyse there, hoe?
What? canst not rule her?
Good Queene?
Force her hence.
He dreads his Wife.
A nest of Traitors.
I am none, by this good light.
Once more take her hence.
Ile ha’ thee burnt.
You’re lyers all.
I will (my Lord.)
Reade the Indictment.
Hermione, Queene to the worthy Leontes, King
of Sicilia, thou art here accused
and arraigned of High Trea
son, in committing Adultery with Polixenes King of Bohemia,
and conspiring with Camillo to take away the Life
of our Soue
raigne Lord the King, thy Royall Husband: the
pretence whereof
being by circumstances partly layd open, thou (Hermione) con
trary to the Faith and
Allegeance of a true Subiect, didst coun
saile and ayde them,
for their better safetie, to flye away by
Night.
You will not owne it.
Sir,
Dio. All this we sweare.
Breake vp the Seales, and read.
Hermione is chast, Polixenes blamelesse, Camillo
a true Subiect, Leontes a iealous Tyrant, his
innocent Babe
truly begotten, and the King shall liue without an Heire,
if that
which is lost, be not found.
Now blessed be the great Apollo.
Praysed.
Hast thou read truth?
I (my Lord) euen so as it is here set downe.
My Lord the King: the King?
What is the businesse?
How? gone?
Is dead.
What fit is this? good Lady?
The higher powres forbid.
I would there were no age betweene ten and
three and twenty, or that
youth would sleep out the rest:
for there is nothing (in the betweene)
but getting wen
ches with childe, wronging the Auncientry,
stealing,
fighting, hearke you now: would any but these
boylde
braines of nineteene, and two and twenty hunt this
wea
ther? They haue scarr’d away two of my best Sheepe,
which I feare the Wolfe will sooner finde then the Mai
ster;
if any where I haue them, 'tis by the sea‑side, brou
zing
of Iuy. Good‑lucke (and’t be thy will) what haue
we heere? Mercy
on’s, a Barne? A very pretty barne; A
boy, or a Childe I wonder? (A
pretty one, a verie prettie
one) sure some Scape; Though I am not
bookish, yet I
can reade Waiting‑Gentlewoman in the scape: this has
beene
some staire‑worke, some Trunke‑worke, some
be
hinde‑doore worke: they were warmer that got this,
then the poore Thing is heere. Ile take it vp for pity, yet
Ile
tarry till my sonne come: he hallow’d but euen now.
Whoa‑ho‑hoa.
Hilloa, loa.
What? art so neere? If thou’lt see a thing to
talke on, when thou art
dead and rotten, come hither:
what ayl’st thou, man?
I haue seene two such sights, by Sea & by Land:
but I am not to say
it is a Sea, for it is now the skie, be‑twixt
the Firmament and
it, you cannot thrust a bodkins
point.
Why boy, how is it?
I would you did but see how it chafes, how it ra
ges, how it
takes vp the shore, but that’s not to the point:
Oh, the most pitteous
cry of the poore soules, sometimes
to see 'em, and not to see 'em: Now
the Shippe boaring
the Moone with her maine Mast, and anon swallowed
with yest and froth, as you’ld thrust a Corke into a hogs‑head.
And then for the Land‑seruice, to see how the
Beare tore
out his shoulder‑bone, how he cride to mee
for helpe, and said
his name was Antigonus, a Nobleman:
But to make
an end of the Ship, to see how the Sea flap
dragon’d it: but
first, how the poore soules roared, and
the sea mock’d them: and how the
poore Gentleman roa
red, and the Beare mock’d him, both roaring
lowder
then the sea, or weather.
Name of mercy, when was this boy?
Now, now: I haue not wink’d since I saw these
sights: the men are not
yet cold vnder water, nor the
Beare halfe din’d on the Gentleman: he’s
at it now.
Would I had bin by, to haue help’d the olde
man.
I would you had beene by the ship side, to haue
help’d her; there your
charity would haue lack’d footing.
Heauy matters, heauy matters: but looke thee
heere boy. Now blesse thy
selfe: thou met’st with things
dying, I with things new borne. Here’s a
sight for thee:
Looke thee, a bearing‑cloath for a Squires
childe: looke
thee heere, take vp, take vp (Boy:) open’t: so, let’s
see, it
was told me I should be rich by the Fairies. This is some
Changeling: open’t: what’s within, boy?
You’re a mad olde man: If the sinnes of your
youth are forgiuen you,
you’re well to liue. Golde, all
Go
This is Faiery Gold boy, and 'twill proue so: vp
with’t, keepe it
close: home, home, the next way. We
are luckie (boy) and to bee so
still requires nothing but
secrecie. Let my sheepe go: Come (good boy)
the next
way home.
