William Shakespeare - Obras Originales Completas

VENUS AND ADONIS

2008-04-20T13:00:00.001-07:00

TO THE

RIGHT HONOURABLE

HENRY WRIOTHESLEY,

EARL OF SOUTHAMPTON, AND BARON

OF TITCHFIELD

Right Honourable,

I know not how I shall offend in dedicating my unpolished lines to

your lordship, nor how the world will censure me for choosing so

strong a prop to support so weak a burden: only, if your honour seem

but pleased, I account my self highly praised, and vow to take

advantage of all idle hours, till I have honoured you with some graver

labour. But if the first heir of my invention prove deformed, I

shall be sorry it had so noble a godfather, and never after ear so

barren a land, for fear it yield me still so bad a harvest. I leave it

to your honourable survey, and your honour to your heart's content;

which I wish may always answer your own wish, and the world's

hopeful expectations.

Your honour's in all duty,

William Shakespeare

Even as the sun with purple-coloured face

Had ta'en his last leave of the weeping morn,

Rose-cheeked Adonis hied him to the chase;

Hunting he loved, but love he laughed to scorn.

Sick-thoughted Venus makes amain unto him,

And like a bold-faced suitor 'gins to woo him.

'Thrice fairer than myself,' thus she began,

'The field's chief flower, sweet above compare,

Stain to all nymphs, more lovely than a man,

More white and red than doves or roses are;

Nature that made thee with herself at strife

Saith that the world hath ending with thy life.

'Vouchsafe, thou wonder, to alight thy steed,

And rein his proud head to the saddle-bow;

If thou wilt deign this favour, for thy meed

A thousand honey secrets shalt thou know.

Here come and sit, where never serpent hisses,

And being set, I'll smother thee with kisses;

'And yet not cloy thy lips with loathed saiety,

But rather famish them amid their plenty,

Making them red and pale with fresh variety;

Ten kisses short as one, one long as twenty.

A summer's day will seem an hour but short,

Being wasted in such time-beguiling sport.'

With this she seizeth on his sweating palm,

The precedent of pith and livelihood,

And, trembling in her passion, calls it balm,

Earth's sovereign salve to do a goddess good.

Being so enraged, desire doth lend her force

Courageously to pluck him from his horse.

Over one arm the lusty courser's rein,

Under her other was the tender boy,

Who blushed and pouted in a dull disdain,

With leaden appetite, unapt to toy;

She red and hot as coals of glowing fire,

He red for shame, but frosty in desire.

The studded bridle on a ragged bough

Nimbly she fastens- O, how quick is love!

The steed is stalled up, and even now

To tie the rider she begins to prove.

Backward she pushed him, as she would be thrust,

And governed him in strength, though not in lust.

So soon was she along as he was down,

Each leaning on their elbows and their hips;

Now doth she stroke his cheek, now doth he frown,

And 'gins to chide, but soon she stops his lips,

And kissing speaks, with lustful language broken,

'If thou wilt chide, thy lips shall never open.'

He burns with bashful shame; she with her tears

Doth quench the maiden burning of his cheeks;

Then with her windy sighs and golden hairs

To fan and blow them dry again she seeks.

He saith she is immodest, blames her miss;

What follows more she murders with a kiss.

Even as an empty eagle, sharp by fast,

Tires with her beak on feathers, flesh and bone,

Shaking her wings, devouring all in haste,

Till either gorge be stuffed or prey be gone;

Even so she kissed his brow, his cheek, his chin,

And where she ends she doth anew begin.

Thus she replies: 'Thy palfrey, as he should,

Welcomes the warm approach of sweet desire.

Affection is a coal that must be cooled;

Else, suffered, it will set the heart on fire.

The sea hath bounds, but deep desire hath none,

Therefore no marvel though thy horse be gone.

'How like a jade he stood tied to the tree,

Servilely mastered with a leathern rein!

But when he saw his love, his youth's fair fee,

He held such petty bondage in disdain,

Throwing the base thong from his bending crest,

Enfranchising his mouth, his back, his breast.

'Who sees his true-love in her naked bed,

Teaching the sheets a whiter hue than white,

But, when his glutton eye so full hath fed,

His other agents aim at like delight?

Who is so faint that dares not be so bold

To touch the fire, the weather being cold?

'Let me excuse thy courser, gentle boy;'

And learn of him, I heartily beseech thee,

To take advantage on presented joy;

Though I were dumb, yet his proceedings teach thee.

O, learn to love; the lesson is but plain,

And once made perfect, never lost again.'

'I know not love,' quoth he, 'nor will not know it,

Unless it be a boar, and then I chase it.

'Tis much to borrow, and I will not owe it.

My love to love is love but to disgrace it;

For I have heard it is a life in death,

That laughs, and weeps, and all but with a breath.

'Who wears a garment shapeless and unfinished?

Who plucks the bud before one leaf put forth?

If springing things be any jot diminished,

They wither in their prime, prove nothing worth.

The colt that's backed and burdened being young

Loseth his pride, and never waxeth strong.

'You hurt my hand with wringing; let us part,

And leave this idle theme, this bootless chat;

Remove your siege from my unyielding heart;

To love's alarms it will not ope the gate.

Dismiss your vows, your feigned tears, your flatt'ry;

For where a heart is hard they make no batt'ry.'

'What, canst thou talk?' quoth she, 'hast thou a tongue?

O, would thou hadst not, or I had no hearing!

Thy mermaid's voice hath done me double wrong;

I had my load before, now pressed with bearing:

Melodious discord, heavenly tune harsh sounding,

Ears' deep-sweet music, and heart's deep-sore wounding.

'Had I no eyes but ears, my ears would love

That inward beauty and invisible;

Or were I deaf, thy outward parts would move

Each part in me that were but sensible.

Though neither eyes nor ears, to hear nor see,

Yet should I be in love by touching thee.

'Say that the sense of feeling were bereft me,

And that I could not see, nor hear, nor touch,

And nothing but the very smell were left me,

Yet would my love to thee be still as much;

For from the stillitory of thy face excelling

Comes breath perfumed, that breedeth love by smelling.

'But O, what banquet wert thou to the taste,

Being nurse and feeder of the other four!

Would they not wish the feast might ever last,

And bid Suspicion double-lock the door,

Lest Jealousy, that sour unwelcome guest,

Should by his stealing in disturb the feast?'

Once more the ruby-coloured portal opened,

Which to his speech did honey passage yield;

Like a red morn, that ever yet betokened

Wrack to the seaman, tempest to the field,

Sorrow to shepherds, woe unto the birds,

Gusts and foul flaws to herdmen and to herds.

This ill presage advisedly she marketh.

Even as the wind is hushed before it raineth,

Or as the wolf doth grin before he barketh,

Or as the berry breaks before it staineth,

Or like the deadly bullet of a gun,

His meaning struck her ere his words begun.

And at his look she flatly falleth down,

For looks kill love, and love by looks reviveth;

A smile recures the wounding of a frown.

But blessed bankrupt that by loss so thriveth!

The silly boy, believing she is dead,

Claps her pale cheek, till clapping makes it red;

And all amazed brake off his late intent,

For sharply he did think to reprehend her,

Which cunning love did wittily prevent.

Fair fall the wit that can so well defend her!

For on the grass she lies as she were slain,

Till his breath breatheth life in her again.

He wrings her nose, he strikes her on the cheeks,

He bends her fingers, holds her pulses hard,

He chafes her lips, a thousand ways he seeks

To mend the hurt that his unkindness marred;

He kisses her; and she, by her good will,

Will never rise, so he will kiss her still.

The night of sorrow now is turned to day:

Her two blue windows faintly she upheaveth,

Like the fair sun, when in his fresh array

He cheers the morn, and all the earth relieveth;

And as the bright sun glorifies the sky,

So is her face illumined with her eye;

Whose beams upon his hairless face are fixed,

As if from thence they borrowed all their shine.

Were never four such lamps together mixed,

Had not his clouded with his brow's repine;

But hers, which through the crystal tears gave light,

Shone like the moon in water seen by night.

Forced to content, but never to obey,

Panting he lies and breatheth in her face;

She feedeth on the steam as on a prey,

And calls it heavenly moisture, air of grace,

Wishing her cheeks were gardens full of flowers,

DESCARGAR COMPLETO

THE TWO GENTLEMEN OF VERONA

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DRAMATIS PERSONAE

DUKE OF MILAN, father to Silvia

VALENTINE, one of the two gentlemen

PROTEUS, " " " " "

ANTONIO, father to Proteus

THURIO, a foolish rival to Valentine

EGLAMOUR, agent for Silvia in her escape

SPEED, a clownish servant to Valentine

LAUNCE, the like to Proteus

PANTHINO, servant to Antonio

HOST, where Julia lodges in Milan

OUTLAWS, with Valentine

JULIA, a lady of Verona, beloved of Proteus

SILVIA, the Duke's daughter, beloved of Valentine

LUCETTA, waiting-woman to Julia

SERVANTS

MUSICIANS

SCENE:

Verona; Milan; the frontiers of Mantua

ACT I. SCENE I.

Verona. An open place

Enter VALENTINE and PROTEUS

VALENTINE. Cease to persuade, my loving Proteus:

Home-keeping youth have ever homely wits.

Were't not affection chains thy tender days

To the sweet glances of thy honour'd love,

I rather would entreat thy company

To see the wonders of the world abroad,

Than, living dully sluggardiz'd at home,

Wear out thy youth with shapeless idleness.

But since thou lov'st, love still, and thrive therein,

Even as I would, when I to love begin.

PROTEUS. Wilt thou be gone? Sweet Valentine, adieu!

Think on thy Proteus, when thou haply seest

Some rare noteworthy object in thy travel.

