Imatges de pàgina
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This. My love! thou art my love, I think." Pyr. "Think what thou wilt, I am thy lover's grace;

And like Limander am I trusty still."

This. "And I like Helen, till the fates me kill."
Pyr. "Not Shafalus to Procrus was so true."
This. "As Shafalus to Procrus, I to you.'
Pyr. "O, kiss me through the hole of this vile
wall."

[all."

This. "I kiss the wall's hole, not your lips at Pyr. "Wilt thou at Ninny's tomb meet me straightway?" [delay !" This. ""Tide life, 'tide death, I come without Wall. "Thus have I, Wall, my part discharged And, being done, thus Wall away doth go." [so; [Exeunt WALL, PYRAMUS, and THISBE. The. Now is the mural down between the two neighbours.

Dem No remedy, my lord, when walls are so wilful to hear without warning.

Hip. This is the silliest stuff that e'er I heard. The. The best in this kind are but shadows; and the worst are no worse, if imagination amend them. [not theirs.

Hip. It must be your imagination, then, and The. If we imagine no worse of them than they of themselves, they may pass for excellent men. Here come two noble beasts in, a moon and a lion.

Enter LION and MOONSHINE.

Lion. "You, ladies, you, whose gentle hearts do fear

[floor,

The smallest monstrous mouse that creeps on May now, perchance, both quake and tremble here,

When lion rough in wildest rage doth roar. Then know that I, one Snug the joiner, am A lion fell, nor else no lion's dam: For if I should as lion come in strife Into this place, 'twere pity on my life.". The. A very gentle beast, and of a good conscience. [e'er I saw. Dem. The very best at a beast, my lord, that Lys. This lion is a very fox for his valour. The. True; and a goose for his discretion. Dem. Not so, my lord; for his valour cannot carry his discretion; and the fox carries the goose. The. His discretion, I am sure, cannot carry his valour; for the goose carries not the fox. It is well leave it to his discretion, and let us listen to the moon. [present."

Moon. "This lantern doth the horned moon Dem. He should have worn the horns on his head.

The. He is no crescent, and his horns are invisible within the circumference.

[present;

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The. This is the greatest error of all the rest! The man should be put into the lantern: How is it else the man i' the moon?

Dem. He dares not come there for the candle: for, you see, it is already in snuff.*

Hip. I am weary of this moon: would he would change!

The. It appears, by his small light of discretion, that he is in the wane: but yet, in courtesy, in all reason, we must stay the time.

Lys. Proceed, Moon.

Moon. "All that I have to say is, to tell you, that the lantern is the moon; I, the man i' the moon; this thorn-bush, my thorn-bush; and this dog, my dog."

Dem. Why, all these should be in the lantern, for they are in the moon. But, silence; here comes Thisbe.

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Pyr. "Sweet moon, I thank thee for thy sunny beams;

I thank thee, moon, for shining now so bright;
For by thy gracious, golden, glittering streams,
I trust to taste of truest Thisbe's sight.
But stay;-0 spite!

But mark,-poor knight,
What dreadful dole is here!
Eyes, do you see?
How can it be?

O dainty duck! O dear!
Thy mantle good,
What! stain'd with blood?
Approach, ye furies fell!

O fates! come, come;
Cut thread and thrum; +

Quail, crush, conclude, and quell!” The. This passion, and the death of a dear friend, would go near to make a man look sad. Hip. Beshrew my heart, but I pity the man. Pyr. "O, wherefore, nature, didst thou lions frame?

Since lion vild hath here deflour'd my dear: Which is--no, no-which was the fairest dame. That liv'd, that lov'd, that lik'd, that look'd with cheer. +

Come, tears, confound
Out, sword, and wound
The pap of Pyramus:

Ay, that left pap,

Where heart doth hop:-
Thus die I, thus, thus, thus!
Now am I dead,
Now am I filed ;

My soul is in the sky:

Tongue, lose thy light !
Moon, take thy flight!
Now die, die, die, die, die!"

