[In the tavern, Prince Harry — known familiarly as Prince Hal — and Falstaff take turns role-playing a dialogue between Harry and his father, the king. At first a comic scene, Falstaff says he will play the king as if playing in King Cambyses, a bombastic tragedy of the time. It turns serious, however, when Harry plays his father, foreshadowing Falstaff’s fall from favor at the end of Henry IV, Part Two, when Harry becomes Henry V.]
PRINCE HARRY: Do thou stand for my father, and examine me upon the particulars of my life. FALSTAFF: Shall I? Content. This chair shall be my state, this dagger my sceptre, and this cushion my crown. (He sits.)[As Benedick waits for Beatrice, he laments that he cannot express his love in poetry. When she arrives, he tells her that he has challenged Claudio to a duel, as she has asked him to do. The two, however, are in love with each other, in spite of themselves, and the banter quickly turns to flirting. Ursula, the maid, enters with news that all the complications of the play have been, or are about to be, resolved.]
BENEDICK: (Sings.) The god of love, That sits above, And knows me, and knows me, How pitiful I deserve — I mean in singing; but in loving, Leander the good swimmer, Troilus the first employer of panders, and a whole book full of these quondam carpet-mongers whose names yet run smoothly in the even road of a blank verse, why they were never so truly turned over and over as my poor self in love. Marry, I cannot show it in rhyme. I have tried: I can find out no rhyme to ‘lady’ but ‘baby’, an innocent rhyme; for ‘scorn’ ‘horn’, a hard rhyme; for ‘school’ ‘fool’, a babbling rhyme. Very ominous endings. No, I was not born under a rhyming planet, nor I cannot woo in festival terms. (Enter Beatrice.) Sweet Beatrice, wouldst thou come when I called thee? BEATRICE: Yea, signior, and depart when you bid me. BENEDICK: O, stay but till then. BEATRICE: ‘Then’ is spoken. Fare you well now. And yet ere I go, let me go with that I came for, which is with knowing what hath passed between you and Claudio. BENEDICK: Only foul words, and thereupon I will kiss thee. BEATRICE: Foul words is but foul wind, and foul wind is but foul breath, and foul breath is noisome, therefore I will depart unkissed. BENEDICK: Thou hast frighted the word out of his right sense, so forcible is thy wit. But I must tell thee plainly, Claudio undergoes my challenge, and either I must shortly hear from him or I will subscribe him a coward. And I pray thee now tell me, for which of my bad parts didst thou first fall in love with me? BEATRICE: For them all together, which maintain so politic a state of evil that they will not admit any good part to intermingle with them. But for which of my good parts did you first suffer love for me? BENEDICK: Suffer love — a good epithet. I do suffer love indeed, for I love thee against my will. BEATRICE: In spite of your heart, I think. Alas, poor heart. If you spite it for my sake I will spite it for yours, for I will never love that which my friend hates. BENEDICK: Thou and I are too wise to woo peaceably. BEATRICE: It appears not in this confession. There’s not one wise man among twenty that will praise himself. BENEDICK: An old, an old instance, Beatrice, that lived in the time of good neighbours. If a man do not erect in this age his own tomb ere he dies, he shall live no longer in monument than the bell rings and the widow weeps. BEATRICE: And how long is that, think you? BENEDICK: Question — why, an hour in clamour and a quarter in rheum. Therefore is it most expedient for the wise, if Don Worm — his conscience — find no impediment to the contrary, to be the trumpet of his own virtues, as I am to myself. So much for praising myself who, I myself will bear witness, is praiseworthy. And now tell me, how doth your cousin? BEATRICE: Very ill. BENEDICK: And how do you? BEATRICE: Very ill too. BENEDICK: Serve God, love me, and mend. There will I leave you too, for here comes one in haste. (Enter Ursula.) URSULA: Madam, you must come to your uncle. Yonder’s old coil at home. It is proved my Lady Hero hath been falsely accused, the Prince and Claudio mightily abused, and Don John is the author of all, who is fled and gone. Will you come presently? BEATRICE: Will you go hear this news, signior? BENEDICK: I will live in thy heart, die in thy lap, and be buried in thy eyes. And moreover, I will go with thee to thy uncle’s. (Exeunt.)[The banished Duke Senior lives with his followers in the Forest of Arden. Among them is the melancholic Jaques. When they encounter the young Orlando and the ancient Adam, who cannot walk due to hunger, they comment on the drama of human life.]