Go you the next way with your Findings, Ile go
see if the Beare bee
gone from the Gentleman, and how
much he hath eaten: they are neuer
curst but when they
are hungry: if there be any of him left, Ile bury
it.
That’s a good deed: if thou mayest discerne by
that which is left of
him, what he is, fetch me to th’sight
of him.
'Marry will I: and you shall helpe to put him
i’th’ground.
'Tis a lucky day, boy, and wee’l do good deeds
on’t.
I pray thee (good Camillo) be no more
importu
nate: 'tis a sicknesse denying thee any thing: a death
to
grant this.
It is fifteene yeeres since I saw my Countrey:
though I haue (for the
most part) bin ayred abroad, I de
sire to lay my bones there.
Besides, the penitent King
(my Master) hath sent for me, to whose
feeling sorrowes
I might be some allay, or I oreweene to thinke so)
which
is another spurre to my departure.
As thou lou’st me (Camillo) wipe not out the rest
of thy seruices, by leauing me now: the neede I haue of
thee,
thine owne goodnesse hath made: better not to
haue had thee, then thus
to want thee, thou hauing made
me Businesses, (which none (without
thee) can suffici
ently manage) must either stay to execute them
thy selfe,
or take away with thee the very seruices thou hast done:
which if I haue not enough considered (as too much I
cannot) to
bee more thankefull to thee, shall bee my stu
die, and my profite
therein, the heaping friendshippes.
Of that fatall Countrey Sicillia,
prethee speake no more,
whose very naming, punnishes me with the
remembrance
of that penitent (as thou calst him) and reconciled King
my
brother, whose losse of his most precious Queene &
Children, are
euen now to be a‑fresh lamented. Say to
me, when saw’st thou the
Prince Florizell my son? Kings
are no lesse
vnhappy, their issue, not being gracious, then
they are in loosing
them, when they haue approued their
Vertues.
Sir, it is three dayes since I saw the Prince: what
his happier
affayres may be, are to me vnknowne: but I
haue (missingly) noted, he
is of late much retyred from
Court, and is lesse frequent to his
Princely exercises then
formerly he hath appeared.
I haue considered so much (Camillo) and with
some care, so farre, that I haue eyes vnder my seruice,
which
looke vpon his remouednesse: from whom I haue
this Intelligence, that
he is seldome from the house of a
most homely shepheard: a man (they
say) that from very
nothing, and beyond the imagination of his
neighbors,
is growne into an vnspeakable estate.
I haue heard (sir) of such a man, who hath a
daughter of most rare
note: the report of her is extended
more, then can be thought to begin
from such a cottage
That’s likewise part of my Intelligence: but (I
feare) the Angle that
pluckes our sonne thither. Thou
shalt accompany vs to the place, where
we will (not app
earing what we are) haue some question with the
shep
heard; from whose simplicity, I thinke it not vneasie to
get the cause of my sonnes resort thether. 'Prethe be my
present
partner in this busines, and lay aside the thoughts
of Sicillia.
I willingly obey your command.
My best Camillo, we must disguise our selues.
I haue seru’d Prince Florizell, and in my time wore
three
pile, but now I am out of seruice.
My Trafficke is sheetes: when the Kite builds, looke to
lesser Linnen.
My Father nam’d me Autolicus, who be
ing (as I am) lytter’d vnder Mercurie, was likewise a
snapper‑vp of vnconsidered trifles: With Dye and drab,
I
purchas’d this Caparison, and my Reuennew is the silly
Cheate.
Gallowes, and Knocke, are too powerfull on
the Highway. Beating and
hanging are terrors to mee:
For the life to come, I sleepe out the
thought of it. A
prize, a prize.
Let me see, euery Leauen‑weather toddes, euery
tod yeeldes pound
and odde shilling: fifteene hundred
shorne, what comes the wooll
too?
If the sprindge hold, the Cocke’s mine.
I cannot do’t without Compters. Let mee see,
what am I to buy for our
Sheepe‑shearing‑Feast? Three
pound of Sugar, fiue pound of
Currence, Rice: What
will this sister of mine do with Rice? But my
father hath
made her Mistris of the Feast, and she layes it on. Shee
hath made‑me four and twenty Nose‑gayes for the
shea
rers (three‑man song‑men, all, and very good
ones) but
they are most of them Meanes and Bases; but one
Puri
tan amongst them, and he sings Psalmes to
horne‑pipes.
I must haue Saffron to colour the Warden Pies,
Mace:
Dates, none: that’s out of my note: Nutmegges, seuen;
a Race
or two of Ginger, but that I may begge: Foure
pound of Prewyns, and as
many of Reysons o’th Sun.
Oh, that euer I was borne.
I’th’name of me.
Oh helpe me, helpe mee: plucke but off these
ragges: and then, death,
death.
