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PROPHECY ON THE THIRD WORLD WAR- By Nostradamus

2009-04-02T08:18:00.000-07:00

PART I: The first trumpet is blown, the natural calamities...

I.16 Plague, famine, and war shall come at the end of the 20th century.

Faux a l'Estang joint vers la Sagitaire
En son haut auge de l'exaltation
Peste, famine, mort de main militaire
Le Siecle approcher de renovation

When the astrological sign of Estang aligns with Sagittarius
Due to man's haughty rebellion
Plague, famine, death by war shall occur
When the Great Century approaching the renewal

COMMENT: The Great Century is our century.

I.62 The Great Chastisements shall come.

La grand perte las! que feront les lettres
Avant le cicle de laton a parfait
Feu, grand deluge, plus par ignares sceptres
Que de long siecle ne se verra refait

Alas, what a great loss literally to the letters!
Before the period of chastisements coming to completion
There shall be much fire, great deluges, furthermore ignorant leaders
For a long time the world shall not recover

VI.5 The Artic wind shall bring much flood to the Northern hemisphere.

Si grand famine par une pestifere
Par pluie longue le long du Pole Artique
Samarobryn cent lieux de l'hemisphere
Vivront sans loi exempt de politique

So great famine by plague-stricken phenomena
Through long rains coming from Artic Pole
Offshore troubles (hurricanes) for hundred places throughout Northern Hemisphere
People shall live without law, indifferent toward politics

COMMENT: Artic wind shall bring much moisture resulting in prolonged rains and flooding, causing great famines. This form of calamities shall affect the Northern hemisphere only.

II.3 Extreme heat and severe shortage of food around Mediterranean.

Pour la chaleur solaire sur la mer
De Negrepont les poissons demi cuits
Les habitans les viendront entemer
Quand Rhod et Gennes leur faudra le biscuit

Due to solar heat upon the sea
By a black (metallic) bridge, fish half cooked
The inhabitants shall come to collect them
While Rhodes and Genoa shall want their biscuits

COMMENT: Extreme heat and widespread hunger shall occur around the Mediterranean due to severe drought.

V.98 118F Temperature around the world.

A quarante huit degre climaterique
A fin de Cancer si grande secheresse
Poisson en mer, fleuve, lac cuit hectique
Bearn, Bigore par feu ciel en detresse

Forty eight climatic degrees
At the end of Cancer, so great a drought
Fish in sea, river, lake shall be cooked
Bearn, Bigorre through fire from sky in great distress

COMMENT: 48 C equals to 118 F.

I.67 The universal starvation.

la grand famine que je sens approacher
Aouvent tourner puis estre universelle
Si grand et longue qu'on viendra arracher
Du bois racine, et l'enfant de mamelle

The great famine which I can sense approaching
Only spotty at first, then shall become universal
So great and long that one begins to uproot
Roots of trees and infants shall search for mother's breast

PART II: The sixth angel shall blow the trumpet...

I.80 The sixth angel shall blow the trumpet.

De la sixiesme claire spendeur celeste
Viendra tonnerre si fort en la Bourgongne
Puis naistra monstre tres hideuse beste
Mars, Avril, Mai, Juin grand charpin et rongne

From the sixth bright, celestial splendor
Thunder shall come so strong over Burgundy
Then a monster shall be born from the hideous beast
March, April, May, June, they shall debate heatedly

COMMENT: The sixth angel mentioned in the Book of Revelation is the angel of war who shall blow the trumpet to commence the Sixth Divine Chastisement in the form of many wars over Europe and France. The invasion into Europe shall be planned from March to June (of 1999).

I.91 The physical manifestation of the spiritual conflict.

Les Dieux feront aux humains apparence
Ce qu'ile seront autheurs de grand conflit
Avant ciel veu serain, espee et lance
Que vers main gauche sera plus grand affliction

The Divine enmities shall take human appearance
They shall be the true authors of the great conflict
Before the sky turns serene, sword and lance shall be seen
Who on the left (communists) shall suffer greater affliction

IV.29 The Lord shall not recognize His sinful creatures.

Le Sol cache eclipse par Mercure
Ne sera mis que pour le ciel second
De Vulcan Hermes sera faite pasture
Sol sera veu pur rutilant et blond

The Sun concealed in eclipse with Mercury
Shall not be placed any more in the second sky
For vultures, human corps shall be made into pasture
The Sun shall be viewed again more pure, shining, and golden

COMMENT: The Sun or Orient is the Scriptural language which is used to describe the Lord figuratively. And Mercury implies God's Chastisement figuratively. The second sky is the earth, vulcan vultures, and hermes human corps. The above-mentioned can be re-written as follows:

The Divine Justice shall replace Divine Mercy
The Lord shall turn His Face away from the sinful world
Human corps shall be scattered over the fields for birds
After the purification, Faith shall be more glorious than ever.

IV.67 The Divine Chastisements shall come...

L'an que Saturn et Mars eagaux combust
L'air fort seiche, longue trajection
Par feux secrets, d'ardeur grand lieu adust
Peu pluie, vent, chaud, guerres, incursions

The year that the Day of the Lord shall come as wars
(The year that Saturn and Mars shall eagerly burn)
Strong air, tidal wave, long trajection
With secret fires (warheads), vast areas shall turn to dust due to heat
Little rain, wind, extreme heat, wars, and incursions

I.56 Eastern kings shall carry out the Divine Justice

Vous verrez tost et tard faire grand change
Horreurs extremes et vindications
Que si la lune conduite par son ange
Le ciel s'approche des inclinations

Sooner or later one shall witness great change
Extreme horrors and persecutions
Shall be conducted by the moon (Eastern) through his evil angels
Heaven shall dictate the changes according to Divine Justice

X.86 Russia and Iran: The army of Divine Justice, the Beast hates the Harlot.

Comme un Gryphon viendra le roy d'Europe
Accompagne de ceux d'Aquilon
De rouges et blancs conduira grande troupe
Et iront contre le Roy de Babylon

Like a mythical warrior griffin shall come the king of Europe
Accompanied by those of Northern region
Reds and whites shall conduct a great troop
And shall fight against the king of Babylon

COMMENT: Russian army shall ally with Muslims (white) to attack the Western European countries or Babylon.

IV.68 The Harlot shall be removed.

En l'an bien proche esloingne de Venus
Les deux plus grands de l'Asie et d'Affrique
Du Ryn et Hister qu'on dira sont venus
Cris, pleurs a Malte et coste Lygustique

In the year so close to remove from the Harlot
Two most powerful ones from Asia and Africa
by Rhine and Danube where one says they shall come
Cries, tears at Malta and Lygustic coast

COMMENT: Two powerful ones from Asia and Affrica are Iran and Lybia respectively. The Muslim troops shall advance as far as Germany.

VI.24 The World War III: The European War, the Divine Scepter shall strike the earth.

Mars et Sceptre se trouvera conjont
Dessous Cancer calamiteuse guerre
Un peu apres sera nouveau Roy oingt
Qui par long temps pacifiera la terre

When the Lord imposes His Punishment as wars
There shall be great suffering and calamituous war
After a while shall come a great anointed King
Who for a long time shall pacify the earth

COMMENT: The anointed King shall be King Henry of France who shall conquer Russian and Muslim alliance. And the world-wide war in Europe shall be the Divine Chastisement.

V.77 The hand of the burning Sun Dial is now pointing south: the year of 2000AD.

Tous les degrez d'honneur Ecclesiatique
Seront changez en Dial Quirinal
En Martial Quirinal flamminique
Puis un Roy de France le rendra Vulcanal

All chronology concerning the Church
Shall change into a wrathful Sun Dial
Into the burning war after war
After that King of France shall carry out the restoration

COMMENT: The Sun Dial representing the course of the human history shall become inflammed with wars. Its shadow or hand shall point toward the south or 2000AD with the north, the reference point of the round dial, to be the year of 0AD, the Nativity of our Lord ( This Sun Dial mentioned here is the one of the New Testament. We can construct a parallel one for the Old Teastament as well. Each dial spans a period of about four thousands years.) The King of France shall defeat the enemies of the Church, bring peace and carry out the rebuilding process. He shall forge sword into ploughshare (vulcan).

IX.52 Peace for the blessed, wars for the sinful.

la paix s'approche d'un coste et la guerre
Oncques ne fut la poursuite si grande
Plaindre homme, femme, sang innocent par terre
Et ce sera de France a tout bande

Peace shall approach one side but war on the other
Never so great a pursuit
Lament man, woman, innocent blood cover the earth
And this shall be to France at all sides

COMMENT: The Northern hemisphere alone shall suffer but peace shall reign in the South.

PART III: The World War III at the beginning...

X.72 July 1999, the World War III shall begin.

L'an mil neuf cent nonante neuf sept mois
Du ciel viendra un grand Roy d'effrayeur
Ressusciter le grand Roy d'Angoulmois
Avant apres Mars regner par bonheur

The year 1999 and seven months
From the sky shall come the great king of terror
The great Mongolian King of old shall resurrect
Before and after wars shall reign at will

COMMENT: In July 1999, the World War III or to be precisely, the European war shall begin as the Chastisement from God. Like Mongolians of old, the invaders shall come from the East (Russians and Muslims) to Europe and they shall be merciless and brutal.

VI.80 Europe shall become the battle field between the East and the West.

De Fez le Regne parviendra a ceux d'Europe
Feu leur cite et lame tranchera
Le grand d'Asie terre et mer a grand troupe
Que bleux, pars, croix a mort dechassera

Arms and wars shall reach those of Europe
Fire shall burn city, sword pierce men
A powerful Asian force shall invade through land and sea
Blue bruises and pale hunger , the cross of death shall lay them to rest

COMMENT: Asian or Eastern countries such as Russia, Muslim, and China shall destroy Europe with many wars. The wrathful armies eventually shall be destroyed themselves.

I.58 Siamese twin separated and survived, on the July Fourth Italians attacked.

Tranche le ventre naitra avec deux tetes
Et quatre bras: quelques ans entiers vivra
Jour qui Aquilare celebrera ses fetes
Fossen, Turin, chef Ferrare suivra

Sliced at their belly, born with two heads
And four arms: a few years shall totally live
The day the Eagle celebrates her feast
Fossen, Turin, chief of Ferrara shall survive

COMMENT: When the world enjoys the modern medical wonders by which a Siamese twin shall be separated and survive. The recently separated Siamese twin survived only for one year in California. The latest separated Siamese twin shall survive a little longer (1995 - 1999). The Italian soil shall be invaded by Muslims and Russians on USA's holiday, the Fourth of July.

VI.21 USA and Russia shall become friends. French leader shall support Rome.

Quand ceux de Pole Artique unis ensemble
En Orient grand effrayeur et crainte
Esleu nouveau soustenu le grand temple
Rodes, Bizane de sang Barbare taints

When those of Artic become friends
A powerful one from Orient shall terrorize with fear
A new leader shall be elected who shall support the Church
Rhodes and Turkey shall be stained with Muslim blood

COMMENT: After USA and USSR become friends, the world peace shall be threatened by the Eastern countries such as Russia, China, and Muslims. A newly elected leader of France shall support Rome. The Mediterranean region shall turn bloody due to the invasion of the Eastern block on European soil.

V.27 The Eastern kings shall cross the River Euphrates to invade the Western kings.

Par feu et armes non loing de la Mer Negro
Viendra de Perse occuper Trebisonde
Trembler Pharos Methelin, Sol alegro
De sang Arabe d'Adrie couvert l'onde

Through fire and arms, not far from the Black Sea
From Iran shall come occupy Trebisonde
Trembling shall be Egypt and Greece while the Sun dances
Arabic blood shall cover Adriatic Sea

COMMENT: Arabic blood here means Middle Eastern or Muslim countries. Iranian and Russian troops shall advance from the Black Sea to attack Near East or Minor Asia region, southern Europe, and northern Africa.

V.70 The Eastern kings shall carry out the Divine Justice. Turkey shall be devastated.

Les regions suvjettes a la Balance
Feront trembler les monts par grande guerre
Captif tout sexe deu et toute Bizance
Qu'on criera a l'aube terre a terre

The regions subjected to Muslim armies
Shall cause mountains trembling with great war
Prisoners of both sexes and throughout Turkey
One shall cry at dawn from land to land

COMMENT: The Eastern kings shall carry out the Divine Chastisements to punish the Great Harlot or Western countries at an appointed time (The Book of Revelation). The brutality of Muslims on both men and women.

II.44 Western force shall no longer have the air superiority.

L'aigle poussee entour des pavillons
Par autres oiseaux d'entour sera chassee
Quand bruit des cymbres, tubes et sonnaillons
Rendront le sens de la Dame insensee

The eagle flies around the tents
It will be chased away by other birds from surroundings
While the noises of cymbals, tubes, and bells
Shall render senses back to the insane lady

COMMENT: When USA and allies lose their air superiority in the Middle East or air assault shall be proved to be ineffective, the Muslim armies shall have an upperhand and the Western world shall realize their sinfulness.

V.25 The full-scaled invasion from the sea.

Le prince Arabe, Mars, Sol, Venus, Lyon
Regne d'Eglise par mer succombera
Devers la Perse bien pres d'un million
Bisance, Egypte, ver. serp. invadera

Muslims, wars, the Day of the Lord, the Harlot, the Lioness Beast
The reign of the Church from the sea shall be succumbed
Toward Iran one shall see nearly one million troops
Turkey, Egypt, evils shall invade

COMMENT: The invasion shall occur on Mediterranean shores.

I.83 Heaven shall strike Italy who was once the daughter of the Church.

La gent etrange divisera butins
Saturne et Mars son regard furieux
Horrible etrange aux Toscans et Latins
Grec qui seront a frapper curieux

The foreign invaders shall divide lootings
Divine Justice carried out in the form of furious wars
Horrible and strange in Tuscany and Rome
Greeks shall be pondering in getting involved

COMMENT: Saturn or the Orient or the Sun is often used figuratively to describe the Lord God or His Judgment. Mars implies wars.

II.4 Muslims shall brutalize the Italian coast.

Depuis Monach jusqu'au pres de Sicile
Toute la plague demourra desolee
Il n'y aura faux-bourgs, cite, ne ville
Que par Barbares, pille soit et volee

From Monaco as far as Sicily
All the coast demolished and desolate
There shall not be any more suburb, city, nor village
That the Muslim invaders shall leave undone

COMMENT: The Muslims shall attack and destroy the Italian coasts and Rome in the most brutal fashion.

X.65 The ruin of Rome.

O vaste Rome ta ruine s'approche
Non de tes murs, de ton sang et substance
L'aspre par lettres fera si horrible coche
Fer poinctu mis a tous jusques au manche

O vast Rome thy ruin shall approach
Not thy walls but thy blood and substance
Uneven in letters shall sow horrible harvest
Pointed sword shall be immersed all to its handle

COMMENT: "Uneven in letters" here means not abiding to the Teaching of the Church. Rome shall be spiritually ruined due to the irreverence to the Holy Eucharist ( Divine Substance ) and abandonment of the Catholic Tradition among clergy and Catholics. The Sanctuary of the Lord or Vatican City shall be ruined because of the great apostasy and schism. False teaching and rebellion shall lead many Catholics astray. Blood shall be shed through persecution and wars to purify the decaying Church.

V.26 Russian troop shall advance over high mountains.

La gent esclave par un heur martiel
Viendra en haut degre tant esleve
Changeront prince, naistra un provincial
Passer la mer, copie aux monts leve

The Russians through an military good fortune
Shall be elevated to a high degree
Shall change their prince, one born in a province
Shall pass sea, troop shall climb over high mountains

COMMENT: Russia's leadership shall belong to an outsider who shall appeal to the common population. Russian troops shall attack Western Europe or more specifically Italy via two routes: from the south near the Black Sea and from the north by crossing the Alps.

VI.69 The pitiful Russian army shall carry out a great misadventure in Western Europe.

La grand pitie sera sans long tarder
Ceux qui donoient seront contraints de prendre
Nuds affamez de froid, soif, soy bander
Passer les monts en faisant grand eslandre

The great pity shall not be long delayed
Those who once gave now reluctantly receive
Naked, starved, frozen, thirsty, wounded
Shall pass mountains to carry out a great misadventure

COMMENT: Russians shall feel threatened, angry, and humiliated by NATO's decision on its expansion including installing weapons on Russian neighboring countries such as Poland, Hungary, etc. Russia who was once powerful and an international donor now has to swallow her pride to accept Western aid reluctantly. The pitiful Russian army shall go across Alps mountains to attack Western Europe alongside with Muslims.

IV.82 Through Russian hands, the old Destroyer shall destroy Romanie.

Amas s'approche venant d'Esclavonie
L'Olestant vieux cite ruinera
Fort desolee vera sa Romainie
Puis la grand flamme estaindre ne scaura

The mass shall approach coming from Russia
The ancient Destroyer shall ruin the city
Violently desolated Romanie shall see
Afterwards the great flame of war shall not be quenched

COMMENT: Russia shall start the WW III in Europe by invading its Western neighboring countries who shall recently join NATO. The war shall spread and cannot be contained.

X.32 Russian navy shall dominate only for two short years.

Le grand Empire chacun en devoit etre
Un sur les autres le viendra obtenir
Mais peu de temps sera son regne et etre
Deux ans aux naves se pourra soustenir

In the great Empire with everyone's existence hung in desperation
One over the others shall secure it
But little time shall last for his reign and existence
Two years the navy shall be rotten due to poor maintenance

COMMENT: Russia shall be in the state of desperation nationwide. Each person shall have to survive on his own without relying on his government (Verse 2). Russia's power and her very existence shall be threatened due to the European offences and later by the bloody hands of the neighboring China. Their navy shall dominate the war for the first two years then shall collapse due to the lack of spare parts and resources.

VI. Both northern and southern Europe shall be attacked.

Norvege et Dace et l'isle Britannique
Par les unis freres seront vexees
Le chef Romain issu du sang Gallique
Et les copis aux forest repoulsees

Norway and Denmark and British island
Through the united brothers shall be vexed
The Roman ( Italian) chief issued from French blood
And his troops shall be repulsed into the forests

COMMENT: The northern front of Europe including Norway, Denmark and Britain shall be attacked by Russia naval forces. In the south, Italy and Muslims shall push north starting on French soil.

V.91 Men shall learn fallacies. Albania shall attack Greece.

Au grand marche qu'on dit des mesongers
De tout torrent et champ Athenien
Seront surprins par les chevaux legers
Par Albanois, Mars, Leo, Sat, au versien

In the great market place, fallacies are debated
Great current shall flood the Athenian arena
One shall be surprised at swift invading calvaries
By Albania, wars, pope, God's Wrath all being unfolded

COMMENT: The present world is compared to an arena where falsehoods are being debated. Men learn a great deal than ever before but the Truth is hidden from them. In a narrow sense, Greece shall be attacked by the neighboring Albania.

II.96 Battles being raised in France and Greece by Iran.

Flambeau ardant au ciel sera veu
Pres de la fin et principe du Rhone
Famine, glaive, tarde le secours poreu
La Perse tourne envahir Macedoine

Burning flame in the sky shall be seen
Near the end of the principal towns along River Rhone
Famine, wars, with needed help late in coming
Iran shall repeatedly attack Macedonia

VI.53 English prelate escapes, Tunisia helps Turkey to attack Cyprus.

Le grand Prelat Celtique a Roy suspect
De nuit par cours sortira hors du regne
Par Duc fertille a son grand Roy Bretagne
Bisance a Cypres et Tunes insuspect

The great prelate of England whom the king suspects
By night through a water-way shall leave the kingdom
Through the duke who is fruitful to his great British king
Turkey in Cyprus and Tunisians unsuspected

COMMENT: American shall help an English religious leader to escape from Britain. Turkey with the help from Tunisia shall attack Greece.

III.23 Warning for French fleet not to venture into Adriatic Sea.

Si France passe outre mer Ligustique
Tu te verra en isles et mers enclos
Mahomet contraire plus mer Hadriatique
Chevaux et asnes tu rongeras les os

If France ventures beyond Ligurian Sea
You shall see yourself enclosed with islands and seas
Fight against outnumbering Muslim in Adriatic Sea
Horses and asses you shall eat them to their bones

I.73 French fleet shall be surrounded...

France a cinq parts par neglect assaillie
Tunis, Argiel esmeuz par Persiens
Leon, Seville, Barcelone faillie
N'aura la classe par les venitiens

By negligence French fleet shall be attacked by five parties
Tunisia and Algeria stirred up by Iran
Leon, Seville, Barcelonia shall fall (into Muslim hands)
Italian fleet shall not fare any better

COMMENT: At the onset of WW III or European war, Spain and Italy shall quickly fall into Muslim hands and later become Eastern allies ( We have to remember that the Muslim populations in those two countries are quite large, probably majority by now in Spain.) Tunisia and Algeria shall side with Iran. French fleet shall be sunk in Adriatic Sea leaving Marseilles naked.

IX.100 A surprised defeat to Western naval force.

Navalle pugne nuit sera superee
Le feu aux naves a l'Occident ruine
Rubriche neuve, la grand nef coloree
Ire a vaincu et victoire en bruine

In a naval combat, night shall give advantage
Fire in ships at Western ruin
With fresh red, the great ship is colored
Wrath to the defeated, victory in the mist

COMMENT: In the mist and darkest night, Western or French fleet shall be ambushed by Muslim forces.

II.86 French fleet shall wrecked in Adriatic Sea.

Naufrage a classe pres d'onde Hadriatique
La terre emeu sur l'air en terre mis
Egypte tremble augment Mahometique
L'Heraut se rendre a crier est comis

Shipwreck of a fleet near Adriatic Sea
The earth quakes, moved with the air above
Egypt trembles due to Muslim extremist faction
A public officer renders a loud cry before committing suicide

COMMENT: French fleet shall be wrecked in Adriatic Sea by a surprised attack by Muslims. The Muslim extremists loyal to Iran shall dominate all Muslim governments around the region.

III.87 French navy defeated in Mediterranean Sea.

Classe Gauloise n'approches de Corsegne
Moins de Sardaigne tu t'en repentiras
Trestous mourrez frustres de l'Aide grogne
Sang nagera catif ne me Croiras

The French fleet, do not approach Corsica
Not as far as Sardinia lest you shall repent
All shall die frsutrating as their relief still busy in grumbling
In blood the captives shall swim as you shall not believe my words

III.88 Barcelonia and Marseilles shall fall.

De Barcelone par mer si grande armee
Tout Marseilles de frayeur tremblera
Isles saisies de mer aide fermee
Ton traditeur en terre nagera

A great army from Barcelonia by sea shall attack
All Marseilles shall tremble with fear
Islands shall be seized, reinforcement from the sea halted
Traditors shall swim in land

COMMENT: After defeating French navy in Adriatic Sea, the Muslims shall advance to Marseilles through Spain. Marseilles shall be vulnerable due to no protection from French navy.

III.90 Iran shall capture Marseilles.

Le grand Satyre et Tygre d'Hycarnie
Don presente a ceux de l'Ocean
Un chef de classe istra de Carmanie
Que prendra terre au Tyrran Phocean

The grand satyr and tiger of Iran
A gift presented to those of the Ocean
One chief of the fleet shall come out from Persia
Who shall seize the territory of Marseilles

COMMENT: Those from the ocean are the Muslim invaders.

I.72 Southern France devastated, million suffered.

Du tout Marseilles des habitans changee
Course et pour fuitte jusques pres de Lyon
Narbon, Tholoze, par Bordeaux outragee
Tuez, captifs, presque d'un million

Throughout Marseilles the inhabitants shall change
French citizens shall flee as far as Lyon
Narbonne and Toulouse shall become outraged by Bordeaux
Killed, captured, almost one million French

COMMENT: The present population in Marseilles is about 900,000, Narbonne 40,000, and Toulouse 400,000. Thus the approximation of one million is amazingly accurate. That also indicates a total defeat under Muslim hands. The military French leader in Bordeaux shall decide to abandon those captured cities into their enemies's hands to consolidate the remaining French troops in order to save the rest of the country.

IX.44 The nuclear arsenal.

Migrez! migrez de Geneve trestous
Saturne d'or en fer se changera
Le contre Raypoz exterminera tous
Avant l'advent le Ciel signes fera

All migrate, migrate from Geneva !
The Lord's Justice shall change your fortune
Atomic ray shall fully exterminate
Before the event, Heaven shall give sign

COMMENT: Iran or Russian force shall destroy the financial center of Western world with a nuclear bombardment before they invade. The unusual sign shall be given to warn mankind about this total destruction. The word "gold" is well suited to described a financial institution.

IX.69 Chemical warheads upon Lyon & Vienna by Italian force.

Sur le mont de Bailly et la Bresse
Seront cachez de Grenoble les fiers
Outre Lyon, Vien, eulx si grand gresle
Langoult en terre n'en restera un tiers

Upon Mount Bailley and Bresse
Shall be hidden in Genoa fierce weapons
Beyond Lyon and Vienna, great hail upon them
Languished on the ground, less than one third shall survive

COMMENT: From northern Italy, on high mountains, the Muslim and Italian forces shall bombard Lyon and Vienna with missiles carrying the chemical warheads which shall wipe out more than two-thirds of the population. The survivors will wish to die instead.

IX.41 Avignon: New capital of France.

le grand Chyren soy saisir d'Avignon
De Rome lettres en miel plein d'amertume
Lettre ambassade partir de Chanignon
Carpentras pris par Duc noir rouge plume

The great King Henry himself shall move to Avignon
From Rome letters of sweetness and full of sadness
Documents and embassy shall depart to Caninon
Vatican shall be taken by the black duke with red feather

COMMENT: French troop shall retreat to Avignon as Muslims are advancing. The black duke with red feather is the Muslims or Iranians supported by Russians. Avignon shall become the new capital of France later on due to the total destruction of Paris.

II.85 American fleet shall be wrecked also in Lygurian Sea.

Vieux plains de barbe son le statut severe
A Lyon fait dessus l'Aigle Celtique
Le petit grand trop outre persevere
Bruit d'armes au ciel, mer rouge Lygustique

The statue of an old, plain-looking man with beard looks too severe
Made in England ( or City of Lyon) presented to USA
The mighty little shall persevere beyond limits
Noise of arms in the sky, Ligurian sea shall turn bloody red

COMMENT: The statue of Abraham Lincoln was described here in the first two verses meaning that the event concerned Americans. US ships shall be destroyed in Ligurian Sea by much smaller Muslim opponents. It would be interesting to find out the origin of President Lincoln's statue placed in Washington DC.

III.32 American casualty in Tuscany of Italy.

Le grand sepulchre du peuple Aquitanique
S'approchera aupres se la Toscane
Quand Mars sera pres du coing Germanique
Et au terroir de la gent Mantuane

The great sepulchre of American troop
Who shall approach near Tuscany
When wars shall spread close to German border
And to the territory of Mantuan people

COMMENT: When those conditions are met, American troops shall suffer a great casualty near Tuscany. It also means that Americans shall engage in combat when Italians are retreating back to Italy.

III.70 Great Britain shall suffer floods and war.

La Grande Bretagne comprise l'Angleterre
Viendra par eaux si fort inondre
La ligue neufue d'Ausonne fera guerre
Que contre eux il se viendront bander

Great Britain including England
By sea shall suffer great floods
The new league including Italy shall raise war against her
Italy herself shall dress all her wounds

COMMENT: The new league of Ausonne include Muslims (Iran-led), Italy, Russia, and Spain.

II.1 Eastern alliance shall attack England.

Vers Aquitaine par insuls Britanique
Et par aux memes grandes incursions
Pluie, gelees feront terroir iniques
Port Selyn fortes fera invasions

Toward the North, attack on England shall take place
It will have the same magnitude as any great incursion
Rain, and frost shall make the land treacherous
Muslim force shall push forward the invasion

II.51 London shall be burnt by the year of 666 x 3

Le sang du juste a Londres sera faute
Bruslez par foudres de vingt trois les six
La dame antique cherra de place haute
De meme secte plusieur seront occis

The blood of the just in London shall be demanded
Burned by lightning of condemnation by the year of 666 times three
The ancient lady shall be adored in high places
Of the same sect many shall be slain

COMMENT: By the year of 1999, London shall be destroyed and many shall die as the whole population are adoring the Harlot.

