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It is not meet you know how Caesar loved you. You are not wood, you are not stones, but men;And being men, hearing the will of Caesar,It will inflame you, it will make you mad. ’Tis good you know not that you are his heirs;For if you should, O, what would come of it? FOURTH CITIZEN. Read the will! We’ll hear it, Antony;You shall read us the will, Caesar’s will! ANTONY. Will you be patient? Will you stay awhile? I have o’ershot myself to tell you of it. I fear I wrong the honourable menWhose daggers have stabb’d Caesar; I do fear it. FOURTH CITIZEN. They were traitors. Honourable men! CITIZENS. The will! The testament! SECOND CITIZEN. They were villains, murderers. The will! Read the will! ANTONY. You will compel me then to read the will? Then make a ring about the corpse of Caesar,And let me show you him that made the will. Shall I descend? and will you give me leave? CITIZENS. Come down. SECOND CITIZEN. Descend. [_He comes down. _]THIRD CITIZEN. You shall have leave. FOURTH CITIZEN. A ring! Stand round. FIRST CITIZEN. Stand from the hearse, stand from the body. SECOND CITIZEN. Room for Antony, most noble Antony! ANTONY. Nay, press not so upon me; stand far off. CITIZENS. Stand back; room! bear back. ANTONY. If you have tears, prepare to shed them now. You all do know this mantle. I rememberThe first time ever Caesar put it on;’Twas on a Summer’s evening, in his tent,That day he overcame the Nervii. Look, in this place ran Cassius’ dagger through:See what a rent the envious Casca made:Through this the well-beloved Brutus stabb’d;And as he pluck’d his cursed steel away,Mark how the blood of Caesar follow’d it,As rushing out of doors, to be resolv’dIf Brutus so unkindly knock’d, or no;For Brutus, as you know, was Caesar’s angel. Judge, O you gods, how dearly Caesar lov’d him. This was the most unkindest cut of all;For when the noble Caesar saw him stab,Ingratitude, more strong than traitors’ arms,Quite vanquish’d him: then burst his mighty heart;And in his mantle muffling up his face,Even at the base of Pompey’s statueWhich all the while ran blood, great Caesar fell. O, what a fall was there, my countrymen! Then I, and you, and all of us fell down,Whilst bloody treason flourish’d over us. O, now you weep; and I perceive you feelThe dint of pity. These are gracious drops. Kind souls, what weep you when you but beholdOur Caesar’s vesture wounded? Look you here,Here is himself, marr’d, as you see, with traitors. FIRST CITIZEN. O piteous spectacle! SECOND CITIZEN. O noble Caesar! THIRD CITIZEN. O woeful day! FOURTH CITIZEN. O traitors, villains! FIRST CITIZEN. O most bloody sight! SECOND CITIZEN. We will be revenged. CITIZENS. Revenge,—about,—seek,—burn,—fire,—kill,—slay,—let not a traitor live! ANTONY. Stay, countrymen. FIRST CITIZEN. Peace there! Hear the noble Antony. SECOND CITIZEN. We’ll hear him, we’ll follow him, we’ll die with him. ANTONY. Good friends, sweet friends, let me not stir you upTo such a sudden flood of mutiny. They that have done this deed are honourable. What private griefs they have, alas, I know not,That made them do it. They’re wise and honourable,And will, no doubt, with reasons answer you. I come not, friends, to steal away your hearts. I am no orator, as Brutus is;But, as you know me all, a plain blunt man,That love my friend; and that they know full wellThat gave me public leave to speak of him. For I have neither wit, nor words, nor worth,Action, nor utterance, nor the power of speech,To stir men’s blood. I only speak right on. I tell you that which you yourselves do know,Show you sweet Caesar’s wounds, poor poor dumb mouths,And bid them speak for me. But were I Brutus,And Brutus Antony, there were an AntonyWould ruffle up your spirits, and put a tongueIn every wound of Caesar, that should moveThe stones of Rome to rise and mutiny. CITIZENS. We’ll mutiny. FIRST CITIZEN. We’ll burn the house of Brutus. THIRD CITIZEN. Away, then! come, seek the conspirators. ANTONY. Yet hear me, countrymen; yet hear me speak. CITIZENS. Peace, ho! Hear Antony; most noble Antony. ANTONY. Why, friends, you go to do you know not what. Wherein hath Caesar thus deserved your loves? Alas, you know not; I must tell you then. You have forgot the will I told you of. CITIZENS. Most true; the will! —let’s stay, and hear the will. ANTONY. Here is the will, and under Caesar’s seal. To every Roman citizen he gives,To every several man, seventy-five drachmas. SECOND CITIZEN. Most noble Caesar! We’ll revenge his death. THIRD CITIZEN. O, royal Caesar! ANTONY. Hear me with patience. CITIZENS. Peace, ho! ANTONY. Moreover, he hath left you all his walks,His private arbors, and new-planted orchards,On this side Tiber; he hath left them you,And to your heirs forever; common pleasures,To walk abroad, and recreate yourselves. Here was a Caesar! when comes such another? FIRST CITIZEN. Never, never. Come, away, away! We’ll burn his body in the holy place,And with the brands fire the traitors’ houses. Take up the body. SECOND CITIZEN. Go, fetch fire. THIRD CITIZEN. Pluck down benches. FOURTH CITIZEN. Pluck down forms, windows, anything. [_Exeunt Citizens, with the body. _]ANTONY. Now let it work. Mischief, thou art afoot,Take thou what course thou wilt! Enter a Servant. How now, fellow? SERVANT. Sir, Octavius is already come to Rome.

ANTONY. Where is he? SERVANT. He and Lepidus are at Caesar’s house. ANTONY. And thither will I straight to visit him. He comes upon a wish. Fortune is merry,And in this mood will give us anything. SERVANT. I heard him say Brutus and CassiusAre rid like madmen through the gates of Rome. ANTONY. Belike they had some notice of the people,How I had moved them. Bring me to Octavius. [_Exeunt. _]SCENE III. The same. A street. Enter Cinna, the poet, and after him the citizens. CINNA. I dreamt tonight that I did feast with Caesar,And things unluckily charge my fantasy. I have no will to wander forth of doors,Yet something leads me forth. FIRST CITIZEN. What is your name? SECOND CITIZEN. Whither are you going? THIRD CITIZEN. Where do you dwell? FOURTH CITIZEN. Are you a married man or a bachelor? SECOND CITIZEN. Answer every man directly. FIRST CITIZEN. Ay, and briefly. FOURTH CITIZEN. Ay, and wisely. THIRD CITIZEN. Ay, and truly, you were best. CINNA. What is my name? Whither am I going? Where do I dwell? Am I a marriedman or a bachelor? Then, to answer every man directly and briefly,wisely and truly. Wisely I say I am a bachelor. SECOND CITIZEN. That’s as much as to say they are fools that marry; you’ll bear me abang for that, I fear. Proceed, directly. CINNA. Directly, I am going to Caesar’s funeral. FIRST CITIZEN. As a friend, or an enemy? CINNA. As a friend. SECOND CITIZEN. That matter is answered directly. FOURTH CITIZEN. For your dwelling, briefly. CINNA. Briefly, I dwell by the Capitol. THIRD CITIZEN. Your name, sir, truly. CINNA. Truly, my name is Cinna. FIRST CITIZEN. Tear him to pieces! He’s a conspirator. CINNA. I am Cinna the poet, I am Cinna the poet. FOURTH CITIZEN. Tear him for his bad verses, tear him for his bad verses. CINNA. I am not Cinna the conspirator. FOURTH CITIZEN. It is no matter, his name’s Cinna; pluck but his name out of his heart,and turn him going. THIRD CITIZEN. Tear him, tear him! Come; brands, ho! firebrands. To Brutus’, toCassius’; burn all. Some to Decius’ house, and some to Casca’s, some toLigarius’. Away, go! [_Exeunt. _]ACT IVSCENE I. Rome. A room in Antony’s house. Enter Antony, Octavius and Lepidus, seated at a table. ANTONY. These many then shall die; their names are prick’d. OCTAVIUS. Your brother too must die; consent you, Lepidus? LEPIDUS. I do consent,—OCTAVIUS. Prick him down, Antony. LEPIDUS. Upon condition Publius shall not live,Who is your sister’s son, Mark Antony. ANTONY. He shall not live; look, with a spot I damn him. But, Lepidus, go you to Caesar’s house;Fetch the will hither, and we shall determineHow to cut off some charge in legacies. LEPIDUS. What, shall I find you here? OCTAVIUS. Or here, or at the Capitol. [_Exit Lepidus. _]ANTONY. This is a slight unmeritable man,Meet to be sent on errands. Is it fit,The three-fold world divided, he should standOne of the three to share it? OCTAVIUS. So you thought him,And took his voice who should be prick’d to dieIn our black sentence and proscription. ANTONY. Octavius, I have seen more days than you;And though we lay these honours on this man,To ease ourselves of divers sland’rous loads,He shall but bear them as the ass bears gold,To groan and sweat under the business,Either led or driven, as we point the way;And having brought our treasure where we will,Then take we down his load, and turn him off,Like to the empty ass, to shake his ears,And graze in commons. OCTAVIUS. You may do your will;But he’s a tried and valiant soldier. ANTONY. So is my horse, Octavius; and for thatI do appoint him store of provender. It is a creature that I teach to fight,To wind, to stop, to run directly on,His corporal motion govern’d by my spirit. And, in some taste, is Lepidus but so:He must be taught, and train’d, and bid go forth:A barren-spirited fellow; one that feedsOn objects, arts, and imitations,Which, out of use and stal’d by other men,Begin his fashion. Do not talk of himBut as a property. And now, Octavius,Listen great things. Brutus and CassiusAre levying powers; we must straight make head. Therefore let our alliance be combin’d,Our best friends made, our means stretch’d;And let us presently go sit in council,How covert matters may be best disclos’d,And open perils surest answered. OCTAVIUS. Let us do so: for we are at the stake,And bay’d about with many enemies;And some that smile have in their hearts, I fear,Millions of mischiefs. [_Exeunt. _]SCENE II. Before Brutus’ tent, in the camp near Sardis. Drum. Enter Brutus, Lucilius, Titinius and Soldiers; Pindarus meeting them; Lucius at some distance. BRUTUS. Stand, ho! LUCILIUS. Give the word, ho! and stand. BRUTUS. What now, Lucilius! is Cassius near? LUCILIUS. He is at hand, and Pindarus is comeTo do you salutation from his master. [_Pindarus gives a letter to Brutus. _]BRUTUS. He greets me well. Your master, Pindarus,In his own change, or by ill officers,Hath given me some worthy cause to wishThings done, undone: but, if he be at hand,I shall be satisfied. PINDARUS. I do not doubtBut that my noble master will appearSuch as he is, full of regard and honour. BRUTUS. He is not doubted.

A word, Lucilius;How he received you, let me be resolv’d. LUCILIUS. With courtesy and with respect enough,But not with such familiar instances,Nor with such free and friendly conference,As he hath us’d of old. BRUTUS. Thou hast describ’dA hot friend cooling. Ever note, Lucilius,When love begins to sicken and decayIt useth an enforced ceremony. There are no tricks in plain and simple faith;But hollow men, like horses hot at hand,Make gallant show and promise of their mettle; [_Low march within. _]But when they should endure the bloody spur,They fall their crests, and like deceitful jadesSink in the trial. Comes his army on? LUCILIUS. They meant this night in Sardis to be quarter’d;The greater part, the horse in general,Are come with Cassius. Enter Cassius and Soldiers. BRUTUS. Hark! he is arriv’d. March gently on to meet him. CASSIUS. Stand, ho! BRUTUS. Stand, ho! Speak the word along. FIRST SOLDIER. Stand! SECOND SOLDIER. Stand! THIRD SOLDIER. Stand! CASSIUS. Most noble brother, you have done me wrong. BRUTUS. Judge me, you gods; wrong I mine enemies? And if not so, how should I wrong a brother? CASSIUS. Brutus, this sober form of yours hides wrongs;And when you do them—BRUTUS. Cassius, be content. Speak your griefs softly, I do know you well. Before the eyes of both our armies here,Which should perceive nothing but love from us,Let us not wrangle. Bid them move away;Then in my tent, Cassius, enlarge your griefs,And I will give you audience. CASSIUS. Pindarus,Bid our commanders lead their charges offA little from this ground. BRUTUS. Lucilius, do you the like; and let no manCome to our tent till we have done our conference. Lucius and Titinius, guard our door. [_Exeunt. _]SCENE III. Within the tent of Brutus. Enter Brutus and Cassius. CASSIUS. That you have wrong’d me doth appear in this:You have condemn’d and noted Lucius PellaFor taking bribes here of the Sardians;Wherein my letters, praying on his sideBecause I knew the man, were slighted off. BRUTUS. You wrong’d yourself to write in such a case. CASSIUS. In such a time as this it is not meetThat every nice offence should bear his comment. BRUTUS. Let me tell you, Cassius, you yourselfAre much condemn’d to have an itching palm,To sell and mart your offices for goldTo undeservers. CASSIUS. I an itching palm! You know that you are Brutus that speak this,Or, by the gods, this speech were else your last. BRUTUS. The name of Cassius honours this corruption,And chastisement doth therefore hide his head. CASSIUS. Chastisement! BRUTUS. Remember March, the Ides of March remember:Did not great Julius bleed for justice’ sake? What villain touch’d his body, that did stab,And not for justice? What! Shall one of us,That struck the foremost man of all this worldBut for supporting robbers, shall we nowContaminate our fingers with base bribes,And sell the mighty space of our large honoursFor so much trash as may be grasped thus? I had rather be a dog, and bay the moon,Than such a Roman. CASSIUS. Brutus, bait not me,I’ll not endure it. You forget yourself,To hedge me in. I am a soldier, I,Older in practice, abler than yourselfTo make conditions. BRUTUS. Go to; you are not, Cassius. CASSIUS. I am. BRUTUS. I say you are not. CASSIUS. Urge me no more, I shall forget myself;Have mind upon your health, tempt me no farther. BRUTUS. Away, slight man! CASSIUS. Is’t possible? BRUTUS. Hear me, for I will speak. Must I give way and room to your rash choler? Shall I be frighted when a madman stares? CASSIUS. O ye gods, ye gods! Must I endure all this? BRUTUS. All this? ay, more: fret till your proud heart break;Go show your slaves how choleric you are,And make your bondmen tremble. Must I budge? Must I observe you? Must I stand and crouchUnder your testy humour? By the gods,You shall digest the venom of your spleen,Though it do split you; for, from this day forth,I’ll use you for my mirth, yea, for my laughter,When you are waspish. CASSIUS. Is it come to this? BRUTUS. You say you are a better soldier:Let it appear so; make your vaunting true,And it shall please me well. For mine own part,I shall be glad to learn of noble men. CASSIUS. You wrong me every way, you wrong me, Brutus. I said, an elder soldier, not a better:Did I say better? BRUTUS. If you did, I care not. CASSIUS. When Caesar liv’d, he durst not thus have mov’d me. BRUTUS. Peace, peace! you durst not so have tempted him. CASSIUS. I durst not? BRUTUS. No. CASSIUS. What? durst not tempt him? BRUTUS. For your life you durst not. CASSIUS. Do not presume too much upon my love. I may do that I shall be sorry for. BRUTUS. You have done that you should be sorry for. There is no terror, Cassius, in your threats,For I am arm’d so strong in honesty,That they pass by me as the idle wind,Which I respect not. I did send to youFor certain sums of gold, which you denied me;For I can raise no money by vile means:By Heaven, I had rather coin my heart,And drop my blood for drachmas, than to wringFrom the hard hands of peasants their vile trashBy any indirection. I did sendTo you for gold to pay my legions,Which you denied me: was that done like Cassius? Should I have answer’d Caius Cassius so? When Marcus Brutus grows so covetous,To lock such rascal counters from his friends,Be ready, gods, with all your thunderbolts,Dash him to pieces! CASSIUS. I denied you not. BRUTUS. You did. CASSIUS. I did not. He was but a foolThat brought my answer back. Brutus hath riv’d my heart. A friend should bear his friend’s infirmities;But Brutus makes mine greater than they are. BRUTUS. I do not, till you practise them on me. CASSIUS. You love me not.

BRUTUS. I do not like your faults. CASSIUS. A friendly eye could never see such faults. BRUTUS. A flatterer’s would not, though they do appearAs huge as high Olympus. CASSIUS. Come, Antony, and young Octavius, come,Revenge yourselves alone on Cassius,For Cassius is a-weary of the world:Hated by one he loves; brav’d by his brother;Check’d like a bondman; all his faults observ’d,Set in a note-book, learn’d and conn’d by rote,To cast into my teeth. O, I could weepMy spirit from mine eyes! There is my dagger,And here my naked breast; within, a heartDearer than Plutus’ mine, richer than gold:If that thou be’st a Roman, take it forth. I, that denied thee gold, will give my heart:Strike as thou didst at Caesar; for I know,When thou didst hate him worst, thou lovedst him betterThan ever thou lovedst Cassius. BRUTUS. Sheathe your dagger. Be angry when you will, it shall have scope;Do what you will, dishonour shall be humour. O Cassius, you are yoked with a lambThat carries anger as the flint bears fire,Who, much enforced, shows a hasty spark,And straight is cold again. CASSIUS. Hath Cassius liv’dTo be but mirth and laughter to his Brutus,When grief and blood ill-temper’d vexeth him? BRUTUS. When I spoke that, I was ill-temper’d too. CASSIUS. Do you confess so much? Give me your hand. BRUTUS. And my heart too. CASSIUS. O Brutus! BRUTUS. What’s the matter? CASSIUS. Have not you love enough to bear with me,When that rash humour which my mother gave meMakes me forgetful? BRUTUS. Yes, Cassius; and from henceforth,When you are over-earnest with your Brutus,He’ll think your mother chides, and leave you so. Enter Poet, followed by Lucilius, Titinius and Lucius. POET. [_Within. _] Let me go in to see the generals,There is some grudge between ’em; ’tis not meetThey be alone. LUCILIUS. [_Within. _] You shall not come to them. POET. [_Within. _] Nothing but death shall stay me. CASSIUS. How now! What’s the matter? POET. For shame, you generals! What do you mean? Love, and be friends, as two such men should be;For I have seen more years, I’m sure, than ye. CASSIUS. Ha, ha! How vilely doth this cynic rhyme! BRUTUS. Get you hence, sirrah. Saucy fellow, hence! CASSIUS. Bear with him, Brutus; ’tis his fashion. BRUTUS. I’ll know his humour when he knows his time. What should the wars do with these jigging fools? Companion, hence! CASSIUS. Away, away, be gone! [_Exit Poet. _]BRUTUS. Lucilius and Titinius, bid the commandersPrepare to lodge their companies tonight. CASSIUS. And come yourselves and bring Messala with youImmediately to us. [_Exeunt Lucilius and Titinius. _]BRUTUS. Lucius, a bowl of wine. [_Exit Lucius. _]CASSIUS. I did not think you could have been so angry. BRUTUS. O Cassius, I am sick of many griefs. CASSIUS. Of your philosophy you make no use,If you give place to accidental evils. BRUTUS. No man bears sorrow better. Portia is dead. CASSIUS. Ha? Portia? BRUTUS. She is dead. CASSIUS. How ’scap’d I killing, when I cross’d you so? O insupportable and touching loss! Upon what sickness? BRUTUS. Impatient of my absence,And grief that young Octavius with Mark AntonyHave made themselves so strong; for with her deathThat tidings came. With this she fell distract,And, her attendants absent, swallow’d fire. CASSIUS. And died so? BRUTUS. Even so. CASSIUS. O ye immortal gods! Enter Lucius, with wine and a taper. BRUTUS. Speak no more of her. Give me a bowl of wine. In this I bury all unkindness, Cassius. [_Drinks. _]CASSIUS. My heart is thirsty for that noble pledge. Fill, Lucius, till the wine o’erswell the cup. I cannot drink too much of Brutus’ love. [_Drinks. _] [_Exit Lucius. _] Enter Titinius and Messala. BRUTUS. Come in, Titinius! Welcome, good Messala. Now sit we close about this taper here,And call in question our necessities. CASSIUS. Portia, art thou gone? BRUTUS. No more, I pray you. Messala, I have here received letters,That young Octavius and Mark AntonyCome down upon us with a mighty power,Bending their expedition toward Philippi. MESSALA. Myself have letters of the selfsame tenor. BRUTUS. With what addition? MESSALA. That by proscription and bills of outlawryOctavius, Antony, and LepidusHave put to death an hundred Senators. BRUTUS. Therein our letters do not well agree. Mine speak of seventy Senators that diedBy their proscriptions, Cicero being one. CASSIUS. Cicero one! MESSALA. Cicero is dead,And by that order of proscription. Had you your letters from your wife, my lord? BRUTUS. No, Messala. MESSALA. Nor nothing in your letters writ of her? BRUTUS. Nothing, Messala. MESSALA. That, methinks, is strange. BRUTUS. Why ask you?

Hear you aught of her in yours? MESSALA. No, my lord. BRUTUS. Now as you are a Roman, tell me true. MESSALA. Then like a Roman bear the truth I tell,For certain she is dead, and by strange manner. BRUTUS. Why, farewell, Portia. We must die, Messala. With meditating that she must die once,I have the patience to endure it now. MESSALA. Even so great men great losses should endure. CASSIUS. I have as much of this in art as you,But yet my nature could not bear it so. BRUTUS. Well, to our work alive. What do you thinkOf marching to Philippi presently? CASSIUS. I do not think it good. BRUTUS. Your reason? CASSIUS. This it is:’Tis better that the enemy seek us;So shall he waste his means, weary his soldiers,Doing himself offence, whilst we, lying still,Are full of rest, defence, and nimbleness. BRUTUS. Good reasons must of force give place to better. The people ’twixt Philippi and this groundDo stand but in a forced affection;For they have grudg’d us contribution. The enemy, marching along by them,By them shall make a fuller number up,Come on refresh’d, new-added, and encourag’d;From which advantage shall we cut him offIf at Philippi we do face him there,These people at our back. CASSIUS. Hear me, good brother. BRUTUS. Under your pardon. You must note besides,That we have tried the utmost of our friends,Our legions are brim-full, our cause is ripe. The enemy increaseth every day;We, at the height, are ready to decline. There is a tide in the affairs of men,Which, taken at the flood, leads on to fortune;Omitted, all the voyage of their lifeIs bound in shallows and in miseries. On such a full sea are we now afloat,And we must take the current when it serves,Or lose our ventures. CASSIUS. Then, with your will, go on:We’ll along ourselves, and meet them at Philippi. BRUTUS. The deep of night is crept upon our talk,And nature must obey necessity,Which we will niggard with a little rest. There is no more to say? CASSIUS. No more. Good night:Early tomorrow will we rise, and hence. Enter Lucius. BRUTUS. Lucius! My gown. [_Exit Lucius. _]Farewell now, good Messala. Good night, Titinius. Noble, noble Cassius,Good night, and good repose. CASSIUS. O my dear brother! This was an ill beginning of the night. Never come such division ’tween our souls! Let it not, Brutus. Enter Lucius with the gown. BRUTUS. Everything is well. CASSIUS. Good night, my lord. BRUTUS. Good night, good brother. TITINIUS and MESSALA. Good night, Lord Brutus. BRUTUS. Farewell, everyone. [_Exeunt Cassius, Titinius and Messala. _]Give me the gown. Where is thy instrument? LUCIUS. Here in the tent. BRUTUS. What, thou speak’st drowsily? Poor knave, I blame thee not, thou art o’er-watch’d. Call Claudius and some other of my men;I’ll have them sleep on cushions in my tent. LUCIUS. Varro and Claudius! Enter Varro and Claudius. VARRO. Calls my lord? BRUTUS. I pray you, sirs, lie in my tent and sleep;It may be I shall raise you by-and-byOn business to my brother Cassius. VARRO. So please you, we will stand and watch your pleasure. BRUTUS. I will not have it so; lie down, good sirs,It may be I shall otherwise bethink me. Look, Lucius, here’s the book I sought for so;I put it in the pocket of my gown. [_Servants lie down. _]LUCIUS. I was sure your lordship did not give it me. BRUTUS. Bear with me, good boy, I am much forgetful. Canst thou hold up thy heavy eyes awhile,And touch thy instrument a strain or two? LUCIUS. Ay, my lord, an’t please you. BRUTUS. It does, my boy. I trouble thee too much, but thou art willing. LUCIUS. It is my duty, sir. BRUTUS. I should not urge thy duty past thy might;I know young bloods look for a time of rest. LUCIUS. I have slept, my lord, already. BRUTUS. It was well done, and thou shalt sleep again;I will not hold thee long. If I do live,I will be good to thee. [_Lucius plays and sings till he falls asleep. _]This is a sleepy tune. O murd’rous slumber,Layest thou thy leaden mace upon my boy,That plays thee music? Gentle knave, good night;I will not do thee so much wrong to wake thee. If thou dost nod, thou break’st thy instrument;I’ll take it from thee; and, good boy, good night. Let me see, let me see; is not the leaf turn’d downWhere I left reading? Here it is, I think. Enter the Ghost of Caesar. How ill this taper burns! Ha! who comes here? I think it is the weakness of mine eyesThat shapes this monstrous apparition. It comes upon me. Art thou anything? Art thou some god, some angel, or some devil,That mak’st my blood cold and my hair to stare? Speak to me what thou art. GHOST. Thy evil spirit, Brutus. BRUTUS. Why com’st thou? GHOST. To tell thee thou shalt see me at Philippi. BRUTUS. Well; then I shall see thee again? GHOST. Ay, at Philippi. BRUTUS. Why, I will see thee at Philippi then. [_Ghost vanishes. _]Now I have taken heart, thou vanishest. Ill spirit, I would hold more talk with thee. Boy! Lucius! Varro! Claudius! Sirs, awake!

Claudius! LUCIUS. The strings, my lord, are false. BRUTUS. He thinks he still is at his instrument. Lucius, awake! LUCIUS. My lord? BRUTUS. Didst thou dream, Lucius, that thou so criedst out? LUCIUS. My lord, I do not know that I did cry. BRUTUS. Yes, that thou didst. Didst thou see anything? LUCIUS. Nothing, my lord. BRUTUS. Sleep again, Lucius. Sirrah Claudius! Fellow thou, awake! VARRO. My lord? CLAUDIUS. My lord? BRUTUS. Why did you so cry out, sirs, in your sleep? VARRO. CLAUDIUS. Did we, my lord? BRUTUS. Ay. Saw you anything? VARRO. No, my lord, I saw nothing. CLAUDIUS. Nor I, my lord. BRUTUS. Go and commend me to my brother Cassius;Bid him set on his powers betimes before,And we will follow. VARRO. CLAUDIUS. It shall be done, my lord. [_Exeunt. _]ACT VSCENE I. The plains of Philippi. Enter Octavius, Antony and their Army. OCTAVIUS. Now, Antony, our hopes are answered. You said the enemy would not come down,But keep the hills and upper regions. It proves not so; their battles are at hand,They mean to warn us at Philippi here,Answering before we do demand of them. ANTONY. Tut, I am in their bosoms, and I knowWherefore they do it. They could be contentTo visit other places, and come downWith fearful bravery, thinking by this faceTo fasten in our thoughts that they have courage;But ’tis not so. Enter a Messenger. MESSENGER. Prepare you, generals. The enemy comes on in gallant show;Their bloody sign of battle is hung out,And something to be done immediately. ANTONY. Octavius, lead your battle softly onUpon the left hand of the even field. OCTAVIUS. Upon the right hand I. Keep thou the left. ANTONY. Why do you cross me in this exigent? OCTAVIUS. I do not cross you; but I will do so. [_March. _]Drum. Enter Brutus, Cassius and their Army; Lucilius, Titinius, Messalaand others. BRUTUS. They stand, and would have parley. CASSIUS. Stand fast, Titinius; we must out and talk. OCTAVIUS. Mark Antony, shall we give sign of battle? ANTONY. No, Caesar, we will answer on their charge. Make forth; the generals would have some words. OCTAVIUS. Stir not until the signal. BRUTUS. Words before blows: is it so, countrymen? OCTAVIUS. Not that we love words better, as you do. BRUTUS. Good words are better than bad strokes, Octavius. ANTONY. In your bad strokes, Brutus, you give good words;Witness the hole you made in Caesar’s heart,Crying, “Long live! Hail, Caesar! ”CASSIUS. Antony,The posture of your blows are yet unknown;But for your words, they rob the Hybla bees,And leave them honeyless. ANTONY. Not stingless too. BRUTUS. O yes, and soundless too,For you have stol’n their buzzing, Antony,And very wisely threat before you sting. ANTONY. Villains, you did not so when your vile daggersHack’d one another in the sides of Caesar:You show’d your teeth like apes, and fawn’d like hounds,And bow’d like bondmen, kissing Caesar’s feet;Whilst damned Casca, like a cur, behindStruck Caesar on the neck. O you flatterers! CASSIUS. Flatterers! Now, Brutus, thank yourself. This tongue had not offended so today,If Cassius might have rul’d. OCTAVIUS. Come, come, the cause. If arguing makes us sweat,The proof of it will turn to redder drops. Look, I draw a sword against conspirators. When think you that the sword goes up again? Never, till Caesar’s three and thirty woundsBe well aveng’d; or till another CaesarHave added slaughter to the sword of traitors. BRUTUS. Caesar, thou canst not die by traitors’ hands,Unless thou bring’st them with thee. OCTAVIUS. So I hope. I was not born to die on Brutus’ sword. BRUTUS. O, if thou wert the noblest of thy strain,Young man, thou couldst not die more honourable. CASSIUS. A peevish school-boy, worthless of such honour,Join’d with a masker and a reveller. ANTONY. Old Cassius still! OCTAVIUS. Come, Antony; away! Defiance, traitors, hurl we in your teeth. If you dare fight today, come to the field;If not, when you have stomachs. [_Exeunt Octavius, Antony and their Army. _]CASSIUS. Why now, blow wind, swell billow, and swim bark! The storm is up, and all is on the hazard. BRUTUS. Ho, Lucilius! Hark, a word with you. LUCILIUS. My lord? [_Brutus and Lucilius talk apart. _]CASSIUS. Messala. MESSALA. What says my General? CASSIUS. Messala,This is my birth-day; as this very dayWas Cassius born. Give me thy hand, Messala:Be thou my witness that against my willAs Pompey was, am I compell’d to setUpon one battle all our liberties. You know that I held Epicurus strong,And his opinion. Now I change my mind,And partly credit things that do presage. Coming from Sardis, on our former ensignTwo mighty eagles fell, and there they perch’d,Gorging and feeding from our soldiers’ hands,Who to Philippi here consorted us. This morning are they fled away and gone,And in their steads do ravens, crows, and kitesFly o’er our heads, and downward look on us,As we were sickly prey: their shadows seemA canopy most fatal, under whichOur army lies, ready to give up the ghost. MESSALA.

