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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.
Heere Master: What cheere?
Good: Speake to th' Mariners: fall
too't, yarely, or we run our
selves a ground,
bestirre, bestirre.
Heigh my hearts, cheerely, cheerely my harts:
yare, yare: Take
in the toppe‑sale: Tend to th'Masters
whistle: Blow till
thou burst thy winde, if roome e
nough.
Good Boteswaine haue care: where's the Ma
ster? Play the
men.
I pray now keepe below.
Where is the Master, Boson?
Do you not heare him? you marre our labour,
Keepe your Cabines:
you do assist the storme.
Nay, good be patient.
When the Sea is: hence, what cares these roa
rers for the
name of King? to Cabine; silence: trouble
vs not.
Good, yet remember whom thou hast aboord.
None that I more loue then my selfe. You are
a Counsellor, if
you can command these Elements to si
lence, and worke
the peace of the present, wee will not
hand a rope more, vse
your authoritie: If you cannot,
giue thankes you haue liu'd so
long, and make your
selfe readie in your Cabine for the
mischance of the
houre, if it so hap. Cheerely good hearts: out
of our
way I say.
I haue great comfort from this fellow: methinks
he hath no
drowning marke vpon him, his complexion
is perfect Gallowes:
stand fast good Fate to his han
ging, make the rope of
his destiny our cable, for our
owne doth little aduantage: If
he be not borne to bee
hang'd, our case is miserable.
Downe with the top‑Mast: yare, lower, lower,
bring her to
Try with Maine‑course. A plague⸺
vpon this howling: they are lowder then the weather,
or
our office: yet againe? What do you heere: Shal we
giue ore and
drowne, haue you a minde to sinke?
A poxe o'your throat, you bawling, blasphe
mous
incharitable Dog.
Worke you then.
Hang cur, hang, you whoreson insolent Noyse‑
maker, we are
lesse afraid to be drownde, then thou art.
I'le warrant him for drowning, though the
Ship were no stronger
then a Nutt‑shell, and as leaky as
an vnstanched
wench.
Lay her a hold, a hold, set her two courses off
to Sea againe,
lay her off.
What must our mouths be cold?
The King, and Prince, at prayers, let's assist them,
for our
case is as theirs.
I'am out of patience.
We are meerly cheated of our liues by drunkards,
This
wide‑chopt‑rascall, would thou mightst lye
drow
ning the washing of ten Tides.
Hee'l be hang'd yet,
Though euery drop of water sweare against
it,
And gape at widst to glut him.
Mercy on vs.
We split, we split, Farewell my wife, and
children,
Farewell brother: we split, we split, we split.
Let's all sinke with' King.
Let's take leaue of him.
Now would I giue a thousand furlongs of Sea,
for an Acre of
barren ground: Long heath, Brown
firrs, any thing: the wills aboue be done, but I w
faine dye a dry death.
If by your A
Put the wild waters i
The skye it seems
But that th
Be collected,
No more amazement: Tell your pitteous heart
there's no harme done.
O woe, the day.
Certainely Sir, I can.
Prethee peace.
He receiues comfort like cold porredge.
The Visitor will not giue him ore so.
Sir.
One: Tell.
A dollor.
Dolour comes to him indeed, you haue spoken
truer then you
purpose'd.
You haue taken it wiselier then I meant you
should.
Therefore my Lord.
Fie, what a spend‑thrift is he of his tongue.
I pre‑thee spare.
Well, I haue done: But yet
He will be talking.
The old Cocke.
The Cockrell.
Done: The wager?
A Laughter.
A match.
Though this Island seeme to be desert.
Ha, ha, ha.
So: you'r paid.
Vninhabitable, and almost inaccessible.
Yet
Yet
He could not misse't
It must needs be of subtle, tender, and delicate
temperance.
Temperance was a delicate wench.
I, and a subtle, as he most learnedly deliuer'd.
The ayre breathes vpon vs here most sweetly.
As if it had Lungs, and rotten ones.
Or, as 'twere perfume'd by a Fen.
Heere is euery thing aduantageous to life.
True, saue meanes to liue.
Of that there's none, or little.
The ground indeed is tawny.
With an eye of greene in't.
He misses not much.
But the rariety of it is, which is indeed almost
beyond
credit.
As many voucht rarieties are.
That our Garments being (as they were) drench
in the Sea, hold
notwithstanding their freshnesse and
glosses, being rather new
dy'de then stain'd with salte
water.