Alacke poore soule, thou hast need of more rags
to lay on thee, rather
then haue these off.
Oh sir, the loathsomnesse of them offend mee,
more then the stripes I
haue receiued, which are mightie
ones and millions.
Alas poore man, a million of beating may come
to a great matter.
I am rob’d sir, and beaten: my money, and ap
parrell tane from
me, and these detestable things put vp
on me.
What, by a horse‑man, or a foot‑man?
A footman (sweet sir) a footman.
Indeed, he should be a footman, by the garments
he has left with thee:
If this bee a horsemans Coate, it
hath seene very hot seruice. Lend me
thy hand, Ile helpe
thee. Come, lend me thy hand.
Oh good sir, tenderly, oh.
Alas poore soule.
Oh good sir, softly, good sir: I feare (sir) my
shoulder‑blade
is out.
How now? Canst stand?
Softly, deere sir: good sir, softly: you ha done
me a charitable
office.
Doest lacke any mony? I haue a little mony for
thee.
No, good sweet sir: no, I beseech you sir: I haue
a Kinsman not past
three quarters of a mile hence, vnto
whome I was going: I shall there
haue money, or anie
thing I want: Offer me no money I pray you, that
killes
my heart.
What manner of Fellow was hee that robb’d
you?
A fellow (sir) that I haue knowne to goe about
with
Troll‑my‑dames: I knew him once a seruant of the
Prince:
I cannot tell good sir, for which of his Ver
tues it was, but
hee was certainely Whipt out of the
Court.
His vices you would say: there’s no vertue whipt
out of the Court: they
cherish it to make it stay there;
and yet it will no more but
abide.
Vices I would say (Sir.) I know this man well,
he hath bene since an
Ape‑bearer, then a Processe‑seruer
(a Baylffe) then hee
compast a Motion of the Prodigall
sonne, and married a Tinkers wife,
within a Mile where
my Land and Liuing lyes; and (hauing flowne ouer
ma
ny knauish professions) he setled onely in Rogue: some
call him Autolicus.
Out vpon him: Prig, for my life Prig: he haunts
Wakes, Faires, and
Beare‑baitings.
Very true sir: he sir hee: that’s the Rogue that
put me into this
apparel.
Not a more cowardly Rogue in all Bohemia; If
you
had but look’d bigge, and spit at him, hee’ld haue
runne.
I must confesse to you (sir) I am no fighter: I am
false of heart that
way, & that he knew I warrant him.
How do you now?
Sweet sir, much better then I was: I can stand,
and walke: I will euen
take my leaue of you, & pace soft
ly towards my
Kinsmans.
Shall I bring thee on the way?
No, good fac’d sir, no sweet sir.
Then fartheewell, I must go buy Spices for our
sheepe‑shearing.
Prosper you sweet sir. Your purse is not hot e
nough to purchase
your Spice: Ile be with you at your
sheepe‑shearing too: If I
make not this Cheat bring out
another, and the sheerers proue sheepe,
let me be vnrold,
and my name put in the booke of Vertue.
So it is.
What? like a Coarse?
Ile sweare for 'em.
Come on: strike vp.
Mopsa must be your Mistris: marry Garlick
to
mend her kissing with.
Now in good time.
Not a word, a word, we stand vpon our manners,
Come, strike vp.
She dances featly.
O Master: if you did but heare the Pedler at the
doore, you would neuer
dance againe after a Tabor and
Pipe: no, the Bag‑pipe could not
moue you: hee singes
seuerall Tunes, faster then you’l tell money: hee
vtters
them as he had eaten ballads, and all mens eares grew to
his Tunes.
He could neuer come better: hee shall come in:
I loue a ballad but euen
too well, if it be dolefull matter
merrily set downe: or a very
pleasant thing indeede, and
sung lamentably.
He hath songs for man, or woman, of all sizes:
No Milliner can so fit
his customers with Gloues: he has
the prettiest Loue‑songs for
Maids, so without bawdrie
(which is strange,) with such delicate
burthens of Dil
do’s and Fadings: Iump‑her, and
thump‑her; and where
some stretch‑mouth’d Rascall, would
(as it were) meane
mischeefe, and breake a fowle gap into the Matter,
hee
makes the maid to answere, Whoop, doe me no harme
good man: put’s him off, slights him, with
This is a braue fellow.
Beleeue mee, thou talkest of an admirable con
ceited fellow, has
he any vnbraided Wares?
Hee hath Ribbons of all the colours i’th Raine
bow; Points, more
then all the Lawyers in Bohemia, can
learnedly
handle, though they come to him by th’grosse:
Inckles, Caddysses,
Cambrickes, Lawnes: why he sings
em ouer, as they were Gods, or
Goddesses: you would
thinke a Smocke were a shee‑Angell, he so
chauntes to
the sleeue‑hand, and the worke about the square
on’t.