Believe not so. CASSIUS. I but believe it partly,For I am fresh of spirit, and resolv’dTo meet all perils very constantly. BRUTUS. Even so, Lucilius. CASSIUS. Now, most noble Brutus,The gods today stand friendly, that we may,Lovers in peace, lead on our days to age! But, since the affairs of men rest still incertain,Let’s reason with the worst that may befall. If we do lose this battle, then is thisThe very last time we shall speak together:What are you then determined to do? BRUTUS. Even by the rule of that philosophyBy which I did blame Cato for the deathWhich he did give himself, I know not how,But I do find it cowardly and vile,For fear of what might fall, so to preventThe time of life, arming myself with patienceTo stay the providence of some high powersThat govern us below. CASSIUS. Then, if we lose this battle,You are contented to be led in triumphThorough the streets of Rome? BRUTUS. No, Cassius, no: think not, thou noble Roman,That ever Brutus will go bound to Rome;He bears too great a mind. But this same dayMust end that work the Ides of March begun;And whether we shall meet again I know not. Therefore our everlasting farewell take. For ever, and for ever, farewell, Cassius. If we do meet again, why, we shall smile;If not, why then this parting was well made. CASSIUS. For ever and for ever farewell, Brutus. If we do meet again, we’ll smile indeed;If not, ’tis true this parting was well made. BRUTUS. Why then, lead on. O, that a man might knowThe end of this day’s business ere it come! But it sufficeth that the day will end,And then the end is known. Come, ho! away! [_Exeunt. _]SCENE II. The same. The field of battle. Alarum. Enter Brutus and Messala. BRUTUS. Ride, ride, Messala, ride, and give these billsUnto the legions on the other side. [_Loud alarum. _]Let them set on at once; for I perceiveBut cold demeanor in Octavius’ wing,And sudden push gives them the overthrow. Ride, ride, Messala; let them all come down. [_Exeunt. _]SCENE III. Another part of the field. Alarum. Enter Cassius and Titinius. CASSIUS. O, look, Titinius, look, the villains fly! Myself have to mine own turn’d enemy:This ensign here of mine was turning back;I slew the coward, and did take it from him. TITINIUS. O Cassius, Brutus gave the word too early,Who, having some advantage on Octavius,Took it too eagerly: his soldiers fell to spoil,Whilst we by Antony are all enclos’d. Enter Pindarus. PINDARUS. Fly further off, my lord, fly further off;Mark Antony is in your tents, my lord. Fly, therefore, noble Cassius, fly far off. CASSIUS. This hill is far enough. Look, look, Titinius;Are those my tents where I perceive the fire? TITINIUS. They are, my lord. CASSIUS. Titinius, if thou lovest me,Mount thou my horse and hide thy spurs in him,Till he have brought thee up to yonder troopsAnd here again, that I may rest assur’dWhether yond troops are friend or enemy. TITINIUS. I will be here again, even with a thought. [_Exit. _]CASSIUS. Go, Pindarus, get higher on that hill,My sight was ever thick. Regard Titinius,And tell me what thou notest about the field. [_Pindarus goes up. _]This day I breathed first. Time is come round,And where I did begin, there shall I end. My life is run his compass. Sirrah, what news? PINDARUS. [_Above. _] O my lord! CASSIUS. What news? PINDARUS. [_Above. _] Titinius is enclosed round aboutWith horsemen, that make to him on the spur,Yet he spurs on. Now they are almost on him. Now, Titinius! Now some light. O, he lights too. He’s ta’en! [_Shout. _]And, hark! they shout for joy. CASSIUS. Come down; behold no more. O, coward that I am, to live so long,To see my best friend ta’en before my face! [_Pindarus descends. _]Come hither, sirrah. In Parthia did I take thee prisoner;And then I swore thee, saving of thy life,That whatsoever I did bid thee do,Thou shouldst attempt it. Come now, keep thine oath. Now be a freeman; and with this good sword,That ran through Caesar’s bowels, search this bosom. Stand not to answer. Here, take thou the hilts;And when my face is cover’d, as ’tis now,Guide thou the sword. —Caesar, thou art reveng’d,Even with the sword that kill’d thee. [_Dies. _]PINDARUS. So, I am free, yet would not so have been,Durst I have done my will. O Cassius! Far from this country Pindarus shall run,Where never Roman shall take note of him. [_Exit. _] Enter Titinius with Messala. MESSALA. It is but change, Titinius; for OctaviusIs overthrown by noble Brutus’ power,As Cassius’ legions are by Antony. TITINIUS. These tidings would well comfort Cassius. MESSALA. Where did you leave him? TITINIUS. All disconsolate,With Pindarus his bondman, on this hill. MESSALA. Is not that he that lies upon the ground? TITINIUS. He lies not like the living. O my heart! MESSALA. Is not that he? TITINIUS. No, this was he, Messala,But Cassius is no more. O setting sun,As in thy red rays thou dost sink to night,So in his red blood Cassius’ day is set. The sun of Rome is set. Our day is gone;Clouds, dews, and dangers come; our deeds are done. Mistrust of my success hath done this deed. MESSALA. Mistrust of good success hath done this deed. O hateful Error, Melancholy’s child! Why dost thou show to the apt thoughts of menThe things that are not? O Error, soon conceiv’d,Thou never com’st unto a happy birth,But kill’st the mother that engender’d thee! TITINIUS. What, Pindarus! where art thou, Pindarus? MESSALA. Seek him, Titinius, whilst I go to meetThe noble Brutus, thrusting this reportInto his ears. I may say thrusting it;For piercing steel and darts envenomedShall be as welcome to the ears of BrutusAs tidings of this sight. TITINIUS. Hie you, Messala,And I will seek for Pindarus the while. [_Exit Messala. _]Why didst thou send me forth, brave Cassius? Did I not meet thy friends? And did not theyPut on my brows this wreath of victory,And bid me give it thee? Didst thou not hear their shouts? Alas, thou hast misconstrued everything!

But, hold thee, take this garland on thy brow;Thy Brutus bid me give it thee, and IWill do his bidding. Brutus, come apace,And see how I regarded Caius Cassius. By your leave, gods. This is a Roman’s part. Come, Cassius’ sword, and find Titinius’ heart. [_Dies. _] Alarum. Enter Brutus, Messala, young Cato, Strato, Volumnius and Lucilius. BRUTUS. Where, where, Messala, doth his body lie? MESSALA. Lo, yonder, and Titinius mourning it. BRUTUS. Titinius’ face is upward. CATO. He is slain. BRUTUS. O Julius Caesar, thou art mighty yet! Thy spirit walks abroad, and turns our swordsIn our own proper entrails. [_Low alarums. _]CATO. Brave Titinius! Look whether he have not crown’d dead Cassius! BRUTUS. Are yet two Romans living such as these? The last of all the Romans, fare thee well! It is impossible that ever RomeShould breed thy fellow. Friends, I owe more tearsTo this dead man than you shall see me pay. I shall find time, Cassius, I shall find time. Come therefore, and to Thassos send his body. His funerals shall not be in our camp,Lest it discomfort us. Lucilius, come;And come, young Cato; let us to the field. Labeo and Flavius, set our battles on. ’Tis three o’clock; and Romans, yet ere nightWe shall try fortune in a second fight. [_Exeunt. _]SCENE IV. Another part of the field. Alarum. Enter fighting soldiers of both armies; then Brutus, Messala, young Cato, Lucilius, Flavius and others. BRUTUS. Yet, countrymen, O, yet hold up your heads! CATO. What bastard doth not? Who will go with me? I will proclaim my name about the field. I am the son of Marcus Cato, ho! A foe to tyrants, and my country’s friend. I am the son of Marcus Cato, ho! [_Charges the enemy. _]LUCILIUS. And I am Brutus, Marcus Brutus, I;Brutus, my country’s friend; know me for Brutus! [_Exit, charging the enemy. Cato is overpowered, and falls. _]LUCILIUS. O young and noble Cato, art thou down? Why, now thou diest as bravely as Titinius,And mayst be honour’d, being Cato’s son. FIRST SOLDIER. Yield, or thou diest. LUCILIUS. Only I yield to die:There is so much that thou wilt kill me straight; [_Offering money_]Kill Brutus, and be honour’d in his death. FIRST SOLDIER. We must not. A noble prisoner! SECOND SOLDIER. Room, ho! Tell Antony, Brutus is ta’en. FIRST SOLDIER. I’ll tell the news. Here comes the General. Enter Antony. Brutus is ta’en, Brutus is ta’en, my lord. ANTONY. Where is he? LUCILIUS. Safe, Antony; Brutus is safe enough. I dare assure thee that no enemyShall ever take alive the noble Brutus. The gods defend him from so great a shame! When you do find him, or alive or dead,He will be found like Brutus, like himself. ANTONY. This is not Brutus, friend; but, I assure you,A prize no less in worth. Keep this man safe,Give him all kindness. I had rather haveSuch men my friends than enemies. Go on,And see whether Brutus be alive or dead;And bring us word unto Octavius’ tentHow everything is chanc’d. [_Exeunt. _]SCENE V. Another part of the field. Enter Brutus, Dardanius, Clitus, Strato and Volumnius. BRUTUS. Come, poor remains of friends, rest on this rock. CLITUS. Statilius show’d the torch-light; but, my lord,He came not back: he is or ta’en or slain. BRUTUS. Sit thee down, Clitus. Slaying is the word;It is a deed in fashion. Hark thee, Clitus. [_Whispering. _]CLITUS. What, I, my lord? No, not for all the world. BRUTUS. Peace then, no words. CLITUS. I’ll rather kill myself. BRUTUS. Hark thee, Dardanius. [_Whispers him. _]DARDANIUS. Shall I do such a deed? CLITUS. O Dardanius! DARDANIUS. O Clitus! CLITUS. What ill request did Brutus make to thee? DARDANIUS. To kill him, Clitus. Look, he meditates. CLITUS. Now is that noble vessel full of grief,That it runs over even at his eyes. BRUTUS. Come hither, good Volumnius; list a word. VOLUMNIUS. What says my lord? BRUTUS. Why, this, Volumnius:The ghost of Caesar hath appear’d to meTwo several times by night; at Sardis once,And this last night here in Philippi fields. I know my hour is come. VOLUMNIUS. Not so, my lord. BRUTUS. Nay I am sure it is, Volumnius. Thou seest the world, Volumnius, how it goes;Our enemies have beat us to the pit. [_Low alarums. _]It is more worthy to leap in ourselvesThan tarry till they push us. Good Volumnius,Thou know’st that we two went to school together;Even for that our love of old, I pr’ytheeHold thou my sword-hilts, whilst I run on it. VOLUMNIUS. That’s not an office for a friend, my lord. [_Alarums still. _]CLITUS. Fly, fly, my lord! there is no tarrying here. BRUTUS. Farewell to you; and you; and you, Volumnius. Strato, thou hast been all this while asleep;Farewell to thee too, Strato. —Countrymen,My heart doth joy, that yet in all my lifeI found no man but he was true to me. I shall have glory by this losing dayMore than Octavius and Mark AntonyBy this vile conquest shall attain unto.

So fare you well at once; for Brutus’ tongueHath almost ended his life’s history. Night hangs upon mine eyes; my bones would rest,That have but labour’d to attain this hour. [_Alarums. Cry within, “Fly, fly, fly! ”. _]CLITUS. Fly, my lord, fly! BRUTUS. Hence! I will follow. [_Exeunt Clitus, Dardanius and Volumnius. _]I pr’ythee, Strato, stay thou by thy lord. Thou art a fellow of a good respect;Thy life hath had some smatch of honour in it. Hold then my sword, and turn away thy face,While I do run upon it. Wilt thou, Strato? STRATO. Give me your hand first. Fare you well, my lord. BRUTUS. Farewell, good Strato. —Caesar, now be still:I kill’d not thee with half so good a will. [_He runs on his sword, and dies. _] Alarum. Retreat. Enter Antony, Octavius, Messala, Lucilius and the Army. OCTAVIUS. What man is that? MESSALA. My master’s man. Strato, where is thy master? STRATO. Free from the bondage you are in, Messala. The conquerors can but make a fire of him;For Brutus only overcame himself,And no man else hath honour by his death. LUCILIUS. So Brutus should be found. I thank thee, Brutus,That thou hast prov’d Lucilius’ saying true. OCTAVIUS. All that serv’d Brutus, I will entertain them. Fellow, wilt thou bestow thy time with me? STRATO. Ay, if Messala will prefer me to you. OCTAVIUS. Do so, good Messala. MESSALA. How died my master, Strato? STRATO. I held the sword, and he did run on it. MESSALA. Octavius, then take him to follow thee,That did the latest service to my master. ANTONY. This was the noblest Roman of them all. All the conspirators save only he,Did that they did in envy of great Caesar;He only, in a general honest thoughtAnd common good to all, made one of them. His life was gentle, and the elementsSo mix’d in him that Nature might stand upAnd say to all the world, “This was a man! ”OCTAVIUS. According to his virtue let us use himWith all respect and rites of burial. 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Kramer, AttorneyInternet (72600. 2026@compuserve. com); TEL: (212-254-5093)**** SMALL PRINT! FOR __ COMPLETE SHAKESPEARE ****["Small Print" V. 12. 08. 93]<<THIS ELECTRONIC VERSION OF THE COMPLETE WORKS OF WILLIAMSHAKESPEARE IS COPYRIGHT 1990-1993 BY WORLD LIBRARY, INC. , AND ISPROVIDED BY PROJECT GUTENBERG ETEXT OF CARNEGIE MELLON UNIVERSITYWITH PERMISSION. ELECTRONIC AND MACHINE READABLE COPIES MAY BEDISTRIBUTED SO LONG AS SUCH COPIES (1) ARE FOR YOUR OR OTHERSPERSONAL USE ONLY, AND (2) ARE NOT DISTRIBUTED OR USEDCOMMERCIALLY. PROHIBITED COMMERCIAL DISTRIBUTION INCLUDES BY ANYSERVICE THAT CHARGES FOR DOWNLOAD TIME OR FOR MEMBERSHIP. >>1596KING RICHARD THE SECONDby William ShakespeareDRAMATIS PERSONAE KING RICHARD THE SECOND JOHN OF GAUNT, Duke of Lancaster - uncle to the King EDMUND LANGLEY, Duke of York - uncle to the King HENRY, surnamed BOLINGBROKE, Duke of Hereford, son of John of Gaunt, afterwards King Henry IV DUKE OF AUMERLE, son of the Duke of York THOMAS MOWBRAY, Duke of Norfolk DUKE OF SURREY EARL OF SALISBURY EARL BERKELEY BUSHY - favourites of King Richard BAGOT - " " " " GREEN - " " " " EARL OF NORTHUMBERLAND HENRY PERCY, surnamed HOTSPUR, his son LORD Ross LORD WILLOUGHBY LORD FITZWATER BISHOP OF CARLISLE ABBOT OF WESTMINSTER LORD MARSHAL SIR STEPHEN SCROOP SIR PIERCE OF EXTON CAPTAIN of a band of Welshmen TWO GARDENERS QUEEN to King Richard DUCHESS OF YORK DUCHESS OF GLOUCESTER, widow of Thomas of Woodstock, Duke of Gloucester LADY attending on the Queen Lords, Heralds, Officers, Soldiers, Keeper, Messenger, Groom, and other Attendants<<THIS ELECTRONIC VERSION OF THE COMPLETE WORKS OF WILLIAMSHAKESPEARE IS COPYRIGHT 1990-1993 BY WORLD LIBRARY, INC. , AND ISPROVIDED BY PROJECT GUTENBERG ETEXT OF CARNEGIE MELLON UNIVERSITYWITH PERMISSION. ELECTRONIC AND MACHINE READABLE COPIES MAY BEDISTRIBUTED SO LONG AS SUCH COPIES (1) ARE FOR YOUR OR OTHERSPERSONAL USE ONLY, AND (2) ARE NOT DISTRIBUTED OR USEDCOMMERCIALLY. PROHIBITED COMMERCIAL DISTRIBUTION INCLUDES BY ANYSERVICE THAT CHARGES FOR DOWNLOAD TIME OR FOR MEMBERSHIP. >>SCENE:England and WalesACT 1 SCENE 1London. The palace[Enter RICHARD, JOHN OF GAUNT, with other NOBLES and attendants] KING RICHARD. Old John of Gaunt, time-honoured Lancaster, Hast thou, according to thy oath and band, Brought hither Henry Hereford, thy bold son, Here to make good the boist'rous late appeal, Which then our leisure would not let us hear, Against the Duke of Norfolk, Thomas Mowbray? GAUNT. I have, my liege. KING RICHARD. Tell me, moreover, hast thou sounded him If he appeal the Duke on ancient malice, Or worthily, as a good subject should, On some known ground of treachery in him? GAUNT.

As near as I could sift him on that argument, On some apparent danger seen in him Aim'd at your Highness-no inveterate malice. KING RICHARD. Then call them to our presence: face to face And frowning brow to brow, ourselves will hear The accuser and the accused freely speak. High-stomach'd are they both and full of ire, In rage, deaf as the sea, hasty as fire. [Enter BOLINGBROKE and MOWBRAY] BOLINGBROKE. Many years of happy days befall My gracious sovereign, my most loving liege! MOWBRAY. Each day still better other's happiness Until the heavens, envying earth's good hap, Add an immortal title to your crown! KING RICHARD. We thank you both; yet one but flatters us, As well appeareth by the cause you come; Namely, to appeal each other of high treason. Cousin of Hereford, what dost thou object Against the Duke of Norfolk, Thomas Mowbray? BOLINGBROKE. First-heaven be the record to my speech! In the devotion of a subject's love, Tend'ring the precious safety of my prince, And free from other misbegotten hate, Come I appellant to this princely presence. Now, Thomas Mowbray, do I turn to thee, And mark my greeting well; for what I speak My body shall make good upon this earth, Or my divine soul answer it in heaven- Thou art a traitor and a miscreant, Too good to be so, and too bad to live, Since the more fair and crystal is the sky, The uglier seem the clouds that in it fly. Once more, the more to aggravate the note, With a foul traitor's name stuff I thy throat; And wish-so please my sovereign-ere I move, What my tongue speaks, my right drawn sword may prove. MOWBRAY. Let not my cold words here accuse my zeal. 'Tis not the trial of a woman's war, The bitter clamour of two eager tongues, Can arbitrate this cause betwixt us twain; The blood is hot that must be cool'd for this. Yet can I not of such tame patience boast As to be hush'd and nought at all to say. First, the fair reverence of your Highness curbs me From giving reins and spurs to my free speech; Which else would post until it had return'd These terms of treason doubled down his throat. Setting aside his high blood's royalty, And let him be no kinsman to my liege, I do defy him, and I spit at him, Call him a slanderous coward and a villain; Which to maintain, I would allow him odds And meet him, were I tied to run afoot Even to the frozen ridges of the Alps, Or any other ground inhabitable Where ever Englishman durst set his foot. Meantime let this defend my loyalty- By all my hopes, most falsely doth he lie BOLINGBROKE. Pale trembling coward, there I throw my gage, Disclaiming here the kindred of the King; And lay aside my high blood's royalty, Which fear, not reverence, makes thee to except. If guilty dread have left thee so much strength As to take up mine honour's pawn, then stoop. By that and all the rites of knighthood else Will I make good against thee, arm to arm, What I have spoke or thou canst worst devise. MOWBRAY. I take it up; and by that sword I swear Which gently laid my knighthood on my shoulder I'll answer thee in any fair degree Or chivalrous design of knightly trial; And when I mount, alive may I not light If I be traitor or unjustly fight! KING RICHARD. What doth our cousin lay to Mowbray's charge? It must be great that can inherit us So much as of a thought of ill in him. BOLINGBROKE. Look what I speak, my life shall prove it true- That Mowbray hath receiv'd eight thousand nobles In name of lendings for your Highness' soldiers, The which he hath detain'd for lewd employments Like a false traitor and injurious villain. Besides, I say and will in battle prove- Or here, or elsewhere to the furthest verge That ever was survey'd by English eye- That all the treasons for these eighteen years Complotted and contrived in this land Fetch from false Mowbray their first head and spring. Further I say, and further will maintain Upon his bad life to make all this good, That he did plot the Duke of Gloucester's death, Suggest his soon-believing adversaries, And consequently, like a traitor coward, Sluic'd out his innocent soul through streams of blood; Which blood, like sacrificing Abel's, cries, Even from the tongueless caverns of the earth, To me for justice and rough chastisement; And, by the glorious worth of my descent, This arm shall do it, or this life be spent. KING RICHARD. How high a pitch his resolution soars! Thomas of Norfolk, what say'st thou to this? MOWBRAY. O, let my sovereign turn away his face And bid his ears a little while be deaf, Till I have told this slander of his blood How God and good men hate so foul a liar. KING RICHARD. Mowbray, impartial are our eyes and ears. Were he my brother, nay, my kingdom's heir, As he is but my father's brother's son, Now by my sceptre's awe I make a vow, Such neighbour nearness to our sacred blood Should nothing privilege him nor partialize The unstooping firmness of my upright soul. He is our subject, Mowbray; so art thou: Free speech and fearless I to thee allow. MOWBRAY. Then, Bolingbroke, as low as to thy heart, Through the false passage of thy throat, thou liest. Three parts of that receipt I had for Calais Disburs'd I duly to his Highness' soldiers; The other part reserv'd I by consent, For that my sovereign liege was in my debt Upon remainder of a dear account Since last I went to France to fetch his queen: Now swallow down that lie. For Gloucester's death- I slew him not, but to my own disgrace Neglected my sworn duty in that case. For you, my noble Lord of Lancaster, The honourable father to my foe, Once did I lay an ambush for your life, A trespass that doth vex my grieved soul; But ere I last receiv'd the sacrament I did confess it, and exactly begg'd Your Grace's pardon; and I hope I had it. This is my fault. As for the rest appeal'd, It issues from the rancour of a villain, A recreant and most degenerate traitor; Which in myself I boldly will defend, And interchangeably hurl down my gage Upon this overweening traitor's foot To prove myself a loyal gentleman Even in the best blood chamber'd in his bosom. In haste whereof, most heartily I pray Your Highness to assign our trial day. KING RICHARD. Wrath-kindled gentlemen, be rul'd by me; Let's purge this choler without letting blood- This we prescribe, though no physician; Deep malice makes too deep incision. Forget, forgive; conclude and be agreed: Our doctors say this is no month to bleed. Good uncle, let this end where it begun; We'll calm the Duke of Norfolk, you your son. GAUNT. To be a make-peace shall become my age. Throw down, my son, the Duke of Norfolk's gage. KING RICHARD. And, Norfolk, throw down his. GAUNT. When, Harry, when? Obedience bids I should not bid again. KING RICHARD. Norfolk, throw down; we bid. There is no boot. MOWBRAY. Myself I throw, dread sovereign, at thy foot; My life thou shalt command, but not my shame: The one my duty owes; but my fair name, Despite of death, that lives upon my grave To dark dishonour's use thou shalt not have. I am disgrac'd, impeach'd, and baffl'd here; Pierc'd to the soul with slander's venom'd spear, The which no balm can cure but his heart-blood Which breath'd this poison. KING RICHARD. Rage must be withstood: Give me his gage-lions make leopards tame. MOWBRAY. Yea, but not change his spots. Take but my shame, And I resign my gage. My dear dear lord, The purest treasure mortal times afford Is spotless reputation; that away, Men are but gilded loam or painted clay. A jewel in a ten-times barr'd-up chest Is a bold spirit in a loyal breast. Mine honour is my life; both grow in one; Take honour from me, and my life is done: Then, dear my liege, mine honour let me try; In that I live, and for that will I die. KING RICHARD. Cousin, throw up your gage; do you begin. BOLINGBROKE. O, God defend my soul from such deep sin! Shall I seem crest-fallen in my father's sight? Or with pale beggar-fear impeach my height Before this outdar'd dastard? Ere my tongue Shall wound my honour with such feeble wrong Or sound so base a parle, my teeth shall tear The slavish motive of recanting fear, And spit it bleeding in his high disgrace, Where shame doth harbour, even in Mowbray's face. [Exit GAUNT] KING RICHARD. We were not born to sue, but to command; Which since we cannot do to make you friends, Be ready, as your lives shall answer it, At Coventry, upon Saint Lambert's day. There shall your swords and lances arbitrate The swelling difference of your settled hate; Since we can not atone you, we shall see Justice design the victor's chivalry. Lord Marshal, command our officers-at-arms Be ready to direct these home alarms. [Exeunt]SCENE 2London. The DUKE OF LANCASTER'S palace[Enter JOHN OF GAUNT with the DUCHESS OF GLOUCESTER] GAUNT. Alas, the part I had in Woodstock's blood Doth more solicit me than your exclaims To stir against the butchers of his life! But since correction lieth in those hands Which made the fault that we cannot correct, Put we our quarrel to the will of heaven; Who, when they see the hours ripe on earth, Will rain hot vengeance on offenders' heads. DUCHESS. Finds brotherhood in thee no sharper spur? Hath love in thy old blood no living fire? Edward's seven sons, whereof thyself art one, Were as seven vials of his sacred blood, Or seven fair branches springing from one root. Some of those seven are dried by nature's course, Some of those branches by the Destinies cut; But Thomas, my dear lord, my life, my Gloucester, One vial full of Edward's sacred blood, One flourishing branch of his most royal root, Is crack'd, and all the precious liquor spilt; Is hack'd down, and his summer leaves all faded, By envy's hand and murder's bloody axe. Ah, Gaunt, his blood was thine! That bed, that womb, That mettle, that self mould, that fashion'd thee, Made him a man; and though thou livest and breathest, Yet art thou slain in him.

Thou dost consent In some large measure to thy father's death In that thou seest thy wretched brother die, Who was the model of thy father's life. Call it not patience, Gaunt-it is despair; In suff'ring thus thy brother to be slaught'red, Thou showest the naked pathway to thy life, Teaching stern murder how to butcher thee. That which in mean men we entitle patience Is pale cold cowardice in noble breasts. What shall I say? To safeguard thine own life The best way is to venge my Gloucester's death. GAUNT. God's is the quarrel; for God's substitute, His deputy anointed in His sight, Hath caus'd his death; the which if wrongfully, Let heaven revenge; for I may never lift An angry arm against His minister. DUCHESS. Where then, alas, may I complain myself? GAUNT. To God, the widow's champion and defence. DUCHESS. Why then, I will. Farewell, old Gaunt. Thou goest to Coventry, there to behold Our cousin Hereford and fell Mowbray fight. O, sit my husband's wrongs on Hereford's spear, That it may enter butcher Mowbray's breast! Or, if misfortune miss the first career, Be Mowbray's sins so heavy in his bosom That they may break his foaming courser's back And throw the rider headlong in the lists, A caitiff recreant to my cousin Hereford! Farewell, old Gaunt; thy sometimes brother's wife, With her companion, Grief, must end her life. GAUNT. Sister, farewell; I must to Coventry. As much good stay with thee as go with me! DUCHESS. Yet one word more- grief boundeth where it falls, Not with the empty hollowness, but weight. I take my leave before I have begun, For sorrow ends not when it seemeth done. Commend me to thy brother, Edmund York. Lo, this is all- nay, yet depart not so; Though this be all, do not so quickly go; I shall remember more. Bid him- ah, what? - With all good speed at Plashy visit me. Alack, and what shall good old York there see But empty lodgings and unfurnish'd walls, Unpeopled offices, untrodden stones? And what hear there for welcome but my groans? Therefore commend me; let him not come there To seek out sorrow that dwells every where. Desolate, desolate, will I hence and die; The last leave of thee takes my weeping eye. [Exeunt]SCENE 3The lists at Coventry[Enter the LORD MARSHAL and the DUKE OF AUMERLE] MARSHAL. My Lord Aumerle, is Harry Hereford arm'd? AUMERLE. Yea, at all points; and longs to enter in. MARSHAL. The Duke of Norfolk, spightfully and bold, Stays but the summons of the appelant's trumpet. AUMERLE. Why then, the champions are prepar'd, and stay For nothing but his Majesty's approach. [The trumpets sound, and the KING enters with his nobles, GAUNT, BUSHY, BAGOT, GREEN, and others. When they are set, enter MOWBRAY, Duke of Norfolk, in arms, defendant, and a HERALD] KING RICHARD. Marshal, demand of yonder champion The cause of his arrival here in arms; Ask him his name; and orderly proceed To swear him in the justice of his cause. MARSHAL. In God's name and the King's, say who thou art, And why thou comest thus knightly clad in arms; Against what man thou com'st, and what thy quarrel. Speak truly on thy knighthood and thy oath; As so defend thee heaven and thy valour! MOWBRAY. My name is Thomas Mowbray, Duke of Norfolk; Who hither come engaged by my oath- Which God defend a knight should violate! - Both to defend my loyalty and truth To God, my King, and my succeeding issue, Against the Duke of Hereford that appeals me; And, by the grace of God and this mine arm, To prove him, in defending of myself, A traitor to my God, my King, and me. And as I truly fight, defend me heaven! [The trumpets sound. Enter BOLINGBROKE, Duke of Hereford, appellant, in armour, and a HERALD] KING RICHARD. Marshal, ask yonder knight in arms, Both who he is and why he cometh hither Thus plated in habiliments of war; And formally, according to our law, Depose him in the justice of his cause. MARSHAL. What is thy name? and wherefore com'st thou hither Before King Richard in his royal lists? Against whom comest thou? and what's thy quarrel? Speak like a true knight, so defend thee heaven! BOLINGBROKE. Harry of Hereford, Lancaster, and Derby, Am I; who ready here do stand in arms To prove, by God's grace and my body's valour, In lists on Thomas Mowbray, Duke of Norfolk, That he is a traitor, foul and dangerous, To God of heaven, King Richard, and to me. And as I truly fight, defend me heaven! MARSHAL. On pain of death, no person be so bold Or daring-hardy as to touch the lists, Except the Marshal and such officers Appointed to direct these fair designs. BOLINGBROKE. Lord Marshal, let me kiss my sovereign's hand, And bow my knee before his Majesty; For Mowbray and myself are like two men That vow a long and weary pilgrimage. Then let us take a ceremonious leave And loving farewell of our several friends. MARSHAL. The appellant in all duty greets your Highness, And craves to kiss your hand and take his leave. KING RICHARD. We will descend and fold him in our arms. Cousin of Hereford, as thy cause is right, So be thy fortune in this royal fight! Farewell, my blood; which if to-day thou shed, Lament we may, but not revenge thee dead. BOLINGBROKE. O, let no noble eye profane a tear For me, if I be gor'd with Mowbray's spear. As confident as is the falcon's flight Against a bird, do I with Mowbray fight. My loving lord, I take my leave of you; Of you, my noble cousin, Lord Aumerle; Not sick, although I have to do with death, But lusty, young, and cheerly drawing breath. Lo, as at English feasts, so I regreet The daintiest last, to make the end most sweet. O thou, the earthly author of my blood, Whose youthful spirit, in me regenerate, Doth with a twofold vigour lift me up To reach at victory above my head, Add proof unto mine armour with thy prayers, And with thy blessings steel my lance's point, That it may enter Mowbray's waxen coat And furbish new the name of John o' Gaunt, Even in the lusty haviour of his son. GAUNT. God in thy good cause make thee prosperous! Be swift like lightning in the execution, And let thy blows, doubly redoubled, Fall like amazing thunder on the casque Of thy adverse pernicious enemy. Rouse up thy youthful blood, be valiant, and live. BOLINGBROKE. Mine innocence and Saint George to thrive! MOWBRAY. However God or fortune cast my lot, There lives or dies, true to King Richard's throne, A loyal, just, and upright gentleman. Never did captive with a freer heart Cast off his chains of bondage, and embrace His golden uncontroll'd enfranchisement, More than my dancing soul doth celebrate This feast of battle with mine adversary. Most mighty liege, and my companion peers, Take from my mouth the wish of happy years. As gentle and as jocund as to jest Go I to fight: truth hath a quiet breast. KING RICHARD. Farewell, my lord, securely I espy Virtue with valour couched in thine eye. Order the trial, Marshal, and begin. MARSHAL. Harry of Hereford, Lancaster, and Derby, Receive thy lance; and God defend the right! BOLINGBROKE. Strong as a tower in hope, I cry amen. MARSHAL. [To an officer] Go bear this lance to Thomas, Duke of Norfolk. FIRST HERALD.

Harry of Hereford, Lancaster, and Derby, Stands here for God, his sovereign, and himself, On pain to be found false and recreant, To prove the Duke of Norfolk, Thomas Mowbray, A traitor to his God, his King, and him; And dares him to set forward to the fight. SECOND HERALD. Here standeth Thomas Mowbray, Duke of Norfolk, On pain to be found false and recreant, Both to defend himself, and to approve Henry of Hereford, Lancaster, and Derby, To God, his sovereign, and to him disloyal, Courageously and with a free desire Attending but the signal to begin. MARSHAL. Sound trumpets; and set forward, combatants. [A charge sounded] Stay, the King hath thrown his warder down. KING RICHARD. Let them lay by their helmets and their spears, And both return back to their chairs again. Withdraw with us; and let the trumpets sound While we return these dukes what we decree. [A long flourish, while the KING consults his Council] Draw near, And list what with our council we have done. For that our kingdom's earth should not be soil'd With that dear blood which it hath fostered; And for our eyes do hate the dire aspect Of civil wounds plough'd up with neighbours' sword; And for we think the eagle-winged pride Of sky-aspiring and ambitious thoughts, With rival-hating envy, set on you To wake our peace, which in our country's cradle Draws the sweet infant breath of gentle sleep; Which so rous'd up with boist'rous untun'd drums, With harsh-resounding trumpets' dreadful bray, And grating shock of wrathful iron arms, Might from our quiet confines fright fair peace And make us wade even in our kindred's blood- Therefore we banish you our territories. You, cousin Hereford, upon pain of life, Till twice five summers have enrich'd our fields Shall not regreet our fair dominions, But tread the stranger paths of banishment. BOLINGBROKE. Your will be done. This must my comfort be- That sun that warms you here shall shine on me, And those his golden beams to you here lent Shall point on me and gild my banishment. KING RICHARD. Norfolk, for thee remains a heavier doom, Which I with some unwillingness pronounce: The sly slow hours shall not determinate The dateless limit of thy dear exile; The hopeless word of 'never to return' Breathe I against thee, upon pain of life. MOWBRAY. A heavy sentence, my most sovereign liege, And all unlook'd for from your Highness' mouth. A dearer merit, not so deep a maim As to be cast forth in the common air, Have I deserved at your Highness' hands. The language I have learnt these forty years, My native English, now I must forgo; And now my tongue's use is to me no more Than an unstringed viol or a harp; Or like a cunning instrument cas'd up Or, being open, put into his hands That knows no touch to tune the harmony. Within my mouth you have engaol'd my tongue, Doubly portcullis'd with my teeth and lips; And dull, unfeeling, barren ignorance Is made my gaoler to attend on me. I am too old to fawn upon a nurse, Too far in years to be a pupil now. What is thy sentence, then, but speechless death, Which robs my tongue from breathing native breath? KING RICHARD. It boots thee not to be compassionate; After our sentence plaining comes too late. MOWBRAY. Then thus I turn me from my countrv's light, To dwell in solemn shades of endless night. KING RICHARD. Return again, and take an oath with thee. Lay on our royal sword your banish'd hands; Swear by the duty that you owe to God, Our part therein we banish with yourselves, To keep the oath that we administer: You never shall, so help you truth and God, Embrace each other's love in banishment; Nor never look upon each other's face; Nor never write, regreet, nor reconcile This louring tempest of your home-bred hate; Nor never by advised purpose meet To plot, contrive, or complot any ill, 'Gainst us, our state, our subjects, or our land. BOLINGBROKE. I swear. MOWBRAY. And I, to keep all this. BOLINGBROKE. Norfolk, so far as to mine enemy. By this time, had the King permitted us, One of our souls had wand'red in the air, Banish'd this frail sepulchre of our flesh, As now our flesh is banish'd from this land- Confess thy treasons ere thou fly the realm; Since thou hast far to go, bear not along The clogging burden of a guilty soul. MOWBRAY. No, Bolingbroke; if ever I were traitor, My name be blotted from the book of life, And I from heaven banish'd as from hence! But what thou art, God, thou, and I, do know; And all too soon, I fear, the King shall rue. Farewell, my liege. Now no way can I stray: Save back to England, an the world's my way. [Exit] KING RICHARD. Uncle, even in the glasses of thine eyes I see thy grieved heart. Thy sad aspect Hath from the number of his banish'd years Pluck'd four away. [To BOLINGBROKE] Six frozen winters spent, Return with welcome home from banishment. BOLINGBROKE. How long a time lies in one little word! Four lagging winters and four wanton springs End in a word: such is the breath of Kings. GAUNT. I thank my liege that in regard of me He shortens four years of my son's exile; But little vantage shall I reap thereby, For ere the six years that he hath to spend Can change their moons and bring their times about, My oil-dried lamp and time-bewasted light Shall be extinct with age and endless night; My inch of taper will be burnt and done, And blindfold death not let me see my son. KING RICHARD. Why, uncle, thou hast many years to live. GAUNT. But not a minute, King, that thou canst give: Shorten my days thou canst with sullen sorrow And pluck nights from me, but not lend a morrow; Thou can'st help time to furrow me with age, But stop no wrinkle in his pilgrimage; Thy word is current with him for my death, But dead, thy kingdom cannot buy my breath. KING RICHARD. Thy son is banish'd upon good advice, Whereto thy tongue a party-verdict gave. Why at our justice seem'st thou then to lour? GAUNT. Things sweet to taste prove in digestion sour. You urg'd me as a judge; but I had rather You would have bid me argue like a father. O, had it been a stranger, not my child, To smooth his fault I should have been more mild. A partial slander sought I to avoid, And in the sentence my own life destroy'd. Alas, I look'd when some of you should say I was too strict to make mine own away; But you gave leave to my unwilling tongue Against my will to do myself this wrong. KING RICHARD. Cousin, farewell; and, uncle, bid him so. Six years we banish him, and he shall go. [Flourish. Exit KING with train] AUMERLE. Cousin, farewell; what presence must not know, From where you do remain let paper show. MARSHAL. My lord, no leave take I, for I will ride As far as land will let me by your side. GAUNT. O, to what purpose dost thou hoard thy words, That thou returnest no greeting to thy friends? BOLINGBROKE. I have too few to take my leave of you, When the tongue's office should be prodigal To breathe the abundant dolour of the heart. GAUNT. Thy grief is but thy absence for a time. BOLINGBROKE. Joy absent, grief is present for that time. GAUNT. What is six winters? They are quickly gone. BOLINGBROKE. To men in joy; but grief makes one hour ten. GAUNT. Call it a travel that thou tak'st for pleasure. BOLINGBROKE. My heart will sigh when I miscall it so, Which finds it an enforced pilgrimage. GAUNT. The sullen passage of thy weary steps Esteem as foil wherein thou art to set The precious jewel of thy home return. BOLINGBROKE. Nay, rather, every tedious stride I make Will but remember me what a deal of world I wander from the jewels that I love. Must I not serve a long apprenticehood To foreign passages; and in the end, Having my freedom, boast of nothing else But that I was a journeyman to grief? GAUNT. All places that the eye of heaven visits Are to a wise man ports and happy havens. Teach thy necessity to reason thus: There is no virtue like necessity. Think not the King did banish thee, But thou the King. Woe doth the heavier sit Where it perceives it is but faintly home.