Wish me partaker in thy happiness

When thou dost meet good hap; and in thy danger,

If ever danger do environ thee,

Commend thy grievance to my holy prayers,

For I will be thy headsman, Valentine.

VALENTINE. And on a love-book pray for my success?

PROTEUS. Upon some book I love I'll pray for thee.

VALENTINE. That's on some shallow story of deep love:

How young Leander cross'd the Hellespont.

PROTEUS. That's a deep story of a deeper love;

For he was more than over shoes in love.

VALENTINE. 'Tis true; for you are over boots in love,

And yet you never swum the Hellespont.

PROTEUS. Over the boots! Nay, give me not the boots.

VALENTINE. No, I will not, for it boots thee not.

PROTEUS. What?

VALENTINE. To be in love- where scorn is bought with groans,

Coy looks with heart-sore sighs, one fading moment's mirth

With twenty watchful, weary, tedious nights;

If haply won, perhaps a hapless gain;

If lost, why then a grievous labour won;

However, but a folly bought with wit,

Or else a wit by folly vanquished.

PROTEUS. So, by your circumstance, you call me fool.

VALENTINE. So, by your circumstance, I fear you'll prove.

PROTEUS. 'Tis love you cavil at; I am not Love.

VALENTINE. Love is your master, for he masters you;

And he that is so yoked by a fool,

Methinks, should not be chronicled for wise.

PROTEUS. Yet writers say, as in the sweetest bud

The eating canker dwells, so eating love

Inhabits in the finest wits of all.

VALENTINE. And writers say, as the most forward bud

Is eaten by the canker ere it blow,

Even so by love the young and tender wit

Is turn'd to folly, blasting in the bud,

Losing his verdure even in the prime,

And all the fair effects of future hopes.

But wherefore waste I time to counsel the

That art a votary to fond desire?

Once more adieu. My father at the road

Expects my coming, there to see me shipp'd.

PROTEUS. And thither will I bring thee, Valentine.

VALENTINE. Sweet Proteus, no; now let us take our leave.

To Milan let me hear from thee by letters

Of thy success in love, and what news else

Betideth here in absence of thy friend;

And I likewise will visit thee with mine.

PROTEUS. All happiness bechance to thee in Milan!

VALENTINE. As much to you at home; and so farewell!

Exit VALENTINE

PROTEUS. He after honour hunts, I after love;

He leaves his friends to dignify them more:

I leave myself, my friends, and all for love.

Thou, Julia, thou hast metamorphis'd me,

Made me neglect my studies, lose my time,

War with good counsel, set the world at nought;

Made wit with musing weak, heart sick with thought.

Enter SPEED

SPEED. Sir Proteus, save you! Saw you my master?

PROTEUS. But now he parted hence to embark for Milan.

SPEED. Twenty to one then he is shipp'd already,

And I have play'd the sheep in losing him.

PROTEUS. Indeed a sheep doth very often stray,

An if the shepherd be awhile away.

SPEED. You conclude that my master is a shepherd then, and

I a sheep?

PROTEUS. I do.

SPEED. Why then, my horns are his horns, whether I wake or sleep.

PROTEUS. A silly answer, and fitting well a sheep.

SPEED. This proves me still a sheep.

PROTEUS. True; and thy master a shepherd.

SPEED. Nay, that I can deny by a circumstance.

PROTEUS. It shall go hard but I'll prove it by another.

SPEED. The shepherd seeks the sheep, and not the sheep the

shepherd; but I seek my master, and my master seeks not me;

therefore, I am no sheep.

PROTEUS. The sheep for fodder follow the shepherd; the shepherd for

food follows not the sheep: thou for wages followest thy master;

thy master for wages follows not thee. Therefore, thou art a

sheep.

SPEED. Such another proof will make me cry 'baa.'

PROTEUS. But dost thou hear? Gav'st thou my letter to Julia?

SPEED. Ay, sir; I, a lost mutton, gave your letter to her, a lac'd

mutton; and she, a lac'd mutton, gave me, a lost mutton, nothing

for my labour.

PROTEUS. Here's too small a pasture for such store of muttons.

SPEED. If the ground be overcharg'd, you were best stick her.

PROTEUS. Nay, in that you are astray: 'twere best pound you.

SPEED. Nay, sir, less than a pound shall serve me for carrying your

letter.

PROTEUS. You mistake; I mean the pound- a pinfold.

SPEED. From a pound to a pin? Fold it over and over,

'Tis threefold too little for carrying a letter to your lover.

PROTEUS. But what said she?

SPEED. [Nodding] Ay.

PROTEUS. Nod- ay. Why, that's 'noddy.'

SPEED. You mistook, sir; I say she did nod; and you ask me if she

did nod; and I say 'Ay.'

PROTEUS. And that set together is 'noddy.'

SPEED. Now you have taken the pains to set it together, take it for

your pains.

PROTEUS. No, no; you shall have it for bearing the letter.

SPEED. Well, I perceive I must be fain to bear with you.

PROTEUS. Why, sir, how do you bear with me?

SPEED. Marry, sir, the letter, very orderly; having nothing but the

word 'noddy' for my pains.

PROTEUS. Beshrew me, but you have a quick wit.

SPEED. And yet it cannot overtake your slow purse.

PROTEUS. Come, come, open the matter; in brief, what said she?

SPEED. Open your purse, that the money and the matter may be both

at once delivered.

PROTEUS. Well, sir, here is for your pains. What said she?

SPEED. Truly, sir, I think you'll hardly win her.

PROTEUS. Why, couldst thou perceive so much from her?

SPEED. Sir, I could perceive nothing at all from her; no, not so

much as a ducat for delivering your letter; and being so hard to

me that brought your mind, I fear she'll prove as hard to you in

telling your mind. Give her no token but stones, for she's as

hard as steel.

PROTEUS. What said she? Nothing?

SPEED. No, not so much as 'Take this for thy pains.' To testify

your bounty, I thank you, you have testern'd me; in requital

whereof, henceforth carry your letters yourself; and so, sir,

I'll commend you to my master.

PROTEUS. Go, go, be gone, to save your ship from wreck,

Which cannot perish, having thee aboard,

Being destin'd to a drier death on shore. Exit SPEED

I must go send some better messenger.

I fear my Julia would not deign my lines,

Receiving them from such a worthless post. Exit

DESCARGAR COMPLETO

TWELFTH NIGHT; OR, WHAT YOU WILL

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DRAMATIS PERSONAE

ORSINO, Duke of Illyria

SEBASTIAN, brother of Viola

ANTONIO, a sea captain, friend of Sebastian

A SEA CAPTAIN, friend of Viola

VALENTINE, gentleman attending on the Duke

CURIO, gentleman attending on the Duke

SIR TOBY BELCH, uncle of Olivia

SIR ANDREW AGUECHEEK

MALVOLIO, steward to Olivia

FABIAN, servant to Olivia

FESTE, a clown, servant to Olivia

OLIVIA, a rich countess

VIOLA, sister of Sebastian

MARIA, Olivia's waiting woman

Lords, Priests, Sailors, Officers, Musicians, and Attendants

SCENE:

A city in Illyria; and the sea-coast near it

ACT I. SCENE I.

The DUKE'S palace

Enter ORSINO, Duke of Illyria, CURIO, and other LORDS;

MUSICIANS attending

DUKE. If music be the food of love, play on,

Give me excess of it, that, surfeiting,

The appetite may sicken and so die.

That strain again! It had a dying fall;

O, it came o'er my ear like the sweet sound

That breathes upon a bank of violets,

Stealing and giving odour! Enough, no more;

'Tis not so sweet now as it was before.

O spirit of love, how quick and fresh art thou!

That, notwithstanding thy capacity

Receiveth as the sea, nought enters there,

Of what validity and pitch soe'er,

But falls into abatement and low price

Even in a minute. So full of shapes is fancy,

That it alone is high fantastical.

CURIO. Will you go hunt, my lord?

DUKE. What, Curio?

CURIO. The hart.

DUKE. Why, so I do, the noblest that I have.

O, when mine eyes did see Olivia first,

Methought she purg'd the air of pestilence!

That instant was I turn'd into a hart,

And my desires, like fell and cruel hounds,

E'er since pursue me.

Enter VALENTINE

How now! what news from her?

VALENTINE. So please my lord, I might not be admitted,

But from her handmaid do return this answer:

The element itself, till seven years' heat,

Shall not behold her face at ample view;

But like a cloistress she will veiled walk,

And water once a day her chamber round

With eye-offending brine; all this to season

A brother's dead love, which she would keep fresh

And lasting in her sad remembrance.

DUKE. O, she that hath a heart of that fine frame

To pay this debt of love but to a brother,

How will she love when the rich golden shaft

Hath kill'd the flock of all affections else

That live in her; when liver, brain, and heart,

These sovereign thrones, are all supplied and fill'd,

Her sweet perfections, with one self king!

Away before me to sweet beds of flow'rs:

Love-thoughts lie rich when canopied with bow'rs.

Exeunt

SCENE II.

The sea-coast

Enter VIOLA, a CAPTAIN, and SAILORS

VIOLA. What country, friends, is this?

CAPTAIN. This is Illyria, lady.

VIOLA. And what should I do in Illyria?

My brother he is in Elysium.

Perchance he is not drown'd- what think you, sailors?

CAPTAIN. It is perchance that you yourself were saved.

VIOLA. O my poor brother! and so perchance may he be.

CAPTAIN. True, madam, and, to comfort you with chance,

Assure yourself, after our ship did split,

When you, and those poor number saved with you,

Hung on our driving boat, I saw your brother,

Most provident in peril, bind himself-

Courage and hope both teaching him the practice-

To a strong mast that liv'd upon the sea;

Where, like Arion on the dolphin's back,

I saw him hold acquaintance with the waves

So long as I could see.