Pre’thee bring him in, and let him approach sin
ging.
Forewarne him, that he vse no scurrilous words
in’s tunes.
You haue of these Pedlers, that haue more in
them, then youl’d thinke
(Sister.)
I, good brother, or go about to thinke.
If I were not in loue with Mopsa, thou shouldst
take no money of me, but being enthrall’d as I am, it will
also be
the bondage of certaine Ribbons and Gloues.
I was promis’d them against the Feast, but they
come not too late
now.
He hath promis’d you more then that, or there
be lyars.
He hath paid you all he promis’d you: 'May be
he has paid you more,
which will shame you to giue him
againe.
Is there no manners left among maids? Will they
weare their plackets,
where they should bear their faces?
Is there not milking‑time?
When you are going to bed?
Or kill‑hole? To whistle of these
secrets, but you must
be tittle‑tatling before all our guests?
'Tis well they are
whispring: clamor your tongues, and not a word
more.
I haue done; Come you promis’d me a tawdry
lace, and a paire of
sweet Gloues.
Haue I not told thee how I was cozen’d by the
way, and lost all my
money.
And indeed Sir, there are Cozeners abroad, ther
fore it behooues
men to be wary.
Feare not thou man, thou shalt lose nothing here
I hope so sir, for I haue about me many parcels
of charge.
What hast heere? Ballads?
Pray now buy some: I loue a ballet in print, a
life, for then we are
sure they are true.
Here’s one, to a very dolefull tune, how a Vsu
rers wife was
brought to bed of twenty money baggs at
a burthen, and how she long’d
to eate Adders heads, and
Toads carbonado’d.
Is it true, thinke you?
Very true, and but a moneth old.
Blesse me from marrying a Vsurer.
Here’s the Midwiues name to’t: one Mist. Tale‑Porter,
and fiue or six honest Wiues, that were
present.
Why should I carry lyes abroad?
'Pray you now buy it.
Come‑on, lay it by: and let’s first see moe Bal
lads:
Wee’l buy the other things anon.
Here’s another ballad of a Fish, that appeared
vpon the coast, on
wensday the fourescore of April, fortie
thousand fadom aboue water,
& sung this ballad against
the hard hearts of maids: it was thought
she was a Wo
man, and was turn’d into a cold fish, for she wold
not ex
change flesh with one that lou’d her: The Ballad is very
pittifull, and as true.
Is it true too, thinke you.
Fiue Iustices hands at it, and witnesses more
then my packe will
hold.
Lay it by too; another.
This is a merry ballad, but a very pretty one.
Let’s haue some merry ones.
Why this is a passing merry one, and goes to the
tune of two maids
wooing a man: there’s scarse a Maide
westward but she sings it: 'tis in
request, I can tell you.
We can both sing it: if thou’lt beare a part, thou
shalt heare, 'tis in
three parts.
We had the tune on’t, a month agoe.
I can beare my part, you must know 'tis my oc
cupation: Haue at
it with you:
Wee’l haue this song out anon by our selues: My
Father, and the Gent.
are in sad talke, & wee’ll not trouble
them: Come bring away thy
pack after me, Wenches Ile
buy for you both: Pedler let’s haue the first
choice; follow
me girls.
And you shall pay well for 'em.
Mayster, there is three Carters, three Shep
herds, three
Neat‑herds, three Swine‑herds
themselues all men of haire, they cal themselues Saltiers,
and
they haue a Dance, which the Wenches say is a
gal
ly‑maufrey of Gambols, because they are not in’t: but
they themselues are o’th’minde (if it bee not too rough
for some,
that know little but bowling) it will please
plentifully.
Away: Wee’l none on’t; heere has beene too
much homely foolery already.
I know (Sir) wee wea
rie you.
You wearie those that refresh vs: pray let’s see
these
foure‑threes of Heardsmen.
One three of them, by their owne report (Sir,)
hath danc’d before the
King: and not the worst of the
three, but iumpes twelue foote and a
halfe by th’squire.
Leaue your prating, since these good men are
pleas’d, let them come in:
but quickly now.
Why, they stay at doore Sir.
Do, and be witnesse too’t.
And this my neighbour too?
Fairely offer’d.
This shewes a sound affection.
I haue: but what of him?
Knowes he of this?
He neither do’s, nor shall.
Let him know’t.
He shall not.
Prethee let him.
No, he must not.
Let him (my sonne) he shall not need to greeue
At knowing of thy
choice.
Oh my heart.
Euen he, my Lord.
Be aduis’d.
This is desperate (sir.)
