The Complete Works of William Shakespeare, William Shakespeare [book recommendations based on other books txt] 📗

do you see?

How can it he?

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.

THESEUS. This passion, and the death of a dear friend, would go near to make a man look sad.

HIPPOLYTA. Beshrew my heart, but I pity the man.

PYRAMUS. O wherefore, Nature, didst thou lions frame?

Since lion vile hath here deflower’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. [Stabs himself]

Thus die I, thus, thus, thus.

Now am I dead,

Now am I fled;

My soul is in the sky.

Tongue, lose thy light;

Moon, take thy flight. [Exit MOONSHINE]

Now die, die, die, die, die. [Dies]

DEMETRIUS. No die, but an ace, for him; for he is but one.

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

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

HIPPOLYTA. How chance Moonshine is gone before Thisby comes back and finds her lover?

 

Re-enter THISBY

 

THESEUS. She will find him by starlight. Here she comes; and her passion ends the play.

HIPPOLYTA. Methinks she should not use a long one for such a Pyramus; I hope she will be brief.

DEMETRIUS. A mote will turn the balance, which Pyramus, which Thisby, is the better-he for a man, God warrant us: She for a woman, God bless us!

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

DEMETRIUS. And thus she moans, videlicet:-

THISBY. 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 lips,

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. [Stabs herself]

And farewell, friends;

Thus Thisby ends;

Adieu, adieu, adieu. [Dies]

THESEUS. Moonshine and Lion are left to bury the dead.

DEMETRIUS. Ay, and Wall too.

BOTTOM. [Starting up] 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?

THESEUS. 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 played Pyramus, and hang’d himself in Thisby’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. [A dance]

The iron tongue of midnight hath told twelve.

Lovers, to bed; ‘tis almost fairy time.

I fear we shall out-sleep 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. Exeunt Enter PUCK with a broom PUCK. Now the hungry lion roars,

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 hallowed house.

I am sent with broom before, To sweep the dust behind the door.

 

Enter OBERON and TITANIA, with all their train OBERON. Through the house give glimmering 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.

TITANIA. First, rehearse your song by rote, To each word a warbling note; Hand in hand, with fairy grace, Will we sing, and bless this place.

 

[OBERON leading, the FAIRIES sing and dance]

 

OBERON. 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; And the issue there create

Ever shall be fortunate.

So shall all the couples three Ever true in loving be;

And the blots of Nature’s hand Shall not in their issue stand; Never mole, harelip, nor scar, Nor mark prodigious, such as are Despised in nativity,

Shall upon their children be.

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

And each several chamber bless, Through this palace, with sweet peace; And the owner of it blest

Ever shall in safety rest.

Trip away; make no stay;

Meet me all by break of day. Exeunt all but PUCK

PUCK. If we shadows have offended, Think but this, and all is mended, That you have but slumb’red 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 an 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. Exit THE END

 

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1599

 

MUCH ADO ABOUT NOTHING

 

by William Shakespeare

 

Dramatis Personae

 

Don Pedro, Prince of Arragon.

Don John, his bastard brother.

Claudio, a young lord of Florence.

Benedick, a Young lord of Padua.

Leonato, Governor of Messina.

Antonio, an old man, his brother.

Balthasar, attendant on Don Pedro.

Borachio, follower of Don John.

Conrade, follower of Don John.

Friar Francis.

Dogberry, a Constable.

Verges, a Headborough.

A Sexton.

A Boy.

 

Hero, daughter to Leonato.

Beatrice, niece to Leonato.

Margaret, waiting gentlewoman attending on Hero.

Ursula, waiting gentlewoman attending on Hero.

 

Messengers, Watch, Attendants, etc.

 

<<THIS ELECTRONIC VERSION OF THE COMPLETE WORKS OF WILLIAM

SHAKESPEARE IS COPYRIGHT 1990-1993 BY WORLD LIBRARY, INC., AND IS

PROVIDED BY PROJECT GUTENBERG ETEXT OF ILLINOIS BENEDICTINE COLLEGE

WITH PERMISSION. ELECTRONIC AND MACHINE READABLE COPIES MAY BE

DISTRIBUTED SO LONG AS SUCH COPIES (1) ARE FOR YOUR OR OTHERS

PERSONAL USE ONLY, AND (2) ARE NOT DISTRIBUTED OR USED

COMMERCIALLY. PROHIBITED COMMERCIAL DISTRIBUTION INCLUDES BY ANY

SERVICE THAT CHARGES FOR DOWNLOAD TIME OR FOR MEMBERSHIP.>>

 

SCENE.—Messina.

