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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.
cond husband.
And I in going Madam, weep ore my
fathers death anew; but I must attend his maie
sties command, to whom I am now in Ward, euermore
in subiection.
You shall find of the King a husband Madame,
you sir
a father. He that so generally is at all times good,
must of necessitie hold his vertue to you, whose
worthi
nesse would stirre it vp where it
wanted rather then lack
it where there is such
abundance.
What hope is there of his Maiesties amendment?
He hath abandon'd his Phisitions Madam, vn
der
whose practises he hath persecuted time with hope,
and finds no other aduantage in the processe, but
onely
the loosing of hope by time.
This yong Gentlewoman had a father, O that
had, how sad a
passage tis, whose skill was almost as
great as his
honestie, had it stretch'd so far, would haue
made nature immortall, and death should haue play for
lacke of worke. Would for the Kings sake hee were
li
uing, I thinke it would be the death of the
Kings disease.
How call'd you the man you speake of Madam?
He was famous sir in his profession, and it was
his great
right to be so: Gerard de Narbon.
He was excellent indeed Madam, the King very
latelie spoke
of him admiringly, and mourningly: hee
was skilfull enough
to haue liu'd stil, if knowledge could
be set
vp against mortallitie.
What is it (my good Lord) the King languishes
of?
A Fistula my Lord.
I heard not of it before.
I would it were not notorious. Was this Gen
tlewoman the Daughter of Gerard de
Narbon?
His sole childe my Lord, and bequeathed to my
ouer looking.
I haue those hopes of her good, that her
education
promises her dispositions shee inherits, which
makes faire
gifts fairer: for where an vncleane mind car
ries vertuous qualities, there commendations go with
pitty, they are vertues and traitors too: in her they are
the better for their simplenesse; she deriues her
honestie,
Your commendations Madam get from her
teares.
'Tis the best brine a Maiden can season her praise
in. The remembrance of her father neuer approches her
heart, but the tirrany of her sorrowes takes all
liuelihood
from her cheeke. No more of this Helena, go too, no
more least it
be rather thought you affect a sorrow, then
to haue⸺
I doe affect a sorrow indeed, but I haue it too.
Moderate lamentation is the right of the dead,
excessiue
greefe the enemie to the liuing.
If the liuing be enemie to the greefe, the excesse
makes it
soone mortall.
The best wishes that can be forg'd in your
thoghts
be seruants to you: be comfortable to my mother, your
Mistris, and make much of her.
Farewell prettie Lady, you must hold the cre
dit of your father.
I: you haue some staine of souldier in you: Let
mee
aske you a question. Man is enemie to virginitie,
how may we barracado it against him?
Keepe him out.
But he assailes, and our virginitie though vali
ant, in the defence yet is weak: vnfold to vs some
war
like resistance.
There is none: Man setting downe before you,
will vndermine
you, and blow you vp.
Blesse our poore Virginity from vnderminers
and blowers vp.
Is there no Military policy how Vir
gins might blow
vp men?
Virginity beeing blowne downe, Man will
quicklier be blowne
vp: marry in blowing him downe
againe, with the breach
your selues made, you lose your
Citty. It is not
politicke, in the Common‑wealth of
Nature, to
preserue virginity. Losse of Virginitie, is
rationall
encrease, and there was neuer Virgin goe, till
virginitie
was first lost. That you were made of, is
met
tall to make Virgins. Virginitie, by beeing
once lost,
may be ten times found: by being euer
kept, it is euer
lost: 'tis too cold a companion:
Away with't.
I will stand for't a little, though therefore I die
a Virgin.
There's little can bee saide in't, 'tis
against the
rule of Nature. To speake on the part of
virginitie, is
to accuse your Mothers; which is most
infallible diso
bedience. He that hangs himselfe is
a Virgin: Virgini
tie murthers it selfe, and should
be buried in highwayes
out of all sanctified
limit, as a desperate Offendresse a
gainst
Nature. Virginitie breedes mites, much like a
Cheese, consumes it selfe to the very payring, and so
dies with feeding his owne stomacke. Besides,
Virgini
tie is peeuish, proud, ydle, made of
selfe‑loue, which
is the most inhibited sinne
in the Cannon. Keepe it not,
you cannot choose but loose
by't. Out with't: within
ten yeare it will
make it selfe two, which is a goodly in
crease, and
the principall it selfe not much the worse.
Away
with't.
How might one do sir, to loose it to her owne
liking?
Let mee see. Marry ill, to like him that ne're
it
likes. 'Tis a commodity wil lose the glosse with lying:
The longer kept, the lesse worth: Off with't
while 'tis
vendible. Answer the time of request,
Virginitie like
an olde Courtier, weares her cap out of
fashion, richly
suted, but vnsuteable, iust like the
brooch & the tooth
pick, which were not now:
your Date is better in your
Pye and your Porredge, then in
your cheeke: and your
virginity, your old virginity, is
like one of our French
wither'd peares, it lookes
ill, it eates drily, marry 'tis a
wither'd peare:
it was formerly better, marry yet 'tis a
wither'd
peare: Will you any thing with it?
What one ifaith?
That I wish well, 'tis pitty.
What's pitty?
Monsieur Parrolles,
My Lord cals for
you.
Little Hellen farewell, if I can remember
thee, I
will thinke of thee at Court.
Monsieur Parolles, you were borne vnder a
charitable starre.
Vnder Mars I.
I especially thinke, vnder Mars.
Why vnder Mars?
The warres hath so kept you vnder, that you
must
needes be borne vnder Mars.
When he was predominant.
When he was retrograde I thinke rather.
Why thinke you so?
You go so much backward when you fight.
That's for aduantage.
So is running away,
When feare proposes the safetie:
But the composition that your valour and feare makes
in
you, is a vertue of a good wing, and I like the
weare
well.
I am so full of businesses, I cannot answere
thee acutely:
I will returne perfect Courtier, in the
which my
instruction shall serue to naturalize thee, so
thou wilt be capeable of a Courtiers councell, and
vn
derstand what aduice shall thrust
vppon thee, else thou
diest in thine vnthankfulnes,
and thine ignorance makes
thee away, farewell: When thou
hast leysure, say thy
praiers: when thou hast
none, remember thy Friends:
Get thee a good husband, and vse him as he vses thee:
So farewell.
It is the Count Rosignoll my good
Lord,
Yong Bertram.
I will now heare, what say you of this gentle
woman.
Maddam the care I haue had to euen your con
tent, I
wish might be found in the Kalender of my past
endeuours, for then we wound our Modestie, and make
foule the clearnesse of our deseruings, whenof our selues
we publish them.
What doe's this knaue heere? Get you gone
sirra: the
complaints I haue heard of you I do not all be
leeue, 'tis my slownesse that I doe not: For I know you
lacke not folly to commit them, & haue abilitie enough
to make such knaueries yours.
'Tis not vnknown to you Madam, I am a poore
fellow.
Well sir.