Ha, ha, what a Foole Honestie is? and Trust (his
sworne brother) a very
simple Gentleman. I haue sold
all my Tromperie: not a counterfeit
Stone, not a Ribbon,
Glasse, Pomander, Browch, Table‑booke,
Ballad, Knife,
Tape, Gloue, Shooe‑tye, Bracelet,
Horne‑Ring, to keepe
my Pack from fasting: they throng who should buy first,
as if my
Trinkets had beene hallowed, and brought a be
nediction to the
buyer: by which meanes, I saw whose
Purse was best in Picture; and what
I saw, to my good
vse, I remembred. My Clowne (who wants but
some
thing to be a reasonable man) grew so in loue with the
Wenches Song, that hee would not stirre his Petty‑toes,
till he had both Tune and Words, which so drew the rest
of the
Heard to me, that all their other Sences stucke in
Eares: you might
haue pinch’d a Placket, it was sence
lesse; 'twas nothing to
gueld a Cod‑peece of a Purse: I
would haue fill’d Keyes of that
hung in Chaynes: no
hearing, no feeling, but my Sirs Song, and admiring
the
Nothing of it. So that in this time of Lethargie, I pickd
and
cut most of their Festiuall Purses: And had not the
old‑man come
in with a Whoo‑bub against his Daugh
ter, and the Kings
Sonne, and scar’d my Chowghes from
the Chaffe, I had not left a Purse
aliue in the whole
Army.
And those that you’le procure from King Leontes?
Shall satisfie your Father.
If they haue ouer‑heard me now: why hanging.
I am a poore Fellow, Sir.
Why, be so still: here’s no body will steale that
from thee: yet for
the out‑side of thy pouertie, we must
make an exchange;
therefore dis‑case thee instantly (thou
must thinke there’s a
necessitie in’t) and change Garments
with this Gentleman: Though the
penny‑worth (on his
side) be the worst, yet hold thee, there’s
some boot.
I am a poore Fellow, Sir: (I know ye well
enough.)
Nay prethee dispatch: the Gentleman is halfe
fled already.
Are you in earnest, Sir? (I smell the trick on’t.)
Dispatch, I prethee.
Indeed I haue had Earnest, but I cannot with
conscience take it.
Adieu, Sir.
The swifter speed, the better.
I vnderstand the businesse, I heare it: to haue an
open eare, a quick
eye, and a nimble hand, is necessary for
a Cut‑purse; a good
Nose is requisite also, to smell out
worke for th’other Sences. I see
this is the time that the
vniust man doth thriue. What an exchange had
this been,
without boot? What a boot is here, with this exchange?
Sure the Gods doe this yeere conniue at vs, and we may
doe any
thing extempore. The Prince himselfe is about
a peece of Iniquitie
(stealing away from his Father, with
his Clog at his heeles:) if I
thought it were a peece of ho
nestie to acquaint the King
withall, I would not do’t: I
hold it the more knauerie to conceale it;
and therein am
I constant to my Profession.
Aside, aside, here is more matter for a hot braine: Euery
Lanes end,
euery Shop, Church, Session, Hanging, yeelds
a carefull man worke.
See, see: what a man you are now? there is no
other way, but to
none of your flesh and blood.
Nay, but heare me.
Nay; but heare me.
Goe too then.
She being none of your flesh and blood, your
flesh and blood ha’s not
offended the King, and so your
flesh and blood is not to be punish’d by
him. Shew those
things you found about her (those secret things, all
but
what she ha’s with her:) This being done, let the Law goe
whistle: I warrant you.
I will tell the King all, euery word, yea, and his
Sonnes prancks too;
who, I may say, is no honest man,
neither to his Father, nor to me, to
goe about to make me
the Kings Brother in Law.
Indeed Brother in Law was the farthest off you
could haue beene to him,
and then your Blood had beene
the dearer, by I know how much an
ounce.
Very wisely (Puppies.)
Well: let vs to the King: there is that in this
Farthell, will make him
scratch his Beard.
I know not what impediment this Complaint
may be to the flight of my
Master.
'Pray heartily he be at'Pallace.
Though I am not naturally honest, I am so some
times by chance:
Let me pocket vp my Pedlers excre
ment. How now (Rustiques)
whither are you bound?
To th’Pallace (and it like your Worship.)
Your Affaires there? what? with whom? the
Condition of that Farthell?
the place of your dwelling?
your names? your ages? of what hauing?
breeding, and
any thing that is fitting to be knowne, discouer?
We are but plaine fellowes, Sir.
A Lye; you are rough, and hayrie: Let me haue
no lying; it becomes none
but Trades‑men, and they of
ten giue vs (Souldiers) the
Lye, but wee pay them for it
with stamped Coyne, not stabbing Steele,
therefore they
doe not giue vs the Lye.