VIOLA. For saying so, there's gold.

Mine own escape unfoldeth to my hope,

Whereto thy speech serves for authority,

The like of him. Know'st thou this country?

CAPTAIN. Ay, madam, well; for I was bred and born

Not three hours' travel from this very place.

VIOLA. Who governs here?

CAPTAIN. A noble duke, in nature as in name.

VIOLA. What is his name?

CAPTAIN. Orsino.

VIOLA. Orsino! I have heard my father name him.

He was a bachelor then.

CAPTAIN. And so is now, or was so very late;

For but a month ago I went from hence,

And then 'twas fresh in murmur- as, you know,

What great ones do the less will prattle of-

That he did seek the love of fair Olivia.

VIOLA. What's she?

CAPTAIN. A virtuous maid, the daughter of a count

That died some twelvemonth since, then leaving her

In the protection of his son, her brother,

Who shortly also died; for whose dear love,

They say, she hath abjur'd the company

And sight of men.

VIOLA. O that I serv'd that lady,

And might not be delivered to the world,

Till I had made mine own occasion mellow,

What my estate is!

CAPTAIN. That were hard to compass,

Because she will admit no kind of suit-

No, not the Duke's.

VIOLA. There is a fair behaviour in thee, Captain;

And though that nature with a beauteous wall

Doth oft close in pollution, yet of thee

I will believe thou hast a mind that suits

With this thy fair and outward character.

I prithee, and I'll pay thee bounteously,

Conceal me what I am, and be my aid

For such disguise as haply shall become

The form of my intent. I'll serve this duke:

Thou shalt present me as an eunuch to him;

It may be worth thy pains, for I can sing

And speak to him in many sorts of music,

That will allow me very worth his service.

What else may hap to time I will commit;

Only shape thou silence to my wit.

CAPTAIN. Be you his eunuch and your mute I'll be;

When my tongue blabs, then let mine eyes not see.

VIOLA. I thank thee. Lead me on. Exeunt

SCENE III.

OLIVIA'S house

DESCARGAR COMPLETO

THE HISTORY OF TROILUS AND CRESSIDA

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PRIAM, King of Troy

His sons:

HECTOR

TROILUS

PARIS

DEIPHOBUS

HELENUS

MARGARELON, a bastard son of Priam

Trojan commanders:

AENEAS

ANTENOR

CALCHAS, a Trojan priest, taking part with the Greeks

PANDARUS, uncle to Cressida

AGAMEMNON, the Greek general

MENELAUS, his brother

Greek commanders:

ACHILLES

AJAX

ULYSSES

NESTOR

DIOMEDES

PATROCLUS

THERSITES, a deformed and scurrilous Greek

ALEXANDER, servant to Cressida

SERVANT to Troilus

SERVANT to Paris

SERVANT to Diomedes

HELEN, wife to Menelaus

ANDROMACHE, wife to Hector

CASSANDRA, daughter to Priam, a prophetess

CRESSIDA, daughter to Calchas

Trojan and Greek Soldiers, and Attendants

SCENE:

Troy and the Greek camp before it

PROLOGUE

TROILUS AND CRESSIDA

PROLOGUE

In Troy, there lies the scene. From isles of Greece

The princes orgillous, their high blood chaf'd,

Have to the port of Athens sent their ships

Fraught with the ministers and instruments

Of cruel war. Sixty and nine that wore

Their crownets regal from th' Athenian bay

Put forth toward Phrygia; and their vow is made

To ransack Troy, within whose strong immures

The ravish'd Helen, Menelaus' queen,

With wanton Paris sleeps-and that's the quarrel.

To Tenedos they come,

And the deep-drawing barks do there disgorge

Their war-like fraughtage. Now on Dardan plains

The fresh and yet unbruised Greeks do pitch

Their brave pavilions: Priam's six-gated city,

Dardan, and Tymbria, Helias, Chetas, Troien,

And Antenorides, with massy staples

And corresponsive and fulfilling bolts,

Sperr up the sons of Troy.

Now expectation, tickling skittish spirits

On one and other side, Troyan and Greek,

Sets all on hazard-and hither am I come

A Prologue arm'd, but not in confidence

Of author's pen or actor's voice, but suited

In like conditions as our argument,

To tell you, fair beholders, that our play

Leaps o'er the vaunt and firstlings of those broils,

Beginning in the middle; starting thence away,

To what may be digested in a play.

Like or find fault; do as your pleasures are;

Now good or bad, 'tis but the chance of war.

ACT I. SCENE 1.

Troy. Before PRIAM'S palace

Enter TROILUS armed, and PANDARUS

TROILUS. Call here my varlet; I'll unarm again.

Why should I war without the walls of Troy

That find such cruel battle here within?

Each Troyan that is master of his heart,

Let him to field; Troilus, alas, hath none!

PANDARUS. Will this gear ne'er be mended?

TROILUS. The Greeks are strong, and skilful to their strength,

Fierce to their skill, and to their fierceness valiant;

But I am weaker than a woman's tear,

Tamer than sleep, fonder than ignorance,

Less valiant than the virgin in the night,

And skilless as unpractis'd infancy.

PANDARUS. Well, I have told you enough of this; for my part,

I'll not meddle nor make no farther. He that will have a cake

out of the wheat must needs tarry the grinding.

TROILUS. Have I not tarried?

PANDARUS. Ay, the grinding; but you must tarry the bolting.

TROILUS. Have I not tarried?

PANDARUS. Ay, the bolting; but you must tarry the leavening.

TROILUS. Still have I tarried.

PANDARUS. Ay, to the leavening; but here's yet in the word

'hereafter' the kneading, the making of the cake, the heating

of the oven, and the baking; nay, you must stay the cooling too,

or you may chance to burn your lips.

TROILUS. Patience herself, what goddess e'er she be,

Doth lesser blench at suff'rance than I do.

At Priam's royal table do I sit;

And when fair Cressid comes into my thoughts-

So, traitor, then she comes when she is thence.

PANDARUS. Well, she look'd yesternight fairer than ever I saw her

look, or any woman else.

TROILUS. I was about to tell thee: when my heart,

As wedged with a sigh, would rive in twain,

Lest Hector or my father should perceive me,

I have, as when the sun doth light a storm,

Buried this sigh in wrinkle of a smile.

But sorrow that is couch'd in seeming gladness

Is like that mirth fate turns to sudden sadness.

PANDARUS. An her hair were not somewhat darker than Helen's- well,

go to- there were no more comparison between the women. But, for

my part, she is my kinswoman; I would not, as they term it,

praise her, but I would somebody had heard her talk yesterday, as

I did. I will not dispraise your sister Cassandra's wit; but-

TROILUS. O Pandarus! I tell thee, Pandarus-

When I do tell thee there my hopes lie drown'd,

Reply not in how many fathoms deep

They lie indrench'd. I tell thee I am mad

In Cressid's love. Thou answer'st 'She is fair'-

Pourest in the open ulcer of my heart-

Her eyes, her hair, her cheek, her gait, her voice,

Handlest in thy discourse. O, that her hand,

In whose comparison all whites are ink

Writing their own reproach; to whose soft seizure

The cygnet's down is harsh, and spirit of sense

Hard as the palm of ploughman! This thou tell'st me,

As true thou tell'st me, when I say I love her;

But, saying thus, instead of oil and balm,

Thou lay'st in every gash that love hath given me

The knife that made it.

PANDARUS. I speak no more than truth.

TROILUS. Thou dost not speak so much.

PANDARUS. Faith, I'll not meddle in it. Let her be as she is: if

she be fair, 'tis the better for her; an she be not, she has the

mends in her own hands.

TROILUS. Good Pandarus! How now, Pandarus!

PANDARUS. I have had my labour for my travail, ill thought on of

her and ill thought on of you; gone between and between, but

small thanks for my labour.

TROILUS. What, art thou angry, Pandarus? What, with me?

PANDARUS. Because she's kin to me, therefore she's not so fair as

Helen. An she were not kin to me, she would be as fair a Friday

as Helen is on Sunday. But what care I? I care not an she were a

blackamoor; 'tis all one to me.

TROILUS. Say I she is not fair?

PANDARUS. I do not care whether you do or no. She's a fool to stay

behind her father. Let her to the Greeks; and so I'll tell her

the next time I see her. For my part, I'll meddle nor make no

more i' th' matter.

TROILUS. Pandarus!

PANDARUS. Not I.

TROILUS. Sweet Pandarus!

PANDARUS. Pray you, speak no more to me: I will leave all

as I found it, and there an end. Exit. Sound alarum

TROILUS. Peace, you ungracious clamours! Peace, rude sounds!

Fools on both sides! Helen must needs be fair,

When with your blood you daily paint her thus.

I cannot fight upon this argument;

It is too starv'd a subject for my sword.

But Pandarus-O gods, how do you plague me!

I cannot come to Cressid but by Pandar;

And he's as tetchy to be woo'd to woo

As she is stubborn-chaste against all suit.

Tell me, Apollo, for thy Daphne's love,

What Cressid is, what Pandar, and what we?

Her bed is India; there she lies, a pearl;

Between our Ilium and where she resides

Let it be call'd the wild and wand'ring flood;

Ourself the merchant, and this sailing Pandar

Our doubtful hope, our convoy, and our bark.

Alarum. Enter AENEAS

AENEAS. How now, Prince Troilus! Wherefore not afield?

TROILUS. Because not there. This woman's answer sorts,

For womanish it is to be from thence.

What news, Aeneas, from the field to-day?