 

ACT I. Scene I.

An orchard before Leonato’s house.

 

Enter Leonato (Governor of Messina), Hero (his Daughter), and Beatrice (his Niece), with a Messenger.

 

Leon. I learn in this letter that Don Pedro of Arragon comes this night to Messina.

Mess. He is very near by this. He was not three leagues off when I left him.

Leon. How many gentlemen have you lost in this action?

Mess. But few of any sort, and none of name.

Leon. A victory is twice itself when the achiever brings home full numbers. I find here that Don Pedro hath bestowed much honour on a young Florentine called Claudio.

Mess. Much deserv’d on his part, and equally rememb’red by Don Pedro. He hath borne himself beyond the promise of his age, doing in the figure of a lamb the feats of a lion. He hath indeed better bett’red expectation than you must expect of me to tell you how.

Leon. He hath an uncle here in Messina will be very much glad of it.

Mess. I have already delivered him letters, and there appears much joy in him; even so much that joy could not show itself modest enough without a badge of bitterness.

Leon. Did he break out into tears?

Mess. In great measure.

Leon. A kind overflow of kindness. There are no faces truer than those that are so wash’d. How much better is it to weep at joy than to joy at weeping!

Beat. I pray you, is Signior Mountanto return’d from the wars or no?

Mess. I know none of that name, lady. There was none such in the army of any sort.

Leon. What is he that you ask for, niece?

Hero. My cousin means Signior Benedick of Padua.

Mess. O, he’s return’d, and as pleasant as ever he was.

Beat. He set up his bills here in Messina and challeng’d Cupid at the flight, and my uncle’s fool, reading the challenge, subscrib’d for Cupid and challeng’d him at the burbolt. I pray you, how many hath he kill’d and eaten in these wars? But how many hath he kill’d? For indeed I promised to eat all of his killing.

Leon. Faith, niece, you tax Signior Benedick too much; but he’ll be meet with you, I doubt it not.

Mess. He hath done good service, lady, in these wars.

Beat. You had musty victual, and he hath holp to eat it. He is a very valiant trencherman; he hath an excellent stomach.

Mess. And a good soldier too, lady.

Beat. And a good soldier to a lady; but what is he to a lord?

Mess. A lord to a lord, a man to a man; stuff’d with all honourable virtues.

Beat. It is so indeed. He is no less than a stuff’d man; but for the stuffing—well, we are all mortal.

Leon. You must not, sir, mistake my niece. There is a kind of merry war betwixt Signior Benedick and her. They never meet but there’s a skirmish of wit between them.

Beat. Alas, he gets nothing by that! In our last conflict four of his five wits went halting off, and now is the whole man govern’d with one; so that if he have wit enough to keep himself warm, let him bear it for a difference between himself and his horse; for it is all the wealth that he hath left to be known a reasonable creature. Who is his companion now? He hath every month a new sworn brother.

Mess. Is’t possible?

Beat. Very easily possible. He wears his faith but as the fashion of his hat; it ever changes with the next block.

Mess. I see, lady, the gentleman is not in your books.

Beat. No. An he were, I would burn my study. But I pray you, who is his companion? Is there no young squarer now that will make a voyage with him to the devil?

Mess. He is most in the company of the right noble Claudio.

Beat. O Lord, he will hang upon him like a disease! He is sooner caught than the pestilence, and the taker runs presently mad. God help the noble Claudio! If he have caught the Benedick, it will cost him a thousand pound ere ‘a be cured.

Mess. I will hold friends with you, lady.

Beat. Do, good friend.

Leon. You will never run mad, niece.

Beat. No, not till a hot January.

Mess. Don Pedro is approach’d.

 

Enter Don Pedro, Claudio, Benedick, Balthasar, and