Go, say I sent thee forth to purchase honour, And not the King exil'd thee; or suppose Devouring pestilence hangs in our air And thou art flying to a fresher clime. Look what thy soul holds dear, imagine it To lie that way thou goest, not whence thou com'st. Suppose the singing birds musicians, The grass whereon thou tread'st the presence strew'd, The flowers fair ladies, and thy steps no more Than a delightful measure or a dance; For gnarling sorrow hath less power to bite The man that mocks at it and sets it light. BOLINGBROKE. O, who can hold a fire in his hand By thinking on the frosty Caucasus? Or cloy the hungry edge of appetite By bare imagination of a feast? Or wallow naked in December snow By thinking on fantastic summer's heat? O, no! the apprehension of the good Gives but the greater feeling to the worse. Fell sorrow's tooth doth never rankle more Than when he bites, but lanceth not the sore. GAUNT. Come, come, my son, I'll bring thee on thy way. Had I thy youtli and cause, I would not stay. BOLINGBROKE. Then, England's ground, farewell; sweet soil,adieu; My mother, and my nurse, that bears me yet! Where'er I wander, boast of this I can: Though banish'd, yet a trueborn English man. [Exeunt]SCENE 4London. The court[Enter the KING, with BAGOT and GREEN, at one door;and the DUKE OF AUMERLE at another] KING RICHARD. We did observe. Cousin Aumerle, How far brought you high Hereford on his way? AUMERLE. I brought high Hereford, if you call him so, But to the next high way, and there I left him. KING RICHARD. And say, what store of parting tears were shed? AUMERLE. Faith, none for me; except the north-east wind, Which then blew bitterly against our faces, Awak'd the sleeping rheum, and so by chance Did grace our hollow parting with a tear. KING RICHARD. What said our cousin when you parted with him? AUMERLE. 'Farewell. ' And, for my heart disdained that my tongue Should so profane the word, that taught me craft To counterfeit oppression of such grief That words seem'd buried in my sorrow's grave. Marry, would the word 'farewell' have length'ned hours And added years to his short banishment, He should have had a volume of farewells; But since it would not, he had none of me. KING RICHARD. He is our cousin, cousin; but 'tis doubt, When time shall call him home from banishment, Whether our kinsman come to see his friends. Ourself, and Bushy, Bagot here, and Green, Observ'd his courtship to the common people; How he did seem to dive into their hearts With humble and familiar courtesy; What reverence he did throw away on slaves, Wooing poor craftsmen with the craft of smiles And patient underbearing of his fortune, As 'twere to banish their affects with him. Off goes his bonnet to an oyster-wench; A brace of draymen bid God speed him well And had the tribute of his supple knee, With 'Thanks, my countrymen, my loving friends'; As were our England in reversion his, And he our subjects' next degree in hope. GREEN. Well, he is gone; and with him go these thoughts! Now for the rebels which stand out in Ireland, Expedient manage must be made, my liege, Ere further leisure yicld them further means For their advantage and your Highness' loss. KING RICHARD. We will ourself in person to this war; And, for our coffers, with too great a court And liberal largess, are grown somewhat light, We are enforc'd to farm our royal realm; The revenue whereof shall furnish us For our affairs in hand. If that come short, Our substitutes at home shall have blank charters; Whereto, when they shall know what men are rich, They shall subscribe them for large sums of gold, And send them after to supply our wants; For we will make for Ireland presently. [Enter BUSHY] Bushy, what news? BUSHY. Old John of Gaunt is grievous sick, my lord, Suddenly taken; and hath sent poste-haste To entreat your Majesty to visit him. KING RICHARD. Where lies he? BUSHY. At Ely House. KING RICHARD. Now put it, God, in the physician's mind To help him to his grave immediately! The lining of his coffers shall make coats To deck our soldiers for these Irish wars. Come, gentlemen, let's all go visit him. Pray God we may make haste, and come too late! ALL. Amen. [Exeunt]<<THIS ELECTRONIC VERSION OF THE COMPLETE WORKS OF WILLIAMSHAKESPEARE IS COPYRIGHT 1990-1993 BY WORLD LIBRARY, INC. , AND ISPROVIDED BY PROJECT GUTENBERG ETEXT OF CARNEGIE MELLON UNIVERSITYWITH PERMISSION. ELECTRONIC AND MACHINE READABLE COPIES MAY BEDISTRIBUTED SO LONG AS SUCH COPIES (1) ARE FOR YOUR OR OTHERSPERSONAL USE ONLY, AND (2) ARE NOT DISTRIBUTED OR USEDCOMMERCIALLY. PROHIBITED COMMERCIAL DISTRIBUTION INCLUDES BY ANYSERVICE THAT CHARGES FOR DOWNLOAD TIME OR FOR MEMBERSHIP. >>ACT 2 SCENE 1London. Ely House[Enter JOHN OF GAUNT, sick, with the DUKE OF YORK, etc. ] GAUNT. Will the King come, that I may breathe my last In wholesome counsel to his unstaid youth? YORK. Vex not yourself, nor strive not with your breath; For all in vain comes counsel to his ear. GAUNT. O, but they say the tongues of dying men Enforce attention like deep harmony. Where words are scarce, they are seldom spent in vain; For they breathe truth that breathe their words -in pain. He that no more must say is listen'd more Than they whom youth and ease have taught to glose; More are men's ends mark'd than their lives before. The setting sun, and music at the close, As the last taste of sweets, is sweetest last, Writ in remembrance more than things long past. Though Richard my life's counsel would not hear, My death's sad tale may yet undeaf his ear. YORK. No; it is stopp'd with other flattering sounds, As praises, of whose taste the wise are fond, Lascivious metres, to whose venom sound The open ear of youth doth always listen; Report of fashions in proud Italy, Whose manners still our tardy apish nation Limps after in base imitation. Where doth the world thrust forth a vanity- So it be new, there's no respect how vile- That is not quickly buzz'd into his ears? Then all too late comes counsel to be heard Where will doth mutiny with wit's regard. Direct not him whose way himself will choose. 'Tis breath thou lack'st, and that breath wilt thou lose. GAUNT. Methinks I am a prophet new inspir'd, And thus expiring do foretell of him: His rash fierce blaze of riot cannot last, For violent fires soon burn out themselves; Small showers last long, but sudden storms are short; He tires betimes that spurs too fast betimes; With eager feeding food doth choke the feeder; Light vanity, insatiate cormorant, Consuming means, soon preys upon itself. This royal throne of kings, this scept'red isle, This earth of majesty, this seat of Mars, This other Eden, demi-paradise, This fortress built by Nature for herself Against infection and the hand of war, This happy breed of men, this little world, This precious stone set in the silver sea, Which serves it in the office of a wall, Or as a moat defensive to a house, Against the envy of less happier lands; This blessed plot, this earth, this realm, this England, This nurse, this teeming womb of royal kings, Fear'd by their breed, and famous by their birth, Renowned for their deeds as far from home, For Christian service and true chivalry, As is the sepulchre in stubborn Jewry Of the world's ransom, blessed Mary's Son; This land of such dear souls, this dear dear land, Dear for her reputation through the world, Is now leas'd out-I die pronouncing it- Like to a tenement or pelting farm. England, bound in with the triumphant sea, Whose rocky shore beats back the envious siege Of wat'ry Neptune, is now bound in with shame, With inky blots and rotten parchment bonds; That England, that was wont to conquer others, Hath made a shameful conquest of itself. Ah, would the scandal vanish with my life, How happy then were my ensuing death! [Enter KING and QUEEN, AUMERLE, BUSHY, GREEN, BAGOT, Ross, and WILLOUGHBY] YORK. The King is come; deal mildly with his youth, For young hot colts being rag'd do rage the more. QUEEN. How fares our noble uncle Lancaster? KING RICHARD. What comfort, man? How is't with aged Gaunt? GAUNT. O, how that name befits my composition! Old Gaunt, indeed; and gaunt in being old. Within me grief hath kept a tedious fast; And who abstains from meat that is not gaunt? For sleeping England long time have I watch'd; Watching breeds leanness, leanness is an gaunt. The pleasure that some fathers feed upon Is my strict fast-I mean my children's looks; And therein fasting, hast thou made me gaunt. Gaunt am I for the grave, gaunt as a grave, Whose hollow womb inherits nought but bones. KING RICHARD. Can sick men play so nicely with their names? GAUNT.

No, misery makes sport to mock itself: Since thou dost seek to kill my name in me, I mock my name, great king, to flatter thee. KING RICHARD. Should dying men flatter with those that live? GAUNT. No, no; men living flatter those that die. KING RICHARD. Thou, now a-dying, sayest thou flatterest me. GAUNT. O, no! thou diest, though I the sicker be. KING RICHARD. I am in health, I breathe, and see thee ill. GAUNT. Now He that made me knows I see thee ill; Ill in myself to see, and in thee seeing ill. Thy death-bed is no lesser than thy land Wherein thou liest in reputation sick; And thou, too careless patient as thou art, Commit'st thy anointed body to the cure Of those physicians that first wounded thee: A thousand flatterers sit within thy crown, Whose compass is no bigger than thy head; And yet, incaged in so small a verge, The waste is no whit lesser than thy land. O, had thy grandsire with a prophet's eye Seen how his son's son should destroy his sons, From forth thy reach he would have laid thy shame, Deposing thee before thou wert possess'd, Which art possess'd now to depose thyself. Why, cousin, wert thou regent of the world, It were a shame to let this land by lease; But for thy world enjoying but this land, Is it not more than shame to shame it so? Landlord of England art thou now, not King. Thy state of law is bondslave to the law; And thou- KING RICHARD. A lunatic lean-witted fool, Presuming on an ague's privilege, Darest with thy frozen admonition Make pale our cheek, chasing the royal blood With fury from his native residence. Now by my seat's right royal majesty, Wert thou not brother to great Edward's son, This tongue that runs so roundly in thy head Should run thy head from thy unreverent shoulders. GAUNT. O, Spare me not, my brother Edward's son, For that I was his father Edward's son; That blood already, like the pelican, Hast thou tapp'd out, and drunkenly carous'd. My brother Gloucester, plain well-meaning soul- Whom fair befall in heaven 'mongst happy souls! - May be a precedent and witness good That thou respect'st not spilling Edward's blood. Join with the present sickness that I have; And thy unkindness be like crooked age, To crop at once a too long withered flower. Live in thy shame, but die not shame with thee! These words hereafter thy tormentors be! Convey me to my bed, then to my grave. Love they to live that love and honour have. [Exit, borne out by his attendants] KING RICHARD. And let them die that age and sullens have; For both hast thou, and both become the grave. YORK. I do beseech your Majesty impute his words To wayward sickliness and age in him. He loves you, on my life, and holds you dear As Harry Duke of Hereford, were he here. KING RICHARD. Right, you say true: as Hereford's love, so his; As theirs, so mine; and all be as it is. [Enter NORTHUMBERLAND] NORTHUMBERLAND. My liege, old Gaunt commends him to yourMajesty. KING RICHARD. What says he? NORTHUMBERLAND. Nay, nothing; all is said. His tongue is now a stringless instrument; Words, life, and all, old Lancaster hath spent. YORK. Be York the next that must be bankrupt so! Though death be poor, it ends a mortal woe. KING RICHARD. The ripest fruit first falls, and so doth he; His time is spent, our pilgrimage must be. So much for that. Now for our Irish wars. We must supplant those rough rug-headed kerns, Which live like venom where no venom else But only they have privilege to live. And for these great affairs do ask some charge, Towards our assistance we do seize to us The plate, coin, revenues, and moveables, Whereof our uncle Gaunt did stand possess'd. YORK. How long shall I be patient? Ah, how long Shall tender duty make me suffer wrong? Not Gloucester's death, nor Hereford's banishment, Nor Gaunt's rebukes, nor England's private wrongs, Nor the prevention of poor Bolingbroke About his marriage, nor my own disgrace, Have ever made me sour my patient cheek Or bend one wrinkle on my sovereign's face. I am the last of noble Edward's sons, Of whom thy father, Prince of Wales, was first. In war was never lion rag'd more fierce, In peace was never gentle lamb more mild, Than was that young and princely gentleman. His face thou hast, for even so look'd he, Accomplish'd with the number of thy hours; But when he frown'd, it was against the French And not against his friends. His noble hand Did win what he did spend, and spent not that Which his triumphant father's hand had won. His hands were guilty of no kindred blood, But bloody with the enemies of his kin. O Richard! York is too far gone with grief, Or else he never would compare between- KING RICHARD. Why, uncle, what's the matter? YORK. O my liege, Pardon me, if you please; if not, I, pleas'd Not to be pardoned, am content withal. Seek you to seize and gripe into your hands The royalties and rights of banish'd Hereford? Is not Gaunt dead? and doth not Hereford live? Was not Gaunt just? and is not Harry true? Did not the one deserve to have an heir? Is not his heir a well-deserving son? Take Hereford's rights away, and take from Time His charters and his customary rights; Let not to-morrow then ensue to-day; Be not thyself-for how art thou a king But by fair sequence and succession? Now, afore God-God forbid I say true! - If you do wrongfully seize Hereford's rights, Call in the letters patents that he hath By his attorneys-general to sue His livery, and deny his off'red homage, You pluck a thousand dangers on your head, You lose a thousand well-disposed hearts, And prick my tender patience to those thoughts Which honour and allegiance cannot think. KING RICHARD. Think what you will, we seize into our hands His plate, his goods, his money, and his lands. YORK. I'll not be by the while. My liege, farewell. What will ensue hereof there's none can tell; But by bad courses may be understood That their events can never fall out good. [Exit] KING RICHARD. Go, Bushy, to the Earl of Wiltshire straight; Bid him repair to us to Ely House To see this business. To-morrow next We will for Ireland; and 'tis time, I trow. And we create, in absence of ourself, Our Uncle York Lord Governor of England; For he is just, and always lov'd us well. Come on, our queen; to-morrow must we part; Be merry, for our time of stay is short. [Flourish. Exeunt KING, QUEEN, BUSHY, AUMERLE, GREEN, and BAGOT] NORTHUMBERLAND. Well, lords, the Duke of Lancaster is dead. Ross. And living too; for now his son is Duke. WILLOUGHBY. Barely in title, not in revenues. NORTHUMBERLAND. Richly in both, if justice had her right. ROSS. My heart is great; but it must break with silence, Ere't be disburdened with a liberal tongue. NORTHUMBERLAND.

Nay, speak thy mind; and let him ne'er speakmore That speaks thy words again to do thee harm! WILLOUGHBY. Tends that thou wouldst speak to the Duke ofHereford? If it be so, out with it boldly, man; Quick is mine ear to hear of good towards him. ROSS. No good at all that I can do for him; Unless you call it good to pity him, Bereft and gelded of his patrimony. NORTHUMBERLAND. Now, afore God, 'tis shame such wrongs areborne In him, a royal prince, and many moe Of noble blood in this declining land. The King is not himself, but basely led By flatterers; and what they will inform, Merely in hate, 'gainst any of us an, That will the King severely prosecute 'Gainst us, our lives, our children, and our heirs. ROSS. The commons hath he pill'd with grievous taxes; And quite lost their hearts; the nobles hath he find For ancient quarrels and quite lost their hearts. WILLOUGHBY. And daily new exactions are devis'd, As blanks, benevolences, and I wot not what; But what, a God's name, doth become of this? NORTHUMBERLAND. Wars hath not wasted it, for warr'd he hathnot, But basely yielded upon compromise That which his noble ancestors achiev'd with blows. More hath he spent in peace than they in wars. ROSS. The Earl of Wiltshire hath the realm in farm. WILLOUGHBY. The King's grown bankrupt like a broken man. NORTHUMBERLAND. Reproach and dissolution hangeth over him. ROSS. He hath not money for these Irish wars, His burdenous taxations notwithstanding, But by the robbing of the banish'd Duke. NORTHUMBERLAND. His noble kinsman-most degenerate king! But, lords, we hear this fearful tempest sing, Yet seek no shelter to avoid the storm; We see the wind sit sore upon our sails, And yet we strike not, but securely perish. ROSS. We see the very wreck that we must suffer; And unavoided is the danger now For suffering so the causes of our wreck. NORTHUMBERLAND. Not so; even through the hollow eyes of death I spy life peering; but I dare not say How near the tidings of our comfort is. WILLOUGHBY. Nay, let us share thy thoughts as thou dost ours. ROSS. Be confident to speak, Northumberland. We three are but thyself, and, speaking so, Thy words are but as thoughts; therefore be bold. NORTHUMBERLAND. Then thus: I have from Le Port Blanc, a bay In Brittany, receiv'd intelligence That Harry Duke of Hereford, Rainold Lord Cobham, That late broke from the Duke of Exeter, His brother, Archbishop late of Canterbury, Sir Thomas Erpingham, Sir John Ramston, Sir John Norbery, Sir Robert Waterton, and Francis Quoint- All these, well furnish'd by the Duke of Britaine, With eight tall ships, three thousand men of war, Are making hither with all due expedience, And shortly mean to touch our northern shore. Perhaps they had ere this, but that they stay The first departing of the King for Ireland. If then we shall shake off our slavish yoke, Imp out our drooping country's broken wing, Redeem from broking pawn the blemish'd crown, Wipe off the dust that hides our sceptre's gilt, And make high majesty look like itself, Away with me in post to Ravenspurgh; But if you faint, as fearing to do so, Stay and be secret, and myself will go. ROSS. To horse, to horse! Urge doubts to them that fear. WILLOUGHBY. Hold out my horse, and I will first be there. [Exeunt]SCENE 2Windsor Castle[Enter QUEEN, BUSHY, and BAGOT] BUSHY. Madam, your Majesty is too much sad. You promis'd, when you parted with the King, To lay aside life-harming heaviness And entertain a cheerful disposition. QUEEN. To please the King, I did; to please myself I cannot do it; yet I know no cause Why I should welcome such a guest as grief, Save bidding farewell to so sweet a guest As my sweet Richard. Yet again methinks Some unborn sorrow, ripe in fortune's womb, Is coming towards me, and my inward soul With nothing trembles. At some thing it grieves More than with parting from my lord the King. BUSHY. Each substance of a grief hath twenty shadows, Which shows like grief itself, but is not so; For sorrow's eye, glazed with blinding tears, Divides one thing entire to many objects, Like perspectives which, rightly gaz'd upon, Show nothing but confusion-ey'd awry, Distinguish form. So your sweet Majesty, Looking awry upon your lord's departure, Find shapes of grief more than himself to wail; Which, look'd on as it is, is nought but shadows Of what it is not. Then, thrice-gracious Queen, More than your lord's departure weep not-more is not seen; Or if it be, 'tis with false sorrow's eye, Which for things true weeps things imaginary. QUEEN. It may be so; but yet my inward soul Persuades me it is otherwise. Howe'er it be, I cannot but be sad; so heavy sad As-though, on thinking, on no thought I think- Makes me with heavy nothing faint and shrink. BUSHY. 'Tis nothing but conceit, my gracious lady. QUEEN. 'Tis nothing less: conceit is still deriv'd From some forefather grief; mine is not so, For nothing hath begot my something grief, Or something hath the nothing that I grieve; 'Tis in reversion that I do possess- But what it is that is not yet known what, I cannot name; 'tis nameless woe, I wot. [Enter GREEN] GREEN. God save your Majesty! and well met, gentlemen. I hope the King is not yet shipp'd for Ireland. QUEEN. Why hopest thou so? 'Tis better hope he is; For his designs crave haste, his haste good hope. Then wherefore dost thou hope he is not shipp'd? GREEN. That he, our hope, might have retir'd his power And driven into despair an enemy's hope Who strongly hath set footing in this land. The banish'd Bolingbroke repeals himself, And with uplifted arms is safe arriv'd At Ravenspurgh. QUEEN. Now God in heaven forbid! GREEN. Ah, madam, 'tis too true; and that is worse, The Lord Northumberland, his son young Henry Percy, The Lords of Ross, Beaumond, and Willoughby, With all their powerful friends, are fled to him. BUSHY. Why have you not proclaim'd Northumberland And all the rest revolted faction traitors? GREEN. We have; whereupon the Earl of Worcester Hath broken his staff, resign'd his stewardship, And all the household servants fled with him To Bolingbroke. QUEEN. So, Green, thou art the midwife to my woe, And Bolingbroke my sorrow's dismal heir. Now hath my soul brought forth her prodigy; And I, a gasping new-deliver'd mother, Have woe to woe, sorrow to sorrow join'd. BUSHY. Despair not, madam. QUEEN. Who shall hinder me? I will despair, and be at enmity With cozening hope-he is a flatterer, A parasite, a keeper-back of death, Who gently would dissolve the bands of life, Which false hope lingers in extremity. [Enter YORK] GREEN. Here comes the Duke of York. QUEEN. With signs of war about his aged neck. O, full of careful business are his looks! Uncle, for God's sake, speak comfortable words. YORK. Should I do so, I should belie my thoughts. Comfort's in heaven; and we are on the earth, Where nothing lives but crosses, cares, and grief. Your husband, he is gone to save far off, Whilst others come to make him lose at home.

Here am I left to underprop his land, Who, weak with age, cannot support myself. Now comes the sick hour that his surfeit made; Now shall he try his friends that flatter'd him. [Enter a SERVINGMAN] SERVINGMAN. My lord, your son was gone before I came. YORK. He was-why so go all which way it will! The nobles they are fled, the commons they are cold And will, I fear, revolt on Hereford's side. Sirrah, get thee to Plashy, to my sister Gloucester; Bid her send me presently a thousand pound. Hold, take my ring. SERVINGMAN. My lord, I had forgot to tell your lordship, To-day, as I came by, I called there- But I shall grieve you to report the rest. YORK. What is't, knave? SERVINGMAN. An hour before I came, the Duchess died. YORK. God for his mercy! what a tide of woes Comes rushing on this woeful land at once! I know not what to do. I would to God, So my untruth had not provok'd him to it, The King had cut off my head with my brother's. What, are there no posts dispatch'd for Ireland? How shall we do for money for these wars? Come, sister-cousin, I would say-pray, pardon me. Go, fellow, get thee home, provide some carts, And bring away the armour that is there. [Exit SERVINGMAN] Gentlemen, will you go muster men? If I know how or which way to order these affairs Thus disorderly thrust into my hands, Never believe me. Both are my kinsmen. T'one is my sovereign, whom both my oath And duty bids defend; t'other again Is my kinsman, whom the King hath wrong'd, Whom conscience and my kindred bids to right. Well, somewhat we must do. -Come, cousin, I'll dispose of you. Gentlemen, go muster up your men And meet me presently at Berkeley. I should to Plashy too, But time will not permit. All is uneven, And everything is left at six and seven. [Exeunt YORK and QUEEN] BUSHY. The wind sits fair for news to go to Ireland. But none returns. For us to levy power Proportionable to the enemy Is all unpossible. GREEN. Besides, our nearness to the King in love Is near the hate of those love not the King. BAGOT. And that is the wavering commons; for their love Lies in their purses; and whoso empties them, By so much fills their hearts with deadly hate. BUSHY. Wherein the King stands generally condemn'd. BAGOT. If judgment lie in them, then so do we, Because we ever have been near the King. GREEN. Well, I will for refuge straight to Bristow Castle. The Earl of Wiltshire is already there. BUSHY. Thither will I with you; for little office Will the hateful commons perform for us, Except Eke curs to tear us all to pieces. Will you go along with us? BAGOT. No; I will to Ireland to his Majesty. Farewell. If heart's presages be not vain, We three here part that ne'er shall meet again. BUSHY. That's as York thrives to beat back Bolingbroke. GREEN. Alas, poor Duke! the task he undertakes Is numb'ring sands and drinking oceans dry. Where one on his side fights, thousands will fly. Farewell at once-for once, for all, and ever. BUSHY. Well, we may meet again. BAGOT. I fear me, never. ExeuntSCENE 3Gloucestershire[Enter BOLINGBROKE and NORTHUMBERLAND, forces] BOLINGBROKE. How far is it, my lord, to Berkeley now? NORTHUMBERLAND. Believe me, noble lord, I am a stranger here in Gloucestershire. These high wild hills and rough uneven ways Draws out our miles, and makes them wearisome; And yet your fair discourse hath been as sugar, Making the hard way sweet and delectable. But I bethink me what a weary way From Ravenspurgh to Cotswold will be found In Ross and Willoughby, wanting your company, Which, I protest, hath very much beguil'd The tediousness and process of my travel. But theirs is sweet'ned with the hope to have The present benefit which I possess; And hope to joy is little less in joy Than hope enjoy'd. By this the weary lords Shall make their way seem short, as mine hath done By sight of what I have, your noble company. BOLINGBROKE. Of much less value is my company Than your good words. But who comes here? [Enter HARRY PERCY] NORTHUMBERLAND. It is my son, young Harry Percy, Sent from my brother Worcester, whencesoever. Harry, how fares your uncle? PERCY. I had thought, my lord, to have learn'd his health ofyou. NORTHUMBERLAND. Why, is he not with the Queen? PERCY. No, my good lord; he hath forsook the court, Broken his staff of office, and dispers'd The household of the King. NORTHUMBERLAND. What was his reason? He was not so resolv'd when last we spake together. PERCY. Because your lordship was proclaimed traitor. But he, my lord, is gone to Ravenspurgh, To offer service to the Duke of Hereford; And sent me over by Berkeley, to discover What power the Duke of York had levied there; Then with directions to repair to Ravenspurgh. NORTHUMBERLAND. Have you forgot the Duke of Hereford, boy? PERCY. No, my good lord; for that is not forgot Which ne'er I did remember; to my knowledge, I never in my life did look on him. NORTHUMBERLAND. Then learn to know him now; this is the Duke. PERCY. My gracious lord, I tender you my service, Such as it is, being tender, raw, and young; Which elder days shall ripen, and confirm To more approved service and desert.

BOLINGBROKE. I thank thee, gentle Percy; and be sure I count myself in nothing else so happy As in a soul rememb'ring my good friends; And as my fortune ripens with thy love, It shall be still thy true love's recompense. My heart this covenant makes, my hand thus seals it. NORTHUMBERLAND. How far is it to Berkeley? And what stir Keeps good old York there with his men of war? PERCY. There stands the castle, by yon tuft of trees, Mann'd with three hundred men, as I have heard; And in it are the Lords of York, Berkeley, and Seymour- None else of name and noble estimate. [Enter Ross and WILLOUGHBY] NORTHUMBERLAND. Here come the Lords of Ross and Willoughby, Bloody with spurring, fiery-red with haste. BOLINGBROKE. Welcome, my lords. I wot your love pursues A banish'd traitor. All my treasury Is yet but unfelt thanks, which, more enrich'd, Shall be your love and labour's recompense. ROSS. Your presence makes us rich, most noble lord. WILLOUGHBY. And far surmounts our labour to attain it. BOLINGBROKE. Evermore thanks, the exchequer of the poor; Which, till my infant fortune comes to years, Stands for my bounty. But who comes here? [Enter BERKELEY] NORTHUMBERLAND. It is my Lord of Berkeley, as I guess. BERKELEY. My Lord of Hereford, my message is to you. BOLINGBROKE. My lord, my answer is-'to Lancaster'; And I am come to seek that name in England; And I must find that title in your tongue Before I make reply to aught you say. BERKELEY. Mistake me not, my lord; 'tis not my meaning To raze one title of your honour out. To you, my lord, I come-what lord you will- From the most gracious regent of this land, The Duke of York, to know what pricks you on To take advantage of the absent time, And fright our native peace with self-borne arms. [Enter YORK, attended] BOLINGBROKE. I shall not need transport my words by you; Here comes his Grace in person. My noble uncle! [Kneels] YORK. Show me thy humble heart, and not thy knee, Whose duty is deceivable and false. BOLINGBROKE. My gracious uncle! - YORK. Tut, tut! Grace me no grace, nor uncle me no uncle. I am no traitor's uncle; and that word 'grace' In an ungracious mouth is but profane. Why have those banish'd and forbidden legs Dar'd once to touch a dust of England's ground? But then more 'why? '-why have they dar'd to march So many miles upon her peaceful bosom, Frighting her pale-fac'd villages with war And ostentation of despised arms? Com'st thou because the anointed King is hence? Why, foolish boy, the King is left behind, And in my loyal bosom lies his power. Were I but now lord of such hot youth As when brave Gaunt, thy father, and myself Rescued the Black Prince, that young Mars of men, From forth the ranks of many thousand French, O, then how quickly should this arm of mine, Now prisoner to the palsy, chastise the And minister correction to thy fault! BOLINGBROKE My gracious uncle, let me know my fault; On what condition stands it and wherein? YORK. Even in condition of the worst degree- In gross rebellion and detested treason. Thou art a banish'd man, and here art come Before the expiration of thy time, In braving arms against thy sovereign. BOLINGBROKE. As I was banish'd, I was banish'd Hereford; But as I come, I come for Lancaster. And, noble uncle, I beseech your Grace Look on my wrongs with an indifferent eye. You are my father, for methinks in you I see old Gaunt alive. O, then, my father, Will you permit that I shall stand condemn'd A wandering vagabond; my rights and royalties Pluck'd from my arms perforce, and given away To upstart unthrifts? Wherefore was I born? If that my cousin king be King in England, It must be granted I am Duke of Lancaster. You have a son, Aumerle, my noble cousin; Had you first died, and he been thus trod down, He should have found his uncle Gaunt a father To rouse his wrongs and chase them to the bay. I am denied to sue my livery here, And yet my letters patents give me leave. My father's goods are all distrain'd and sold; And these and all are all amiss employ'd. What would you have me do? I am a subject, And I challenge law-attorneys are denied me; And therefore personally I lay my claim To my inheritance of free descent. NORTHUMBERLAND. The noble Duke hath been too much abused. ROSS. It stands your Grace upon to do him right. WILLOUGHBY. Base men by his endowments are made great. YORK. My lords of England, let me tell you this: I have had feeling of my cousin's wrongs, And labour'd all I could to do him right; But in this kind to come, in braving arms, Be his own carver and cut out his way, To find out right with wrong-it may not be; And you that do abet him in this kind Cherish rebellion, and are rebels all. NORTHUMBERLAND. The noble Duke hath sworn his coming is But for his own; and for the right of that We all have strongly sworn to give him aid; And let him never see joy that breaks that oath! YORK. Well, well, I see the issue of these arms. I cannot mend it, I must needs confess, Because my power is weak and all ill left; But if I could, by Him that gave me life, I would attach you all and make you stoop Unto the sovereign mercy of the King; But since I cannot, be it known unto you I do remain as neuter. So, fare you well; Unless you please to enter in the castle, And there repose you for this night. BOLINGBROKE. An offer, uncle, that we will accept. But we must win your Grace to go with us To Bristow Castle, which they say is held By Bushy, Bagot, and their complices, The caterpillars of the commonwealth, Which I have sworn to weed and pluck away. YORK. It may be I will go with you; but yet I'll pause, For I am loath to break our country's laws. Nor friends nor foes, to me welcome you are. Things past redress are now with me past care. [Exeunt]SCENE 4A camp in Wales[Enter EARL OF SALISBURY and a WELSH CAPTAIN] CAPTAIN. My Lord of Salisbury, we have stay'd ten days And hardly kept our countrymen together, And yet we hear no tidings from the King; Therefore we will disperse ourselves. Farewell. SALISBURY. Stay yet another day, thou trusty Welshman; The King reposeth all his confidence in thee. CAPTAIN. 'Tis thought the King is dead; we will not stay. The bay trees in our country are all wither'd, And meteors fright the fixed stars of heaven; The pale-fac'd moon looks bloody on the earth, And lean-look'd prophets whisper fearful change; Rich men look sad, and ruffians dance and leap- The one in fear to lose what they enjoy, The other to enjoy by rage and war. These signs forerun the death or fall of kings. Farewell. Our countrymen are gone and fled, As well assur'd Richard their King is dead. [Exit] SALISBURY. Ah, Richard, with the eyes of heavy mind, I see thy glory like a shooting star Fall to the base earth from the firmament! The sun sets weeping in the lowly west, Witnessing storms to come, woe, and unrest; Thy friends are fled, to wait upon thy foes; And crossly to thy good all fortune goes. [Exit]<<THIS ELECTRONIC VERSION OF THE COMPLETE WORKS OF WILLIAMSHAKESPEARE IS COPYRIGHT 1990-1993 BY WORLD LIBRARY, INC. , AND ISPROVIDED BY PROJECT GUTENBERG ETEXT OF CARNEGIE MELLON UNIVERSITYWITH PERMISSION.