III.78 The chief of Scotland shall be captured and deported to Iran.

le chef d'Escosse, avec six d'Alemagne
Par gens de mer Orientaux captifs
Traverseront le Calpre et Espagne
Present en Perse au nouveau Roy craintif

The chief of Scotland with six of Swiss
Made captives to Oriental people from sea
Travel through Gibraltar and Spain
A present in Iran to a new fearful king

COMMENT: Muslim navy and its allies shall conquer Switzerland and part of Scotland. They shall advance through Spain, shall capture and deport important prisoners to Iran.

V.59 English commander shall fall in great bloody battle when a meteor shower shall be seen.

Au chef Anglois a Nimes trop sejour
Dever l'Espagne au secours Aenobarbe
Plusieurs mourront par Mars ouvert ce jour
Quand en Artois faillir estoille en barbe

English chief shall stop in Nimes too long
Toward Spain, Muslims shall rent assistance
Many shall die due to an open war that day
While in Artois a meteor shower shall fall

III.71 Besieged England shall face the greatest starvation in history.

Ceux dans les Isles de long temps assiegez
Prendront vigueur force contre ennemis
Ceux par behors morts de faim profligez
En plus grand faim que jamais seront mis

Those inside the Island long time besieged
Shall take up a strong counter-attack against their enemies
Those outside shall be abandoned to die of starvation
In the greatest famine ever before placed

II.68 USA rescues England by sea.

De l'aquilon les efforts seront grande
Sur l'ocean sera la porte ouverte
Le regne en l'isle sera reintegrande
Tremblera Londres par voile descouverte

USA shall exert a great effort
Across the Atlantic Ocean to open English shore
The sovereignty of England shall be reinstated
As London is trembling in discovering enemy sails

COMMENT: USA shall rescue England from the siege of Muslim and Italian league.

PART IV: The World War III at the turning point...

IV.52 Divine Providence bestowed upon French troops in defeating Muslims.

En cite obsessee aux murs hommes et femmes
Ennemys hors le chef prest a soy rendre
Vent sera fort encontre les gens-d'-armes
Chassez seront par chaux, poussiere et cendre

Upon the besieged city, upon the walls are men and women
Enemy outside, the chief decides himself to surrender
Wind shall become strong against enemy soldiers
They shall be chased away by lime, dust, and ashes

COMMENT: When everything seems lost, King Henry of France is about to surrender to the Eastern or Muslim forces, suddenly the Divine Providence shall assist them to defeat their enemies with the natural elements. This is the turning point of the European or World War III.

IX.99 Divine Assistance to King Henry.

Vent Aquilon fera partir le siege
Par murs jetter cendres, chaulx et poussiere
Par pluie apres qui leur fera bien piege
Dernier secours encontre leur frontiere

The North Wind shall break up the siege
Upon the walls shall cast ash, lime, and coal dust
After those, upon the rain, shall become their good trap
The last assistance needed to regain the frontier

COMMENT: The Divine Providence at the last minute shall assist French troops to defeat the Muslim aggressors through the natural elements. This victory shall be the turning point of the long and bloody World War.

VIII.10 Continuous Divine Assistance.

Puanteur grande sortira de Lausanne
Qu'on ne scavra l'origine du fait
L'on mettra hors tout la gent loingtaine
Feu veu au ciel, peuple etranger deffait

A great stench shall come from Lausanne
One shall not find the origin of the fact
One shall put out all invaders from the distant land
Fire seen in sky, foreign people defeated

COMMENT: Again the Divine intervention shall assist this time in the form of stench, deadly plague of an unknown origin .

III.99 Muslims shall be defeated on French soil.

Aux champs herbeux d'Alein et du Varneigne
Du Mont Lebron proche de la Durance
Camp des deux parts conflit sera si aigre
Mesopotamie defaillira en la France

In the grassy fields of Alein and Varneigne
Upon Mount Lebron near Durance
Conflict between two sides shall be very fierce
Mesopotamie shall fall on French soil

V.68 Muslims shall advance as far north as Germany, then shall be defeated by French troops.

Dans le Danube et du Rhin viendra boire
Le grand Chameau, ne s'en repentira
Trembler du Rhone et plus fort ceux de Loire
Et pres des Alpes Coq les ruinera

By River Danube and Rhine shall come to drink
The great Camel which shall not repent
Trembling is River Rhone and most violent for those near River Loire
And near Alps the Cock shall ruin them

COMMENT: Muslims shall advance as far north as Germany, shall terrorize the area between two Rivers Rhone and Loire or the southern France upon their retreat. And finally they shall be succumbed by French troops near Alps.

V.42 World War III at its climax.

Mars esleve en son plus haut beffroy
Fera retraire les Allobrox de France
La gent Lombarde fera si grand effroy
A ceux de l'aigle compris sous la Balance

War shall be elevated to its highest
Italians shall retreat from France
Inhabitants in Lombardy shall be terrified
Of those hawkish (brutal) troops who carry out the Divine Justice

I.59 Deportations of refugees to Italian islands, Christians and Jews being persecuted.

Les exiles deportez dans les Isles
Au changement d'un plus cruel Monarque
Seront meurtris et mis deux des scintilles
Qui de parler ne seront estre parques

Refugees deported into the Islands
During the reign of the most cruel Monarch
They shall be murdered and placed in two incinerators
Who shall not denounce their faith

III.31 Final battle in Middle East.

Aux champs de Mede, d'Arabe et d'Armenie
Deux grands copies trois fois s'assembleront
Pres du rivage d'Araxes la mesnie
Du grand Soliman en terre tomberont

In the fields of Media, Arabe, and Armenia
Two great armies shall assemble three times
Near the Arabic shore or Persian Gulf
The Israelites on land shall tumble

COMMENT: Western armies shall pursue the Muslim armies all the way to Iranian soil or Middle East. The Jews shall be drawn into the conflict and shall suffer greatly.

PART V: The World War III at the end.

III.93 USA, France, and England shall form a new alliance.

Dans Avignon tout le chef de l'Empire
Fera appreste, pour paris desole
Tricast tiendra l'Annbalique ire
Lion par change sera mal console

In Avignon the head of all Empire
Shall prepare as Paris desolated
Three-country Alliance shall restrain Annibalic wrath
England due to change shall not be consoled

COMMENT: French King shall be the leader of the Western Alliance which shall halt the Eastern aggression. The capital of France shall be moved to Avignon as Paris is totally desolated.

V.14 At the end of the European War...

Saturn et Mars en Leo Espagne captive
Par chef Libique au conflit attrape
Proche de Malte, heredde Prince vive
Et Romain scepter sera par coq frappe

Saturn and Mars in Leo, Spain captive
Lybian chief in the battle shall be caught
Near Malta, the heralded Prince (Henry) shall be cheered
And Roman Scepter shall be struck by a Frenchman

COMMENT: The pope shall be killed near the end of the War. Spain shall surrender. Lybian leader shall be captured. King Henry of France shall be heralded in Malta. The newly elected French Pope shall anoint him as the Roman Emperor of the world, the Charlemagne of our modern time.

III.77 The End of Iranian leardership, the End of the World War.

Le tiers climat sous Aries comprins
L'ans mil sept cens vingt et sept en Octobre
Le Roy de Perse par ceux d'Egypte prins
Conflit, mort, perte, a la croix grand opprobre

The third climate under Aries realized
The year one thousand seven hundred twenty and seven in October
The King of Iran by those of Egypt shall be captured
Conflict, death, perdition, great shame for the cross

COMMENT: Nostradamus often used the year of 325 AD ( the Ecumenical Council of Nicea) as the liturgical reference for a significant event, symbolizing the Divine Design upon that event. Thus here the year of 1700 is actually 1700 + 325 or 2025AD. Therefore, the above-mentioned quatrain cna be understood as follows:

One third of the battles still remains
On October 27th of 2025 AD
Iranian leader shall be captured in Egypt
Conflict, death, pertition, and great opprobium to the Church.

The remaining third of the worldwide conflict might be mainly between Russia, China, Japan, and USA in Asia.

IV.22 The defeat of the Eastern forces.

La grand copie que sera dechassee
Dans un moment fera besoin au Roy
La foy promise de loing sera faussee
Nud se verra en piteux desarroy

The great army shall be uprooted
In a moment shall be in need of a king
The faith and promise before shall be perverted
Naked, himself shall be seen in pitiful disarray

IX.62 The battle of Armagaddon.

Au grand de Cheramonagora
Seront croisez par rangs tous attachez
Le Pertinax Oppi et Mandragora
Raugon d'Octobre le tiers seront laschez

At the great battle of Armageddon
Shall join the crusade through rows totally attached
The pertanious army of God against the army of the evil Serpent
The Dragon shall be loosened on October third

COMMENT: Man-dragon might indicate Chinese troops. The battle begin on October third and from Quatrain III.77, Iranian leader shall be captured on October 7th 2025 indicating that this great decisive battle might be between Western allies and Muslim alliance. Also Armageddon might be the battle between Western and Chinese troops as the latter shall decide to engage in war at the end of the conflict while all parties are almost exhausted. And the national symbol of China has always been the Red Dragon.

I.49 Chinese shall attack Russia in 2025.

Beaucoup, beaucoup avant telles menees
Ceux d'Orient par la vertu Lunaire
L'An mil sept cens feront grands emmenees
Subjugant presque le coin Aquilonaire

But long, long before such a machination ( the end of the world)
Those of Orient through the Lunar moral courage
On the year of 1700 shall embark great advance
Shall subdue most Northern corner

COMMENT: This is the continuation of Quatrain II.48. Orient is China and Lunar here again means Muslim or Eastern countries. Nostradamus often used 325AD ( Nicean Council ) as the liturgical reference. Thus 1700 actually meant 2025AD. Northern here means Russia. In the year of 2025, due to the moral collapse and military exhaustion of Russian troops, China shall launch their offences across the northern border and shall occupy almost all Russia. Their occupation shall be bloody and brutal.

IV.80 The great dam and flood in China.

Pres du grand fleuve grand fosse terre egeste
En quinze part sera l'eau divisee
La cite prise, feu, sang cris, conflit mettre
Et la plus part concerne au collisee

Near the great river, a great pit land excavated
In fifteen parts water shall be divided
City taken, fire, blood, cry, conflict
For the most part, major concern is with collisions

COMMENT: About 1995, China carried out a major irrigation project along the great river in southern China. All the dams along this river shall be broken due to the damage done by the war between China against Russia, US, and Japan. The flood shall bury millions of people who live in literally underneath the river.

IV.97 A Spanish pope at the end of the War.

L'an que Mercure, Mars, Venus retrograde
Du grand Monarque la ligne ne faillir
Eleu du peuple Lusitant pres de Pactole
Que paix et regne viendra fort envillir

One year before chastisements, wars, harlotry receding
From the papacy, the successive alignment shall not fall short
Elected by Spanish people, one near Pactol River
Through him peace and reign shall be renewed vigorously

COMMENT: The Lord shall grant us a good pope probably a Spanish and orthodoxical one before the war ends.

VIII.77 After the World War, one third shall perish.

L'antechrist trois bien trois annichilez
Vingt et sept ans sang durera sa guerre
Les heretiques morts, catifs exilez
Sang corps humain eu rouge greler terre

The antichrist by strong three shall annihilate a third
Twenty seven years of blood endure the war
The heretics dead, prisoners exiled
Blood, dead body soak land with red

COMMENT: Three powerful and prosperous ones belonging to the antichrist are Western (NATO), Eastern (Muslims & Russia), and China.They shall be used to carry out God's Chastisements resulting in the loss of one third of the world population. The worldwide war which occurs mainly in Europe, northern Africa, and northern part of Asia shall last for about twenty seven years from 1999 - 2027.

POEZII- Charles-Pierre Baudelaire

2009-04-02T07:50:00.000-07:00

Albatrosul

Pe punţi, spre a-şi trece vremea, adesea marinarii
Prind albatroşi de mare care se-aţin nebuni
De foame, după nave, în zbor, pe când pânzarii
Plutesc pe nesfârşirea albastrelor genuni.

Abia l-au prins matrozii şi l-au lăsat pe scânduri,
Că regelui din nalturi, stingher, şovăitor,
Aripile i-atârnă ca două albe rânduri
De vâsle de corăbii târâte-n urma lor.

Înaripatul oaspe e jalnic, fără vlagă,
El care mândre aripi în cer desfăşura!
O pipă-n gură-i pune un matelot, în şagă,
Şchiopând imită altul infirmul ce zbura.

Ca prinţu-acesta falnic, domnind prin vaste locuri,
Poetul, nalt prin geniu, domină-n univers,
Dar exilat în lume, în râset şi batjocuri,
Aripile-i gigante l-împiedică din mers.

Amorul şi Craniul

Pe craniul Omenirii şade
Amorul cocoţat
Şi prostul, pe-acest tron, sloboade
C-un râs neruşinat

Băşici rotunde, pus pe glume,
Şi le înalţă-n cer
Spre-a împlini o altă lume
Ascunsă în eter.

Iar globu-n firava lucire
Din zborul larg deschis
Îşi scuipă sufletul subţire
Ca auritul vis.

Cum sar băşicile, din craniu
Aud suspin smerit:
- "Acest joc sângeros şi straniu
Când va avea sfârşit?

Căci orice-n gura-ţi crudă poate
S-arunce-n cer senin
Mi-s creier, carne, sânge - toate,
O, monstru asasin!"

Armonie în amurg

E vremea când pe lujer, în seara ce se stinge,
Vibreaz-asemeni unei cădelniţi orice floare;
Acum parfum şi sunet de-a valma-ncep să zboare,
Vals trist şi moleşeală ce farmecă şi-nfrânge!

Vibreaz-asemeni unei cădelniţi orice floare;
Vioara ca un suflet pe care-l chinui plânge;
Vals trist şi moleşeală ce farmecă şi-nfrânge!
Frumos şi grav e cerul ca bolta din altare.

Vioara ca un suflet pe care-l chinui plânge;
Un suflet blând pe care nimicnicia-l doare!
Frumos şi grav e cerul ca bolta din altare;
Şi soarele în zare s-a înecat în sânge...

Un suflet blând pe care nimicnicia-l doare
Vestigii luminoase din vremi trecute strânge!
Şi soarele în zare s-a înecat în sânge...
În mine amintirea-ţi e-o lacră de odoare!

Bătrânele

În vechile oraşe cu străzi întortocheate
Pe unde chiar urâtul surâde-ncântător
Pândesc, purtat de toane fatale, cam ciudate
Făpturi trec garbovite, c-un ce fermecător.
…
Făcându-şi din durere un strop de miere-ascuns
…bătrâna dreaptă încă şi mândră stă deoparte
…
Cu ochii-i de acvila clipind privea departe;
De marmur fruntea-i parcă spre lauri se-nalţă!…
….
Astfel vă duceţi toate, răbdând şi fără plângeri
Prin hăul de oraşe, voi mame ce-aţi trăit
Cu inimi sângerate, voi curtezane-ori îngeri
Al căror nume-odată de toţi era rostit.
….
Voi ce-aţi trecut prin glorii, făcând din graţii jocuri
Nu vă mai ştie nimeni! Cheflii neomenoşi
V-aruncă-n treacăt vorbe de dragoste-n batjocuri;
Pe-ai voştri pasi fac schime copiii ticăloşi

De soarta ruşinate, voi umbre scorojite
Ce-n tremur mergeţi frânte, lungi ziduri dibuind
Nu vă salută nimeni, amarnice ursite!
Umane vreascuri doară-n vecie înflorind!
…
Ruini! Suntem un sânge! Şi-un gând, o-ngemănare
Solemn, în orice seară vă spun adio, eu!
Dar unde veţi fi mâine, voi Eve-octogenare
Pe cari cu mâna-i cruntă v-apasă Dumnezeu?

Binecuvântare

Când printr-o hotărâre a voilor din Slavă
Veni pe lume fiinţa psalmistului firavă,
Lăuză, -nspăimântată şi blestemându-şi ceasul,
Cu pumnii strânşi la ceruri îşi varsă tot necazul:

- “Cum nu-mi secaşi, Tu, sânii, ca să rămâie sterpi!
Şi nu-ncolţi mai bine în ei un cuib de şerpi!
Afurisită fie ispita trecătoare
Din noaptea când fui prinsă furiş de cingătoare.

Că m-ai ales din lume femeie de ruşine,
Să-i fie scârba tocmai bărbatului de mine,
Nu pot lepădătura s-o zvârl măcar în foc,
Ca un bilet de seară, ascuns, strâns glomotoc,

Aceeaşi ură, însă, cu care m-ai hulit,
Voi pune-o să-mi razbune greşela înzecit.
Spurcată buruiană, ieşită la lumină,
Îţi voi usca lăstarul bolnav, din rădăcină!”

Şi spumegându-şi fierea, şi împroşcând veninul,
Şi neputând pricepe ce-a întocmit destinul,
Ea singură aţâţă rugul nestins, de munci,
Păstrat, în Iad, pedeapsă ,uciderii de prunci.

Păzit din Cer, ca bezna de jos să nu-l mânjească,
Dezmoştenitul simte beţia îngerească,
Şi-n tot ce-i gustă limba,în tot ce-i soarbe gura,
Sfinţit e dumicatul şi sfântă băutura.

Se zbenguie cu luna,vorbindu-i şi cântând,
Însufleţit de pilda Golgotei pe pământ,
Şi Sfântul Duh,ce-i poartă tot pasul şi-l îmbie,
Că-l vede vesel, plânge, ca pasărea zglobie.

Cine-i e drag se teme de el, şi fiecare,
Jignit de liniştita-i cu sine împăcare ,
Şi căutând să-l cruţe şi să îl uite,parcă,
Răbdarea cu cruzime sălbatecă i-o-ncearcă.

Cu pâinea lui cinstită şi vinul din pahar
Amestecă cenuşe şi un scuipat murdar,
Faţărnicia-i face s-arunce tot ce-atinge.
Un ins îl dă în lături, şi altul îl împinge.

Femeia lui îl face-n răspântii de ocară:
-“Fiindcă mi se-nchină, şi-i sunt ca o comoară,
Îmi voi încinge fruntea, ca idolii , cu laur,
Căci vreau să-mi umple poala,silit,cu sălbi de aur.

Şi beată de tămâie, de smirnă şi căldură,
De saţiu, de metanii, de fum, de băutură,
Voi şti să iau şi locul, de la bărbatul meu,
Batjocorit al celui ce-i este Dumnezeu.

Şi când voi fi de glumă şi jocul meu sătulă,
În mâna mea gingaşă putere e destulă.
Voi pune-o apasată pe piept şi, cu cinci unghii,
Drept, inima,-n cinci locuri, prin coaste i-o înjunghii.

Ca pe un pui de mierlă ce-ncepe să se zbată,
Voi smulge-o dinlăuntru, din piept, însângerată,
Şi ca să-i dau o cină mai bună, mai aleasă,
Voi arunca.o vie caţelului subt masă”

Spre cer, unde zăreşte un jilţ şi o minune,
Psalmistul îşi ridică smerită rugăciune,
Şi lunga scăpărare a nimbului rotund
Priveliştile lumii duşmane i le-ascund.

-“Blagoslovit fii,Doamne că este cu putinţă
Un leac de curăţire adânc, prin suferinţă,
Şi că această dulce,curată doctorie
Ne dă îndrednicirea la sfânta bucurie.

Eu stiu că îl aşteaptă în văile senine,
În rând cu heruvimii prea fericiţi, la tine
Pe cântăreţ o strană la veşnicul ospăţ,
Al cetelor de îngeri,şi caut să mă-nvăţ.

Ştiu că durerea este cea mai înaltă treaptă
Spre care nici ţărâna, nici omul nu se-dreaptă,
Şi ca-mpletind cununa mea nouă, tu mă legi
Să birui lumea toată şi timpurile-ntregi.

Podoabele cu pietre de preţ şi cu metale,
Lucrate-n giuvaiere de chiar mâinile tale,
Nu-s de ajuns cereştei aprinse diademe,
Strălucitoare-n timpul de peste om si vreme.

Căci numai din lumină şi rouă s-a făcut,
Din razele din vatra de zări de la-nceput,
Faţă de care ochii nesemuiţi ,ce mor,
Sunt cioburi de oglindă,în frumuseţea lor.

Celei prea vesele

Un peisaj încântător
E-ncântătoarea ta făptură
Îţi joacă zâmbetul pe gură
Ca boarea unui vânt uşor

Drumeţul trist ce-ţi iese-n cale
îşi simte sufletul vrăjit
În clipa când i-a răsărit
Splendoarea sănătăţii tale

În armonia de culori
Ce trupul tău îl inveşmântă
Poeţii-nchipuirii cântă
Un graţios balet de flori

Vestmântul tău multicolor
Cu inima ţi-l potriveşti
Nebună, tu mă-nnebuneşti
Şi te urăsc cum te ador!

Tânjeam în vesela grădină
Când soarele, bătându-şi joc
M-a sfâşiat cu lănci de foc
Din arzătoarea lui lumină

M-au umilit ca pe-un martir
Grădina, primăvara, firea
Şi pentru-a-mi răzbuna jignirea
Am pedepsit un trandafir!

Ascuns în umbrele tăcerii
Aş vrea să mă strecor la fel
În preajma ta, ca un mişel,
La ceasul tainic al plăcerii,

Să-ţi pedepsesc frumosul trup
Să-ţi sânger carnea-nspăimântată,
Nevinovatul sân de fată
Şi-o rană-n coapsa ta să rup,

Apoi, cu dulce voluptate,
Înfrigurat aş căuta
În astă nouă gura-a ta,
Să torn veninul meu de frate.

Cum stam în noapte

Cum stam în noapte lângă o groaznică ebree,
Cum şed două cadavre pe-un singur aşternut,
Mă prinse dor, alături de acest corp vândut,
De trista frumuseţe ce-n braţe n-o să-mi stee.

Vedeam cu-nchipuirea iar măreţia dragă
Şi ochiul ei puternic, cu farmec înarmat,
Şi părul ce-i făcuse un coif îmbălsămat,
A căror amintire îmi dau amor şi vlagă.

Cu ce smerenie trupul ţi-aş săruta pe veci,
Din talpa răcoroasă la pletele cernite,
Desfăşurând comoara de rasfăţări iubite,

De ai putea, regină prea crudă! doar o seară,
Storcând din ochi de piatră o lacrimă uşoară,
Să adumbreşti splendoarea pupilei tale reci.

Departe mult de-aici

Ştiu, tainic, un iatac în care,
Gătită şi fermecătoare,
E-o fată-n veşnică-aşteptare.

Pe sân îşi face vânt cu-o mână,
În pat culcată pe o rână,
Ascultă plânsul de fântână:

E casa Doroteii, unde
S-o legene pe răsfăţată,
Din depărtări uşor pătrunde
Suspin de briză şi de unde.

De sus în jos, cu grijă mare,
Uleiuri ung fragilul trup,
Răşini frumos mirositoare. -
Leşină într-un colţ o floare.

De Profundis Clamavi

Strig, mila ta să-mi dărui tu, singura-mi iubire,
Din negre-adâncuri unde-mi stă inima pustie;
Trist univers e-acesta cu zarea plumburie,
În care-noată, noaptea, orori şi-afurisite;

Cad, şase luni, din soare sleite raze sure,
Şi, şase, stă pământul în noapte grea de smoală;
E-o ţară decât ţărmuri polare mult mai goală;
-Nici vietăţi, nici râuri, nici iarbă, nici pădure!
Mai groaznic chin nu ştie sărmana omenire
Decât cruzimea rece din îngheţatul soare
Şi noaptea, ca un Haos, căzută peste fire;

Râvnesc la soarta vitei ticăloşite, care
Să se cufunde-n somnul dobitocesc e-n stare,
Atât de-ncet vrea timpul din ghem să se deşire!

Don Juan în infern

Când Don Juan descinse spre unda subterană,
Lui Charon îi întinse obolul său, solemn;
Posomorât, moşneagul, cu faţa diafană
Dar braţ voinic, înşfacă lopeţile de lemn.

Femei cu rupte rochii şi piepturi dezvelite
Se zvârcolesc cu jale sub negrele stihii;
Şi ca o mare turmă de victime-oferite,
Gemea prelung în urmă-i cortegiul de stafii.

Râzând cu haz, valetul îşi reclama simbria,
Şi, mâniat, don Luis ţintea cu ochiul crunt,
Luând drept martori morţii ce populau câmpia,
Pe cinicul ce-şi râse de părul său cărunt.

Înfiorată, casta Elvira, sub zăbranic,
Lângă perfidu-i mire şi-amant de pe pământ,
Cerşea supremu-i zâmbet, ispititor, tiranic,
Dar cald de-nduioşare ca-n primul jurământ.

În negre valuri luntrea tăia o largă stradă,
Şi-n cale-un om de piatră la cârmă se-aţinea;
Însă, tăcut, eroul sta rezemat de spadă:
Ţinând nainte-i valul, la nimeni nu privea.

Eu n-am uitat-o încă...

Eu n-am uitat-o încă, în marginea cetăţii,
Căsuţa noastră albă, sălaş al singurătăţii,
Pomona ei de ipsos şi Venera-nvechită,
Ferindu-şi după ramuri făptura-i dezgolită;
Nici soarele, spre seară, în mantie superbă,
Părând - un ochi la pândă în cerul curios -
Că ne contemplă prânzul tăcut şi tacticos
Şi răspândind frumoase reflexe de făclii
Pe masa-ne frugală şi peste draperii.

Eu te slăvesc...

Eu te slăvesc totuna cu bolta înnoptării,
O, doamnă a tăcerii, o, vas al întristării,
Şi te iubesc, frumoaso, mai mult când îmi dispari,
Şi când, ca o podoabă a nopţilor, îmi pari
Că-ndepărtezi ironic adâncile zenituri
De braţele-mi întinse spre-albastre nesfârşituri.

Vreau să m-agăţ de tine, spre cer navală dând,
Cum viermii de-un cadavru se-agaţă mişunând,
Că-mi eşti prea scumpă, crudă jivină nemiloasă,
Chiar şi-n răceala-n care îmi pari şi mai frumoasă!

Examen la miezul nopţii

Când miezul nopţii a bătut
În râs ne punem o-ntrebare:
Anume ce-ntrebuinţare
I-am dat noi zilei ce-a trecut.
Azi, vineri, treisprezece, dată
Predestinată, pe cât ştim,
Din câte ne mai amintim
Am dus o viaţă blestemată.

Pe Crist, pe el, cel mai curat
Din dumnezei, fără-ndoială,
L-am atacat cu îndrăzneală;
Apoi la Cresus am mâncat
Şi-aici, ca bestia robustă
Să râdă şi pe plac să-i fim,
Am înjurat tot ce iubim
Şi-am lăudat tot ce dezgustă.

Noi celui slab i-am fost călău,
I-am arătat, ca toţi, trufia
Şi-am salutat adânc Prostia
Cu fruntea ei de taur rău.
Am sărutat stupida tină,
În faţă i-am îngenuncheat
Şi-apoi am binecuvântat
A lupanelor lumină.

Ca rătăcirea, în sfârşit,
S-o înecăm în nebunie,
Noi, slujitori de poezie,
Ce lucruri pure am slăvit,
Băurăm fără sete,-oriunde,
Şi fără foame am mâncat...
-Să stingem lampa, a ne-ascunde
În negură ne-ntârziat!

Făclia vie

În faţa mea merg Ochii cei de lumină plini,
Magnetizaţi de-un înger cu născociri savante;
Sânt fraţii mei avea aceşti doi fraţi divini
Ce-n ochii mei presară sclipiri de diamante.

Scăpându-mă de orice păcat copleşitor
Pe drumul Frumuseţii ei pasul mi-l imbie;
Mi-s slujitori şi totuşi eu sunt robitul lor;
Întreaga-mi fire-ascultă de-această faclă vie.