[Dies. Exit MOONSHINE. Dem. No die, but an age, for him; for he is but

one.

Lys. Less than an ace, man, for he is dead; he is nothing.

The. With the help of a surgeon, he might yet recover, and prove an ass.

Hip. How chance moonshine is gone, before Thisbe comes back and finds her lover?

The. She will find him by starlight.-Here she comes, and her passion ends the play.

Enter THISBE.

Hip. Methinks she should not use a long one for such a Pyramus: I hope she will be brief. Dem. A mote will turn the balance, which Pyramus, which Thisbe, is the better.

Lys. She hath spied him already with those sweet eyes.

Dem. And thus she moans, videlicet.
This. "Asleep, my love?

What, dead, my dove?

O Pyramus, arise!

Speak, speak; Quite dumb?
Dead, dead! A tomb

Must cover thy sweet eyes.
These lily brows,

This cherry nose,

These yellow cowslip cheeks,
Are gone, are gone:
Lovers, make moan!

His eyes were green as leeks.
O sisters three,

Come, come to me,

With hands as pale as milk;
Lay them in gore,
Since you have shore

With shears his thread of silk.

Tongue, not a word:
Come, trusty sword;

Come, blade, my breast imbrue;

And farewell, friends;

Thus Thisbe ends :

Adieu, adieu, adieu."

[Dies.

The. Moonshine and Lion are left to bury the Dem. Ay, and Wall too.

[dead.

Bot. No, I assure you; the wall is down that parted their fathers. Will it please you to see the epilogue, or to hear a Bergomask dance between two of our company?

The. No epilogue, I pray you; for your play needs no excuse. Never excuse; for when the players are all dead, there need none to be blamed. Marry, if he that writ it had play'd Pyramus, and hanged himself in Thisbe's garter, it would have been a fine tragedy: and so it is, truly; and very notably discharg'd. But come, your Bergomask: let your epilogue alone.

Here a dance of Clowns. The iron tongue of midnight hath told twelve :Lovers, to bed: 'tis almost fairy time. I fear we shall outsleep the coming morn, As much as we this night have overwatch'd. This palpable gross play hath well beguil'd The heavy gait of night.-Sweet friends, to bed.A fortnight hold we this solemnity, in nightly revels, and new jollity.

SCENE II.

Enter PUCK.

Puck. Now the hungry lion roars,

[Exeunt.

And the wolf behowls the moon ;
Whilst the heavy ploughman snores,
All with weary task fordone.*
Now the wasted brands do glow,
Whilst the screech-owl, screeching
loud,

Puts the wretch that lies in woe,
In remembrance of a shroud.
Now it is the time of night,

That the graves, all gaping wide,
Every one lets forth his sprite,
In the church-way paths to glide:
And we fairies, that do run

By the triple Hecate's team,
From the presence of the sun,
Following darkness like a dream,
Now are frolic; not a mouse
Shall disturb this hallow'd house:
I am sent with broom before,

To sweep the dust behind the door.

Enter OBERON and TITANIA, with their Train. Through this house give glimmering

Obe.

light,

By the dead and drowsy fire;
Every elf, and fairy sprite,

Hop as light as bird from brier;
And this ditty, after me,

Sing, and dance it trippingly.

Tita. First, rehearse this song by rote:
To each word a warbling note;
Hand in hand, with fairy grace,
Will we sing, and bless this place.
[They dance and sing.

Obe. Now, until the break of day,
Through this house each fairy stray.
To the best bride-bed will we,
Which by us shall blessed be:
So shall all the couples three
Ever true in loving be:

With this field-dew consecrate,
Every fairy take his gait :+

And each several chamber bless,

Through this palace with sweet peace;
Ever shall in safety rest,

And the owner of it blest.

Trip away;

Make no stay:

Meet me all by break of day.

[Excunt OBERON, TITANIA, and Train. Puck. If we shadows have offended,

Think but this, (and all is mended,)
That you have but slumbered here,
While these visions did appear.
And this weak and idle theme,
No more yielding but a dream,
Gentles, do not reprehend;
If you pardon, we will mend.
And, as I am honest Puck,
If we have unearned luck

Now to 'scape the serpent's tongue,
We will make amends ere long:

Else the Puck a liar call.