ELECTRONIC AND MACHINE READABLE COPIES MAY BEDISTRIBUTED SO LONG AS SUCH COPIES (1) ARE FOR YOUR OR OTHERSPERSONAL USE ONLY, AND (2) ARE NOT DISTRIBUTED OR USEDCOMMERCIALLY. PROHIBITED COMMERCIAL DISTRIBUTION INCLUDES BY ANYSERVICE THAT CHARGES FOR DOWNLOAD TIME OR FOR MEMBERSHIP. >>ACT 3 SCENE 1BOLINGBROKE'S camp at Bristol[Enter BOLINGBROKE, YORK, NORTHUMBERLAND, PERCY, ROSS,WILLOUGHBY,BUSHY and GREEN, prisoners] BOLINGBROKE. Bring forth these men. Bushy and Green, I will not vex your souls- Since presently your souls must part your bodies- With too much urging your pernicious lives, For 'twere no charity; yet, to wash your blood From off my hands, here in the view of men I will unfold some causes of your deaths: You have misled a prince, a royal king, A happy gentleman in blood and lineaments, By you unhappied and disfigured clean; You have in manner with your sinful hours Made a divorce betwixt his queen and him; Broke the possession of a royal bed, And stain'd the beauty of a fair queen's cheeks With tears drawn from her eyes by your foul wrongs; Myself-a prince by fortune of my birth, Near to the King in blood, and near in love Till you did make him misinterpret me- Have stoop'd my neck under your injuries And sigh'd my English breath in foreign clouds, Eating the bitter bread of banishment, Whilst you have fed upon my signories, Dispark'd my parks and fell'd my forest woods, From my own windows torn my household coat, Raz'd out my imprese, leaving me no sign Save men's opinions and my living blood To show the world I am a gentleman. This and much more, much more than twice all this, Condemns you to the death. See them delivered over To execution and the hand of death. BUSHY. More welcome is the stroke of death to me Than Bolingbroke to England. Lords, farewell. GREEN. My comfort is that heaven will take our souls, And plague injustice with the pains of hell. BOLINGBROKE. My Lord Northumberland, see them dispatch'd. [Exeunt NORTHUMBERLAND, and others, with the prisoners] Uncle, you say the Queen is at your house; For God's sake, fairly let her be entreated. Tell her I send to her my kind commends; Take special care my greetings be delivered. YORK. A gentleman of mine I have dispatch'd With letters of your love to her at large. BOLINGBROKE. Thanks, gentle uncle. Come, lords, away, To fight with Glendower and his complices. Awhile to work, and after holiday. [Exeunt]SCENE 2The coast of Wales. A castle in view[Drums. Flourish and colours. Enter the KING, the BISHOP OFCARLISLE,AUMERLE, and soldiers] KING RICHARD. Barkloughly Castle call they this at hand? AUMERLE. Yea, my lord. How brooks your Grace the air After your late tossing on the breaking seas? KING RICHARD. Needs must I like it well. I weep for joy To stand upon my kingdom once again. Dear earth, I do salute thee with my hand, Though rebels wound thee with their horses' hoofs. As a long-parted mother with her child Plays fondly with her tears and smiles in meeting, So weeping-smiling greet I thee, my earth, And do thee favours with my royal hands. Feed not thy sovereign's foe, my gentle earth, Nor with thy sweets comfort his ravenous sense; But let thy spiders, that suck up thy venom, And heavy-gaited toads, lie in their way, Doing annoyance to the treacherous feet Which with usurping steps do trample thee; Yield stinging nettles to mine enemies; And when they from thy bosom pluck a flower, Guard it, I pray thee, with a lurking adder, Whose double tongue may with a mortal touch Throw death upon thy sovereign's enemies. Mock not my senseless conjuration, lords. This earth shall have a feeling, and these stones Prove armed soldiers, ere her native king Shall falter under foul rebellion's arms. CARLISLE. Fear not, my lord; that Power that made you king Hath power to keep you king in spite of all. The means that heaven yields must be embrac'd And not neglected; else, if heaven would, And we will not, heaven's offer we refuse, The proffered means of succour and redress. AUMERLE. He means, my lord, that we are too remiss; Whilst Bolingbroke, through our security, Grows strong and great in substance and in power. KING RICHARD. Discomfortable cousin! know'st thou not That when the searching eye of heaven is hid, Behind the globe, that lights the lower world, Then thieves and robbers range abroad unseen In murders and in outrage boldly here; But when from under this terrestrial ball He fires the proud tops of the eastern pines And darts his light through every guilty hole, Then murders, treasons, and detested sins, The cloak of night being pluck'd from off their backs, Stand bare and naked, trembling at themselves? So when this thief, this traitor, Bolingbroke, Who all this while hath revell'd in the night, Whilst we were wand'ring with the Antipodes, Shall see us rising in our throne, the east, His treasons will sit blushing in his face, Not able to endure the sight of day, But self-affrighted tremble at his sin. Not all the water in the rough rude sea Can wash the balm off from an anointed king; The breath of worldly men cannot depose The deputy elected by the Lord. For every man that Bolingbroke hath press'd To lift shrewd steel against our golden crown, God for his Richard hath in heavenly pay A glorious angel. Then, if angels fight, Weak men must fall; for heaven still guards the right. [Enter SALISBURY] Welcome, my lord. How far off lies your power? SALISBURY. Nor near nor farther off, my gracious lord, Than this weak arm. Discomfort guides my tongue, And bids me speak of nothing but despair. One day too late, I fear me, noble lord, Hath clouded all thy happy days on earth. O, call back yesterday, bid time return, And thou shalt have twelve thousand fighting men! To-day, to-day, unhappy day, too late, O'erthrows thy joys, friends, fortune, and thy state; For all the Welshmen, hearing thou wert dead, Are gone to Bolingbroke, dispers'd, and fled. AUMERLE. Comfort, my liege, why looks your Grace so pale? KING RICHARD. But now the blood of twenty thousand men Did triumph in my face, and they are fled; And, till so much blood thither come again, Have I not reason to look pale and dead? All souls that will be safe, fly from my side; For time hath set a blot upon my pride. AUMERLE. Comfort, my liege; remember who you are. KING RICHARD. I had forgot myself; am I not King? Awake, thou coward majesty! thou sleepest. Is not the King's name twenty thousand names? Arm, arm, my name! a puny subject strikes At thy great glory. Look not to the ground, Ye favourites of a king; are we not high? High be our thoughts. I know my uncle York Hath power enough to serve our turn. But who comes here? [Enter SCROOP] SCROOP. More health and happiness betide my liege Than can my care-tun'd tongue deliver him. KING RICHARD. Mine ear is open and my heart prepar'd. The worst is worldly loss thou canst unfold. Say, is my kingdom lost? Why, 'twas my care, And what loss is it to be rid of care? Strives Bolingbroke to be as great as we? Greater he shall not be; if he serve God, We'll serve him too, and be his fellow so. Revolt our subjects? That we cannot mend; They break their faith to God as well as us. Cry woe, destruction, ruin, and decay- The worst is death, and death will have his day. SCROOP. Glad am I that your Highness is so arm'd To bear the tidings of calamity. Like an unseasonable stormy day Which makes the silver rivers drown their shores, As if the world were all dissolv'd to tears, So high above his limits swells the rage Of Bolingbroke, covering your fearful land With hard bright steel and hearts harder than steel. White-beards have arm'd their thin and hairless scalps Against thy majesty; boys, with women's voices, Strive to speak big, and clap their female joints In stiff unwieldy arms against thy crown; Thy very beadsmen learn to bend their bows Of double-fatal yew against thy state; Yea, distaff-women manage rusty bills Against thy seat: both young and old rebel, And all goes worse than I have power to tell. KING RICHARD. Too well, too well thou tell'st a tale so ill. Where is the Earl of Wiltshire? Where is Bagot? What is become of Bushy? Where is Green? That they have let the dangerous enemy Measure our confines with such peaceful steps? If we prevail, their heads shall pay for it.

I warrant they have made peace with Bolingbroke. SCROOP. Peace have they made with him indeed, my lord. KING RICHARD. O villains, vipers, damn'd without redemption! Dogs, easily won to fawn on any man! Snakes, in my heart-blood warm'd, that sting my heart! Three Judases, each one thrice worse than Judas! Would they make peace? Terrible hell make war Upon their spotted souls for this offence! SCROOP. Sweet love, I see, changing his property, Turns to the sourest and most deadly hate. Again uncurse their souls; their peace is made With heads, and not with hands; those whom you curse Have felt the worst of death's destroying wound And lie full low, grav'd in the hollow ground. AUMERLE. Is Bushy, Green, and the Earl of Wiltshire dead? SCROOP. Ay, all of them at Bristow lost their heads. AUMERLE. Where is the Duke my father with his power? KING RICHARD. No matter where-of comfort no man speak. Let's talk of graves, of worms, and epitaphs; Make dust our paper, and with rainy eyes Write sorrow on the bosom of the earth. Let's choose executors and talk of wills; And yet not so-for what can we bequeath Save our deposed bodies to the ground? Our lands, our lives, and all, are Bolingbroke's. And nothing can we can our own but death And that small model of the barren earth Which serves as paste and cover to our bones. For God's sake let us sit upon the ground And tell sad stories of the death of kings: How some have been depos'd, some slain in war, Some haunted by the ghosts they have depos'd, Some poison'd by their wives, some sleeping kill'd, All murder'd-for within the hollow crown That rounds the mortal temples of a king Keeps Death his court; and there the antic sits, Scoffing his state and grinning at his pomp; Allowing him a breath, a little scene, To monarchize, be fear'd, and kill with looks; Infusing him with self and vain conceit, As if this flesh which walls about our life Were brass impregnable; and, humour'd thus, Comes at the last, and with a little pin Bores through his castle wall, and farewell, king! Cover your heads, and mock not flesh and blood With solemn reverence; throw away respect, Tradition, form, and ceremonious duty; For you have but mistook me all this while. I live with bread like you, feel want, Taste grief, need friends: subjected thus, How can you say to me I am a king? CARLISLE. My lord, wise men ne'er sit and wail their woes, But presently prevent the ways to wail. To fear the foe, since fear oppresseth strength, Gives, in your weakness, strength unto your foe, And so your follies fight against yourself. Fear and be slain-no worse can come to fight; And fight and die is death destroying death, Where fearing dying pays death servile breath. AUMERLE. My father hath a power; inquire of him, And learn to make a body of a limb. KING RICHARD. Thou chid'st me well. Proud Bolingbroke, I come To change blows with thee for our day of doom. This ague fit of fear is over-blown; An easy task it is to win our own. Say, Scroop, where lies our uncle with his power? Speak sweetly, man, although thy looks be sour. SCROOP. Men judge by the complexion of the sky The state in inclination of the day; So may you by my dull and heavy eye, My tongue hath but a heavier tale to say. I play the torturer, by small and small To lengthen out the worst that must be spoken: Your uncle York is join'd with Bolingbroke; And all your northern castles yielded up, And all your southern gentlemen in arms Upon his party. KING RICHARD. Thou hast said enough. [To AUMERLE] Beshrew thee, cousin, which didst lead meforth Of that sweet way I was in to despair! What say you now? What comfort have we now? By heaven, I'll hate him everlastingly That bids me be of comfort any more. Go to Flint Castle; there I'll pine away; A king, woe's slave, shall kingly woe obey. That power I have, discharge; and let them go To ear the land that hath some hope to grow, For I have none. Let no man speak again To alter this, for counsel is but vain. AUMERLE. My liege, one word. KING RICHARD. He does me double wrong That wounds me with the flatteries of his tongue. Discharge my followers; let them hence away, From Richard's night to Bolingbroke's fair day. [Exeunt]SCENE 3Wales. Before Flint Castle[Enter, with drum and colours, BOLINGBROKE, YORK, NORTHUMBERLAND,and forces] BOLINGBROKE. So that by this intelligence we learn The Welshmen are dispers'd; and Salisbury Is gone to meet the King, who lately landed With some few private friends upon this coast. NORTHUMBERLAND. The news is very fair and good, my lord. Richard not far from hence hath hid his head. YORK. It would beseem the Lord Northumberland To say 'King Richard. ' Alack the heavy day When such a sacred king should hide his head! NORTHUMBERLAND. Your Grace mistakes; only to be brief, Left I his title out. YORK. The time hath been, Would you have been so brief with him, he would Have been so brief with you to shorten you, For taking so the head, your whole head's length. BOLINGBROKE. Mistake not, uncle, further than you should. YORK. Take not, good cousin, further than you should, Lest you mistake. The heavens are over our heads. BOLINGBROKE. I know it, uncle; and oppose not myself Against their will. But who comes here? [Enter PERCY] Welcome, Harry. What, will not this castle yield? PERCY. The castle royally is mann'd, my lord, Against thy entrance. BOLINGBROKE. Royally! Why, it contains no king? PERCY. Yes, my good lord, It doth contain a king; King Richard lies Within the limits of yon lime and stone; And with him are the Lord Aumerle, Lord Salisbury, Sir Stephen Scroop, besides a clergyman Of holy reverence; who, I cannot learn. NORTHUMBERLAND. O, belike it is the Bishop of Carlisle. BOLINGBROKE. [To NORTHUMBERLAND] Noble lord, Go to the rude ribs of that ancient castle; Through brazen trumpet send the breath of parley Into his ruin'd ears, and thus deliver: Henry Bolingbroke On both his knees doth kiss King Richard's hand, And sends allegiance and true faith of heart To his most royal person; hither come Even at his feet to lay my arms and power, Provided that my banishment repeal'd And lands restor'd again be freely granted; If not, I'll use the advantage of my power And lay the summer's dust with showers of blood Rain'd from the wounds of slaughtered Englishmen; The which how far off from the mind of Bolingbroke It is such crimson tempest should bedrench The fresh green lap of fair King Richard's land, My stooping duty tenderly shall show. Go, signify as much, while here we march Upon the grassy carpet of this plain. [NORTHUMBERLAND advances to the Castle, with atrumpet] Let's march without the noise of threat'ning drum, That from this castle's tottered battlements Our fair appointments may be well perus'd. Methinks King Richard and myself should meet With no less terror than the elements Of fire and water, when their thund'ring shock At meeting tears the cloudy cheeks of heaven. Be he the fire, I'll be the yielding water; The rage be his, whilst on the earth I rain My waters-on the earth, and not on him. March on, and mark King Richard how he looks. [Parle without, and answer within; then a flourish. Enter on the walls, the KING, the BISHOP OF CARLISLE, AUMERLE, SCROOP, and SALISBURY] See, see, King Richard doth himself appear, As doth the blushing discontented sun From out the fiery portal of the east, When he perceives the envious clouds are bent To dim his glory and to stain the track Of his bright passage to the occident. YORK. Yet he looks like a king.

Behold, his eye, As bright as is the eagle's, lightens forth Controlling majesty. Alack, alack, for woe, That any harm should stain so fair a show! KING RICHARD. [To NORTHUMBERLAND] We are amaz'd; and thus long have we stood To watch the fearful bending of thy knee, Because we thought ourself thy lawful King; And if we be, how dare thy joints forget To pay their awful duty to our presence? If we be not, show us the hand of God That hath dismiss'd us from our stewardship; For well we know no hand of blood and bone Can gripe the sacred handle of our sceptre, Unless he do profane, steal, or usurp. And though you think that all, as you have done, Have torn their souls by turning them from us, And we are barren and bereft of friends, Yet know-my master, God omnipotent, Is mustering in his clouds on our behalf Armies of pestilence; and they shall strike Your children yet unborn and unbegot, That lift your vassal hands against my head And threat the glory of my precious crown. Tell Bolingbroke, for yon methinks he stands, That every stride he makes upon my land Is dangerous treason; he is come to open The purple testament of bleeding war; But ere the crown he looks for live in peace, Ten thousand bloody crowns of mothers' sons Shall ill become the flower of England's face, Change the complexion of her maid-pale peace To scarlet indignation, and bedew Her pastures' grass with faithful English blood. NORTHUMBERLAND. The King of Heaven forbid our lord the King Should so with civil and uncivil arms Be rush'd upon! Thy thrice noble cousin, Harry Bolingbroke, doth humbly kiss thy hand; And by the honourable tomb he swears That stands upon your royal grandsire's bones, And by the royalties of both your bloods, Currents that spring from one most gracious head, And by the buried hand of warlike Gaunt, And by the worth and honour of himself, Comprising all that may be sworn or said, His coming hither hath no further scope Than for his lineal royalties, and to beg Enfranchisement immediate on his knees; Which on thy royal party granted once, His glittering arms he will commend to rust, His barbed steeds to stables, and his heart To faithful service of your Majesty. This swears he, as he is a prince, is just; And as I am a gentleman I credit him. KING RICHARD. Northumberland, say thus the King returns: His noble cousin is right welcome hither; And all the number of his fair demands Shall be accomplish'd without contradiction. With all the gracious utterance thou hast Speak to his gentle hearing kind commends. [To AUMERLE] We do debase ourselves, cousin, do we not, To look so poorly and to speak so fair? Shall we call back Northumberland, and send Defiance to the traitor, and so die? AUMERLE. No, good my lord; let's fight with gentle words Till time lend friends, and friends their helpful swords. KING RICHARD. O God, O God! that e'er this tongue of mine That laid the sentence of dread banishment On yon proud man should take it off again With words of sooth! O that I were as great As is my grief, or lesser than my name! Or that I could forget what I have been! Or not remember what I must be now! Swell'st thou, proud heart? I'll give thee scope to beat, Since foes have scope to beat both thee and me. AUMERLE. Northumberland comes back from Bolingbroke. KING RICHARD. What must the King do now? Must he submit? The King shall do it. Must he be depos'd? The King shall be contented. Must he lose The name of king? A God's name, let it go. I'll give my jewels for a set of beads, My gorgeous palace for a hermitage, My gay apparel for an almsman's gown, My figur'd goblets for a dish of wood, My sceptre for a palmer's walking staff, My subjects for a pair of carved saints, And my large kingdom for a little grave, A little little grave, an obscure grave- Or I'll be buried in the king's high way, Some way of common trade, where subjects' feet May hourly trample on their sovereign's head; For on my heart they tread now whilst I live, And buried once, why not upon my head? Aumerle, thou weep'st, my tender-hearted cousin! We'll make foul weather with despised tears; Our sighs and they shall lodge the summer corn And make a dearth in this revolting land. Or shall we play the wantons with our woes And make some pretty match with shedding tears? As thus: to drop them still upon one place Till they have fretted us a pair of graves Within the earth; and, therein laid-there lies Two kinsmen digg'd their graves with weeping eyes. Would not this ill do well? Well, well, I see I talk but idly, and you laugh at me. Most mighty prince, my Lord Northumberland, What says King Bolingbroke? Will his Majesty Give Richard leave to live till Richard die? You make a leg, and Bolingbroke says ay. NORTHUMBERLAND. My lord, in the base court he doth attend To speak with you; may it please you to come down? KING RICHARD. Down, down I come, like glist'ring Phaethon, Wanting the manage of unruly jades. In the base court? Base court, where kings grow base, To come at traitors' calls, and do them grace. In the base court? Come down? Down, court! down, king! For night-owls shriek where mounting larks should sing. [Exeunt from above] BOLINGBROKE. What says his Majesty? NORTHUMBERLAND. Sorrow and grief of heart Makes him speak fondly, like a frantic man; Yet he is come. [Enter the KING, and his attendants, below] BOLINGBROKE. Stand all apart, And show fair duty to his Majesty. [He kneels down] My gracious lord- KING RICHARD. Fair cousin, you debase your princely knee To make the base earth proud with kissing it. Me rather had my heart might feel your love Than my unpleas'd eye see your courtesy. Up, cousin, up; your heart is up, I know, [Touching his own head] Thus high at least, although your knee be low. BOLINGBROKE. My gracious lord, I come but for mine own. KING RICHARD. Your own is yours, and I am yours, and all. BOLINGBROKE. So far be mine, my most redoubted lord, As my true service shall deserve your love. KING RICHARD. Well you deserve. They well deserve to have That know the strong'st and surest way to get. Uncle, give me your hands; nay, dry your eyes: Tears show their love, but want their remedies. Cousin, I am too young to be your father, Though you are old enough to be my heir. What you will have, I'll give, and willing too; For do we must what force will have us do. Set on towards London. Cousin, is it so? BOLINGBROKE. Yea, my good lord. KING RICHARD. Then I must not say no. [Flourish. Exeunt]SCENE 4The DUKE OF YORK's garden[Enter the QUEEN and two LADIES] QUEEN. What sport shall we devise here in this garden To drive away the heavy thought of care? LADY. Madam, we'll play at bowls. QUEEN. 'Twill make me think the world is full of rubs And that my fortune runs against the bias. LADY. Madam, we'll dance. QUEEN. My legs can keep no measure in delight, When my poor heart no measure keeps in grief; Therefore no dancing, girl; some other sport. LADY. Madam, we'll tell tales. QUEEN. Of sorrow or of joy?

LADY. Of either, madam. QUEEN. Of neither, girl; For if of joy, being altogether wanting, It doth remember me the more of sorrow; Or if of grief, being altogether had, It adds more sorrow to my want of joy; For what I have I need not to repeat, And what I want it boots not to complain. LADY. Madam, I'll sing. QUEEN. 'Tis well' that thou hast cause; But thou shouldst please me better wouldst thou weep. LADY. I could weep, madam, would it do you good. QUEEN. And I could sing, would weeping do me good, And never borrow any tear of thee. [Enter a GARDENER and two SERVANTS] But stay, here come the gardeners. Let's step into the shadow of these trees. My wretchedness unto a row of pins, They will talk of state, for every one doth so Against a change: woe is forerun with woe. [QUEEN and LADIES retire] GARDENER. Go, bind thou up yon dangling apricocks, Which, like unruly children, make their sire Stoop with oppression of their prodigal weight; Give some supportance to the bending twigs. Go thou, and like an executioner Cut off the heads of too fast growing sprays That look too lofty in our commonwealth: All must be even in our government. You thus employ'd, I will go root away The noisome weeds which without profit suck The soil's fertility from wholesome flowers. SERVANT. Why should we, in the compass of a pale, Keep law and form and due proportion, Showing, as in a model, our firm estate, When our sea-walled garden, the whole land, Is full of weeds; her fairest flowers chok'd up, Her fruit trees all unprun'd, her hedges ruin'd, Her knots disordered, and her wholesome herbs Swarming with caterpillars? GARDENER. Hold thy peace. He that hath suffer'd this disorder'd spring Hath now himself met with the fall of leaf; The weeds which his broad-spreading leaves did shelter, That seem'd in eating him to hold him up, Are pluck'd up root and all by Bolingbroke- I mean the Earl of Wiltshire, Bushy, Green. SERVANT. What, are they dead? GARDENER. They are; and Bolingbroke Hath seiz'd the wasteful King. O, what pity is it That he had not so trimm'd and dress'd his land As we this garden! We at time of year Do wound the bark, the skin of our fruit trees, Lest, being over-proud in sap and blood, With too much riches it confound itself; Had he done so to great and growing men, They might have liv'd to bear, and he to taste Their fruits of duty. Superfluous branches We lop away, that bearing boughs may live; Had he done so, himself had home the crown, Which waste of idle hours hath quite thrown down. SERVANT. What, think you the King shall be deposed? GARDENER. Depress'd he is already, and depos'd 'Tis doubt he will be. Letters came last night To a dear friend of the good Duke of York's That tell black tidings. QUEEN. O, I am press'd to death through want of speaking! [Coming forward] Thou, old Adam's likeness, set to dress this garden, How dares thy harsh rude tongue sound this unpleasing news? What Eve, what serpent, hath suggested thee To make a second fall of cursed man? Why dost thou say King Richard is depos'd? Dar'st thou, thou little better thing than earth, Divine his downfall? Say, where, when, and how, Cam'st thou by this ill tidings? Speak, thou wretch. GARDENER. Pardon me, madam; little joy have I To breathe this news; yet what I say is true. King Richard, he is in the mighty hold Of Bolingbroke. Their fortunes both are weigh'd. In your lord's scale is nothing but himself, And some few vanities that make him light; But in the balance of great Bolingbroke, Besides himself, are all the English peers, And with that odds he weighs King Richard down. Post you to London, and you will find it so; I speak no more than every one doth know. QUEEN. Nimble mischance, that art so light of foot, Doth not thy embassage belong to me, And am I last that knows it? O, thou thinkest To serve me last, that I may longest keep Thy sorrow in my breast. Come, ladies, go To meet at London London's King in woe. What, was I born to this, that my sad look Should grace the triumph of great Bolingbroke? Gard'ner, for telling me these news of woe, Pray God the plants thou graft'st may never grow! [Exeunt QUEEN and LADIES] GARDENER. Poor Queen, so that thy state might be no worse, I would my skill were subject to thy curse. Here did she fall a tear; here in this place I'll set a bank of rue, sour herb of grace. Rue, even for ruth, here shortly shall be seen, In the remembrance of a weeping queen. [Exeunt]<<THIS ELECTRONIC VERSION OF THE COMPLETE WORKS OF WILLIAMSHAKESPEARE IS COPYRIGHT 1990-1993 BY WORLD LIBRARY, INC. , AND ISPROVIDED BY PROJECT GUTENBERG ETEXT OF CARNEGIE MELLON UNIVERSITYWITH PERMISSION. ELECTRONIC AND MACHINE READABLE COPIES MAY BEDISTRIBUTED SO LONG AS SUCH COPIES (1) ARE FOR YOUR OR OTHERSPERSONAL USE ONLY, AND (2) ARE NOT DISTRIBUTED OR USEDCOMMERCIALLY. PROHIBITED COMMERCIAL DISTRIBUTION INCLUDES BY ANYSERVICE THAT CHARGES FOR DOWNLOAD TIME OR FOR MEMBERSHIP. >>ACT 4 SCENE 1Westminster Hall[Enter, as to the Parliament, BOLINGBROKE, AUMERLE,NORTHUMBERLAND, PERCY,FITZWATER, SURREY, the BISHOP OF CARLISLE, the ABBOT OFWESTMINSTER,and others; HERALD, OFFICERS, and BAGOT] BOLINGBROKE. Call forth Bagot. Now, Bagot, freely speak thy mind- What thou dost know of noble Gloucester's death; Who wrought it with the King, and who perform'd The bloody office of his timeless end. BAGOT. Then set before my face the Lord Aumerle. BOLINGBROKE. Cousin, stand forth, and look upon that man. BAGOT. My Lord Aumerle, I know your daring tongue Scorns to unsay what once it hath deliver'd. In that dead time when Gloucester's death was plotted I heard you say 'Is not my arm of length, That reacheth from the restful English Court As far as Calais, to mine uncle's head? ' Amongst much other talk that very time I heard you say that you had rather refuse The offer of an hundred thousand crowns Than Bolingbroke's return to England; Adding withal, how blest this land would be In this your cousin's death. AUMERLE. Princes, and noble lords, What answer shall I make to this base man? Shall I so much dishonour my fair stars On equal terms to give him chastisement? Either I must, or have mine honour soil'd With the attainder of his slanderous lips. There is my gage, the manual seal of death That marks thee out for hell. I say thou liest, And will maintain what thou hast said is false In thy heart-blood, through being all too base To stain the temper of my knightly sword. BOLINGBROKE. Bagot, forbear; thou shalt not take it up. AUMERLE. Excepting one, I would he were the best In all this presence that hath mov'd me so. FITZWATER. If that thy valour stand on sympathy, There is my gage, Aumerle, in gage to thine. By that fair sun which shows me where thou stand'st, I heard thee say, and vauntingly thou spak'st it, That thou wert cause of noble Gloucester's death. If thou deniest it twenty times, thou liest; And I will turn thy falsehood to thy heart, Where it was forged, with my rapier's point. AUMERLE. Thou dar'st not, coward, live to see that day. FITZWATER. Now, by my soul, I would it were this hour. AUMERLE. Fitzwater, thou art damn'd to hell for this. PERCY. Aumerle, thou liest; his honour is as true In this appeal as thou art an unjust; And that thou art so, there I throw my gage, To prove it on thee to the extremest point Of mortal breathing. Seize it, if thou dar'st. AUMERLE. An if I do not, may my hands rot off And never brandish more revengeful steel Over the glittering helmet of my foe!

ANOTHER LORD. I task the earth to the like, forsworn Aumerle; And spur thee on with full as many lies As may be halloa'd in thy treacherous ear From sun to sun. There is my honour's pawn; Engage it to the trial, if thou darest. AUMERLE. Who sets me else? By heaven, I'll throw at all! I have a thousand spirits in one breast To answer twenty thousand such as you. SURREY. My Lord Fitzwater, I do remember well The very time Aumerle and you did talk. FITZWATER. 'Tis very true; you were in presence then, And you can witness with me this is true. SURREY. As false, by heaven, as heaven itself is true. FITZWATER. Surrey, thou liest. SURREY. Dishonourable boy! That lie shall lie so heavy on my sword That it shall render vengeance and revenge Till thou the lie-giver and that lie do lie In earth as quiet as thy father's skull. In proof whereof, there is my honour's pawn; Engage it to the trial, if thou dar'st. FITZWATER. How fondly dost thou spur a forward horse! If I dare eat, or drink, or breathe, or live, I dare meet Surrey in a wilderness, And spit upon him whilst I say he lies, And lies, and lies. There is my bond of faith, To tie thee to my strong correction. As I intend to thrive in this new world, Aumerle is guilty of my true appeal. Besides, I heard the banish'd Norfolk say That thou, Aumerle, didst send two of thy men To execute the noble Duke at Calais. AUMERLE. Some honest Christian trust me with a gage That Norfolk lies. Here do I throw down this, If he may be repeal'd to try his honour. BOLINGBROKE. These differences shall all rest under gage Till Norfolk be repeal'd-repeal'd he shall be And, though mine enemy, restor'd again To all his lands and signories. When he is return'd, Against Aumerle we will enforce his trial. CARLISLE. That honourable day shall never be seen. Many a time hath banish'd Norfolk fought For Jesu Christ in glorious Christian field, Streaming the ensign of the Christian cross Against black pagans, Turks, and Saracens; And, toil'd with works of war, retir'd himself To Italy; and there, at Venice, gave His body to that pleasant country's earth, And his pure soul unto his captain, Christ, Under whose colours he had fought so long. BOLINGBROKE. Why, Bishop, is Norfolk dead? CARLISLE. As surely as I live, my lord. BOLINGBROKE. Sweet peace conduct his sweet soul to the bosom Of good old Abraham! Lords appellants, Your differences shall all rest under gage Till we assign you to your days of trial [Enter YORK, attended] YORK. Great Duke of Lancaster, I come to the From plume-pluck'd Richard, who with willing soul Adopts thee heir, and his high sceptre yields To the possession of thy royal hand. Ascend his throne, descending now from him- And long live Henry, fourth of that name! BOLINGBROKE. In God's name, I'll ascend the regal throne. CARLISLE. Marry, God forbid! Worst in this royal presence may I speak, Yet best beseeming me to speak the truth. Would God that any in this noble presence Were enough noble to be upright judge Of noble Richard! Then true noblesse would Learn him forbearance from so foul a wrong. What subject can give sentence on his king? And who sits here that is not Richard's subject? Thieves are not judg'd but they are by to hear, Although apparent guilt be seen in them; And shall the figure of God's majesty, His captain, steward, deputy elect, Anointed, crowned, planted many years, Be judg'd by subject and inferior breath, And he himself not present? O, forfend it, God, That in a Christian climate souls refin'd Should show so heinous, black, obscene a deed! I speak to subjects, and a subject speaks, Stirr'd up by God, thus boldly for his king. My Lord of Hereford here, whom you call king, Is a foul traitor to proud Hereford's king; And if you crown him, let me prophesy- The blood of English shall manure the ground, And future ages groan for this foul act; Peace shall go sleep with Turks and infidels, And in this seat of peace tumultuous wars Shall kin with kin and kind with kind confound; Disorder, horror, fear, and mutiny, Shall here inhabit, and this land be call'd The field of Golgotha and dead men's skulls. O, if you raise this house against this house, It will the woefullest division prove That ever fell upon this cursed earth. Prevent it, resist it, let it not be so, Lest child, child's children, cry against you woe. NORTHUMBERLAND. Well have you argued, sir; and, for your pains, Of capital treason we arrest you here. My Lord of Westminster, be it your charge To keep him safely till his day of trial. May it please you, lords, to grant the commons' suit? BOLINGBROKE. Fetch hither Richard, that in common view He may surrender; so we shall proceed Without suspicion. YORK. I will be his conduct. [Exit] BOLINGBROKE. Lords, you that here are under our arrest, Procure your sureties for your days of answer. Little are we beholding to your love, And little look'd for at your helping hands. [Re-enter YORK, with KING RICHARD, and OFFICERS bearing the regalia] KING RICHARD. Alack, why am I sent for to a king, Before I have shook off the regal thoughts Wherewith I reign'd? I hardly yet have learn'd To insinuate, flatter, bow, and bend my knee. Give sorrow leave awhile to tutor me To this submission. Yet I well remember The favours of these men. Were they not mine? Did they not sometime cry 'All hail! ' to me? So Judas did to Christ; but he, in twelve, Found truth in all but one; I, in twelve thousand, none. God save the King! Will no man say amen? Am I both priest and clerk? Well then, amen. God save the King! although I be not he; And yet, amen, if heaven do think him me. To do what service am I sent for hither? YORK. To do that office of thine own good will Which tired majesty did make thee offer- The resignation of thy state and crown To Henry Bolingbroke. KING RICHARD. Give me the crown. Here, cousin, seize the crown. Here, cousin, On this side my hand, and on that side thine. Now is this golden crown like a deep well That owes two buckets, filling one another; The emptier ever dancing in the air, The other down, unseen, and full of water. That bucket down and full of tears am I, Drinking my griefs, whilst you mount up on high. BOLINGBROKE. I thought you had been willing to resign. KING RICHARD. My crown I am; but still my griefs are mine. You may my glories and my state depose, But not my griefs; still am I king of those. BOLINGBROKE. Part of your cares you give me with your crown.