Voi răspândiţi, Ochi magici, o mistică lucire
De lumânări aprinse în plină zi; subţire,
Flacăra lor la soare păleşte dar nu moare;

Dar ele slăvesc Moartea, voi Viaţa; şi mereu
Cântaţi trezirea sfântă a sufletului meu,
Voi, aştri-a caror rază n-o stinge nici un soare!

Frumuseţea

Frumoasă sunt, cum este un vis cioplit în stâncă
Şi sânii-mi de care atâţia se striviră
Poeţilor o mută iubire le inspiră,
Materiei asemeni, eternă şi adâncă.

În larg azur ca sfinxul stau mândră şi ciudată;
Mi-i inima de gheaţă şi trupul cum sunt crinii;
Urăsc tot ce e zbucium tulburător de linii
Şi nu plâng niciodată şi nu râd niciodată.

Poeţii pe vecie ursiţi ai firii mele,
Ca-n faţa unui templu cu mândri stâlpi senini
Îşi vor petrece viaţa în studii lungi şi grele

Căci am ca să-i înduplec pe-aceşti amanţi blajini
Oglinzi în care totul mult mai frumos s-aşterne:
Adâncii mei ochi limpezi, plini de lumini eterne.

Genunea

Pascal şi-avea abisul cu dânsul mişcător,
– Vâltoare, vai! E totul, – dorinţă, gest, visare,
Cuvânt! Şi peste păru-mi stând drept, în clătinare,
Am resimţit adesea cum trece groaza-n zbor.

Sus, jos, şi pretutindeni, adâncul, larga zare,
Tăcerea, nesfâşitul mă ţin în gheara lor…
Şi Dumnezeu pe noaptea-mi cu-n deget ştiutor
Schiţează lungi coşmaruri, mereu renăscătoare.

De somn m-alungă spaima ca de un puţ profund,
Plin de nelămurite orori şi fără fund;
Văd numai veşnicie prin geamurile toate.

Şi duhul meu, de-a pururi cu ameţeli luptând,
Râvneşte-a nefiinţei insensibilitate.
– Din Numere şi Forme, nu pot ieşi nicicând!

Goază plăcută

Din acest vânăt cer ciudat,
"Plin, ca şi soarta-ţi, de blesteme,
Ce gânduri, om destrăbălat,
Coboară-n tine să te cheme?"

-Iubind tot ce-i întunecat,
Greu de-aşezat în loc şi vreme,
Eu ca Ovidiu alungat
Din raiul Romei, nu voi geme.

Cer sfâşiat, plin de ruine,
Mândria-mi se-oglindeşte-n tine!
Ţi-s norii dricuri care-n ele

Duc toate visurile mele
Şi în lumina-ţi prind să joace
Luciri din Iad, şi Iadu-mi place.

Havuzul

Ţi-s ochii osteniţi, iubită!
Închide-i, şi pe-adâncul pat
Rămâi culcată, toropită,
Cum desfătarea te-a lăsat.
Havuzul murmură afară
Zi, noapte, şi-mprumută glas
Iubirii care-n astă seară
M-a prins în dulcele-i extaz.

Clarul snop defoaie
Mii de flori,
Phoebe le înmoaie
În culori,
Lacrimi ca o ploaie -
Stropi sonori.

Asa şi duhul tău, văpaie
De pătimaşe fulgerări,
Cutezător o cale-şi taie
Spre vaste şi vrăjite zări.
Apoi, astâmpărată undă,
Ca un izvor care-a scăzut
În inima mi se cufundă
Pe povârnişul nevăzut.

Clarul snop defoaie
Mii de flori,
Phoebe le înmoaie
În culori,
Lacrimi ca o ploaie -
Stropi sonori.

O, tu, care-mi răsai divină
În noapte, dulce mi-e-n auz
Să simt, la sânu-ţi, cum suspină
Eterna şoaptă din havuz!
Foşniri de arbori, noapte, bură
Ce sună, luna ce colinzi,
Melancolia voastră pură
Încheagă dragostei oglinzi.

Clarul snop defoaie
Mii de flori,
Phoebe le înmoaie
În culori,
Lacrimi ca o ploaie -
Stropi sonori.

Imn frumuseţii

Vii din înalte ceruri sau ieşi din adâncime,
O, frumuseţe? Reaua şi buna ta privire
Împrăştie de-a valma şi fericiri şi crime,
De aceea tu cu vinul te potriveşti la fire.

În ochii tăi stau zorii cu serile-mpreună;
Sărutul tău e-o vrajă şi-o amforă ţi-i gura;
Şi când reverşi miresme de-amurguri cu furtună
Se face laş eroul, vitează stârpitura.

Răsari din hăul negru? Cobori din lumi stelare?
Destinul ca un câine de poala ta se ţine;
Şi bucurii şi chinuri tu semeni la-ntâmplare;
Stăpână eşti şi nimeni nu e stăpân pe tine.

Calci peste morţi de care îţi râzi cu mult dispreţ
Ai juvaieruri multe şi Groaza dintre toate
Nu-i cel mai slut şi-Omorul e un breloc de preţ
Pe pântecul tău mândru săltând cu voluptate.

Orbitul flutur zboară spre tine lumânare
Slăvindu-te drept torţă când a-nceput să ardă.
Acel ce-şi strânge lacom iubita-n braţe pare
Un muribund ce-n taină mormântul şi-l dezmiardă.

Că vii din iad sau luneci din cer, ce-mi pasă mie,
O, Frumuseţe! Monstru naiv şi fioros!
Când ochii tăi, surâsul, piciorul tău mă-mbie
Spre-un infinit de-a pururi drag şi misterios?

Sirenă rea sau Înger, drăcească sau divină,
Ce-mi pasă când tu – zână cu ochi de catifea
Mireasmă, ritm, lucire, o! singura-mi regină!
Faci lumea nu prea slută şi clipa nu prea grea?

Îţi las aceste versuri...

Îţi las aceste versuri, iar dacă al meu nume,
Corabie purtată de vânturi priitoare,
Ajunge-va odată la ţărmuri viitoare,
Însufleţind pe oameni cu-n vis din altă vreme,

Să-ţi fie amintirea un basm de altădată,
Un cântec spus pe-o veche şi ostenită strună,
Cu stihurile mele-nălţându-se-mpreună,
În tainice inele frateşte-ncătuşată.

- Făptură urgisită, din Iad la Dumnezeu
Nu-i nimeni să-ţi audă strigarea decât eu.
Iar tu, uşoară umbră, alunecând fugară,

Treci peste proştii care te-au socotit amară,
Dispreţuind grămada infamă care latră, -
Arhanghel cu ochi negri şi inima de piatră !

Laudă Franciscăi mele

Noi cântări ţi-nstrun eu ţie
Ramură care adie
Peste inima-mi pustie,

Învăscută-n flori surate,
Tu, mai gingaşă din toate
Ce mă mântui de păcate,

Şi cum râul Lethe-alină
Vlagă-mi dai, fântană lină
Pururi de săruturi plină.

Când în calea mea detună
A ispitelor furtună,
Te iveşti, zeiţă bună,

Ca o stea mântuitoare
Şi mă scapi de la pierzare
Inima ţi-anin pe-altare!

Lac vrăjit, izvor ce-mparte
Tinereţe fără moarte,
Glas dă-mi buzelor deşarte.

Nimicit-ai ce-a fost putred;
Zgrunţuros ce-a fost, e neted
Şi-a dat muguri ce-a fost veşted!

Pentru foamea mea, merinde,
Foc ce-n beznă se aprinde,
Du-mă spre liman, -nainte.

Dă-mi tărie-n gânduri bune,
Scaldă dulce şi minune
De mireasmă ce supune.

Pieptul mi-l cuprinde-ndată
Cu pieptar de za curată
În agheasmă înmuiată

Talger plin cu giuvaere
O, Francisca, -pâine, miere
Vin ceresc ce dă putere.

Metamorfozele vampirului

Femeia lângă mine se zvârcolea sălbatec
Asemeni unui şarpe zvârlit pe un jăratec
Şi frământându-şi sânii molatec şi barbar
Cu gura ei de fragă rosti dulceag şi rar:

“Am buze moi şi-n ele am tainica ştiinţă
De-a pierde-n orice clipă, pe-un pat, o conştiinţă.
Adorm orice durere pe sânii mei zglobii.
Bătrânii vin la mine cu zâmbet de copii.
Şi pentru-acela care mă vede-o dată goală
Sunt cer, sunt soare, lună şi linişte astrală!
În voluptaţi atâta de pricepută sunt
Când pe-un bărbat în braţe îl strâng şi îl frământ
Sau când îmi dărui sânii să-i muşte şi să-i sugă,
Timidă sau lascivă, puternică sau slugă,
Că-n patul care geme de-ncolăciri feline
Toţi îngerii nevolnici s-ar pierde pentru mine!”

Când din ciolane vlaga şi măduva mi-a stors
Iar eu cu lenevie spre dânsa m-am întors
Să-i dau o sărutare de dragoste, zării
Doar un burduf cu pântec umflat de murdării!
O clipă-am închis ochii cuprins de-o spaimă mare,
Şi când i-am deschis iarăşi spre zările solare,
În locul unde monstrul, cu-o clipă mai-nainte,
Stătea-mbibat de sânge, puternic şi scârbos,
Văzui acum un maldăr de mucede-oseminte
Scoţând din ele-un sunet scrâşnit şi fioros,
Un scârţâit de tablă strident, ca de morişcă
Pe care vântul, iarna, în nopţi pustii o mişcă.

Moartea îndrăgostiţilor

Paturile noastre fi-vor parfumate,
Şi-adânci divane sugerând morminte,
Flori pe etajere murmurând,ciudate,
Despre alte ceruri tainice cuvinte.

Ultimă caldură risipind,curate
Inimile noastre, două făclii sfinte,
Împărţi-vor dubla lor paliditate
Sufletelor noastre năzuind fierbinte.

Fi-va roş amurgul în misterele-albastre,
Nalta fulgerare, unică spre astre
Expirarea noastră plină de-amintiri;

Mai apoi un înger va deschide uşa,
Vrând să reînvie fostele iubiri,
Din oglinzi tăcerea şi din noi cenuşa.

Mormântul
Pe-o noapte de catran şi zgură
Dacă vreun bun creştin smerit
Pe-ascuns lâng-o dărâmătură
Îngroapă trupul tău slăvit,

Aici, când stele sfioase
Vor clipoci, de somn buimace,
Păianjenii vor ţese plasa
Şi viperele pui vor face;

Vei auzi într-una peste
Osânda bietei tale ţeste
Hăulituri de lupi hoinari

Şi vrăjitoare costelive
Hârjoana babelor lascive
Şi sfatul sumbrilor coţcari.

Mustrare postumă

Când vei dormi de-a pururi, frumoasa mea cea brună,
În fundul unei hrube de marmură şi când
Drept pat şi drept podoabă a trupului plăpând
Vei căpăta o groapă şi-o veştedă cunună;

Când piatra peste capu-ţi sfielnic apăsând
Şi peste şoldul moale de-o leneşă minciună
Din inimă-ţi va stoarce voinţă, vis şi gând
Oprind pe totdeauna colinda ta nebună;

Mormântul, bun prieten al sufletului meu
- El care cu poeţii de mult se sfătuieşte -
În nopţi de nedormire îţi va şopti mereu:

"Neroadă curtezană, acum la ce-ţi slujeşte
Că-n viaţă, ce plâng morţii n-ai vrut să înţelegi?"
- Şi, drept mustrare, viermii te-or roade nopţi întregi.

O fantomă

I
TENEBRELE

În văgăuna tristă şi urâtă
În care Dumnezeu m-a surghiunit,
Şi unde nici o rază n-a zâmbit
Iar noaptea mi-este gazdă mohorâtă,

Par un zugrav de soartă osândit
Perdeaua beznei s-o picteze, oarbă;
Un bucătar funebru, pus să fiarbă
Şi să-şi mănânce inima, silit.

Din când în când, luceşte, creşte, -apare
O stafie cu trupul minunat,
Cu dulce, -orientală legănare;

Şi când întregul trup s-a-nfăţişat,
Îmi recunosc vedenia divină:
E, neagră, EA, cea plină de lumină.

II
MIRESME

Prietene, vreodată-ai respirat
Cu-adâncă şi aleasă desfătare,
Tămâia care arde în altare,
Sau moscul dintr-un scrin demult uitat?

E farmecul cu care te îmbată
Aroma re-nviatului trecut;
E floarea ce-o culegi într-un sărut,
Sorbindu-i frăgezimea de-altădată.

- Din părul ei, pe umeri revărsat,
Jertfelnic de alcov, înmiresmat,
Se răspândea un aer de savană,

Iar frăgezimea trupului ei pur,
Înveşmântat în voal şi în velur,
Plutea ca un uşor parfumde blană.

III
CHIPUL DIN RAMĂ

Aşa cum rama-mbracă un tablou,
Dând preţ sporit desăvârşitei arte,
Şi cum de restul lumii îl desparte,
Învăluindu-l într-un farmec nou,

Tot ce-o-nconjoară: giuvaieruri rare,
Metaluri scumpe, mobila-ncrustată,
Nu-ntunecă făptura-i minunată,
Ci ea, ca-n cadră, mai frumoasă-apare!

Şi cum îi place-adesea să se mintă
Că toate-n jurul ei o îndrăgesc,
Şi-afundă-n perne trupul tineresc,

Mătasea fină s-o dezmnierde goală...
Şi-n sprinten salt sau lunecând domoală,
Ca o maimuţă mică - se alintă.

IV
PORTRETUL

Se mistuie în Moarte şi-n Durere
Văpaia care-n noi a strălucit...
Din ochii care-odată mi-au zâmbit,
Din gura ta, balsam de mângâiere,

Din revărsarea vie a luminii,
Din farmecul tău în care mă scăldam
Ce-a mai rămas iubirii? Ce mai am?
Un palid chip, nelămurite linii,

Pe care Timpul, gâde-al tineţii,
Îl şterge cu aripile-i haine,
În umbră-alunecându-l, ca pe mine.

- Dar, ucigaş al Artei şi al Vieţii,
Din gândul meu n-ai să mi-o smulgi pe Ea
O, desfătarea, nemurirea mea!

Ochii Bertei

Nu luaţi în seamă ochii mult lăudaţi, faimoşi,
Voi, ochi ai dragei mele, prin care-o adiere
Mai lină ca-nserarea se tulbură şi piere!
Vărsaţi asupră-mi noaptea vrăjită, ochi frumoşi!

Ochi ai copilei mele, voi adorate-arcane,
Cu magicele peşteri v-asemui într-adins
Unde comori de nimeni ştiute joacă stins,
De umbre-acoperite,-n letargice mormane!

Adânci şi mari sunt ochii copilei şi ascund,
Ca tine, Noapte-ntinsă, lungi scăpărări de foc
Cu Dorul şi Credinţa-mpletite la un loc,
Ce, pătimaş ori candid, scânteie în străfund.

Pisicile

Savanţi severi, plecaţi pe luneta planetară,
Ca şi amanţi frenetici, când vârsta li-e-n declin,
Iubesc voinica, blânda pisică din cămin,
Ca ei de rebegită, ca ei de sedentară.

Prietene ştiinţei şi voluptăţii vii,
Ele iubesc tăcerea şi-au spaimă de tenebre;
Le-ar folosi şi Iadul la cursele-i funebre,
De şi-ar pleca trufia felină spre-a servi.

Visând, ele s-aşază în nobilă ţinută,
Ca sfincşii ce-n deşerturi contemplă zarea mută,
Sau dorm în pacea nopţii şi-a visului etern;

Le luce magic coapsa de scînteieri mobile,
Şi pulberi, ca nisipuri de aur ce se cern,
Le scapără prin stranii şi mistice pupile.

Podoabele

Iubita era goală, şi după-a mea dorinţă
Asupra ei păstrase sonorele podoabe,
Purtându-le cu-un aer semeţ, de biruinţă,
Ce-l au, în zile bune, a' maurilor roabe.

Risipa de metaluri şi pietre, ce se-mbină
Şi-n scânteieri de raze tresar în joc şi cântă,
Îngemănarea-aceasta de sunet şi lumină
Privirea mi-o vrăjeşte şi inima mi-o-ncântă.

Culcată între perne, ea se lasă-ndrăgită
Şi surâdea, plăcându-i cum se-nalţă s-o scalde
Iubirea mea tăcută, ca marea liniştită
Când vrea să prindă ţărmul în braţele ei calde.

Mă urmărea cu ochii tigroaicei îmblânzite,
Şi încercând alene atrăgătoare poze,
Dădea candoare pură lascivelor ispite
Şi-un farmec nou acestor trupeşti metamorfoze.

Şi umerii, şi braţul, şi pulpele rotunde,
Mi se-mbiau privirii cu luciul lor de piele;
În mlădierea lină a lebedei pe unde,
Şi pântecul, şi sânii - ciorchinii viei mele -

M-ademeneau mai dulce ca îngerii pierzării,
Smulgându-mi bietul suflet din liniştea adâncă,
Unde-l lăsasem singur, pe-o culme a uitării,
Să doarmă în cristalul palatului din stâncă.

Mi se părea că-n voie, un meşter desenase
Pe trunchiul Antiopiei un bust ca de băiat,
Şi mijlocul, pe şolduri, uşor i-l subţiase...
Ce splendid era fardul pe chipul ei bronzat!

- Apoi cu-ncetul lampa se stinse, şi-n odaie
Zăream numai căminul cum flacara-şi răsfrânge,
Iar focul, trimiţându-şi suspinul în văpaie,
Tot trupul ei de ambră i-l îmbăia în sânge.

Reculegere

Cuminte fii durere,şi mai ales fii calmă...
Ce dor ţi-era de seară şi seara a venit
Eşarfa-i violetă oraşul a-nvelit
Dând unora nelinişti,altora vis,să doarmă!

Şi-n vreme ce o gloată de muritori,o turmă,
Sub bicele plăcerii-acest călău setos-
Culege-va tristeţea într-un festin hidos,
Durere tu, dă-mi mâna;rămâne-vom în urmă,

Departe priveşte cum se pleacă în haine peticite
Peste balcoane-n ceruri,toţi anii de ispite
Iscând de prin adâncuri doar un regret ardent.

Iar soarele pe moarte s-a pustiit în peşteri
Şi ca un lung linţoliu întins peste Orient,
Blândeţea nopţii-ascult-o,iubito,cum păşeşte!

Ia seama fiu al jertfei,prin lumea-n care treci
Să-nveţi din tot ce piere cum să trăieşti în veci!

Sed Non Satiata

Ciudată zeitate cu trupul brun şi plin,
Împrăştiind mireasmă de mosc şi de havană,
Făcută de vreun obi, de-un Faust din savană
Cu şold ca abanosul lucios şi mers felin,

Mai bine decât opiul sau cel mai straşnic vin
Vreau elixirul vrajei pe-a gurii tale vrană;
Când poftele-mi spre tine pornesc în caravană
Ţi-s ochii oaza-n care adoarme orice chin.

Prin aceşti doi ochi negri, ferestre-a'firii tale,
O, demon fără milă, dă-mi flăcări mai domoale;
De nouă ori în braţe nu-s Stixul să te strâng

Şi vai, nu sunt în stare, o, tu, prealibertina!
Ca să-ţi sfărâm curajul şi-avântul să ţi-l frâng,
Să fiu la fel în patu-ţi ca-n Hades Proserpina.

Sonet de toamnă

M-ai întrebat, cu ochii tăi limpezi, de cristal:
“Iubitul meu cel straniu ce daruri îmi găseşte?”
-Iubito, taci! Ţi-aş spune că inima-mi doreşte
Candoarea ce-avusese străvechiul animal!

Tu, care-mi legeni somnul cu mângâieri uşoare,
Să nu ştii niciodată cumplitu-mi nenoroc,
Nici taina scrisă-n mine cu litere de foc!
De patimă mi-e silă şi orice gând mă doare.

Uitarea

Vin` lângă mine, suflet veninos,
Molatec monstru, fiară adorată !
Vreau să-mi înfăşur mâna-nfiorată
În coama părului tău greu şi gros;

În rochia ta cu falduri parfumate
Vreau capu-ndurerat să mi-l scufund
Şi ca pe-un stins buchet să sorb profund
Mireasma dulce-a dragostei uitate.

Nu să trăiesc, să dorm aş vrea mereu !
În somn îţi voi aşterne fără teamă
Pe trupul tău cu străluciri de-aramă
Un nesfârşit sărut prelung şi greu.

În patul tău, abis de desfătare,
Se stinge orice gând chinuitor
Şi gura ta e-un nesecat izvor
De săruturi şi aprigă uitare.

Robit acestui crud şi drag destin,
Voi asculta poruncile-i perfide
Şi, mucenic blajin care-şi deschide
El însuşi rănile, de râvnă plin,

Voi suge-otrava binecuvântată,
Adormitoare-a vechilor torturi,
Din vârfu-acestor sâni rotunzi şi duri
În care n-a fost suflet niciodată.

Un hoit

Un hoit
O, suflete-aminteşte- i priveliştea murdară
Ce-atât de mult cândva ne-a umilit
În diminea a-aceea cu molcom cer de vară ;
Un hoit scârbos pe un prundiş zvârlit,

Îşi desfăcea asemeni unei femei obscene
Picioarele şi, puhav de venin,
Nepăsător şi cinic, îşi deschidea alene
Rânjitul pântec de miasme plin.

Putreziciunea asta se răsfăţa la soare
Care-o cocea adânc şi liniştit
Vrând parcă să întoarc Naturii creatoare
Tot ce-adunase ea, dar însutit

Şi cerul privea hoitul superb cum se desfată
Îmbobocind asemeni unei flori ...
Simţind că te înăbuşi, ai şovăit deoadată
Din pricina puternicei duhori.

Din putrezitul pântec pe care muşte grase
Zburau greoi cu zumzete-ascuţite
Curgeau oştiri de larve ca nişte bale groase
De-a lungu-acestor zdrenţe-nsufleţite.

Cu legănări de valuri şi sfârâit de foale,
Zvâcnind şi opintindu-se din greu
Părea că trupul iar şi, umflat de-un suflu moale,
Trăieşte înmulţindu-se mereu.

Şi-această lume-ntr-una vuia cântând ciudat
Ca vântul sau ca apa curg toare
Sau un grăunte care, necontenit mişcat,
Se-nvârte ritmic în vânturătoare.

Aproape ştearsă, forma acum nu mai era
Decât un vis, o schi ce tânjeşte
Pe pânza şi pe care artistul o reia
Şi doar din amintire o sfârşeşte.

Unei creole

În ţara cu miresme şi mângâieri de soare
Am cunoscut sub leasă de arbori purpurii,
De unde pică lenea pe gene-n tremurare,
O nobilă creolă cu nuri ce nu-i poţi ştii.

E cald şi pal obrazul ei; bruna vrăjitoare
Păstrează-n port mărire şi mlădieri domneşti;
Şi mândră ca Diana păşind la vânătoare,
Zâmbeşte cu ochi siguri şi calmi când o priveşti.

Dacă ai merge, Doamnă, în ţările slăvite,
Pe ţărmurile Senei şi Loarei înverzite,
Frumoasă, demnă numai de feudali pereţi,

Ai face ca, în taină de tânără umbrire,
Sonete să-ncolţească în inimi de poeţi,
Ce s-ar târâ ca negrii, robiţi de-a ta privire.

Unei mizerabile

Picioru-ţi fin ca mâna-i, iar şoldul împlinit
Ar fi de cea mai mândră din albe pizmuit;
Se-ndrăgosteşte-artistul de dulcea ta făptură;
Mai negri decât pielea ţi-s ochii de velură.
Pe ţărmul cald şi-albastru ce-ţi fu ursit de Zeu,
Ai rostul s-aprinzi pipa stăpânului mereu,
Să fie-n sticle apa şi rece şi-aromată,
Iar zarva ţânţărimii, de pat îndepărtată,
Şi când platanii cântă-n al dimineţii ceas,
De prin bazar să cumperi banane şi-ananas.
Desculţă, ziua-ntreagă te duci unde ţi-e vrerea
Şi cânţi în şoaptă arii vechi cum nu-s nicăierea;
Şi când coboară seara în mantii stacojii,
Uşor pe-o rogojină tu corpul ţi-l mlădii
Si visele-ţi sunt numai de colibri-mpânzite,
De-a pururi, ca şi tine, gingaşe şi-nflorite.

Copilă fericită, ce gânduri îţi abat
Să vezi pământul Franţei de chinuri secerat
Şi, dându-ţi viaţa-n mână de marinar vânjoasă,
Să te desparţi de scumpii tăi tamarini de-acasă?
Tu, ce pe jumătate în voal te-nveşmântezi,
Aicea, zgribulită de grindini şi zăpezi,
Cum îţi vei plânge traiul de dulce libertate
Când, coapsele fiindu-ţi brutal încorsetate,
Ar trebui ca cina să-ţi strângi din glod, şi cum
Vei vinde-al vrajei tale tulburător parfum,
Cu ochiul stins văzându-ţi prin paclele murdare
Cocotierii lipsă în năluciri fugare!

Unei trecătoare

Asurzitoare, strada în jurul meu mugea.
Înaltă şi subţire, durere maiestuoasă
În voalurile-i negre de doliu fastuoasă
Şi mândră, o femeie trecu prin faţa mea.

Cu sprinten mers şi zvelte picioare statuare.
Eu mă-mbătam privind-o şi beam, ca pe-un venin,
Din ochiul ei, cer vânăt de uragane plin
Plăcerea ce ucide şi vraja care doare.

Un fulger…apoi noaptea! – Făptură fără drum,
Tu care cu-o privire m-ai renăscut deodată,
Abia în veşnicie te voi vedea de-acum?

În alte părţi, departe! Târziu! Sau niciodată!
Căci nu-mi cunoşti cărarea, nu ştiu spre ce mergeai,
O, tu zadarnic dragă, o tu care ştiai!

Uriaşa

Pe vremea când Natura, cu vlaga ei poznaşă
Năştea mereu ciudate făpturi şi monştri noi
Mi-ar fi plăcut alături de-o fată uriaşă
Să stau ca-n preajma unei regine un cotoi.

Mi-ar fi plăcut pe-ncetul s-o văd schimbându-şi firea
Pietrosu-i trup în jocuri cumplite înflorind
Să bănuiesc din ceaţa ce-i tulbură privirea
Văpăile ascunse ce-n sufletu-i s-aprind;

În voie să cutreier magnificele-i forme,
Să urc încet pe coama picioarelor enorme
Şi, vara, când trudită de soarele păgân

Se-ntinde pe câmpie cu mâinile la frunte
Să dorm domol la umbra vânjosului ei sân
Cum doarme-un sat în pace la poalele-unui munte.

Vinul amanţilor

Frumos e azi văzduhul! Sprinteni,
Fără căpăstru, fără pinteni,
Să ne-avântăm călări pe vin
Spre-un cer feeric şi divin!

Ca unor îngeri arşi de jarul
Lungoarei, iată, în cleştarul
Albastru-al dimineţii vraja
Mirajul ne-aruncă mreaja!

Domol alunecând împinşi
De mult isteaţa volburare,
De-un paralel delir cuprinşi,

O, sora mea, fără-ncetare
Vom alerga, scăpaţi de rele,
Spre raiul visurilor mele.