If but one of his pockets could speake, would
it not say he
lyes?
I, or very falsely pocket vp his report.
Me thinkes our garments are now as fresh as
when we put them on
first in Affricke, at the marriage
of the kings faire daughter
Claribel to the king of Tunis.
'Twas a sweet marriage, and we prosper well in
our returne.
Tunis was neuer grac'd before with such a
Pa
ragon to their Queene.
Not since widdow Dido's time.
Widow? A pox o'that: how came that Wid
dow in? Widdow Dido!
Widdow Dido said you? You make me study
of that: She was of Carthage, not of Tunis.
This Tunis Sir was Carthage.
Carthage?
I assure you Carthage.
His word is more then the miraculous Harpe.
He hath rais'd the wall, and houses too.
What impossible matter wil he make easy next?
I thinke hee will carry this Island home in his
pocket, and giue
it his sonne for an Apple.
And sowing the kernels of it in the Sea, bring
forth more
Islands.
I.
Why in good time.
Sir, we were talking, that our garments seeme
now as fresh as
when we were at Tunis at the marriage
of
your daughter, who is now Queene.
And the rarest that ere came there.
Bate (I beseech you) widdow Dido.
Is not Sir my doublet as fresh as the first day I
wore it? I
meane in a sort.
That sort was well fish'd for.
No, no, hee's gone.
Pre‑thee peace.
So is the deer'st oth'losse.
Very well.
And most Chirurgeonly.
Fowle weather?
Very foule.
Hee'd sow't vvith Nettle‑seed.
Or dockes, or Mallowes.
Scape being drunke, for want of Wine.
Yet he vvould be King on't.
The latter end of his Common‑wealth forgets
the
beginning.
No marrying 'mong his subiects?
None (man) all idle; Whores and knaues,
'Saue his Maiesty.
Long liue Gonzalo.
And do you marke me, Sir?
Pre‑thee no more: thou dost talke nothing to
I do vvell beleeue your Highnesse, and did it
to minister
occasion to these Gentlemen, who are of
such sensible and
nimble Lungs, that they alwayes vse
to laugh at nothing.
'Twas you vve laugh'd at.
Who, in this kind of merry fooling am nothing
to you: so you may
continue, and laugh at nothing still
What a blow vvas there giuen?
And it had not falne flat‑long.
You are Gentlemen of braue mettal: you would
lift the Moone out
of her spheare, if she would continue
in it fiue weekes
vvithout changing.
We vvould so, and then go a Bat‑fowling
Nay good my Lord, be not angry.
No I warrant you, I vvill not aduenture my
discretion so weakly:
Will you laugh me asleepe, for I
am very heauy.
Go sleepe, and heare vs.
Thanke you: Wondrous heauy.
What a strange drowsines possesses them?
It is the quality o'th'Clymate.
What? art thou waking?
Do you not heare me speake?
Claribell.
Me thinkes I do.
But for your conscience.
Here's neither bush, nor shrub to beare off any
weather at all:
and another Storme brewing, I heare it
sing ith' winde: yond
same blacke cloud, yond huge
one, lookes like a foule bumbard
that would shed his
licquor: if it should thunder, as it did
before, I know
not where to hide my head: yond same cloud
cannot
choose but fall by paile‑fuls. What haue we here,
a man,
or a fish? dead or aliue? a fish, hee smels like a fish:
a
very ancient and fish‑like smell: a kinde of, not of
the
newest poore‑Iohn: a strange fish: were I in England
now (as once I was) and had but this fish painted; not
a
holiday‑foole there but would giue a peece of siluer:
there, would this Monster, make a man: any strange
beast
there, makes a man: when they will not giue a
doit to relieue a
lame Begger, they will lay out ten to see
a dead Indian: Leg'd like a man; and his Finnes like
Armes: warme o'my troth: I doe now let loose my
o
pinion; hold it no longer; this is no fish, but an
Islan
der, that hath lately suffered by a Thunderbolt:
Alas,
the storme is come againe: my best way is to creepe
vn
der his Gaberdine: there is no other shelter here
about:
Misery acquaints a man with strange
bedfel
lowes: I will here shrowd till the dregges of the
storme
be past.
This is a very scuruy tune to sing at a mans
Funerall: well,
here's my comfort.