KING RICHARD. Your cares set up do not pluck my cares down. My care is loss of care, by old care done; Your care is gain of care, by new care won. The cares I give I have, though given away; They tend the crown, yet still with me they stay. BOLINGBROKE. Are you contented to resign the crown? KING RICHARD. Ay, no; no, ay; for I must nothing be; Therefore no no, for I resign to thee. Now mark me how I will undo myself: I give this heavy weight from off my head, And this unwieldy sceptre from my hand, The pride of kingly sway from out my heart; With mine own tears I wash away my balm, With mine own hands I give away my crown, With mine own tongue deny my sacred state, With mine own breath release all duteous oaths; All pomp and majesty I do forswear; My manors, rents, revenues, I forgo; My acts, decrees, and statutes, I deny. God pardon all oaths that are broke to me! God keep all vows unbroke are made to thee! Make me, that nothing have, with nothing griev'd, And thou with all pleas'd, that hast an achiev'd. Long mayst thou live in Richard's seat to sit, And soon lie Richard in an earthly pit. God save King Henry, unking'd Richard says, And send him many years of sunshine days! What more remains? NORTHUMBERLAND. No more; but that you read These accusations, and these grievous crimes Committed by your person and your followers Against the state and profit of this land; That, by confessing them, the souls of men May deem that you are worthily depos'd. KING RICHARD. Must I do so? And must I ravel out My weav'd-up follies? Gentle Northumberland, If thy offences were upon record, Would it not shame thee in so fair a troop To read a lecture of them? If thou wouldst, There shouldst thou find one heinous article, Containing the deposing of a king And cracking the strong warrant of an oath, Mark'd with a blot, damn'd in the book of heaven. Nay, all of you that stand and look upon me Whilst that my wretchedness doth bait myself, Though some of you, with Pilate, wash your hands, Showing an outward pity-yet you Pilates Have here deliver'd me to my sour cross, And water cannot wash away your sin. NORTHUMBERLAND. My lord, dispatch; read o'er these articles. KING RICHARD. Mine eyes are full of tears; I cannot see. And yet salt water blinds them not so much But they can see a sort of traitors here. Nay, if I turn mine eyes upon myself, I find myself a traitor with the rest; For I have given here my soul's consent T'undeck the pompous body of a king; Made glory base, and sovereignty a slave, Proud majesty a subject, state a peasant. NORTHUMBERLAND. My lord- KING RICHARD. No lord of thine, thou haught insulting man, Nor no man's lord; I have no name, no title- No, not that name was given me at the font- But 'tis usurp'd. Alack the heavy day, That I have worn so many winters out, And know not now what name to call myself! O that I were a mockery king of snow, Standing before the sun of Bolingbroke To melt myself away in water drops! Good king, great king, and yet not greatly good, And if my word be sterling yet in England, Let it command a mirror hither straight, That it may show me what a face I have Since it is bankrupt of his majesty. BOLINGBROKE. Go some of you and fetch a looking-glass. [Exit an attendant] NORTHUMBERLAND. Read o'er this paper while the glass doth come. KING RICHARD. Fiend, thou torments me ere I come to hell. BOLINGBROKE. Urge it no more, my Lord Northumberland. NORTHUMBERLAND. The Commons will not, then, be satisfied. KING RICHARD. They shall be satisfied. I'll read enough, When I do see the very book indeed Where all my sins are writ, and that's myself. [Re-enter attendant with glass] Give me that glass, and therein will I read. No deeper wrinkles yet? Hath sorrow struck So many blows upon this face of mine And made no deeper wounds? O flatt'ring glass, Like to my followers in prosperity, Thou dost beguile me! Was this face the face That every day under his household roof Did keep ten thousand men? Was this the face That like the sun did make beholders wink? Is this the face which fac'd so many follies That was at last out-fac'd by Bolingbroke? A brittle glory shineth in this face; As brittle as the glory is the face; [Dashes the glass against the ground] For there it is, crack'd in a hundred shivers. Mark, silent king, the moral of this sport- How soon my sorrow hath destroy'd my face. BOLINGBROKE. The shadow of your sorrow hath destroy'd The shadow of your face. KING RICHARD. Say that again. The shadow of my sorrow? Ha! let's see. 'Tis very true: my grief lies all within; And these external manner of laments Are merely shadows to the unseen grief That swells with silence in the tortur'd soul. There lies the substance; and I thank thee, king, For thy great bounty, that not only giv'st Me cause to wail, but teachest me the way How to lament the cause. I'll beg one boon, And then be gone and trouble you no more. Shall I obtain it? BOLINGBROKE. Name it, fair cousin. KING RICHARD. Fair cousin! I am greater than a king; For when I was a king, my flatterers Were then but subjects; being now a subject, I have a king here to my flatterer. Being so great, I have no need to beg. BOLINGBROKE. Yet ask. KING RICHARD. And shall I have? BOLINGBROKE. You shall. KING RICHARD. Then give me leave to go. BOLINGBROKE. Whither? KING RICHARD. Whither you will, so I were from your sights. BOLINGBROKE. Go, some of you convey him to the Tower. KING RICHARD. O, good! Convey! Conveyers are you all, That rise thus nimbly by a true king's fall. [Exeunt KING RICHARD, some Lords and a Guard] BOLINGBROKE. On Wednesday next we solemnly set down Our coronation. Lords, prepare yourselves. [Exeunt all but the ABBOT OF WESTMINSTER, the BISHOP OF CARLISLE, and AUMERLE] ABBOT. A woeful pageant have we here beheld. CARLISLE. The woe's to come; the children yet unborn Shall feel this day as sharp to them as thorn. AUMERLE.

You holy clergymen, is there no plot To rid the realm of this pernicious blot? ABBOT. My lord, Before I freely speak my mind herein, You shall not only take the sacrament To bury mine intents, but also to effect Whatever I shall happen to devise. I see your brows are full of discontent, Your hearts of sorrow, and your eyes of tears. Come home with me to supper; I will lay A plot shall show us all a merry day. [Exeunt]<<THIS ELECTRONIC VERSION OF THE COMPLETE WORKS OF WILLIAMSHAKESPEARE IS COPYRIGHT 1990-1993 BY WORLD LIBRARY, INC. , AND ISPROVIDED BY PROJECT GUTENBERG ETEXT OF CARNEGIE MELLON UNIVERSITYWITH PERMISSION. ELECTRONIC AND MACHINE READABLE COPIES MAY BEDISTRIBUTED SO LONG AS SUCH COPIES (1) ARE FOR YOUR OR OTHERSPERSONAL USE ONLY, AND (2) ARE NOT DISTRIBUTED OR USEDCOMMERCIALLY. PROHIBITED COMMERCIAL DISTRIBUTION INCLUDES BY ANYSERVICE THAT CHARGES FOR DOWNLOAD TIME OR FOR MEMBERSHIP. >>ACT 5 SCENE 1London. A street leading to the Tower[Enter the QUEEN, with her attendants] QUEEN. This way the King will come; this is the way To Julius Caesar's ill-erected tower, To whose flint bosom my condemned lord Is doom'd a prisoner by proud Bolingbroke. Here let us rest, if this rebellious earth Have any resting for her true King's queen. [Enter KING RICHARD and Guard] But soft, but see, or rather do not see, My fair rose wither. Yet look up, behold, That you in pity may dissolve to dew, And wash him fresh again with true-love tears. Ah, thou, the model where old Troy did stand; Thou map of honour, thou King Richard's tomb, And not King Richard; thou most beauteous inn, Why should hard-favour'd grief be lodg'd in thee, When triumph is become an alehouse guest? KING RICHARD. Join not with grief, fair woman, do not so, To make my end too sudden. Learn, good soul, To think our former state a happy dream; From which awak'd, the truth of what we are Shows us but this: I am sworn brother, sweet, To grim Necessity; and he and Will keep a league till death. Hie thee to France, And cloister thee in some religious house. Our holy lives must win a new world's crown, Which our profane hours here have thrown down. QUEEN. What, is my Richard both in shape and mind Transform'd and weak'ned? Hath Bolingbroke depos'd Thine intellect? Hath he been in thy heart? The lion dying thrusteth forth his paw And wounds the earth, if nothing else, with rage To be o'erpow'r'd; and wilt thou, pupil-like, Take the correction mildly, kiss the rod, And fawn on rage with base humility, Which art a lion and the king of beasts? KING RICHARD. A king of beasts, indeed! If aught but beasts, I had been still a happy king of men. Good sometimes queen, prepare thee hence for France. Think I am dead, and that even here thou takest, As from my death-bed, thy last living leave. In winter's tedious nights sit by the fire With good old folks, and let them tell thee tales Of woeful ages long ago betid; And ere thou bid good night, to quit their griefs Tell thou the lamentable tale of me, And send the hearers weeping to their beds; For why, the senseless brands will sympathize The heavy accent of thy moving tongue, And in compassion weep the fire out; And some will mourn in ashes, some coal-black, For the deposing of a rightful king. [Enter NORTHUMBERLAND attended] NORTHUMBERLAND. My lord, the mind of Bolingbroke is chang'd; You must to Pomfret, not unto the Tower. And, madam, there is order ta'en for you: With all swift speed you must away to France. KING RICHARD. Northumberland, thou ladder wherewithal The mounting Bolingbroke ascends my throne, The time shall not be many hours of age More than it is, ere foul sin gathering head Shall break into corruption. Thou shalt think Though he divide the realm and give thee half It is too little, helping him to all; And he shall think that thou, which knowest the way To plant unrightful kings, wilt know again, Being ne'er so little urg'd, another way To pluck him headlong from the usurped throne. The love of wicked men converts to fear; That fear to hate; and hate turns one or both To worthy danger and deserved death. NORTHUMBERLAND. My guilt be on my head, and there an end. Take leave, and part; for you must part forthwith. KING RICHARD. Doubly divorc'd! Bad men, you violate A twofold marriage-'twixt my crown and me, And then betwixt me and my married wife. Let me unkiss the oath 'twixt thee and me; And yet not so, for with a kiss 'twas made. Part us, Northumberland; I towards the north, Where shivering cold and sickness pines the clime; My wife to France, from whence set forth in pomp, She came adorned hither like sweet May, Sent back like Hallowmas or short'st of day. QUEEN. And must we be divided? Must we part? KING RICHARD. Ay, hand from hand, my love, and heart fromheart. QUEEN. Banish us both, and send the King with me. NORTHUMBERLAND. That were some love, but little policy. QUEEN. Then whither he goes thither let me go. KING RICHARD. So two, together weeping, make one woe. Weep thou for me in France, I for thee here; Better far off than near, be ne'er the near. Go, count thy way with sighs; I mine with groans. QUEEN. So longest way shall have the longest moans. KING RICHARD. Twice for one step I'll groan, the way beingshort, And piece the way out with a heavy heart. Come, come, in wooing sorrow let's be brief, Since, wedding it, there is such length in grief. One kiss shall stop our mouths, and dumbly part; Thus give I mine, and thus take I thy heart. QUEEN. Give me mine own again; 'twere no good part To take on me to keep and kill thy heart. So, now I have mine own again, be gone. That I may strive to kill it with a groan. KING RICHARD. We make woe wanton with this fond delay. Once more, adieu; the rest let sorrow say. [Exeunt]SCENE 2The DUKE OF YORK's palace[Enter the DUKE OF YORK and the DUCHESS] DUCHESS. My Lord, you told me you would tell the rest, When weeping made you break the story off, Of our two cousins' coming into London. YORK. Where did I leave? DUCHESS. At that sad stop, my lord, Where rude misgoverned hands from windows' tops Threw dust and rubbish on King Richard's head. YORK. Then, as I said, the Duke, great Bolingbroke, Mounted upon a hot and fiery steed Which his aspiring rider seem'd to know, With slow but stately pace kept on his course, Whilst all tongues cried 'God save thee, Bolingbroke! ' You would have thought the very windows spake, So many greedy looks of young and old Through casements darted their desiring eyes Upon his visage; and that all the walls With painted imagery had said at once 'Jesu preserve thee! Welcome, Bolingbroke! ' Whilst he, from the one side to the other turning, Bareheaded, lower than his proud steed's neck, Bespake them thus, 'I thank you, countrymen. ' And thus still doing, thus he pass'd along. DUCHESS. Alack, poor Richard! where rode he the whilst? YORK. As in a theatre the eyes of men After a well-grac'd actor leaves the stage Are idly bent on him that enters next, Thinking his prattle to be tedious; Even so, or with much more contempt, men's eyes Did scowl on gentle Richard; no man cried 'God save him! ' No joyful tongue gave him his welcome home; But dust was thrown upon his sacred head; Which with such gentle sorrow he shook off, His face still combating with tears and smiles, The badges of his grief and patience, That had not God, for some strong purpose, steel'd The hearts of men, they must perforce have melted, And barbarism itself have pitied him. But heaven hath a hand in these events, To whose high will we bound our calm contents. To Bolingbroke are we sworn subjects now, Whose state and honour I for aye allow. DUCHESS. Here comes my son Aumerle. YORK. Aumerle that was But that is lost for being Richard's friend, And madam, you must call him Rudand now. I am in Parliament pledge for his truth And lasting fealty to the new-made king.

[Enter AUMERLE] DUCHESS. Welcome, my son. Who are the violets now That strew the green lap of the new come spring? AUMERLE. Madam, I know not, nor I greatly care not. God knows I had as lief be none as one. YORK. Well, bear you well in this new spring of time, Lest you be cropp'd before you come to prime. What news from Oxford? Do these justs and triumphs hold? AUMERLE. For aught I know, my lord, they do. YORK. You will be there, I know. AUMERLE. If God prevent not, I purpose so. YORK. What seal is that that without thy bosom? Yea, look'st thou pale? Let me see the writing. AUMERLE. My lord, 'tis nothing. YORK. No matter, then, who see it. I will be satisfied; let me see the writing. AUMERLE. I do beseech your Grace to pardon me; It is a matter of small consequence Which for some reasons I would not have seen. YORK. Which for some reasons, sir, I mean to see. I fear, I fear- DUCHESS. What should you fear? 'Tis nothing but some bond that he is ent'red into For gay apparel 'gainst the triumph-day. YORK. Bound to himself! What doth he with a bond That he is bound to? Wife, thou art a fool. Boy, let me see the writing. AUMERLE. I do beseech you, pardon me; I may not show it. YORK. I will be satisfied; let me see it, I say. [He plucks it out of his bosom, and reads it] Treason, foul treason! Villain! traitor! slave! DUCHESS. What is the matter, my lord? YORK. Ho! who is within there? [Enter a servant] Saddle my horse. God for his mercy, what treachery is here! DUCHESS. Why, York, what is it, my lord? YORK. Give me my boots, I say; saddle my horse. [Exit servant] Now, by mine honour, by my life, my troth, I will appeach the villain. DUCHESS. What is the matter? YORK. Peace, foolish woman. DUCHESS. I will not peace. What is the matter, Aumerle? AUMERLE. Good mother, be content; it is no more Than my poor life must answer. DUCHESS. Thy life answer! YORK. Bring me my boots. I will unto the King. [His man enters with his boots] DUCHESS. Strike him, Aumerle. Poor boy, thou art amaz'd. Hence, villain! never more come in my sight. YORK. Give me my boots, I say. DUCHESS. Why, York, what wilt thou do? Wilt thou not hide the trespass of thine own? Have we more sons? or are we like to have? Is not my teeming date drunk up with time? And wilt thou pluck my fair son from mine age And rob me of a happy mother's name? Is he not like thee? Is he not thine own? YORK. Thou fond mad woman, Wilt thou conceal this dark conspiracy? A dozen of them here have ta'en the sacrament, And interchangeably set down their hands To kill the King at Oxford. DUCHESS. He shall be none; We'll keep him here. Then what is that to him? YORK. Away, fond woman! were he twenty times my son I would appeach him. DUCHESS. Hadst thou groan'd for him As I have done, thou wouldst be more pitiful. But now I know thy mind: thou dost suspect That I have been disloyal to thy bed And that he is a bastard, not thy son. Sweet York, sweet husband, be not of that mind.

He is as like thee as a man may be Not like to me, or any of my kin, And yet I love him. YORK. Make way, unruly woman! [Exit] DUCHESS. After, Aumerle! Mount thee upon his horse; Spur post, and get before him to the King, And beg thy pardon ere he do accuse thee. I'll not be long behind; though I be old, I doubt not but to ride as fast as York; And never will I rise up from the ground Till Bolingbroke have pardon'd thee. Away, be gone. [Exeunt]SCENE 3Windsor Castle[Enter BOLINGBROKE as King, PERCY, and other LORDS] BOLINGBROKE. Can no man tell me of my unthrifty son? 'Tis full three months since I did see him last. If any plague hang over us, 'tis he. I would to God, my lords, he might be found. Inquire at London, 'mongst the taverns there, For there, they say, he daily doth frequent With unrestrained loose companions, Even such, they say, as stand in narrow lanes And beat our watch and rob our passengers, Which he, young wanton and effeminate boy, Takes on the point of honour to support So dissolute a crew. PERCY. My lord, some two days since I saw the Prince, And told him of those triumphs held at Oxford. BOLINGBROKE. And what said the gallant? PERCY. His answer was, he would unto the stews, And from the common'st creature pluck a glove And wear it as a favour; and with that He would unhorse the lustiest challenger. BOLINGBROKE. As dissolute as desperate; yet through both I see some sparks of better hope, which elder years May happily bring forth. But who comes here? [Enter AUMERLE amazed] AUMERLE. Where is the King? BOLINGBROKE. What means our cousin that he stares and looks So wildly? AUMERLE. God save your Grace! I do beseech your Majesty, To have some conference with your Grace alone. BOLINGBROKE. Withdraw yourselves, and leave us here alone. [Exeunt PERCY and LORDS] What is the matter with our cousin now? AUMERLE. For ever may my knees grow to the earth, [Kneels] My tongue cleave to my roof within my mouth, Unless a pardon ere I rise or speak. BOLINGBROKE. Intended or committed was this fault? If on the first, how heinous e'er it be, To win thy after-love I pardon thee. AUMERLE. Then give me leave that I may turn the key, That no man enter till my tale be done. BOLINGBROKE. Have thy desire. [The DUKE OF YORK knocks at the door and crieth] YORK. [Within] My liege, beware; look to thyself; Thou hast a traitor in thy presence there. BOLINGBROKE. [Drawing] Villain, I'll make thee safe. AUMERLE. Stay thy revengeful hand; thou hast no cause to fear. YORK. [Within] Open the door, secure, foolhardy King. Shall I, for love, speak treason to thy face? Open the door, or I will break it open. [Enter YORK] BOLINGBROKE. What is the matter, uncle? Speak; Recover breath; tell us how near is danger, That we may arm us to encounter it. YORK. Peruse this writing here, and thou shalt know The treason that my haste forbids me show. AUMERLE. Remember, as thou read'st, thy promise pass'd. I do repent me; read not my name there; My heart is not confederate with my hand. YORK. It was, villain, ere thy hand did set it down. I tore it from the traitor's bosom, King; Fear, and not love, begets his penitence. Forget to pity him, lest thy pity prove A serpent that will sting thee to the heart. BOLINGBROKE. O heinous, strong, and bold conspiracy! O loyal father of a treacherous son! Thou sheer, immaculate, and silver fountain, From whence this stream through muddy passages Hath held his current and defil'd himself! Thy overflow of good converts to bad; And thy abundant goodness shall excuse This deadly blot in thy digressing son. YORK. So shall my virtue be his vice's bawd; And he shall spend mine honour with his shame, As thriftless sons their scraping fathers' gold. Mine honour lives when his dishonour dies, Or my sham'd life in his dishonour lies. Thou kill'st me in his life; giving him breath, The traitor lives, the true man's put to death. DUCHESS. [Within] What ho, my liege, for God's sake, let me in. BOLINGBROKE. What shrill-voic'd suppliant makes this eager cry? DUCHESS. [Within] A woman, and thine aunt, great King; 'tis I. Speak with me, pity me, open the door. A beggar begs that never begg'd before. BOLINGBROKE. Our scene is alt'red from a serious thing, And now chang'd to 'The Beggar and the King. ' My dangerous cousin, let your mother in. I know she is come to pray for your foul sin. YORK. If thou do pardon whosoever pray, More sins for this forgiveness prosper may. This fest'red joint cut off, the rest rest sound; This let alone will all the rest confound. [Enter DUCHESS] DUCHESS. O King, believe not this hard-hearted man! Love loving not itself, none other can. YORK. Thou frantic woman, what dost thou make here? Shall thy old dugs once more a traitor rear? DUCHESS. Sweet York, be patient. Hear me, gentle liege. [Kneels] BOLINGBROKE. Rise up, good aunt. DUCHESS.

Not yet, I thee beseech. For ever will I walk upon my knees, And never see day that the happy sees Till thou give joy; until thou bid me joy By pardoning Rutland, my transgressing boy. AUMERLE. Unto my mother's prayers I bend my knee. [Kneels] YORK. Against them both, my true joints bended be. [Kneels] Ill mayst thou thrive, if thou grant any grace! DUCHESS. Pleads he in earnest? Look upon his face; His eyes do drop no tears, his prayers are in jest; His words come from his mouth, ours from our breast. He prays but faintly and would be denied; We pray with heart and soul, and all beside. His weary joints would gladly rise, I know; Our knees still kneel till to the ground they grow. His prayers are full of false hypocrisy; Ours of true zeal and deep integrity. Our prayers do out-pray his; then let them have That mercy which true prayer ought to have. BOLINGBROKE. Good aunt, stand up. DUCHESS. Nay, do not say 'stand up'; Say 'pardon' first, and afterwards 'stand up. ' An if I were thy nurse, thy tongue to teach, 'Pardon' should be the first word of thy speech. I never long'd to hear a word till now; Say 'pardon,' King; let pity teach thee how. The word is short, but not so short as sweet; No word like 'pardon' for kings' mouths so meet. YORK. Speak it in French, King, say 'pardonne moy. ' DUCHESS. Dost thou teach pardon pardon to destroy? Ah, my sour husband, my hard-hearted lord, That sets the word itself against the word! Speak 'pardon' as 'tis current in our land; The chopping French we do not understand. Thine eye begins to speak, set thy tongue there; Or in thy piteous heart plant thou thine ear, That hearing how our plaints and prayers do pierce, Pity may move thee 'pardon' to rehearse. BOLINGBROKE. Good aunt, stand up. DUCHESS. I do not sue to stand; Pardon is all the suit I have in hand. BOLINGBROKE. I pardon him, as God shall pardon me. DUCHESS. O happy vantage of a kneeling knee! Yet am I sick for fear. Speak it again. Twice saying 'pardon' doth not pardon twain, But makes one pardon strong. BOLINGBROKE. With all my heart I pardon him. DUCHESS. A god on earth thou art. BOLINGBROKE. But for our trusty brother-in-law and the Abbot, With all the rest of that consorted crew, Destruction straight shall dog them at the heels. Good uncle, help to order several powers To Oxford, or where'er these traitors are. They shall not live within this world, I swear, But I will have them, if I once know where. Uncle, farewell; and, cousin, adieu; Your mother well hath pray'd, and prove you true. DUCHESS. Come, my old son; I pray God make thee new. [Exeunt]SCENE 4Windsor Castle[Enter SIR PIERCE OF EXTON and a servant] EXTON. Didst thou not mark the King, what words he spake? 'Have I no friend will rid me of this living fear? ' Was it not so? SERVANT. These were his very words. EXTON. 'Have I no friend? ' quoth he. He spake it twice And urg'd it twice together, did he not? SERVANT. He did. EXTON. And, speaking it, he wishtly look'd on me, As who should say 'I would thou wert the man That would divorce this terror from my heart'; Meaning the King at Pomfret. Come, let's go. I am the King's friend, and will rid his foe. [Exeunt]SCENE 5Pomfret Castle. The dungeon of the Castle[Enter KING RICHARD] KING RICHARD. I have been studying how I may compare This prison where I live unto the world And, for because the world is populous And here is not a creature but myself, I cannot do it. Yet I'll hammer it out. My brain I'll prove the female to my soul, My soul the father; and these two beget A generation of still-breeding thoughts, And these same thoughts people this little world, In humours like the people of this world, For no thought is contented. The better sort, As thoughts of things divine, are intermix'd With scruples, and do set the word itself Against the word, As thus: 'Come, little ones'; and then again, 'It is as hard to come as for a camel To thread the postern of a small needle's eye. ' Thoughts tending to ambition, they do plot Unlikely wonders: how these vain weak nails May tear a passage through the flinty ribs Of this hard world, my ragged prison walls; And, for they cannot, die in their own pride. Thoughts tending to content flatter themselves That they are not the first of fortune's slaves, Nor shall not be the last; like silly beggars Who, sitting in the stocks, refuge their shame, That many have and others must sit there; And in this thought they find a kind of ease, Bearing their own misfortunes on the back Of such as have before endur'd the like. Thus play I in one person many people, And none contented. Sometimes am I king; Then treasons make me wish myself a beggar, And so I am. Then crushing penury Persuades me I was better when a king; Then am I king'd again; and by and by Think that I am unking'd by Bolingbroke, And straight am nothing. But whate'er I be, Nor I, nor any man that but man is, With nothing shall be pleas'd till he be eas'd With being nothing. [The music plays] Music do I hear? Ha, ha! keep time. How sour sweet music is When time is broke and no proportion kept! So is it in the music of men's lives. And here have I the daintiness of ear To check time broke in a disorder'd string; But, for the concord of my state and time, Had not an ear to hear my true time broke. I wasted time, and now doth time waste me; For now hath time made me his numb'ring clock: My thoughts are minutes; and with sighs they jar Their watches on unto mine eyes, the outward watch, Whereto my finger, like a dial's point, Is pointing still, in cleansing them from tears. Now sir, the sound that tells what hour it is Are clamorous groans which strike upon my heart, Which is the bell. So sighs, and tears, and groans, Show minutes, times, and hours; but my time Runs posting on in Bolingbroke's proud joy, While I stand fooling here, his Jack of the clock. This music mads me. Let it sound no more; For though it have holp madmen to their wits, In me it seems it will make wise men mad. Yet blessing on his heart that gives it me! For 'tis a sign of love; and love to Richard Is a strange brooch in this all-hating world. [Enter a GROOM of the stable] GROOM. Hail, royal Prince! KING RICHARD. Thanks, noble peer! The cheapest of us is ten groats too dear. What art thou? and how comest thou hither, Where no man never comes but that sad dog That brings me food to make misfortune live? GROOM. I was a poor groom of thy stable, King, When thou wert king; who, travelling towards York, With much ado at length have gotten leave To look upon my sometimes royal master's face.

O, how it ern'd my heart, when I beheld, In London streets, that coronation-day, When Bolingbroke rode on roan Barbary- That horse that thou so often hast bestrid, That horse that I so carefully have dress'd! KING RICHARD. Rode he on Barbary? Tell me, gentle friend, How went he under him? GROOM. So proudly as if he disdain'd the ground. KING RICHARD. So proud that Bolingbroke was on his back! That jade hath eat bread from my royal hand; This hand hath made him proud with clapping him. Would he not stumble? would he not fall down, Since pride must have a fall, and break the neck Of that proud man that did usurp his back? Forgiveness, horse! Why do I rail on thee, Since thou, created to be aw'd by man, Wast born to bear? I was not made a horse; And yet I bear a burden like an ass, Spurr'd, gall'd, and tir'd, by jauncing Bolingbroke. [Enter KEEPER with meat] KEEPER. Fellow, give place; here is no longer stay. KING RICHARD. If thou love me, 'tis time thou wert away. GROOM. My tongue dares not, that my heart shall say. [Exit] KEEPER. My lord, will't please you to fall to? KING RICHARD. Taste of it first as thou art wont to do. KEEPER. My lord, I dare not. Sir Pierce of Exton, Who lately came from the King, commands the contrary. KING RICHARD. The devil take Henry of Lancaster and thee! Patience is stale, and I am weary of it. [Beats the KEEPER] KEEPER. Help, help, help! [The murderers, EXTON and servants, rush in, armed] KING RICHARD. How now! What means death in this rude assault? Villain, thy own hand yields thy death's instrument. [Snatching a weapon and killing one] Go thou and fill another room in hell. [He kills another, then EXTON strikes him down] That hand shall burn in never-quenching fire That staggers thus my person. Exton, thy fierce hand Hath with the King's blood stain'd the King's own land. Mount, mount, my soul! thy seat is up on high; Whilst my gross flesh sinks downward, here to die. [Dies] EXTON. As full of valour as of royal blood. Both have I spill'd. O, would the deed were good! For now the devil, that told me I did well, Says that this deed is chronicled in hell. This dead King to the living King I'll bear. Take hence the rest, and give them burial here. [Exeunt]SCENE 6Windsor Castle[Flourish. Enter BOLINGBROKE, the DUKE OF YORK, With other LORDSand attendants] BOLINGBROKE. Kind uncle York, the latest news we hear Is that the rebels have consum'd with fire Our town of Ciceter in Gloucestershire; But whether they be ta'en or slain we hear not. [Enter NORTHUMBERLAND] Welcome, my lord. What is the news? NORTHUMBERLAND. First, to thy sacred state wish I allhappiness. The next news is, I have to London sent The heads of Salisbury, Spencer, Blunt, and Kent. The manner of their taking may appear At large discoursed in this paper here. BOLINGBROKE. We thank thee, gentle Percy, for thy pains; And to thy worth will add right worthy gains. [Enter FITZWATER] FITZWATER. My lord, I have from Oxford sent to London The heads of Brocas and Sir Bennet Seely; Two of the dangerous consorted traitors That sought at Oxford thy dire overthrow. BOLINGBROKE. Thy pains, Fitzwater, shall not be forgot; Right noble is thy merit, well I wot. [Enter PERCY, With the BISHOP OF CARLISLE] PERCY. The grand conspirator, Abbot of Westminster, With clog of conscience and sour melancholy, Hath yielded up his body to the grave; But here is Carlisle living, to abide Thy kingly doom, and sentence of his pride. BOLINGBROKE. Carlisle, this is your doom: Choose out some secret place, some reverend room, More than thou hast, and with it joy thy life; So as thou liv'st in peace, die free from strife; For though mine enemy thou hast ever been, High sparks of honour in thee have I seen. [Enter EXTON, with attendants, bearing a coffin] EXTON. Great King, within this coffin I present Thy buried fear. Herein all breathless lies The mightiest of thy greatest enemies, Richard of Bordeaux, by me hither brought. BOLINGBROKE. Exton, I thank thee not; for thou hast wrought A deed of slander with thy fatal hand Upon my head and all this famous land. EXTON. From your own mouth, my lord, did I this deed. BOLINGBROKE. They love not poison that do poison need, Nor do I thee. Though I did wish him dead, I hate the murderer, love him murdered. The guilt of conscience take thou for thy labour, But neither my good word nor princely favour; With Cain go wander thorough shades of night, And never show thy head by day nor light. Lords, I protest my soul is full of woe That blood should sprinkle me to make me grow. Come, mourn with me for what I do lament, And put on sullen black incontinent. I'll make a voyage to the Holy Land, To wash this blood off from my guilty hand. March sadly after; grace my mournings here In weeping after this untimely bier. [Exeunt]THE END<<THIS ELECTRONIC VERSION OF THE COMPLETE WORKS OF WILLIAMSHAKESPEARE IS COPYRIGHT 1990-1993 BY WORLD LIBRARY, INC. , AND ISPROVIDED BY PROJECT GUTENBERG ETEXT OF CARNEGIE MELLON UNIVERSITYWITH PERMISSION. ELECTRONIC AND MACHINE READABLE COPIES MAY BEDISTRIBUTED SO LONG AS SUCH COPIES (1) ARE FOR YOUR OR OTHERSPERSONAL USE ONLY, AND (2) ARE NOT DISTRIBUTED OR USEDCOMMERCIALLY. PROHIBITED COMMERCIAL DISTRIBUTION INCLUDES BY ANYSERVICE THAT CHARGES FOR DOWNLOAD TIME OR FOR MEMBERSHIP. >>End of this Etext of The Complete Works of William Shakespeare, King Richard theSecond

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FOR PUBLIC DOMAIN ETEXTS*Ver. 04. 29. 93*END*Project Gutenberg's Etext of Shakespeare's The Tragedie of MacbethExecutive Director's Notes:In addition to the notes below, and so you will *NOT* think allthe spelling errors introduced by the printers of the time havebeen corrected, here are the first few lines of Hamlet, as theyare presented herein: Barnardo. Who's there? Fran. Nay answer me: Stand & vnfoldyour selfe Bar. Long liue the King***As I understand it, the printers often ran out of certain wordsor letters they had often packed into a "cliche". . . this is theoriginal meaning of the term cliche. . . and thus, being unwillingto unpack the cliches, and thus you will see some substitutionsthat look very odd. . . such as the exchanges of u for v, v for u,above. . . and you may wonder why they did it this way, presumingShakespeare did not actually write the play in this manner. . . . The answer is that they MAY have packed "liue" into a cliche at atime when they were out of "v"'s. . . possibly having used "vv" inplace of some "w"'s, etc. This was a common practice of the day,as print was still quite expensive, and they didn't want to spendmore on a wider selection of characters than they had to. You will find a lot of these kinds of "errors" in this text, as Ihave mentioned in other times and places, many "scholars" have anextreme attachment to these errors, and many have accorded them avery high place in the "canon" of Shakespeare. My father read anassortment of these made available to him by Cambridge Universityin England for several months in a glass room constructed for thepurpose. To the best of my knowledge he read ALL those available. . . in great detail. . . and determined from the various changes,that Shakespeare most likely did not write in nearly as many of avariety of errors we credit him for, even though he was in/famousfor signing his name with several different spellings. So, please take this into account when reading the comments belowmade by our volunteer who prepared this file: you may see errorsthat are "not" errors. . . . So. . . with this caveat. . . we have NOT changed the canon errors,here is the Project Gutenberg Etext of Shakespeare's The Tragedieof Macbeth. Michael S. HartProject GutenbergExecutive Director***Scanner's Notes: What this is and isn't. This was taken froma copy of Shakespeare's first folio and it is as close as I cancome in ASCII to the printed text. The elongated S's have been changed to small s's and theconjoined ae have been changed to ae. I have left the spelling,punctuation, capitalization as close as possible to theprinted text. I have corrected some spelling mistakes (I have puttogether a spelling dictionary devised from the spellings of theGeneva Bible and Shakespeare's First Folio and have unifiedspellings according to this template), typo's and expandedabbreviations as I have come across them.