So, good night unto you all!
Give me your hands, if we be friends,
And Robin shall restore amends. [Erit.

INTRODUCTION TO LOVE'S LABOUR'S LOST.

THE Composition and structure of Love's Labour's |
Lost unquestionably lead to a supposition that
the main incidents were taken from some ro-
+ Way.

• Overcome.

mance not yet discovered; and that the tale, whenever it may be found, will probably have been rightly conjectured to belong to the cycle of the lighter romances of chivalry. The story is partially founded on history, as appears from

the following passage in the Chronicles of Monstrelet:"Charles, king of Navarre, came to Paris to wait on the king. He negotiated so sucessfully with the King and Privy Council, that he obtained a gift of the castle of Nemours, with some of its dependent castle-wicks, which territory was made a duchy. He instantly did homage for it, and at the same time surrendered to the king the castle of Cherburg, the county of Evreux, and all other lordships he possessed within the kingdom of France, renouncing all claims and profits in them to the king and to his successors, on condition that with the duchy of Nemours the king of France engaged to pay him two hundred thousand gold crowns of the coin of the King our lord." It will be seen from this passage, which was first pointed out by Mr.Hunter, that the link of connexion between history and the play is of a very slight kind; but it is curious as showing us that the story used by Shakespeare was grounded in some degree on a real occurrence, although the main action of Love's Labour's Lost is of course fictitious. The king of Navarre died in 1425, and the time of the play may, therefore, be fixed shortly after that period. The internal evidence of Love's Labour's Lost points to its being a very early play, and it was, perhaps, in its original form, the first drama that Shakespeare composed. The earliest known edition appeared in the year 1598, under the title of, "A pleasant conceited Comedie called Loves Labors Lost, as it was presented before her Highnes this last Christmas, newly corrected and augmented by W. Shakespere," the last sentence undoubtedly implying that this edition contained the author's last improvements. Coleridge has well observed that "the characters in this play are either impersonated out of Shakespeare's own multiformity by imaginative selfposition, or out of such as a country town and a schoolboy's observation might supply." The latter opinion is unquestionably the true one, no play of Shakespeare's containing so many allusions to what was probably his school-boy literature-I mean by this his literature in school and out of school-or, let me add, so much vernacular provincial phraseology. Mr. Knight has combated the unnecessary supposition that Florio was reflected in the character of Holofernes, and I am inclined to assign the date of composition earlier than 1591, the year when Florio is alleged to have provoked the satire. There is merely pourtrayed in Holofernes the character of a pedantic schoolmaster, such an one as was Master Rombus in Sidney's masque of the Lady of May.

That Love's Labour's Lost was not a new play in 1598 may be gathered from a very curious notice of it in Tofte's Alba, the Months Minde of a Melancholy Lover, 8vo. 1598, who says he had seen it acted, and from the way in which he alludes to it, probably several years before the publication of that work.

The exact date at which the comedy was written, will perhaps never be ascertained. The question is rendered exceedingly intricate by the probability that it received additions from its author shortly before the year 1598. I place little or no reliance on the mention of the dancinghorse, the allusion to that animal in Tarlton's Jests being no evidence whatever that it was exhibited before the death of that clown. In fact, the horse was fourteen years old in 1601, and Tarlton died in 1558; so that the probability is of the very slightest kind that it could have been exhibited in his lifetime.

A similarity has been pointed out by Chalmers between what Dr. Johnson calls the "finished representation of colloquial excellence" at the commencement of the fifth act, and a passage in Sidney's Arcadia, where he says, speaking of Parthenia, "that which made her fairnesse much the fairer was that it was but a faire embassador of a most faire mind, full of wit, and a wit which delighted more to judge itselfe then to show itselfe: her speech being as rare as precious; her silence without sullennesse; her modestie without affectation; her shamefastnesse without ignorance in summe, one that to praise well, one must first set downe with himselfe what it is to be excellent; for so she is." Sidney's Arcadia was first published in 1590, but the similarity here pointed out is scarcely forcible enough to prove that there was any plagiarism. The coincidence was very likely quite accidental.