Doe you put trickes vpon's with Saluages, and Men of
Inde? ha? I
haue not scap'd drowning, to be afeard
now of your foure
legges: for it hath bin said; as pro
per a man as euer
went on foure legs, cannot make him
giue ground: and it shall
be said so againe, while Stephano breathes at' nostrils.
This is some Monster of the Isle, with foure legs;
who hath got
(as I take it) an Ague: where the diuell
should he learne our
language? I will giue him some re
liefe if it be but for
that: if I can recouer him, and keepe
him tame, and get to Naples with him, he's a Pre
sent
for any Emperour that euer trod on
Neates‑lea
ther.
He's in his fit now; and doe's not talke after the
wisest; hee
shall taste of my Bottle: if hee haue neuer
drunke wine afore,
it will goe neere to remoue his Fit:
if I can recouer him, and
keepe him tame, I will not take
too much for him; hee shall pay
for him that hath him,
and that soundly.
Thou do'st me yet but little hurt; thou wilt a
non, I
know it by thy trembling: Now Prosper workes
vpon thee.
Come on your wayes: open your mouth: here
is that which will
giue language to you Cat; open your
mouth; this will shake your
shaking, I can tell you, and
that soundly: you cannot tell
who's your friend; open
your chaps againe.
Foure legges and two voyces; a most delicate
Monster: his
forward voyce now is to speake well of
his friend; his backward
voice, is to vtter foule speeches,
and to detract: if all the
wine in my bottle will recouer
him, I will helpe his Ague:
Come: Amen, I will
poure some in thy other mouth.
Stephano.
Doth thy other mouth call me? Mercy, mercy:
This is a diuell,
and no Monster: I will leaue him, I
haue no long Spoone.
Stephano: if thou beest Stephano, touch me, and
speake to me: for I am Trinculo; be not afeard, thy
good friend
Trinculo.
If thou bee'st Trinculo: come forth: I'le pull
thee by the lesser legges: if any be o'Trinculo's legges,
these are they: Thou art very Trinculo indeede: how
cam'st thou to be
the siege of this Moone‑calfe? Can
he vent Trinculo's?
I tooke him to be kil'd with a thunder‑strok; but
art
thou not dround Stephano: I hope now thou art
not dround: Is the Storme ouer‑blowne? I hid mee
vnder the dead Moone‑Calfes Gaberdine, for feare of
the Storme: And art thou liuing Stephano? O Stephano,
two Neapolitanes scap'd?
'Prethee doe not turne me about, my stomacke
is not
constant.
These be fine things, and if they be not sprights:
that's a
braue God, and beares Celestiall liquor: I will
kneele to
him.
How did'st thou scape?
How cam'st thou hither?
Sweare by
this Bottle how thou cam'
vpon a But
of Sacke, which the Saylors heaued o're‑
boord, by this
Bottle which I made of the barke of
a Tree, with mine owne
hands, since I was cast a'shore.
I'le sweare vpon that Bottle, to be thy true sub
iect,
for the liquor is not earthly.
Swom ashore (man) like a Ducke: I can swim
like a Ducke I'le be
sworne.
Here, kisse the Booke.
Though thou canst swim like a Ducke, thou
art made
like a Goose.
O Stephano, ha'st any more of this?
The whole But (man) my Cellar is in a rocke
by th'
sea‑side, where my Wine is hid:
How now
Moone‑Calfe, how do's thine Ague?
Ha'st thou not dropt from heauen?
Out o'th Moone I doe assure thee. I was
the Man ith' Moone, when
time was.
I haue seene thee in her: and I doe adore thee:
My Mistris
shew'd me thee, and thy Dog, and thy Bush.
Come, sweare to that: kisse the Booke: I will
furnish it anon
with new Contents: Sweare.
Ile shew thee euery fertill ynch 'oth Island: and
I will kisse
thy foote: I prethee be my god.
By this light, a most perfidious, and drunken
Monster, when's
god's a sleepe he'll rob his Bottle.
I shall laugh my selfe to death at this
puppi‑hea
ded Monster: a most scuruie Monster: I
could finde in
my heart to beate him.
A most rediculous Monster, to make a wonder of
a poore
drunkard.
I'prethee let me bring thee where Crabs grow;
and I with my long
nayles will digge thee pig‑nuts;
show thee a Iayes nest,
and instruct thee how to snare
the nimble Marmazet: I'le bring
thee to clustring
Philbirts, and sometimes I'le get thee young
Scamels
from the Rocke: Wilt thou goe with me?