Everything withinbrackets [] is what I have added. So if you don't like thatyou can delete everything within the brackets if you want apurer Shakespeare. Another thing that you should be aware of is that there are textualdifferences between various copies of the first folio. So there maybe differences (other than what I have mentioned above) betweenthis and other first folio editions. This is due to the printer'shabit of setting the type and running off a number of copies andthen proofing the printed copy and correcting the type and thencontinuing the printing run. The proof run wasn't thrown away butincorporated into the printed copies. This is just the way it is. The text I have used was a composite of more than 30 differentFirst Folio editions' best pages. If you find any scanning errors, out and out typos, punctuationerrors, or if you disagree with my spelling choices please feelfree to email me those errors. I wish to make this the bestetext possible. My email address for right now are haradda@aol. comand davidr@inconnect. com. I hope that you enjoy this. David ReedThe Tragedie of MacbethActus Primus. Scoena Prima. Thunder and Lightning. Enter three Witches. 1. When shall we three meet againe? In Thunder, Lightning, or in Raine? 2. When the Hurley-burley's done,When the Battaile's lost, and wonne 3. That will be ere the set of Sunne 1. Where the place? 2. Vpon the Heath 3. There to meet with Macbeth 1. I come, Gray-Malkin All. Padock calls anon: faire is foule, and foule is faire,Houer through the fogge and filthie ayre. Exeunt. Scena Secunda. Alarum within. Enter King, Malcome, Donalbaine, Lenox, withattendants, meeting a bleeding Captaine. King. What bloody man is that? he can report,As seemeth by his plight, of the ReuoltThe newest state Mal. This is the Serieant,Who like a good and hardie Souldier fought'Gainst my Captiuitie: Haile braue friend;Say to the King, the knowledge of the Broyle,As thou didst leaue it Cap. Doubtfull it stood,As two spent Swimmers, that doe cling together,And choake their Art: The mercilesse Macdonwald(Worthie to be a Rebell, for to thatThe multiplying Villanies of NatureDoe swarme vpon him) from the Westerne IslesOf Kernes and Gallowgrosses is supply'd,And Fortune on his damned Quarry smiling,Shew'd like a Rebells Whore: but all's too weake:For braue Macbeth (well hee deserues that Name)Disdayning Fortune, with his brandisht Steele,Which smoak'd with bloody execution(Like Valours Minion) caru'd out his passage,Till hee fac'd the Slaue:Which neu'r shooke hands, nor bad farwell to him,Till he vnseam'd him from the Naue toth' Chops,And fix'd his Head vpon our Battlements King. O valiant Cousin, worthy Gentleman Cap. As whence the Sunne 'gins his reflection,Shipwracking Stormes, and direfull Thunders:So from that Spring, whence comfort seem'd to come,Discomfort swells: Marke King of Scotland, marke,No sooner Iustice had, with Valour arm'd,Compell'd these skipping Kernes to trust their heeles,But the Norweyan Lord, surueying vantage,With furbusht Armes, and new supplyes of men,Began a fresh assault King. Dismay'd not this our Captaines, Macbeth andBanquoh? Cap. Yes, as Sparrowes, Eagles;Or the Hare, the Lyon:If I say sooth, I must report they wereAs Cannons ouer-charg'd with double Cracks,So they doubly redoubled stroakes vpon the Foe:Except they meant to bathe in reeking Wounds,Or memorize another Golgotha,I cannot tell: but I am faint,My Gashes cry for helpe King. So well thy words become thee, as thy wounds,They smack of Honor both: Goe get him Surgeons. Enter Rosse and Angus. Who comes here? Mal. The worthy Thane of Rosse Lenox. What a haste lookes through his eyes? So should he looke, that seemes to speake things strange Rosse. God saue the King King. Whence cam'st thou, worthy Thane? Rosse. From Fiffe, great King,Where the Norweyan Banners flowt the Skie,And fanne our people cold. Norway himselfe, with terrible numbers,Assisted by that most disloyall Traytor,The Thane of Cawdor, began a dismall Conflict,Till that Bellona's Bridegroome, lapt in proofe,Confronted him with selfe-comparisons,Point against Point, rebellious Arme 'gainst Arme,Curbing his lauish spirit: and to conclude,The Victorie fell on vs King. Great happinesse Rosse. That now Sweno, the Norwayes King,Craues composition:Nor would we deigne him buriall of his men,Till he disbursed, at Saint Colmes ynch,Ten thousand Dollars, to our generall vse King. No more that Thane of Cawdor shall deceiueOur Bosome interest: Goe pronounce his present death,And with his former Title greet Macbeth Rosse. Ile see it done King. What he hath lost, Noble Macbeth hath wonne. Exeunt. Scena Tertia. Thunder. Enter the three Witches. 1. Where hast thou beene, Sister? 2. Killing Swine 3. Sister, where thou? 1. A Saylors Wife had Chestnuts in her Lappe,And mouncht, & mouncht, and mouncht:Giue me, quoth I. Aroynt thee, Witch, the rumpe-fed Ronyon cryes. Her Husband's to Aleppo gone, Master o'th' Tiger:But in a Syue Ile thither sayle,And like a Rat without a tayle,Ile doe, Ile doe, and Ile doe 2. Ile giue thee a Winde 1. Th'art kinde 3. And I another 1. I my selfe haue all the other,And the very Ports they blow,All the Quarters that they know,I'th' Ship-mans Card. Ile dreyne him drie as Hay:Sleepe shall neyther Night nor DayHang vpon his Pent-house Lid:He shall liue a man forbid:Wearie Seu'nights, nine times nine,Shall he dwindle, peake, and pine:Though his Barke cannot be lost,Yet it shall be Tempest-tost. Looke what I haue 2. Shew me, shew me 1. Here I haue a Pilots Thumbe,Wrackt, as homeward he did come. Drum within. 3.

A Drumme, a Drumme:Macbeth doth come All. The weyward Sisters, hand in hand,Posters of the Sea and Land,Thus doe goe, about, about,Thrice to thine, and thrice to mine,And thrice againe, to make vp nine. Peace, the Charme's wound vp. Enter Macbeth and Banquo. Macb. So foule and faire a day I haue not seene Banquo. How farre is't call'd to Soris? What are these,So wither'd, and so wilde in their attyre,That looke not like th' Inhabitants o'th' Earth,And yet are on't? Liue you, or are you aughtThat man may question? you seeme to vnderstand me,By each at once her choppie finger layingVpon her skinnie Lips: you should be Women,And yet your Beards forbid me to interpreteThat you are so Mac. Speake if you can: what are you? 1. All haile Macbeth, haile to thee Thane of Glamis 2. All haile Macbeth, haile to thee Thane of Cawdor 3. All haile Macbeth, that shalt be King hereafter Banq. Good Sir, why doe you start, and seeme to feareThings that doe sound so faire? i'th' name of truthAre ye fantasticall, or that indeedWhich outwardly ye shew? My Noble PartnerYou greet with present Grace, and great predictionOf Noble hauing, and of Royall hope,That he seemes wrapt withall: to me you speake not. If you can looke into the Seedes of Time,And say, which Graine will grow, and which will not,Speake then to me, who neyther begge, nor feareYour fauors, nor your hate 1. Hayle 2. Hayle 3. Hayle 1. Lesser than Macbeth, and greater 2. Not so happy, yet much happyer 3. Thou shalt get Kings, though thou be none:So all haile Macbeth, and Banquo 1. Banquo, and Macbeth, all haile Macb. Stay you imperfect Speakers, tell me more:By Sinells death, I know I am Thane of Glamis,But how, of Cawdor? the Thane of Cawdor liuesA prosperous Gentleman: And to be King,Stands not within the prospect of beleefe,No more then to be Cawdor. Say from whenceYou owe this strange Intelligence, or whyVpon this blasted Heath you stop our wayWith such Prophetique greeting? Speake, I charge you. Witches vanish. Banq. The Earth hath bubbles, as the Water ha's,And these are of them: whither are they vanish'd? Macb. Into the Ayre: and what seem'd corporall,Melted, as breath into the Winde. Would they had stay'd Banq. Were such things here, as we doe speake about? Or haue we eaten on the insane Root,That takes the Reason Prisoner? Macb. Your Children shall be Kings Banq. You shall be King Macb. And Thane of Cawdor too: went it not so? Banq. Toth' selfe-same tune and words: who's here? Enter Rosse and Angus. Rosse. The King hath happily receiu'd, Macbeth,The newes of thy successe: and when he readesThy personall Venture in the Rebels sight,His Wonders and his Prayses doe contend,Which should be thine, or his: silenc'd with that,In viewing o're the rest o'th' selfe-same day,He findes thee in the stout Norweyan Rankes,Nothing afeard of what thy selfe didst makeStrange Images of death, as thick as TaleCan post with post, and euery one did beareThy prayses in his Kingdomes great defence,And powr'd them downe before him Ang. Wee are sent,To giue thee from our Royall Master thanks,Onely to harrold thee into his sight,Not pay thee Rosse. And for an earnest of a greater Honor,He bad me, from him, call thee Thane of Cawdor:In which addition, haile most worthy Thane,For it is thine Banq. What, can the Deuill speake true? Macb. The Thane of Cawdor liues:Why doe you dresse me in borrowed Robes? Ang. Who was the Thane, liues yet,But vnder heauie Iudgement beares that Life,Which he deserues to loose. Whether he was combin'd with those of Norway,Or did lyne the Rebell with hidden helpe,And vantage; or that with both he labour'dIn his Countreyes wracke, I know not:But Treasons Capitall, confess'd, and prou'd,Haue ouerthrowne him Macb. Glamys, and Thane of Cawdor:The greatest is behinde. Thankes for your paines. Doe you not hope your Children shall be Kings,When those that gaue the Thane of Cawdor to me,Promis'd no lesse to them Banq. That trusted home,Might yet enkindle you vnto the Crowne,Besides the Thane of Cawdor. But 'tis strange:And oftentimes, to winne vs to our harme,The Instruments of Darknesse tell vs Truths,Winne vs with honest Trifles, to betray'sIn deepest consequence. Cousins, a word, I pray you Macb. Two Truths are told,As happy Prologues to the swelling ActOf the Imperiall Theame. I thanke you Gentlemen:This supernaturall sollicitingCannot be ill; cannot be good. If ill? why hath it giuen me earnest of successe,Commencing in a Truth? I am Thane of Cawdor. If good? why doe I yeeld to that suggestion,Whose horrid Image doth vnfixe my Heire,And make my seated Heart knock at my Ribbes,Against the vse of Nature? Present FearesAre lesse then horrible Imaginings:My Thought, whose Murther yet is but fantasticall,Shakes so my single state of Man,That Function is smother'd in surmise,And nothing is, but what is not Banq. Looke how our Partner's rapt Macb. If Chance will haue me King,Why Chance may Crowne me,Without my stirre Banq. New Honors come vpon himLike our strange Garments, cleaue not to their mould,But with the aid of vse Macb. Come what come may,Time, and the Houre, runs through the roughest Day Banq. Worthy Macbeth, wee stay vpon your leysure Macb. Giue me your fauour:My dull Braine was wrought with things forgotten. Kinde Gentlemen, your paines are registred,Where euery day I turne the Leafe,To reade them. Let vs toward the King: thinke vponWhat hath chanc'd: and at more time,The Interim hauing weigh'd it, let vs speakeOur free Hearts each to other Banq. Very gladly Macb. Till then enough:Come friends. Exeunt. Scena Quarta. Flourish. Enter King, Lenox, Malcolme, Donalbaine, andAttendants. King.

Is execution done on Cawdor? Or not those in Commission yet return'd? Mal. My Liege, they are not yet come back. But I haue spoke with one that saw him die:Who did report, that very frankly heeConfess'd his Treasons, implor'd your Highnesse Pardon,And set forth a deepe Repentance:Nothing in his Life became him,Like the leauing it. Hee dy'de,As one that had beene studied in his death,To throw away the dearest thing he ow'd,As 'twere a carelesse Trifle King. There's no Art,To finde the Mindes construction in the Face. He was a Gentleman, on whom I builtAn absolute Trust. Enter Macbeth, Banquo, Rosse, and Angus. O worthyest Cousin,The sinne of my Ingratitude euen nowWas heauie on me. Thou art so farre before,That swiftest Wing of Recompence is slow,To ouertake thee. Would thou hadst lesse deseru'd,That the proportion both of thanks, and payment,Might haue beene mine: onely I haue left to say,More is thy due, then more then all can pay Macb. The seruice, and the loyaltie I owe,In doing it, payes it selfe. Your Highnesse part, is to receiue our Duties:And our Duties are to your Throne, and State,Children, and Seruants; which doe but what they should,By doing euery thing safe toward your LoueAnd Honor King. Welcome hither:I haue begun to plant thee, and will labourTo make thee full of growing. Noble Banquo,That hast no lesse deseru'd, nor must be knowneNo lesse to haue done so: Let me enfold thee,And hold thee to my Heart Banq. There if I grow,The Haruest is your owne King. My plenteous Ioyes,Wanton in fulnesse, seeke to hide themseluesIn drops of sorrow. Sonnes, Kinsmen, Thanes,And you whose places are the nearest, know,We will establish our Estate vponOur eldest, Malcolme, whom we name hereafter,The Prince of Cumberland: which Honor mustNot vnaccompanied, inuest him onely,But signes of Noblenesse, like Starres, shall shineOn all deseruers. From hence to Envernes,And binde vs further to you Macb. The Rest is Labor, which is not vs'd for you:Ile be my selfe the Herbenger, and make ioyfullThe hearing of my Wife, with your approach:So humbly take my leaue King. My worthy Cawdor Macb. The Prince of Cumberland: that is a step,On which I must fall downe, or else o're-leape,For in my way it lyes. Starres hide your fires,Let not Light see my black and deepe desires:The Eye winke at the Hand: yet let that bee,Which the Eye feares, when it is done to see. Enter. King. True worthy Banquo: he is full so valiant,And in his commendations, I am fed:It is a Banquet to me. Let's after him,Whose care is gone before, to bid vs welcome:It is a peerelesse Kinsman. Flourish. Exeunt. Scena Quinta. Enter Macbeths Wife alone with a Letter. Lady. They met me in the day of successe: and I hauelearn'd by the perfect'st report, they haue more in them, thenmortall knowledge. When I burnt in desire to question themfurther, they made themselues Ayre, into which they vanish'd. Whiles I stood rapt in the wonder of it, came Missiues fromthe King, who all-hail'd me Thane of Cawdor, by which Titlebefore, these weyward Sisters saluted me, and referr'd me tothe comming on of time, with haile King that shalt be. Thishaue I thought good to deliuer thee (my dearest Partner ofGreatnesse) that thou might'st not loose the dues of reioycingby being ignorant of what Greatnesse is promis'd thee. Layit to thy heart and farewell. Glamys thou art, and Cawdor, and shalt beWhat thou art promis'd: yet doe I feare thy Nature,It is too full o'th' Milke of humane kindnesse,To catch the neerest way. Thou would'st be great,Art not without Ambition, but withoutThe illnesse should attend it. What thou would'st highly,That would'st thou holily: would'st not play false,And yet would'st wrongly winne. Thould'st haue, great Glamys, that which cryes,Thus thou must doe, if thou haue it;And that which rather thou do'st feare to doe,Then wishest should be vndone. High thee hither,That I may powre my Spirits in thine Eare,And chastise with the valour of my TongueAll that impeides thee from the Golden Round,Which Fate and Metaphysicall ayde doth seemeTo haue thee crown'd withall. Enter Messenger. What is your tidings? Mess. The King comes here to Night Lady. Thou'rt mad to say it. Is not thy Master with him? who, wer't so,Would haue inform'd for preparation Mess. So please you, it is true: our Thane is comming:One of my fellowes had the speed of him;Who almost dead for breath, had scarcely moreThen would make vp his Message Lady. Giue him tending,He brings great newes,Exit Messenger. The Rauen himselfe is hoarse,That croakes the fatall entrance of DuncanVnder my Battlements. Come you Spirits,That tend on mortall thoughts, vnsex me here,And fill me from the Crowne to the Toe, top-fullOf direst Crueltie: make thick my blood,Stop vp th' accesse, and passage to Remorse,That no compunctious visitings of NatureShake my fell purpose, nor keepe peace betweeneTh' effect, and hit. Come to my Womans Brests,And take my Milke for Gall, you murth'ring Ministers,Where-euer, in your sightlesse substances,You wait on Natures Mischiefe. Come thick Night,And pall thee in the dunnest smoake of Hell,That my keene Knife see not the Wound it makes,Nor Heauen peepe through the Blanket of the darke,To cry, hold, hold. Enter Macbeth. Great Glamys, worthy Cawdor,Greater then both, by the all-haile hereafter,Thy Letters haue transported me beyondThis ignorant present, and I feele nowThe future in the instant Macb. My dearest Loue,Duncan comes here to Night Lady. And when goes hence? Macb. To morrow, as he purposes Lady. O neuer,Shall Sunne that Morrow see. Your Face, my Thane, is as a Booke, where menMay reade strange matters, to beguile the time. Looke like the time, beare welcome in your Eye,Your Hand, your Tongue: looke like th' innocent flower,But be the Serpent vnder't. He that's comming,Must be prouided for: and you shall putThis Nights great Businesse into my dispatch,Which shall to all our Nights, and Dayes to come,Giue solely soueraigne sway, and Masterdome Macb. We will speake further, Lady. Onely looke vp cleare:To alter fauor, euer is to feare:Leaue all the rest to me. Exeunt. Scena Sexta. Hoboyes, and Torches. Enter King, Malcolme, Donalbaine,Banquo, Lenox,Macduff, Rosse, Angus, and Attendants. King. This Castle hath a pleasant seat,The ayre nimbly and sweetly recommends it selfeVnto our gentle sences Banq. This Guest of Summer,The Temple-haunting Barlet does approue,By his loued Mansonry, that the Heauens breathSmells wooingly here: no Iutty frieze,Buttrice, nor Coigne of Vantage, but this BirdHath made his pendant Bed, and procreant Cradle,Where they must breed, and haunt: I haue obseru'dThe ayre is delicate. Enter Lady. King. See, see our honor'd Hostesse:The Loue that followes vs, sometime is our trouble,Which still we thanke as Loue. Herein I teach you,How you shall bid God-eyld vs for your paines,And thanke vs for your trouble Lady. All our seruice,In euery point twice done, and then done double,Were poore, and single Businesse, to contendAgainst those Honors deepe, and broad,Wherewith your Maiestie loades our House:For those of old, and the late Dignities,Heap'd vp to them, we rest your Ermites King. Where's the Thane of Cawdor? We courst him at the heeles, and had a purposeTo be his Purueyor: But he rides well,And his great Loue (sharpe as his Spurre) hath holp himTo his home before vs: Faire and Noble HostesseWe are your guest to night La. Your Seruants euer,Haue theirs, themselues, and what is theirs in compt,To make their Audit at your Highnesse pleasure,Still to returne your owne King. Giue me your hand:Conduct me to mine Host we loue him highly,And shall continue, our Graces towards him.

By your leaue Hostesse. Exeunt. Scena Septima. Hoboyes. Torches. Enter a Sewer, and diuers Seruants with DishesandSeruice ouer the Stage. Then enter Macbeth Macb. If it were done, when 'tis done, then 'twer well,It were done quickly: If th' AssassinationCould trammell vp the Consequence, and catchWith his surcease, Successe: that but this blowMight be the be all, and the end all. Heere,But heere, vpon this Banke and Schoole of time,Wee'ld iumpe the life to come. But in these Cases,We still haue iudgement heere, that we but teachBloody Instructions, which being taught, returneTo plague th' Inuenter, this euen-handed IusticeCommends th' Ingredience of our poyson'd ChalliceTo our owne lips. Hee's heere in double trust;First, as I am his Kinsman, and his Subiect,Strong both against the Deed: Then, as his Host,Who should against his Murtherer shut the doore,Not beare the knife my selfe. Besides, this DuncaneHath borne his Faculties so meeke; hath binSo cleere in his great Office, that his VertuesWill pleade like Angels, Trumpet-tongu'd againstThe deepe damnation of his taking off:And Pitty, like a naked New-borne-Babe,Striding the blast, or Heauens Cherubin, hors'dVpon the sightlesse Curriors of the Ayre,Shall blow the horrid deed in euery eye,That teares shall drowne the winde. I haue no SpurreTo pricke the sides of my intent, but onelyVaulting Ambition, which ore-leapes it selfe,And falles on th' other. Enter Lady. How now? What Newes? La. He has almost supt: why haue you left the chamber? Mac. Hath he ask'd for me? La. Know you not, he ha's? Mac. We will proceed no further in this Businesse:He hath Honour'd me of late, and I haue boughtGolden Opinions from all sorts of people,Which would be worne now in their newest glosse,Not cast aside so soone La. Was the hope drunke,Wherein you drest your selfe? Hath it slept since? And wakes it now to looke so greene, and pale,At what it did so freely? From this time,Such I account thy loue. Art thou affear'dTo be the same in thine owne Act, and Valour,As thou art in desire? Would'st thou haue thatWhich thou esteem'st the Ornament of Life,And liue a Coward in thine owne Esteeme? Letting I dare not, wait vpon I would,Like the poore Cat i'th' Addage Macb. Prythee peace:I dare do all that may become a man,Who dares do more, is none La. What Beast was't thenThat made you breake this enterprize to me? When you durst do it, then you were a man:And to be more then what you were, you wouldBe so much more the man. Nor time, nor placeDid then adhere, and yet you would make both:They haue made themselues, and that their fitnesse nowDo's vnmake you. I haue giuen Sucke, and knowHow tender 'tis to loue the Babe that milkes me,I would, while it was smyling in my Face,Haue pluckt my Nipple from his Bonelesse Gummes,And dasht the Braines out, had I so sworneAs you haue done to this Macb. If we should faile? Lady. We faile? But screw your courage to the sticking place,And wee'le not fayle: when Duncan is asleepe,(Whereto the rather shall his dayes hard IourneySoundly inuite him) his two ChamberlainesWill I with Wine, and Wassell, so conuince,That Memorie, the Warder of the Braine,Shall be a Fume, and the Receit of ReasonA Lymbeck onely: when in Swinish sleepe,Their drenched Natures lyes as in a Death,What cannot you and I performe vponTh' vnguarded Duncan? What not put vponHis spungie Officers? who shall beare the guiltOf our great quell Macb. Bring forth Men-Children onely:For thy vndaunted Mettle should composeNothing but Males. Will it not be receiu'd,When we haue mark'd with blood those sleepie twoOf his owne Chamber, and vs'd their very Daggers,That they haue don't? Lady. Who dares receiue it other,As we shall make our Griefes and Clamor rore,Vpon his Death? Macb. I am settled, and bend vpEach corporall Agent to this terrible Feat. Away, and mock the time with fairest show,False Face must hide what the false Heart doth know. Exeunt. Actus Secundus. Scena Prima. Enter Banquo, and Fleance, with a Torch before him. Banq. How goes the Night, Boy? Fleance. The Moone is downe: I haue not heard theClock Banq. And she goes downe at Twelue Fleance. I take't, 'tis later, Sir Banq. Hold, take my Sword:There's Husbandry in Heauen,Their Candles are all out: take thee that too. A heauie Summons lyes like Lead vpon me,And yet I would not sleepe:Mercifull Powers, restraine in me the cursed thoughtsThat Nature giues way to in repose. Enter Macbeth, and a Seruant with a Torch. Giue me my Sword: who's there? Macb. A Friend Banq. What Sir, not yet at rest? the King's a bed. He hath beene in vnusuall Pleasure,And sent forth great Largesse to your Offices. This Diamond he greetes your Wife withall,By the name of most kind Hostesse,And shut vp in measurelesse content Mac. Being vnprepar'd,Our will became the seruant to defect,Which else should free haue wrought Banq. All's well. I dreamt last Night of the three weyward Sisters:To you they haue shew'd some truth Macb. I thinke not of them:Yet when we can entreat an houre to serue,We would spend it in some words vpon that Businesse,If you would graunt the time Banq. At your kind'st leysure Macb. If you shall cleaue to my consent,When 'tis, it shall make Honor for you Banq. So I lose none,In seeking to augment it, but still keepeMy Bosome franchis'd, and Allegeance cleare,I shall be counsail'd Macb. Good repose the while Banq. Thankes Sir: the like to you. Exit Banquo. Macb. Goe bid thy Mistresse, when my drinke is ready,She strike vpon the Bell. Get thee to bed. Enter. Is this a Dagger, which I see before me,The Handle toward my Hand?

Come, let me clutch thee:I haue thee not, and yet I see thee still. Art thou not fatall Vision, sensibleTo feeling, as to sight? or art thou butA Dagger of the Minde, a false Creation,Proceeding from the heat-oppressed Braine? I see thee yet, in forme as palpable,As this which now I draw. Thou marshall'st me the way that I was going,And such an Instrument I was to vse. Mine Eyes are made the fooles o'th' other Sences,Or else worth all the rest: I see thee still;And on thy Blade, and Dudgeon, Gouts of Blood,Which was not so before. There's no such thing:It is the bloody Businesse, which informesThus to mine Eyes. Now o're the one halfe WorldNature seemes dead, and wicked Dreames abuseThe Curtain'd sleepe: Witchcraft celebratesPale Heccats Offrings: and wither'd Murther,Alarum'd by his Centinell, the Wolfe,Whose howle's his Watch, thus with his stealthy pace,With Tarquins rauishing sides, towards his designeMoues like a Ghost. Thou sowre and firme-set EarthHeare not my steps, which they may walke, for feareThy very stones prate of my where-about,And take the present horror from the time,Which now sutes with it. Whiles I threat, he liues:Words to the heat of deedes too cold breath giues. A Bell rings. I goe, and it is done: the Bell inuites me. Heare it not, Duncan, for it is a Knell,That summons thee to Heauen, or to Hell. Enter. Scena Secunda. Enter Lady. La. That which hath made the[m] drunk, hath made me bold:What hath quench'd them, hath giuen me fire. Hearke, peace: it was the Owle that shriek'd,The fatall Bell-man, which giues the stern'st good-night. He is about it, the Doores are open:And the surfeted Groomes doe mock their chargeWith Snores. I haue drugg'd their Possets,That Death and Nature doe contend about them,Whether they liue, or dye. Enter Macbeth. Macb. Who's there? what hoa? Lady. Alack, I am afraid they haue awak'd,And 'tis not done: th' attempt, and not the deed,Confounds vs: hearke: I lay'd their Daggers ready,He could not misse 'em. Had he not resembledMy Father as he slept, I had don't. My Husband? Macb. I haue done the deed:Didst thou not heare a noyse? Lady. I heard the Owle schreame, and the Crickets cry. Did not you speake? Macb. When? Lady. Now Macb. As I descended? Lady. I Macb. Hearke, who lyes i'th' second Chamber? Lady. Donalbaine Mac. This is a sorry sight Lady. A foolish thought, to say a sorry sight Macb. There's one did laugh in's sleepe,And one cry'd Murther, that they did wake each other:I stood, and heard them: But they did say their Prayers,And addrest them againe to sleepe Lady. There are two lodg'd together Macb. One cry'd God blesse vs, and Amen the other,As they had seene me with these Hangmans hands:Listning their feare, I could not say Amen,When they did say God blesse vs Lady. Consider it not so deepely Mac. But wherefore could not I pronounce Amen? I had most need of Blessing, and Amen stuck in my throat Lady. These deeds must not be thoughtAfter these wayes: so, it will make vs mad Macb. Me thought I heard a voyce cry, Sleep no more:Macbeth does murther Sleepe, the innocent Sleepe,Sleepe that knits vp the rauel'd Sleeue of Care,The death of each dayes Life, sore Labors Bath,Balme of hurt Mindes, great Natures second Course,Chiefe nourisher in Life's Feast Lady. What doe you meane? Macb. Still it cry'd, Sleepe no more to all the House:Glamis hath murther'd Sleepe, and therefore CawdorShall sleepe no more: Macbeth shall sleepe no more Lady. Who was it, that thus cry'd? why worthy Thane,You doe vnbend your Noble strength, to thinkeSo braine-sickly of things: Goe get some Water,And wash this filthie Witnesse from your Hand. Why did you bring these Daggers from the place? They must lye there: goe carry them, and smeareThe sleepie Groomes with blood Macb. Ile goe no more:I am afraid, to thinke what I haue done:Looke on't againe, I dare not Lady. Infirme of purpose:Giue me the Daggers: the sleeping, and the dead,Are but as Pictures: 'tis the Eye of Childhood,That feares a painted Deuill. If he doe bleed,Ile guild the Faces of the Groomes withall,For it must seeme their Guilt. Enter. Knocke within. Macb. Whence is that knocking? How is't with me, when euery noyse appalls me? What Hands are here? hah: they pluck out mine Eyes. Will all great Neptunes Ocean wash this bloodCleane from my Hand? no: this my Hand will ratherThe multitudinous Seas incarnardine,Making the Greene one, Red. Enter Lady. Lady. My Hands are of your colour: but I shameTo weare a Heart so white. Knocke. I heare a knocking at the South entry:Retyre we to our Chamber:A little Water cleares vs of this deed. How easie is it then? your ConstancieHath left you vnattended. Knocke. Hearke, more knocking. Get on your Night-Gowne, least occasion call vs,And shew vs to be Watchers: be not lostSo poorely in your thoughts Macb. To know my deed,Knocke.