[Viola, disguised as the boy Cesario, has been sent by Duke Orsino to bring messages of love to Countess Olivia. Olivia, tired of Orsino and his servants, plays a trick on Viola by veiling her face and refusing to identify herself. Finally, Olivia dismisses everyone and is left alone with the attractive young messenger, who strays from his/her memorized speech, switches from prose to poetry, and delivers an impressive expression of love. As if hit by lightning, Olivia falls in love.]
OLIVIA: Now, sir, what is your text? VIOLA: Most sweet lady — OLIVIA: A comfortable doctrine, and much may be said of it. Where lies your text? VIOLA: In Orsino’s bosom. OLIVIA: In his bosom? In what chapter of his bosom? VIOLA: To answer by the method, in the first of his heart. OLIVIA: O, I have read it. It is heresy. Have you no more to say? VIOLA: Good madam, let me see your face. OLIVIA: Have you any commission from your lord to negotiate with my face? You are now out of your text. But we will draw the curtain and show you the picture. (She unveils.) Look you, sir, such a one I was this present. Is’t not well done? VIOLA: Excellently done, if God did all. OLIVIA: ’Tis in grain, sir, ’twill endure wind and weather. VIOLA: ’Tis beauty truly blent, whose red and white Nature’s own sweet and cunning hand laid on. Lady, you are the cruell’st she alive If you will lead these graces to the grave And leave the world no copy. OLIVIA: O sir, I will not be so hard-hearted. I will give out divers schedules of my beauty. It shall be inventoried, and every particle and utensil labelled to my will, as, item, two lips, indifferent red; item, two grey eyes, with lids to them; item, one neck, one chin, and so forth. Were you sent hither to praise me? VIOLA: I see you what you are, you are too proud, But if you were the devil, you are fair. My lord and master loves you. O, such love Could be but recompensed though you were crowned The nonpareil of beauty. OLIVIA: How does he love me? VIOLA: With adorations, fertile tears, With groans that thunder love, with sighs of fire. OLIVIA: Your lord does know my mind, I cannot love him. Yet I suppose him virtuous, know him noble, Of great estate, of fresh and stainless youth, In voices well divulged, free, learned and valiant, And in dimension and the shape of nature A gracious person; but yet I cannot love him. He might have took his answer long ago. VIOLA: If I did love you in my master’s flame, With such a suff’ring, such a deadly life, In your denial I would find no sense, I would not understand it. OLIVIA: Why, what would you? VIOLA: Make me a willow cabin at your gate And call upon my soul within the house, Write loyal cantons of contemnèd love, And sing them loud even in the dead of night; Halloo your name to the reverberate hills, And make the babbling gossip of the air Cry out ‘Olivia!’ O, you should not rest Between the elements of air and earth But you should pity me. OLIVIA: You might do much. What is your parentage? VIOLA: Above my fortunes, yet my state is well. I am a gentleman. OLIVIA: Get you to your lord. I cannot love him. Let him send no more, Unless, perchance, you come to me again To tell me how he takes it. Fare you well. I thank you for your pains. (Offering a purse.) Spend this for me. VIOLA: I am no fee’d post, lady. Keep your purse. My master, not myself, lacks recompense. Love make his heart of flint that you shall love, And let your fervor, like my master’s, be Placed in contempt. Farewell, fair cruelty. (Exit.) OLIVIA: ‘What is your parentage?’ ‘Above my fortunes, yet my state is well. I am a gentleman.’ I’ll be sworn thou art. Thy tongue, thy face, thy limbs, actions and spirit Do give thee five-fold blazon. Not too fast. Soft, soft — Unless the master were the man. How now? Even so quickly may one catch the plague? Methinks I feel this youth’s perfections With an invisible and subtle stealth To creep in at mine eyes. Well, let it be.[After a drunken brawl, Michael Cassio loses his place as an officer to Othello. He tries to regain the trust of his old friend and general by appealing to Desdemona, Othello’s wife. In the span of this short scene, the malevolent Iago, who is jealous of Cassio and contemptuous of Othello, poisons Othello’s thoughts with the false notion that Desdemona has been unfaithful with Cassio, setting the drama on its catastrophic course.]