No maddam,
'Tis not so well that I am poore, though manie
Isbell the w
Wilt thou needes be a begger?
I doe beg your good will in this case.
In what case?
In Isbels case and mine owne: seruice is
no heri
and I thinke I shall neuer haue
the blessing of God,
Tell me thy reason why thou wilt marrie?
My poore bodie Madam requires it, I am driuen
Is this all your worships reason?
Faith Madam I haue other holie reasons, such as
May the world know them?
I haue beene Madam a wicked creature, as you
may repent.
Thy marriage sooner then thy wickednesse.
I am out a friends Madam, and I hope to haue
Such friends are thine enemies knaue.
Y'are shallow Madam in great friends, for the
ergo,
he that kisses my wife is my
Charbon the
Puritan, and old Poysam the
Papist, how somere their
Wilt thou euer be a foule mouth'd and
calum
A Prophet I Madam, and I speake the truth the
Cuckow sings by kinde.
Get you gone sir, Ile talke with you more anon.
May it please you Madam, that hee bid Hellen
Sirra tell my gentlewoman I would speake with
Hellen I meane.
And gaue this sentence then, among nine bad if one be
good, among nine bad if one be good, there's yet one
good in ten.
What, one good in tenne? you corrupt the song
One good woman in ten Madam, which is a pu
rifying ath' song: would God would serue the world so
all the yeere, weed finde no fault with the tithe
woman
if I were the Parson, one in ten quoth a? and wee
might
haue a good woman borne but ore euerie blazing
starre,
or at an earthquake, 'twould mend the
Lotterie well, a
man may draw his heart out ere a plucke
one.
Youle begone sir knaue, and doe as I command
you?
That man should be at womans command, and
yet no hurt done,
though honestie be no Puritan, yet
it will doe no
hurt, it will weare the Surplis of humilitie
ouer the
blacke‑Gowne of a bigge heart: I am go
ing
forsooth, the businesse is for Helen to come hither.
Well now.
I know Madam you loue your Gentlewoman
intirely.
Faith I doe: her Father bequeath'd her to mee,
and
she her selfe without other aduantage, may lawful
lie
make title to as much loue as shee findes, there is
more owing her then is paid, and more shall be paid
her then sheele demand.
Madam, I was verie late more neere her then
I thinke shee
wisht mee, alone shee was, and did
communicate to her
selfe her owne words to her
owne eares, shee thought, I
dare vowe for her, they
toucht not anie stranger
sence, her matter was, shee
loued your Sonne; Fortune shee
said was no god
desse, that had put such
difference betwixt their two
estates: Loue no
god, that would not extend his might
onelie, where
qualities were leuell, Queene of Vir
gins, that
would suffer her poore Knight surpris'd
without rescue in the first assault or ransome
after
ward: This shee deliuer'd in the
most bitter touch of
sorrow that ere I heard Virgin
exclaime in, which I held
my dutie speedily to acquaint
you withall, sithence in
the losse that may happen, it
concernes you something
to know it.
You haue discharg'd this honestlie, keepe it
to your selfe, manie likelihoods inform'd mee of
this
before, which hung so tottring in the ballance, that
I could neither beleeue nor misdoubt: praie you
leaue mee, stall this in your bosome, and I thanke
you for your honest care: I will speake with you
fur
ther anon.
What is your pleasure Madam?
You know Hellen I am a mother to you.
Mine honorable Mistris.
That I am not.
I say I am your Mother.
Nor I your Mother.
Good Madam pardon me.
Do you loue my Sonne?
Your pardon noble Mistris.
Loue you my Sonne?
Doe not you loue him Madam?
Madam I had.
Wherefore? tell true.
This was your motiue for Paris, was it,
speake?
Doo'st thou beleeue't?
I Madam knowingly.
Health at your bidding serue your Maiesty.
Our hearts receiue your warnings.
Farewell, come hether to me.
Oh my sweet Lord y
'Tis not his fault the spark.
Oh 'tis braue warres.
Most admirable, I haue seene those warres.
There's honour in the theft.
Commit it Count.
I am your accessary, and so farewell.
I grow to you, & our parting is a tortur'd body.
Farewell Captaine.
Sweet Mounsier Parolles.
Noble Heroes; my sword and yours are kinne,
good sparkes
and lustrous, a word good mettals. You
shall
finde in the Regiment of the Spinij, one Captaine
Spurio his sicatrice, with an
Embleme of warre heere on
his sinister cheeke; it
was this very sword entrench'd it:
say to him I
liue, and obserue his reports for me.
We shall noble Captaine.
Mars doate on you for his nouices, what will
ye doe?
Stay the King.
Vse a more spacious ceremonie to the Noble
Lords, you haue
restrain'd your selfe within the List of
too cold an adieu: be more expressiue to them; for they
weare themselues in the cap of the time, there do
muster
true gate; eat, speake, and moue vnder the
influence of
the most receiu'd
starre, and though the deuill leade the
measure,
such are to be followed: after them, and take a
more
dilated farewell.
And I will doe so.
Worthy fellowes, and like to prooue most si
newie sword‑men.
Pardon my Lord for mee and for my tidings.
Ile see thee to stand vp.
Thus he his speciall nothing euer prologues.
Nay, come your waies.
This haste hath wings indeed.
Now faire one, do's your busines follow vs?
I knew him.
Make thy demand.
But will you make it euen?
I by my Scepter, and my hopes of helpe.
Come on sir, I shall now put you to the height
of your
breeding.
I will shew my selfe highly fed, and lowly
taught, I know
my businesse is but to the Court.
To the Court, why what place make you spe
ciall, when you put off that with such contempt, but to
the Court?
Truly Madam, if God haue lent a man any man
ners, hee may easilie put it off at Court: hee that cannot
make a legge, put off's cap, kisse his hand, and
say no
thing, has neither legge, hands, lippe, nor
cap; and in
deed such a fellow, to say precisely,
were not for the
Court, but for me, I haue an answere will
serue all men.
Marry that's a bountifull answere that fits all
questions.
It is like a Barbers chaire that fits all buttockes,
the pin buttocke, the quatch‑buttocke, the brawn
but
tocke, or any buttocke.
Will your answere serue fit to all questions?
As fit as ten groats is for the hand of an
Attu
rney, as your French Crowne for your
taffety punke, as Tibs rush for Toms
fore‑finger, as a pancake for Shroue‑
tuesday, a Morris for May‑day, as the naile to his hole,
the Cuckold to his horne, as a scolding queane to a
wrangling knaue, as the Nuns lip to the Friers mouth,
nay as the pudding to his skin.
Haue you, I say, an answere of such fitnesse for
all
questions?
From below your Duke, to beneath your Con
stable, it will fit any question.
It must be an answere of most monstrous size,
that must fit all demands.
But a triflle neither in good faith, if the learned
should speake truth of it: heere it is, and all that
belongs
to't. Aske mee if I am a Courtier, it shall
doe you no
harme to learne.