'Twere best not know my selfe. Wake Duncan with thy knocking:I would thou could'st. Exeunt. Scena Tertia. Enter a Porter. Knocking within. Porter. Here's a knocking indeede: if a man werePorter of Hell Gate, hee should haue old turning theKey. Knock. Knock, Knock, Knock. Who's therei'th' name of Belzebub? Here's a Farmer, that hang'dhimselfe on th' expectation of Plentie: Come in time, haueNapkins enow about you, here you'le sweat for't. Knock. Knock, knock. Who's there in th' other Deuils Name? Faith here's an Equiuocator, that could sweare in boththe Scales against eyther Scale, who committed Treasonenough for Gods sake, yet could not equiuocate to Heauen:oh come in, Equiuocator. Knock. Knock, Knock, Knock. Who's there? 'Faith here's an EnglishTaylor come hither, for stealing out of a French Hose:Come in Taylor, here you may rost your Goose. Knock. Knock, Knock. Neuer at quiet: What are you? but thisplace is too cold for Hell. Ile Deuill-Porter it no further:I had thought to haue let in some of all Professions, thatgoe the Primrose way to th' euerlasting Bonfire. Knock. Anon, anon, I pray you remember the Porter. Enter Macduff, and Lenox. Macd. Was it so late, friend, ere you went to Bed,That you doe lye so late? Port. Faith Sir, we were carowsing till the second Cock:And Drinke, Sir, is a great prouoker of three things Macd. What three things does Drinke especiallyprouoke? Port. Marry, Sir, Nose-painting, Sleepe, and Vrine. Lecherie, Sir, it prouokes, and vnprouokes: it prouokesthe desire, but it takes away the performance. Thereforemuch Drinke may be said to be an Equiuocator with Lecherie:it makes him, and it marres him; it sets him on,and it takes him off; it perswades him, and dis-heartenshim; makes him stand too, and not stand too: in conclusion,equiuocates him in a sleepe, and giuing him the Lye,leaues him Macd. I beleeue, Drinke gaue thee the Lye last Night Port. That it did, Sir, i'the very Throat on me: but Irequited him for his Lye, and (I thinke) being too strongfor him, though he tooke vp my Legges sometime, yet Imade a Shift to cast him. Enter Macbeth. Macd. Is thy Master stirring? Our knocking ha's awak'd him: here he comes Lenox. Good morrow, Noble Sir Macb. Good morrow both Macd. Is the King stirring, worthy Thane? Macb. Not yet Macd. He did command me to call timely on him,I haue almost slipt the houre Macb. Ile bring you to him Macd. I know this is a ioyfull trouble to you:But yet 'tis one Macb. The labour we delight in, Physicks paine:This is the Doore Macd. Ile make so bold to call, for 'tis my limittedseruice. Exit Macduffe. Lenox. Goes the King hence to day? Macb. He does: he did appoint so Lenox. The Night ha's been vnruly:Where we lay, our Chimneys were blowne downe,And (as they say) lamentings heard i'th' Ayre;Strange Schreemes of Death,And Prophecying, with Accents terrible,Of dyre Combustion, and confus'd Euents,New hatch'd toth' wofull time. The obscure Bird clamor'd the liue-long Night. Some say, the Earth was Feuorous,And did shake Macb. 'Twas a rough Night Lenox. My young remembrance cannot paralellA fellow to it. Enter Macduff. Macd. O horror, horror, horror,Tongue nor Heart cannot conceiue, nor name thee Macb. and Lenox. What's the matter? Macd. Confusion now hath made his Master-peece:Most sacrilegious Murther hath broke opeThe Lords anoynted Temple, and stole thenceThe Life o'th' Building Macb. What is't you say, the Life? Lenox. Meane you his Maiestie? Macd. Approch the Chamber, and destroy your sightWith a new Gorgon. Doe not bid me speake:See, and then speake your selues: awake, awake,Exeunt. Macbeth and Lenox. Ring the Alarum Bell: Murther, and Treason,Banquo, and Donalbaine: Malcolme awake,Shake off this Downey sleepe, Deaths counterfeit,And looke on Death it selfe: vp, vp, and seeThe great Doomes Image: Malcolme, Banquo,As from your Graues rise vp, and walke like Sprights,To countenance this horror. Ring the Bell. Bell rings. Enter Lady. Lady. What's the Businesse? That such a hideous Trumpet calls to parleyThe sleepers of the House?

speake, speake Macd. O gentle Lady,'Tis not for you to heare what I can speake:The repetition in a Womans eare,Would murther as it fell. Enter Banquo. O Banquo, Banquo, Our Royall Master's murther'd Lady. Woe, alas:What, in our House? Ban. Too cruell, any where. Deare Duff, I prythee contradict thy selfe,And say, it is not so. Enter Macbeth, Lenox, and Rosse. Macb. Had I but dy'd an houre before this chance,I had liu'd a blessed time: for from this instant,There's nothing serious in Mortalitie:All is but Toyes: Renowne and Grace is dead,The Wine of Life is drawne, and the meere LeesIs left this Vault, to brag of. Enter Malcolme and Donalbaine. Donal. What is amisse? Macb. You are, and doe not know't:The Spring, the Head, the Fountaine of your BloodIs stopt, the very Source of it is stopt Macd. Your Royall Father's murther'd Mal. Oh, by whom? Lenox. Those of his Chamber, as it seem'd, had don't:Their Hands and Faces were all badg'd with blood,So were their Daggers, which vnwip'd, we foundVpon their Pillowes: they star'd, and were distracted,No mans Life was to be trusted with them Macb. O, yet I doe repent me of my furie,That I did kill them Macd. Wherefore did you so? Macb. Who can be wise, amaz'd, temp'rate, & furious,Loyall, and Neutrall, in a moment? No man:Th' expedition of my violent LoueOut-run the pawser, Reason. Here lay Duncan,His Siluer skinne, lac'd with His Golden Blood,And his gash'd Stabs, look'd like a Breach in Nature,For Ruines wastfull entrance: there the Murtherers,Steep'd in the Colours of their Trade; their DaggersVnmannerly breech'd with gore: who could refraine,That had a heart to loue; and in that heart,Courage, to make's loue knowne? Lady. Helpe me hence, hoa Macd. Looke to the Lady Mal. Why doe we hold our tongues,That most may clayme this argument for ours? Donal. What should be spoken here,Where our Fate hid in an augure hole,May rush, and seize vs? Let's away,Our Teares are not yet brew'd Mal. Nor our strong SorrowVpon the foot of Motion Banq. Looke to the Lady:And when we haue our naked Frailties hid,That suffer in exposure; let vs meet,And question this most bloody piece of worke,To know it further. Feares and scruples shake vs:In the great Hand of God I stand, and thence,Against the vndivulg'd pretence, I fightOf Treasonous Mallice Macd. And so doe I All. So all Macb. Let's briefely put on manly readinesse,And meet i'th' Hall together All. Well contented. Exeunt. Malc. What will you doe? Let's not consort with them:To shew an vnfelt Sorrow, is an OfficeWhich the false man do's easie. Ile to England Don. To Ireland, I:Our seperated fortune shall keepe vs both the safer:Where we are, there's Daggers in mens smiles;The neere in blood, the neerer bloody Malc. This murtherous Shaft that's shot,Hath not yet lighted: and our safest way,Is to auoid the ayme. Therefore to Horse,And let vs not be daintie of leaue-taking,But shift away: there's warrant in that Theft,Which steales it selfe, when there's no mercie left. Exeunt. Scena Quarta. Enter Rosse, with an Old man. Old man. Threescore and ten I can remember well,Within the Volume of which Time, I haue seeneHoures dreadfull, and things strange: but this sore NightHath trifled former knowings Rosse. Ha, good Father,Thou seest the Heauens, as troubled with mans Act,Threatens his bloody Stage: byth' Clock 'tis Day,And yet darke Night strangles the trauailing Lampe:Is't Nights predominance, or the Dayes shame,That Darknesse does the face of Earth intombe,When liuing Light should kisse it? Old man. 'Tis vnnaturall,Euen like the deed that's done: On Tuesday last,A Faulcon towring in her pride of place,Was by a Mowsing Owle hawkt at, and kill'd Rosse. And Duncans Horses,(A thing most strange, and certaine)Beauteous, and swift, the Minions of their Race,Turn'd wilde in nature, broke their stalls, flong out,Contending 'gainst Obedience, as they wouldMake Warre with Mankinde Old man. 'Tis said, they eate each other Rosse. They did so:To th' amazement of mine eyes that look'd vpon't. Enter Macduffe. Heere comes the good Macduffe. How goes the world Sir, now? Macd. Why see you not? Ross. Is't known who did this more then bloody deed? Macd. Those that Macbeth hath slaine Ross. Alas the day,What good could they pretend? Macd. They were subborned,Malcolme, and Donalbaine the Kings two SonnesAre stolne away and fled, which puts vpon themSuspition of the deed Rosse. 'Gainst Nature still,Thriftlesse Ambition, that will rauen vpThine owne liues meanes: Then 'tis most like,The Soueraignty will fall vpon Macbeth Macd. He is already nam'd, and gone to SconeTo be inuested Rosse. Where is Duncans body? Macd. Carried to Colmekill,The Sacred Store-house of his Predecessors,And Guardian of their Bones Rosse. Will you to Scone? Macd. No Cosin, Ile to Fife Rosse. Well, I will thither Macd. Well may you see things wel done there: AdieuLeast our old Robes sit easier then our new Rosse. Farewell, Father Old M. Gods benyson go with you, and with thoseThat would make good of bad, and Friends of Foes. Exeunt.

omnesActus Tertius. Scena Prima. Enter Banquo. Banq. Thou hast it now, King, Cawdor, Glamis, all,As the weyard Women promis'd, and I feareThou playd'st most fowly for't: yet it was saideIt should not stand in thy Posterity,But that my selfe should be the Roote, and FatherOf many Kings. If there come truth from them,As vpon thee Macbeth, their Speeches shine,Why by the verities on thee made good,May they not be my Oracles as well,And set me vp in hope. But hush, no more. Senit sounded. Enter Macbeth as King, Lady Lenox, Rosse, Lords,andAttendants. Macb. Heere's our chiefe Guest La. If he had beene forgotten,It had bene as a gap in our great Feast,And all-thing vnbecomming Macb. To night we hold a solemne Supper sir,And Ile request your presence Banq. Let your HighnesseCommand vpon me, to the which my dutiesAre with a most indissoluble tyeFor euer knit Macb. Ride you this afternoone? Ban. I, my good Lord Macb. We should haue else desir'd your good aduice(Which still hath been both graue, and prosperous)In this dayes Councell: but wee'le take to morrow. Is't farre you ride? Ban. As farre, my Lord, as will fill vp the time'Twixt this, and Supper. Goe not my Horse the better,I must become a borrower of the Night,For a darke houre, or twaine Macb. Faile not our Feast Ban. My Lord, I will not Macb. We heare our bloody Cozens are bestow'dIn England, and in Ireland, not confessingTheir cruell Parricide, filling their hearersWith strange inuention. But of that to morrow,When therewithall, we shall haue cause of State,Crauing vs ioyntly. Hye you to Horse:Adieu, till you returne at Night. Goes Fleance with you? Ban. I, my good Lord: our time does call vpon's Macb. I wish your Horses swift, and sure of foot:And so I doe commend you to their backs. Farwell. Exit Banquo. Let euery man be master of his time,Till seuen at Night, to make societieThe sweeter welcome:We will keepe our selfe till Supper time alone:While then, God be with you. Exeunt. Lords. Sirrha, a word with you: Attend those menOur pleasure? Seruant. They are, my Lord, without the PallaceGate Macb. Bring them before vs. Exit Seruant. To be thus, is nothing, but to be safely thusOur feares in Banquo sticke deepe,And in his Royaltie of Nature reignes thatWhich would be fear'd. 'Tis much he dares,And to that dauntlesse temper of his Minde,He hath a Wisdome, that doth guide his Valour,To act in safetie. There is none but he,Whose being I doe feare: and vnder him,My Genius is rebuk'd, as it is saidMark Anthonies was by Caesar. He chid the Sisters,When first they put the Name of King vpon me,And bad them speake to him. Then Prophet-like,They hayl'd him Father to a Line of Kings. Vpon my Head they plac'd a fruitlesse Crowne,And put a barren Scepter in my Gripe,Thence to be wrencht with an vnlineall Hand,No Sonne of mine succeeding: if't be so,For Banquo's Issue haue I fil'd my Minde,For them, the gracious Duncan haue I murther'd,Put Rancours in the Vessell of my PeaceOnely for them, and mine eternall IewellGiuen to the common Enemie of Man,To make them Kings, the Seedes of Banquo Kings. Rather then so, come Fate into the Lyst,And champion me to th' vtterance. Who's there? Enter Seruant, and two Murtherers. Now goe to the Doore, and stay there till we call. Exit Seruant. Was it not yesterday we spoke together? Murth. It was, so please your Highnesse Macb. Well then,Now haue you consider'd of my speeches:Know, that it was he, in the times past,Which held you so vnder fortune,Which you thought had been our innocent selfe. This I made good to you, in our last conference,Past in probation with you:How you were borne in hand, how crost:The Instruments: who wrought with them:And all things else, that mightTo halfe a Soule, and to a Notion craz'd,Say, Thus did Banquo 1. Murth. You made it knowne to vs Macb. I did so:And went further, which is nowOur point of second meeting. Doe you finde your patience so predominant,In your nature, that you can let this goe? Are you so Gospell'd, to pray for this good man,And for his Issue, whose heauie handHath bow'd you to the Graue, and begger'dYours for euer? 1. Murth. We are men, my Liege Macb. I, in the Catalogue ye goe for men,As Hounds, and Greyhounds, Mungrels, Spaniels, Curres,Showghes, Water-Rugs, and Demy-Wolues are cliptAll by the Name of Dogges: the valued fileDistinguishes the swift, the slow, the subtle,The House-keeper, the Hunter, euery oneAccording to the gift, which bounteous NatureHath in him clos'd: whereby he does receiueParticular addition, from the Bill,That writes them all alike: and so of men. Now, if you haue a station in the file,Not i'th' worst ranke of Manhood, say't,And I will put that Businesse in your Bosomes,Whose execution takes your Enemie off,Grapples you to the heart; and loue of vs,Who weare our Health but sickly in his Life,Which in his Death were perfect 2. Murth. I am one, my Liege,Whom the vile Blowes and Buffets of the WorldHath so incens'd, that I am recklesse what I doe,To spight the World 1. Murth. And I another,So wearie with Disasters, tugg'd with Fortune,That I would set my Life on any Chance,To mend it, or be rid on't Macb. Both of you know Banquo was your Enemie Murth. True, my Lord Macb. So is he mine: and in such bloody distance,That euery minute of his being, thrustsAgainst my neer'st of Life: and though I couldWith bare-fac'd power sweepe him from my sight,And bid my will auouch it; yet I must not,For certaine friends that are both his, and mine,Whose loues I may not drop, but wayle his fall,Who I my selfe struck downe: and thence it is,That I to your assistance doe make loue,Masking the Businesse from the common Eye,For sundry weightie Reasons 2. Murth. We shall, my Lord,Performe what you command vs 1. Murth. Though our Liues- Macb. Your Spirits shine through you. Within this houre, at most,I will aduise you where to plant your selues,Acquaint you with the perfect Spy o'th' time,The moment on't, for't must be done to Night,And something from the Pallace: alwayes thought,That I require a clearenesse; and with him,To leaue no Rubs nor Botches in the Worke: Fleans , his Sonne, that keepes him companie,Whose absence is no lesse materiall to me,Then is his Fathers, must embrace the fateOf that darke houre: resolue your selues apart,Ile come to you anon Murth. We are resolu'd, my Lord Macb. Ile call vpon you straight: abide within,It is concluded: Banquo, thy Soules flight,If it finde Heauen, must finde it out to Night. Exeunt. Scena Secunda.

Enter Macbeths Lady, and a Seruant. Lady. Is Banquo gone from Court? Seruant. I, Madame, but returnes againe to Night Lady. Say to the King, I would attend his leysure,For a few words Seruant. Madame, I will. Enter. Lady. Nought's had, all's spent. Where our desire is got without content:'Tis safer, to be that which we destroy,Then by destruction dwell in doubtfull ioy. Enter Macbeth. How now, my Lord, why doe you keepe alone? Of sorryest Fancies your Companions making,Vsing those Thoughts, which should indeed haue dy'dWith them they thinke on: things without all remedieShould be without regard: what's done, is done Macb. We haue scorch'd the Snake, not kill'd it:Shee'le close, and be her selfe, whilest our poore MalliceRemaines in danger of her former Tooth. But let the frame of things dis-ioynt,Both the Worlds suffer,Ere we will eate our Meale in feare, and sleepeIn the affliction of these terrible Dreames,That shake vs Nightly: Better be with the dead,Whom we, to gayne our peace, haue sent to peace,Then on the torture of the Minde to lyeIn restlesse extasie. Duncane is in his Graue:After Lifes fitfull Feuer, he sleepes well,Treason ha's done his worst: nor Steele, nor Poyson,Mallice domestique, forraine Leuie, nothing,Can touch him further Lady. Come on:Gentle my Lord, sleeke o're your rugged Lookes,Be bright and Iouiall among your Guests to Night Macb. So shall I Loue, and so I pray be you:Let your remembrance apply to Banquo,Present him Eminence, both with Eye and Tongue:Vnsafe the while, that wee must laueOur Honors in these flattering streames,And make our Faces Vizards to our Hearts,Disguising what they are Lady. You must leaue this Macb. O, full of Scorpions is my Minde, deare Wife:Thou know'st, that Banquo and his Fleans liues Lady. But in them, Natures Coppie's not eterne Macb. There's comfort yet, they are assaileable,Then be thou iocund: ere the Bat hath flowneHis Cloyster'd flight, ere to black Heccats summonsThe shard-borne Beetle, with his drowsie hums,Hath rung Nights yawning Peale,There shall be done a deed of dreadfull note Lady. What's to be done? Macb. Be innocent of the knowledge, dearest Chuck,Till thou applaud the deed: Come, seeling Night,Skarfe vp the tender Eye of pittifull Day,And with thy bloodie and inuisible HandCancell and teare to pieces that great Bond,Which keepes me pale. Light thickens,And the Crow makes Wing toth' Rookie Wood:Good things of Day begin to droope, and drowse,Whiles Nights black Agents to their Prey's doe rowse. Thou maruell'st at my words: but hold thee still,Things bad begun, make strong themselues by ill:So prythee goe with me. Exeunt. Scena Tertia. Enter three Murtherers. 1. But who did bid thee ioyne with vs? 3. Macbeth 2. He needes not our mistrust, since he deliuersOur Offices, and what we haue to doe,To the direction iust 1. Then stand with vs:The West yet glimmers with some streakes of Day. Now spurres the lated Traueller apace,To gayne the timely Inne, and neere approchesThe subiect of our Watch 3. Hearke, I heare Horses Banquo within. Giue vs a Light there, hoa 2. Then 'tis hee:The rest, that are within the note of expectation,Alreadie are i'th' Court 1. His Horses goe about 3. Almost a mile: but he does vsually,So all men doe, from hence toth' Pallace GateMake it their Walke. Enter Banquo and Fleans, with a Torch. 2. A Light, a Light 3. 'Tis hee 1. Stand too't Ban. It will be Rayne to Night 1. Let it come downe Ban. O, Trecherie! Flye good Fleans, flye, flye, flye,Thou may'st reuenge. O Slaue! 3. Who did strike out the Light? 1. Was't not the way? 3. There's but one downe: the Sonne is fled 2. We haue lostBest halfe of our Affaire 1. Well, let's away, and say how much is done. Exeunt. Scaena Quarta. Banquet prepar'd. Enter Macbeth, Lady, Rosse, Lenox, Lords, andAttendants. Macb. You know your owne degrees, sit downe:At first and last, the hearty welcome Lords. Thankes to your Maiesty Macb. Our selfe will mingle with Society,And play the humble Host:Our Hostesse keepes her State, but in best timeWe will require her welcome La. Pronounce it for me Sir, to all our Friends,For my heart speakes, they are welcome. Enter first Murtherer. Macb. See they encounter thee with their harts thanksBoth sides are euen: heere Ile sit i'th' mid'st,Be large in mirth, anon wee'l drinke a MeasureThe Table round. There's blood vpon thy face Mur. 'Tis Banquo's then Macb. 'Tis better thee without, then he within. Is he dispatch'd? Mur. My Lord his throat is cut, that I did for him Mac. Thou art the best o'th' Cut-throats,Yet hee's good that did the like for Fleans:If thou did'st it, thou art the Non-pareill Mur. Most Royall SirFleans is scap'd Macb. Then comes my Fit againe:I had else beene perfect;Whole as the Marble, founded as the Rocke,As broad, and generall, as the casing Ayre:But now I am cabin'd, crib'd, confin'd, bound inTo sawcy doubts, and feares. But Banquo's safe? Mur.

I, my good Lord: safe in a ditch he bides,With twenty trenched gashes on his head;The least a Death to Nature Macb. Thankes for that:There the growne Serpent lyes, the worme that's fledHath Nature that in time will Venom breed,No teeth for th' present. Get thee gone, to morrowWee'l heare our selues againe. Exit Murderer. Lady. My Royall Lord,You do not giue the Cheere, the Feast is soldThat is not often vouch'd, while 'tis a making:'Tis giuen, with welcome: to feede were best at home:From thence, the sawce to meate is Ceremony,Meeting were bare without it. Enter the Ghost of Banquo, and sits in Macbeths place. Macb. Sweet Remembrancer:Now good digestion waite on Appetite,And health on both Lenox. May't please your Highnesse sit Macb. Here had we now our Countries Honor, roof'd,Were the grac'd person of our Banquo present:Who, may I rather challenge for vnkindnesse,Then pitty for Mischance Rosse. His absence (Sir)Layes blame vpon his promise. Pleas't your HighnesseTo grace vs with your Royall Company? Macb. The Table's full Lenox. Heere is a place reseru'd Sir Macb. Where? Lenox. Heere my good Lord. What is't that moues your Highnesse? Macb. Which of you haue done this? Lords. What, my good Lord? Macb. Thou canst not say I did it: neuer shakeThy goary lockes at me Rosse. Gentlemen rise, his Highnesse is not well Lady. Sit worthy Friends: my Lord is often thus,And hath beene from his youth. Pray you keepe Seat,The fit is momentary, vpon a thoughtHe will againe be well. If much you note himYou shall offend him, and extend his Passion,Feed, and regard him not. Are you a man? Macb. I, and a bold one, that dare looke on thatWhich might appall the Diuell La. O proper stuffe:This is the very painting of your feare:This is the Ayre-drawne-Dagger which you saidLed you to Duncan. O, these flawes and starts(Impostors to true feare) would well becomeA womans story, at a Winters fireAuthoriz'd by her Grandam: shame it selfe,Why do you make such faces? When all's doneYou looke but on a stoole Macb. Prythee see there:Behold, looke, loe, how say you:Why what care I, if thou canst nod, speake too. If Charnell houses, and our Graues must sendThose that we bury, backe; our MonumentsShall be the Mawes of Kytes La. What? quite vnmann'd in folly Macb. If I stand heere, I saw him La. Fie for shame Macb. Blood hath bene shed ere now, i'th' olden timeEre humane Statute purg'd the gentle Weale:I, and since too, Murthers haue bene perform'dToo terrible for the eare. The times has bene,That when the Braines were out, the man would dye,And there an end: But now they rise againeWith twenty mortall murthers on their crownes,And push vs from our stooles. This is more strangeThen such a murther is La. My worthy LordYour Noble Friends do lacke you Macb. I do forget:Do not muse at me my most worthy Friends,I haue a strange infirmity, which is nothingTo those that know me. Come, loue and health to all,Then Ile sit downe: Giue me some Wine, fill full:Enter Ghost. I drinke to th' generall ioy o'th' whole Table,And to our deere Friend Banquo, whom we misse:Would he were heere: to all, and him we thirst,And all to all Lords. Our duties, and the pledge Mac. Auant, & quit my sight, let the earth hide thee:Thy bones are marrowlesse, thy blood is cold:Thou hast no speculation in those eyesWhich thou dost glare with La. Thinke of this good PeeresBut as a thing of Custome: 'Tis no other,Onely it spoyles the pleasure of the time Macb. What man dare, I dare:Approach thou like the rugged Russian Beare,The arm'd Rhinoceros, or th' Hircan Tiger,Take any shape but that, and my firme NeruesShall neuer tremble. Or be aliue againe,And dare me to the Desart with thy Sword:If trembling I inhabit then, protest meeThe Baby of a Girle. Hence horrible shadow,Vnreall mock'ry hence. Why so, being goneI am a man againe: pray you sit still La. You haue displac'd the mirth,Broke the good meeting, with most admir'd disorder Macb. Can such things be,And ouercome vs like a Summers Clowd,Without our speciall wonder? You make me strangeEuen to the disposition that I owe,When now I thinke you can behold such sights,And keepe the naturall Rubie of your Cheekes,When mine is blanch'd with feare Rosse. What sights, my Lord? La. I pray you speake not: he growes worse & worseQuestion enrages him: at once, goodnight. Stand not vpon the order of your going,But go at once Len. Good night, and better healthAttend his Maiesty La. A kinde goodnight to all. Exit Lords. Macb. It will haue blood they say:Blood will haue Blood:Stones haue beene knowne to moue, & Trees to speake:Augures, and vnderstood Relations, haueBy Maggot Pyes, & Choughes, & Rookes brought forthThe secret'st man of Blood. What is the night? La. Almost at oddes with morning, which is which Macb. How say'st thou that Macduff denies his personAt our great bidding La. Did you send to him Sir? Macb. I heare it by the way: But I will send:There's not a one of them but in his houseI keepe a Seruant Feed. I will to morrow(And betimes I will) to the weyard Sisters. More shall they speake: for now I am bent to knowBy the worst meanes, the worst, for mine owne good,All causes shall giue way. I am in bloodStept in so farre, that should I wade no more,Returning were as tedious as go ore:Strange things I haue in head, that will to hand,Which must be acted, ere they may be scand La. You lacke the season of all Natures, sleepe Macb. Come, wee'l to sleepe: My strange & self-abuseIs the initiate feare, that wants hard vse:We are yet but yong indeed. Exeunt. Scena Quinta. Thunder. Enter the three Witches, meeting Hecat.

1. Why how now Hecat, you looke angerly? Hec. Haue I not reason (Beldams) as you are? Sawcy, and ouer-bold, how did you dareTo Trade, and Trafficke with Macbeth,In Riddles, and Affaires of death;And I the Mistris of your Charmes,The close contriuer of all harmes,Was neuer call'd to beare my part,Or shew the glory of our Art? And which is worse, all you haue doneHath bene but for a wayward Sonne,Spightfull, and wrathfull, who (as others do)Loues for his owne ends, not for you. But make amends now: Get you gon,And at the pit of AcheronMeete me i'th' Morning: thither heWill come, to know his Destinie. Your Vessels, and your Spels prouide,Your Charmes, and euery thing beside;I am for th' Ayre: This night Ile spendVnto a dismall, and a Fatall end. Great businesse must be wrought ere Noone. Vpon the Corner of the MooneThere hangs a vap'rous drop, profound,Ile catch it ere it come to ground;And that distill'd by Magicke slights,Shall raise such Artificiall Sprights,As by the strength of their illusion,Shall draw him on to his Confusion. He shall spurne Fate, scorne Death, and beareHis hopes 'boue Wisedome, Grace, and Feare:And you all know, SecurityIs Mortals cheefest Enemie. Musicke, and a Song. Hearke, I am call'd: my little Spirit seeSits in Foggy cloud, and stayes for me. Sing within. Come away, come away, &c. 1 Come, let's make hast, shee'l soone beBacke againe. Exeunt. Scaena Sexta. Enter Lenox, and another Lord. Lenox. My former Speeches,Haue but hit your ThoughtsWhich can interpret farther: Onely I sayThings haue bin strangely borne. The gracious DuncanWas pittied of Macbeth: marry he was dead:And the right valiant Banquo walk'd too late,Whom you may say (if't please you) Fleans kill'd,For Fleans fled: Men must not walke too late. Who cannot want the thought, how monstrousIt was for Malcolme, and for DonalbaneTo kill their gracious Father? Damned Fact,How it did greeue Macbeth? Did he not straightIn pious rage, the two delinquents teare,That were the Slaues of drinke, and thralles of sleepe? Was not that Nobly done? I, and wisely too:For 'twould haue anger'd any heart aliueTo heare the men deny't. So that I say,He ha's borne all things well, and I do thinke,That had he Duncans Sonnes vnder his Key,(As, and't please Heauen he shall not) they should findeWhat 'twere to kill a Father: So should Fleans. But peace; for from broad words, and cause he fayl'dHis presence at the Tyrants Feast, I heareMacduffe liues in disgrace. Sir, can you tellWhere he bestowes himselfe? Lord. The Sonnes of Duncane(From whom this Tyrant holds the due of Birth)Liues in the English Court, and is receyu'dOf the most Pious Edward, with such grace,That the maleuolence of Fortune, nothingTakes from his high respect. Thither MacduffeIs gone, to pray the Holy King, vpon his aydTo wake Northumberland, and warlike Seyward,That by the helpe of these (with him aboue)To ratifie the Worke) we may againeGiue to our Tables meate, sleepe to our Nights:Free from our Feasts, and Banquets bloody kniues;Do faithfull Homage, and receiue free Honors,All which we pine for now. And this reportHath so exasperate their King, that heePrepares for some attempt of Warre Len. Sent he to Macduffe? Lord. He did: and with an absolute Sir, not IThe clowdy Messenger turnes me his backe,And hums; as who should say, you'l rue the timeThat clogges me with this Answer Lenox. And that well mightAduise him to a Caution, t' hold what distanceHis wisedome can prouide. Some holy AngellFlye to the Court of England, and vnfoldHis Message ere he come, that a swift blessingMay soone returne to this our suffering Country,Vnder a hand accurs'd Lord. Ile send my Prayers with him. Exeunt. Actus Quartus. Scena Prima. Thunder. Enter the three Witches. 1 Thrice the brinded Cat hath mew'd 2 Thrice, and once the Hedge-Pigge whin'd 3 Harpier cries, 'tis time, 'tis time 1 Round about the Caldron go:In the poysond Entrailes throwToad, that vnder cold stone,Dayes and Nights, ha's thirty one:Sweltred Venom sleeping got,Boyle thou first i'th' charmed pot All. Double, double, toile and trouble;Fire burne, and Cauldron bubble 2 Fillet of a Fenny Snake,In the Cauldron boyle and bake:Eye of Newt, and Toe of Frogge,Wooll of Bat, and Tongue of Dogge:Adders Forke, and Blinde-wormes Sting,Lizards legge, and Howlets wing:For a Charme of powrefull trouble,Like a Hell-broth, boyle and bubble All. Double, double, toyle and trouble,Fire burne, and Cauldron bubble 3 Scale of Dragon, Tooth of Wolfe,Witches Mummey, Maw, and GulfeOf the rauin'd salt Sea sharke:Roote of Hemlocke, digg'd i'th' darke:Liuer of Blaspheming Iew,Gall of Goate, and Slippes of Yew,Sliuer'd in the Moones Ecclipse:Nose of Turke, and Tartars lips:Finger of Birth-strangled Babe,Ditch-deliuer'd by a Drab,Make the Grewell thicke, and slab. Adde thereto a Tigers Chawdron,For th' Ingredience of our Cawdron All. Double, double, toyle and trouble,Fire burne, and Cauldron bubble 2 Coole it with a Baboones blood,Then the Charme is firme and good. Enter Hecat, and the other three Witches. Hec. O well done: I commend your paines,And euery one shall share i'th' gaines:And now about the Cauldron singLike Elues and Fairies in a Ring,Inchanting all that you put in. Musicke and a Song. Blacke Spirits, &c. 2 By the pricking of my Thumbes,Something wicked this way comes:Open Lockes, who euer knockes. Enter Macbeth. Macb. How now you secret, black, & midnight Hags? What is't you do? All. A deed without a name Macb. I coniure you, by that which you Professe,(How ere you come to know it) answer me:Though you vntye the Windes, and let them fightAgainst the Churches: Though the yesty WauesConfound and swallow Nauigation vp:Though bladed Corne be lodg'd, & Trees blown downe,Though Castles topple on their Warders heads:Though Pallaces, and Pyramids do slopeTheir heads to their Foundations: Though the treasureOf Natures Germaine, tumble altogether,Euen till destruction sicken: Answer meTo what I aske you 1 Speake 2 Demand 3 Wee'l answer 1 Say, if th'hadst rather heare it from our mouthes,Or from our Masters Macb. Call 'em: let me see 'em 1 Powre in Sowes blood, that hath eatenHer nine Farrow: Greaze that's sweatenFrom the Murderers Gibbet, throwInto the Flame All. Come high or low:Thy Selfe and Office deaftly show. Thunder. 1. Apparation, an Armed Head. Macb. Tell me, thou vnknowne power 1 He knowes thy thought:Heare his speech, but say thou nought 1 Appar. Macbeth, Macbeth, Macbeth:Beware Macduffe,Beware the Thane of Fife: dismisse me. Enough. He Descends. Macb. What ere thou art, for thy good caution, thanksThou hast harp'd my feare aright. But one word more 1 He will not be commanded: heere's anotherMore potent then the first. Thunder. 2 Apparition, a Bloody Childe. 2 Appar. Macbeth, Macbeth, Macbeth Macb. Had I three eares, Il'd heare thee Appar. Be bloody, bold, & resolute:Laugh to scorneThe powre of man: For none of woman borneShall harme Macbeth. Descends. Mac.

