A Motley Jest | Project Gutenberg

Lear [to King Henry] And thou, too, wert a king?

King Henry.I was, but now

Am I a king no longer. Edward of March

Usurps my title and my crown. There come

No suitors unto me, a shadow prince

Mated with Madge of Anjou, strong where I

Am weak, for she loves war, and weak where I

Am strong, for I am joined to content

Which she, poor soul, wots little of.

King Richard.O let

Us make a compact with this same content;

As which shall joy the most in it, that thus

The hours shall fleet unhinder’d o’er our heads

As o’er the shepherd’s gazing on his flock

From out the hawthorn shade. Or what say you,

Were it not fitter pastime to bewail

Our loss of crown and kingdom morn by morn,

Evening by evening, till at last we died

Of grief?

King Henry. Wiser it were to strive to find

What comfort’s left to us.

King Richard.Why, so we will.

Come, fool, be thou our numbering clock and tell

Item by item all that’s left to us

Unhappy kings, brothers in wretchedness.

Lear. A plague upon ye both that will not curse

The authors of your woes, that will not vex

The heavens with prayers for their undoing. Curse

On curse I’ll heap upon the heads of those

She wolves, my daughters, sprung from out my loins;

The kingdom’s ruin and their father’s bane.

[Exit raving.

Fool. Farewell to you both, for I must after him that’s such an eager spendthrift of his curses, and may each of you come upon a kingdom to your mind—when the sun shall smite in January.

[Exit Fool.

King Henry. A more than common grief look’d from his eye

That roll’d so wildly in his head; pray God

We keep our wits, whatever else be lost

To us.

King Richard. And I might see proud Bolingbroke

In such a case as his that parted now,

I deem that I could die full willingly.

King Henry. Would I were dead, an’ it were God’s good will;

But whilst I live I ne’er will còntrive aught

Of evil ’gainst mine enemy, nor wish

Him ill, for so weighs woe the heavier

On him invoking. Our good captain Christ

Did bid us to the smiter turn the cheek

That’s smitten yet again, nor harm him not

For all the mischiefs he doth put on us.

[Soft music heard.

King Richard. How softly steals sweet music on the soul,

Shutting its doors to misery and pain,

Closing the senses ’gainst all foes without,

Turning the hard couch unto airy down,

Dissolving time in melting harmonies.

O I could list forever to its sound,

But it, or something stronger, masters me.

[Sleeps.

King Henry. Poor, changeful-hearted man that wast a king,

Led captive by each wayward quick caprice,

Unhappy fate call’d thee unto a throne

As it did me; our kingdoms suffer’d for’t.

Enjoy thy sleep by music underpropt,

Till waking show thee as thou wert before,

A crownless monarch weeping for thy crown.

[Exit King Henry.

Miranda. My heart is full of pity for these kings

Wanting their crowns.

Ferdinand.Those crowns had still been worn

Had they known truly what it is to be

A king. O, my Miranda, only such

That are compos’d of strength and gentleness

In fair proportion mix’d, should e’er essay

The sceptre. He that may not rule himself

Is of all monarchs least significant.

[Exeunt.

Scene VI.

A glade in another part of the island with Ferdinand and Miranda observed seated at the upper end thereof. Nearer at hand a group of Athenian citizens. Enter Bottom, wearing an ass’s head.

Bottom. Masters, you will marvel to behold me here, but the very truth of the matter is that I did fall asleep, and being asleep I did dream, and as I did lie a-dreaming I was in a manner translated to this place, which methinks is an island, for I did espy much water anear as I was brought hither. But, masters, I do marvel much to look upon you here also.

Francis Flute. Methinks, friend Bottom, you are not the sole wight in Athens esteemed worthy translation.

Robin Starveling. How an’ we be not translated either?

Peter Quince. Robin Starveling speaks well and to the centre of the matter. Know then, good bully Bottom, we are translated as yourself, but methinks you have lost more in the translating than have we; is’t not e’en so, masters all?

All. Right, good Peter Quince.

Bottom. I have lost nothing that should cause you envy, good friends all, and so I assure you. [Brays loudly] What say you then to my voice? Is my voice perished?

Tom Snout. No, Nick Bottom.

Bottom. I thank you, good Tom Snout, and to show you that I am the same Nick Bottom, however my visage may appear altered, for travel doth greatly age a man, as they say, you shall hear me wake the echoes once again.

[Brays a second time, more loudly.

Quince. Methinks your voice, good Bottom, has lost somewhat of sweetness.

Bottom. That’s all one, good Peter Quince, for the simple truth of the matter is that you have no such delicate ear for fine harmonies as I am endow’d with.