AENEAS. That Paris is returned home, and hurt.

TROILUS. By whom, Aeneas?

AENEAS. Troilus, by Menelaus.

TROILUS. Let Paris bleed: 'tis but a scar to scorn;

Paris is gor'd with Menelaus' horn. [Alarum]

AENEAS. Hark what good sport is out of town to-day!

TROILUS. Better at home, if 'would I might' were 'may.'

But to the sport abroad. Are you bound thither?

AENEAS. In all swift haste.

TROILUS. Come, go we then together. Exeunt

DESCARGAR COMPLETO

THE TRAGEDY OF TITUS ANDRONICUS

2008-04-20T12:50:00.000-07:00

Dramatis Personae

SATURNINUS, son to the late Emperor of Rome, afterwards Emperor

BASSIANUS, brother to Saturninus

TITUS ANDRONICUS, a noble Roman

MARCUS ANDRONICUS, Tribune of the People, and brother to Titus

Sons to Titus Andronicus:

LUCIUS

QUINTUS

MARTIUS

MUTIUS

YOUNG LUCIUS, a boy, son to Lucius

PUBLIUS, son to Marcus Andronicus

Kinsmen to Titus:

SEMPRONIUS

CAIUS

VALENTINE

AEMILIUS, a noble Roman

Sons to Tamora:

ALARBUS

DEMETRIUS

CHIRON

AARON, a Moor, beloved by Tamora

A CAPTAIN

A MESSENGER

A CLOWN

TAMORA, Queen of the Goths

LAVINIA, daughter to Titus Andronicus

A NURSE, and a black CHILD

Romans and Goths, Senators, Tribunes, Officers, Soldiers, and

Attendants

SCENE:

Rome and the neighbourhood

ACT 1. SCENE I.

Rome. Before the Capitol

Flourish. Enter the TRIBUNES and SENATORS aloft;

and then enter below SATURNINUS and his followers

at one door, and BASSIANUS and his followers at the other,

with drums and trumpets

SATURNINUS. Noble patricians, patrons of my right,

Defend the justice of my cause with arms;

And, countrymen, my loving followers,

Plead my successive title with your swords.

I am his first born son that was the last

That ware the imperial diadem of Rome;

Then let my father's honours live in me,

Nor wrong mine age with this indignity.

BASSIANUS. Romans, friends, followers, favourers of my right,

If ever Bassianus, Caesar's son,

Were gracious in the eyes of royal Rome,

Keep then this passage to the Capitol;

And suffer not dishonour to approach

The imperial seat, to virtue consecrate,

To justice, continence, and nobility;

But let desert in pure election shine;

And, Romans, fight for freedom in your choice.

Enter MARCUS ANDRONICUS aloft, with the crown

MARCUS. Princes, that strive by factions and by friends

Ambitiously for rule and empery,

Know that the people of Rome, for whom we stand

A special party, have by common voice

In election for the Roman empery

Chosen Andronicus, surnamed Pius

For many good and great deserts to Rome.

A nobler man, a braver warrior,

Lives not this day within the city walls.

He by the Senate is accited home,

From weary wars against the barbarous Goths,

That with his sons, a terror to our foes,

Hath yok'd a nation strong, train'd up in arms.

Ten years are spent since first he undertook

This cause of Rome, and chastised with arms

Our enemies' pride; five times he hath return'd

Bleeding to Rome, bearing his valiant sons

In coffins from the field; and at this day

To the monument of that Andronici

Done sacrifice of expiation,

And slain the noblest prisoner of the Goths.

And now at last, laden with honour's spoils,

Returns the good Andronicus to Rome,

Renowned Titus, flourishing in arms.

Let us entreat, by honour of his name

Whom worthily you would have now succeed,

And in the Capitol and Senate's right,

Whom you pretend to honour and adore,

That you withdraw you and abate your strength,

Dismiss your followers, and, as suitors should,

Plead your deserts in peace and humbleness.

SATURNINUS. How fair the Tribune speaks to calm my thoughts.

BASSIANUS. Marcus Andronicus, so I do affy

In thy uprightness and integrity,

And so I love and honour thee and thine,

Thy noble brother Titus and his sons,

And her to whom my thoughts are humbled all,

Gracious Lavinia, Rome's rich ornament,

That I will here dismiss my loving friends,

And to my fortunes and the people's favour

Commit my cause in balance to be weigh'd.

Exeunt the soldiers of BASSIANUS

SATURNINUS. Friends, that have been thus forward in my right,

I thank you all and here dismiss you all,

And to the love and favour of my country

Commit myself, my person, and the cause.

Exeunt the soldiers of SATURNINUS

Rome, be as just and gracious unto me

As I am confident and kind to thee.

Open the gates and let me in.

BASSIANUS. Tribunes, and me, a poor competitor.

[Flourish. They go up into the Senate House]

Enter a CAPTAIN

CAPTAIN. Romans, make way. The good Andronicus,

Patron of virtue, Rome's best champion,

Successful in the battles that he fights,

With honour and with fortune is return'd

From where he circumscribed with his sword

And brought to yoke the enemies of Rome.

Sound drums and trumpets, and then enter MARTIUS

and MUTIUS, two of TITUS' sons; and then two men

bearing a coffin covered with black; then LUCIUS

and QUINTUS, two other sons; then TITUS ANDRONICUS;

and then TAMORA the Queen of Goths, with her three

sons, ALARBUS, DEMETRIUS, and CHIRON, with AARON the

Moor, and others, as many as can be. Then set down

the coffin and TITUS speaks

TITUS. Hail, Rome, victorious in thy mourning weeds!

Lo, as the bark that hath discharg'd her fraught

Returns with precious lading to the bay

From whence at first she weigh'd her anchorage,

Cometh Andronicus, bound with laurel boughs,

To re-salute his country with his tears,

Tears of true joy for his return to Rome.

Thou great defender of this Capitol,

Stand gracious to the rites that we intend!

Romans, of five and twenty valiant sons,

Half of the number that King Priam had,

Behold the poor remains, alive and dead!

These that survive let Rome reward with love;

These that I bring unto their latest home,

With burial amongst their ancestors.

Here Goths have given me leave to sheathe my sword.

Titus, unkind, and careless of thine own,

Why suffer'st thou thy sons, unburied yet,

To hover on the dreadful shore of Styx?

Make way to lay them by their brethren.

[They open the tomb]

There greet in silence, as the dead are wont,

And sleep in peace, slain in your country's wars.

O sacred receptacle of my joys,

Sweet cell of virtue and nobility,

How many sons hast thou of mine in store

That thou wilt never render to me more!

LUCIUS. Give us the proudest prisoner of the Goths,

That we may hew his limbs, and on a pile

Ad manes fratrum sacrifice his flesh

Before this earthy prison of their bones,

That so the shadows be not unappeas'd,

Nor we disturb'd with prodigies on earth.

TITUS. I give him you- the noblest that survives,

The eldest son of this distressed queen.

TAMORA. Stay, Roman brethen! Gracious conqueror,

Victorious Titus, rue the tears I shed,

A mother's tears in passion for her son;

And if thy sons were ever dear to thee,

O, think my son to be as dear to me!

Sufficeth not that we are brought to Rome

To beautify thy triumphs, and return

Captive to thee and to thy Roman yoke;

But must my sons be slaughtered in the streets

For valiant doings in their country's cause?

O, if to fight for king and commonweal

Were piety in thine, it is in these.

Andronicus, stain not thy tomb with blood.

Wilt thou draw near the nature of the gods?

Draw near them then in being merciful.

Sweet mercy is nobility's true badge.

Thrice-noble Titus, spare my first-born son.

TITUS. Patient yourself, madam, and pardon me.

These are their brethren, whom your Goths beheld

Alive and dead; and for their brethren slain

Religiously they ask a sacrifice.

To this your son is mark'd, and die he must

T' appease their groaning shadows that are gone.

LUCIUS. Away with him, and make a fire straight;

And with our swords, upon a pile of wood,

Let's hew his limbs till they be clean consum'd.

Exeunt TITUS' SONS, with ALARBUS

TAMORA. O cruel, irreligious piety!

CHIRON. Was never Scythia half so barbarous!

DEMETRIUS. Oppose not Scythia to ambitious Rome.

Alarbus goes to rest, and we survive

To tremble under Titus' threat'ning look.

Then, madam, stand resolv'd, but hope withal

The self-same gods that arm'd the Queen of Troy

With opportunity of sharp revenge

Upon the Thracian tyrant in his tent

May favour Tamora, the Queen of Goths-

When Goths were Goths and Tamora was queen-

To quit the bloody wrongs upon her foes.

Re-enter LUCIUS, QUINTUS, MARTIUS, and

MUTIUS, the sons of ANDRONICUS, with their swords bloody

LUCIUS. See, lord and father, how we have perform'd

Our Roman rites: Alarbus' limbs are lopp'd,

And entrails feed the sacrificing fire,

Whose smoke like incense doth perfume the sky.

Remaineth nought but to inter our brethren,

And with loud 'larums welcome them to Rome.

TITUS. Let it be so, and let Andronicus

Make this his latest farewell to their souls.

[Sound trumpets and lay the coffin in the tomb]

In peace and honour rest you here, my sons;

Rome's readiest champions, repose you here in rest,

Secure from worldly chances and mishaps!

Here lurks no treason, here no envy swells,

Here grow no damned drugs, here are no storms,

No noise, but silence and eternal sleep.

In peace and honour rest you here, my sons!