To be young againe if we could: I will bee a
foole in
question, hoping to bee the wiser by you're
an
swer.
I pray you sir, are you a Courtier?
O Lord sir theres a simple putting off: more,
more, a
hundred of them.
Sir I am a poore freind of yours, that loues you.
O Lord sir, thicke, thicke, spare not me.
I thinke sir, you can eate none of this homely
meate.
O Lord sir; nay put me too't, I warrant you.
You were lately whipt sir as I thinke.
O Lord sir, spare not me.
Doe you crie O Lord sir at your whipping, and
spare not me?
Indeed your O Lord sir, is very sequent
to your whipping:
you would answere very well to a
whipping if you were but
bound too't.
I nere had worse lucke in my life in my O Lord
sir: I see
things may serue long, but not serue euer.
I play the noble huswife with the time, to enter
taine it so merrily with a foole.
O Lord sir, why there't serues well agen.
Not much commendation to them.
Most fruitfully, I am there, before my
Hast you agen.
They say miracles are past, and we haue our
Philosophicall persons, to make moderne and familiar
things supernaturall and causelesse. Hence is it, that we
make trifles of terrours, ensconcing our selues into
see
ming knowledge, when we should submit our
selues to
an vnknowne feare.
Why 'tis the rarest argument of wonder, that
hath
shot out in our latter times.
And so 'tis.
To be relinquisht of the Artists.
So I say both of Galen and Paracelsus.
Of all the learned and authenticke fellowes.
Right so I say.
That gaue him out incureable.
Why there 'tis, so say I too.
Not to be help'd.
Right, as 'twere a man assur'd of a⸺
Vncertaine life, and sure death.
Iust, you say well: so would I haue said.
I may truly say, it is a noueltie to the world.
It is indeede if you will haue it in shewing, you
shall
reade it in what do ye call there.
A shewing of a heauenly effect in an earth
ly Actor.
That's it, I would haue said, the verie same.
Why your Dolphin is not lustier: fore mee
I speake in
respect⸺
Nay 'tis strange, 'tis very straunge, that is the
breefe and the tedious of it, and he's of a
most facineri
ous spirit, that will not
acknowledge it to be the⸺
Very hand of heauen.
I, so I say.
In a most weake⸺
And debile minister great power, great
tran
cendence, which should indeede giue vs a
further vse to
be made, then alone the
recou'ry of the king, as to bee
Generally thankfull.
I would haue said it, you say well: heere comes
the
King.
Lustique, as the Dutchman saies: Ile like a
maide the
Better whil'st I haue a tooth in my head: why
he's able to leade her a Carranto.
Mor du vinager, is not this Helen?
Fore God I thinke so.
Gentlemen, heauen hath through me, restor'd
the king to health.
We vnderstand it, and thanke heauen for you.
And grant it.
Thankes sir, all the rest is mute.
No better if you please.
Do all they denie her? And they were sons
of mine,
I'de haue them whip'd, or I would send them
to'th Turke to make Eunuches of.
These boyes are boyes of Ice, they'le none
haue heere: sure
they are bastards to the English, the
French nere
got em.
Faire one, I thinke not so.
There's one grape yet, I am sure thy father
drunke
wine. But if thou be'st not an asse, I am a youth
of fourteene: I haue knowne thee already.
Why then young Bertram take her
shee's thy
wife.
Know'st thou not Bertram what
shee ha's
done for mee?
Yes my good Lord, but neuer hope to know
why I should
marrie her.
Thou know'st shee ha's rais'd me from
my sick
ly bed.
I cannot loue her, nor will striue to doo't.
Thou wrong'st thy selfe, if thou
shold'st striue
to choose.
I take her hand.
Do you heare Monsieur? A word with you.
Your pleasure sir.
Your Lord and Master did well to make his
re
cantation.
Recantation? My Lord? my Master?
I: Is it not a Language I speake?
A most harsh one, and not to bee vnderstoode
without bloudie succeeding My Master?
Are you Companion to the Count Rosillion?
Par. To any Count, to all Counts:
to what is man.
To what is Counts man: Counts maister is of
another
stile.
You are too old sir: Let it satisfie you, you are
too
old.
I must tell thee sirrah, I write Man: to which
title
age cannot bring thee.
What I dare too well do, I dare not do.
I did thinke thee for two ordinaries: to bee a
prettie wise
fellow, thou didst make tollerable vent of
thy
trauell, it might passe: yet the scarffes and the
ban
nerets about thee, did manifoldlie disswade me
from be
leeuing thee a vessell of too great a
burthen. I haue now
found thee, when I loose thee againe,
I care not: yet art
thou good for nothing but taking vp,
and that th'ourt
scarce worth.
Hadst thou not the priuiledge of Antiquity vp
on
thee.
Do not plundge thy selfe to farre in anger, least
thou hasten thy triall: which if, Lord haue mercie
on
thee for a hen, so my good window of Lettice fare thee
well, thy casement I neede not open, for I look through
thee. Giue me thy hand.
My Lord, you giue me most egregious indignity.
I with all my heart, and thou art worthy of it.
I haue not my Lord deseru'd it.
Yes good faith, eu'ry dramme of it, and I will
not
b
Well, I shall be wiser.
Eu'n as soone as thou can'st, for thou
hast to pull
at a smacke a'th contrarie. If
euer thou bee'st bound
in thy skarfe and
beaten, thou shall finde what it is to be
proud of thy
bondage, I haue a desire to holde my ac
quaintance
with thee, or rather my knowledge, that I
may say in
the default, he is a man I know.
My Lord you do me most insupportable vexati
on.
I would it were hell paines for thy sake, and my
poore
doing eternall: for doing I am past, as I will by
thee, in what motion age will giue me leaue.
Well, thou hast a sonne shall take this disgrace
off me; scuruy, old, filthy, scuruy Lord:
Well, I must
be patient, there is no fettering of
authority. Ile beate
him (by my life) if I can meete him
with any conueni
ence, and he were double and
double a Lord. Ile haue
no more pittie of his age then I
would haue of⸺ Ile
beate him, and if I could but meet
him agen.
Sirra, your Lord and masters married, there's
newes for you: you haue a new Mistris.
I most vnfainedly beseech your Lordshippe to
make
some reseruation of your wrongs. He is my good
Lord, whom
I serue aboue is my master.
Who? God.
I sir.
The deuill it is, that's thy master. Why
dooest
thou garter vp thy armes a this fashion?
Dost make hose
of thy sleeues? Do other seruants so?
Thou wert best set
thy lower part where thy nose
stands. By mine Honor,
if I were but two houres
yonger, I'de beate thee: mee
think'st
thou art a generall offence, and euery man shold
beate thee: I thinke thou wast created for men to
breath
themselues vpon thee.
This is hard and vndeserued measure my Lord.
Go too sir, you were beaten in Italy for
picking
a kernell out of a Pomgranat, you are a vagabond,
and
no true traueller: you are more sawcie with Lordes and
honourable personages, then the Commission of your
birth and vertue giues you Heraldry. You are not worth
another word, else I'de call you knaue. I leaue
you.