OTHELLO: Was not that Cassio parted from my wife? IAGO: Cassio, my lord? No, sure, I cannot think it, That he would steal away so guilty-like, Seeing you coming. OTHELLO: I do believe ’twas he. DESDEMONA: How now, my lord? I have been talking with a suitor here, A man that languishes in your displeasure. OTHELLO: Who is’t you mean? DESDEMONA: Why, your lieutenant, Cassio; Good my lord, If I have any grace or power to move you, His present reconciliation take; For if he be not one that truly loves you, That errs in ignorance and not in cunning, I have no judgment in an honest face. I prithee, call him back. OTHELLO: Went he hence now? DESDEMONA: Yes, faith, so humbled That he hath left part of his grief with me To suffer with him. Good love, call him back. OTHELLO: Not now, sweet Desdemon. Some other time. DESDEMONA: But shall’t be shortly? OTHELLO: The sooner, sweet, for you. DESDEMONA: Shall’t be to-night at supper? OTHELLO: No, not tonight. DESDEMONA: Tomorrow dinner, then? OTHELLO: I shall not dine at home. I meet the captains at the citadel. DESDEMONA: Why, then, tomorrow night, or Tuesday morn, On Tuesday noon, or night, on Wednesday morn — I prithee, name the time, but let it not Exceed three days. In faith, he’s penitent, And yet his trespass, in our common reason — Save that, they say, the wars must make example Out of their best — is not almost a fault T’incur a private check. When shall he come? Tell me, Othello. I wonder in my soul, What you would ask me that I should deny, Or stand so mamm’ring on. What, Michael Cassio, That came a-wooing with you, and so many a time, When I have spoke of you dispraisingly Hath ta’en your part — to have so much to-do To bring him in? By’r Lady, I could do much. OTHELLO: Prithee, no more. Let him come when he will. I will deny thee nothing. DESDEMONA: Why, this is not a boon. ’Tis as I should entreat you wear your gloves, Or feed on nourishing dishes, or keep you warm, Or sue to you to do a peculiar profit To your own person. Nay, when I have a suit Wherein I mean to touch your love indeed, It shall be full of poise and difficult weight, And fearful to be granted. OTHELLO: I will deny thee nothing, Whereon I do beseech thee grant me this: To leave me but a little to myself. DESDEMONA: Shall I deny you? No. Farewell, my lord. OTHELLO: Farewell, my Desdemona. I’ll come to thee straight. DESDEMONA: Emilia, come. (To Othello.) Be as your fancies teach you. Whate’er you be, I am obedient. (Exeunt Desdemona and Emilia.) OTHELLO: Excellent wretch! Perdition catch my soul But I do love thee, and when I love thee not, Chaos is come again. IAGO: My noble lord — OTHELLO: What dost thou say, Iago? IAGO: Did Michael Cassio, when you wooed my lady, Know of your love? OTHELLO: He did, from first to last. Why dost thou ask? IAGO: But for a satisfaction of my thought, No further harm. OTHELLO: Why of thy thought, Iago? IAGO: I did not think he had been acquainted with her. OTHELLO: O yes; and went between us very oft. IAGO: Indeed? OTHELLO: Indeed? Ay, indeed. Discern’st thou aught in that? Is he not honest? IAGO: Honest, my lord? OTHELLO: Honest? Ay, honest. IAGO: My lord, for aught I know. OTHELLO: What dost thou think? IAGO: Think, my lord? OTHELLO: ‘Think, my lord?’ By heaven, he echo’st me As if there were some monster in his thought Too hideous to be shown. Thou dost mean something. I heard thee say even now thou liked’st not that, When Cassio left my wife. What didst not like? And when I told thee he was of my counsel In my whole course of wooing, thou cried’st ‘Indeed?’ And didst contract and purse thy brow together As if thou then hadst shut up in thy brain Some horrible conceit. If thou dost love me, Show me thy thought. IAGO: My lord, you know I love you. OTHELLO: I think thou dost; And, for I know thou’rt full of love and honesty, And weigh’st thy words before thou giv’st them breath, Therefore these stops of thine fright me the more; For such things in a false disloyal knave Are tricks of custom, but in a man that’s just, They are close dilations, working from the heart That passion cannot rule. IAGO: For Michael Cassio, I dare be sworn I think that he is honest. OTHELLO: I think so too. IAGO: Men should be what they seem, Or those that be not, would they might seem none. OTHELLO: Certain, men should be what they seem. IAGO: Why then, I think Cassio’s an honest man. OTHELLO: Nay, yet there’s