ON TRUTH AND LIES IN A NONMORAL SENSE(1 873)-By Friedrich Nietzsche

2009-04-02T07:47:00.000-07:00

Once upon a time, in some out of the way corner of that universe which is dispersed into numberless twinkling solar systems, there was a star upon which clever beasts invented knowing. That was the most arrogant and mendacious minute of "world history," but nevertheless, it was only a minute. After nature had drawn a few breaths, the star cooled and congealed, and the clever beasts had to die. _One might invent such a fable, and yet he still would not have adequately illustrated how miserable, how shadowy and transient, how aimless and arbitrary the human intellect looks within nature. There were eternities during which it did not exist. And when it is all over with the human intellect, nothing will have happened. For this intellect has no additional mission which would lead it beyond human life. Rather, it is human, and only its possessor and begetter takes it so solemnly-as though the world's axis turned within it. But if we could communicate with the gnat, we would learn that he likewise flies through the air with the same solemnity, that he feels the flying center of the universe within himself. There is nothing so reprehensible and unimportant in nature that it would not immediately swell up like a balloon at the slightest puff of this power of knowing. And just as every porter wants to have an admirer, so even the proudest of men, the philosopher, supposes that he sees on all sides the eyes of the universe telescopically focused upon his action and thought.
It is remarkable that this was brought about by the intellect, which was certainly allotted to these most unfortunate, delicate, and ephemeral beings merely as a device for detaining them a minute within existence.For without this addition they would have every reason to flee this existence as quickly as Lessing's son. The pride connected with knowing and sensing lies like a blinding fog over the eyes and senses of men, thus deceiving them concerning the value of existence. For this pride contains within itself the most flattering estimation of the value of knowing. Deception is the most general effect of such pride, but even its most particular effects contain within themselves something of the same deceitful character.
As a means for the preserving of the individual, the intellect unfolds its principle powers in dissimulation, which is the means by which weaker, less robust individuals preserve themselves-since they have been denied the chance to wage the battle for existence with horns or with the sharp teeth of beasts of prey, This art of dissimulation reaches its peak in man. Deception, flattering, lying, deluding, talking behind the back, putting up a false front, living in borrowed splendor, wearing a mask, hiding behind convention, playing a role for others and for oneself-in short, a continuous fluttering around the solitary flame of vanity-is so much the rule and the law among men that there is almost nothing which is less comprehensible than how an honest and pure drive for truth could have arisen among them. They are deeply immersed in illusions and in dream images; their eyes merely glide over the surface of things and see "forms." Their senses nowhere lead to truth; on the contrary, they are content to receive stimuli and, as it were, to engage in a groping game on the backs of things. Moreover, man permits himself to be deceived in his dreams every night of his life. His moral sentiment does not even make an attempt to prevent this, whereas there are supposed to be men who have stopped snoring through sheer will power. What does man actually know about himself? Is he, indeed, ever able to perceive himself completely, as if laid out in a lighted display case? Does nature not conceal most things from him-even concerning his own body-in order to confine and lock him within a proud, deceptive consciousness, aloof from the coils of the bowels, the rapid flow of the blood stream, and the intricate quivering of the fibers! She threw away the key. And woe to that fatal curiosity which might one day have the power to peer out and down through a crack in the chamber of consciousness and then suspect that man is sustained in the indifference of his ignorance by that which is pitiless, greedy, insatiable, and murderous-as if hanging in dreams on the back of a tiger. Given this situation, where in the world could the drive for truth have come from?
Insofar as the individual wants to maintain himself against other individuals, he will under natural circumstances employ the intellect mainly for dissimulation. But at the same time, from boredom and necessity, man wishes to exist socially and with the herd; therefore, he needs to make peace and strives accordingly to banish from his world at least the most flagrant bellum omni contra omnes. This peace treaty brings in its wake something which appears to be the first step toward acquiring that puzzling truth drive: to wit, that which shall count as "truth" from now on is established. That is to say, a uniformly valid and binding designation is invented for things, and this legislation of language likewise establishes the first laws of truth. For the contrast between truth and lie arises here for the first time. The liar is a person who uses the valid designations, the words, in order to make something which is unreal appear to be real. He says, for example, "I am rich," when the proper designation for his condition would be "poor." He misuses fixed conventions by means of arbitrary substitutions or even reversals of names. If he does this in a selfish and moreover harmful manner, society will cease to trust him and will thereby exclude him. What men avoid by excluding the liar is not so much being defrauded as it is being harmed by means of fraud. Thus, even at this stage, what they hate is basically not deception itself, but rather the unpleasant, hated consequences of certain sorts of deception. It is in a similarly restricted sense that man now wants nothing but truth: he desires the pleasant, life-preserving consequences of truth. He is indifferent toward pure knowledge which has no consequences; toward those truths which are possibly harmful and destructive he is even hostilely inclined. And besides, what about these linguistic conventions themselves? Are they perhaps products of knowledge, that is, of the sense of truth? Are designations congruent with things? Is language the adequate expression of all realities?
It is only by means of forgetfulness that man can ever reach the point of fancying himself to possess a "truth" of the grade just indicated. If he will not be satisfied with truth in the form of tautology, that is to say, if he will not be content with empty husks, then he will always exchange truths for illusions. What is a word? It is the copy in sound of a nerve stimulus. But the further inference from the nerve stimulus to a cause outside of us is already the result of a false and unjustifiable application of the principle of sufficient reason. If truth alone had been the deciding factor in the genesis of language, and if the standpoint of certainty had been decisive for designations, then how could we still dare to say "the stone is hard," as if "hard" were something otherwise familiar to us, and not merely a totally subjective stimulation! We separate things according to gender, designating the tree as masculine and the plant as feminine. What arbitrary assignments! How far this oversteps the canons of certainty! We speak of a "snake": this designation touches only upon its ability to twist itself and could therefore also fit a worm. What arbitrary differentiations! What one-sided preferences, first for this, then for that property of a thing! The various languages placed side by side show that with words it is never a question of truth, never a question of adequate expression; otherwise, there would not be so many languages. The "thing in itself" (which is precisely what the pure truth, apart from any of its consequences, would be) is likewise something quite incomprehensible to the creator of language and something not in the least worth striving for. This creator only designates the relations of things to men, and for expressing these relations he lays hold of the boldest metaphors. To begin with, a nerve stimulus is transferred into an image: first metaphor. The image, in turn, is imitated in a sound: second metaphor. And each time there is a complete overleaping of one sphere, right into the middle of an entirely new and different one. One can imagine a man who is totally deaf and has never had a sensation of sound and music. Perhaps such a person will gaze with astonishment at Chladni's sound figures; perhaps he will discover their causes in the vibrations of the string and will now swear that he must know what men mean by "sound." It is this way with all of us concerning language; we believe that we know something about the things themselves when we speak of trees, colors, snow, and flowers; and yet we possess nothing but metaphors for things--metaphors which correspond in no way to the original entities. In the same way that the sound appears as a sand figure, so the mysterious X of the thing in itself first appears as a nerve stimulus, then as an image, and finally as a sound. Thus the genesis of language does not proceed logically in any case, and all the material within and with which the man of truth, the scientist, and the philosopher later work and build, if not derived from never-never land, is a least not derived from the essence of things.
In particular, let us further consider the formation of concepts. Every word instantly becomes a concept precisely insofar as it is not supposed to serve as a reminder of the unique and entirely individual original experience to which it owes its origin; but rather, a word becomes a concept insofar as it simultaneously has to fit countless more or less similar cases--which means, purely and simply, cases which are never equal and thus altogether unequal. Every concept arises from the equation of unequal things. Just as it is certain that one leaf is never totally the same as another, so it is certain that the concept "leaf" is formed by arbitrarily discarding these individual differences and by forgetting the distinguishing aspects. This awakens the idea that, in addition to the leaves, there exists in nature the "leaf": the original model according to which all the leaves were perhaps woven, sketched, measured, colored, curled, and painted--but by incompetent hands, so that no specimen has turned out to be a correct, trustworthy, and faithful likeness of the original model. We call a person "honest," and then we ask "why has he behaved so honestly today?" Our usual answer is, "on account of his honesty." Honesty! This in turn means that the leaf is the cause of the leaves. We know nothing whatsoever about an essential quality called "honesty"; but we do know of countless individualized and consequently unequal actions which we equate by omitting the aspects in which they are unequal and which we now designate as "honest" actions. Finally we formulate from them a qualities occulta which has the name "honesty." We obtain the concept, as we do the form, by overlooking what is individual and actual; whereas nature is acquainted with no forms and no concepts, and likewise with no species, but only with an X which remains inaccessible and undefinable for us. For even our contrast between individual and species is something anthropomorphic and does not originate in the essence of things; although we should not presume to claim that this contrast does not correspond o the essence of things: that would of course be a dogmatic assertion and, as such, would be just as indemonstrable as its opposite.
What then is truth? A movable host of metaphors, metonymies, and; anthropomorphisms: in short, a sum of human relations which have been poetically and rhetorically intensified, transferred, and embellished, and which, after long usage, seem to a people to be fixed, canonical, and binding. Truths are illusions which we have forgotten are illusions- they are metaphors that have become worn out and have been drained of sensuous force, coins which have lost their embossing and are now considered as metal and no longer as coins.
We still do not yet know where the drive for truth comes from. For so far we have heard only of the duty which society imposes in order to exist: to be truthful means to employ the usual metaphors. Thus, to express it morally, this is the duty to lie according to a fixed convention, to lie with the herd and in a manner binding upon everyone. Now man of course forgets that this is the way things stand for him. Thus he lies in the manner indicated, unconsciously and in accordance with habits which are centuries' old; and precisely by means of this unconsciousness and forgetfulness he arrives at his sense of truth. From the sense that one is obliged to designate one thing as "red," another as "cold," and a third as "mute," there arises a moral impulse in regard to truth. The venerability, reliability, and utility of truth is something which a person demonstrates for himself from the contrast with the liar, whom no one trusts and everyone excludes. As a "rational" being, he now places his behavior under the control of abstractions. He will no longer tolerate being carried away by sudden impressions, by intuitions. First he universalizes all these impressions into less colorful, cooler concepts, so that he can entrust the guidance of his life and conduct to them. Everything which distinguishes man from the animals depends upon this ability to volatilize perceptual metaphors in a schema, and thus to dissolve an image into a concept. For something is possible in the realm of these schemata which could never be achieved with the vivid first impressions: the construction of a pyramidal order according to castes and degrees, the creation of a new world of laws, privileges, subordinations, and clearly marked boundaries-a new world, one which now confronts that other vivid world of first impressions as more solid, more universal, better known, and more human than the immediately perceived world, and thus as the regulative and imperative world. Whereas each perceptual metaphor is individual and without equals and is therefore able to elude all classification, the great edifice of concepts displays the rigid regularity of a Roman columbarium and exhales in logic that strength and coolness which is characteristic of mathematics. Anyone who has felt this cool breath [of logic] will hardly believe that even the concept-which is as bony, foursquare, and transposable as a die-is nevertheless merely the residue of a metaphor, and that the illusion which is involved in the artistic transference of a nerve stimulus into images is, if not the mother, then the grandmother of every single concept. But in this conceptual crap game "truth" means using every die in the designated manner, counting its spots accurately, fashioning the right categories, and never violating the order of caste and class rank. Just as the Romans and Etruscans cut up the heavens with rigid mathematical lines and confined a god within each of the spaces thereby delimited, as within a templum, so every people has a similarly mathematically divided conceptual heaven above themselves and henceforth thinks that truth demands that each conceptual god be sought only within his own sphere. Here one may certainly admire man as a mighty genius of construction, who succeeds in piling an infinitely complicated dome of concepts upon an unstable foundation, and, as it were, on running water. Of course, in order to be supported by such a foundation, his construction must be like one constructed of spiders' webs: delicate enough to be carried along by the waves, strong enough not to be blown apart by every wind. As a genius of construction man raises himself far above the bee in the following way: whereas the bee builds with wax that he gathers from nature, man builds with the far more delicate conceptual material which he first has to manufacture from himself. In this he is greatly to be admired, but not on account of his drive for truth or for pure knowledge of things. When someone hides something behind a bush and looks for it again in the same place and finds it there as well, there is not much to praise in such seeking and finding. Yet this is how matters stand regarding seeking and finding "truth" within the realm of reason. If I make up the definition of a mammal, and then, after inspecting a camel, declare "look, a mammal' I have indeed brought a truth to light in this way, but it is a truth of limited value. That is to say, it is a thoroughly anthropomorphic truth which contains not a single point which would be "true in itself" or really and universally valid apart from man. At bottom, what the investigator of such truths is seeking is only the metamorphosis of the world into man. He strives to understand the world as something analogous to man, and at best he achieves by his struggles the feeling of assimilation. Similar to the way in which astrologers considered the stars to be in man 's service and connected with his happiness and sorrow, such an investigator considers the entire universe in connection with man: the entire universe as the infinitely fractured echo of one original sound-man; the entire universe as the infinitely multiplied copy of one original picture-man. His method is to treat man as the measure of all things, but in doing so he again proceeds from the error of believing that he hasthese things [which he intends to measure] immediately before him as mere objects. He forgets that the original perceptual metaphors are metaphors and takes them to be the things themselves.
Only by forgetting this primitive world of metaphor can one live with any repose, security, and consistency: only by means of the petrification and coagulation of a mass of images which originally streamed from the primal faculty of human imagination like a fiery liquid, only in the invincible faith that this sun, this window, this table is a truth in itself, in short, only by forgetting that he himself is an artistically creating subject, does man live with any repose, security, and consistency. If but for an instant he could escape from the prison walls of this faith, his"self consciousness" would be immediately destroyed. It is even a difficult thing for him to admit to himself that the insect or the bird perceives an entirely different world from the one that man does, and that the question of which of these perceptions of the world is the more correct one is quite meaningless, for this would have to have been decided previously in accordance with the criterion of the correct perception, which means, in accordance with a criterion which is not available. But in any case it seems to me that "the correct perception"-which would mean "the adequate expression of an object in the subject"-is a contradictory impossibility. For between two absolutely different spheres, as between subject and object, there is no causality, no correctness, and no expression; there is, at most, an aesthetic relation: I mean, a suggestive transference, a stammering translation into a completely foreign tongue-for which I there is required, in any case, a freely inventive intermediate sphere and mediating force. "Appearance" is a word that contains many temptations, which is why I avoid it as much as possible. For it is not true that the essence of things "appears" in the empirical world. A painter without hands who wished to express in song the picture before his mind would, by means of this substitution of spheres, still reveal more about the essence of things than does the empirical world. Even the relationship of a nerve stimulus to the generated image is not a necessary one. But when the same image has been generated millions of times and has been handed down for many generations and finally appears on the same occasion every time for all mankind, then it acquires at last the same meaning for men it would have if it were the sole necessary image and if the relationship of the original nerve stimulus to the generated image were a strictly causal one. In the same manner, an eternally repeated dream would certainly be felt and judged to be reality. But the hardening and congealing of a metaphor guarantees absolutely nothing concerning its necessity and exclusive justification.
Every person who is familiar with such considerations has no doubt felt a deep mistrust of all idealism of this sort: just as often as he has quite early convinced himself of the eternal consistency, omnipresence, and fallibility of the laws of nature. He has concluded that so far as we can penetrate here-from the telescopic heights to the microscopic depths-everything is secure, complete, infinite, regular, and without any gaps. Science will be able to dig successfully in this shaft forever, and the things that are discovered will harmonize with and not contradict each other. How little does this resemble a product of the imagination, for if it were such, there should be some place where the illusion and reality can be divined. Against this, the following must be said: if each us had a different kind of sense perception-if we could only perceive things now as a bird, now as a worm, now as a plant, or if one of us saw a stimulus as red, another as blue, while a third even heard the same stimulus as a sound-then no one would speak of such a regularity of nature, rather, nature would be grasped only as a creation which is subjective in the highest degree. After all, what is a law of nature as such for us? We are not acquainted with it in itself, but only with its effects, which means in its relation to other laws of nature-which, in turn, are known to us only as sums of relations. Therefore all these relations always refer again to others and are thoroughly incomprehensible to us in their essence. All that we actually know about these laws of nature is what we ourselves bring to them-time and space, and therefore relationships of succession and number. But everything marvelous about the laws of nature, everything that quite astonishes us therein and seems to demand explanation, everything that might lead us to distrust idealism: all this is completely and solely contained within the mathematical strictness and inviolability of our representations of time and space. But we produce these representations in and from ourselves with the same necessity with which the spider spins. If we are forced to comprehend all things only under these forms, then it ceases to be amazing that in all things we actually comprehend nothing but these forms. For they must all bear within themselves the laws of number, and it is precisely number which is most astonishing in things. All that conformity to law, which impresses us so much in the movement of the stars and in chemical processes, coincides at bottom with those properties which we bring to things. Thus it is we who impress ourselves in this way. In conjunction with this, it of course follows that the artistic process of metaphor formation with which every sensation begins in us already presupposes these forms and thus occurs within them. The only way in which the possibility of subsequently constructing a new conceptual edifice from metaphors themselves can be explained is by the firm persistence of these original forms That is to say, this conceptual edifice is an imitation of temporal, spatial, and numerical relationships in the domain of metaphor.

We have seen how it is originally language which works on the construction of concepts, a labor taken over in later ages by science. Just as the bee simultaneously constructs cells and fills them with honey, so science works unceasingly on this great columbarium of concepts, the graveyard of perceptions. It is always building new, higher stories and shoring up, cleaning, and renovating the old cells; above all, it takes pains to fill up this monstrously towering framework and to arrange therein the entire empirical world, which is to say, the anthropomorphic world. Whereas the man of action binds his life to reason and its concepts so that he will not be swept away and lost, the scientific investigator builds his hut right next to the tower of science so that he will be able to work on it and to find shelter for himself beneath those bulwarks which presently exist. And he requires shelter, for there are frightful powers which continuously break in upon him, powers which oppose scientific "truth" with completely different kinds of "truths" which bear on their shields the most varied sorts of emblems.
The drive toward the formation of metaphors is the fundamental human drive, which one cannot for a single instant dispense with in thought, for one would thereby dispense with man himself. This drive is not truly vanquished and scarcely subdued by the fact that a regular and rigid new world is constructed as its prison from its own ephemeral products, the concepts. It seeks a new realm and another channel for its activity, and it finds this in myth and in art generally. This drive continually confuses the conceptual categories and cells by bringing forward new transferences, metaphors, and metonymies. It continually manifests an ardent desire to refashion the world which presents itself to waking man, so that it will be as colorful, irregular, lacking in results and coherence, charming, and eternally new as the world of dreams. Indeed, it is only by means of the rigid and regular web of concepts that the waking man clearly sees that he is awake; and it is precisely because of this that he sometimes thinks that he must be dreaming when this web of concepts is torn by art. Pascal is right in maintaining that if the same dream came to us every night we would be just as occupied with it as we are with the things that we see every day. "If a workman were sure to dream for twelve straight hours every night that he was king," said Pascal, "I believe that he would be just as happy as a king who dreamt for twelve hours every night that he was a workman. In fact, because of the way that myth takes it for granted that miracles are always happening, the waking life of a mythically inspired people-the ancient Greeks, for instance- more closely resembles a dream than it does the waking world of a scientifically disenchanted thinker. When every tree can suddenly speak as a nymph, when a god in the shape of a bull can drag away maidens, when even the goddess Athena herself is suddenly seen in the company of Peisastratus driving through the market place of Athens with a beautiful team of horses-and this is what the honest Athenian believed- then, as in a dream, anything is possible at each moment, and all of nature swarms around man as if it were nothing but a masquerade of the gods, who were merely amusing themselves by deceiving men in all these shapes.
But man has an invincible inclination to allow himself to be deceived D and is, as it were, enchanted with happiness when the rhapsodist tells i him epic fables as if they were true, or when the actor in the theater acts more royally than any real king. So long as it is able to deceive without injuring, that master of deception, the intellect, is free; it is released from its former slavery and celebrates its Saturnalia. It is never more luxuriant, richer, prouder, more clever and more daring. With creative pleasure it throws metaphors into confusion and displaces the boundary stones of abstractions, so that, for example, it designates the stream as "the moving path which carries man where he would otherwise walk." The intellect has now thrown the token of bondage from itself. At other times it endeavors, with gloomy officiousness, to show the way and to demonstrate the tools to a poor individual who covets existence; it is like a servant who goes in search of booty and prey for his master. But now it has become the master and it dares to wipe from its face the expression of indigence. In comparison with its previous conduct, everything that it now does bears the mark of dissimulation, just as that previous conduct did of distortion. The free intellect copies human life, but it considers this life to be something good and seems to be quite satisfied with it. That immense framework and planking of concepts to which the needy man clings his whole life long in order to preserve himself is nothing but a scaffolding and toy for the most audacious feats of the liberated intellect. And when it smashes this framework to pieces, throws it into confusion, and puts it back together in an ironic fashion, pairing the most alien things and separating the closest, it is demonstrating that it has no need of these makeshifts of indigence and that it will now be guided by intuitions rather than by concepts. There is no regular path which leads from these intuitions into the land of ghostly schemata, the land of abstractions. There exists no word for these intuitions; when man sees them he grows dumb, or else he speaks only in forbidden metaphors and in unheard-of combinations of concepts. He does this so that by shattering and mocking the old conceptual barriers he may at least correspond creatively to the impression of the powerful present intuition.
There are ages in which the rational man and the intuitive man stand side by side, the one in fear of intuition, the other with scorn for abstraction. The latter is just as irrational as the former is inartistic. They both desire to rule over life: the former, by knowing how to meet his principle needs by means of foresight, prudence, and regularity; the latter, by disregarding these needs and, as an "overjoyed hero," counting as real only that life which has been disguised as illusion and beauty. Whenever, as was perhaps the case in ancient Greece, the intuitive man handles his weapons more authoritatively and victoriously than his opponent, then, under favorable circumstances, a culture can take shape and art's mastery over life can be established. All the manifestations of such a life will be accompanied by this dissimulation, this disavowal of indigence, this glitter of metaphorical intuitions, and, in general, this immediacy of deception: neither the house, nor the gait, nor the clothes, nor the clay jugs give evidence of having been invented because of a pressing need. It seems as if they were all intended to express an exalted happiness, an OIympian cloudlessness, and, as it were, a playing with seriousness. The man who is guided by concepts and abstractions only succeeds by such means in warding off misfortune, without ever gaining any happiness for himself from these abstractions. And while he aims for the greatest possible freedom from pain, the intuitive man, standing in the midst of a culture, already reaps from his intuition a harvest of continually inflowing illumination, cheer, and redemption-in addition to obtaining a defense against misfortune. To be sure, he suffers more intensely, when he suffers; he even suffers more frequently, since he does not understand how to learn from experience and keeps falling over and over again into the same ditch. He is then just as irrational in sorrow as he is in happiness: he cries aloud and will not be consoled. How differently the stoical man who learns from experience and governs himself by concepts is affected by the same misfortunes! This man, who at other times seeks nothing but sincerity, truth, freedom from deception, and protection against ensnaring surprise attacks, now executes a masterpiece of deception: he executes his masterpiece of deception in misfortune, as the other type of man executes his in times of happiness. He wears no quivering and changeable human face, but, as it were, a mask with dignified, symmetrical features. He does not cry; he does not even alter his voice. When a real storm cloud thunders above him, he wraps himself in his cloak, and with slow steps he walks from beneath it.

The Masque of the Red Death Edgar Allan Poe

2009-04-02T07:45:00.001-07:00

The "Red Death" had long devastated the country. No pestilence had
ever been so fatal, or so hideous. Blood was its Avatar and its seal
--the redness and the horror of blood. There were sharp pains, and
sudden dizziness, and then profuse bleeding at the pores, with
dissolution. The scarlet stains upon the body and especially upon
the face of the victim, were the pest ban which shut him out from
the aid and from the sympathy of his fellow-men. And the whole
seizure, progress and termination of the disease, were the incidents
of half an hour.
But the Prince Prospero was happy and dauntless and sagacious.
When his dominions were half depopulated, he summoned to his
presence a thousand hale and light-hearted friends from among the
knights and dames of his court, and with these retired to the deep
seclusion of one of his castellated abbeys. This was an extensive
and magnificent structure, the creation of the prince's own
eccentric yet august taste. A strong and lofty wall girdled it in.
This wall had gates of iron. The courtiers, having entered, brought
furnaces and massy hammers and welded the bolts. They resolved to
leave means neither of ingress or egress to the sudden impulses of
despair or of frenzy from within. The abbey was amply provisioned.
With such precautions the courtiers might bid defiance to
contagion. The external world could take care of itself. In the
meantime it was folly to grieve, or to think. The prince had
provided all the appliances of pleasure. There were buffoons, there
were improvisatori, there were ballet-dancers, there were musicians,
there was Beauty, there was wine. All these and security were
within. Without was the "Red Death."
It was toward the close of the fifth or sixth month of his
seclusion, and while the pestilence raged most furiously abroad,
that the Prince Prospero entertained his thousand friends at a
masked ball of the most unusual magnificence.
It was a voluptuous scene, that masquerade. But first let me
tell of the rooms in which it was held. There were seven --an imperial
suite. In many palaces, however, such suites form a long and
straight vista, while the folding doors slide back nearly to the walls
on either hand, so that the view of the whole extent is scarcely
impeded. Here the case was very different; as might have been expected
from the duke's love of the bizarre. The apartments were so
irregularly disposed that the vision embraced but little more than one
at a time. There was a sharp turn at every twenty or thirty yards, and
at each turn a novel effect. To the right and left, in the middle of
each wall, a tall and narrow Gothic window looked out upon a closed
corridor which pursued the windings of the suite. These windows were
of stained glass whose color varied in accordance with the
prevailing hue of the decorations of the chamber into which it opened.
That at the eastern extremity was hung, for example, in blue --and
vividly blue were its windows. The second chamber was purple in its
ornaments and tapestries, and here the panes were purple. The third
was green throughout, and so were the casements. The fourth was
furnished and lighted with orange --the fifth with white --the sixth
with violet. The seventh apartment was closely shrouded in black
velvet tapestries that hung all over the ceiling and down the walls,
falling in heavy folds upon a carpet of the same material and hue. But
in this chamber only, the color of the windows failed to correspond
with the decorations. The panes here were scarlet --a deep blood
color. Now in no one of the seven apartments was there any lamp or
candelabrum, amid the profusion of golden ornaments that lay scattered
to and fro or depended from the roof. There was no light of any kind
emanating from lamp or candle within the suite of chambers. But in the
corridors that followed the suite, there stood, opposite to each
window, a heavy tripod, bearing a brazier of fire that protected its
rays through the tinted glass and so glaringly illumined the room. And
thus were produced a multitude of gaudy and fantastic appearances. But
in the western or black chamber the effect of the fire-light that
streamed upon the dark hangings through the blood-tinted panes, was
ghastly in the extreme, and produced so wild a look upon the
countenances of those who entered, that there were few of the
company bold enough to set foot within its precincts at all.
It was in this apartment, also, that there stood against the
western wall, a gigantic clock of ebony. Its pendulum swung to and fro
with a dull, heavy, monotonous clang; and when the minute-hand made
the circuit of the face, and the hour was to be stricken, there came
from the brazen lungs of the clock a sound which was clear and loud
and deep and exceedingly musical, but of so peculiar a note and
emphasis that, at each lapse of an hour, the musicians of the
orchestra were constrained to pause, momentarily, in their
performance, to hearken to the sound; and thus the waltzers perforce
ceased their evolutions; and there was a brief disconcert of the whole
gay company; and, while the chimes of the clock yet rang, it was
observed that the giddiest grew pale, and the more aged and sedate
passed their hands over their brows as if in confused reverie or
meditation. But when the echoes had fully ceased, a light laughter
at once pervaded the assembly; the musicians looked at each other
and smiled as if at their own nervousness and folly, and made
whispering vows, each to the other, that the next chiming of the clock
should produce in them no similar emotion; and then, after the lapse
of sixty minutes, (which embrace three thousand and six hundred
seconds of the Time that flies,) there came yet another chiming of the
clock, and then were the same disconcert and tremulousness and
meditation as before.
But, in spite of these things, it was a gay and magnificent revel.
The tastes of the duke were peculiar. He had a fine eye for colors and
effects. He disregarded the decora of mere fashion. His plans were
bold and fiery, and his conceptions glowed with barbaric lustre. There
are some who would have thought him mad. His followers felt that he
was not. It was necessary to hear and see and touch him to be sure
that he was not.
He had directed, in great part, the moveable embellishments of the
seven chambers, upon occasion of this great fete; and it was his own
guiding taste which had given character to the masqueraders. Be sure
they were grotesque. There were much glare and glitter and piquancy
and phantasm --much of what has been since seen in "Hernani." There
were arabesque figures with unsuited limbs and appointments. There
were delirious fancies such as the madman fashions. There was much
of the beautiful, much of the wanton, much of the bizarre, something
of the terrible, and not a little of that which might have excited
disgust. To and fro in the seven chambers there stalked, in fact, a
multitude of dreams. And these --the dreams --writhed in and about,
taking hue from the rooms, and causing the wild music of the orchestra
to seem as the echo of their steps. And, anon, there strikes the ebony
clock which stands in the hall of the velvet. And then, for a
moment, all is still, and all is silent save the voice of the clock.
The dreams are stiff-frozen as they stand. But the echoes of the chime
die away --they have endured but an instant --and a light,
half-subdued laughter floats after them as they depart. And now
again the music swells, and the dreams live, and writhe to and fro
more merrily than ever, taking hue from the many-tinted windows
through which stream the rays from the tripods. But to the chamber
which lies most westwardly of the seven, there are now none of the
maskers who venture; for the night is waning away; and there flows a
ruddier light through the blood-colored panes; and the blackness of
the sable drapery appals; and to him whose foot falls upon the sable
carpet, there comes from the near clock of ebony a muffled peal more
solemnly emphatic than any which reaches their ears who indulge in the
more remote gaieties of the other apartments.
But these other apartments were densely crowded, and in them
beat feverishly the heart of life. And the revel went whirlingly on,
until at length there commenced the sounding of midnight upon the
clock. And then the music ceased, as I have told; and the evolutions
of the waltzers were quieted; and there was an uneasy cessation of all
things as before. But now there were twelve strokes to be sounded by
the bell of the clock; and thus it happened, perhaps, that more of
thought crept, with more of time, into the meditations of the
thoughtful among those who revelled. And thus, too, it happened,
perhaps, that before the last echoes of the last chime had utterly
sunk into silence, there were many individuals in the crowd who had
found leisure to become aware of the presence of a masked figure which
had arrested the attention of no single individual before. And the
rumor of this new presence having spread itself whisperingly around,
there arose at length from the whole company a buzz, or murmur,
expressive of disapprobation and surprise --then, finally, of
terror, of horror, and of disgust.
In an assembly of phantasms such as I have painted, it may well be
supposed that no ordinary appearance could have excited such
sensation. In truth the masquerade license of the night was nearly
unlimited; but the figure in question had out-Heroded Herod, and
gone beyond the bounds of even the prince's indefinite decorum.
There are chords in the hearts of the most reckless which cannot be
touched without emotion. Even with the utterly lost, to whom life
and death are equally jests, there are matters of which no jest can be
made. The whole company, indeed, seemed now deeply to feel that in the
costume and bearing of the stranger neither wit nor propriety existed.
The figure was tall and gaunt, and shrouded from head to foot in the
habiliments of the grave. The mask which concealed the visage was made
so nearly to resemble the countenance of a stiffened corpse that the
closest scrutiny must have had difficulty in detecting the cheat.
And yet all this might have been endured, if not approved, by the
mad revellers around. But the mummer had gone so far as to assume
the type of the Red Death. His vesture was dabbled in blood --and
his broad brow, with all the features of the face, was besprinkled
with the scarlet horror.
When the eyes of Prince Prospero fell upon this spectral image
(which with a slow and solemn movement, as if more fully to sustain
its role, stalked to and fro among the waltzers) he was seen to be
convulsed, in the first moment with a strong shudder either of
terror or distaste; but, in the next, his brow reddened with rage.
"Who dares?" he demanded hoarsely of the courtiers who stood
near him --"who dares insult us with this blasphemous mockery? Seize
him and unmask him --that we may know whom we have to hang at sunrise,
from the battlements!"
It was in the eastern or blue chamber in which stood the Prince
Prospero as he uttered these words. They rang throughout the seven
rooms loudly and clearly --for the prince was a bold and robust man,
and the music had become hushed at the waving of his hand.
It was in the blue room where stood the prince, with a group of
pale courtiers by his side. At first, as he spoke, there was a
slight rushing movement of this group in the direction of the
intruder, who at the moment was also near at hand, and now, with
deliberate and stately step, made closer approach to the speaker.
But from a certain nameless awe with which the mad assumptions of
the mummer had inspired the whole party, there were found none who put
forth hand to seize him; so that, unimpeded, he passed within a yard
of the prince's person; and, while the vast assembly, as if with one
impulse, shrank from the centres of the rooms to the walls, he made
his way uninterruptedly, but with the same solemn and measured step
which had distinguished him from the first, through the blue chamber
to the purple --through the purple to the green --through the green to
the orange --through this again to the white --and even thence to
the violet, ere a decided movement had been made to arrest him. It was
then, however, that the Prince Prospero, maddening with rage and the
shame of his own momentary cowardice, rushed hurriedly through the six
chambers, while none followed him on account of a deadly terror that
had seized upon all. He bore aloft a drawn dagger, and had approached,
in rapid impetuosity, to within three or four feet of the retreating
figure, when the latter, having attained the extremity of the velvet
apartment, turned suddenly and confronted his pursuer. There was a
sharp cry --and the dagger dropped gleaming upon the sable carpet,
upon which, instantly afterwards, fell prostrate in death the Prince
Prospero. Then, summoning the wild courage of despair, a throng of the
revellers at once threw themselves into the black apartment, and,
seizing the mummer, whose tall figure stood erect and motionless
within the shadow of the ebony clock, gasped in unutterable horror
at finding the grave-cerements and corpse-like mask which they handled
with so violent a rudeness, untenanted by any tangible form.
And now was acknowledged the presence of the Red Death. He had
come like a thief in the night. And one by one dropped the revellers
in the blood-bedewed halls of their revel, and died each in the
despairing posture of his fall. And the life of the ebony clock went
out with that of the last of the gay. And the flames of the tripods
expired. And Darkness and Decay and the Red Death held illimitable
dominion over all.