Good, very good, it is so then: good, very
good, let it be
conceal'd awhile.
Vndone, and forfeited to cares for euer.
What's the matter sweet‑heart?
Although before the solemne Priest I haue
sworne, I
will not bed her.
What? what sweet heart?
There's letters from my mother: What th'
im
port is, I know not yet.
Will this Caprichio hold in thee, art sure?
My mother greets me kindly, is she well?
She is not well, but yet she has her health, she's
very merrie, but yet she is not well: but thankes be
gi
uen she's very well, and wants nothing
i'th world: but
yet she is not well.
If she be verie wel, what do's she ayle, that she's
not verie well?
Truly she's very well indeed, but for two things
What two things?
One, that she's not in heauen, whether God send
her
quickly: the other, that she's in earth, from whence
God send her quickly.
Blesse you my fortunate Ladie
I hope sir I haue your good will to haue mine
owne good
fortune.
You had my prayers to leade them on, and to
keepe them on,
haue them still. O my knaue, how do's
my old
Ladie?
Why I say nothing.
Marry you are the wiser man: for many a mans
tongue shakes
out his masters vndoing: to say nothing,
to do
nothing, to know nothing, and to haue nothing,
is to be a
great part of your title, which is within a verie
little
of nothing.
Away, th'art a knaue.
You should haue said sir before a knaue, th'art a
knaue, that's before me th'art a knaue: this
had beene
truth sir.
Go too, thou art a wittie foole, I haue found
thee.
Did you finde me in your selfe sir, or were you
taught to
finde me?
The search sir was profitable, and much Foole
may you find
in you, euen to the worlds pleasure, and the
encrease of
laughter.
What's his will else?
What more commands hee?
In euery thing I waite vpon his will.
I shall report it so.
I pray you come sirrah.
But I hope your Lordshippe thinkes not him a
souldier.
Yes my Lord and of verie valiant approofe.
You haue it from his owne deliuerance.
And by other warranted testimonie.
Then my Diall goes not true, I tooke this Larke
for a
bunting.
I do assure you my Lord he is very great in know
ledge,
and accordinglie valiant.
I haue then sinn'd against his experience, and
transgrest against his valour, and my
state that way is
dangerous, since I cannot yet
find in my heart to repent:
Heere he comes, I pray
you make vs freinds, I will pur
sue the amitie.
These things shall be done sir.
Pray you sir whose his Tailor?
Sir?
O I know him well, I sir, hee sirs a good worke
man,
a verie good Tailor.
Is shee gone to the king?
Shee is.
Will shee away to night?
As you'le haue her.
A good Trauailer is something at the latter end
of a
dinner, but on that lies three thirds, and vses a
known
truth to passe a thousand nothings with, should
bee once
hard, and thrice beaten. God saue you Cap
taine.
Is there any vnkindnes betweene my Lord and
I know not how I haue deserued to run into my
You haue made shift to run into't, bootes and
spurres and all: like him that leapt into the
Custard, and
out of it you'le runne againe,
rather then suffer question
for your
residence.
It may bee you haue mistaken him my Lord.
And shall doe so euer, though I tooke him at's
prayers. Fare you well my Lord, and beleeue this of
of this man is his cloathes: Trust him not in
matter of
heauie consequence: I haue kept of them tame,
& know
their natures. Farewell Monsieur, I haue spoken
better
of you, then you haue or will to deserue at my
hand, but
we must do good against euill.
An idle Lord, I sweare.
I thinke so.
Why do you not know him?
Sir, I can nothing say, But that I am your most obedient seruant.
Come, come, no more of that.
Pray sir your pardon.
Well, what would you say?
What would you haue?
I pray you stay not, but in hast to horse.
Brauely, Coragio.
Be it his pleasure.
It hath happen'd all, as I would haue had it, saue
that he comes not along with her.
By my troth I take my young Lord to be a ve
rie
melancholly man.
By what obseruance I pray you.
Why he will looke vppon his boote, and sing:
mend the
Ruffe and sing, aske questions and sing, picke
his teeth, and sing: I know a man that had this tricke of
melancholy hold a goodly Mannor for a song.
Let me see what he writes, and when he meanes
to come.
I haue no minde to Isbell since I was at
Court.
Our old Lings, and our Isbels a'th Country, are nothing
like your
old Ling and your Isbels a'th
Court: the brains
of my Cupid's knock'd out,
and I beginne to loue, as an
old man loues money, with no
stomacke.
What haue we heere?
In that you haue there.
A Letter.
I haue sent you a daughter‑in‑Law, shee hath recouered
the
King, and vndone me: I haue wedded her, not bedded her,
and sworne to make the not eternall. You shall heare I am
runne away, know it before the report come. If there bee
bredth enough in the world, I will hold a long distance.
My duty to you.
Your vnfortunate sonne,
Bertram.
O Madam, yonder is heauie newes within be
tweene two
souldiers, and my yong Ladie.
What is the matter.
Nay there is some comfort in the newes, some
comfort, your
sonne will not be kild so soone as I thoght
he would.
Why should he be kill'd?
So say I Madame, if he runne away, as I heare he
does, the
danger is in standing too't, that's the
losse of
men, though it be the getting of children. Heere
they
come will tell you more. For my part I onely heare
your
sonne was run away.
Saue you good Madam.
Madam, my Lord is gone, for euer gone.
Do not say so.
Looke on his Letter Madam, here's my Pasport.
When thou canst get the Ring vpon my
finger, which neuer
shall come off, and shew mee a
childe begotten of thy bodie,
that I am father too, then call
me husband: but in such a (then)
I write a Neuer.
This is a dreadfull sentence.
Brought you this Letter Gentlemen?
I Madam, and for the Contents sake are sorrie
for our
paines.
I Madam
And to be a souldier.
Returne you thither.
I Madam, with the swiftest wing of speed.
Finde you that there?
I Madame.
'Tis but the boldnesse of his hand haply, which
his heart
was not consenting too.
A seruant onely, and a Gentleman:
haue sometime
knowne.
Parolles was it not?
I my good Ladie, hee.
Indeed good Ladie the fellow has a deale of
that, too much,
which holds him much to haue.
Y'are welcome Gentlemen, I will intreate you
when
you see my sonne, to tell him that his sword can
neuer
winne the honor that he looses: more Ile intreate
We serue you Madam in that and all your
worthiest
affaires.
Letter.
I know that knaue, hang him, one Parolles,
a filthy Officer he is in those suggestions
for the young
Earle, beware of them Diana; their promises,
entise
ments, oathes, tokens, and all these engines
of lust, are
not the things they go vnder: many a
maide hath beene
seduced by them, and the miserie is
example, that so
terrible shewes in the wracke of
maidenߛhood, cannot
for all that disswade
succession, but that they are limed
with the twigges that
threatens them. I hope I neede
not to aduise you further,
but I hope your owne grace
will keepe you where you are,
though there were no
further danger knowne, but the
modestie which is so
lost.