[Strokes his ears.

Quince. It doth seem so on more properer consideration, and I had an ear that were the parallax of yours ’twere pity of my life.

All. Indeed, an’ ’twere but pity of your life, Peter Quince.

Bottom. How say you, masters, shall not we spread ourselves? [All sit down.

Miranda. O Ferdinand, be these all mortal like

Ourselves? More surely I did never spy

So hideously strange a being such

As he who hath the ass’s head.

Ferdinand.Nor I.

Belike he hath incurr’d some wizard’s spite

And, all unwitting, wears this semblance till

The wizard’s anger shall be spent. But see,

His fellows play upon his ignorance

And of his strange beguilement make their sport.

Bottom. Since it is conceded by all of you that I have lost nothing by translation, doth it not follow, moreover, that I have somewhat gained by that same adventure?

Flute. In good truth you have gained by somewhat, Nick Bottom.

Bottom. I were an ass, indeed, an’ I had not.

Snug. And twice an ass, moreover, should he be that would go about to steal it from you.

Bottom. Methinks that I could munch a savoury salad of thistles with much stomach to’t.

Quince. Your thistles be a thought too biting for my stomach.

Bottom. ’Tis but likely. I was ever a choice feeder. But, masters, was there not some matter toward, or have you assembled yourselves but to greet me, and, as ’twere, fittingly?

Quince. You speak quite to the matter, good Bottom. That is indeed the true end of our beginning. To behold your winsome visage in this unwonted place is great joy to us simple mechanicals, yet we be nevertheless bold to proclaim to you that to shave were not amiss to one of your condition. For but bethink you, and you were to come amongst ladies thus grievously beset with hair would shame us all.

Snug. Mayhap in this strange part of the world ’twould be thought matter for a hanging, and that were, indeed, a most serious business, to my thinking.

Quince. But an’ we talk of ladies and hangings, moreover, hither comes a monstrous little lady, as ’twere on the instant.

Enter Titania, with her train.

Titania. Where stays the gentle mortal I adore,

Whose voice unto mine ear makes harmonies

Celestial, and whose amiable face

Enthralls my heart in loving servitude?

Peaseblossom. Yonder he bides.

Moth. ’Mong others of his kind.

Cobweb. Alike, yet different.

Mustardseed.Chief mortal seen.

Titania [espying Bottom] What angel can compare unto my love?

Beauty itself, beholding thee, might swoon

For envy, and the eldest sage would yield

His place to thee on th’ instant. O my love!

[Winds her arms about his neck.

Thou shalt dwell with me ever. Oberon

To thee is but a gaping pig, and thou

To him the nonpareil of beauteous youth.

Bottom. Good mistress atomy, though you show somewhat spare of flesh you are yet of a right comely countenance (and mine eyes do tell me aught without spectacles), and you can speak to the point upon occasion, as the present moment doth signify most auspiciously.

Titania. O I could list unto thy silver tongue

Till Time itself wax’d eld and perished.

Bottom. How say you, masters? Hath not mistress atomy a shrewd manner of observation an’ she singles me out from the company of my fellows thus compellingly?

Quince. O bully Bottom, you are, as I take it, the simple wonder of our age.

All. Right, master Quince. Nick Bottom is become a very marvel.

Titania. Fain would I hear thy heavenly note again.

Sing, wondrous mortal, while I link mine arms

About thy peerless form, or garlands twine

Of dewy flowers to hang about thy neck,

That neck, of all necks most incomparable.

Bottom [sings]

Upon the hay

Cophetua

Did waste the hours in sighing.

The beggar maid

Unto him said,

Good sir, are you a dying?

Titania. That voice would make the nightingale asham’d. [Kisses him

Now must thou leave thy fellows in this place

And speed along with me unto my court,

Where we’ll abide in loving dalliance

Until thy mortal part’s with spirit mix’d.

Peaseblossom! Cobweb! Moth! and Mustardseed!

Peaseblossom. Ready.

Cobweb.And I.

Moth.And I.

Mustardseed.And I.

All.Your hest,

Our queen, is still our duty and delight.

Titania. Attend us to the court, and evermore

Give special heed unto this gentleman,

Anticipate his ev’ry wish and feed

Him with the choicest cates the isle doth yield.

[Exeunt Titania and Bottom, attended by train.

Quince. Were this but told in Athens, now, ’twere not believed by aught, but we accredited liars all of the first water, and so esteemed.

All. ’Twere indeed but so, and truly, Peter Quince.