But

Our text is chiefly taken from the first edition of 1598, some of the readings of the folio of 1623 being adopted. The latter was evidently printed from the quarto, or from the same manuscript from which the quarto was printed; but there are variations in the folio, which show that it is not a mere copy of the first edition. Another quarto edition appeared in 1631. It was also entered at Stationers' Hall early in 1607, but no copy bearing that date has yet been discovered. THE PLOT.-Ferdinand, a young king of Navarre, with three of his courtiers, Biron, Longaville, and Dumain, has made a vow to pass three years in rigid retirement, employed in the study of wisdom; and for that purpose he has banished all female society from court, and imposed a penalty on the intercourse with women. scarcely has he conceived this determination, in a pompous discourse worthy of the most heroic achievements, when the daughter of the king of France, accompanied by three of her ladies, Rosaline, Maria, and Katharine, appears at his court in the name of her old and bed-ridden father, to demand back a province which he held in pledge. He is compelled to give her audience; falls immediately in love with her; and matters do not succeed better with his companions, who, on their parts, renew their old acquaintance with the attendants of the princess. Each is already, in his heart, disposed to violate his vow, without knowing the wishes of his associates: they overhear each other, as they in turn unfold their pains in a poem to the solitary forest: every one jeers and confounds the others who follow him. Biron, who, from the beginning, was the most satirical amongst them, at last steps forth, and rallies the king and the two others, till the discovery of a love-letter reduces even him to hang down his head. He extricates himself and his companions from their dilemma, by ridiculing the folly of the vow which they have broken; and after a noble eulogy on women, invites them to swear allegiance to the colours of love. Finally, the princess being recalled, by the sudden tidings of her father's death, accepts the hand of the prince, on condition that he performs a twelvemonth's penance in a hermitage; and Rosaline, Maria, and Katharine impose upon the three gentlemen similar articles of agreement.

MORAL. The moral inculcated in this comedy is, perhaps, rather an appeal to the sentiment than to the judgment. Nevertheless the absurdity of making vows to perform things which may as easily be accomplished without entailing upon ourselves a rigid adherence to the conditions of any vow whatever, is strongly, and with a humorous subtlety, set forth

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Act First.

SCENE. I.-Navarre.

A Park, with a Palace in it.

[iard.

MоTH, Page to Armado. A Forester.

Princess of France.
ROSALINE,
MARIA,

KATHARINE,

Ladies attending on the Princess.

JAQUENETTA, a Country Wench.

Officers and others, attendants on the King and Princess.

SCENE.-Navarre.

Enter the KING, BIRON, LONGAVILLE, and DUMAIN.

King. LET fame, that all hunt after in their lives, Live register'd upon our brazen tombs, And then grace us in the disgrace of death; When, spite of cormorant devouring Time, Th' endeavour of this present breath may buy That honour, which shall bate his scythe's keen And make us heirs of all eternity. [edge, Therefore, brave conquerors !--for so you are, That war against your own affections, And the huge army of the world's desires,Our late edict shall strongly stand in force: Navarre shall be the wonder of the world; Our court shall be a little Academe, Still and contemplative in living art. You three, Biron, Dumain, and Longaville, Have sworn for three years' term to live with me, My fellow-scholars, and to keep those statutes That are recorded in this schedule here: [names, Your oaths are pass'd, and now subscribe your That his own hand may strike his honour down, That violates the smallest branch herein: If you are arm'd to do, as sworn to do, Subscribe to your deep oath, and keep it too. Long. I am resolv'd: 'tis but a three years' fast; The mind shall banquet, though the body pine: Fat paunches have lean pates; and dainty bits Make rich the ribs, but bank'rout quite the wits. Dum. My loving lord, Dumain is mortified. The grosser manner of these world's delights He throws upon the gross world's baser slaves : To love, to wealth, to pomp, I pine and die; With all these living in philosophy.