You shall not neede to feare me.
I hope so: looke here comes a pilgrim, I know
she will lye
at my house, thither they send one another,
Ile
question her. God saue you pilgrim, whether are
bound?
At the S. Francis heere beside the
Port.
Is this the way?
Is it your selfe?
If you shall please so Pilgrime.
I thanke you, and will stay vpon your leisure.
you came I thinke from France?
I did so.
His name I pray you?
The Count Rossillion: know you such a
one?
I surely meere the truth, I know his Lady.
What's his name?
Monsieur Parrolles.
The goddes forbid else.
Which is the Frenchman?
I like him well.
Which is he?
That Iacke an‑apes with scarfes. Why is hee
melancholly?
Perchance he's hurt i'th battaile.
Loose our drum? Well.
He's shrewdly vext at something. Looke he
has spyed
vs.
Marrie hang you.
And your curtesie, for a ring‑carrier.
The troope is past: Come pilgrim, I wil bring
you,
Where you shall host: Of inioyn'd penitents
There's foure or fiue, to great S. Iaques bound,
Alreadie at my house.
Wee'l take your offer kindly.
Nay good my Lord put him too't: let him
haue his
way.
If your Lordshippe finde him not a Hilding,
hold me no more
in your respect.
On my life my Lord a bubble.
Do you thinke I am so farre
Deceiued in him.
Beleeue it my Lord, in mine owne direct
knowledge,
without any malice, but to speake of him
as my kinsman,
hee's a most notable Coward, an infi
nite
and endlesse Lyar, an hourely promise‑breaker, the
owner of no one good qualitie, worthy your Lordships
entertainment.
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.
I would I knew in what particular action to try
him.
None better then to let him fetch off his
drumme,
which you heare him so confidently vnder
take to
do.
I with a troop of Florentines wil sodainly sur
not from the enemie: wee will
binde and hoodwinke
him so, that he shall suppose no other
but that he is car
ried 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.
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
mel
ted if you giue him not Iohn drummes
entertainement,
your inclining cannot be remoued. Heere he
comes.
O for the loue of laughter hinder not the ho
nor of
his designe, let him fetch off his drumme in any
hand.
How now Monsieur? This drumme sticks sore
ly
in your disposition.
A pox on't, let it go, 'tis but a drumme.
But a drumme: Ist but a drumme? A drum so
lost.
There was excellent command, to charge in with
our horse
vpon our owne wings, and to rend our owne
souldiers.
That was not to be blam'd in the command
of the
seruice: it was a disaster of warre that Cæsar him
selfe could not haue preuented, if he had
beene there to
command.
Well, wee cannot greatly condemne our suc
cesse:
some dishonor wee had in the losse of that drum,
but
it is not to be recouered.
It might haue beene recouered.
It might, but it is not now.
It is to be recouered, but that the merit of ser
uice
is sildome attributed to the true and exact
perfor
mer, I would haue that drumme or another, or
hic iacet.
Why if you haue a stomacke, too't Monsieur: if
you thinke your mysterie in stratagem, can
bring this
instrument of honour againe into his
natiue quarter, be
magnanimious in the enterprize and go
on, I wil grace
the attempt for a worthy exploit: if you
speede well in
it, the Duke shall both speake of it, and
extend to you
what further becomes his greatnesse, euen to
the vtmost
syllable of your worthinesse.
By the hand of a souldier I will vndertake it.
But you must not now slumber in it.
Ile about it this euening, and I will presently
pen downe
my dilemma's, encourage my selfe in my
certaintie,
put my selfe into my mortall preparation:
and by midnight
looke to heare further from me.
May I bee bold to acquaint his grace you are
gone about
it.
I know not what the successe wil be my Lord,
but the
attempt I vow.
I loue not many words.
No more then a fish loues water. Is not this
vndertake this businesse, which he knowes is not to be
done, damnes himselfe to do, & dares better be damnd
then to doo't.
You do not know him my Lord as we doe,
certaine it is that
he will steale himselfe into a mans fa
uour,
and for a weeke escape a great deale of
discoue
ries, but when you finde him out, you haue
him euer af
ter
Why do you thinke he will make no deede at
all of this that
so seriouslie hee dooes addresse himself
vnto?
None in the world, but returne with an in
uention,
and clap vpon you two or three probable lies:
but we
haue almost imbost him, you shall see his fall to
night; for indeede he is not for your Lordshippes
re
spect.
Weele make you some sport with the Foxe
ere we case him. He
was first smoak'd by the old Lord
Lafew, when his disguise and he is parted, tell me what
a sprat you shall finde him, which you shall see this
ve
rie night.
Your brother he shall go along with me.
As't please your Lordship, Ile leaue you.
But you say she's honest.
With all my heart my Lord.
Now I see the bottome of your purpose.
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 pro
duce
for an Interpreter.
Good Captaine, let me be th' Interpreter.
Art not acquainted with him? knowes he not
thy voice?
No sir I warrant you.
But what linsie wolsy hast thou to speake to vs
againe.
E'n such as you speake to me.
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
be
guile two houres in a sleepe, and then to
returne & swear
the lies he forges.
Ten a clocke: Within these three houres 'twill
be time
enough to goe home. What shall I say I haue
done? It
must bee a very plausiue inuention that carries
it.
They beginne to smoake mee, and disgraces haue of
late,
knock'd too often at my doore: I finde my tongue
is
too foole‑hardie, but my heart hath the feare of Mars
before it, and of his creatures, not daring the
reports of
my tongue.
This is the first truth that ere thine own tongue
was
guiltie of.
What the diuell should moue mee to vndertake
the recouerie
of this drumme, being not ignorant of the
impossibility,
and knowing I had no such purpose? I
must giue my
selfe some hurts, and say I got them in ex
ploit:
yet slight ones will not carrie it. They will say,
came you off with so little? And great ones I dare
not
giue, wherefore what's the instance.
Tongue, I must put
you into a Butter‑womans
mouth, and buy my selfe ano
ther of Baiazeths Mule, if you prattle mee into these
perilles.
Is it possible he should know what hee is, and
be that he
is.
I would the cutting of my garments wold serue
the turne, or
the breaking of my Spanish sword.
We cannot affoord you so.
Or the baring of my beard, and to say it was in
stratagem.
'Twould not do.
Or to drowne my cloathes, and say I was stript.
Hardly serue.
Though I swore I leapt from the window of the
Citadell.
How deepe?
Thirty fadome.
Three great oathes would scarse make that be
beleeued.
I would I had any drumme of the enemies, I
would sweare I
recouer'd it.
You shall heare one anon.
A drumme now of the enemies.
Throca movousus, cargo, cargo, cargo.
Cargo, cargo, cargo, villianda par corbo, cargo.
Boskos thromuldo boskos.