DESCARGAR COMPLETO

THE LIFE OF TIMON OF ATHENS

2008-04-20T12:47:00.000-07:00

TIMON of Athens

LUCIUS

LUCULLUS

SEMPRONIUS

flattering lords

VENTIDIUS, one of Timon's false friends

ALCIBIADES, an Athenian captain

APEMANTUS, a churlish philosopher

FLAVIUS, steward to Timon

FLAMINIUS

LUCILIUS

SERVILIUS

Timon's servants

CAPHIS

PHILOTUS

TITUS

HORTENSIUS

servants to Timon's creditors

POET

PAINTER

JEWELLER

MERCHANT

MERCER

AN OLD ATHENIAN

THREE STRANGERS

A PAGE

A FOOL

PHRYNIA

TIMANDRA

mistresses to Alcibiades

CUPID

AMAZONS

in the Masque

Lords, Senators, Officers, Soldiers, Servants, Thieves, and

Attendants

SCENE:

Athens and the neighbouring woods

ACT I. SCENE I.

Athens. TIMON'S house

Enter POET, PAINTER, JEWELLER, MERCHANT, and

MERCER, at several doors

POET. Good day, sir.

PAINTER. I am glad y'are well.

POET. I have not seen you long; how goes the world?

PAINTER. It wears, sir, as it grows.

POET. Ay, that's well known.

But what particular rarity? What strange,

Which manifold record not matches? See,

Magic of bounty, all these spirits thy power

Hath conjur'd to attend! I know the merchant.

PAINTER. I know them both; th' other's a jeweller.

MERCHANT. O, 'tis a worthy lord!

JEWELLER. Nay, that's most fix'd.

MERCHANT. A most incomparable man; breath'd, as it were,

To an untirable and continuate goodness.

He passes.

JEWELLER. I have a jewel here-

MERCHANT. O, pray let's see't. For the Lord Timon, sir?

JEWELLER. If he will touch the estimate. But for that-

POET. When we for recompense have prais'd the vile,

It stains the glory in that happy verse

Which aptly sings the good.

MERCHANT. [Looking at the jewel] 'Tis a good form.

JEWELLER. And rich. Here is a water, look ye.

PAINTER. You are rapt, sir, in some work, some dedication

To the great lord.

POET. A thing slipp'd idly from me.

Our poesy is as a gum, which oozes

From whence 'tis nourish'd. The fire i' th' flint

Shows not till it be struck: our gentle flame

Provokes itself, and like the current flies

Each bound it chafes. What have you there?

PAINTER. A picture, sir. When comes your book forth?

POET. Upon the heels of my presentment, sir.

Let's see your piece.

PAINTER. 'Tis a good piece.

POET. So 'tis; this comes off well and excellent.

PAINTER. Indifferent.

POET. Admirable. How this grace

Speaks his own standing! What a mental power

This eye shoots forth! How big imagination

Moves in this lip! To th' dumbness of the gesture

One might interpret.

PAINTER. It is a pretty mocking of the life.

Here is a touch; is't good?

POET. I will say of it

It tutors nature. Artificial strife

Lives in these touches, livelier than life.

Enter certain SENATORS, and pass over

PAINTER. How this lord is followed!

POET. The senators of Athens- happy man!

PAINTER. Look, moe!

POET. You see this confluence, this great flood of visitors.

I have in this rough work shap'd out a man

Whom this beneath world doth embrace and hug

With amplest entertainment. My free drift

Halts not particularly, but moves itself

In a wide sea of tax. No levell'd malice

Infects one comma in the course I hold,

But flies an eagle flight, bold and forth on,

Leaving no tract behind.

PAINTER. How shall I understand you?

POET. I will unbolt to you.

You see how all conditions, how all minds-

As well of glib and slipp'ry creatures as

Of grave and austere quality, tender down

Their services to Lord Timon. His large fortune,

Upon his good and gracious nature hanging,

Subdues and properties to his love and tendance

All sorts of hearts; yea, from the glass-fac'd flatterer

To Apemantus, that few things loves better

Than to abhor himself; even he drops down

The knee before him, and returns in peace

Most rich in Timon's nod.

PAINTER. I saw them speak together.

POET. Sir, I have upon a high and pleasant hill

Feign'd Fortune to be thron'd. The base o' th' mount

Is rank'd with all deserts, all kind of natures

That labour on the bosom of this sphere

To propagate their states. Amongst them all

Whose eyes are on this sovereign lady fix'd

One do I personate of Lord Timon's frame,

Whom Fortune with her ivory hand wafts to her;

Whose present grace to present slaves and servants

Translates his rivals.

PAINTER. 'Tis conceiv'd to scope.

This throne, this Fortune, and this hill, methinks,

With one man beckon'd from the rest below,

Bowing his head against the steepy mount

To climb his happiness, would be well express'd

In our condition.

POET. Nay, sir, but hear me on.

All those which were his fellows but of late-

Some better than his value- on the moment

Follow his strides, his lobbies fill with tendance,

Rain sacrificial whisperings in his ear,

Make sacred even his stirrup, and through him

Drink the free air.

PAINTER. Ay, marry, what of these?

POET. When Fortune in her shift and change of mood

Spurns down her late beloved, all his dependants,

Which labour'd after him to the mountain's top

Even on their knees and hands, let him slip down,

Not one accompanying his declining foot.

PAINTER. 'Tis common.

A thousand moral paintings I can show

That shall demonstrate these quick blows of Fortune's

More pregnantly than words. Yet you do well

To show Lord Timon that mean eyes have seen

The foot above the head.

Trumpets sound. Enter TIMON, addressing himself

courteously to every suitor, a MESSENGER from

VENTIDIUS talking with him; LUCILIUS and other

servants following

TIMON. Imprison'd is he, say you?

MESSENGER. Ay, my good lord. Five talents is his debt;

His means most short, his creditors most strait.

Your honourable letter he desires

To those have shut him up; which failing,

Periods his comfort.

TIMON. Noble Ventidius! Well.

I am not of that feather to shake of

My friend when he must need me. I do know him

A gentleman that well deserves a help,

Which he shall have. I'll pay the debt, and free him.

MESSENGER. Your lordship ever binds him.

TIMON. Commend me to him; I will send his ransom;

And being enfranchis'd, bid him come to me.

'Tis not enough to help the feeble up,

But to support him after. Fare you well.

MESSENGER. All happiness to your honour! Exit

DESCARGAR COMPLETO

THE WINTER'S TALE

2008-04-20T12:44:00.000-07:00

DRAMATIS PERSONAE

LEONTES, King of Sicilia

MAMILLIUS, his son, the young Prince of Sicilia

CAMILLO, lord of Sicilia

ANTIGONUS, " " "

CLEOMENES, " " "

DION, " " "

POLIXENES, King of Bohemia

FLORIZEL, his son, Prince of Bohemia

ARCHIDAMUS, a lord of Bohemia

OLD SHEPHERD, reputed father of Perdita

CLOWN, his son

AUTOLYCUS, a rogue

A MARINER

A GAOLER

TIME, as Chorus

HERMIONE, Queen to Leontes

PERDITA, daughter to Leontes and Hermione

PAULINA, wife to Antigonus

EMILIA, a lady attending on the Queen

MOPSA, shepherdess

DORCAS, "

Other Lords, Gentlemen, Ladies, Officers, Servants, Shepherds,

Shepherdesses

SCENE:

Sicilia and Bohemia

ACT I. SCENE I.

Sicilia. The palace of LEONTES

Enter CAMILLO and ARCHIDAMUS

ARCHIDAMUS. If you shall chance, Camillo, to visit Bohemia, on the

like occasion whereon my services are now on foot, you shall see,

as I have said, great difference betwixt our Bohemia and your

Sicilia.

CAMILLO. I think this coming summer the King of Sicilia means to

pay Bohemia the visitation which he justly owes him.

ARCHIDAMUS. Wherein our entertainment shall shame us we will be

justified in our loves; for indeed-

CAMILLO. Beseech you-

ARCHIDAMUS. Verily, I speak it in the freedom of my knowledge: we

cannot with such magnificence, in so rare- I know not what to

say. We will give you sleepy drinks, that your senses,

unintelligent of our insufficience, may, though they cannot

praise us, as little accuse us.

CAMILLO. You pay a great deal too dear for what's given freely.

ARCHIDAMUS. Believe me, I speak as my understanding instructs me

and as mine honesty puts it to utterance.

CAMILLO. Sicilia cannot show himself overkind to Bohemia. They were

train'd together in their childhoods; and there rooted betwixt

them then such an affection which cannot choose but branch now.

Since their more mature dignities and royal necessities made

separation of their society, their encounters, though not

personal, have been royally attorneyed with interchange of gifts,

letters, loving embassies; that they have seem'd to be together,

though absent; shook hands, as over a vast; and embrac'd as it

were from the ends of opposed winds. The heavens continue their

loves!

ARCHIDAMUS. I think there is not in the world either malice or

matter to alter it. You have an unspeakable comfort of your young

Prince Mamillius; it is a gentleman of the greatest promise that

ever came into my note.

CAMILLO. I very well agree with you in the hopes of him. It is a

gallant child; one that indeed physics the subject, makes old

hearts fresh; they that went on crutches ere he was born desire

yet their life to see him a man.

ARCHIDAMUS. Would they else be content to die?

CAMILLO. Yes; if there were no other excuse why they should desire

to live.

ARCHIDAMUS. If the King had no son, they would desire to live on

crutches till he had one.

Exeunt

SCENE II.

Sicilia. The palace of LEONTES

Enter LEONTES, POLIXENES, HERMIONE, MAMILLIUS,

CAMILLO, and ATTENDANTS

POLIXENES. Nine changes of the wat'ry star hath been

The shepherd's note since we have left our throne

Without a burden. Time as long again

Would be fill'd up, my brother, with our thanks;

And yet we should for perpetuity

Go hence in debt. And therefore, like a cipher,

Yet standing in rich place, I multiply

With one 'We thank you' many thousands moe

That go before it.