Biron. I can but say their protestation over, So much, dear liege, I have already sworn, That is-To live and study here three years. But there are other strict observances: As, not to see a woman in that term; Which, I hope well, is not enrolled there : And, one day in a week to touch no food, And but one meal on every day beside; The which, I hope, is not enrolled there : And then to sleep but three hours in the night, And not be seen to wink of all the day; (When I was wont to think no harm all night, And make a dark night too of half the day ;) Which, I hope well is not enrolled there: O, these are barren tasks, too hard to keep; Not to see ladies,-study, fast,-not sleep. King. Your oath is pass'd to pass away from these.

Biron. Let me say no, my liege, an if you I only swore to study with your grace, [please; And stay here in your court for three years' space. Long. You swore to that, Biron, and to the rest. [jest. Biron. By yea and nay, sir, then I swore in What is the end of study? let me know.

King. Why, that to know, which else we should not know. [common sense? Biron. Things hid and barr'd, you mean, from King. Ay, that is study's godlike recompense. Biron. Come on, then; I will swear to study so, To know the thing I am forbid to know: As thus,-To study where I well may dine, When I to feast expressly am forbid; Or study where to meet some mistress fine, When mistresses from common sense are hid: Or, having sworn too hard-a-keeping oath, Study to break it, and not break my troth. If study's gain be thus, and this be so, Study knows that which yet it doth not know: Swear me to this, and I will ne'er say, no.

King. These be the stops that hinder study quite,

And train our intellects to vain delight.
Biron. Why, all delights are vain; but that

most vain,

Which, with pain purchas'd, doth inherit pain: As, painfully to pore upon a book,

[while To seek the light of truth; while truth the Doth falsely blind the eyesight of his look:

Light, seeking light, doth light of light beguile: So, ere you find where light in darkness lies, Your light grows dark by losing of your eyes. Study me how to please the eye indeed,

By fixing it upon a fairer eye;
Who dazzling so, that eye shall be his heed,

And give him light that it was blinded by. Study is like the heaven's glorious sun, [looks; That will not be deep-search'd with saucy Small have continual plodders ever won,

Save base authority from other's books. These earthly godfathers of heaven's lights, That give a name to every fixed star, Have no more profit of their shining nights, [are. Than those that walk, and wot not what they Too much to know is, to know nought but fame; And every godfather can give a name. [reading! King. How well he's read, to reason against Dum. Proceeded well, to stop all good pro[the weeding Long. He weeds the corn, and still lets grow Biron. The spring is near, when green geese are a breeding.

ceeding!

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Biron.
Something then in rhyme.
Long. Biron is like an envious sneaping frost,
That bites the first-born infants of the spring.
Biron. Well, say I am; why should proud
summer boast,

Before the birds have any cause to sing?
Why should I joy in an abortive birth?
At Christmas I no more desire a rose,
Than wish a snow in May's new-fangled shows;
But like of each thing that in season grows.
So you, to study, now it is too late,
Climb o'er the house to unlock the little gate.
King. Well, sit you out; go home, Biron; adieu!
Biron. No, my good lord! I have sworn to
stay with you:

And, though I have for barbarism spoke more, Than for that angel knowledge you can say; Yet, confident I'll keep what I have swore,

And bide the penance of each three years' day. Give me the paper,-let me read the same; And to the strictest decrees I'll write my name. King. How well this yielding rescues thee from shame!

Biron. [Reads.]-Item, That no woman shall come within a mile of my court-Hath this been proclaimed?

Long. Four days ago.

Biron. Let's see the penalty. [Reads.] - On pain of losing her tongue. Who devis'd this penalty?

Long. Marry, that did I.

Biron. Sweet lord, and why?

[penalty. Long. To fright them hence with that dread Biron. A dangerous law against gentility. [Reads.] Item, If any man be seen to talk with a woman within the term of three years, he shall endure such public shame as the rest of the court can possibly devise.