Boskos vauvado, I vnderstand thee,
& can speake
thy tongue: Kerelybonto sir, betake thee to thy faith, for
seuenteene ponyards are at thy bosome.
Oh.
Oh pray, pray, pray,
Manka reuania
dulche.
Oscorbidulchos voliuorco.
But wilt thou faithfully?
If I do not, damne me.
Captaine I will.
A will betray vs all vnto our selues,
Informe on that.
So I will sir.
Till then Ile keepe him darke and safely lockt.
They told me that your name was Fontybell.
No my good Lord, Diana.
She then was honest.
So should you be.
How haue I sworne.
Will you not my Lord?
A heauen on earth I haue won by wooing thee.
You haue not giuen him his mothers letter.
I haue deliu'red it an houre since, there is som
thing in't that stings his nature: for on the
reading it,
he chang'd almost into another
man.
He has much worthy blame laid vpon him,
for shaking
off so good a wife, and so sweet a Lady.
Especially, hee hath incurred the euerlasting
displeasure of the King, who had euen tun'd his
bounty
to sing happinesse to him. I will tell you a thing,
but
you shall let it dwell darkly with you.
When you haue spoken it 'tis dead, and I am
the graue of
it.
Hee hath peruerted a young Gentlewoman
heere in Florence,
of a most chaste renown, & this night
he fleshes
his will in the spoyle of her honour: hee hath
giuen her
his monumentall Ring, and thinkes himself
made in the
vnchaste composition.
Now God delay our rebellion as we are our
selues, what
things are we.
Meerely our owne traitours. And as in the
common course of
all treasons, we still see them reueale
themselues,
till they attaine to their abhorr'd ends: so
he
that in this action contriues against his owne
Nobi
lity in his proper streame,
ore‑flowes himselfe.
Is it not meant damnable in vs, to be Trum
peters of
our vnlawfull intents? We shall not then haue
his company
to night?
Not till after midnight: for hee is dieted to
his
houre.
That approaches apace: I would gladly haue
him see his
company anathomiz'd, that hee might take
he had set this
counterfeit.
We will not meddle with him till he come;
for his presence
must be the whip of the other.
In the meane time, what heare you of these
Warres?
I heare there is an ouerture of peace.
Nay, I assure you a peace concluded.
What will Count Rossillion do then? Will
he
trauaile higher, or returne againe into France?
I perceiue by this demand, you are not alto
gether
of his councell.
Let it be forbid sir, so should I bee a great
deale of his
act.
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
au
How is this iustified?
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.
Hath the Count all this intelligence?
I, and the particular confirmations, point
from point, to
the full arming of the veritie.
I am heartily sorrie that hee'l bee gladde of
this.
How mightily sometimes, we make vs com
forts of our
losses.
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 en
countred
with a shame as ample.
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 dis
paire if they
were not cherish'd by our vertues.
How now? Where's your master?
He met the Duke in the street sir, of whom hee
hath
taken a solemne leaue: his Lordshippe will next
morning
for France. The Duke hath offered him Let
ters
of commendations to the King.
They shall bee no more then needfull there,
if they were
more then they can commend.
They cannot be too sweete for the Kings tart
nesse,
heere's his Lordship now. How now my Lord,
i'st not after midnight?
I haue to night dispatch'd sixteene businesses, a
moneths length a peece, by an abstract of
successe: I
haue congied with the Duke, done my adieu with
his
neerest; buried a wife, mourn'd for her,
writ to my La
die mother, I am returning,
entertain'd my Conuoy, &
betweene these maine
parcels of dispatch, affected ma
ny nicer
needs: the last was the greatest, but that I haue
not ended yet.
If the businesse bee of any difficulty, and this
morning your departure hence, it requires hast of
your
Lordship.
I meane the businesse is not ended, as fearing
to heare of
it hereafter: but shall we haue this dialogue
betweene the
Foole and the Soldiour. Come, bring
forth this counterfet
module, ha's deceiu'd mee, like a
double‑meaning Prophesier.
Bring him forth, ha's sate i'th stockes all
night
poore gallant knaue.
No matter, his heeles haue deseru'd it, in
vsur
ping his spurres so long. How does he carry
himselfe?
I haue told your Lordship alreadie: The
stockes
carrie him. But to answer you as you would be
vnderstood, hee weepes like a wench that had shed
her
milke, he hath confest himselfe to Morgan, whom
hee
supposes to be a Friar,
to this very instant disaster of
his setting i'th stockes:
and what thinke you
he hath confest?
Nothing of me, ha's a?
His confession is taken, and it shall bee read
to his face,
if your Lordshippe be in't, as I beleeue you
are,
you must haue the patience to heare it.
A plague vpon him, muffeld; he can say nothing
of me:
hush, hush.
Hoodman comes: Portotartarossa.
He calles for the tortures, what will you say
without
em.
Bosko Chimurcho.
Boblibindo chicurmurco.
You are a mercifull Generall: Our Generall
bids you answer
to what I shall aske you out of a Note.
And truly, as I hope to lieu.
First demand of him, how many horse the Duke
is
strong. What say you to that?
Fiue or sixe thousand, but very weake and vn
seruiceable:
the troopes are all scattered, and the Com
manders
verie poore rogues, vpon my reputation and
credit,
and as I hope to liue.
Shall I set downe your answer so?
Do, Ile take the Sacrament on't, how & which
way
you will: all's one to him.
What a past‑sauing slaue is this?
Y'are deceiu'd my Lord, this is Mounsieur
Parrolles the gallant militarist, that was his owne
phrase
that had the whole theoricke of warre in the knot
of his
scarfe, and the practise in the chape of his
dagger.
I will neuer trust a man againe, for keeping
his
sword cleane, nor beleeue he can haue euerie thing
in him,
by wearing his apparrell neatly.
Well, that's set downe.
Fiue or six thousand horse I sed, I will say true,
or
thereabouts set downe, for Ile speake truth.
He's very neere the truth in this.
But I con him no thankes for't in the nature he
deliuers it.
Poore rogues, I pray you say.
Well, that's set downe.
Demaund of him of what strength they are a
foot. What
say you to that?
By my troth sir, if I were to liue this present
houre, I
will tell true. Let me see, Spurio a hundred & Sebastian so many, Corambus so many, Iaques so
many: Guiltian, Cosmo, Lodowicke, and Gratij, two hun
dred fiftie each: Mine owne
Company, Chitopher, Uaumond,
Bentij, two hundred fiftie each: so that the
muster
What shall be done to him?
Nothing, but let him haue thankes. Demand
of him my
condition: and what credite I haue with the
Duke.
Well that's set downe: you shall demaund of
him,
whether one Captaine Dumaine bee
i'th Campe, a
Frenchman: what his reputation is
with the Duke, what
his valour, honestie, and
expertnesse in warres: or whe
ther he thinkes it
were not possible with well‑weighing
summes of gold
to corrupt him to a reuolt. What say you
to this? What do
you know of it?
I beseech you let me answer to the particular of
the
intergatories. Demand them singly.