Then liue Macduffe: what need I feare of thee? But yet Ile make assurance: double sure,And take a Bond of Fate: thou shalt not liue,That I may tell pale-hearted Feare, it lies;And sleepe in spight of Thunder. Thunder 3 Apparation, a Childe Crowned, with a Tree in his hand. What is this, that rises like the issue of a King,And weares vpon his Baby-brow, the roundAnd top of Soueraignty? All. Listen, but speake not too't 3 Appar. Be Lyon metled, proud, and take no care:Who chafes, who frets, or where Conspirers are:Macbeth shall neuer vanquish'd be, vntillGreat Byrnam Wood, to high Dunsmane HillShall come against him. Descend. Macb. That will neuer bee:Who can impresse the Forrest, bid the TreeVnfixe his earth-bound Root? Sweet boadments, good:Rebellious dead, rise neuer till the WoodOf Byrnan rise, and our high plac'd MacbethShall liue the Lease of Nature, pay his breathTo time, and mortall Custome. Yet my HartThrobs to know one thing: Tell me, if your ArtCan tell so much: Shall Banquo's issue euerReigne in this Kingdome? All. Seeke to know no more Macb. I will be satisfied. Deny me this,And an eternall Curse fall on you: Let me know. Why sinkes that Caldron? & what noise is this? Hoboyes 1 Shew 2 Shew 3 Shew All. Shew his Eyes, and greeue his Hart,Come like shadowes, so depart. A shew of eight Kings, and Banquo last, with a glasse in his hand. Macb. Thou art too like the Spirit of Banquo: Down:Thy Crowne do's seare mine Eye-bals. And thy haireThou other Gold-bound-brow, is like the first:A third, is like the former. Filthy Hagges,Why do you shew me this? - A fourth? Start eyes! What will the Line stretch out to'th' cracke of Doome? Another yet? A seauenth? Ile see no more:And yet the eighth appeares, who beares a glasse,Which shewes me many more: and some I see,That two-fold Balles, and trebble Scepters carry. Horrible sight: Now I see 'tis true,For the Blood-bolter'd Banquo smiles vpon me,And points at them for his. What? is this so? 1 I Sir, all this is so. But whyStands Macbeth thus amazedly? Come Sisters, cheere we vp his sprights,And shew the best of our delights. Ile Charme the Ayre to giue a sound,While you performe your Antique round:That this great King may kindly say,Our duties, did his welcome pay. Musicke. The Witches Dance, and vanish. Macb. Where are they? Gone? Let this pernitious houre,Stand aye accursed in the Kalender. Come in, without there. Enter Lenox. Lenox. What's your Graces will Macb. Saw you the Weyard Sisters? Lenox. No my Lord Macb. Came they not by you? Lenox. No indeed my Lord Macb. Infected be the Ayre whereon they ride,And damn'd all those that trust them. I did heareThe gallopping of Horse. Who was't came by? Len. 'Tis two or three my Lord, that bring you word:Macduff is fled to England Macb. Fled to England? Len. I, my good Lord Macb. Time, thou anticipat'st my dread exploits:The flighty purpose neuer is o're-tookeVnlesse the deed go with it. From this moment,The very firstlings of my heart shall beThe firstlings of my hand. And euen nowTo Crown my thoughts with Acts: be it thoght & done:The Castle of Macduff, I will surprize. Seize vpon Fife; giue to th' edge o'th' SwordHis Wife, his Babes, and all vnfortunate SoulesThat trace him in his Line. No boasting like a Foole,This deed Ile do, before this purpose coole,But no more sights. Where are these Gentlemen? Come bring me where they are. Exeunt. Scena Secunda. Enter Macduffes Wife, her Son, and Rosse. Wife. What had he done, to make him fly the Land? Rosse. You must haue patience Madam Wife. He had none:His flight was madnesse: when our Actions do not,Our feares do make vs Traitors Rosse. You know notWhether it was his wisedome, or his feare Wife. Wisedom? to leaue his wife, to leaue his Babes,His Mansion, and his Titles, in a placeFrom whence himselfe do's flye? He loues vs not,He wants the naturall touch. For the poore Wren(The most diminitiue of Birds) will fight,Her yong ones in her Nest, against the Owle:All is the Feare, and nothing is the Loue;As little is the Wisedome, where the flightSo runnes against all reason Rosse. My deerest Cooz,I pray you schoole your selfe. But for your Husband,He is Noble, Wise, Iudicious, and best knowesThe fits o'th' Season.

I dare not speake much further,But cruell are the times, when we are TraitorsAnd do not know our selues: when we hold RumorFrom what we feare, yet know not what we feare,But floate vpon a wilde and violent SeaEach way, and moue. I take my leaue of you:Shall not be long but Ile be heere againe:Things at the worst will cease, or else climbe vpward,To what they were before. My pretty Cosine,Blessing vpon you Wife. Father'd he is,And yet hee's Father-lesse Rosse. I am so much a Foole, should I stay longerIt would be my disgrace, and your discomfort. I take my leaue at once. Exit Rosse. Wife. Sirra, your Fathers dead,And what will you do now? How will you liue? Son. As Birds do Mother Wife. What with Wormes, and Flyes? Son. With what I get I meane, and so do they Wife. Poore Bird,Thou'dst neuer Feare the Net, nor Lime,The Pitfall, nor the Gin Son. Why should I Mother? Poore Birds they are not set for:My Father is not dead for all your saying Wife. Yes, he is dead:How wilt thou do for a Father? Son. Nay how will you do for a Husband? Wife. Why I can buy me twenty at any Market Son. Then you'l by 'em to sell againe Wife. Thou speak'st withall thy wit,And yet I'faith with wit enough for thee Son. Was my Father a Traitor, Mother? Wife. I, that he was Son. What is a Traitor? Wife. Why one that sweares, and lyes Son. And be all Traitors, that do so Wife. Euery one that do's so, is a Traitor,And must be hang'd Son. And must they all be hang'd, that swear and lye? Wife. Euery one Son. Who must hang them? Wife. Why, the honest men Son. Then the Liars and Swearers are Fools: for thereare Lyars and Swearers enow, to beate the honest men,and hang vp them Wife. Now God helpe thee, poore Monkie:But how wilt thou do for a Father? Son. If he were dead, youl'd weepe for him: if youwould not, it were a good signe, that I should quickelyhaue a new Father Wife. Poore pratler, how thou talk'st? Enter a Messenger. Mes. Blesse you faire Dame: I am not to you known,Though in your state of Honor I am perfect;I doubt some danger do's approach you neerely. If you will take a homely mans aduice,Be not found heere: Hence with your little onesTo fright you thus. Me thinkes I am too sauage:To do worse to you, were fell Cruelty,Which is too nie your person. Heauen preserue you,I dare abide no longer. Exit Messenger Wife. Whether should I flye? I haue done no harme. But I remember nowI am in this earthly world: where to do harmeIs often laudable, to do good sometimeAccounted dangerous folly. Why then (alas)Do I put vp that womanly defence,To say I haue done no harme? What are these faces? Enter Murtherers. Mur. Where is your Husband? Wife. I hope in no place so vnsanctified,Where such as thou may'st finde him Mur. He's a Traitor Son. Thou ly'st thou shagge-ear'd Villaine Mur. What you Egge? Yong fry of Treachery? Son. He ha's kill'd me Mother,Run away I pray you. Exit crying Murther. Scaena Tertia. Enter Malcolme and Macduffe. Mal. Let vs seeke out some desolate shade, & thereWeepe our sad bosomes empty Macd. Let vs ratherHold fast the mortall Sword: and like good men,Bestride our downfall Birthdome: each new Morne,New Widdowes howle, new Orphans cry, new sorowesStrike heauen on the face, that it resoundsAs if it felt with Scotland, and yell'd outLike Syllable of Dolour Mal. What I beleeue, Ile waile;What know, beleeue; and what I can redresse,As I shall finde the time to friend: I wil. What you haue spoke, it may be so perchance. This Tyrant, whose sole name blisters our tongues,Was once thought honest: you haue lou'd him well,He hath not touch'd you yet. I am yong, but somethingYou may discerne of him through me, and wisedomeTo offer vp a weake, poore innocent LambeT' appease an angry God Macd. I am not treacherous Malc. But Macbeth is. A good and vertuous Nature may recoyleIn an Imperiall charge. But I shall craue your pardon:That which you are, my thoughts cannot transpose;Angels are bright still, though the brightest fell. Though all things foule, would wear the brows of graceYet Grace must still looke so Macd. I haue lost my Hopes Malc. Perchance euen thereWhere I did finde my doubts.

Why in that rawnesse left you Wife, and Childe? Those precious Motiues, those strong knots of Loue,Without leaue-taking. I pray you,Let not my Iealousies, be your Dishonors,But mine owne Safeties: you may be rightly iust,What euer I shall thinke Macd. Bleed, bleed poore Country,Great Tyrrany, lay thou thy basis sure,For goodnesse dare not check thee: wear y thy wrongs,The Title, is affear'd. Far thee well Lord,I would not be the Villaine that thou think'st,For the whole Space that's in the Tyrants Graspe,And the rich East to boot Mal. Be not offended:I speake not as in absolute feare of you:I thinke our Country sinkes beneath the yoake,It weepes, it bleeds, and each new day a gashIs added to her wounds. I thinke withall,There would be hands vplifted in my right:And heere from gracious England haue I offerOf goodly thousands. But for all this,When I shall treade vpon the Tyrants head,Or weare it on my Sword; yet my poore CountryShall haue more vices then it had before,More suffer, and more sundry wayes then euer,By him that shall succeede Macd. What should he be? Mal. It is my selfe I meane: in whom I knowAll the particulars of Vice so grafted,That when they shall be open'd, blacke MacbethWill seeme as pure as Snow, and the poore StateEsteeme him as a Lambe, being compar'dWith my confinelesse harmes Macd. Not in the LegionsOf horrid Hell, can come a Diuell more damn'dIn euils, to top Macbeth Mal. I grant him Bloody,Luxurious, Auaricious, False, Deceitfull,Sodaine, Malicious, smacking of euery sinneThat ha's a name. But there's no bottome, noneIn my Voluptuousnesse: Your Wiues, your Daughters,Your Matrons, and your Maides, could not fill vpThe Cesterne of my Lust, and my DesireAll continent Impediments would ore-beareThat did oppose my will. Better Macbeth,Then such an one to reigne Macd. Boundlesse intemperanceIn Nature is a Tyranny: It hath beeneTh' vntimely emptying of the happy Throne,And fall of many Kings. But feare not yetTo take vpon you what is yours: you mayConuey your pleasures in a spacious plenty,And yet seeme cold. The time you may so hoodwinke:We haue willing Dames enough: there cannot beThat Vulture in you, to deuoure so manyAs will to Greatnesse dedicate themselues,Finding it so inclinde Mal. With this, there growesIn my most ill-composd Affection, suchA stanchlesse Auarice, that were I King,I should cut off the Nobles for their Lands,Desire his Iewels, and this others House,And my more-hauing, would be as a SawceTo make me hunger more, that I should forgeQuarrels vniust against the Good and Loyall,Destroying them for wealth Macd. This Auaricestickes deeper: growes with more pernicious rooteThen Summer-seeming Lust: and it hath binThe Sword of our slaine Kings: yet do not feare,Scotland hath Foysons, to fill vp your willOf your meere Owne. All these are portable,With other Graces weigh'd Mal. But I haue none. The King-becoming Graces,As Iustice, Verity, Temp'rance, Stablenesse,Bounty, Perseuerance, Mercy, Lowlinesse,Deuotion, Patience, Courage, Fortitude,I haue no rellish of them, but aboundIn the diuision of each seuerall Crime,Acting it many wayes. Nay, had I powre, I shouldPoure the sweet Milke of Concord, into Hell,Vprore the vniuersall peace, confoundAll vnity on earth Macd. O Scotland, Scotland Mal. If such a one be fit to gouerne, speake:I am as I haue spoken Mac. Fit to gouern? No not to liue. O Natio[n] miserable! With an vntitled Tyrant, bloody Sceptred,When shalt thou see thy wholsome dayes againe? Since that the truest Issue of thy ThroneBy his owne Interdiction stands accust,And do's blaspheme his breed? Thy Royall FatherWas a most Sainted-King: the Queene that bore thee,Oftner vpon her knees, then on her feet,Dy'de euery day she liu'd. Fare thee well,These Euils thou repeat'st vpon thy selfe,Hath banish'd me from Scotland. O my Brest,Thy hope ends heere Mal. Macduff, this Noble passionChilde of integrity, hath from my souleWip'd the blacke Scruples, reconcil'd my thoughtsTo thy good Truth, and Honor. Diuellish Macbeth,By many of these traines, hath sought to win meInto his power: and modest Wisedome pluckes meFrom ouer-credulous hast: but God aboueDeale betweene thee and me; For euen nowI put my selfe to thy Direction, andVnspeake mine owne detraction. Heere abiureThe taints, and blames I laide vpon my selfe,For strangers to my Nature. I am yetVnknowne to Woman, neuer was forsworne,Scarsely haue coueted what was mine owne. At no time broke my Faith, would not betrayThe Deuill to his Fellow, and delightNo lesse in truth then life. My first false speakingWas this vpon my selfe. What I am trulyIs thine, and my poore Countries to command:Whither indeed, before they heere approachOld Seyward with ten thousand warlike menAlready at a point, was setting foorth:Now wee'l together, and the chance of goodnesseBe like our warranted Quarrell. Why are you silent? Macd. Such welcome, and vnwelcom things at once'Tis hard to reconcile. Enter a Doctor. Mal. Well, more anon. Comes the King forthI pray you? Doct. I Sir: there are a crew of wretched SoulesThat stay his Cure: their malady conuincesThe great assay of Art. But at his touch,Such sanctity hath Heauen giuen his hand,They presently amend. Enter. Mal. I thanke you Doctor Macd. What's the Disease he meanes? Mal. Tis call'd the Euill. A most myraculous worke in this good King,Which often since my heere remaine in England,I haue seene him do: How he solicites heauenHimselfe best knowes: but strangely visited peopleAll swolne and Vlcerous, pittifull to the eye,The meere dispaire of Surgery, he cures,Hanging a golden stampe about their neckes,Put on with holy Prayers, and 'tis spokenTo the succeeding Royalty he leauesThe healing Benediction. With this strange vertue,He hath a heauenly guift of Prophesie,And sundry Blessings hang about his Throne,That speake him full of Grace. Enter Rosse. Macd. See who comes heere Malc. My Countryman: but yet I know him not Macd. My euer gentle Cozen, welcome hither Malc. I know him now. Good God betimes remoueThe meanes that makes vs Strangers Rosse. Sir, Amen Macd. Stands Scotland where it did? Rosse. Alas poore Countrey,Almost affraid to know it selfe. It cannotBe call'd our Mother, but our Graue; where nothingBut who knowes nothing, is once seene to smile:Where sighes, and groanes, and shrieks that rent the ayreAre made, not mark'd: Where violent sorrow seemesA Moderne extasie: The Deadmans knell,Is there scarse ask'd for who, and good mens liuesExpire before the Flowers in their Caps,Dying, or ere they sicken Macd. Oh Relation; too nice, and yet too true Malc. What's the newest griefe? Rosse. That of an houres age, doth hisse the speaker,Each minute teemes a new one Macd. How do's my Wife? Rosse. Why well Macd. And all my Children? Rosse. Well too Macd. The Tyrant ha's not batter'd at their peace? Rosse. No, they were wel at peace, when I did leaue 'em Macd.

Be not a niggard of your speech: How gos't? Rosse. When I came hither to transport the TydingsWhich I haue heauily borne, there ran a RumourOf many worthy Fellowes, that were out,Which was to my beleefe witnest the rather,For that I saw the Tyrants Power a-foot. Now is the time of helpe: your eye in ScotlandWould create Soldiours, make our women fight,To doffe their dire distresses Malc. Bee't their comfortWe are comming thither: Gracious England hathLent vs good Seyward, and ten thousand men,An older, and a better Souldier, noneThat Christendome giues out Rosse. Would I could answerThis comfort with the like. But I haue wordsThat would be howl'd out in the desert ayre,Where hearing should not latch them Macd. What concerne they,The generall cause, or is it a Fee-griefeDue to some single brest? Rosse. No minde that's honestBut in it shares some woe, though the maine partPertaines to you alone Macd. If it be mineKeepe it not from me, quickly let me haue it Rosse. Let not your eares dispise my tongue for euer,Which shall possesse them with the heauiest soundthat euer yet they heard Macd. Humh: I guesse at it Rosse. Your Castle is surpriz'd: your Wife, and BabesSauagely slaughter'd: To relate the mannerWere on the Quarry of these murther'd DeereTo adde the death of you Malc. Mercifull Heauen:What man, ne're pull your hat vpon your browes:Giue sorrow words; the griefe that do's not speake,Whispers the o're-fraught heart, and bids it breake Macd. My Children too? Ro. Wife, Children, Seruants, all that could be found Macd. And I must be from thence? My wife kil'd too? Rosse. I haue said Malc. Be comforted. Let's make vs Med'cines of our great Reuenge,To cure this deadly greefe Macd. He ha's no Children. All my pretty ones? Did you say All? Oh Hell-Kite! All? What, All my pretty Chickens, and their DammeAt one fell swoope? Malc. Dispute it like a man Macd. I shall do so:But I must also feele it as a man;I cannot but remember such things wereThat were most precious to me: Did heauen looke on,And would not take their part? Sinfull Macduff,They were all strooke for thee: Naught that I am,Not for their owne demerits, but for mineFell slaughter on their soules: Heauen rest them now Mal. Be this the Whetstone of your sword, let griefeConuert to anger: blunt not the heart, enrage it Macd. O I could play the woman with mine eyes,And Braggart with my tongue. But gentle Heauens,Cut short all intermission: Front to Front,Bring thou this Fiend of Scotland, and my selfeWithin my Swords length set him, if he scapeHeauen forgiue him too Mal. This time goes manly:Come go we to the King, our Power is ready,Our lacke is nothing but our leaue. MacbethIs ripe for shaking, and the Powres abouePut on their Instruments: Receiue what cheere you may,The Night is long, that neuer findes the Day. Exeunt. Actus Quintus. Scena Prima. Enter a Doctor of Physicke, and a Wayting Gentlewoman. Doct. I haue too Nights watch'd with you, but canperceiue no truth in your report. When was it shee lastwalk'd? Gent. Since his Maiesty went into the Field, I haueseene her rise from her bed, throw her Night-Gown vpponher, vnlocke her Closset, take foorth paper, folde it,write vpon't, read it, afterwards Seale it, and againe returneto bed; yet all this while in a most fast sleepe Doct. A great perturbation in Nature, to receyue atonce the benefit of sleep, and do the effects of watching. In this slumbry agitation, besides her walking, and otheractuall performances, what (at any time) haue you heardher say? Gent. That Sir, which I will not report after her Doct. You may to me, and 'tis most meet you should Gent. Neither to you, nor any one, hauing no witnesseto confirme my speech. Enter Lady, with a Taper. Lo you, heere she comes: This is her very guise, and vponmy life fast asleepe: obserue her, stand close Doct. How came she by that light? Gent. Why it stood by her: she ha's light by her continually,'tis her command Doct. You see her eyes are open Gent. I, but their sense are shut Doct. What is it she do's now? Looke how she rubbes her hands Gent. It is an accustom'd action with her, to seemethus washing her hands: I haue knowne her continue inthis a quarter of an houre Lad. Yet heere's a spot Doct. Heark, she speaks, I will set downe what comesfrom her, to satisfie my remembrance the more strongly La. Out damned spot: out I say. One: Two: Whythen 'tis time to doo't: Hell is murky. Fye, my Lord, fie,a Souldier, and affear'd? what need we feare? who knowesit, when none can call our powre to accompt: yet whowould haue thought the olde man to haue had so muchblood in him Doct. Do you marke that? Lad. The Thane of Fife, had a wife: where is she now? What will these hands ne're be cleane? No more o'thatmy Lord, no more o'that: you marre all with this starting Doct. Go too, go too:You haue knowne what you should not Gent. She ha's spoke what shee should not, I am sureof that: Heauen knowes what she ha's knowne La. Heere's the smell of the blood still: all the perfumesof Arabia will not sweeten this little hand. Oh, oh, oh Doct. What a sigh is there? The hart is sorely charg'd Gent. I would not haue such a heart in my bosome,for the dignity of the whole body Doct. Well, well, well Gent.

Pray God it be sir Doct. This disease is beyond my practise: yet I haueknowne those which haue walkt in their sleep, who hauedyed holily in their beds Lad. Wash your hands, put on your Night-Gowne,looke not so pale: I tell you yet againe Banquo's buried;he cannot come out on's graue Doct. Euen so? Lady. To bed, to bed: there's knocking at the gate:Come, come, come, come, giue me your hand: What'sdone, cannot be vndone. To bed, to bed, to bed. Exit Lady. Doct. Will she go now to bed? Gent. Directly Doct. Foule whisp'rings are abroad: vnnaturall deedsDo breed vnnaturall troubles: infected mindesTo their deafe pillowes will discharge their Secrets:More needs she the Diuine, then the Physitian:God, God forgiue vs all. Looke after her,Remoue from her the meanes of all annoyance,And still keepe eyes vpon her: So goodnight,My minde she ha's mated, and amaz'd my sight. I thinke, but dare not speake Gent. Good night good Doctor. Exeunt. Scena Secunda. Drum and Colours. Enter Menteth, Cathnes, Angus, Lenox,Soldiers. Ment. The English powre is neere, led on by Malcolm,His Vnkle Seyward, and the good Macduff. Reuenges burne in them: for their deere causesWould to the bleeding, and the grim AlarmeExcite the mortified man Ang. Neere Byrnan woodShall we well meet them, that way are they comming Cath. Who knowes if Donalbane be with his brother? Len. For certaine Sir, he is not: I haue a FileOf all the Gentry; there is Seywards Sonne,And many vnruffe youths, that euen nowProtest their first of Manhood Ment. What do's the Tyrant Cath. Great Dunsinane he strongly Fortifies:Some say hee's mad: Others, that lesser hate him,Do call it valiant Fury, but for certaineHe cannot buckle his distemper'd causeWithin the belt of Rule Ang. Now do's he feeleHis secret Murthers sticking on his hands,Now minutely Reuolts vpbraid his Faith-breach:Those he commands, moue onely in command,Nothing in loue: Now do's he feele his TitleHang loose about him, like a Giants RobeVpon a dwarfish Theefe Ment. Who then shall blameHis pester'd Senses to recoyle, and start,When all that is within him, do's condemneIt selfe, for being there Cath. Well, march we on,To giue Obedience, where 'tis truly ow'd:Meet we the Med'cine of the sickly Weale,And with him poure we in our Countries purge,Each drop of vs Lenox. Or so much as it needes,To dew the Soueraigne Flower, and drowne the Weeds:Make we our March towards Birnan. Exeunt. marching. Scaena Tertia. Enter Macbeth, Doctor, and Attendants. Macb. Bring me no more Reports, let them flye all:Till Byrnane wood remoue to Dunsinane,I cannot taint with Feare. What's the Boy Malcolme? Was he not borne of woman? The Spirits that knowAll mortall Consequences, haue pronounc'd me thus:Feare not Macbeth, no man that's borne of womanShall ere haue power vpon thee. Then fly false Thanes,And mingle with the English Epicures,The minde I sway by, and the heart I beare,Shall neuer sagge with doubt, nor shake with feare. Enter Seruant. The diuell damne thee blacke, thou cream-fac'd Loone:Where got'st thou that Goose-looke Ser. There is ten thousand Macb. Geese Villaine? Ser. Souldiers Sir Macb. Go pricke thy face, and ouer-red thy feareThou Lilly-liuer'd Boy. What Soldiers, Patch? Death of thy Soule, those Linnen cheekes of thineAre Counsailers to feare. What Soldiers Whay-face? Ser. The English Force, so please you Macb. Take thy face hence. Seyton, I am sick at hart,When I behold: Seyton, I say, this pushWill cheere me euer, or dis-eate me now. I haue liu'd long enough: my way of lifeIs falne into the Seare, the yellow Leafe,And that which should accompany Old-Age,As Honor, Loue, Obedience, Troopes of Friends,I must not looke to haue: but in their steed,Curses, not lowd but deepe, Mouth-honor, breathWhich the poore heart would faine deny, and dare not. Seyton? Enter Seyton. Sey. What's your gracious pleasure? Macb. What Newes more? Sey. All is confirm'd my Lord, which was reported Macb. Ile fight, till from my bones, my flesh be hackt. Giue me my Armor Seyt. 'Tis not needed yet Macb. Ile put it on:Send out moe Horses, skirre the Country round,Hang those that talke of Feare. Giue me mine Armor:How do's your Patient, Doctor? Doct. Not so sicke my Lord,As she is troubled with thicke-comming FanciesThat keepe her from her rest Macb. Cure of that:Can'st thou not Minister to a minde diseas'd,Plucke from the Memory a rooted Sorrow,Raze out the written troubles of the Braine,And with some sweet Obliuious AntidoteCleanse the stufft bosome, of that perillous stuffeWhich weighes vpon the heart? Doct. Therein the PatientMust minister to himselfe Macb. Throw Physicke to the Dogs, Ile none of it. Come, put mine Armour on: giue me my Staffe:Seyton, send out: Doctor, the Thanes flye from me:Come sir, dispatch. If thou could'st Doctor, castThe Water of my Land, finde her Disease,And purge it to a sound and pristine Health,I would applaud thee to the very Eccho,That should applaud againe. Pull't off I say,What Rubarb, Cyme, or what Purgatiue druggeWould scowre these English hence: hear'st y of them? Doct. I my good Lord: your Royall PreparationMakes vs heare something Macb. Bring it after me:I will not be affraid of Death and Bane,Till Birnane Forrest come to Dunsinane Doct. Were I from Dunsinane away, and cleere,Profit againe should hardly draw me heere.

Exeunt. Scena Quarta. Drum and Colours. Enter Malcolme, Seyward, Macduffe,Seywards Sonne,Menteth, Cathnes, Angus, and Soldiers Marching. Malc. Cosins, I hope the dayes are neere at handThat Chambers will be safe Ment. We doubt it nothing Seyw. What wood is this before vs? Ment. The wood of Birnane Malc. Let euery Souldier hew him downe a Bough,And bear't before him, thereby shall we shadowThe numbers of our Hoast, and make discoueryErre in report of vs Sold. It shall be done Syw. We learne no other, but the confident TyrantKeepes still in Dunsinane, and will indureOur setting downe befor't Malc. 'Tis his maine hope:For where there is aduantage to be giuen,Both more and lesse haue giuen him the Reuolt,And none serue with him, but constrained things,Whose hearts are absent too Macd. Let our iust CensuresAttend the true euent, and put we onIndustrious Souldiership Sey. The time approaches,That will with due decision make vs knowWhat we shall say we haue, and what we owe:Thoughts speculatiue, their vnsure hopes relate,But certaine issue, stroakes must arbitrate,Towards which, aduance the warre. Exeunt. marchingScena Quinta. Enter Macbeth, Seyton, & Souldiers, with Drum and Colours. Macb. Hang out our Banners on the outward walls,The Cry is still, they come: our Castles strengthWill laugh a Siedge to scorne: Heere let them lye,Till Famine and the Ague eate them vp:Were they not forc'd with those that should be ours,We might haue met them darefull, beard to beard,And beate them backward home. What is that noyse? A Cry within of Women. Sey. It is the cry of women, my good Lord Macb. I haue almost forgot the taste of Feares:The time ha's beene, my sences would haue cool'dTo heare a Night-shrieke, and my Fell of haireWould at a dismall Treatise rowze, and stirreAs life were in't. I haue supt full with horrors,Direnesse familiar to my slaughterous thoughtsCannot once start me. Wherefore was that cry? Sey. The Queene (my Lord) is dead Macb. She should haue dy'de heereafter;There would haue beene a time for such a word:To morrow, and to morrow, and to morrow,Creepes in this petty pace from day to day,To the last Syllable of Recorded time:And all our yesterdayes, haue lighted FoolesThe way to dusty death. Out, out, breefe Candle,Life's but a walking Shadow, a poore Player,That struts and frets his houre vpon the Stage,And then is heard no more. It is a TaleTold by an Ideot, full of sound and furySignifying nothing. Enter a Messenger. Thou com'st to vse thy Tongue: thy Story quickly Mes. Gracious my Lord,I should report that which I say I saw,But know not how to doo't Macb. Well, say sir Mes. As I did stand my watch vpon the HillI look'd toward Byrnane, and anon me thoughtThe Wood began to moue Macb. Lyar, and Slaue Mes. Let me endure your wrath, if't be not so:Within this three Mile may you see it comming. I say, a mouing Groue Macb. If thou speak'st false,Vpon the next Tree shall thou hang aliueTill Famine cling thee: If thy speech be sooth,I care not if thou dost for me as much. I pull in Resolution, and beginTo doubt th' Equiuocation of the Fiend,That lies like truth. Feare not, till Byrnane WoodDo come to Dunsinane, and now a WoodComes toward Dunsinane. Arme, Arme, and out,If this which he auouches, do's appeare,There is nor flying hence, nor tarrying here. I 'ginne to be a-weary of the Sun,And wish th' estate o'th' world were now vndon. Ring the Alarum Bell, blow Winde, come wracke,At least wee'l dye with Harnesse on our backe. Exeunt. Scena Sexta. Drumme and Colours. Enter Malcolme, Seyward, Macduffe, andtheir Army,with Boughes. Mal. Now neere enough:Your leauy Skreenes throw downe,And shew like those you are: You (worthy Vnkle)Shall with my Cosin your right Noble SonneLeade our first Battell. Worthy Macduffe, and weeShall take vpon's what else remaines to do,According to our order Sey. Fare you well:Do we but finde the Tyrants power to night,Let vs be beaten, if we cannot fight Macd. Make all our Trumpets speak, giue the[m] all breathThose clamorous Harbingers of Blood, & Death. Exeunt. Alarums continued. Scena Septima. Enter Macbeth. Macb. They haue tied me to a stake, I cannot flye,But Beare-like I must fight the course. What's heThat was not borne of Woman? Such a oneAm I to feare, or none. Enter young Seyward. Y. Sey. What is thy name? Macb. Thou'lt be affraid to heare it Y. Sey. No: though thou call'st thy selfe a hoter nameThen any is in hell Macb. My name's Macbeth Y. Sey. The diuell himselfe could not pronounce a TitleMore hatefull to mine eare Macb. No: nor more fearefull Y. Sey. Thou lyest abhorred Tyrant, with my SwordIle proue the lye thou speak'st. Fight, and young Seyward slaine. Macb. Thou was't borne of woman;But Swords I smile at, Weapons laugh to scorne,Brandish'd by man that's of a Woman borne. Enter. Alarums. Enter Macduffe.

Macd. That way the noise is: Tyrant shew thy face,If thou beest slaine, and with no stroake of mine,My Wife and Childrens Ghosts will haunt me still:I cannot strike at wretched Kernes, whose armesAre hyr'd to beare their Staues; either thou Macbeth,Or else my Sword with an vnbattered edgeI sheath againe vndeeded. There thou should'st be,By this great clatter, one of greatest noteSeemes bruited. Let me finde him Fortune,And more I begge not. Exit. Alarums. Enter Malcolme and Seyward. Sey. This way my Lord, the Castles gently rendred:The Tyrants people, on both sides do fight,The Noble Thanes do brauely in the Warre,The day almost it selfe professes yours,And little is to do Malc. We haue met with FoesThat strike beside vs Sey. Enter Sir, the Castle. Exeunt. AlarumEnter Macbeth. Macb. Why should I play the Roman Foole, and dyeOn mine owne sword? whiles I see liues, the gashesDo better vpon them. Enter Macduffe. Macd. Turne Hell-hound, turne Macb. Of all men else I haue auoyded thee:But get thee backe, my soule is too much charg'dWith blood of thine already Macd. I haue no words,My voice is in my Sword, thou bloodier VillaineThen tearmes can giue thee out. Fight: Alarum Macb. Thou loosest labourAs easie may'st thou the intrenchant AyreWith thy keene Sword impresse, as make me bleed:Let fall thy blade on vulnerable Crests,I beare a charmed Life, which must not yeeldTo one of woman borne Macd. Dispaire thy Charme,And let the Angell whom thou still hast seru'dTell thee, Macduffe was from his Mothers wombVntimely ript Macb. Accursed be that tongue that tels mee so;For it hath Cow'd my better part of man:And be these Iugling Fiends no more beleeu'd,That palter with vs in a double sence,That keepe the word of promise to our eare,And breake it to our hope. Ile not fight with thee Macd. Then yeeld thee Coward,And liue to be the shew, and gaze o'th' time. Wee'l haue thee, as our rarer Monsters arePainted vpon a pole, and vnder-writ,Heere may you see the Tyrant Macb. I will not yeeldTo kisse the ground before young Malcolmes feet,And to be baited with the Rabbles curse. Though Byrnane wood be come to Dunsinane,And thou oppos'd, being of no woman borne,Yet I will try the last. Before my body,I throw my warlike Shield: Lay on Macduffe,And damn'd be him, that first cries hold, enough. Exeunt. fighting. Alarums. Enter Fighting, and Macbeth slaine. Retreat, and Flourish. Enter with Drumme and Colours, Malcolm,Seyward,Rosse, Thanes, & Soldiers. Mal. I would the Friends we misse, were safe arriu'd Sey. Some must go off: and yet by these I see,So great a day as this is cheapely bought Mal. Macduffe is missing, and your Noble Sonne Rosse. Your son my Lord, ha's paid a souldiers debt,He onely liu'd but till he was a man,The which no sooner had his Prowesse confirm'dIn the vnshrinking station where he fought,But like a man he dy'de Sey. Then he is dead? Rosse. I, and brought off the field: your cause of sorrowMust not be measur'd by his worth, for thenIt hath no end Sey. Had he his hurts before? Rosse. I, on the Front Sey. Why then, Gods Soldier be he:Had I as many Sonnes, as I haue haires,I would not wish them to a fairer death:And so his Knell is knoll'd Mal. Hee's worth more sorrow,and that Ile spend for him Sey. He's worth no more,They say he parted well, and paid his score,And so God be with him. Here comes newer comfort. Enter Macduffe, with Macbeths head. Macd. Haile King, for so thou art. Behold where standsTh' Vsurpers cursed head: the time is free:I see thee compast with thy Kingdomes Pearle,That speake my salutation in their minds:Whose voyces I desire alowd with mine. Haile King of Scotland All. Haile King of Scotland. Flourish. Mal. We shall not spend a large expence of time,Before we reckon with your seuerall loues,And make vs euen with you. My Thanes and KinsmenHenceforth be Earles, the first that euer ScotlandIn such an Honor nam'd: What's more to do,Which would be planted newly with the time,As calling home our exil'd Friends abroad,That fled the Snares of watchfull Tyranny,Producing forth the cruell MinistersOf this dead Butcher, and his Fiend-like Queene;Who (as 'tis thought) by selfe and violent hands,Tooke off her life. This, and what need full elseThat call's vpon vs, by the Grace of Grace,We will performe in measure, time, and place:So thankes to all at once, and to each one,Whom we inuite, to see vs Crown'd at Scone. Flourish. Exeunt Omnes. FINIS. THE TRAGEDIE OF MACBETH.