Array The griffin classics - William Shakespeare - Complete Collection

Claud.

For this I owe you: here comes other reck’nings.

Which is the lady I must seize upon?

[Ant.]

This same is she, and I do give you her.

Claud.

Why then she’s mine. Sweet, let me see your face.

Leon.

No, that you shall not till you take her hand,

Before this friar, and swear to marry her.

Claud.

Give me your hand before this holy friar—

I am your husband if you like of me.

Hero [Unmasking.]

And when I liv’d, I was your other wife,

And when you lov’d, you were my other husband.

Claud.

Another Hero!

Hero.

Nothing certainer:

One Hero died defil’d, but I do live,

And surely as I live, I am a maid.

D. Pedro.

The former Hero! Hero that is dead!

Leon.

She died, my lord, but whiles her slander liv’d.

Friar.

All this amazement can I qualify,

When after that the holy rites are ended,

I’ll tell you largely of fair Hero’s death.

Mean time let wonder seem familiar,

And to the chapel let us presently.

Bene.

Soft and fair, friar. Which is Beatrice?

Beat. [Unmasking.]

I answer to that name. What is your will?

Bene.

Do not you love me?

Beat.

Why, no, no more than reason.

Bene.

Why then your uncle and the Prince and Claudio

Have been deceived. They swore you did.

Beat.

Do not you love me?

Bene.

Troth, no, no more than reason.

Beat.

Why then my cousin, Margaret, and Ursula

Are much deceiv’d, for they did swear you did.

Bene.

They swore that you were almost sick for me.

Beat.

They swore that you were well-nigh dead for me.

Bene.

’Tis no such matter. Then you do not love me?

Beat.

No, truly, but in friendly recompense.

Leon.

Come, cousin, I am sure you love the gentleman.

Claud.

And I’ll be sworn upon’t that he loves her,

For here’s a paper written in his hand,

A halting sonnet of his own pure brain,

Fashion’d to Beatrice.

Hero.

And here’s another

Writ in my cousin’s hand, stol’n from her pocket,

Containing her affection unto Benedick.

Bene. A miracle! here’s our own hands against our hearts. Come, I will have thee, but by this light, I take thee for pity.

Beat. I would not deny you, but by this good day, I yield upon great persuasion, and partly to save your life, for I was told you were in a consumption.

[Bene.] Peace, I will stop your mouth.

[Kissing her.]

D. Pedro.

How dost thou, Benedick the married man?

Bene. I’ll tell thee what, Prince: a college of wit- crackers cannot flout me out of my humor. Dost thou think I care for a satire or an epigram? No, if a man will be beaten with brains, ’a shall wear nothing handsome about him. In brief, since I do purpose to marry, I will think nothing to any purpose that the world can say against it, and therefore never flout at me for what I have said against it; for man is a giddy thing, and this is my conclusion. For thy part, Claudio, I did think to have beaten thee, but in that thou art like to be my kinsman, live unbruis’d, and love my cousin.

Claud. I had well hop’d thou wouldst have denied Beatrice, that I might have cudgell’d thee out of thy single life, to make thee a double-dealer, which out of question thou wilt be, if my cousin do not look exceeding narrowly to thee.

Bene. Come, come, we are friends. Let’s have a dance ere we are married, that we may lighten our own hearts and our wives’ heels.

Leon. We’ll have dancing afterward.

Bene. First, of my word; therefore play, music. Prince, thou art sad, get thee a wife, get thee a wife. There is no staff more reverent than one tipp’d with horn.

Enter Messenger.

Mess.

My lord, your brother John is ta’en in flight,

And brought with armed men back to Messina.

Bene. Think not on him till to-morrow. I’ll devise thee brave punishments for him. Strike up, pipers.

Dance. [Exeunt.]

¶

Francis Wheatley , p. — James Fittler , e.

William Shakespeare

( 1599 )

First Folio, 1623

like

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Act I

Sc. I Sc. II Sc. III

Act II

Sc. I Sc. II Sc. III Sc. IV Sc. V Sc. VI Sc. VII

Act III

Sc. I Sc. II Sc. III Sc. IV Sc. V

Act IV

Sc. I Sc. II Sc. III

Act V

Sc. I Sc. II Sc. III Sc. IV

Epilogue

[Dramatis Personae

Duke Senior , living in banishment

Duke Frederick , his brother, and usurper of his dominions

Amiens ,

Jaques , lords attending on the banished Duke

Le Beau , a courtier attending upon Duke Frederick

Charles , wrestler to Duke Frederick

Oliver ,

Jaques ,

Orlando , sons of Sir Rowland de Boys

Adam ,

Dennis , servants to Oliver

Touchstone , a clown

Sir Oliver Martext , a vicar

Corin ,

Silvius , shepherds

William , a country fellow, in love with Audrey

A person representing Hymen

–––––

Rosalind , daughter to the banished Duke

Celia , daughter to Duke Frederick

Phebe , a shepherdess

Audrey , a country wench

–––––

Lords, Pages, Foresters, and Attendants

Scene: Oliver’s house; Duke Frederick’s court ; and the forest of Arden]

First Folio

¶

Enter Orlando and Adam.

Orl. As I remember, Adam, it was upon this fashion bequeath’d me by will but poor a thousand crowns, and, as thou say’st, charg’d my brother, on his blessing, to breed me well; and there begins my sadness. My brother Jaques he keeps at school, and report speaks goldenly of his profit. For my part, he keeps me rustically at home, or (to speak more properly) stays me here at home unkept; for call you that keeping for a gentleman of my birth, that differs not from the stalling of an ox? His horses are bred better, for besides that they are fair with their feeding, they are taught their manage, and to that end riders dearly hir’d; but I (his brother) gain nothing under him but growth, for the which his animals on his dunghills are as much bound to him as I. Besides this nothing that he so plentifully gives me, the something that nature gave me his countenance seems to take from me. He lets me feed with his hinds, bars me the place of a brother, and as much as in him lies, mines my gentility with my education. This is it, Adam, that grieves me, and the spirit of my father, which I think is within me, begins to mutiny against this servitude. I will no longer endure it, though yet I know no wise remedy how to avoid it.

Enter Oliver.

Adam. Yonder comes my master, your brother.

Orl. Go apart, Adam, and thou shalt hear how he will shake me up.

Oli. Now, sir, what make you here?

Orl. Nothing. I am not taught to make any thing.