Your Worship had like to haue giuen vs one, if
you had not taken your
selfe with the manner.
Are you a Courtier, and’t like you Sir?
Whether it
thou not the ayre of the
Court, in these enfoldings? Hath
not my gate in it, the measure of the
Court? Receiues not
thy Nose Court‑Odour from me? Reflect I not
on thy
Basenesse, Court‑Contempt? Think’st thou, for that I
insinuate, at toaze from thee thy Businesse, I am there‑fore
no Courtier? I am Courtier Cap‑a‑pe; and one that
will eyther
push‑on, or pluck‑back, thy Businesse there:
whereupon I
command thee to open thy Affaire.
My Businesse, Sir, is to the King.
What Aduocate ha’st thou to him?
I know not (and’t like you.)
Aduocate’s the Court‑word for a Pheazant: say
you haue none.
None, Sir: I haue no Pheazant Cock, nor Hen.
This cannot be but a great Courtier.
His Garments are rich, but he weares them not
handsomely.
He seemes to be the more Noble, in being fanta
sticall: A great
man, Ile warrant; I know by the picking
on’s Teeth.
The Farthell there? What’s i’th’Farthell?
Wherefore that Box?
Sir, there lyes such Secrets in this Farthell and
Box, which none must
know but the King, and which hee
shall know within this houre, if I may
come to th’speech
of him.
Age, thou hast lost thy labour.
Why Sir?
The King is not at the Pallace, he is gone aboord
a new Ship, to purge
Melancholy, and ayre himselfe: for
if thou bee’st capable of things
serious, thou must know
the King is full of griefe.
So 'tis said (Sir:) about his Sonne, that should
haue marryed a
Shepheards Daughter.
If that Shepheard be not in hand‑fast, let him
flye; the Curses
he shall haue, the Tortures he shall feele,
will breake the back of
Man, the heart of Monster.
Thinke you so, Sir?
Not hee alone shall suffer what Wit can make
heauie, and Vengeance
bitter; but those that are Iermaine
to him (though remou’d fiftie times)
shall all come vnder
the Hang‑man: which, though it be great
pitty, yet it is
necessarie. An old Sheepe‑whistling Rogue, a
Ram‑ten
der, to offer to haue his Daughter come into
grace? Some
say hee shall be ston’d: but that death is too soft for him
(say I:) Draw our Throne into a Sheep‑Coat? all deaths
are
too few, the sharpest too easie.
Ha’s the old‑man ere a Sonne Sir (doe you heare)
and’t like you,
Sir?
Hee ha’s a Sonne: who shall be flayd aliue, then
'noynted ouer with
Honey, set on the head of a Waspes
Nest, then stand till he be three
quarters and a dram dead:
then recouer’d againe with Aquavite, or some
other hot
Infusion: then, raw as he is (and in the hotest day
Progno
stication proclaymes) shall he be set against a
Brick‑wall,
(the Sunne looking with a South‑ward eye vpon
him;
where hee is to behold him, with Flyes blown to death.)
But
what talke we of these Traitorly‑Rascals, whose mi
series
are to be smil’d at, their offences being so capitall?
Tell me (for you seeme to be honest plaine men) what you
haue to the
King: being something gently consider’d, Ile
bring you where he is
aboord, tender your persons to his
presence, whisper him in your
behalfes; and if it be in
man, besides the King, to effect your Suites,
here is man
shall doe it.
He seemes to be of great authoritie: close with
him, giue him Gold; and
though Authoritie be a stub
borne Beare, yet hee is oft led by
the Nose with Gold:
shew the in‑side of your Purse to the
out‑side of his
hand, and no more adoe. Remember ston’d, and
flay’d
aliue.
And’t please you (Sir) to vndertake the Businesse
for vs, here is that
Gold I haue: Ile make it as much
more, and leaue this young man in
pawne, till I bring it
you.
After I haue done what I promised?
I Sir.
Well, giue me the Moitie: Are you a partie in
this Businesse?
In some sort, Sir: but though my case be a pit
tifull one, I
hope I shall not be flayd out of it.
Oh, that’s the case of the Shepheards Sonne:
hang him, hee’le be made
an example.
Comfort, good comfort: We must to the King,
and shew our strange
sights: he must know 'tis none of
your Daughter, nor my Sister: wee are
gone else. Sir, I
will giue you as much as this old man do’s, when the
Bu
sinesse is performed, and remaine (as he sayes) your pawne
till it be brought you.
I will trust you. Walke before toward the Sea
side, goe on the
right hand, I will but looke vpon the
Hedge, and follow you.
We are bless’d, in this man: as I may say, euen
bless’d.
Let’s before, as he bids vs: he was prouided to
doe vs good.
