King. I say, they shall not come. Prin. Nay, my good lord, let me o'er-rule you now; That sport best pleases, that doth least know how; Where zeal strives to content, and the contents Die in the zeal of them which it presents, Their form confounded makes most form in mirth; When great things labouring perish in their birth. Biron. A right description of our sport, my lord. Enter ARMADO. Arm. Anointed, I implore so much expence of thy royal sweet breath, as will utter a brace of words. [ARMADO converses with the KING, and delivers him a paper. Prin. Doth this man serve God? Biron. Why ask you? Prin. He speaks not like a man of God's making. Arm. That's all one, my fair, sweet, honey monarch: for, I protest, the school-master is exceeding fantastical; too, too vain; too, too vain: But we will put it, as they say, to fortuna della guerra. I wish you the peace of mind, most royal couplement! [Exit ARMADO. King. Here is like to be a good presence of worthies: He presents Hector of Troy; the swain, Pompey the great; the parish curate, Alexander; Armado's page, Hercules; the pedant, Judas Machabæus. And if these four worthies in their first show thrive, These four will change habits, and present the other five. Biron. There is five in the first show. King. You are deceiv'd, 'tis not so. Biron. The pedant, the braggart, the hedge-priest, the fool and the boy: Abate a throw at novum; 48) and the whole world again, Pageant of the Nine Worthies. Cost. I Pompey am, Boyet. You lie, you are not he. With libbard's head 49) on knee. Biron. Well said, old mocker; I must needs be friends with thee. Cost. I Pompey am, Pompey surnam'd the big.– Dum. The great. Cost. It is great, sir;- Pompey surnam'd the great; That oft in field, with targe and shield, did make my foe to sweat: And, travelling along this coast, I here am come by chance; And lay my arms before the legs of this sweet lass of France. If your ladyship would say, Thanks, Pompey, I had done. Prin. Great thanks, great Pompey. Cost. "Tis not so much worth; but, I hope I was perfect: I made a little fault in, great. Biron. My hat to a halfpenny, Pompey proves the best worthy. Enter NATHANIEL arm'd, for Alexander. Nath. When in the world I liv'd, I was the world's commander; By east, west, north, and south, I spread my conquering might: My 'scutcheon plain declares, that I am Alisander. Boyet. Your nose says, no, you are not; for it stands too right. 5o) Biron. Your nose smells, no, in this, most tendersmelling night. Prin. The conqueror is dismay'd: Proceed, good Alexander. Nath. When in the world I liv'd, I was the world's commander. Boyet. Most true, 'tis right; you were so, Alisander. Biron. Pompey the great, Cost. Your servant, and Costárd. Biron. Take away the conqueror, take away Alisander. Cost. O, sir, [to NATH.] you have overthrown Alisander the conqueror! You will be scraped out of the painted cloth for this: your lion, that holds his poll-ax sitting on a close stool, will be given to A-jax: 51) he will be the ninth worthy. A conqueror, der. [NATH. retires.] There, an't shall please you; and afeard to speak! run away for shame, Alisana foolish mild man; an honest man, look you, and insooth; and a very good bowler: but, for Alisander, soon dash'd! He is a marvellous good neighbour, alas, you see, how "tis; a little o'er-parted: 52) But there are worthies a coming will speak their mind in some other sort. - Dum. The more shame for you, Judas. Hol. What mean you, sir? Boyet. To make Judas hang himself. Hol. Begin, sir; you are my elder. Biron. Well follow'd: Judas was hang'd on an elder. Dum. The head of a bodkin. Long. The face of an old Roman coin, scarce seen. Biron. Ay, and worn in the cap of a tooth-drawer: And now, forward; for we have put thee in coun tenance. Hol. You have put me out of countenance. Biron. False: we have given thee faces. Hol. But you have out-faced them all. Biron. An thou wert a lion, we would do so. Boyet. Therefore, as he is, an ass, let him go. And so adieu, sweet Jude! nay, why dost thou stay? Dum. For the latter end of his name. Biron. For the ass to the Jude; give it him: The armipotent Mars, of lances the almighty, A man so breath'd, that certain he would fight, yea|| Dum. Long. That mint. That columbine. Arm. Sweet lord Longaville, rein thy tongue. Long. I must rather give it the rein, for it runs against Hector. Dum. Ay, and Hector's a greyhound. Arm. The sweet war-man is dead and rotten; sweet chucks, beat not the bones of the buried: when he breath'd, he was a man— But I will forward with my device: Sweet royalty, [to the PRINCESS] bestow on me the sense of hearing. [BIRON whispers COSTARD. Prin. Speak, brave Hector: we are much delighted. Arm. I do adore thy sweet grace's slipper. Boyet. Loves her by the foot. Dum. He may not by the yard. Arm. This Hector far surmounted Hannibal, Cost. The party is gone, fellow Hector, she is gone; she is two months on her way. Arm. What meanest thou? Cost. Faith, unless you play the honest Trojan, the poor wench is cast away: she's quick; the child brags in her belly already; 'tis yours. Arm. Dost thou infamonize me among potentates? thou shalt die. Cost. Then shall Hector be whipp'd, for Jaquenetta that is quick by him; and hang'd, for Pompey that is dead by him. Dum. Most rare Pompey! Boyet. Renowned Pompey! Cost. I'll do it in my shirt. Moth. Master, let me take you a button-hole lower. Do you not see, Pompey is uncasing for the combat? What mean you? you will lose your reputation. Arm. Gentlemen, and soldiers, pardon me; I will