more in this. I prithee speak to me as to thy thinkings, As thou dost ruminate, and give thy worst of thoughts The worst of words. IAGO: Good my lord, pardon me. Though I am bound to every act of duty, I am not bound to that all slaves are free to. Utter my thoughts? Why, say they are vile and false, As where’s that palace whereinto foul things Sometimes intrude not? Who has that breast so pure But some uncleanly apprehensions Keep leets and law-days and in sessions sit With meditations lawful? OTHELLO: Thou dost conspire against thy friend, Iago, If thou but think’st him wronged and mak’st his ear A stranger to thy thoughts. IAGO: I do beseech you, Though I perchance am vicious in my guess — As, I confess, it is my nature’s plague To spy into abuses, and oft my jealousy Shapes faults that are not — that your wisdom then, From one that so imperfectly conceits, Would take no notice, nor build yourself a trouble Out of his scattering and unsure observance. It were not for your quiet nor your good, Nor for my manhood, honesty, and wisdom, To let you know my thoughts. OTHELLO: What dost thou mean? IAGO: Good name in man and woman, dear my lord, Is the immediate jewel of their souls. Who steals my purse steals trash; ’tis something, nothing; ’Twas mine, ’tis his, and has been slave to thousands. But he that filches from me my good name Robs me of that which not enriches him And makes me poor indeed. OTHELLO: By heaven, I’ll know thy thoughts. IAGO: You cannot, if my heart were in your hand; Nor shall not whilst ’tis in my custody. OTHELLO: Ha! IAGO: O, beware, my lord, of jealousy. It is the green-eyed monster which doth mock The meat it feeds on. That cuckold lives in bliss Who, certain of his fate, loves not his wronger. But, O, what damnèd minutes tells he o’er Who dotes yet doubts, suspects yet strongly loves! OTHELLO: O misery! IAGO: Poor and content is rich and rich enough, But riches fineless is as poor as winter To him that ever fears he shall be poor. Good God the souls of all my tribe defend From jealousy! OTHELLO: Why, why is this? Think’st thou I’d make a lie of jealousy, To follow still the changes of the moon With fresh suspicions? No, to be once in doubt Is once to be resolved. Exchange me for a goat When I shall turn the business of my soul To such exsufflicate and blown surmises Matching thy inference. ’Tis not to make me jealous To say my wife is fair, feeds well, loves company, Is free of speech, sings, plays and dances well. Where virtue is, these are more virtuous, Nor from mine own weak merits will I draw The smallest fear or doubt of her revolt, For she had eyes and chose me. No, Iago, I’ll see before I doubt; when I doubt, prove; And on the proof, there is no more but this: Away at once with love or jealousy. IAGO: I am glad of this, for now I shall have reason To show the love and duty that I bear you With franker spirit. Therefore, as I am bound, Receive it from me. I speak not yet of proof. Look to your wife. Observe her well with Cassio. Wear your eye thus: not jealous, nor secure. I would not have your free and noble nature, Out of self-bounty be abused. Look to’t. I know our country disposition well. In Venice they do let God see the pranks They dare not show their husbands; their best conscience Is not to leave’t undone, but keep’t unknown. OTHELLO: Dost thou say so? IAGO: She did deceive her father, marrying you, And when she seem’d to shake and fear your looks She loved them most. OTHELLO: And so she did. IAGO: Why, go to, then. She that so young, could give out such a seeming, To seel her father’s eyes up close as oak — He thought ’twas witchcraft! But I am much to blame. I humbly do beseech you of your pardon For too much loving you. OTHELLO: I am bound to thee for ever. IAGO: I see this hath a little dash’d your spirits. OTHELLO: Not a jot, not a jot. IAGO: I’faith, I fear it has. I hope you will consider what is spoke Comes from my love. But I do see you’re moved. I am to pray you not to strain my speech To grosser issues, nor to larger reach Than to suspicion. OTHELLO: I will not. IAGO: Should you do so, my lord, My speech should fall into such vile success Which my thoughts aimed not at. Cassio’s my worthy friend. My lord, I see you’re moved. OTHELLO: No, not much moved. I do not think but Desdemona’s honest. IAGO: Long live she so, and long live you to think so! OTHELLO: And yet how nature, erring