The End

THE CASK OF AMONTILLADO- Edgar Allan Poe

2009-04-02T07:41:00.000-07:00

THE thousand injuries of Fortunato I had
borne as I best could, but when he ven-
tured upon insult, I vowed revenge. You,
who so well know the nature of my soul, will not
suppose, however, that I gave utterance to a threat.
AT LENGTH I would be avenged; this was a point de-
finitively settled -- but the very definitiveness with
which it was resolved precluded the idea of risk.
I must not only punish, but punish with impunity.
A wrong is unredressed when retribution overtakes
its redresser. It is equally unredressed when the
avenger fails to make himself felt as such to him
who has done the wrong.

It must be understood that neither by word nor
deed had I given Fortunato cause to doubt my good
will. I continued as was my wont, to smile in his
face, and he did not perceive that my smile NOW was
at the thought of his immolation.

He had a weak point -- this Fortunato -- although
in other regards he was a man to be respected and
even feared. He prided himself on his connoisseur-
ship in wine. Few Italians have the true virtuoso
spirit. For the most part their enthusiasm is adopted
to suit the time and opportunity to practise impos-
ture upon the British and Austrian MILLIONAIRES. In
painting and gemmary, Fortunato, like his country-
men, was a quack, but in the matter of old wines he
was sincere. In this respect I did not differ from
him materially; I was skilful in the Italian vintages
myself, and bought largely whenever I could.

It was about dusk, one evening during the su-
preme madness of the carnival season, that I encoun-
tered my friend. He accosted me with excessive
warmth, for he had been drinking much. The man
wore motley. He had on a tight-fitting parti-striped
dress and his head was surmounted by the conical
cap and bells. I was so pleased to see him, that I
thought I should never have done wringing his
hand.

I said to him -- "My dear Fortunato, you are
luckily met. How remarkably well you are look-
ing to-day! But I have received a pipe of what
passes for Amontillado, and I have my doubts."

"How?" said he, "Amontillado? A pipe? Im-
possible? And in the middle of the carnival?"

"I have my doubts," I replied; "and I was silly
enough to pay the full Amontillado price without
consulting you in the matter. You were not to be
found, and I was fearful of losing a bargain."

"Amontillado!"

"I have my doubts."

"Amontillado!"

"And I must satisfy them."

"Amontillado!"

"As you are engaged, I am on my way to Luchesi.
If any one has a critical turn, it is he. He will tell
me" --

"Luchesi cannot tell Amontillado from Sherry."

"And yet some fools will have it that his taste is
a match for your own."

"Come let us go."

"Whither?"

"To your vaults."

"My friend, no; I will not impose upon your
good nature. I perceive you have an engagement
Luchesi" --

"I have no engagement; come."

"My friend, no. It is not the engagement, but
the severe cold with which I perceive you are af-
flicted. The vaults are insufferably damp. They
are encrusted with nitre."

"Let us go, nevertheless. The cold is merely
nothing. Amontillado! You have been imposed
upon; and as for Luchesi, he cannot distinguish
Sherry from Amontillado."

Thus speaking, Fortunato possessed himself of my
arm. Putting on a mask of black silk and drawing
a roquelaire closely about my person, I suffered him
to hurry me to my palazzo.

There were no attendants at home; they had
absconded to make merry in honour of the time.
I had told them that I should not return until the
morning and had given them explicit orders not
to stir from the house. These orders were sufficient,
I well knew, to insure their immediate disappear-
ance, one and all, as soon as my back was turned.

I took from their sconces two flambeaux, and giv-
ing one to Fortunato bowed him through several
suites of rooms to the archway that led into the
vaults. I passed down a long and winding staircase,
requesting him to be cautious as he followed. We
came at length to the foot of the descent, and stood
together on the damp ground of the catacombs of
the Montresors.

The gait of my friend was unsteady, and the bells
upon his cap jingled as he strode.

"The pipe," said he.

"It is farther on," said I; "but observe the white
webwork which gleams from these cavern walls."

He turned towards me and looked into my eyes
with two filmy orbs that distilled the rheum of in-
toxication.

"Nitre?" he asked, at length

"Nitre," I replied. "How long have you had that
cough!"

"Ugh! ugh! ugh! -- ugh! ugh! ugh! -- ugh!
ugh! ugh! -- ugh! ugh! ugh! -- ugh! ugh! ugh!

My poor friend found it impossible to reply for
many minutes.

"It is nothing," he said, at last.

"Come," I said, with decision, we will go back;
your health is precious. You are rich, respected,
admired, beloved; you are happy as once I was.
You are a man to be missed. For me it is no
matter. We will go back; you will be ill and I
cannot be responsible. Besides, there is Luchesi" --

"Enough," he said; "the cough is a mere nothing;
it will not kill me. I shall not die of a cough."

"True -- true," I replied; "and, indeed, I had no
intention of alarming you unnecessarily -- but you
should use all proper caution. A draught of this
Medoc will defend us from the damps."

Here I knocked off the neck of a bottle which I
drew from a long row of its fellows that lay upon
the mould.

"Drink," I said, presenting him the wine.

He raised it to his lips with a leer. He paused
and nodded to me familiarly, while his bells jingled.

"I drink," he said, "to the buried that repose
around us."

"And I to your long life."

He again took my arm and we proceeded.

"These vaults," he said, are extensive."

"The Montresors," I replied, "were a great
numerous family."

"I forget your arms."

"A huge human foot d'or, in a field azure; the
foot crushes a serpent rampant whose fangs are im-
bedded in the heel."

"And the motto?"

"Nemo me impune lacessit."

"Good!" he said.

The wine sparkled in his eyes and the bells
jingled. My own fancy grew warm with the Medoc.
We had passed through walls of piled bones, with
casks and puncheons intermingling, into the inmost
recesses of the catacombs. I paused again, and this
time I made bold to seize Fortunato by an arm
above the elbow.

"The nitre!" I said: see it increases. It hangs
like moss upon the vaults. We are below the
river's bed. The drops of moisture trickle among
the bones. Come, we will go back ere it is too late.
Your cough" --

"It is nothing" he said; "let us go on. But first,
another draught of the Medoc."

I broke and reached him a flagon of De Grave.
He emptied it at a breath. His eyes flashed with a
fierce light. He laughed and threw the bottle up-
wards with a gesticulation I did not understand.

I looked at him in surprise. He repeated the
movement -- a grotesque one.

"You do not comprehend?" he said.

"Not I," I replied.

"Then you are not of the brotherhood."

"How?"

"You are not of the masons."

"Yes, yes," I said "yes! yes."

"You? Impossible! A mason?"

"A mason," I replied.

"A sign," he said.

"It is this," I answered, producing a trowel from
beneath the folds of my roquelaire.

"You jest," he exclaimed, recoiling a few paces.
"But let us proceed to the Amontillado."

"Be it so," I said, replacing the tool beneath the
cloak, and again offering him my arm. He leaned
upon it heavily. We continued our route in search
of the Amontillado. We passed through a range
of low arches, descended, passed on, and descending
again, arrived at a deep crypt, in which the foulness
of the air caused our flambeaux rather to glow than
flame.

At the most remote end of the crypt there ap-
peared another less spacious. Its walls had been
lined with human remains piled to the vault over-
head, in the fashion of the great catacombs of Paris.
Three sides of this interior crypt were still orna-
mented in this manner. From the fourth the bones
had been thrown down, and lay promiscuously upon
the earth, forming at one point a mound of some
size. Within the wall thus exposed by the displac-
ing of the bones, we perceived a still interior recess,
in depth about four feet, in width three, in height
six or seven. It seemed to have been constructed
for no especial use in itself, but formed merely the
interval between two of the colossal supports of the
roof of the catacombs, and was backed by one of
their circumscribing walls of solid granite.

It was in vain that Fortunato, uplifting his dull
torch, endeavoured to pry into the depths of the
recess. Its termination the feeble light did not
enable us to see.

"Proceed," I said; "herein is the Amontillado.
As for Luchesi" --

"He is an ignoramus," interrupted my friend, as
he stepped unsteadily forward, while I followed
immediately at his heels. In an instant he had
reached the extremity of the niche, and finding his
progress arrested by the rock, stood stupidly be-
wildered. A moment more and I had fettered him
to the granite. In its surface were two iron staples,
distant from each other about two feet, horizontally.
From one of these depended a short chain. from
the other a padlock. Throwing the links about
his waist, it was but the work of a few seconds
to secure it. He was too much astounded to re-
sist. Withdrawing the key I stepped back from
the recess.

"Pass your hand," I said, "over the wall; you
cannot help feeling the nitre. Indeed it is VERY
damp. Once more let me IMPLORE you to return.
No? Then I must positively leave you. But I
must first render you all the little attentions in my
power."

"The Amontillado!" ejaculated my friend, not
yet recovered from his astonishment.

"True," I replied; "the Amontillado."

As I said these words I busied myself among the
pile of bones of which I have before spoken. Throw-
ing them aside, I soon uncovered a quantity of build-
ing stone and mortar. With these materials and
with the aid of my trowel, I began vigorously to
wall up the entrance of the niche.

I had scarcely laid the first tier of my masonry
when I discovered that the intoxication of Fortunato
had in a great measure worn off. The earliest in-
dication I had of this was a low moaning cry from
the depth of the recess. It was NOT the cry of a
drunken man. There was then a long and obstinate
silence. I laid the second tier, and the third, and
the fourth; and then I heard the furious vibrations
of the chain. The noise lasted for several minutes,
during which, that I might hearken to it with the
more satisfaction, I ceased my labours and sat down
upon the bones. When at last the clanking sub-
sided, I resumed the trowel, and finished without
interruption the fifth, the sixth, and the seventh
tier. The wall was now nearly upon a level with
my breast. I again paused, and holding the flam-
beaux over the mason-work, threw a few feeble rays
upon the figure within.

A succession of loud and shrill screams, bursting
suddenly from the throat of the chained form,
seemed to thrust me violently back. For a brief
moment I hesitated -- I trembled. Unsheathing my
rapier, I began to grope with it about the recess;
but the thought of an instant reassured me. I
placed my hand upon the solid fabric of the cata-
combs, and felt satisfied. I reapproached the wall.
I replied to the yells of him who clamoured. I re-
echoed -- I aided -- I surpassed them in volume and
in strength. I did this, and the clamourer grew
still.

It was now midnight, and my task was drawing
to a close. I had completed the eighth, the ninth,
and the tenth tier. I had finished a portion of the
last and the eleventh; there remained but a single
stone to be fitted and plastered in. I struggled
with its weight; I placed it partially in its destined
position. But now there came from out the niche
a low laugh that erected the hairs upon my head.
It was succeeded by a sad voice, which I had difficulty
in recognising as that of the noble Fortunato. The
voice said --

"Ha! ha! ha! -- he! he! -- a very good joke
indeed -- an excellent jest. We will have many a
rich laugh about it at the palazzo -- he! he! he! --
over our wine -- he! he! he!"

"The Amontillado!" I said.

"He! he! he! -- he! he! he! -- yes, the Amon-
tillado. But is it not getting late? Will not they
be awaiting us at the palazzo, the Lady Fortunato
and the rest? Let us be gone."

"Yes," I said "let us be gone."

"FOR THE LOVE OF GOD, MONTRESOR!"

"Yes," I said, "for the love of God!"

But to these words I hearkened in vain for a
reply. I grew impatient. I called aloud --

"Fortunato!"

No answer. I called again --

"Fortunato!"

No answer still. I thrust a torch through the
remaining aperture and let it fall within. There
came forth in return only a jingling of the bells.
My heart grew sick -- on account of the dampness of
the catacombs. I hastened to make an end of my
labour. I forced the last stone into its position; I
plastered it up. Against the new masonry I re-
erected the old rampart of bones. For the half of
a century no mortal has disturbed them.

In pace requiescat!

The End

THE MERRY WIVES OF WINDSOR - by William Shakespeare

2009-02-13T14:28:00.000-08:00

1601

THE MERRY WIVES OF WINDSOR

by William Shakespeare

Dramatis Personae

SIR JOHN FALSTAFF
FENTON, a young gentleman
SHALLOW, a country justice
SLENDER, cousin to Shallow

Gentlemen of Windsor
FORD
PAGE
WILLIAM PAGE, a boy, son to Page
SIR HUGH EVANS, a Welsh parson
DOCTOR CAIUS, a French physician
HOST of the Garter Inn

Followers of Falstaff
BARDOLPH
PISTOL
NYM
ROBIN, page to Falstaff
SIMPLE, servant to Slender
RUGBY, servant to Doctor Caius

MISTRESS FORD
MISTRESS PAGE
MISTRESS ANNE PAGE, her daughter
MISTRESS QUICKLY, servant to Doctor Caius
SERVANTS to Page, Ford, etc.

SCENE:
Windsor, and the neighbourhood

The Merry Wives of Windsor

ACT I. SCENE 1.

Windsor. Before PAGE'S house

Enter JUSTICE SHALLOW, SLENDER, and SIR HUGH EVANS

SHALLOW. Sir Hugh, persuade me not; I will make a Star
Chamber matter of it; if he were twenty Sir John Falstaffs,
he shall not abuse Robert Shallow, esquire.
SLENDER. In the county of Gloucester, Justice of Peace, and
Coram.
SHALLOW. Ay, cousin Slender, and Custalorum.
SLENDER. Ay, and Ratolorum too; and a gentleman born,
Master Parson, who writes himself 'Armigero' in any bill,
warrant, quittance, or obligation-'Armigero.'
SHALLOW. Ay, that I do; and have done any time these three
hundred years.
SLENDER. All his successors, gone before him, hath done't;
and all his ancestors, that come after him, may: they may
give the dozen white luces in their coat.
SHALLOW. It is an old coat.
EVANS. The dozen white louses do become an old coat well;
it agrees well, passant; it is a familiar beast to man, and
signifies love.
SHALLOW. The luce is the fresh fish; the salt fish is an old
coat.
SLENDER. I may quarter, coz.
SHALLOW. You may, by marrying.
EVANS. It is marring indeed, if he quarter it.
SHALLOW. Not a whit.
EVANS. Yes, py'r lady! If he has a quarter of your coat, there
is but three skirts for yourself, in my simple conjectures;
but that is all one. If Sir John Falstaff have committed
disparagements unto you, I am of the church, and will be
glad to do my benevolence, to make atonements and
compremises between you.
SHALLOW. The Council shall hear it; it is a riot.
EVANS. It is not meet the Council hear a riot; there is no
fear of Got in a riot; the Council, look you, shall desire
to hear the fear of Got, and not to hear a riot; take your
vizaments in that.
SHALLOW. Ha! o' my life, if I were young again, the sword
should end it.
EVANS. It is petter that friends is the sword and end it;
and there is also another device in my prain, which
peradventure prings goot discretions with it. There is Anne
Page, which is daughter to Master George Page, which is
pretty virginity.
SLENDER. Mistress Anne Page? She has brown hair, and
speaks small like a woman.
EVANS. It is that fery person for all the orld, as just as you
will desire; and seven hundred pounds of moneys, and
gold, and silver, is her grandsire upon his death's-bed-Got
deliver to a joyful resurrections!-give, when she is able to
overtake seventeen years old. It were a goot motion if we
leave our pribbles and prabbles, and desire a marriage
between Master Abraham and Mistress Anne Page.
SHALLOW. Did her grandsire leave her seven hundred pound?
EVANS. Ay, and her father is make her a petter penny.
SHALLOW. I know the young gentlewoman; she has good
gifts.
EVANS. Seven hundred pounds, and possibilities, is goot gifts.
SHALLOW. Well, let us see honest Master Page. Is Falstaff
there?
EVANS. Shall I tell you a lie? I do despise a liar as I do
despise one that is false; or as I despise one that is not
true. The knight Sir John is there; and, I beseech you, be
ruled by your well-willers. I will peat the door for Master
Page.
[Knocks] What, hoa! Got pless your house here!
PAGE. [Within] Who's there?

Enter PAGE

EVANS. Here is Got's plessing, and your friend, and Justice
Shallow; and here young Master Slender, that peradventures
shall tell you another tale, if matters grow to your
likings.
PAGE. I am glad to see your worships well. I thank you for
my venison, Master Shallow.
SHALLOW. Master Page, I am glad to see you; much good do
it your good heart! I wish'd your venison better; it was ill
kill'd. How doth good Mistress Page?-and I thank you
always with my heart, la! with my heart.
PAGE. Sir, I thank you.
SHALLOW. Sir, I thank you; by yea and no, I do.
PAGE. I am glad to see you, good Master Slender.
SLENDER. How does your fallow greyhound, sir? I heard say
he was outrun on Cotsall.
PAGE. It could not be judg'd, sir.
SLENDER. You'll not confess, you'll not confess.
SHALLOW. That he will not. 'Tis your fault; 'tis your fault;
'tis a good dog.
PAGE. A cur, sir.
SHALLOW. Sir, he's a good dog, and a fair dog. Can there be
more said? He is good, and fair. Is Sir John Falstaff here?
PAGE. Sir, he is within; and I would I could do a good office
between you.
EVANS. It is spoke as a Christians ought to speak.
SHALLOW. He hath wrong'd me, Master Page.
PAGE. Sir, he doth in some sort confess it.
SHALLOW. If it be confessed, it is not redressed; is not that
so, Master Page? He hath wrong'd me; indeed he hath; at a
word, he hath, believe me; Robert Shallow, esquire, saith
he is wronged.
PAGE. Here comes Sir John.

Enter SIR JOHN FALSTAFF, BARDOLPH, NYM, and PISTOL

FALSTAFF. Now, Master Shallow, you'll complain of me to
the King?
SHALLOW. Knight, you have beaten my men, kill'd my deer,
and broke open my lodge.
FALSTAFF. But not kiss'd your keeper's daughter.
SHALLOW. Tut, a pin! this shall be answer'd.
FALSTAFF. I will answer it straight: I have done all this.
That is now answer'd.
SHALLOW. The Council shall know this.
FALSTAFF. 'Twere better for you if it were known in counsel:
you'll be laugh'd at.
EVANS. Pauca verba, Sir John; goot worts.
FALSTAFF. Good worts! good cabbage! Slender, I broke your
head; what matter have you against me?
SLENDER. Marry, sir, I have matter in my head against you;
and against your cony-catching rascals, Bardolph, Nym,
and Pistol. They carried me to the tavern, and made me
drunk, and afterwards pick'd my pocket.
BARDOLPH. You Banbury cheese!
SLENDER. Ay, it is no matter.
PISTOL. How now, Mephostophilus!
SLENDER. Ay, it is no matter.
NYM. Slice, I say! pauca, pauca; slice! That's my humour.
SLENDER. Where's Simple, my man? Can you tell, cousin?
EVANS. Peace, I pray you. Now let us understand. There is
three umpires in this matter, as I understand: that is,
Master Page, fidelicet Master Page; and there is myself,
fidelicet myself; and the three party is, lastly and
finally, mine host of the Garter.
PAGE. We three to hear it and end it between them.
EVANS. Fery goot. I will make a prief of it in my note-book;
and we will afterwards ork upon the cause with as great
discreetly as we can.
FALSTAFF. Pistol!
PISTOL. He hears with ears.
EVANS. The tevil and his tam! What phrase is this, 'He hears
with ear'? Why, it is affectations.
FALSTAFF. Pistol, did you pick Master Slender's purse?
SLENDER. Ay, by these gloves, did he-or I would I might
never come in mine own great chamber again else!-of
seven groats in mill-sixpences, and two Edward
shovel-boards that cost me two shilling and two pence apiece
of Yead Miller, by these gloves.
FALSTAFF. Is this true, Pistol?
EVANS. No, it is false, if it is a pick-purse.
PISTOL. Ha, thou mountain-foreigner! Sir John and master
mine,
I combat challenge of this latten bilbo.
Word of denial in thy labras here!
Word of denial! Froth and scum, thou liest.
SLENDER. By these gloves, then, 'twas he.
NYM. Be avis'd, sir, and pass good humours; I will say
'marry trap' with you, if you run the nuthook's humour on
me; that is the very note of it.
SLENDER. By this hat, then, he in the red face had it; for
though I cannot remember what I did when you made me
drunk, yet I am not altogether an ass.
FALSTAFF. What say you, Scarlet and John?
BARDOLPH. Why, sir, for my part, I say the gentleman had
drunk himself out of his five sentences.
EVANS. It is his five senses; fie, what the ignorance is!
BARDOLPH. And being fap, sir, was, as they say, cashier'd;
and so conclusions pass'd the careers.
SLENDER. Ay, you spake in Latin then too; but 'tis no matter;
I'll ne'er be drunk whilst I live again, but in honest,
civil, godly company, for this trick. If I be drunk, I'll be
drunk with those that have the fear of God, and not with
drunken knaves.
EVANS. So Got udge me, that is a virtuous mind.
FALSTAFF. You hear all these matters deni'd, gentlemen; you
hear it.

Enter MISTRESS ANNE PAGE with wine; MISTRESS
FORD and MISTRESS PAGE, following

PAGE. Nay, daughter, carry the wine in; we'll drink within.
Exit ANNE PAGE
SLENDER. O heaven! this is Mistress Anne Page.
PAGE. How now, Mistress Ford!
FALSTAFF. Mistress Ford, by my troth, you are very well
met; by your leave, good mistress. [Kisses her]
PAGE. Wife, bid these gentlemen welcome. Come, we have a
hot venison pasty to dinner; come, gentlemen, I hope we
shall drink down all unkindness.
Exeunt all but SHALLOW, SLENDER, and EVANS
SLENDER. I had rather than forty shillings I had my Book of
Songs and Sonnets here.