Do you know this Captaine Dumaine?
I know him, a was a Botchers Prentize in Paris,
from whence he was whipt for getting the
Shrieues fool
with childe, a dumbe innocent that could not
say him
nay.
Nay, by your leaue hold your hands, though I
know his
braines are forfeite to the next tile that fals.
Well, is this Captaine in the Duke of Florences
campe?
Vpon my knowledge he is, and lowsie.
Nay looke not so vpon me: we shall heare of
your Lord
anon.
What is his reputation with the Duke?
The Duke knowes him for no other, but a poore
Officer
of mine, and writ to mee this other day, to turne
him out
a'th band. I thinke I haue his Letter in my
poc
ket.
Marry we'll search.
In good sadnesse I do not know, either it is there,
or it
is vpon a file with the Dukes other Letters, in my
Tent.
Heere 'tis, heere's a paper, shall I reade it to you?
I do not know if it be it or no.
Our Interpreter do's it well.
Excellently.
Dian, the Counts a foole, and full of gold.
That is not the Dukes letter sir: that is an
ad
uertisement to a proper maide in Florence, one
Diana, to
take heede of the allurement of one Count Rossillion, a
foolish idle boy: but for
all that very ruttish. I pray you
sir put it vp
againe.
Nay, Ile reade it first by your fauour.
My meaning in't I protest was very honest in
the
behalfe of the maid: for I knew the young Count to be
a
dangerous and lasciuious boy, who is a whale to
Virgi
nity, and deuours vp all the fry it
finds.
Damnable both‑sides rogue.
Thine as he vow'd to thee in
thine eare, Parolles.
He shall be whipt through the Armie with this
rime
in's forehead.
This is your deuoted friend sir, the manifold
Linguist, and the army‑potent souldier.
I could endure any thing before but a Cat, and
now
he's a Cat to me.
I perceiue sir by your Generals lookes, wee shall
be faine
to hang you.
My life sir in any case: Not that I am afraide to
dye, but
that my offences beeing many, I would repent
out the
remainder of Nature. Let me liue sir in a dunge
on,
i'th stockes, or any where, so I may
liue.
Wee'le see what may bee done, so you confesse
freely: therefore once more to this Captaine Dumaine:
you haue answer'd to
his reputation with the Duke, and
to his valour. What is
his honestie?
He will steale sir an Egge out of a Cloister: for
rapes and rauishments he paralels Nessus. Hee professes
not keeping of oaths, in breaking em he is stronger
then Hercules. He will lye sir, with such volubilitie,
that you
would thinke truth were a foole: drunkennesse is
his best
vertue, for he will be swine‑drunke,
and in his sleepe he
does little harme, saue to his
bed‑cloathes about him:
but they know his
conditions, and lay him in straw. I
haue but little
more to say sir of his honesty, he ha's
eue
rie thing that an honest man should not
haue; what an
honest man should haue, he has
nothing.
I begin to loue him for this.
For this description of thine honestie? A pox
vpon
him for me, he's more and more a Cat.
What say you to his expertnesse in warre?
Faith sir, ha's led the drumme before the Eng
lish
Tragedians: to belye him I will not, and more of his
souldiership I know not, except in that Country, he had
the honour to be the Officer at a place there called
Mile‑end, to instruct
for the doubling of files. I would doe the
He hath out‑villain'd villanie so farre, that the
raritie redeemes him.
A pox on him, he's a Cat still.
His qualities being at this poore price, I neede
not to
aske you, if Gold will corrupt him to reuolt.
Sir, for a Cardceue he will sell the fee‑simple of
his saluation, the inheritance of it, and cut th'intaile from
all remainders, and a perpetuall succession
for it perpe
tually.
What's his Brother, the other Captain Dumain?
Why do's he aske him of me?
What's he?
E'ne a Crow a'th same nest: not altogether so
great as the first in goodnesse, but greater a great
deale in
euill. He excels his Brother for a coward, yet
his Brother
is reputed one of the best that is. In a
retreate hee out
runnes any Lackey; marrie in
comming on, hee ha's the
Crampe.
If your life be saued, will you vndertake to betray
the
Florentine.
I, and the Captaine of his horse, Count Rossillion.
Ile whisper with the Generall, and knowe his
pleasure.
Ile no more drumming, a plague of all drummes,
onely to
seeme to deserue well, and to beguile the suppo
sition of that
lasciuious yong boy the Count, haue I run
into this
danger: yet who would haue suspected an am
bush
where I was taken?
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
re
ports of men very nobly held, can serue the
world for
no honest vse: therefore you must
dye. Come heades
man, off with his head.
O Lord sir let me liue, or let me see my death.
That shall you, and take your leaue of all your
friends:
So, looke about you, know you any heere?
Good morrow noble Captaine.
God blesse you Captaine Parolles.
God saue you noble Captaine.
Captain, what greeting will you to my Lord
Lafew? I am for France.
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 compel
it of you, but far you
well.
You are vndone Captaine all but your scarfe,
that has a
knot on't yet.
Who cannot be crush'd with a plot?
If you could finde out a Countrie where but
women were that
had receiued so much shame, you
might begin an impudent
Nation. Fare yee well sir, I
am for France too, we shall speake of you there.
No, no, no, your sonne was misled with a snipt
taffata fellow there, whose villanous saffron
wold haue
made all the vnbak'd and dowy youth of a
nation in his
colour: your daughter‑in‑law
had beene aliue at this
houre, and your sonne heere at
home, more aduanc'd
by the King, then by that
red‑tail'd humble Bee I speak
of.
I would I had not knowne him, it was the death
of the
most vertuous gentlewoman, that euer Nature
had
praise for creating. If she had pertaken of my flesh
and cost mee the deerest groanes of a mother,
I could
not haue owed her a more rooted loue.
Twas a good Lady, 'twas a good Lady. Wee
may picke a
thousand sallets ere wee light on such ano
ther
hearbe.
Indeed sir she was the sweete Margerom of the
sallet, or
rather the hearbe of grace.
They are not hearbes you knaue, they are nose
hearbes.
I am no great Nabuchadnezar sir, I haue
not
much skill in grace.
Whether doest thou professe thy selfe, a knaue
or a
foole?
A foole sir at a womans seruice, and a knaue
at a mans.
Your distinction.
I would cousen the man of his wife, and do his
seruice.
So you were a knaue at his seruice indeed.
And I would giue his wife my bauble sir to doe
her
seruice.
I will subscribe for thee, thou art both knaue
and
foole.
At your seruice.
No, no, no.
Why sir, if I cannot serue you, I can serue as
great a
prince as you are.
Whose that, a Frenchman?
Faith sir a has an English maine, but his fisno
mie
is more hotter in France then there.
What prince is that?
The blacke prince sir, alias the prince of darke
nesse,
alias the diuell.
Hold thee there's my purse, I giue thee not this
to
suggest thee from thy master thou
talk'st off, serue
him still.