LEONTES. Stay your thanks a while,

And pay them when you part.

POLIXENES. Sir, that's to-morrow.

I am question'd by my fears of what may chance

Or breed upon our absence, that may blow

No sneaping winds at home, to make us say

'This is put forth too truly.' Besides, I have stay'd

To tire your royalty.

LEONTES. We are tougher, brother,

Than you can put us to't.

POLIXENES. No longer stay.

LEONTES. One sev'night longer.

POLIXENES. Very sooth, to-morrow.

LEONTES. We'll part the time between's then; and in that

I'll no gainsaying.

POLIXENES. Press me not, beseech you, so.

There is no tongue that moves, none, none i' th' world,

So soon as yours could win me. So it should now,

Were there necessity in your request, although

'Twere needful I denied it. My affairs

Do even drag me homeward; which to hinder

Were in your love a whip to me; my stay

To you a charge and trouble. To save both,

Farewell, our brother.

LEONTES. Tongue-tied, our Queen? Speak you.

HERMIONE. I had thought, sir, to have held my peace until

You had drawn oaths from him not to stay. You, sir,

Charge him too coldly. Tell him you are sure

All in Bohemia's well- this satisfaction

The by-gone day proclaim'd. Say this to him,

He's beat from his best ward.

LEONTES. Well said, Hermione.

HERMIONE. To tell he longs to see his son were strong;

But let him say so then, and let him go;

But let him swear so, and he shall not stay;

We'll thwack him hence with distaffs.

[To POLIXENES] Yet of your royal presence I'll

adventure the borrow of a week. When at Bohemia

You take my lord, I'll give him my commission

To let him there a month behind the gest

Prefix'd for's parting.- Yet, good deed, Leontes,

I love thee not a jar o' th' clock behind

What lady she her lord.- You'll stay?

POLIXENES. No, madam.

HERMIONE. Nay, but you will?

POLIXENES. I may not, verily.

HERMIONE. Verily!

You put me off with limber vows; but I,

Though you would seek t' unsphere the stars with oaths,

Should yet say 'Sir, no going.' Verily,

You shall not go; a lady's 'verily' is

As potent as a lord's. Will go yet?

Force me to keep you as a prisoner,

Not like a guest; so you shall pay your fees

When you depart, and save your thanks. How say you?

My prisoner or my guest? By your dread 'verily,'

One of them you shall be.

POLIXENES. Your guest, then, madam:

To be your prisoner should import offending;

Which is for me less easy to commit

Than you to punish.

HERMIONE. Not your gaoler then,

But your kind. hostess. Come, I'll question you

Of my lord's tricks and yours when you were boys.

You were pretty lordings then!

POLIXENES. We were, fair Queen,

Two lads that thought there was no more behind

But such a day to-morrow as to-day,

And to be boy eternal.

HERMIONE. Was not my lord

The verier wag o' th' two?

POLIXENES. We were as twinn'd lambs that did frisk i' th' sun

And bleat the one at th' other. What we chang'd

Was innocence for innocence; we knew not

The doctrine of ill-doing, nor dream'd

That any did. Had we pursu'd that life,

And our weak spirits ne'er been higher rear'd

DESCARGAR COMPLETO

THE TEMPEST

2008-04-20T12:42:00.001-07:00

DRAMATIS PERSONAE

ALONSO, King of Naples

SEBASTIAN, his brother

PROSPERO, the right Duke of Milan

ANTONIO, his brother, the usurping Duke of Milan

FERDINAND, son to the King of Naples

GONZALO, an honest old counsellor

Lords

ADRIAN

FRANCISCO

CALIBAN, a savage and deformed slave

TRINCULO, a jester

STEPHANO, a drunken butler

MASTER OF A SHIP

BOATSWAIN

MARINERS

MIRANDA, daughter to Prospero

ARIEL, an airy spirit

Spirits

IRIS

CERES

JUNO

NYMPHS

REAPERS

Other Spirits attending on Prospero

SCENE:

A ship at sea; afterwards an uninhabited island

THE TEMPEST

ACT I. SCENE 1

On a ship at sea; a tempestuous noise of thunder

and lightning heard

Enter a SHIPMASTER and a BOATSWAIN

MASTER. Boatswain!

BOATSWAIN. Here, master; what cheer?

MASTER. Good! Speak to th' mariners; fall to't yarely, or

we run ourselves aground; bestir, bestir. Exit

Enter MARINERS

BOATSWAIN. Heigh, my hearts! cheerly, cheerly, my hearts!

yare, yare! Take in the topsail. Tend to th' master's

whistle. Blow till thou burst thy wind, if room enough.

Enter ALONSO, SEBASTIAN, ANTONIO, FERDINAND

GONZALO, and OTHERS

ALONSO. Good boatswain, have care. Where's the master?

Play the men.

BOATSWAIN. I pray now, keep below.

ANTONIO. Where is the master, boson?

BOATSWAIN. Do you not hear him? You mar our labour;

keep your cabins; you do assist the storm.

GONZALO. Nay, good, be patient.

BOATSWAIN. When the sea is. Hence! What cares these

roarers for the name of king? To cabin! silence! Trouble

us not.

GONZALO. Good, yet remember whom thou hast aboard.

BOATSWAIN. None that I more love than myself. You are

counsellor; if you can command these elements to

silence, and work the peace of the present, we will not

hand a rope more. Use your authority; if you cannot, give

thanks you have liv'd so long, and make yourself ready

in your cabin for the mischance of the hour, if it so

hap.-Cheerly, good hearts!-Out of our way, I say.

Exit

GONZALO. I have great comfort from this fellow. Methinks

he hath no drowning mark upon him; his complexion is

perfect gallows. Stand fast, good Fate, to his hanging;

make the rope of his destiny our cable, for our own doth

little advantage. If he be not born to be hang'd, our

case is miserable. Exeunt

Re-enter BOATSWAIN

BOATSWAIN. Down with the topmast. Yare, lower, lower!

Bring her to try wi' th' maincourse. [A cry within] A

plague upon this howling! They are louder than the

weather or our office.

Re-enter SEBASTIAN, ANTONIO, and GONZALO

Yet again! What do you here? Shall we give o'er, and

drown? Have you a mind to sink?

SEBASTIAN. A pox o' your throat, you bawling, blasphemous,

incharitable dog!

BOATSWAIN. Work you, then.

ANTONIO. Hang, cur; hang, you whoreson, insolent noisemaker;

we are less afraid to be drown'd than thou art.

GONZALO. I'll warrant him for drowning, though the ship were

no stronger than a nutshell, and as leaky as an unstanched

wench.

BOATSWAIN. Lay her a-hold, a-hold; set her two courses; off

to sea again; lay her off.

Enter MARINERS, Wet

MARINERS. All lost! to prayers, to prayers! all lost!

Exeunt

BOATSWAIN. What, must our mouths be cold?

GONZALO. The King and Prince at prayers!

Let's assist them,

For our case is as theirs.

SEBASTIAN. I am out of patience.

ANTONIO. We are merely cheated of our lives by drunkards.

This wide-chopp'd rascal-would thou mightst lie drowning

The washing of ten tides!

GONZALO. He'll be hang'd yet,

Though every drop of water swear against it,

And gape at wid'st to glut him.

[A confused noise within: Mercy on us!

We split, we split! Farewell, my wife and children!

Farewell, brother! We split, we split, we split!]

ANTONIO. Let's all sink wi' th' King.

SEBASTIAN. Let's take leave of him.

Exeunt ANTONIO and SEBASTIAN

GONZALO. Now would I give a thousand furlongs of sea for

an acre of barren ground-long heath, brown furze, any

thing. The wills above be done, but I would fain die

dry death. Exeunt

SCENE 2

The Island. Before PROSPERO'S cell

Enter PROSPERO and MIRANDA

MIRANDA. If by your art, my dearest father, you have

Put the wild waters in this roar, allay them.

The sky, it seems, would pour down stinking pitch,

But that the sea, mounting to th' welkin's cheek,

Dashes the fire out. O, I have suffered

With those that I saw suffer! A brave vessel,

Who had no doubt some noble creature in her,

Dash'd all to pieces! O, the cry did knock

Against my very heart! Poor souls, they perish'd.

Had I been any god of power, I would

Have sunk the sea within the earth or ere

It should the good ship so have swallow'd and

The fraughting souls within her.

PROSPERO. Be conected;

No more amazement; tell your piteous heart

There's no harm done.

MIRANDA. O, woe the day!

PROSPERO. No harm.

I have done nothing but in care of thee,

Of thee, my dear one, thee, my daughter, who

Art ignorant of what thou art, nought knowing

Of whence I am, nor that I am more better

Than Prospero, master of a full poor cell,

And thy no greater father.

MIRANDA. More to know

Did never meddle with my thoughts.

PROSPERO. 'Tis time

I should inform thee farther. Lend thy hand,

And pluck my magic garment from me. So,

[Lays down his mantle]

Lie there my art. Wipe thou thine eyes; have comfort.

The direful spectacle of the wreck, which touch'd

The very virtue of compassion in thee,

I have with such provision in mine art

So safely ordered that there is no soul-

No, not so much perdition as an hair

Betid to any creature in the vessel

Which thou heard'st cry, which thou saw'st sink.

Sit down, for thou must now know farther.

MIRANDA. You have often

Begun to tell me what I am; but stopp'd,

And left me to a bootless inquisition,

Concluding 'Stay; not yet.'

PROSPERO. The hour's now come;

The very minute bids thee ope thine ear.

Obey, and be attentive. Canst thou remember

A time before we came unto this cell?