Enter SIMPLE

How, Simple! Where have you been? I must wait on
myself, must I? You have not the Book of Riddles about you,
have you?
SIMPLE. Book of Riddles! Why, did you not lend it to Alice
Shortcake upon Allhallowmas last, a fortnight afore
Michaelmas?
SHALLOW. Come, coz; come, coz; we stay for you. A word
with you, coz; marry, this, coz: there is, as 'twere, a
tender, a kind of tender, made afar off by Sir Hugh here. Do
you understand me?
SLENDER. Ay, sir, you shall find me reasonable; if it be so, I
shall do that that is reason.
SHALLOW. Nay, but understand me.
SLENDER. So I do, sir.
EVANS. Give ear to his motions: Master Slender, I will
description the matter to you, if you be capacity of it.
SLENDER. Nay, I will do as my cousin Shallow says; I pray
you pardon me; he's a justice of peace in his country,
simple though I stand here.
EVANS. But that is not the question. The question is
concerning your marriage.
SHALLOW. Ay, there's the point, sir.
EVANS. Marry is it; the very point of it; to Mistress Anne
Page.
SLENDER. Why, if it be so, I will marry her upon any
reasonable demands.
EVANS. But can you affection the oman? Let us command to
know that of your mouth or of your lips; for divers philosophers
hold that the lips is parcel of the mouth. Therefore,
precisely, can you carry your good will to the maid?
SHALLOW. Cousin Abraham Slender, can you love her?
SLENDER. I hope, sir, I will do as it shall become one that
would do reason.
EVANS. Nay, Got's lords and his ladies! you must speak possitable,
if you can carry her your desires towards her.
SHALLOW. That you must. Will you, upon good dowry,
marry her?
SLENDER. I will do a greater thing than that upon your request,
cousin, in any reason.
SHALLOW. Nay, conceive me, conceive me, sweet coz; what
I do is to pleasure you, coz. Can you love the maid?
SLENDER. I will marry her, sir, at your request; but if there
be no great love in the beginning, yet heaven may decrease
it upon better acquaintance, when we are married and
have more occasion to know one another. I hope upon
familiarity will grow more contempt. But if you say
'marry her,' I will marry her; that I am freely dissolved,
and dissolutely.
EVANS. It is a fery discretion answer, save the fall is in the
ord 'dissolutely': the ort is, according to our meaning,
'resolutely'; his meaning is good.
SHALLOW. Ay, I think my cousin meant well.
SLENDER. Ay, or else I would I might be hang'd, la!

Re-enter ANNE PAGE

SHALLOW. Here comes fair Mistress Anne. Would I were
young for your sake, Mistress Anne!
ANNE. The dinner is on the table; my father desires your
worships' company.
SHALLOW. I will wait on him, fair Mistress Anne!
EVANS. Od's plessed will! I will not be absence at the grace.
Exeunt SHALLOW and EVANS
ANNE. Will't please your worship to come in, sir?
SLENDER. No, I thank you, forsooth, heartily; I am very
well.
ANNE. The dinner attends you, sir.
SLENDER. I am not a-hungry, I thank you, forsooth. Go,
sirrah, for all you are my man, go wait upon my cousin
Shallow. [Exit SIMPLE] A justice of peace sometime may
be beholding to his friend for a man. I keep but three men
and a boy yet, till my mother be dead. But what though?
Yet I live like a poor gentleman born.
ANNE. I may not go in without your worship; they will not
sit till you come.
SLENDER. I' faith, I'll eat nothing; I thank you as much as
though I did.
ANNE. I pray you, sir, walk in.
SLENDER. I had rather walk here, I thank you. I bruis'd my
shin th' other day with playing at sword and dagger with
a master of fence-three veneys for a dish of stew'd prunes
-and, I with my ward defending my head, he hot my shin,
and, by my troth, I cannot abide the smell of hot meat
since. Why do your dogs bark so? Be there bears i' th'
town?
ANNE. I think there are, sir; I heard them talk'd of.
SLENDER. I love the sport well; but I shall as soon quarrel at
it as any man in England. You are afraid, if you see the
bear loose, are you not?
ANNE. Ay, indeed, sir.
SLENDER. That's meat and drink to me now. I have seen
Sackerson loose twenty times, and have taken him by the
chain; but I warrant you, the women have so cried and
shriek'd at it that it pass'd; but women, indeed, cannot
abide 'em; they are very ill-favour'd rough things.

Re-enter PAGE

PAGE. Come, gentle Master Slender, come; we stay for you.
SLENDER. I'll eat nothing, I thank you, sir.
PAGE. By cock and pie, you shall not choose, sir! Come,
come.
SLENDER. Nay, pray you lead the way.
PAGE. Come on, sir.
SLENDER. Mistress Anne, yourself shall go first.
ANNE. Not I, sir; pray you keep on.
SLENDER. Truly, I will not go first; truly, la! I will not do
you that wrong.
ANNE. I pray you, sir.
SLENDER. I'll rather be unmannerly than troublesome. You
do yourself wrong indeed, la! Exeunt

SCENE 2.

Before PAGE'S house

Enter SIR HUGH EVANS and SIMPLE

EVANS. Go your ways, and ask of Doctor Caius' house which
is the way; and there dwells one Mistress Quickly, which
is in the manner of his nurse, or his dry nurse, or his cook,
or his laundry, his washer, and his wringer.
SIMPLE. Well, sir.
EVANS. Nay, it is petter yet. Give her this letter; for it is a
oman that altogether's acquaintance with Mistress Anne
Page; and the letter is to desire and require her to solicit
your master's desires to Mistress Anne Page. I pray you
be gone. I will make an end of my dinner; there's pippins
and cheese to come. Exeunt

SCENE 3.

The Garter Inn

Enter FALSTAFF, HOST, BARDOLPH, NYM, PISTOL, and ROBIN

FALSTAFF. Mine host of the Garter!
HOST. What says my bully rook? Speak scholarly and
wisely.
FALSTAFF. Truly, mine host, I must turn away some of my
followers.
HOST. Discard, bully Hercules; cashier; let them wag; trot,
trot.
FALSTAFF. I sit at ten pounds a week.
HOST. Thou'rt an emperor-Caesar, Keiser, and Pheazar. I
will entertain Bardolph; he shall draw, he shall tap; said I
well, bully Hector?
FALSTAFF. Do so, good mine host.
HOST. I have spoke; let him follow. [To BARDOLPH] Let me
see thee froth and lime. I am at a word; follow. Exit HOST
FALSTAFF. Bardolph, follow him. A tapster is a good trade;
an old cloak makes a new jerkin; a wither'd serving-man a
fresh tapster. Go; adieu.
BARDOLPH. It is a life that I have desir'd; I will thrive.
PISTOL. O base Hungarian wight! Wilt thou the spigot
wield? Exit BARDOLPH
NYM. He was gotten in drink. Is not the humour conceited?
FALSTAFF. I am glad I am so acquit of this tinder-box: his
thefts were too open; his filching was like an unskilful
singer-he kept not time.
NYM. The good humour is to steal at a minute's rest.
PISTOL. 'Convey' the wise it call. 'Steal' foh! A fico for the
phrase!
FALSTAFF. Well, sirs, I am almost out at heels.
PISTOL. Why, then, let kibes ensue.
FALSTAFF. There is no remedy; I must cony-catch; I must
shift.
PISTOL. Young ravens must have food.
FALSTAFF. Which of you know Ford of this town?
PISTOL. I ken the wight; he is of substance good.
FALSTAFF. My honest lads, I will tell you what I am about.
PISTOL. Two yards, and more.
FALSTAFF. No quips now, Pistol. Indeed, I am in the waist
two yards about; but I am now about no waste; I am about
thrift. Briefly, I do mean to make love to Ford's wife; I
spy entertainment in her; she discourses, she carves, she
gives the leer of invitation; I can construe the action of her
familiar style; and the hardest voice of her behaviour, to be
English'd rightly, is 'I am Sir John Falstaff's.'
PISTOL. He hath studied her well, and translated her will out
of honesty into English.
NYM. The anchor is deep; will that humour pass?
FALSTAFF. Now, the report goes she has all the rule of her
husband's purse; he hath a legion of angels.
PISTOL. As many devils entertain; and 'To her, boy,' say I.
NYM. The humour rises; it is good; humour me the angels.
FALSTAFF. I have writ me here a letter to her; and here
another to Page's wife, who even now gave me good eyes
too, examin'd my parts with most judicious oeillades;
sometimes the beam of her view gilded my foot, sometimes my
portly belly.
PISTOL. Then did the sun on dunghill shine.
NYM. I thank thee for that humour.
FALSTAFF. O, she did so course o'er my exteriors with such
a greedy intention that the appetite of her eye did seem to
scorch me up like a burning-glass! Here's another letter to
her. She bears the purse too; she is a region in Guiana, all
gold and bounty. I will be cheaters to them both, and they
shall be exchequers to me; they shall be my East and West
Indies, and I will trade to them both. Go, bear thou this
letter to Mistress Page; and thou this to Mistress Ford. We
will thrive, lads, we will thrive.
PISTOL. Shall I Sir Pandarus of Troy become,
And by my side wear steel? Then Lucifer take all!
NYM. I will run no base humour. Here, take the
humour-letter; I will keep the haviour of reputation.
FALSTAFF. [To ROBIN] Hold, sirrah; bear you these letters
tightly;
Sail like my pinnace to these golden shores.
Rogues, hence, avaunt! vanish like hailstones, go;
Trudge, plod away i' th' hoof; seek shelter, pack!
Falstaff will learn the humour of the age;
French thrift, you rogues; myself, and skirted page.
Exeunt FALSTAFF and ROBIN
PISTOL. Let vultures gripe thy guts! for gourd and fullam
holds,
And high and low beguiles the rich and poor;
Tester I'll have in pouch when thou shalt lack,
Base Phrygian Turk!
NYM. I have operations in my head which be humours of
revenge.
PISTOL. Wilt thou revenge?
NYM. By welkin and her star!
PISTOL. With wit or steel?
NYM. With both the humours, I.
I will discuss the humour of this love to Page.
PISTOL. And I to Ford shall eke unfold
How Falstaff, varlet vile,
His dove will prove, his gold will hold,
And his soft couch defile.
NYM. My humour shall not cool; I will incense Page to deal
with poison; I will possess him with yellowness; for the
revolt of mine is dangerous. That is my true humour.
PISTOL. Thou art the Mars of malcontents; I second thee;
troop on. Exeunt

SCENE 4.

DOCTOR CAIUS'S house

Enter MISTRESS QUICKLY, SIMPLE, and RUGBY

QUICKLY. What, John Rugby! I pray thee go to the casement
and see if you can see my master, Master Doctor
Caius, coming. If he do, i' faith, and find anybody in the
house, here will be an old abusing of God's patience and
the King's English.
RUGBY. I'll go watch.
QUICKLY. Go; and we'll have a posset for't soon at night, in
faith, at the latter end of a sea-coal fire. [Exit RUGBY] An
honest, willing, kind fellow, as ever servant shall come in
house withal; and, I warrant you, no tell-tale nor no
breed-bate; his worst fault is that he is given to prayer; he is
something peevish that way; but nobody but has his fault;
but let that pass. Peter Simple you say your name is?
SIMPLE. Ay, for fault of a better.
QUICKLY. And Master Slender's your master?
SIMPLE. Ay, forsooth.
QUICKLY. Does he not wear a great round beard, like a
glover's paring-knife?
SIMPLE. No, forsooth; he hath but a little whey face, with a
little yellow beard, a Cain-colour'd beard.
QUICKLY. A softly-sprighted man, is he not?
SIMPLE. Ay, forsooth; but he is as tall a man of his hands as
any is between this and his head; he hath fought with a
warrener.
QUICKLY. How say you? O, I should remember him. Does
he not hold up his head, as it were, and strut in his gait?
SIMPLE. Yes, indeed, does he.
QUICKLY. Well, heaven send Anne Page no worse fortune!
Tell Master Parson Evans I will do what I can for your
master. Anne is a good girl, and I wish-

Re-enter RUGBY

RUGBY. Out, alas! here comes my master.
QUICKLY. We shall all be shent. Run in here, good young
man; go into this closet. [Shuts SIMPLE in the closet] He
will not stay long. What, John Rugby! John! what, John,
I say! Go, John, go inquire for my master; I doubt he be
not well that he comes not home. [Singing]
And down, down, adown-a, etc.

Enter DOCTOR CAIUS

CAIUS. Vat is you sing? I do not like des toys. Pray you, go
and vetch me in my closet un boitier vert-a box, a green-a
box. Do intend vat I speak? A green-a box.
QUICKLY. Ay, forsooth, I'll fetch it you. [Aside] I am glad
he went not in himself; if he had found the young man,
he would have been horn-mad.
CAIUS. Fe, fe, fe fe! ma foi, il fait fort chaud. Je m'en vais a
la cour-la grande affaire.
QUICKLY. Is it this, sir?
CAIUS. Oui; mette le au mon pocket: depeche, quickly. Vere
is dat knave, Rugby?
QUICKLY. What, John Rugby? John!
RUGBY. Here, sir.
CAIUS. You are John Rugby, and you are Jack Rugby.
Come, take-a your rapier, and come after my heel to the
court.
RUGBY. 'Tis ready, sir, here in the porch.
CAIUS. By my trot, I tarry too long. Od's me! Qu'ai j'oublie?
Dere is some simples in my closet dat I vill not for the
varld I shall leave behind.
QUICKLY. Ay me, he'll find the young man there, and be
mad!
CAIUS. O diable, diable! vat is in my closet? Villainy! larron!
[Pulling SIMPLE out] Rugby, my rapier!
QUICKLY. Good master, be content.
CAIUS. Wherefore shall I be content-a?
QUICKLY. The young man is an honest man.
CAIUS. What shall de honest man do in my closet? Dere is
no honest man dat shall come in my closet.
QUICKLY. I beseech you, be not so phlegmatic; hear the
truth of it. He came of an errand to me from Parson Hugh.
CAIUS. Vell?
SIMPLE. Ay, forsooth, to desire her to-
QUICKLY. Peace, I pray you.
CAIUS. Peace-a your tongue. Speak-a your tale.
SIMPLE. To desire this honest gentlewoman, your maid, to
speak a good word to Mistress Anne Page for my master,
in the way of marriage.
QUICKLY. This is all, indeed, la! but I'll ne'er put my finger
in the fire, and need not.
CAIUS. Sir Hugh send-a you? Rugby, baillez me some paper.
Tarry you a little-a-while. [Writes]
QUICKLY. [Aside to SIMPLE] I am glad he is so quiet; if he
had been throughly moved, you should have heard him
so loud and so melancholy. But notwithstanding, man, I'll
do you your master what good I can; and the very yea and
the no is, the French doctor, my master-I may call him
my master, look you, for I keep his house; and I wash,
wring, brew, bake, scour, dress meat and drink, make the
beds, and do all myself-
SIMPLE. [Aside to QUICKLY] 'Tis a great charge to come
under one body's hand.
QUICKLY. [Aside to SIMPLE] Are you avis'd o' that? You
shall find it a great charge; and to be up early and down
late; but notwithstanding-to tell you in your ear, I would
have no words of it-my master himself is in love with
Mistress Anne Page; but notwithstanding that, I know
Anne's mind-that's neither here nor there.
CAIUS. You jack'nape; give-a this letter to Sir Hugh; by gar,
it is a shallenge; I will cut his troat in de park; and I will
teach a scurvy jack-a-nape priest to meddle or make. You
may be gone; it is not good you tarry here. By gar, I will
cut all his two stones; by gar, he shall not have a stone
to throw at his dog. Exit SIMPLE
QUICKLY. Alas, he speaks but for his friend.
CAIUS. It is no matter-a ver dat. Do not you tell-a me dat I
shall have Anne Page for myself? By gar, I vill kill de Jack
priest; and I have appointed mine host of de Jarteer to
measure our weapon. By gar, I will myself have Anne
Page.
QUICKLY. Sir, the maid loves you, and all shall be well. We
must give folks leave to prate. What the good-year!
CAIUS. Rugby, come to the court with me. By gar, if I have
not Anne Page, I shall turn your head out of my door.
Follow my heels, Rugby. Exeunt CAIUS and RUGBY
QUICKLY. You shall have-An fool's-head of your own. No,
I know Anne's mind for that; never a woman in Windsor
knows more of Anne's mind than I do; nor can do more
than I do with her, I thank heaven.
FENTON. [Within] Who's within there? ho!
QUICKLY. Who's there, I trow? Come near the house, I pray
you.

Enter FENTON

FENTON. How now, good woman, how dost thou?
QUICKLY. The better that it pleases your good worship to
ask.
FENTON. What news? How does pretty Mistress Anne?
QUICKLY. In truth, sir, and she is pretty, and honest, and
gentle; and one that is your friend, I can tell you that by
the way; I praise heaven for it.
FENTON. Shall I do any good, think'st thou? Shall I not lose
my suit?
QUICKLY. Troth, sir, all is in His hands above; but
notwithstanding, Master Fenton, I'll be sworn on a book
she loves you. Have not your worship a wart above your eye?
FENTON. Yes, marry, have I; what of that?
QUICKLY. Well, thereby hangs a tale; good faith, it is such
another Nan; but, I detest, an honest maid as ever broke
bread. We had an hour's talk of that wart; I shall never
laugh but in that maid's company! But, indeed, she is
given too much to allicholy and musing; but for you-well,
go to.
FENTON. Well, I shall see her to-day. Hold, there's money
for thee; let me have thy voice in my behalf. If thou seest
her before me, commend me.
QUICKLY. Will I? I' faith, that we will; and I will tell your
worship more of the wart the next time we have confidence;
and of other wooers.
FENTON. Well, farewell; I am in great haste now.
QUICKLY. Farewell to your worship. [Exit FENTON] Truly,
an honest gentleman; but Anne loves him not; for I know
Anne's mind as well as another does. Out upon 't, what
have I forgot? Exit

ACT II. SCENE 1.

Before PAGE'S house

Enter MISTRESS PAGE, with a letter

MRS. PAGE. What! have I scap'd love-letters in the holiday-time
of my beauty, and am I now a subject for them? Let
me see. [Reads]
'Ask me no reason why I love you; for though Love use
Reason for his precisian, he admits him not for his counsellor.
You are not young, no more am I; go to, then, there's
sympathy. You are merry, so am I; ha! ha! then there's
more sympathy. You love sack, and so do I; would you
desire better sympathy? Let it suffice thee, Mistress Page
at the least, if the love of soldier can suffice-that I love
thee. I will not say, Pity me: 'tis not a soldier-like phrase;
but I say, Love me. By me,
Thine own true knight,
By day or night,
Or any kind of light,
With all his might,
For thee to fight,
JOHN FALSTAFF.'
What a Herod of Jewry is this! O wicked, wicked world!
One that is well-nigh worn to pieces with age to show
himself a young gallant! What an unweighed behaviour
hath this Flemish drunkard pick'd-with the devil's name!
-out of my conversation, that he dares in this manner
assay me? Why, he hath not been thrice in my company!
What should I say to him? I was then frugal of my mirth.
Heaven forgive me! Why, I'll exhibit a bill in the parliament
for the putting down of men. How shall I be
reveng'd on him? for reveng'd I will be, as sure as his guts
are made of puddings.

Enter MISTRESS FORD

MRS. FORD. Mistress Page! trust me, I was going to your
house.
MRS. PAGE. And, trust me, I was coming to you. You look
very ill.
MRS. FORD. Nay, I'll ne'er believe that; I have to show to
the contrary.
MRS. PAGE. Faith, but you do, in my mind.
MRS. FORD. Well, I do, then; yet, I say, I could show you to
the contrary. O Mistress Page, give me some counsel.
MRS. PAGE. What's the matter, woman?
MRS. FORD. O woman, if it were not for one trifling respect,
I could come to such honour!
MRS. PAGE. Hang the trifle, woman; take the honour. What
is it? Dispense with trifles; what is it?
MRS. FORD. If I would but go to hell for an eternal moment
or so, I could be knighted.
MRS. PAGE. What? Thou liest. Sir Alice Ford! These knights
will hack; and so thou shouldst not alter the article of thy
gentry.
MRS. FORD. We burn daylight. Here, read, read; perceive
how I might be knighted. I shall think the worse of fat
men as long as I have an eye to make difference of men's
liking. And yet he would not swear; prais'd women's
modesty, and gave such orderly and well-behaved reproof
to all uncomeliness that I would have sworn his disposition
would have gone to the truth of his words; but they do no
more adhere and keep place together than the Hundredth
Psalm to the tune of 'Greensleeves.' What tempest, I trow,
threw this whale, with so many tuns of oil in his belly,
ashore at Windsor? How shall I be revenged on him? I
think the best way were to entertain him with hope, till
the wicked fire of lust have melted him in his own grease.
Did you ever hear the like?
MRS. PAGE. Letter for letter, but that the name of Page and
Ford differs. To thy great comfort in this mystery of ill
opinions, here's the twin-brother of thy letter; but let thine
inherit first, for, I protest, mine never shall. I warrant he
hath a thousand of these letters, writ with blank space for
different names-sure, more!-and these are of the second
edition. He will print them, out of doubt; for he cares not
what he puts into the press when he would put us two. I
had rather be a giantess and lie under Mount Pelion. Well,
I will find you twenty lascivious turtles ere one chaste
man.
MRS. FORD. Why, this is the very same; the very hand, the
very words. What doth he think of us?
MRS. PAGE. Nay, I know not; it makes me almost ready to
wrangle with mine own honesty. I'll entertain myself like
one that I am not acquainted withal; for, sure, unless he
know some strain in me that I know not myself, he would
never have boarded me in this fury.
MRS. FORD. 'Boarding' call you it? I'll be sure to keep him
above deck.
MRS. PAGE. So will I; if he come under my hatches, I'll never
to sea again. Let's be reveng'd on him; let's appoint him a
meeting, give him a show of comfort in his suit, and lead
him on with a fine-baited delay, till he hath pawn'd his
horses to mine host of the Garter.
MRS. FORD. Nay, I will consent to act any villainy against
him that may not sully the chariness of our honesty. O
that my husband saw this letter! It would give eternal food
to his jealousy.
MRS. PAGE. Why, look where he comes; and my good man
too; he's as far from jealousy as I am from giving him
cause; and that, I hope, is an unmeasurable distance.
MRS. FORD. You are the happier woman.
MRS. PAGE. Let's consult together against this greasy knight.
Come hither. [They retire]

Enter FORD with PISTOL, and PAGE with Nym

FORD. Well, I hope it be not so.
PISTOL. Hope is a curtal dog in some affairs.
Sir John affects thy wife.
FORD. Why, sir, my wife is not young.
PISTOL. He woos both high and low, both rich and poor,
Both young and old, one with another, Ford;
He loves the gallimaufry. Ford, perpend.
FORD. Love my wife!
PISTOL. With liver burning hot. Prevent, or go thou,
Like Sir Actaeon he, with Ringwood at thy heels.
O, odious is the name!
FORD. What name, sir?
PISTOL. The horn, I say. Farewell.
Take heed, have open eye, for thieves do foot by night;
Take heed, ere summer comes, or cuckoo birds do sing.
Away, Sir Corporal Nym.
Believe it, Page; he speaks sense. Exit PISTOL
FORD. [Aside] I will be patient; I will find out this.
NYM. [To PAGE] And this is true; I like not the humour of
lying. He hath wronged me in some humours; I should
have borne the humour'd letter to her; but I have a sword,
and it shall bite upon my necessity. He loves your wife;
there's the short and the long.
My name is Corporal Nym; I speak, and I avouch;
'Tis true. My name is Nym, and Falstaff loves your wife.
Adieu! I love not the humour of bread and cheese; and
there's the humour of it. Adieu. Exit Nym
PAGE. 'The humour of it,' quoth 'a! Here's a fellow frights
English out of his wits.
FORD. I will seek out Falstaff.
PAGE. I never heard such a drawling, affecting rogue.
FORD. If I do find it-well.
PAGE. I will not believe such a Cataian though the priest o'
th' town commended him for a true man.
FORD. 'Twas a good sensible fellow. Well.

MISTRESS PAGE and MISTRESS FORD come forward

PAGE. How now, Meg!
MRS. PAGE. Whither go you, George? Hark you.
MRS. FORD. How now, sweet Frank, why art thou melancholy?
FORD. I melancholy! I am not melancholy. Get you home;
go.
MRS. FORD. Faith, thou hast some crotchets in thy head now.
Will you go, Mistress Page?

Enter MISTRESS QUICKLY

MRS. PAGE. Have with you. You'll come to dinner, George?
[Aside to MRS. FORD] Look who comes yonder; she shall
be our messenger to this paltry knight.
MRS. FORD. [Aside to MRS. PAGE] Trust me, I thought on
her; she'll fit it.
MRS. PAGE. You are come to see my daughter Anne?
QUICKLY. Ay, forsooth; and, I pray, how does good Mistress Anne?
MRS. PAGE. Go in with us and see; we have an hour's talk
with you. Exeunt MISTRESS PAGE, MISTRESS FORD, and
MISTRESS QUICKLY
PAGE. How now, Master Ford!
FORD. You heard what this knave told me, did you not?
PAGE. Yes; and you heard what the other told me?
FORD. Do you think there is truth in them?
PAGE. Hang 'em, slaves! I do not think the knight would offer it;
but these that accuse him in his intent towards our
wives are a yoke of his discarded men; very rogues, now
they be out of service.
FORD. Were they his men?
PAGE. Marry, were they.
FORD. I like it never the better for that. Does he lie at the
Garter?
PAGE. Ay, marry, does he. If he should intend this voyage
toward my wife, I would turn her loose to him; and what
he gets more of her than sharp words, let it lie on my head.
FORD. I do not misdoubt my wife; but I would be loath to
turn them together. A man may be too confident. I would
have nothing lie on my head. I cannot be thus satisfied.

Enter HOST

PAGE. Look where my ranting host of the Garter comes.
There is either liquor in his pate or money in his purse
when he looks so merrily. How now, mine host!
HOST. How now, bully rook! Thou'rt a gentleman. [To
SHALLOW following] Cavaleiro Justice, I say.

Enter SHALLOW

SHALLOW. I follow, mine host, I follow. Good even and
twenty, good Master Page! Master Page, will you go with
us? We have sport in hand.
HOST. Tell him, Cavaleiro Justice; tell him, bully rook.
SHALLOW. Sir, there is a fray to be fought between Sir Hugh
the Welsh priest and Caius the French doctor.
FORD. Good mine host o' th' Garter, a word with you.
HOST. What say'st thou, my bully rook? [They go aside]
SHALLOW. [To PAGE] Will you go with us to behold it? My
merry host hath had the measuring of their weapons; and,
I think, hath appointed them contrary places; for, believe
me, I hear the parson is no jester. Hark, I will tell you
what our sport shall be. [They converse apart]
HOST. Hast thou no suit against my knight, my guest-cavaleiro.
FORD. None, I protest; but I'll give you a pottle of burnt
sack to give me recourse to him, and tell him my name is
Brook-only for a jest.
HOST. My hand, bully; thou shalt have egress and regress-
said I well?-and thy name shall be Brook. It is a merry
knight. Will you go, Mynheers?
SHALLOW. Have with you, mine host.
PAGE. I have heard the Frenchman hath good skill in his
rapier.
SHALLOW. Tut, sir, I could have told you more. In these
times you stand on distance, your passes, stoccadoes, and
I know not what. 'Tis the heart, Master Page; 'tis here,
'tis here. I have seen the time with my long sword I would
have made you four tall fellows skip like rats.
HOST. Here, boys, here, here! Shall we wag?
PAGE. Have with you. I had rather hear them scold than
fight. Exeunt all but FORD
FORD. Though Page be a secure fool, and stands so firmly on
his wife's frailty, yet I cannot put off my opinion so
easily. She was in his company at Page's house, and what
they made there I know not. Well, I will look further into
't, and I have a disguise to sound Falstaff. If I find her
honest, I lose not my labour; if she be otherwise, 'tis labour
well bestowed. Exit

SCENE 2.

A room in the Garter Inn

Enter FALSTAFF and PISTOL

FALSTAFF. I will not lend thee a penny.
PISTOL. I will retort the sum in equipage.
FALSTAFF. Not a penny.
PISTOL. Why, then the world's mine oyster. Which I with
sword will open.
FALSTAFF. Not a penny. I have been content, sir, you should
lay my countenance to pawn. I have grated upon my good
friends for three reprieves for you and your coach-fellow,
Nym; or else you had look'd through the grate, like a
geminy of baboons. I am damn'd in hell for swearing to
gentlemen my friends you were good soldiers and tall fellows;
and when Mistress Bridget lost the handle of her fan,
I took 't upon mine honour thou hadst it not.
PISTOL. Didst not thou share? Hadst thou not fifteen pence?
FALSTAFF. Reason, you rogue, reason. Think'st thou I'll
endanger my soul gratis? At a word, hang no more about me,
I am no gibbet for you. Go-a short knife and a throng!-
to your manor of Pickt-hatch; go. You'll not bear a letter
for me, you rogue! You stand upon your honour! Why,
thou unconfinable baseness, it is as much as I can do to
keep the terms of my honour precise. I, I, I myself
sometimes, leaving the fear of God on the left hand, and hiding
mine honour in my necessity, am fain to shuffle, to hedge,
and to lurch; and yet you, rogue, will ensconce your rags,
your cat-a-mountain looks, your red-lattice phrases, and
your bold-beating oaths, under the shelter of your honour!
You will not do it, you!
PISTOL. I do relent; what would thou more of man?

