Available for reuse, according to the terms of the Creative Commons Attribution 3.0 Unported.
[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.
Nay, hee's at too hands with mee, and that my
two
eares can witnesse.
Say, didst thou speake with him? knowst thou
his minde?
Spake hee so doubtfully, thou couldst not feele
his
meaning.
Nay, hee strooke so plainly, I could too well
feele
his blowes; and withall so doubtfully, that I could
scarce
vnderstand them.
Sconce call you it? so you would leaue batte
ring, I
had rather haue it a head, and you vse these blows
long, I
must get a sconce for my head, and Insconce it
to,
or else I shall seek my wit in my shoulders, but I pray
sir, why am I beaten?
Dost thou not know?
Nothing sir, but that I am beaten.
Shall I tell you why?
I sir, and wherefore; for they say, euery why
hath a
wherefore.
Why first for flowting me, and then wherefore,
for vrging it the second time to me.
Was there euer anie man thus beaten out of
season, when in
the why and the wherefore, is neither
rime nor reason.
Well sir, I thanke you.
Thanke me sir, for what?
Marry sir, for this something that you gaue me
for
nothing.
Ile make you amends next, to giue you nothing
for
something. But say sir, is it dinner time?
No sir, I thinke the meat wants that I'haue.
In good time sir: what's that?
Basting.
Well sir, then 'twill be drie.
If it be sir, I pray you eat none of it.
Your reason?
Lest it make you chollericke, and purchase me
another
drie basting.
Well sir, learne to iest in good time, there's a
time for all things.
I durst haue denied that before you were so
chollericke.
By what rule sir?
Marry sir, by a rule as plaine as the plaine bald
pate of
Father time himselfe.
Let's heare it.
There's no time for a man to recouer his haire
that
growes bald by nature.
May he not doe it by fine and recouerie?
Yes, to pay a fine for a perewig, and recouer
the
lost haire of another man.
Why, is Time such a niggard of haire, being (as
it is) so
plentifull an excrement?
Because it is a blessing that hee bestowes on
beasts, and what he hath scanted them in haire, hee
hath
giuen them in wit.
Why, but theres manie a man hath more haire
then wit.
Not a man of those but he hath the wit to lose
his
haire.
Why thou didst conclude hairy men plain dea‑
lers without wit.
The plainer dealer, the sooner lost; yet he loo‑
seth it in a kinde of iollitie.
For what reason.
For two, and sound ones to.
Nay not sound I pray you.
Sure ones then.
Nay, not sure in a thing falsing.
Certaine ones then.
Name them.
The one to saue the money that he spends in
trying: the
other, that at dinner they should not drop in
his
porrage.
You would all this time haue prou'd, there is no
time for all things.
Marry and did sir: namely, in no time to re‑
couer haire lost by Nature.
But your reason was not substantiall, why there
is no
time to recouer.
Thus I mend it: Time himselfe is bald, and
therefore to the
worlds end, will haue bald followers.
I knew'twould be a bald conclusion: but soft,
who
wafts vs yonder.
Why how now Dromio, where
run'st thou so
fast?
Doe you know me sir? Am I Dromio? Am I
your man? Am I my selfe?
Thou art Dromio, thou art my man, thou art
thy selfe.
I am an asse, I am a womans man, and besides
my selfe.
What womans man? and how besides thy
selfe?
Marrie sir, besides my selfe, I am due to a woman:
One that
claimes me, one that haunts me, one that will
haue me.
What claime laies she to thee?
Marry sir, such claime as you would lay to your
horse, and
she would haue me as a beast, not that I beeing
a
beast she would haue me, but that she being a
verie
beastly creature layes claime to
me.
What is she?
A very reuerent body: I such a one, as a man
may not speake
of, without he say sir reuerence, I haue
but leane lucke
in the match, and yet is she a wondrous
fat marriage.
How dost thou meane a fat marriage?
Dro. Marry sir, she's the Kitchin wench, & al
grease,
and I know not what vse to put her too, but to
make a
Lampe of her, and run from her by her owne light. I
warrant, her ragges and the Tallow in them, will burne
a Poland Winter: If she liues till
doomesday, she'l burne
a weeke longer then the
whole World.
What complexion is she of?
Swart like my shoo, but her face nothing like
so cleane
kept: for why? she sweats a man may goe
ouershooes
in the grime of it.
That's a fault that water will mend.
No sir, 'tis in graine, Noahs
flood could not
do it.
What's her name?
Nell Sir: but her name is three quarters,
that's
an Ell and three quarters, will not measure
her from hip
to hip.
Then she beares some bredth?
No longer from head to foot, then from hippe
to hippe: she
is sphericall, like a globe: I could find out
Countries in her.
In what part of her body stands Ireland?
Marry sir in her buttockes, I found it out by
the
bogges.
Where Scotland?
I found it by the barrennesse, hard in the palme
of the
hand.
Where France?
In her forhead, arm'd and reuerted, making
warre
against her heire.
Where England?
I look'd for the chalkle Cliffes, but I could
find
no whitenesse in them. But I guesse, it
stood in her chin
by the salt rheume that ranne
betweene France, and it.
Where Spaine?
Faith I saw it not: but I felt it hot in her breth.
Where America, the Indies?
Oh sir, vpon her nose, all ore embellished with
Rubies,
Carbuncles, Saphires, declining their rich Aspect
to the hot breath of Spaine, who sent whole
Armadoes
of Carrects to be ballast at
her nose.