not combat in my shirt. Dum. You may not deny it; Pompey hath made the challenge. Arm. Sweet bloods, I both may and will. Arm. The naked truth of it is, I have no shirt; Boyet. True, and it was enjoin'd him in Rome for Mer. God save you, madam! But that thou interrupt'st our merriment. Mer. I am sorry, madam; for the news I bring, Is heavy in my tongue. The king your father Prin. Dead, for my life. Mer. Even so; my tale is told. Biron. Worthies, away; the scene begins to cloud. Arm. For mine own part, I breathe free breath: I have seen the day of wrong through the little hole of discretion, and I will right myself like a soldier. [Exeunt Worthies. -- King. How fares your majesty? Biron. Greater than great, great, great, great Pom- And by these badges understand the king. Biron. Pompey is mov'd: More Ates, 57) more Biron. Ay, if he have no more man's blood in's belly than will sup a flea. Arm. By the north pole, I do challenge thee. Cost. I will not fight with a pole, like a northern man; 58) I'll slash; I'll do it by the sword: pray you, let me borrow my arms again. Dum. Room for the incensed worthies. - I For your fair sakes have we neglected time, Put on by us, if, in your heavenly eyes, Biron. Studies my lady? mistress, look on me. Behold the window of my heart, mine eye, What humble suit attends thy answer there; Impose some service on me for thy love. Ros. Oft have I heard of you, my lord Birón, Before I saw you: and the world's large tongue Proclaims you for a man replete with mocks; Full of comparisons, and wounding flouts; Which you on all estates will execute, That lie within the mercy of your wit: Prin. We have receiv'd your letters, full of love; To weed this wormwood from your fruitful brain; Your favours, the embassadors of love; And, in our maiden council, rated them At courtship, pleasant jest, and courtesy, As bombast, and as lining to the time: But more devout than this, in our respects, Have we not been; and therefore met your loves In their own fashion, like a merriment. Dum. Our letters, madam, show'd much more than jest. Long. So did our looks. Ros. We did not quote them so. Change not your offer made in heat of blood; Come challenge, challenge me by these deserts, 5) For the remembrance of my father's death. And, therewithal, to win me, if you please, You shall this twelvemonth term from day to day To enforce the pained impotent to smile. Mirth cannot move a soul in agony. Ros. Why, that's the way to choke a gibing spirit, Of him that hears it, never in the tongue Biron. A twelvemonth? well, befal what will befal, I'll jest a twelvemonth in an hospital. Prin. Ay, sweet my lord; and so I take my leave. [To the KING. King. No, madam: we will bring you on your way. Biron. Our wooing doth not end like an old play; Jack hath not Jill: these ladies' courtesy Might well have made our sport a comedy. King. Come, sir, it wants a twelvemonth and a day, And then 'twill end. Biron. That's too long for a play. Enter ARMADO. Arm. Sweet majesty, vouchsafe me, Arm. I will kiss thy royal finger, and take leave: I am a votary; I have vowed to Jaquenetta to hold the plough for her sweet love three years. But, that the two learned men have compiled, in praise most esteemed greatness, will you hear the dialogue of the owl and the cuckoo? it should have followed in the end of our show. King. Call them forth quickly, we will do so. Enter HOLOFERNES, NATHANIEL, MOTH, COSTARD, and others. This side is Hiems, winter; this Ver, the spring; the one maintain'd by the owl, the other by the cuckoo. Ver, begin. Song. Spring. When daisies pied, and violets blue, And lady-smocks all silver-white, And cuckoo-buds 7) of yellow hue, Do paint the meadows with delight, The cuckoo then, on every tree, And milk comes frozen home in pail, Tu-whit, to-who, a merry note, When all aloud the wind doth blow, And Marian's nose looks red and raw, Tu whit, to-who, a merry note, [Exeunt. SALANIO, 1) SALARINO, Friends to Antonio and Bassanio. LORENZO, in love with Jessica. SHYLOCK, a Jew: TUBAL, a Jew, his Friend. LAUNCELOT GOBBо, a Clown, Servant to Shylock. STEPHANO, PORTIA, a rich Heiress: NERISSA, her Waiting-maid. JESSICA, Daughter to Shylock. Magnificoes of Venice, Officers of the Court of Justice, Jailer, Servants, and other Attendants. partly at Venice, and partly at Belmont, the seat of Portia, on the Continent. ACT I. SCENE I. Venice. A Street. Enter ANTONIO, SALARINO, and SALANIO. IN sooth, I know not why I am so sad; And such a want-wit sadness makes of me, That curt'sy to them, do them reverence, Salar. And not bethink me straight of dangerous rocks? And now worth nothing? Shall I have the thought To think on this; and shall I lack the thought, That such a thing, bechanc'd, would make me sad? But, tell not me; I know, Antonio Is sad to think upon his merchandize. Ant. Believe me, no: I thank my fortune for it, My ventures are not in one bottom trusted, Nor to one place; nor is my whole estate Upon the fortune of this present year: Therefore, my merchandize makes me not sad. Salan. Why then you are in love. Ant. Fye, fye! Salan. Not in love neither? Then let's say, you are sad, Because you are not merry and 'twere as easy Enter BASSANIO, LORENZO, and GRATIANO. Salan. Here comes Bassanio, your most noble kinsman, Gratiano, and Lorenzo: Fare you well; Bass. Good signiors both, when shall we laugh? You grow exceeding strange: Must it be so? Salar. We'll make our leisures to attend on yours. [Exeunt SALARINO and SALANIO. Lor. My lord Bassanio, since you have found An tonio, |