I am a woodland fellow sir, that alwaies loued
a great
fire, and the master I speak of euer keeps a good
fire, but sure he is the Prince of the world, let his
No
bilitie remaine in's Court. I am for the
house with the
narrow gate, which I take to be too little
for pompe to
enter: some that humble themselues may, but
the ma
nie will be too chill and tender, and theyle
bee for the
flowrie way that leads to the broad
gate, and the great
fire.
Go thy waies, I begin to bee a wearie of thee,
and I tell
thee so before, because I would not fall out
with thee. Go
thy wayes, let my horses be wel look'd
too, without
any trickes.
If I put any trickes vpon em sir, they shall bee
Iades
trickes, which are their owne right by the law of
Nature.
A shrewd knaue and an vnhappie.
So a is. My Lord that's gone made himselfe
much sport
out of him, by his authoritie hee remaines
heere, which he
thinkes is a pattent for his sawcinesse,
and indeede he
has no pace, but runnes where he will.
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?
With verie much content my Lord, and I wish
it happily
effected.
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 intel
ligence
hath seldome fail'd.
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.
Madam, I was thinking with what manners I
might safely be
admitted.
You neede but pleade your honourable priui
ledge.
Ladie, of that I haue made a bold charter, but
I thanke my
God, it holds yet.
O Madam, yonders my Lord your sonne with
a patch of veluet
on's face, whether there bee a scar
vn
der't or no, the Veluet knowes, but 'tis
a goodly patch
of Veluet, his left cheeke is a cheeke of
two pile and a
halfe, but his right cheeke is worne
bare.
But it is your carbinado'd face.
Let vs go see
your sonne I pray you, I long to talke
With the yong noble souldier.
'Faith there's a dozen of em, with delicate
fine
hats, and most courteous feathers, which bow the
head, and nod at euerie man.
And you.
Sir, I haue seene you in the Court of France.
I haue beene sometimes there.
What's your will?
The Kings not heere.
Not heere sir?
Lord how we loose our paines.
Marrie as I take it to Rossillion,
Whither I am going.
This Ile do for you.
And you shall finde your selfe to be well thankt
what
e're falles more. We must to horse againe, Go, go,
prouide.
Good MLauatch giue my Lord Lafew this
let
ter, I haue ere now sir beene better knowne to
you, when
I haue held familiaritie with fresher cloathes:
but I am
now sir muddied in fortunes mood, and smell
somewhat
strong of her strong displeasure.
Truely, Fortunes displeasure is but sluttish if it
smell so
strongly as thou speak'st of: I will
henceforth
eate no Fish of Fortunes butt'ring.
Prethee alow the
winde.
Nay you neede not to stop your nose sir: I spake
but
by a Metaphor.
Indeed sir, if your Metaphor stinke, I will stop
my nose, or against any mans Metaphor. Prethe get
thee
further.
Pray you sir deliuer me this paper.
Foh, prethee stand away: a paper from fortunes
close‑stoole, to giue to a Nobleman. Looke heere he
comes himselfe.
Heere is a purre of Fortunes sir, or of Fortunes
Cat, but
not a Muscat, that ha's falne into the vncleane
fish‑pond of her displeasure, and as he sayes is
muddied
withall. Pray you sir, vse the Carpe as you may,
for he
My Lord I am a man whom fortune hath cruel
And what would you haue me to doe? 'Tis too
I beseech your honour to heare mee one single
word,
you begge a single peny more: Come you shall
ha't,
saue your word.
My name my good Lord is Parrolles.
You begge more then word then. Cox my pas
O my good Lord, you were the first that found
Was I insooth? And I was the first that lost thee.
It lies in you my Lord to bring me in some grace
Out vpon thee knaue, doest thou put vpon mee
I praise God for you.
We lost a Iewell of her, and our esteeme
'Tis past my Liege,
I shall my Liege.
All that he is, hath reference to your Highnes.
Then shall we haue a match. I haue letters sent
me, that
sets him high in fame.
He lookes well on't.
Hers it was not.
I am sure I saw her weare it.
She neuer saw it.
I am wrap'd in dismall thinkings.
A Letter.
Upon his many protestations to marrie mee when
his wife was
dead, I blush to say it, he wonne me. Now is the
Count Ros
sillion 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 flou
rishes, and a poore Maid
is vndone.
Diana Capilet.
I will buy me a sonne in Law in a faire, and toule
for
this. Ile none of him.
I am a‑feard the life of Hellen
(Ladie)
Was fowly snatcht.
Now iustice on the doers.
Come hether Count, do you know these Wo
men?
Why do you looke so strange vpon your wife?
She's none of mine my Lord.
Your reputation comes too short for my daugh
ter,
you are no husband for her.
What saist thou to her?
I saw the man to day, if man he bee.
Finde him, and bring him hether.
She hath that Ring of yours.
I haue it not.
What Ring was yours I pray you?
Sir much like the same vpon your finger.
Know you this Ring, this Ring was his of late.
And this was it I gaue him being a bed.
The story then goes false, you threw it him
I haue spoke the truth.
My Lord, I do confesse the ring was hers.
I, my Lord
So please your Maiesty, my master hath bin an
honourable Gentleman. Trickes hee hath had in him,
which Gentlemen haue.
Come, come, to'th' purpose: Did hee loue this
woman?
Faith sir he did loue her, but how.
How I pray you?
He did loue her sir, as a Gent. loues a Woman.
How is that?
He lou'd her sir, and lou'd her not.
As thou art a knaue and no knaue, what an equi
uocall Companion is this?
I am a poore man, and at your Maiesties
com
mand.
Hee's a good drumme my Lord, but a naughtie
Orator.
Do you know he promist me marriage?
Faith I know more then Ile speake.
But wilt thou not speake all thou know'st?
Yes so please your Maiesty: I did goe betweene
them
as I said, but more then that he loued her, for in
deede
he was madde for her, and talkt of Sathan, and of
Limbo, and of Furies, and I know not what: yet I was in
that credit with them at that time, that I knewe of their
going to bed, and of other motions, as promising her
marriage, and things which would deriue mee ill will to
speake of, therefore I will not speake what I know.
Thou hast spoken all alreadie, vnlesse thou canst
say they are maried, but thou art too fine in thy
euidence,
therefore stand aside. This Ring you say
was yours.
I my good Lord.
Where did you buy it? Or who gaue it you?
It was not giuen me, nor I did not buy it.
Who lent it you?
It was not lent me neither.
Where did you finde it then?
I found it not.
I neuer gaue it him.
This womans an easie gloue my Lord, she goes
off and
on at pleasure.
This Ring was mine, I gaue it his first wife.
It might be yours or hers for ought I know.
Ile neuer tell you.
Take her away.
Ile put in baile my liedge.
I thinke thee now some common Customer.
By Ioue if euer I knew man 'twas you.
Wherefore hast thou accusde him al this while.
She does abuse our eares, to prison with her.
No my good Lord,
Both, both, O pardon.