This article, my liege, yourself must break;

For, well you know, here comes in embassy The French king's daughter, with yourself to speak,

A maid of grace, and complete majesty,About surrender-up of Aquitain

To her decrepit, sick, and bed-rid father: Therefore this article is made in vain,

Or vainly comes th' admired princess hither. King. What say you, lords? why, this was

quite forgot.

Biron, So study evermore is overshot; While it doth study to have what it would, It doth forget to do the thing it should: And when it hath the thing it hunteth most, "Tis won, as towns with fire; so won, so lost. King. We must, of force, dispense with this decree;

She must be here on mere necessity. [for me,→ Biron. If I break faith, this word shall speak I am forsworn on mere necessity.

So to the laws at large I write my name;

[Subscribes.

And he that breaks them in the least degree Stands in attainder of perpetual shame.

Suggestions + are to others, as to me; But, I believe, although I seem so loth, I am the last that will last keep his oath. But is there no quick recreation granted? King. Aye, that there is: our court, you know, is haunted

With a refined traveller of Spain;

A man in all the world's new fashion planted, That hath a mint of phrases in his brain:

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One whom the music of his own vain tongue
Doth ravish, like enchanting harmony;
A man of complements, whom right and wrong
Hath chose as umpire of their mutiny :
This child of fancy, that Armado hight, +

For interim to our studies, shall relate,
In high-born words, the worth of many a knight
From tawny Spain, lost in the world's debate.
How you delight, my lords, I know not, I;
But, I protest, I love to hear him lie,
And I will use him for my minstrelsy.

Biron. Armado is a most illustrious wight, A man of fire-new words, fashion's own knight. Long. Costard, the swain, and he, shall be our And, so to study, three years is but short. [sport; King. Then go we, lords, to put in practice that Which each to other hath so strongly sworn. [Exeunt KING, LONG., and DUM. Biron. I'll lay my head to any good man's hat, These oaths and laws will prove an idle scorn. [Exeunt.

SCENE II.-ARMADO's House.

Enter ARMADO and MOTH.

Arm. Boy, what sign is it, when a man of great spirit grows melancholy?

Moth. A great sign, sir, that he will look sad. Arm. Why, sadness is one and the self-same thing, dear imp.

Moth. No, no, sir, no.

Arm. How canst thou part sadness and melancholy, my tender juvenal??

Moth. By a familiar demonstration of the working, my tough senior.

Arm. Why tough senior? why tough senior? Moth.Why tender juvenal? why tender juvenal? Arm. I spoke it, tender juvenal, as a congruent epitheton, appertaining to thy young days, which we may nominate tender.

Moth. And I, tough senior, as an appertinent title to your old time, which we may name tough. Arm. Pretty and apt.

Moth. How mean you, sir? I pretty, and my saying apt? or I apt, and my saying pretty? Arm. Thou pretty, because little.

Moth. Little pretty, because little: Wherefore apt?

Arm. And therefore apt, because quick. Moth. Speak you this in my praise, master? Arm. In thy condign praise.

Moth. I will praise an eel with the same praise. Arm. What? that an eel is ingenious?

Moth. That an eel is quick.

Arm. I do say, thou art quick in answers: Thou heat'st my blood.

Moth. I am answer'd, sir.

Arm. I love not to be crossed.

Moth. He speaks the mere contrary; crosses || love not him.

[Aside. Arm. I have promis'd to study three years with Moth. You may do it in an hour, sir. [the duke. Arm. Impossible.

Moth. How many is one thrice told? Arm. I am ill at reck'ning; it fitteth the spirit of a tapster.

[sir. Moth. You are a gentleman, and a gamester, Arm. I confess both; they are both the varnish of a complete man.

Moth. Then, I am sure, you know how much the gross sum of deuce-ace amounts to.

Arm. It doth amount to one more than two. Moth. Which the base vulgar do call, three. Arm. True.

Moth. Why, sir, is this such a piece of study? Now here's three studied, ere you'll thrice wink: and how easy is it to put years to the word

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