If I had a mind to be honest, I see Fortune would
not suffer mee: shee drops Booties in my mouth. I am
courted now
with a double occasion: (Gold, and a means
to doe the Prince my Master
good; which, who knowes
how that may turne backe to my aduancement?) I
will
bring these two Moales, these blind‑ones, aboord him: if
he thinke it fit to shoare them againe, and that the
Com
plaint they haue to the King, concernes him nothing, let
him call me Rogue, for being so farre officious, for I am
proofe
against that Title, and what shame else belongs
to’t: To him will I
present them, there may be matter in
it.
You are one of those
Would haue him wed againe.
Neuer (Paulina) so be bless’d my Spirit.
Then good my Lords, beare witnesse to his Oath.
You tempt him ouer‑much.
Good Madame, I haue done.
His Princesse (say you) with him?
How? not women?
Where’s Bohemia? speake:
Who? Camillo?
You are marryed?
My Lord,
Is this the Daughter of a King?
Beseech you (Sir) were you present at this Re
lation?
I was by at the opening of the Farthell, heard
the old Shepheard
deliuer the manner how he found it:
Whereupon (after a little
amazednesse) we were all com
manded out of the Chamber: onely
this (me thought) I
heard the Shepheard say, he found the Child.
I would most gladly know the issue of it.
I make a broken deliuerie of the Businesse;
but the changes I perceiued
in the King, and Camillo, were
very Notes of
admiration: they seem’d almost, with sta
ring on one another, to
teare the Cases of their Eyes.
There was speech in their dumbnesse,
Language in their
very gesture: they look’d as they had heard of a
World
ransom’d, or one destroyed: a notable passion of
Won
der appeared in them: but the wisest beholder, that knew
no more but seeing, could not say, if th’importance were
Ioy, or
Sorrow; but in the extremitie of the one, it must
needs be.
Here comes a Gentleman, that happily knowes more:
The Newes, Rogero.
Nothing but Bon‑fires: the Oracle is fulfill’d:
the Kings Daughter
is found: such a deale of wonder is
broken out within this houre, that
Ballad‑makers cannot
be able to expresse it.
Here comes the Lady Paulina’s Steward, hee can
deliuer
you more. How goes it now (Sir.) This Newes (which
is
call’d true) is so like an old Tale, that the veritie of it is
in
strong suspition: Ha’s the King found his Heire?
Most true, if euer Truth were pregnant by
Circumstance: That which you
heare, you’le sweare
you see, there is such vnitie in the proofes. The
Mantle
of Queene Hermiones: her Iewell about the
Neck of it:
the Letters of Antigonus found with
it, which they know
to be his Character: the Maiestie of the Creature,
in re
semblance of the Mother: the Affection of Noblenesse,
which Nature shewes aboue her Breeding, and many o
ther
Euidences, proclayme her, with all certaintie, to be
the Kings
Daughter. Did you see the meeting of the
two Kings?
No.
Then haue you lost a Sight which was to bee
seene, cannot bee spoken
of. There might you haue be
held one Ioy crowne another, so and
in such manner, that
it seem’d Sorrow wept to take leaue of them: for
their
Ioy waded in teares. There was casting vp of Eyes,
hol
ding vp of Hands, with Countenance of such distraction,
that they were to be knowne by Garment, not by Fauor.
Our King being ready to leape out of himselfe, for ioy of
his
found Daughter; as if that Ioy were now become a
Losse, cryes, Oh, thy
Mother, thy Mother: then askes
Bohemia forgiuenesse, then embraces his
Sonne‑in‑Law:
then againe worryes he his Daughter, with
clipping her.
Now he thanks the old Shepheard (which stands by, like
a Weather‑bitten Conduit, of many Kings Reignes.) I
neuer
heard of such another Encounter; which lames Re
port to follow
it, and vndo’s description to doe it.
What, 'pray you, became of Antigonus, that
carryed hence the Child?
Like an old Tale still, which will haue matter
to rehearse, though
Credit be asleepe, and not an eare o
pen; he was torne to pieces
with a Beare: This auouches
the Shepheards Sonne; who ha’s not onely
his Innocence
(which seemes much) to iustifie him, but a
Hand‑kerchief
and Rings of his, that Paulina knows.
What became of his Barke, and his Fol
lowers?
Wrackt the same instant of their Masters
death, and in the view of the
Shepheard: so that all the
Instruments which ayded to expose the Child,
were euen
then lost, when it was found. But oh the Noble Combat,
that 'twixt Ioy and Sorrow was fought in Paulina. Shee
had one Eye declin’d for the losse of her Husband,
ano
ther eleuated, that the Oracle was fulfill’d: Shee lifted the
Princesse from the Earth, and so locks her in embracing,
as if
shee would pin her to her heart, that shee might no
more be in danger
of loosing.