Enter ROBIN

ROBIN. Sir, here's a woman would speak with you.
FALSTAFF. Let her approach.

Enter MISTRESS QUICKLY

QUICKLY. Give your worship good morrow.
FALSTAFF. Good morrow, good wife.
QUICKLY. Not so, an't please your worship.
FALSTAFF. Good maid, then.
QUICKLY. I'll be sworn;
As my mother was, the first hour I was born.
FALSTAFF. I do believe the swearer. What with me?
QUICKLY. Shall I vouchsafe your worship a word or two?
FALSTAFF. Two thousand, fair woman; and I'll vouchsafe
thee the hearing.
QUICKLY. There is one Mistress Ford, sir-I pray, come a little
nearer this ways. I myself dwell with Master Doctor
Caius.
FALSTAFF. Well, on: Mistress Ford, you say-
QUICKLY. Your worship says very true. I pray your worship
come a little nearer this ways.
FALSTAFF. I warrant thee nobody hears-mine own people,
mine own people.
QUICKLY. Are they so? God bless them, and make them his
servants!
FALSTAFF. Well; Mistress Ford, what of her?
QUICKLY. Why, sir, she's a good creature. Lord, Lord, your
worship's a wanton! Well, heaven forgive you, and all of
us, I pray.
FALSTAFF. Mistress Ford; come, Mistress Ford-
QUICKLY. Marry, this is the short and the long of it: you
have brought her into such a canaries as 'tis wonderful.
The best courtier of them all, when the court lay at Windsor,
could never have brought her to such a canary. Yet
there has been knights, and lords, and gentlemen, with
their coaches; I warrant you, coach after coach, letter after
letter, gift after gift; smelling so sweetly, all musk, and so
rushling, I warrant you, in silk and gold; and in such alligant
terms; and in such wine and sugar of the best and the
fairest, that would have won any woman's heart; and I
warrant you, they could never get an eye-wink of her.
I had myself twenty angels given me this morning; but I
defy all angels, in any such sort, as they say, but in the
way of honesty; and, I warrant you, they could never get
her so much as sip on a cup with the proudest of them all;
and yet there has been earls, nay, which is more,
pensioners; but, I warrant you, all is one with her.
FALSTAFF. But what says she to me? Be brief, my good she-
Mercury.
QUICKLY. Marry, she hath receiv'd your letter; for the
which she thanks you a thousand times; and she gives you
to notify that her husband will be absence from his house
between ten and eleven.
FALSTAFF. Ten and eleven?
QUICKLY. Ay, forsooth; and then you may come and see
the picture, she says, that you wot of. Master Ford, her
husband, will be from home. Alas, the sweet woman leads
an ill life with him! He's a very jealousy man; she leads a
very frampold life with him, good heart.
FALSTAFF. Ten and eleven. Woman, commend me to her; I
will not fail her.
QUICKLY. Why, you say well. But I have another messenger
to your worship. Mistress Page hath her hearty commendations
to you too; and let me tell you in your ear, she's as
fartuous a civil modest wife, and one, I tell you, that will
not miss you morning nor evening prayer, as any is in
Windsor, whoe'er be the other; and she bade me tell your
worship that her husband is seldom from home, but she
hopes there will come a time. I never knew a woman so
dote upon a man: surely I think you have charms, la! Yes,
in truth.
FALSTAFF. Not I, I assure thee; setting the attraction of my
good parts aside, I have no other charms.
QUICKLY. Blessing on your heart for 't!
FALSTAFF. But, I pray thee, tell me this: has Ford's wife and
Page's wife acquainted each other how they love me?
QUICKLY. That were a jest indeed! They have not so little
grace, I hope-that were a trick indeed! But Mistress Page
would desire you to send her your little page of all loves.
Her husband has a marvellous infection to the little page;
and truly Master Page is an honest man. Never a wife in
Windsor leads a better life than she does; do what she will,
say what she will, take all, pay all, go to bed when she
list, rise when she list, all is as she will; and truly she
deserves it; for if there be a kind woman in Windsor, she
is one. You must send her your page; no remedy.
FALSTAFF. Why, I will.
QUICKLY. Nay, but do so then; and, look you, he may come
and go between you both; and in any case have a
nay-word, that you may know one another's mind, and the boy
never need to understand any thing; for 'tis not good that
children should know any wickedness. Old folks, you
know, have discretion, as they say, and know the world.
FALSTAFF. Fare thee well; commend me to them both.
There's my purse; I am yet thy debtor. Boy, go along with
this woman. [Exeunt QUICKLY and ROBIN] This news
distracts me.
PISTOL. [Aside] This punk is one of Cupid's carriers;
Clap on more sails; pursue; up with your fights;
Give fire; she is my prize, or ocean whelm them all! Exit
FALSTAFF. Say'st thou so, old Jack; go thy ways; I'll make
more of thy old body than I have done. Will they yet look
after thee? Wilt thou, after the expense of so much money,
be now a gainer? Good body, I thank thee. Let them say
'tis grossly done; so it be fairly done, no matter.

Enter BARDOLPH

BARDOLPH. Sir John, there's one Master Brook below would
fain speak with you, and be acquainted with you; and hath
sent your worship a moming's draught of sack.
FALSTAFF. Brook is his name?
BARDOLPH. Ay, sir.
FALSTAFF. Call him in. [Exit BARDOLPH] Such Brooks are
welcome to me, that o'erflows such liquor. Ah, ha! Mistress
Ford and Mistress Page, have I encompass'd you? Go to;
via!

Re-enter BARDOLPH, with FORD disguised

FORD. Bless you, sir!
FALSTAFF. And you, sir! Would you speak with me?
FORD. I make bold to press with so little preparation upon
you.
FALSTAFF. You're welcome. What's your will? Give us leave,
drawer. Exit BARDOLPH
FORD. Sir, I am a gentleman that have spent much; my name
is Brook.
FALSTAFF. Good Master Brook, I desire more acquaintance
of you.
FORD. Good Sir John, I sue for yours-not to charge you; for I
must let you understand I think myself in better plight for
a lender than you are; the which hath something
embold'ned me to this unseason'd intrusion; for they say, if
money go before, all ways do lie open.
FALSTAFF. Money is a good soldier, sir, and will on.
FORD. Troth, and I have a bag of money here troubles me; if
you will help to bear it, Sir John, take all, or half, for easing
me of the carriage.
FALSTAFF. Sir, I know not how I may deserve to be your
porter.
FORD. I will tell you, sir, if you will give me the hearing.
FALSTAFF. Speak, good Master Brook; I shall be glad to be
your servant.
FORD. Sir, I hear you are a scholar-I will be brief with you
-and you have been a man long known to me, though I
had never so good means as desire to make myself acquainted
with you. I shall discover a thing to you, wherein
I must very much lay open mine own imperfection; but,
good Sir John, as you have one eye upon my follies, as you
hear them unfolded, turn another into the register of your
own, that I may pass with a reproof the easier, sith you
yourself know how easy is it to be such an offender.
FALSTAFF. Very well, sir; proceed.
FORD. There is a gentlewoman in this town, her husband's
name is Ford.
FALSTAFF. Well, sir.
FORD. I have long lov'd her, and, I protest to you, bestowed
much on her; followed her with a doting observance;
engross'd opportunities to meet her; fee'd every slight occasion
that could but niggardly give me sight of her; not
only bought many presents to give her, but have given
largely to many to know what she would have given;
briefly, I have pursu'd her as love hath pursued me; which
hath been on the wing of all occasions. But whatsoever I
have merited, either in my mind or in my means, meed, I
am sure, I have received none, unless experience be a jewel;
that I have purchased at an infinite rate, and that hath
taught me to say this:
'Love like a shadow flies when substance love pursues;
Pursuing that that flies, and flying what pursues.'
FALSTAFF. Have you receiv'd no promise of satisfaction at
her hands?
FORD. Never.
FALSTAFF. Have you importun'd her to such a purpose?
FORD. Never.
FALSTAFF. Of what quality was your love, then?
FORD. Like a fair house built on another man's ground; so
that I have lost my edifice by mistaking the place where
erected it.
FALSTAFF. To what purpose have you unfolded this to me?
FORD. When I have told you that, I have told you all. Some
say that though she appear honest to me, yet in other
places she enlargeth her mirth so far that there is shrewd
construction made of her. Now, Sir John, here is the heart
of my purpose: you are a gentleman of excellent
breeding, admirable discourse, of great admittance, authentic in
your place and person, generally allow'd for your many
war-like, courtlike, and learned preparations.
FALSTAFF. O, sir!
FORD. Believe it, for you know it. There is money; spend it,
spend it; spend more; spend all I have; only give me so
much of your time in exchange of it as to lay an amiable
siege to the honesty of this Ford's wife; use your art of
wooing, win her to consent to you; if any man may, you
may as soon as any.
FALSTAFF. Would it apply well to the vehemency of your
affection, that I should win what you would enjoy?
Methinks you prescribe to yourself very preposterously.
FORD. O, understand my drift. She dwells so securely on the
excellency of her honour that the folly of my soul dares
not present itself; she is too bright to be look'd against.
Now, could I come to her with any detection in my hand,
my desires had instance and argument to commend themselves;
I could drive her then from the ward of her purity,
her reputation, her marriage vow, and a thousand other her
defences, which now are too too strongly embattl'd against
me. What say you to't, Sir John?
FALSTAFF. Master Brook, I will first make bold with your
money; next, give me your hand; and last, as I am a gentleman,
you shall, if you will, enjoy Ford's wife.
FORD. O good sir!
FALSTAFF. I say you shall.
FORD. Want no money, Sir John; you shall want none.
FALSTAFF. Want no Mistress Ford, Master Brook; you shall
want none. I shall be with her, I may tell you, by her own
appointment; even as you came in to me her assistant, or
go-between, parted from me; I say I shall be with her between
ten and eleven; for at that time the jealous rascally
knave, her husband, will be forth. Come you to me at
night; you shall know how I speed.
FORD. I am blest in your acquaintance. Do you know Ford,
Sir?
FALSTAFF. Hang him, poor cuckoldly knave! I know him
not; yet I wrong him to call him poor; they say the
jealous wittolly knave hath masses of money; for the which
his wife seems to me well-favour'd. I will use her as the
key of the cuckoldly rogue's coffer; and there's my harvest-home.
FORD. I would you knew Ford, sir, that you might avoid him
if you saw him.
FALSTAFF. Hang him, mechanical salt-butter rogue! I will
stare him out of his wits; I will awe him with my cudgel;
it shall hang like a meteor o'er the cuckold's horns. Master
Brook, thou shalt know I will predominate over the
peasant, and thou shalt lie with his wife. Come to me soon at
night. Ford's a knave, and I will aggravate his style; thou,
Master Brook, shalt know him for knave and cuckold.
Come to me soon at night. Exit
FORD. What a damn'd Epicurean rascal is this! My heart is
ready to crack with impatience. Who says this is improvident
jealousy? My wife hath sent to him; the hour is fix'd;
the match is made. Would any man have thought this? See
the hell of having a false woman! My bed shall be abus'd,
my coffers ransack'd, my reputation gnawn at; and I shall
not only receive this villainous wrong, but stand under the
adoption of abominable terms, and by him that does me
this wrong. Terms! names! Amaimon sounds well; Lucifer,
well; Barbason, well; yet they are devils' additions, the names
of fiends. But cuckold! Wittol! Cuckold! the devil himself
hath not such a name. Page is an ass, a secure ass; he will trust
his wife; he will not be jealous; I will rather trust a Fleming
with my butter, Parson Hugh the Welshman with my
cheese, an Irishman with my aqua-vitae bottle, or a thief to
walk my ambling gelding, than my wife with herself. Then
she plots, then she ruminates, then she devises; and what
they think in their hearts they may effect, they will break
their hearts but they will effect. God be prais'd for my
jealousy! Eleven o'clock the hour. I will prevent this, detect
my wife, be reveng'd on Falstaff, and laugh at Page.
I will about it; better three hours too soon than a minute
too late. Fie, fie, fie! cuckold! cuckold! cuckold! Exit

SCENE 3.

A field near Windsor

Enter CAIUS and RUGBY

CAIUS. Jack Rugby!
RUGBY. Sir?
CAIUS. Vat is de clock, Jack?
RUGBY. 'Tis past the hour, sir, that Sir Hugh promis'd to
meet.
CAIUS. By gar, he has save his soul dat he is no come; he has
pray his Pible well dat he is no come; by gar, Jack Rugby,
he is dead already, if he be come.
RUGBY. He is wise, sir; he knew your worship would kill
him if he came.
CAIUS. By gar, de herring is no dead so as I vill kill him. Take
your rapier, Jack; I vill tell you how I vill kill him.
RUGBY. Alas, sir, I cannot fence!
CAIUS. Villainy, take your rapier.
RUGBY. Forbear; here's company.

Enter HOST, SHALLOW, SLENDER, and PAGE

HOST. Bless thee, bully doctor!
SHALLOW. Save you, Master Doctor Caius!
PAGE. Now, good Master Doctor!
SLENDER. Give you good morrow, sir.
CAIUS. Vat be all you, one, two, tree, four, come for?
HOST. To see thee fight, to see thee foin, to see thee traverse;
to see thee here, to see thee there; to see thee pass thy
punto, thy stock, thy reverse, thy distance, thy montant.
Is he dead, my Ethiopian? Is he dead, my Francisco? Ha,
bully! What says my Aesculapius? my Galen? my heart
of elder? Ha! is he dead, bully stale? Is he dead?
CAIUS. By gar, he is de coward Jack priest of de world; he is
not show his face.
HOST. Thou art a Castalion-King-Urinal. Hector of Greece,
my boy!
CAIUS. I pray you, bear witness that me have stay six or
seven, two tree hours for him, and he is no come.
SHALLOW. He is the wiser man, Master Doctor: he is a curer
of souls, and you a curer of bodies; if you should fight,
you go against the hair of your professions. Is it not true,
Master Page?
PAGE. Master Shallow, you have yourself been a great fighter,
though now a man of peace.
SHALLOW. Bodykins, Master Page, though I now be old, and
of the peace, if I see a sword out, my finger itches to make
one. Though we are justices, and doctors, and churchmen,
Master Page, we have some salt of our youth in us; we are
the sons of women, Master Page.
PAGE. 'Tis true, Master Shallow.
SHALLOW. It will be found so, Master Page. Master Doctor
CAIUS, I come to fetch you home. I am sworn of the peace;
you have show'd yourself a wise physician, and Sir Hugh
hath shown himself a wise and patient churchman. You
must go with me, Master Doctor.
HOST. Pardon, Guest Justice. A word, Mounseur Mockwater.
CAIUS. Mock-vater! Vat is dat?
HOST. Mockwater, in our English tongue, is valour, bully.
CAIUS. By gar, then I have as much mockvater as de Englishman.
Scurvy jack-dog priest! By gar, me vill cut his ears.
HOST. He will clapper-claw thee tightly, bully.
CAIUS. Clapper-de-claw! Vat is dat?
HOST. That is, he will make thee amends.
CAIUS. By gar, me do look he shall clapper-de-claw me; for,
by gar, me vill have it.
HOST. And I will provoke him to't, or let him wag.
CAIUS. Me tank you for dat.
HOST. And, moreover, bully-but first: [Aside to the others]
Master Guest, and Master Page, and eke Cavaleiro Slender,
go you through the town to Frogmore.
PAGE. [Aside] Sir Hugh is there, is he?
HOST. [Aside] He is there. See what humour he is in; and
I will bring the doctor about by the fields. Will it do well?
SHALLOW. [Aside] We will do it.
PAGE, SHALLOW, and SLENDER. Adieu, good Master Doctor.
Exeunt PAGE, SHALLOW, and SLENDER
CAIUS. By gar, me vill kill de priest; for he speak for a jack-
an-ape to Anne Page.
HOST. Let him die. Sheathe thy impatience; throw cold water
on thy choler; go about the fields with me through Frogmore;
I will bring thee where Mistress Anne Page is, at a a
farm-house, a-feasting; and thou shalt woo her. Cried
game! Said I well?
CAIUS. By gar, me dank you vor dat; by gar, I love you; and
I shall procure-a you de good guest, de earl, de knight, de
lords, de gentlemen, my patients.
HOST. For the which I will be thy adversary toward Anne
Page. Said I well?
CAIUS. By gar, 'tis good; vell said.
HOST. Let us wag, then.
CAIUS. Come at my heels, Jack Rugby. Exeunt

ACT III SCENE 1.

A field near Frogmore

Enter SIR HUGH EVANS and SIMPLE

EVANS. I pray you now, good Master Slender's serving-man,
and friend Simple by your name, which way have you
look'd for Master Caius, that calls himself Doctor of
Physic?
SIMPLE. Marry, sir, the pittie-ward, the park-ward; every
way; old Windsor way, and every way but the town way.
EVANS. I most fehemently desire you you will also look that
way.
SIMPLE. I will, Sir. Exit
EVANS. Pless my soul, how full of chollors I am, and trempling
of mind! I shall be glad if he have deceived me. How
melancholies I am! I will knog his urinals about his knave's
costard when I have goot opportunities for the ork. Pless
my soul! [Sings]
To shallow rivers, to whose falls
Melodious birds sings madrigals;
There will we make our peds of roses,
And a thousand fragrant posies.
To shallow-
Mercy on me! I have a great dispositions to cry. [Sings]
Melodious birds sing madrigals-
Whenas I sat in Pabylon-
And a thousand vagram posies.
To shallow, etc.

Re-enter SIMPLE

SIMPLE. Yonder he is, coming this way, Sir Hugh.
EVANS. He's welcome. [Sings]
To shallow rivers, to whose falls-
Heaven prosper the right! What weapons is he?
SIMPLE. No weapons, sir. There comes my master, Master
Shallow, and another gentleman, from Frogmore, over the
stile, this way.
EVANS. Pray you give me my gown; or else keep it in your
arms. [Takes out a book]

Enter PAGE, SHALLOW, and SLENDER

SHALLOW. How now, Master Parson! Good morrow, good
Sir Hugh. Keep a gamester from the dice, and a good student
from his book, and it is wonderful.
SLENDER. [Aside] Ah, sweet Anne Page!
PAGE. Save you, good Sir Hugh!
EVANS. Pless you from his mercy sake, all of you!
SHALLOW. What, the sword and the word! Do you study
them both, Master Parson?
PAGE. And youthful still, in your doublet and hose, this raw
rheumatic day!
EVANS. There is reasons and causes for it.
PAGE. We are come to you to do a good office, Master
Parson.
EVANS. Fery well; what is it?
PAGE. Yonder is a most reverend gentleman, who, belike having
received wrong by some person, is at most odds with
his own gravity and patience that ever you saw.
SHALLOW. I have lived fourscore years and upward; I never
heard a man of his place, gravity, and learning, so wide of
his own respect.
EVANS. What is he?
PAGE. I think you know him: Master Doctor Caius, the
renowned French physician.
EVANS. Got's will and his passion of my heart! I had as lief
you would tell me of a mess of porridge.
PAGE. Why?
EVANS. He has no more knowledge in Hibocrates and
Galen, and he is a knave besides-a cowardly knave as you
would desires to be acquainted withal.
PAGE. I warrant you, he's the man should fight with him.
SLENDER. [Aside] O sweet Anne Page!
SHALLOW. It appears so, by his weapons. Keep them asunder;
here comes Doctor Caius.

Enter HOST, CAIUS, and RUGBY

PAGE. Nay, good Master Parson, keep in your weapon.
SHALLOW. So do you, good Master Doctor.
HOST. Disarm them, and let them question; let them keep
their limbs whole and hack our English.
CAIUS. I pray you, let-a me speak a word with your ear.
Verefore will you not meet-a me?
EVANS. [Aside to CAIUS] Pray you use your patience; in
good time.
CAIUS. By gar, you are de coward, de Jack dog, John ape.
EVANS. [Aside to CAIUS] Pray you, let us not be
laughing-stocks to other men's humours; I desire you in
friendship, and I will one way or other make you amends.
[Aloud] I will knog your urinals about your knave's cogscomb
for missing your meetings and appointments.
CAIUS. Diable! Jack Rugby-mine Host de Jarteer-have I
not stay for him to kill him? Have I not, at de place I did
appoint?
EVANS. As I am a Christians soul, now, look you, this is the
place appointed. I'll be judgment by mine host of the
Garter.
HOST. Peace, I say, Gallia and Gaul, French and Welsh,
soul-curer and body-curer.
CAIUS. Ay, dat is very good! excellent!
HOST. Peace, I say. Hear mine host of the Garter. Am I
politic? am I subtle? am I a Machiavel? Shall I lose my
doctor? No; he gives me the potions and the motions. Shall I
lose my parson, my priest, my Sir Hugh? No; he gives me
the proverbs and the noverbs. Give me thy hand, terrestrial;
so. Give me thy hand, celestial; so. Boys of art, I have
deceiv'd you both; I have directed you to wrong places;
your hearts are mighty, your skins are whole, and let burnt
sack be the issue. Come, lay their swords to pawn. Follow
me, lads of peace; follow, follow, follow.
SHALLOW. Trust me, a mad host. Follow, gentlemen, follow.
SLENDER. [Aside] O sweet Anne Page!
Exeunt all but CAIUS and EVANS
CAIUS. Ha, do I perceive dat? Have you make-a de sot of us,
ha, ha?
EVANS. This is well; he has made us his vlouting-stog. I
desire you that we may be friends; and let us knog our prains
together to be revenge on this same scall, scurvy, cogging
companion, the host of the Garter.
CAIUS. By gar, with all my heart. He promise to bring me
where is Anne Page; by gar, he deceive me too.
EVANS. Well, I will smite his noddles. Pray you follow.
Exeunt

SCENE 2.

The street in Windsor

Enter MISTRESS PAGE and ROBIN

MRS. PAGE. Nay, keep your way, little gallant; you were
wont to be a follower, but now you are a leader. Whether
had you rather lead mine eyes, or eye your master's heels?
ROBIN. I had rather, forsooth, go before you like a man than
follow him like a dwarf.
MRS. PAGE. O, you are a flattering boy; now I see you'll be a
courtier.

Enter FORD

FORD. Well met, Mistress Page. Whither go you?
MRS. PAGE. Truly, sir, to see your wife. Is she at home?
FORD. Ay; and as idle as she may hang together, for want of
company. I think, if your husbands were dead, you two
would marry.
MRS. PAGE. Be sure of that-two other husbands.
FORD. Where had you this pretty weathercock?
MRS. PAGE. I cannot tell what the dickens his name is my
husband had him of. What do you call your knight's
name, sirrah?
ROBIN. Sir John Falstaff.
FORD. Sir John Falstaff!
MRS. PAGE. He, he; I can never hit on's name. There is such
a league between my good man and he! Is your wife at
home indeed?
FORD. Indeed she is.
MRS. PAGE. By your leave, sir. I am sick till I see her.
Exeunt MRS. PAGE and ROBIN
FORD. Has Page any brains? Hath he any eyes? Hath he any
thinking? Sure, they sleep; he hath no use of them. Why,
this boy will carry a letter twenty mile as easy as a cannon
will shoot pointblank twelve score. He pieces out his wife's
inclination; he gives her folly motion and advantage; and
now she's going to my wife, and Falstaff's boy with her. A
man may hear this show'r sing in the wind. And Falstaff's
boy with her! Good plots! They are laid; and our revolted
wives share damnation together. Well; I will take him,
then torture my wife, pluck the borrowed veil of modesty
from the so seeming Mistress Page, divulge Page himself
for a secure and wilful Actaeon; and to these violent proceedings
all my neighbours shall cry aim. [Clock strikes]
The clock gives me my cue, and my assurance bids me
search; there I shall find Falstaff. I shall be rather prais'd
for this than mock'd; for it is as positive as the earth is firm
that Falstaff is there. I will go.

Enter PAGE, SHALLOW, SLENDER, HOST, SIR HUGH EVANS,
CAIUS, and RUGBY

SHALLOW, PAGE, &C. Well met, Master Ford.
FORD. Trust me, a good knot; I have good cheer at home,
and I pray you all go with me.
SHALLOW. I must excuse myself, Master Ford.
SLENDER. And so must I, sir; we have appointed to dine with
Mistress Anne, and I would not break with her for more
money than I'll speak of.
SHALLOW. We have linger'd about a match between Anne
Page and my cousin Slender, and this day we shall have
our answer.
SLENDER. I hope I have your good will, father Page.
PAGE. You have, Master Slender; I stand wholly for you. But
my wife, Master Doctor, is for you altogether.
CAIUS. Ay, be-gar; and de maid is love-a me; my nursh-a
Quickly tell me so mush.
HOST. What say you to young Master Fenton? He capers,
he dances, he has eyes of youth, he writes verses, he speaks
holiday, he smells April and May; he will carry 't, he will
carry 't; 'tis in his buttons; he will carry 't.
PAGE. Not by my consent, I promise you. The gentleman is
of no having: he kept company with the wild Prince and
Poins; he is of too high a region, he knows too much. No,
he shall not knit a knot in his fortunes with the finger of
my substance; if he take her, let him take her simply; the
wealth I have waits on my consent, and my consent goes
not that way.
FORD. I beseech you, heartily, some of you go home with me
to dinner: besides your cheer, you shall have sport; I will
show you a monster. Master Doctor, you shall go; so shall
you, Master Page; and you, Sir Hugh.
SHALLOW. Well, fare you well; we shall have the freer
wooing at Master Page's. Exeunt SHALLOW and SLENDER
CAIUS. Go home, John Rugby; I come anon. Exit RUGBY
HOST. Farewell, my hearts; I will to my honest knight
Falstaff, and drink canary with him. Exit HOST
FORD. [Aside] I think I shall drink in pipe-wine first with
him. I'll make him dance. Will you go, gentles?
ALL. Have with you to see this monster. Exeunt

SCENE 3.

FORD'S house

Enter MISTRESS FORD and MISTRESS PAGE

MRS. FORD. What, John! what, Robert!
MRS. PAGE. Quickly, quickly! Is the buck-basket-
MRS. FORD. I warrant. What, Robin, I say!

Enter SERVANTS with a basket

MRS. PAGE. Come, come, come.
MRS. FORD. Here, set it down.
MRS. PAGE. Give your men the charge; we must be brief.
MRS. FORD. Marry, as I told you before, John and Robert, be
ready here hard by in the brew-house; and when I suddenly
call you, come forth, and, without any pause or
staggering, take this basket on your shoulders. That done,
trudge with it in all haste, and carry it among the whitsters
in Datchet Mead, and there empty it in the muddy ditch
close by the Thames side.
Mrs. PAGE. You will do it?
MRS. FORD. I ha' told them over and over; they lack no
direction. Be gone, and come when you are call'd.
Exeunt SERVANTS
MRS. PAGE. Here comes little Robin.

Enter ROBIN

MRS. FORD. How now, my eyas-musket, what news with
you?
ROBIN. My Master Sir John is come in at your back-door,
Mistress Ford, and requests your company.
MRS. PAGE. You little Jack-a-Lent, have you been true to us?
ROBIN. Ay, I'll be sworn. My master knows not of your
being here, and hath threat'ned to put me into everlasting
liberty, if I tell you of it; for he swears he'll turn me away.
MRS. PAGE. Thou 'rt a good boy; this secrecy of thine shall
be a tailor to thee, and shall make thee a new doublet and
hose. I'll go hide me.
MRS. FORD. Do so. Go tell thy master I am alone. [Exit
ROBIN] Mistress Page, remember you your cue.
MRS. PAGE. I warrant thee; if I do not act it, hiss me.
Exit MRS. PAGE
MRS. FORD. Go to, then; we'll use this unwholesome
humidity, this gross wat'ry pumpion; we'll teach him to
know turtles from jays.