Quince. Therefore I hold that (an’ we once more come by our own firesides in Athens), we were best make no words of the happenings we have beheld but now, lest we be cried upon in the public streets as those that be counted no true men.

All. That were to shame us, every mother’s son.

Quince. Why you speak the very gizzard of the matter, my masters all, and we will be silent in such wise as I did perpetuate, and as for Nick Bottom, let his goblin mistress do with him as she listeth, for methinks we are well rid of his company, being, for ourselves, nothing loose-minded but sober, virtuous citizens all.

All. That are we, Peter Quince, and we thank God for’t.

Enter Puck, unperceived, who tweaks Quince
violently by the nose and exits.

Quince. O masters, which of you—

Is suddenly twitched aside by Puck. Re-enters
with a lion’s head on his shoulders.

All. God defends us, Peter Quince.

Quince. Masters, it ill becomes you as sober citizens of Athens to treat one of yourselves thus unseemly. Am not I a simple workman like the rest of you? Is it not my very own voice that you hear but now? [Roars.

All. God for his mercy.

[Exeunt all but Quince.

Quince. These be strange manners; an’ I were a very lion, though being of a truth of a most lamblike perdition, they could not have fled from me with greater speeding. I will e’en after them to taste the reason of their knavery.

Enter Puck.

Puck. Now will I set these patches by the ears,

Making such monsters of their simple selves

As severally shall fright them when they see

Each in the other’s fearful eyeball glass’d.

[Exit Puck.

Re-enter Quince.

Quince. And I can spy but one of my neighbours in this predestinated place I’ll be hanged.

Re-enter Starveling, with an owl’s head.

Quince. Bless us, Robin Starveling, what wizardry do I spy in you?

Starveling. Wizardry, an’ you call it, Peter Quince? Look to your own head an’ you would find out wizardry. There’s naught strange in me.

Re-enter Snug, with a bear’s head.

Quince and Starveling. Save us, good Snug, how art thou transmogrified!

Snug. Not so, neither, neighbours both. I am but Snug the joiner, as you might behold him of any working day, but you twain, methinks, are most marvellously encountered.

Quince and Starveling. Speak for yourself, Master Snug: we are the same as you have known us ever.

Quince. That is, I am the same, but Master Starveling is quite other than the simple man he was.

Starveling. Thou liest, Peter Quince. I am but plain Robin Starveling, but you are become a very monster.

Re-enter Snout, with a deer’s head and horns.

Quince. Good masters three, you are enchanted, and pity o’ my life it is. ’Tis I alone that doth remain as much mankind as I was ever.

Snout. An’ you count yourself the proper likeness of a man you are most horribly mistook, and so it is, Peter Quince.

Re-enter Flute, with the head of a crocodile.

Flute. O neighbours all, what behold I here? What sorcerer has thus exorcised upon you? O could you be spy upon yourselves to know how unlike you are to plain citizens like me.

Quince. A plain man, say you. Forsooth, yours is a very fearful manner of plainness, Francis Flute. But look at me, masters all, and you would gaze upon a plain man.

Starveling. Nay, look on me, in his stead.

Snout. Not so, but on me.

Snug. These be liars, every mother’s son. Look upon me, I say, Francis Flute.

Flute. Masters, hear but the simple truth. You are all of you deceived and have suffered most horrible enchantment, every mother’s son of you but me. Heaven help you, neighbours, and undo the spell that each and every one may become as I am.

[Gnashes his jaws fearfully.

All. That were most dire affliction of any that be in the varsal world, Francis Flute.

Flute. And you were not something other than simple mankind I could try conclusions with you that speak thus enviously. Indeed, I am something that way toward, but now.

[Exeunt Omnes, fighting.

Enter Puck.

Puck. Thus have I put the simple senses all

Of these rude knaves sorely distraught, for each

Doth fear the other, deeming him the prey

Of dark enchantment, while himself believes

Himself none other than he was at first

Lord, how simple mortals be,

And it much doth pleasure me

To behold them all distraught;

Each in fairy toils is caught,

There to bide at my good will,

Roaring, growling, fighting still.

[Exit Puck.

Ferdinand. How like you this, Miranda? Hath not he,

The gamesome elf, made merry mischief so

’Mongst these dull wits that scarce may they once more

Regain their sometime selves and liberty.

Miranda. ’Twas merry, sooth, yet I could wish the spell

Dissolv’d that made them fearsome to themselves,

And enemies that once were friends. He that

Hath friends hath treasure, more than wealth of Ind,

And he that hath not still is poor indeed,

Though all the gold of Ophir ’long’d to him.

Enter Jaques, laughing.