from itself — IAGO: Ay, there’s the point; as, to be bold with you, Not to affect many proposèd matches Of her own clime, complexion, and degree, Whereto we see in all things nature tends. Foh, one may smell in such a will most rank, Foul disproportions, thoughts unnatural! But pardon me. I do not in position Distinctly speak of her, though I may fear Her will, recoiling to her better judgment, May fall to match you with her country forms And happily repent. OTHELLO: Farewell, farewell. If more thou dost perceive, let me know more. Set on thy wife to observe. Leave me, Iago. IAGO: (Going.) My lord, I take my leave. OTHELLO: Why did I marry? This honest creature doubtless Sees and knows more, much more, than he unfolds. IAGO: (Returning.) My lord, I would I might entreat your honour To scan this thing no farther. Leave it to time. Although ’tis fit that Cassio have his place — For sure he fills it up with great ability — Yet, if you please to hold him off awhile, You shall by that perceive him and his means. Note if your lady strain his entertainment With any strong or vehement importunity. Much will be seen in that. In the mean time, Let me be thought too busy in my fears — As worthy cause I have to fear I am — And hold her free, I do beseech your honour. OTHELLO: Fear not my government. IAGO: I once more take my leave. (Exit.) OTHELLO: This fellow’s of exceeding honesty, And knows all qualities, with a learned spirit Of human dealings. If I do prove her haggard, Though that her jesses were my dear heart-strings, I’d whistle her off and let her down the wind To pray at fortune. Haply for I am black, And have not those soft parts of conversation That chamberers have; or for I am declined Into the vale of years — yet thats not much — She’s gone. I am abused, and my relief Must be to loathe her. O curse of marriage, That we can call these delicate creatures ours, And not their appetites! I had rather be a toad And live upon the vapour of a dungeon Than keep a corner in the thing I love For others’ uses. Yet, ’tis the plague of great ones; Prerogatived are they less than the base. ’Tis destiny unshunnable, like death. Even then this forkèd plague is fated to us When we do quicken. (Enter Desdemona and Emilia.) Look, where she comes. If she be false, O then heaven mocks itself! I’ll not believe’t. DESDEMONA: How now, my dear Othello? Your dinner, and the generous islanders By you invited, do attend your presence. OTHELLO: I am to blame. DESDEMONA: Why do you speak so faintly? Are you not well? OTHELLO: I have a pain upon my forehead here. DESDEMONA: Faith, that’s with watching. ’Twill away again. Let me but bind it hard, within this hour It will be well. OTHELLO: Your napkin is too little: (He puts the handkerchief from him. It drops.) Let it alone. Come, I’ll go in with you. DESDEMONA: I am very sorry that you are not well. (Exeunt Othello and Desdemona.)[Cleopatra is a prisoner of Octavius Caesar, fearing that she will be paraded though the streets as a captive. In this exchange between Cleopatra and Dolabella, one of Octavius Caesar’s men sent to guard the queen, Cleopatra recounts a vision in which she saw her dead lover Antony as a god-like hero.]
CLEOPATRA: I dreamt there was an Emperor Antony. O, such another sleep, that I might see But such another man! DOLABELLA: If it might please ye — CLEOPATRA: His face was as the heav’ns, and therein stuck A sun and moon, which kept their course, and lighted The little O, o’th’ earth. DOLABELLA: Most sovereign creature — CLEOPATRA: His legs bestrid the ocean; his reared arm Crested the world. His voice was propertied As all the tunèd spheres, and that to friends; But when he meant to quail and shake the orb, He was as rattling thunder. For his bounty, There was no winter in’t; an autumn ’twas, That grew the more by reaping. His delights Were dolphin-like; they showed his back above The element they lived in. In his livery Walked crowns and crownets. Realms and islands were As plates dropped from his pocket. DOLABELLA: Cleopatra — CLEOPATRA: Think you there was, or might be, such a man As this I dreamt of? DOLABELLA: Gentle madam, no. CLEOPATRA: You lie, up to the hearing of the gods. But, if there be, or ever were one such, It’s past the size of dreaming. Nature wants stuff To vie strange forms with fancy; yet, t’imagine An Antony, were nature’s piece ’gainst fancy, Condemning shadows quite.