Where stood Belgia, the Netherlands?
Oh sir, I did not looke so low. To conclude,
this drudge or
Diuiner layd claime to mee, call'd mee
Dromio, swore I was assur'd to her,
told me what priuie
markes I had about mee, as the marke
of my shoulder,
the Mole in my necke, the great Wart on my
left arme,
that I amaz'd ranne from her as a witch.
And I thinke, if
my brest had not beene made of
faith, and my heart of
steele, she had
transform'd me to a Curtull dog, & made
me
turne i'th wheele.
I know not at whose suite he is arested well;
but is
in a suite of buffe which rested him, that can I
tell,
will you send him Mistris redemption, the
monie in
his deske.
Master, here's the gold you sent me for: what
haue you got the picture of old Adam new apparel'd?
What gold is this? What Adam
do'st thou
meane?
Not that Adam that kept the Paradise: but
that Adam that keepes the prison;
hee that goes in the
caluesskin, that was
kil'd for the Prodigall: hee that
came behinde you
sir, like an euill angel, and bid you forsake
your
libertie.
I vnderstand thee not.
No? why 'tis a plaine case: he that went like
a
BaseViole in a case of leather; the man sir, that when
gentlemen are tired giues them a sob, and rests
them:
he sir, that takes pittie on decaied men, and giues
them
suites of durance: he that sets vp his rest to
doe more exploits
with his Mace, then a Moris
Pike.
What thou mean'st an officer?
I sir, the Serieant of the Band: he that brings
any man to
answer it that breakes his Band: one that
thinkes a man
alwaies going to bed, and saies, God giue
you good
rest.
Why sir, I brought you word an houre since,
that the Barke
Expedition put forth to night, and then
were you hindred by the Serieant to tarry for the Hoy
Delay: Here
are the angels that you sent for to deliuer
you.
Sathan auoide, I charge thee tempt me not.
Master, is this Mistris Sathan?
It is the diuell.
Nay, she is worse, she is the diuels dam:
And here she
comes in the habit of a light wench, and
thereof comes,
that the wenches say God dam me, That's
as much to
say, God make me a light wench: It is written,
they appeare to men like angels of light, light is an
effect of fire, and fire will
burne: ergo, light wenches will
burne, come not neere her.
Master, if do expect spoonmeate, or bespeake
a long spoone.
Why Dromio?
Marrie he must haue a long spoone that must
eate with the diuell.
Some diuels aske but the parings of ones naile,
she more
couetous, wold haue a chaine: Master
be
wise, and if you giue it her, the diuell will shake
her
Chaine, and fright vs with it.
Here's that I warrant you will pay them all.
But where's the Money?
Why sir, I gaue the Monie for the Rope.
Fiue hundred Duckets villaine for a rope?
Ile serue you sir fiue hundred at the rate.
To what end did I bid thee hie thee home?
To a ropes end sir, and to that end am I return'd.
And to that end sir, I will welcome you.
Good sir be patient.
Nay 'tis for me to be patient, I am in aduersitie.
Good now hold thy tongue.
Nay, rather perswade him to hold his hands.
Thou whoreson senselesse Villaine.
I would I were senselesse sir, that I might
not feele your
blowes.
Thou art sensible in nothing but blowes, and
so is an
Asse.
I am an Asse indeede, you may prooue it by
my long eares. I
haue serued him from the houre of my
Natiuitie to this
instant, and haue nothing at his hands
for my
seruice but blowes. When I am cold, he heates
me with
beating: when I am warme, he cooles me with
beating: I am
wak'd with it when I sleepe, rais'd with
it
when I sit, driuen out of doores with it when I goe
from
home, welcom'd home with it when I returne, nay
I beare it on my shoulders, as a begger woont her
brat:
and I thinke when he hath lam'd me, I shall
begge with
it from doore to doore.
Come goe along, my wife is comming yonder.
Mistris respice
finem, respect your end, or rather
the prophesie like the Parrat, beware the ropes end.
Wilt thou still talke?
How say you now? Is not your husband mad?
Faith stay heere this night, they will surely do
vs
no harme: you saw they speake vs faire, giue vs gold:
me
thinkes they are such a gentle Nation, that but for
the
Mountaine of mad flesh that claimes mariage of me,
I
could finde in my heart to stay heere still,
and turne
Witch.
I neuer saw you in my life till now.
Oh! griefe hath chang'd me since you saw me
last,
And carefull houres with times deformed hand,
Haue written strange defeatures in my face:
But tell me yet, dost thou not know my voice?
Neither.
Dromio, nor thou?
No trust me sir, nor I.
I am sure thou dost?
I sir, but I am sure I do not, and whatso‑
euer a man denies, you are now bound to beleeue him.
Not know my voice, oh times extremity
Hast thou so crack'd and splitted my poore
tongue
In seuen short yeares, that heere my onely sonne
Knowes not my feeble key of vntun'd cares?
Though now this grained face of mine be hid
In sap‑consuming Winters drizled snow,
And all the Conduits of my blood froze vp:
Yet hath my night of life some memorie:
My wasting lampes some fading glimmer left;
My dull deafe eares a little vse to heare:
All these old witnesses, I cannot erre.
Tell me, thou art my sonne Antipholus.
I neuer saw my Father in my life.
Most mightie Duke, behold a man much
wrong'd.