Jaques. Though I be sworn to sadness it doth make

Me gladsome ’gainst my disposition

To note the antics of these greasy fools

Of Athens, pent within the glade where I,

All unobserv’d, have play’d the spy upon

’Em this full hour. How like these fustian churls

Be to their fellows of the scepter’d throne,

The ermine robe, the ’broider’d chasuble.

’Tis habit makes the man, the wearer’s naught.

The fool, when he is naked, shows as sage

As the philosopher so furnished;

The lout’s bare hide’s no worser than the king’s,

And, when their pride is fondly touch’d, all men

Are brothers. Did not each Athenian wight

Beholding all his fellows in their guise

Most strange and horrible, yet deem himself

Perch’d high above the reach of wizardry,

And sole possessor of a countenance

Such as is worn ’mongst ordinary folk?

My sides do ache with mirth when I bethink

Me of these simple churls, and of their kin

By Adam, in high places set, how each,

No matter what his state, doth ne’er perceive

Himself glass’d in his fellow’s eye, but paints

Instead a portrait in fair colours mix’d,

Calls it his likeness, and would have the world,

That knows him what he is, declare its truth

Both in the general and particular.

This globe is peopl’d with philosophers

And fools, methinks, by which I mean the wise

Are the sole wearers of the motley coat

And all men else do owe the cap and bells.

The lover is a fool who doth proclaim

His mistress is perfection; the maid,

Who thinks her swain compact of truth; the king,

Who stakes his crown upon a battle’s point;

The soldier, who for glory gives his life

And dies, a forfeit to’t; the tonsur’d saint,

Who vows to heaven that which ’longs to men.

O, I could moralize upon this theme

An hour by the clock, with still grave matter left

For melancholy contemplation.

[Exit Jaques.

Miranda. Yon sober suited wight, meseems, doth make

A play of sadness.

Ferdinand.So, in sooth, he doth.

His wisdom rings but hollowly, and all

His speech declares a studied wilfulness

Such as we note in him who acts a part

That finds no smallest likeness in himself.

Soft music heard, followed by a dance of elves.

[Exeunt Ferdinand and Miranda.

Scene VII.

Still another part of the island.

Enter Prospero.

Prospero. Now have I ’complish’d that I did intend,—

Dispers’d Miranda’s sadness utterly,

And, for a brief space, made the airy dreams

Of Master Shakescene take on form again

As erst in other lands and climes, that so

These married lovers might be entertain’d

Full pleasingly, and gather from the hours

Spent in this isle of summer, honey’d sweets

For fond remembrance in the tide of time.

My Ariel! What, Ariel, I say! [Enter Ariel.

Thanks, gentle Ariel, who hast again

Done all my bidding. But for thee my art

Had halted ere its best. Once more receive

My thanks, who am much bound to thee.

Ariel. This time,

Good master Prospero, I serv’d for love

Not duty, and I count your thanks reward

In fullest measure. And there be nothing else

You would of me, then, Prospero, adieu.

Prospero. Adieu, gentlest of spirits, Ariel.

[Exit Ariel.

Thunder heard and Prospero vanishes.

Scene VIII.

A room in the palace at Naples.

[Enter Ferdinand and Miranda.

Miranda. O Ferdinand, my love, last night I slept

And sleeping dream’d, and in my dream I saw

The isle where first you knew me, where we told

Each to the other our fond loves. Methought

I was by you companion’d and the hours

Did move to music while there pass’d before

Our wond’ring eyes, as for our sole delight,

A many folk, strange sorted, who did talk

Together, and at whiles as ’twere a play

And we beholding it. ’Twas wondrous strange.

Ferdinand. O, my Miranda, sure some power we wot

Not of doth play with us as we at chess

Do move the pieces this way first and that,

Because our will is to’t. Know then that I

Did dream the fellow unto yours (if it

In very truth were that and nothing more).

Like you, I vis’ted that sweet spot, with you

Beside the while, and did behold, as on

A stage a company of players strut

Their hour or two, a band of merry folk

With some that wept and cried out upon fate.

Who knoweth, my Miranda, what doth hap

To us when we do sleep? At whiles we note

In slumber tokens of a life apart

From this, alike, yet not alike, and who

May say how far the spirit wanders when

The body sleeps?

Miranda.Would all my dreams were like

To this we’ve wak’d from, for ’twas sweet, yet sad,

And not so sad but that ’twas sweet the more.

I would it were to dream again.

Ferdinand.Who knows,

Sweet Saint Miranda, but it will return?

Soft music again heard.

[Exeunt Ferdinand and Miranda.