I do not think thou canst; for then thou wast not

Out three years old.

MIRANDA. Certainly, sir, I can.

PROSPERO. By what? By any other house, or person?

Of any thing the image, tell me, that

Hath kept with thy remembrance?

MIRANDA. 'Tis far off,

And rather like a dream than an assurance

That my remembrance warrants. Had I not

Four, or five, women once, that tended me?

PROSPERO. Thou hadst, and more, Miranda. But how is it

That this lives in thy mind? What seest thou else

In the dark backward and abysm of time?

If thou rememb'rest aught, ere thou cam'st here,

How thou cam'st here thou mayst.

MIRANDA. But that I do not.

PROSPERO. Twelve year since, Miranda, twelve year since,

Thy father was the Duke of Milan, and

A prince of power.

MIRANDA. Sir, are not you my father?

PROSPERO. Thy mother was a piece of virtue, and

She said thou wast my daughter; and thy father

Was Duke of Milan, and his only heir

And princess no worse issued.

DESCARGAR COMPLETO

THE RAPE OF LUCRECE

2008-04-20T12:39:00.000-07:00

DEDICATION

TO THE

RIGHT HONOURABLE

HENRY WRIOTHESLEY,

EARL OF SOUTHAMPTON, AND BARON

OF TITCHFIELD

The love I dedicate to your lordship is without end: whereof this

pamphlet, without beginning is but a superfluous moiety. The warrant I

have of your honourable disposition, not the worth of my untutored

lines, make it assured of acceptance. What I have done is yours;

what I have to do is yours; being part in all I have, devoted yours.

Were my worth greater, my duty would show greater; meantime, as it is,

it is bound to your lordship, to whom I wish long life still

lengthened with all happiness.

Your lordship's in all duty,

William Shakespeare

THE ARGUMENT

Lucius Tarquinius, for his excessive pride surnamed Superbus,

after he had caused his own father-in-law Servius Tullius to be

cruelly murdered, and, contrary to the Roman laws and customs, not

requiring or staying for the people's suffrages, had possessed himself

of the kingdom, went accompanied with his sons and other noblemen of

Rome, to besiege Ardea. During which siege the principal men of the

army meeting one evening at the tent of Sextus Tarquinius, the

king's son, in their discourses after supper every one commended the

virtues of his own wife; among whom Collatinus extolled the

incomparable chastity of his wife Lucretia. In that pleasant humour

they all posted to Rome; and intending, by their secret and sudden

arrival, to make trial of that which every one had before avouched,

only Collatinus finds his wife, though it were late in the night,

spinning amongst her maids: the other ladies were all found dancing

and revelling, or in several disports. Whereupon the noblemen

yielded Collatinus the victory, and his wife the fame. At that time

Sextus Tarquinius being inflamed with Lucrece' beauty, yet

smothering his passions for the present, departed with the rest back

to the camp; from whence he shortly after privily withdrew himself,

and was, according to his estate, royally entertained and lodged by

Lucrece at Collatium. The same night he treacherously stealeth into

her chamber, violently ravished her, and early in the morning speedeth

away. Lucrece, in this lamentable plight, hastily dispatcheth

messengers, one to Rome for her father, another to the camp for

Collatine. They came, the one accompanied with Junius Brutus, the

other with Publius Valerius; and finding Lucrece attired in mourning

habit, demanded the cause of her sorrow. She, first taking an oath

of them for her revenge, revealed the actor and whole manner of his

dealing, and withal suddenly stabbed herself. Which done, with one

consent they all vowed to root out the whole hated family of the

Tarquins; and bearing the dead body to Rome, Brutus acquainted the

people with the doer and manner of the vile deed, with a bitter

invective against the tyranny of the king: wherewith the people were

so moved, that with one consent and a general acclamation the Tarquins

were all exiled, and the state government changed from kings to

consuls.

From the besieged Ardea all in post,

Borne by the trustless wings of false desire,

Lust-breathed Tarquin leaves the Roman host,

And to Collatium bears the lightless fire

Which, in pale embers hid, lurks to aspire

And girdle with embracing flames the waist

Of Collatine's fair love, Lucrece the chaste.

Haply that name of chaste unhapp'ly set

This bateless edge on his keen appetite;

When Collatine unwisely did not let

To praise the clear unmatched red and white

Which triumphed in that sky of his delight,

Where mortal stars, as bright as heaven's beauties,

With pure aspects did him peculiar duties.

For he the night before, in Tarquin's tent,

Unlocked the treasure of his happy state;

What priceless wealth the heavens had him lent

In the possession of his beauteous mate;

Reck'ning his fortune at such high-proud rate

That kings might be espoused to more fame,

But king nor peer to such a peerless dame.

O happiness enjoyed but of a few!

And, if possessed, as soon decayed and done

As is the morning silver-melting dew

Against the golden splendour of the sun!

An expired date, cancelled ere well begun:

Honour and beauty, in the owner's arms,

Are weakly fortressed from a world of harms.

Beauty itself doth of itself persuade

The eyes of men without an orator;

What needeth then apology be made,

To set forth that which is so singular?

Or why is Collatine the publisher

Of that rich jewel he should keep unknown

From thievish ears, because it is his own?

Perchance his boast of Lucrece' sov'reignty

Suggested this proud issue of a king;

For by our cars our hearts oft tainted be.

Perchance that envy of so rich a thing,

Braving compare, disdainfully did sting

His high-pitched thoughts, that meaner men should vaunt

That golden hap which their superiors want.

But some untimely thought did instigate

His all too timeless speed, if none of those.

His honour, his affairs, his friends, his state,

Neglected all, with swift intent he goes

To quench the coal which in his liver glows.

O rash-false heat, wrapped in repentant cold,

Thy hasty spring still blasts, and ne'er grows old!

When at Collatium this false lord arrived,

Well was he welcomed by the Roman dame,

Within whose face beauty and virtue strived

Which of them both should underprop her fame:

When virtue bragged, beauty would blush for shame;

When beauty boasted blushes, in despite

Virtue would stain that o'er with silver white.

But beauty, in that white entituled,

From Venus' doves doth challenge that fair field;

Then virtue claims from beauty beauty's red,

Which virtue gave the golden age to gild

Their silver cheeks, and called it then their shield;

Teaching them thus to use it in the fight,

When shame assailed, the red should fence the white.

This heraldry in Lucrece' face was seen,

Argued by beauty's red and virtue's white;

Of either's colour was the other queen,

Proving from world's minority their right;

Yet their ambition makes them still to fight,

The sovereignty of either being so great

That oft they interchange each other's seat.

This silent war of lilies and of roses

Which Tarquin viewed in her fair face's field,

In their pure ranks his traitor eye encloses;

Where, lest between them both it should be killed,

The coward captive vanquished doth yield

To those two armies that would let him go

Rather than triumph in so false a foe.

Now thinks he that her husband's shallow tongue,

The niggard prodigal that praised her so,

In that high task hath done her beauty wrong,

Which far exceeds his barren skill to show;

Therefore that praise which Collatine doth owe

Enchanted Tarquin answers with surmise,

In silent wonder of still-gazing eyes.

This earthly saint, adored by this devil,

Little suspecteth the false worshipper;

"For unstained thoughts do seldom dream on evil;

"Birds never limed no secret bushes fear.

So guiltless she securely gives good cheer

And reverend welcome to her princely guest,

Whose inward ill no outward harm expressed;

For that he coloured with his high estate,

Hiding base sin in pleats of majesty;

That nothing in him seemed inordinate,

Save sometime too much wonder of his eye,

Which, having all, all could not satisfy;

But, poorly rich, so wanteth in his store

That cloyed with much he pineth still for more.

DESCARGAR COMPLETO

THE PASSIONATE PILGRIM

2008-04-20T12:37:00.000-07:00

When my love swears that she is made of truth,

I do believe her, though I know she lies,

That she might think me some untutored youth,

Unskilful in the world's false forgeries.

Thus vainly thinking that she thinks me young,

Although I know my years be past the best,

I smiling credit her false-speaking tongue,

Outfacing faults in love with love's ill rest.

But wherefore says my love that she is young?

And wherefore say not I that I am old?

O, love's best habit's in a soothing tongue,

And age in love loves not to have years told.

Therefore I'll lie with love, and love with me,

Since that our faults in love thus smothered be.

Two loves I have, of comfort and despair,

That like two spirits do suggest me still;

My better angle is a man right fair,

My worser spirit a woman coloured ill.

To win me soon to hell, my female evil

Tempteth my better angel from my side,

And would corrupt my saint to be a devil,

Wooing his purity with her fair pride.

And whether that my angle be turned fiend,

Suspect I may, yet not directly tell;

For being both to me, both to each friend,

I guess one angel in another's hell.

The truth I shall not know, but live in doubt,

Till my bad angel fire my good one out.

Did not the heavenly rhetoric of thine eye,

'Gainst whom the world could not hold argument,

Persuade my heart to this false perjury?

Vows for thee broke deserve not punishment.

A woman I forswore; but I will prove,

Thou being a goddess, I forswore not thee:

My vow was earthly, thou a heavenly love;

Thy grace being gained cures all disgrace in me.

My vow was breath, and breath a vapour is;

Then, thou fair sun, that on this earth doth shine,

Exhal'st this vapour vow; in thee it is:

If broken, then it is no fault of mine.

If by me broke, what fool is not so wise

To break an oath, to win a paradise?

Sweet Cytherea, sitting by a brook

With young Adonis, lovely, fresh and green,

Did court the lad with many a lovely look,

Such looks as none could look but beauty's queen.

She told him stories to delight his car;

She showed him favours to allure his eye;

To win his heart, she touched him here and there;

Touches so soft still conquer chastity.