I pre'thee now lead the way without any more
talking. Trinculo, the King, and all our company else
being dround, wee will inherit here: Here; beare my
Bottle: Fellow Trinculo; we'll fill him
by and by a
gaine.
Tell not me, when the But is out we will drinke
water, not a
drop before; therefore beare vp, & boord
em' Seruant
Monster, drinke to me.
Seruant Monster? the folly of this Iland, they
say there's but
fiue vpon this Isle; we are three of them,
if th' other two be
brain'd like vs, the State totters.
Drinke seruant Monster when I bid thee, thy
eies are almost set
in thy head.
VVhere should they bee set else? hee were a
braue Monster
indeede if they were set in his taile.
My man‑Monster hath drown'd his tongue in
sacke: for my
part the Sea cannot drowne mee, I swam
ere I could recouer the
shore, fiue and thirtie Leagues
off and on, by this light thou
shalt bee my Lieutenant
Monster, or my Standard.
Your Lieutenant if you list, hee's no standard.
VVeel not run Monsieur Monster.
Nor go neither: but you'l lie like dogs, and
yet
say nothing neither.
Moone‑calfe, speak once in thy life, if thou beest
a good
Moone‑calfe.
Thou liest most ignorant Monster, I am in case
to iustle a
Constable: why, thou debosh'd Fish thou,
was there euer man a
Coward, that hath drunk so much
Sacke as I to day? wilt thou
tell a monstrous lie, being
but halfe a Fish, and halfe a
Monster?
Loe, how he mockes me, wilt thou let him my
Lord?
Lord, quoth he? that a Monster should be such
a Naturall?
Loe, loe againe: bite him to death I prethee.
Trinculo, keepe a good tongue in your head:
If
you proue a mutineere, the next Tree: the poore
Mon
ster's my subiect, and he shall not suffer
indignity.
I thanke my noble Lord. Wilt thou be pleas'd
to hearken once
againe to the suite I made to thee?
Trinculo, run into no further danger:
Interrupt the Monster one word further, and by this
hand,
Ile turne my mercie out o' doores, and make a
Stockfish of
thee.
Monster, I will kill this man: his daughter and
I will be King
and Queene, saue our Graces: and Trinculo and thy selfe shall be
Vice‑royes:
We wish your peace.
Come with a thought; I thank thee Ariell:
come.
Thy thoughts I cleaue to, what's thy pleasure?
Spirit: We must prepare to meet with Caliban.
Say again, where didst thou leaue these varlots?
I go, I goe.
Pray you tread softly, that the blinde Mole may
not heare a foot
fall: we now are neere his Cell.
Thou wert but a lost Monster.
I, but to loose our bottles in the Poole.
Let it alone thou foole, it is but trash.
Oh, ho, Monster: wee know what belongs to a
frippery, O King Stephano.
Thy grace shall haue it.
Be you quiet (Monster) Mistris line, is not this
my Ierkin? now
is the Ierkin vnder the line: now Ier
kin you are like
to lose your haire, & proue a bald Ierkin.
Doe, doe; we steale by lyne and leuell, and't
like your
grace.
I thank thee for that iest; heer's a garment for't:
Wit shall
not goe vn‑rewarded while I am King of this
Country:
Steale by line and leuell, is an excellent passe
of pate:
there's another garment for't.
Monster, come put some Lime vpon your fin
gers, and away
with the rest.
Monster, lay to your fingers: helpe to beare this
away, where my
hogshead of wine is, or Ile turne you
out of my kingdome: goe
to, carry this.
And this.
I, and this.
Hey Mountaine, hey.
Siluer: there it goes, Siluer.
Harke, they rore.
Dost thou thinke so, Spirit?
Mine would, Sir, were I humane.
Ile fetch them, Sir.
The Diuell speakes in him:
I am woe for't, Sir.
You the like losse?
Sweet Lord, you play me false.
A most high miracle.
'Tis new to thee.
I say Amen, Gonzallo.
My tricksey Spirit.
I shall be pincht to death.
Is not this Stephano, my drunken Butler?
Why how now Stephano?
O touch me not, I am not Stephano, but a
Cramp.
You'ld be King o'the Isle, Sirha?
I should haue bin a sore one then.
This is a strange thing as ere I look'd on.
Goe to, away.
Hence, and bestow your luggage where you
Or stole it rather.