The Dignitie of this Act was worth the au
dience of Kings and
Princes, for by such was it acted.
One of the prettyest touches of all, and that
which angl’d for mine
Eyes (caught the Water, though
not the Fish) was, when at the Relation
of the Queenes
death (with the manner how shee came to’t, brauely
con
fess’d, and lamented by the King) how attentiuenesse
wounded his Daughter, till (from one signe of dolour to
another)
shee did (with an Alas) I would faine say, bleed
Teares; for I am sure, my heart wept blood. Who was
most Marble,
there changed colour: some swownded, all
sorrowed: if all the World
could haue seen’t, the Woe
had beene vniuersall.
Are they returned to the Court?
No: The Princesse hearing of her Mothers
Statue (which is in the
keeping of Paulina) a Peece many
yeeres in
doing, and now newly perform’d, by that rare
Italian Master, Iulio Romano, who (had he himselfe
Eter
nitie, and could put Breath into his Worke) would
be
guile Nature of her Custome, so perfectly he is her Ape:
He so neere to Hermione, hath done Hermione, that they
say one would speake to her,
and stand in hope of answer.
Thither (with all greedinesse of
affection) are they gone,
and there they intend to Sup.
I thought she had some great matter there in
hand, for shee hath
priuately, twice or thrice a day, euer
since the death of Hermione, visited that remoued House.
Shall wee
thither, and with our companie peece the Re
ioycing?
Who would be thence, that ha’s the benefit
of Accesse? euery winke of an
Eye, some new Grace
will be borne: our Absence makes vs vnthriftie to
our
Knowledge. Let’s along.
Now (had I not the dash of my former life in
me) would Preferment drop
on my head. I brought the
old man and his Sonne aboord the Prince; told
him, I
heard them talke of a Farthell, and I know not what: but
he at that time ouer‑fond of the Shepheards Daughter (so
he
then tooke her to be) who began to be much Sea‑sick,
and
himselfe little better, extremitie of Weather conti
nuing, this
Mysterie remained vndiscouer’d. But 'tis all
one to me: for had I beene
the finder‑out of this Secret,
it would not haue rellish’d among
my other discredits.
Here come those I haue done good to against my will,
and alreadie
appearing in the blossomes of their For
tune.
Come Boy, I am past moe Children: but thy
Sonnes and Daughters will be
all Gentlemen borne.
You are well met (Sir:) you deny’d to fight
with mee this other day,
because I was no Gentleman
borne. See you these Clothes? say you see
them not,
and thinke me still no Gentleman borne: You were best
say these Robes are not Gentlemen borne. Giue me the
Lye: doe: and
try whether I am not now a Gentleman
borne.
I know you are now (Sir) a Gentleman borne.
I, and haue been so any time these foure hours.
And so haue I, Boy.
So you haue: but I was a Gentleman borne be
fore my Father: for
the Kings Sonne tooke me by the
hand, and call’d mee Brother: and then
the two Kings
call’d my Father Brother: and then the Prince (my
Bro
ther) and the Princesse (my Sister) call’d my Father,
Father;
and so wee wept: and there was the first Gentleman‑like
teares that euer we shed.
We may liue (Sonne) to shed many more.
I: or else 'twere hard luck, being in so preposte
rous estate as
we are.
I humbly beseech you (Sir) to pardon me all the
faults I haue committed
to your Worship, and to giue
me your good report to the Prince my
Master.
'Prethee Sonne doe: for we must be gentle, now
we are Gentlemen.
Thou wilt amend thy life?
I, and it like your good Worship.
Giue me thy hand: I will sweare to the Prince,
thou art as honest a
true Fellow as any is in Bohemia.
You may say it, but not sweare it.
Not sweare it, now I am a Gentleman? Let
Boores and Francklins say it,
Ile sweare it.
How if it be false (Sonne?)
If it be ne’re so false, a true Gentleman may
sweare it, in the behalfe
of his Friend: And Ile sweare to
the Prince, thou art a tall Fellow of
thy hands, and that
thou wilt not be drunke: but I know thou art no
tall Fel
low of thy hands, and that thou wilt be drunke: but Ile
sweare it, and I would thou would’st be a tall Fellow of
thy
hands.
I will proue so (Sir) to my power.
I, by any meanes proue a tall Fellow: if I do not
wonder, how thou
dar’st venture to be drunke, not being
a tall Fellow, trust me not.
Harke, the Kings and Prin
ces (our Kindred) are going to see the
Queenes Picture.
Come, follow vs: wee’le be thy good Masters.
Oh, not by much.
Doe not draw the Curtaine.
No longer shall you gaze on’t, least your Fancie
May thinke anon, it
moues.
No: not these twentie yeeres.
She embraces him.