But whether unripe years did want conceit,

Or he refused to take her figured proffer,

The tender nibbler would not touch the bait,

But smile and jest at every gentle offer:

Then fell she on her back, fair queen, and toward:

He rose and ran away; ah, fool too froward.

If love make me forsworn, how shall I swear to love?

O never faith could hold, if not to beauty vowed:

Though to myself forsworn, to thee I'll constant prove;

Those thoughts, to me like oaks, to thee like osiers bowed.

Study his bias leaves, and makes his book thine eyes,

Where all those pleasures live that art can comprehend.

If knowledge be the mark, to know thee shall suffice;

Well learned is that tongue that well can thee commend:

All ignorant that soul that sees thee without wonder;

Which is to me some praise, that I thy parts admire.

Thine eye Jove's lightning seems, thy voice his dreadful thunder,

Which, not to anger bent, is music and sweet fire.

Celestial as thou art, O do not love that wrong,

To sing heaven's praise with such an earthly tongue.

Scarce had the sun dried up the dewy morn

And scarce the herd gone to the hedge for shade,

When Cytherea, all in love forlorn,

A longing tarriance for Adonis made

Under an osier growing by a brook,

A brook where Adon used to cool his spleen.

Hot was the day; she hotter that did look

For his approach, that often there had been.

Anon he comes, and throws his mantle by,

And stood stark naked on the brook's green brim:

The sun looked on the world with glorious eye,

Yet not so wistly as this queen on him.

He, spying her, bounced in whereas he stood;

'O Jove,' quoth she, 'why was not I a flood!'

Fair is my love, but not so fair as fickle;

Mild as a dove, but neither true nor trusty;

Brighter than glass, and yet, as glass is, brittle;

Softer than wax, and yet as iron rusty;

A lily pale, with damask dye to grace her;

None fairer, nor none falser to deface her.

Her lips to mine how often hath she joined,

Between each kiss her oaths of true love swearing!

How many tales to please me hath she coined,

Dreading my love, the loss thereof still fearing!

Yet in the midst of all her pure protestings

Her faith, her oaths, her tears, and all were jestings.

She burned with love, as straw with fire flameth;

She burned out love, as soon as straw out-burneth;

She framed the love, and yet she foiled the framing;

She bade love last, and yet she fell a-turning.

Was this a lover, or a lecher whether?

Bad in the best, though excellent in neither.

DESCARGAR COMPLETO

THE TAMING OF THE SHREW

2008-04-20T12:34:00.000-07:00

Dramatis Personae

Persons in the Induction

A LORD

CHRISTOPHER SLY, a tinker

HOSTESS

PAGE

PLAYERS

HUNTSMEN

SERVANTS

BAPTISTA MINOLA, a gentleman of Padua

VINCENTIO, a Merchant of Pisa

LUCENTIO, son to Vincentio, in love with Bianca

PETRUCHIO, a gentleman of Verona, a suitor to Katherina

Suitors to Bianca

GREMIO

HORTENSIO

Servants to Lucentio

TRANIO

BIONDELLO

Servants to Petruchio

GRUMIO

CURTIS

A PEDANT

Daughters to Baptista

KATHERINA, the shrew

BIANCA

A WIDOW

Tailor, Haberdasher, and Servants attending on Baptista and

Petruchio

SCENE:

Padua, and PETRUCHIO'S house in the country

INDUCTION. SCENE I.

Before an alehouse on a heath

Enter HOSTESS and SLY

SLY. I'll pheeze you, in faith.

HOSTESS. A pair of stocks, you rogue!

SLY. Y'are a baggage; the Slys are no rogues. Look in the

chronicles: we came in with Richard Conqueror. Therefore, paucas

pallabris; let the world slide. Sessa!

HOSTESS. You will not pay for the glasses you have burst?

SLY. No, not a denier. Go by, Saint Jeronimy, go to thy cold bed

and warm thee.

HOSTESS. I know my remedy; I must go fetch the third-borough.

Exit

SLY. Third, or fourth, or fifth borough, I'll answer him by law.

I'll not budge an inch, boy; let him come, and kindly.

[Falls asleep]

Wind horns. Enter a LORD from bunting, with his train

LORD. Huntsman, I charge thee, tender well my hounds;

Brach Merriman, the poor cur, is emboss'd;

And couple Clowder with the deep-mouth'd brach.

Saw'st thou not, boy, how Silver made it good

At the hedge corner, in the coldest fault?

I would not lose the dog for twenty pound.

FIRST HUNTSMAN. Why, Belman is as good as he, my lord;

He cried upon it at the merest loss,

And twice to-day pick'd out the dullest scent;

Trust me, I take him for the better dog.

LORD. Thou art a fool; if Echo were as fleet,

I would esteem him worth a dozen such.

But sup them well, and look unto them all;

To-morrow I intend to hunt again.

FIRST HUNTSMAN. I will, my lord.

LORD. What's here? One dead, or drunk?

See, doth he breathe?

SECOND HUNTSMAN. He breathes, my lord. Were he not warm'd with ale,

This were a bed but cold to sleep so soundly.

LORD. O monstrous beast, how like a swine he lies!

Grim death, how foul and loathsome is thine image!

Sirs, I will practise on this drunken man.

What think you, if he were convey'd to bed,

Wrapp'd in sweet clothes, rings put upon his fingers,

A most delicious banquet by his bed,

And brave attendants near him when he wakes,

Would not the beggar then forget himself?

FIRST HUNTSMAN. Believe me, lord, I think he cannot choose.

SECOND HUNTSMAN. It would seem strange unto him when he wak'd.

LORD. Even as a flatt'ring dream or worthless fancy.

Then take him up, and manage well the jest:

Carry him gently to my fairest chamber,

And hang it round with all my wanton pictures;

Balm his foul head in warm distilled waters,

And burn sweet wood to make the lodging sweet;

Procure me music ready when he wakes,

To make a dulcet and a heavenly sound;

And if he chance to speak, be ready straight,

And with a low submissive reverence

Say 'What is it your honour will command?'

Let one attend him with a silver basin

Full of rose-water and bestrew'd with flowers;

Another bear the ewer, the third a diaper,

And say 'Will't please your lordship cool your hands?'

Some one be ready with a costly suit,

And ask him what apparel he will wear;

Another tell him of his hounds and horse,

And that his lady mourns at his disease;

Persuade him that he hath been lunatic,

And, when he says he is, say that he dreams,

For he is nothing but a mighty lord.

This do, and do it kindly, gentle sirs;

It will be pastime passing excellent,

If it be husbanded with modesty.

FIRST HUNTSMAN. My lord, I warrant you we will play our part

As he shall think by our true diligence

He is no less than what we say he is.

LORD. Take him up gently, and to bed with him;

And each one to his office when he wakes.

[SLY is carried out. A trumpet sounds]

Sirrah, go see what trumpet 'tis that sounds-

Exit SERVANT

Belike some noble gentleman that means,

Travelling some journey, to repose him here.

Re-enter a SERVINGMAN

How now! who is it?

SERVANT. An't please your honour, players

That offer service to your lordship.

LORD. Bid them come near.

Enter PLAYERS

Now, fellows, you are welcome.

PLAYERS. We thank your honour.

LORD. Do you intend to stay with me to-night?

PLAYER. So please your lordship to accept our duty.

LORD. With all my heart. This fellow I remember

Since once he play'd a farmer's eldest son;

'Twas where you woo'd the gentlewoman so well.

I have forgot your name; but, sure, that part

Was aptly fitted and naturally perform'd.

PLAYER. I think 'twas Soto that your honour means.

LORD. 'Tis very true; thou didst it excellent.

Well, you are come to me in happy time,

The rather for I have some sport in hand

Wherein your cunning can assist me much.

There is a lord will hear you play to-night;

But I am doubtful of your modesties,

Lest, over-eying of his odd behaviour,

For yet his honour never heard a play,

You break into some merry passion

And so offend him; for I tell you, sirs,

If you should smile, he grows impatient.

PLAYER. Fear not, my lord; we can contain ourselves,

Were he the veriest antic in the world.

LORD. Go, sirrah, take them to the buttery,

And give them friendly welcome every one;

Let them want nothing that my house affords.

Exit one with the PLAYERS

Sirrah, go you to Bartholomew my page,

And see him dress'd in all suits like a lady;

That done, conduct him to the drunkard's chamber,

And call him 'madam,' do him obeisance.

Tell him from me- as he will win my love-

He bear himself with honourable action,

Such as he hath observ'd in noble ladies

Unto their lords, by them accomplished;

Such duty to the drunkard let him do,

With soft low tongue and lowly courtesy,

And say 'What is't your honour will command,

Wherein your lady and your humble wife

May show her duty and make known her love?'

And then with kind embracements, tempting kisses,

And with declining head into his bosom,

Bid him shed tears, as being overjoyed

To see her noble lord restor'd to health,

Who for this seven years hath esteemed him

No better than a poor and loathsome beggar.

And if the boy have not a woman's gift

To rain a shower of commanded tears,

An onion will do well for such a shift,

Which, in a napkin being close convey'd,

Shall in despite enforce a watery eye.

See this dispatch'd with all the haste thou canst;

Anon I'll give thee more instructions. Exit a SERVINGMAN

I know the boy will well usurp the grace,

Voice, gait, and action, of a gentlewoman;

I long to hear him call the drunkard 'husband';

And how my men will stay themselves from laughter

When they do homage to this simple peasant.

I'll in to counsel them; haply my presence

May well abate the over-merry spleen,

Which otherwise would grow into extremes. Exeunt

SCENE II.

A bedchamber in the LORD'S house

DESCARGAR COMPLETO