Enter FALSTAFF

FALSTAFF. Have I caught thee, my heavenly jewel?
Why, now let me die, for I have liv'd long enough; this is
the period of my ambition. O this blessed hour!
MRS. FORD. O sweet Sir John!
FALSTAFF. Mistress Ford, I cannot cog, I cannot prate,
Mistress Ford. Now shall I sin in my wish; I would thy
husband were dead; I'll speak it before the best lord, I
would make thee my lady.
MRS. FORD. I your lady, Sir John? Alas, I should be a pitiful
lady.
FALSTAFF. Let the court of France show me such another. I
see how thine eye would emulate the diamond; thou hast
the right arched beauty of the brow that becomes the
ship-tire, the tire-valiant, or any tire of Venetian admittance.
MRS. FORD. A plain kerchief, Sir John; my brows become
nothing else, nor that well neither.
FALSTAFF. By the Lord, thou art a tyrant to say so; thou
wouldst make an absolute courtier, and the firm fixture of
thy foot would give an excellent motion to thy gait in a
semi-circled farthingale. I see what thou wert, if Fortune
thy foe were, not Nature, thy friend. Come, thou canst not
hide it.
MRS. FORD. Believe me, there's no such thing in me.
FALSTAFF. What made me love thee? Let that persuade thee
there's something extra-ordinary in thee. Come, I cannot
cog, and say thou art this and that, like a many of these
lisping hawthorn-buds that come like women in men's
apparel, and smell like Bucklersbury in simple time; I
cannot; but I love thee, none but thee; and thou deserv'st it.
MRS. FORD. Do not betray me, sir; I fear you love Mistress
Page.
FALSTAFF. Thou mightst as well say I love to walk by the
Counter-gate, which is as hateful to me as the reek of a
lime-kiln.
MRS. FORD. Well, heaven knows how I love you; and you
shall one day find it.
FALSTAFF. Keep in that mind; I'll deserve it.
MRS. FORD. Nay, I must tell you, so you do; or else I could
not be in that mind.
ROBIN. [Within] Mistress Ford, Mistress Ford! here's
Mistress Page at the door, sweating and blowing and looking
wildly, and would needs speak with you presently.
FALSTAFF. She shall not see me; I will ensconce me behind
the arras.
MRS. FORD. Pray you, do so; she's a very tattling woman.
[FALSTAFF hides himself]

Re-enter MISTRESS PAGE and ROBIN

What's the matter? How now!
MRS. PAGE. O Mistress Ford, what have you done? You're
sham'd, y'are overthrown, y'are undone for ever.
MRS. FORD. What's the matter, good Mistress Page?
MRS. PAGE. O well-a-day, Mistress Ford, having an honest
man to your husband, to give him such cause of suspicion!
MRS. FORD. What cause of suspicion?
MRS. PAGE. What cause of suspicion? Out upon you, how
am I mistook in you!
MRS. FORD. Why, alas, what's the matter?
MRS. PAGE. Your husband's coming hither, woman, with all
the officers in Windsor, to search for a gentleman that he
says is here now in the house, by your consent, to take an
ill advantage of his absence. You are undone.
MRS. FORD. 'Tis not so, I hope.
MRS. PAGE. Pray heaven it be not so that you have such a
man here; but 'tis most certain your husband's coming,
with half Windsor at his heels, to search for such a one. I
come before to tell you. If you know yourself clear, why,
I am glad of it; but if you have a friend here, convey,
convey him out. Be not amaz'd; call all your senses to you;
defend your reputation, or bid farewell to your good life
for ever.
MRS. FORD. What shall I do? There is a gentleman, my dear
friend; and I fear not mine own shame as much as his peril.
I had rather than a thousand pound he were out of the
house.
MRS. PAGE. For shame, never stand 'you had rather' and 'you
had rather'! Your husband's here at hand; bethink you of
some conveyance; in the house you cannot hide him. O,
how have you deceiv'd me! Look, here is a basket; if he be
of any reasonable stature, he may creep in here; and throw
foul linen upon him, as if it were going to bucking, or-it is
whiting-time-send him by your two men to Datchet
Mead.
MRS. FORD. He's too big to go in there. What shall I do?
FALSTAFF. [Coming forward] Let me see 't, let me see 't. O,
let me see 't! I'll in, I'll in; follow your friend's counsel;
I'll in.
MRS. PAGE. What, Sir John Falstaff! [Aside to FALSTAFF]
Are these your letters, knight?
FALSTAFF. [Aside to MRS. PAGE] I love thee and none but
thee; help me away.-Let me creep in here; I'll never-
[Gets into the basket; they cover him with foul linen]
MRS. PAGE. Help to cover your master, boy. Call your men,
Mistress Ford. You dissembling knight!
MRS. FORD. What, John! Robert! John! Exit ROBIN

Re-enter SERVANTS

Go, take up these clothes here, quickly; where's the
cowl-staff? Look how you drumble. Carry them to the laundress
in Datchet Mead; quickly, come.

Enter FORD, PAGE, CAIUS, and SIR HUGH EVANS

FORD. Pray you come near. If I suspect without cause, why
then make sport at me, then let me be your jest; I deserve
it. How now, whither bear you this?
SERVANT. To the laundress, forsooth.
MRS. FORD. Why, what have you to do whither they bear it?
You were best meddle with buck-washing.
FORD. Buck? I would I could wash myself of the buck!
Buck, buck, buck! ay, buck! I warrant you, buck; and of
the season too, it shall appear. [Exeunt SERVANTS with
basket] Gentlemen, I have dream'd to-night; I'll tell you my
dream. Here, here, here be my keys; ascend my chambers,
search, seek, find out. I'll warrant we'll unkennel the fox.
Let me stop this way first. [Locking the door] So, now
uncape.
PAGE. Good Master Ford, be contented; you wrong yourself
too much.
FORD. True, Master Page. Up, gentlemen, you shall see sport
anon; follow me, gentlemen. Exit
EVANS. This is fery fantastical humours and jealousies.
CAIUS. By gar, 'tis no the fashion of France; it is not jealous
in France.
PAGE. Nay, follow him, gentlemen; see the issue of his
search. Exeunt EVANS, PAGE, and CAIUS
MRS. PAGE. Is there not a double excellency in this?
MRS. FORD. I know not which pleases me better, that my
husband is deceived, or Sir John.
MRS. PAGE. What a taking was he in when your husband
ask'd who was in the basket!
MRS. FORD. I am half afraid he will have need of washing; so
throwing him into the water will do him a benefit.
MRS. PAGE. Hang him, dishonest rascal! I would all of the
same strain were in the same distress.
MRS. FORD. I think my husband hath some special suspicion
of Falstaff's being here, for I never saw him so gross in his
jealousy till now.
MRS. PAGE. I Will lay a plot to try that, and we will yet have
more tricks with Falstaff. His dissolute disease will scarce
obey this medicine.
MRS. FORD. Shall we send that foolish carrion, Mistress
Quickly, to him, and excuse his throwing into the water,
and give him another hope, to betray him to another
punishment?
MRS. PAGE. We will do it; let him be sent for to-morrow
eight o'clock, to have amends.

Re-enter FORD, PAGE, CAIUS, and SIR HUGH EVANS

FORD. I cannot find him; may be the knave bragg'd of that
he could not compass.
MRS. PAGE. [Aside to MRS. FORD] Heard you that?
MRS. FORD. You use me well, Master Ford, do you?
FORD. Ay, I do so.
MRS. FORD. Heaven make you better than your thoughts!
FORD. Amen.
MRS. PAGE. You do yourself mighty wrong, Master Ford.
FORD. Ay, ay; I must bear it.
EVANS. If there be any pody in the house, and in the
chambers, and in the coffers, and in the presses, heaven forgive
my sins at the day of judgment!
CAIUS. Be gar, nor I too; there is no bodies.
PAGE. Fie, fie, Master Ford, are you not asham'd? What
spirit, what devil suggests this imagination? I would not ha'
your distemper in this kind for the wealth of Windsor
Castle.
FORD. 'Tis my fault, Master Page; I suffer for it.
EVANS. You suffer for a pad conscience. Your wife is as
honest a omans as I will desires among five thousand, and five
hundred too.
CAIUS. By gar, I see 'tis an honest woman.
FORD. Well, I promis'd you a dinner. Come, come, walk in
the Park. I pray you pardon me; I will hereafter make
known to you why I have done this. Come, wife, come,
Mistress Page; I pray you pardon me; pray heartly,
pardon me.
PAGE. Let's go in, gentlemen; but, trust me, we'll mock him.
I do invite you to-morrow morning to my house to breakfast;
after, we'll a-birding together; I have a fine hawk for
the bush. Shall it be so?
FORD. Any thing.
EVANS. If there is one, I shall make two in the company.
CAIUS. If there be one or two, I shall make-a the turd.
FORD. Pray you go, Master Page.
EVANS. I pray you now, remembrance to-morrow on the
lousy knave, mine host.
CAIUS. Dat is good; by gar, with all my heart.
EVANS. A lousy knave, to have his gibes and his mockeries!
Exeunt

SCENE 4.

Before PAGE'S house

Enter FENTON and ANNE PAGE

FENTON. I see I cannot get thy father's love;
Therefore no more turn me to him, sweet Nan.
ANNE. Alas, how then?
FENTON. Why, thou must be thyself.
He doth object I am too great of birth;
And that, my state being gall'd with my expense,
I seek to heal it only by his wealth.
Besides these, other bars he lays before me,
My riots past, my wild societies;
And tells me 'tis a thing impossible
I should love thee but as a property.
ANNE.. May be he tells you true.
FENTON. No, heaven so speed me in my time to come!
Albeit I will confess thy father's wealth
Was the first motive that I woo'd thee, Anne;
Yet, wooing thee, I found thee of more value
Than stamps in gold, or sums in sealed bags;
And 'tis the very riches of thyself
That now I aim at.
ANNE. Gentle Master Fenton,
Yet seek my father's love; still seek it, sir.
If opportunity and humblest suit
Cannot attain it, why then-hark you hither.
[They converse apart]

Enter SHALLOW, SLENDER, and MISTRESS QUICKLY

SHALLOW. Break their talk, Mistress Quickly; my kinsman
shall speak for himself.
SLENDER. I'll make a shaft or a bolt on 't; 'slid, 'tis but
venturing.
SHALLOW. Be not dismay'd.
SLENDER. No, she shall not dismay me. I care not for that,
but that I am afeard.
QUICKLY. Hark ye, Master Slender would speak a word
with you.
ANNE. I come to him. [Aside] This is my father's choice.
O, what a world of vile ill-favour'd faults
Looks handsome in three hundred pounds a year!
QUICKLY. And how does good Master Fenton? Pray you, a
word with you.
SHALLOW. She's coming; to her, coz. O boy, thou hadst a
father!
SLENDER. I had a father, Mistress Anne; my uncle can tell
you good jests of him. Pray you, uncle, tell Mistress Anne
the jest how my father stole two geese out of a pen, good
uncle.
SHALLOW. Mistress Anne, my cousin loves you.
SLENDER. Ay, that I do; as well as I love any woman in
Gloucestershire.
SHALLOW. He will maintain you like a gentlewoman.
SLENDER. Ay, that I will come cut and longtail, under the
degree of a squire.
SHALLOW. He will make you a hundred and fifty pounds
jointure.
ANNE. Good Master Shallow, let him woo for himself.
SHALLOW. Marry, I thank you for it; I thank you for that
good comfort. She calls you, coz; I'll leave you.
ANNE. Now, Master Slender-
SLENDER. Now, good Mistress Anne-
ANNE. What is your will?
SLENDER. My Will! 'Od's heartlings, that's a pretty jest
indeed! I ne'er made my will yet, I thank heaven; I am not
such a sickly creature, I give heaven praise.
ANNE. I mean, Master Slender, what would you with me?
SLENDER. Truly, for mine own part I would little or nothing
with you. Your father and my uncle hath made motions;
if it be my luck, so; if not, happy man be his dole! They
can tell you how things go better than I can. You may ask
your father; here he comes.

Enter PAGE and MISTRESS PAGE

PAGE. Now, Master Slender! Love him, daughter Anne-
Why, how now, what does Master Fenton here?
You wrong me, sir, thus still to haunt my house.
I told you, sir, my daughter is dispos'd of.
FENTON. Nay, Master Page, be not impatient.
MRS. PAGE. Good Master Fenton, come not to my child.
PAGE. She is no match for you.
FENTON. Sir, will you hear me?
PAGE. No, good Master Fenton.
Come, Master Shallow; come, son Slender; in.
Knowing my mind, you wrong me, Master Fenton.
Exeunt PAGE, SHALLOW, and SLENDER
QUICKLY. Speak to Mistress Page.
FENTON. Good Mistress Page, for that I love your daughter
In such a righteous fashion as I do,
Perforce, against all checks, rebukes, and manners,
I must advance the colours of my love,
And not retire. Let me have your good will.
ANNE. Good mother, do not marry me to yond fool.
MRS. PAGE. I mean it not; I seek you a better husband.
QUICKLY. That's my master, Master Doctor.
ANNE. Alas, I had rather be set quick i' th' earth.
And bowl'd to death with turnips.
MRS. PAGE. Come, trouble not yourself. Good Master
Fenton,
I will not be your friend, nor enemy;
My daughter will I question how she loves you,
And as I find her, so am I affected;
Till then, farewell, sir; she must needs go in;
Her father will be angry.
FENTON. Farewell, gentle mistress; farewell, Nan.
Exeunt MRS. PAGE and ANNE
QUICKLY. This is my doing now: 'Nay,' said I 'will you cast
away your child on a fool, and a physician? Look on
Master Fenton.' This is my doing.
FENTON. I thank thee; and I pray thee, once to-night
Give my sweet Nan this ring. There's for thy pains.
QUICKLY. Now Heaven send thee good fortune! [Exit
FENTON] A kind heart he hath; a woman would run through
fire and water for such a kind heart. But yet I would my
master had Mistress Anne; or I would Master Slender had
her; or, in sooth, I would Master Fenton had her; I will
do what I can for them all three, for so I have promis'd,
and I'll be as good as my word; but speciously for Master
Fenton. Well, I must of another errand to Sir John Falstaff
from my two mistresses. What a beast am I to slack it!
Exit

SCENE 5.

The Garter Inn

Enter FALSTAFF and BARDOLPH

FALSTAFF. Bardolph, I say!
BARDOLPH. Here, sir.
FALSTAFF. Go fetch me a quart of sack; put a toast in 't.
Exit BARDOLPH
Have I liv'd to be carried in a basket, like a barrow of
butcher's offal, and to be thrown in the Thames? Well, if
I be serv'd such another trick, I'll have my brains ta'en out
and butter'd, and give them to a dog for a new-year's gift.
The rogues slighted me into the river with as little remorse
as they would have drown'd a blind bitch's puppies, fifteen
i' th' litter; and you may know by my size that I have
a kind of alacrity in sinking; if the bottom were as deep as
hell I should down. I had been drown'd but that the shore
was shelvy and shallow-a death that I abhor; for the water
swells a man; and what a thing should I have been when
had been swell'd! I should have been a mountain of
mummy.

Re-enter BARDOLPH, with sack

BARDOLPH. Here's Mistress Quickly, sir, to speak with you
FALSTAFF. Come, let me pour in some sack to the Thames
water; for my belly's as cold as if I had swallow'd
snowballs for pills to cool the reins. Call her in.
BARDOLPH. Come in, woman.

Enter MISTRESS QUICKLY

QUICKLY. By your leave; I cry you mercy. Give your
worship good morrow.
FALSTAFF. Take away these chalices. Go, brew me a pottle
of sack finely.
BARDOLPH. With eggs, sir?
FALSTAFF. Simple of itself; I'll no pullet-sperm in my
brewage. [Exit BARDOLPH] How now!
QUICKLY. Marry, sir, I come to your worship from Mistress
Ford.
FALSTAFF. Mistress Ford! I have had ford enough; I was
thrown into the ford; I have my belly full of ford.
QUICKLY. Alas the day, good heart, that was not her fault!
She does so take on with her men; they mistook their
erection.
FALSTAFF. So did I mine, to build upon a foolish woman's
promise.
QUICKLY. Well, she laments, sir, for it, that it would yearn
your heart to see it. Her husband goes this morning
a-birding; she desires you once more to come to her between
eight and nine; I must carry her word quickly. She'll make
you amends, I warrant you.
FALSTAFF. Well, I Will visit her. Tell her so; and bid her
think what a man is. Let her consider his frailty, and then
judge of my merit.
QUICKLY. I will tell her.
FALSTAFF. Do so. Between nine and ten, say'st thou?
QUICKLY. Eight and nine, sir.
FALSTAFF. Well, be gone; I will not miss her.
QUICKLY. Peace be with you, sir. Exit
FALSTAFF. I marvel I hear not of Master Brook; he sent me
word to stay within. I like his money well. O, here he
comes.

Enter FORD disguised

FORD. Bless you, sir!
FALSTAFF. Now, Master Brook, you come to know what
hath pass'd between me and Ford's wife?
FORD. That, indeed, Sir John, is my business.
FALSTAFF. Master Brook, I will not lie to you; I was at her
house the hour she appointed me.
FORD. And sped you, sir?
FALSTAFF. Very ill-favouredly, Master Brook.
FORD. How so, sir; did she change her determination?
FALSTAFF. No. Master Brook; but the peaking cornuto her
husband, Master Brook, dwelling in a continual 'larum of
jealousy, comes me in the instant of our, encounter, after
we had embrac'd, kiss'd, protested, and, as it were, spoke
the prologue of our comedy; and at his heels a rabble of his
companions, thither provoked and instigated by his
distemper, and, forsooth, to search his house for his wife's
love.
FORD. What, while you were there?
FALSTAFF. While I was there.
FORD. And did he search for you, and could not find you?
FALSTAFF. You shall hear. As good luck would have it, comes
in one Mistress Page, gives intelligence of Ford's approach;
and, in her invention and Ford's wife's distraction, they
convey'd me into a buck-basket.
FORD. A buck-basket!
FALSTAFF. By the Lord, a buck-basket! Ramm'd me in with
foul shirts and smocks, socks, foul stockings, greasy
napkins, that, Master Brook, there was the rankest compound
of villainous smell that ever offended nostril.
FORD. And how long lay you there?
FALSTAFF. Nay, you shall hear, Master Brook, what I have
suffer'd to bring this woman to evil for your good. Being
thus cramm'd in the basket, a couple of Ford's knaves, his
hinds, were call'd forth by their mistress to carry me in
the name of foul clothes to Datchet Lane; they took me on
their shoulders; met the jealous knave their master in the
door; who ask'd them once or twice what they had in their
basket. I quak'd for fear lest the lunatic knave would have
search'd it; but Fate, ordaining he should be a cuckold,
held his hand. Well, on went he for a search, and away
went I for foul clothes. But mark the sequel, Master
Brook-I suffered the pangs of three several deaths: first,
an intolerable fright to be detected with a jealous rotten
bell-wether; next, to be compass'd like a good bilbo in the
circumference of a peck, hilt to point, heel to head; and
then, to be stopp'd in, like a strong distillation, with
stinking clothes that fretted in their own grease. Think of that
-a man of my kidney. Think of that-that am as subject to
heat as butter; a man of continual dissolution and thaw. It
was a miracle to scape suffocation. And in the height of
this bath, when I was more than half-stew'd in grease, like
a Dutch dish, to be thrown into the Thames, and cool'd,
glowing hot, in that surge, like a horse-shoe; think of that
-hissing hot. Think of that, Master Brook.
FORD. In good sadness, sir, I am sorry that for my sake you
have suffer'd all this. My suit, then, is desperate;
you'll undertake her no more.
FALSTAFF. Master Brook, I will be thrown into Etna, as I
have been into Thames, ere I will leave her thus. Her
husband is this morning gone a-birding; I have received from
her another embassy of meeting; 'twixt eight and nine is
the hour, Master Brook.
FORD. 'Tis past eight already, sir.
FALSTAFF. Is it? I Will then address me to my appointment.
Come to me at your convenient leisure, and you shall
know how I speed; and the conclusion shall be crowned
with your enjoying her. Adieu. You shall have her, Master
Brook; Master Brook, you shall cuckold Ford. Exit
FORD. Hum! ha! Is this a vision? Is this a dream? Do I sleep?
Master Ford, awake; awake, Master Ford. There's a hole
made in your best coat, Master Ford. This 'tis to be
married; this 'tis to have linen and buck-baskets! Well, I will
proclaim myself what I am; I will now take the lecher; he
is at my house. He cannot scape me; 'tis impossible he
should; he cannot creep into a halfpenny purse nor into
a pepper box. But, lest the devil that guides him should aid
him, I will search impossible places. Though what I am I
cannot avoid, yet to be what I would not shall not make
me tame. If I have horns to make one mad, let the proverb
go with me-I'll be horn mad. Exit

ACT IV. SCENE I.

Windsor. A street

Enter MISTRESS PAGE, MISTRESS QUICKLY, and WILLIAM

MRS. PAGE. Is he at Master Ford's already, think'st thou?
QUICKLY. Sure he is by this; or will be presently; but truly
he is very courageous mad about his throwing into the
water. Mistress Ford desires you to come suddenly.
MRS. PAGE. I'll be with her by and by; I'll but bring my
young man here to school. Look where his master comes;
'tis a playing day, I see.

Enter SIR HUGH EVANS

How now, Sir Hugh, no school to-day?
EVANS. No; Master Slender is let the boys leave to play.
QUICKLY. Blessing of his heart!
MRS. PAGE. Sir Hugh, my husband says my son profits
nothing in the world at his book; I pray you ask him some
questions in his accidence.
EVANS. Come hither, William; hold up your head; come.
MRS. PAGE. Come on, sirrah; hold up your head; answer your
master; be not afraid.
EVANS. William, how many numbers is in nouns?
WILLIAM. Two.
QUICKLY. Truly, I thought there had been one number
more, because they say 'Od's nouns.'
EVANS. Peace your tattlings. What is 'fair,' William?
WILLIAM. Pulcher.
QUICKLY. Polecats! There are fairer things than polecats,
sure.
EVANS. You are a very simplicity oman; I pray you, peace.
What is 'lapis,' William?
WILLIAM. A stone.
EVANS. And what is 'a stone,' William?
WILLIAM. A pebble.
EVANS. No, it is 'lapis'; I pray you remember in your prain.
WILLIAM. Lapis.
EVANS. That is a good William. What is he, William, that
does lend articles?
WILLIAM. Articles are borrowed of the pronoun, and be
thus declined: Singulariter, nominativo; hic, haec, hoc.
EVANS. Nominativo, hig, hag, hog; pray you, mark: genitivo,
hujus. Well, what is your accusative case?
WILLIAM. Accusativo, hinc.
EVANS. I pray you, have your remembrance, child.
Accusativo, hung, hang, hog.
QUICKLY. 'Hang-hog' is Latin for bacon, I warrant you.
EVANS. Leave your prabbles, oman. What is the focative
case, William?
WILLIAM. O-vocativo, O.
EVANS. Remember, William: focative is caret.
QUICKLY. And that's a good root.
EVANS. Oman, forbear.
MRS. PAGE. Peace.
EVANS. What is your genitive case plural, William?
WILLIAM. Genitive case?
EVANS. Ay.
WILLIAM. Genitive: horum, harum, horum.
QUICKLY. Vengeance of Jenny's case; fie on her! Never
name her, child, if she be a whore.
EVANS. For shame, oman.
QUICKLY. YOU do ill to teach the child such words. He
teaches him to hick and to hack, which they'll do fast
enough of themselves; and to call 'horum'; fie upon you!
EVANS. Oman, art thou lunatics? Hast thou no understandings
for thy cases, and the numbers of the genders? Thou
art as foolish Christian creatures as I would desires.
MRS. PAGE. Prithee hold thy peace.
EVANS. Show me now, William, some declensions of your
pronouns.
WILLIAM. Forsooth, I have forgot.
EVANS. It is qui, quae, quod; if you forget your qui's, your
quae's, and your quod's, you must be preeches. Go your
ways and play; go.
MRS. PAGE. He is a better scholar than I thought he was.
EVANS. He is a good sprag memory. Farewell, Mistress Page.
MRS. PAGE. Adieu, good Sir Hugh. Exit SIR HUGH
Get you home, boy. Come, we stay too long. Exeunt

SCENE 2.

FORD'S house

Enter FALSTAFF and MISTRESS FORD

FALSTAFF. Mistress Ford, your sorrow hath eaten up my
sufferance. I see you are obsequious in your love, and I
profess requital to a hair's breadth; not only, Mistress Ford, in
the simple office of love, but in all the accoutrement,
complement, and ceremony of it. But are you sure of your
husband now?
MRS. FORD. He's a-birding, sweet Sir John.
MRS. PAGE. [Within] What hoa, gossip Ford, what hoa!
MRS. FORD. Step into th' chamber, Sir John. Exit FALSTAFF

Enter MISTRESS PAGE

MRS. PAGE. How now, sweetheart, who's at home besides
yourself?
MRS. FORD. Why, none but mine own people.
MRS. PAGE. Indeed?
MRS. FORD. No, certainly. [Aside to her] Speak louder.
MRS. PAGE. Truly, I am so glad you have nobody here.
MRS. FORD. Why?
MRS. PAGE. Why, woman, your husband is in his old lunes
again. He so takes on yonder with my husband; so rails
against all married mankind; so curses an Eve's daughters,
of what complexion soever; and so buffets himself on the
forehead, crying 'Peer-out, peer-out!' that any madness I
ever yet beheld seem'd but tameness, civility, and patience,
to this his distemper he is in now. I am glad the fat knight
is not here.
MRS. FORD. Why, does he talk of him?
MRS. PAGE. Of none but him; and swears he was carried out,
the last time he search'd for him, in a basket; protests to
my husband he is now here; and hath drawn him and the
rest of their company from their sport, to make another
experiment of his suspicion. But I am glad the knight is not
here; now he shall see his own foolery.
MRS. FORD. How near is he, Mistress Page?
MRS. PAGE. Hard by, at street end; he will be here anon.
MRS. FORD. I am undone: the knight is here.
MRS. PAGE. Why, then, you are utterly sham'd, and he's but
a dead man. What a woman are you! Away with him,
away with him; better shame than murder.
MRS. FORD. Which way should he go? How should I bestow
him? Shall I put him into the basket again?

Re-enter FALSTAFF

FALSTAFF. No, I'll come no more i' th' basket. May I not go
out ere he come?
MRS. PAGE. Alas, three of Master Ford's brothers watch the
door with pistols, that none shall issue out; otherwise you
might slip away ere he came. But what make you here?
FALSTAFF. What shall I do? I'll creep up into the chimney.
MRS. FORD. There they always use to discharge their
birding-pieces.
MRS. PAGE. Creep into the kiln-hole.
FALSTAFF. Where is it?
MRS. FORD. He will seek there, on my word. Neither press,
coffer, chest, trunk, well, vault, but he hath an abstract for
the remembrance of such places, and goes to them by his
note. There is no hiding you in the house.
FALSTAFF. I'll go out then.
MRS. PAGE. If you go out in your own semblance, you die,
Sir John. Unless you go out disguis'd.
MRS. FORD. How might we disguise him?
MRS. PAGE. Alas the day, I know not! There is no woman's
gown big enough for him; otherwise he might put on a
hat, a muffler, and a kerchief, and so escape.
FALSTAFF. Good hearts, devise something; any extremity
rather than a mischief.
MRS. FORD. My Maid's aunt, the fat woman of Brainford, has
a gown above.
MRS. PAGE. On my word, it will serve him; she's as big as he
is; and there's her thrumm'd hat, and her muffler too. Run
up, Sir John.
MRS. FORD. Go, go, sweet Sir John. Mistress Page and I will
look some linen for your head.
MRS. PAGE. Quick, quick; we'll come dress you straight. Put
on the gown the while. Exit FALSTAFF
MRS. FORD. I would my husband would meet him in this
shape; he cannot abide the old woman of Brainford; he
swears she's a witch, forbade her my house, and hath
threat'ned to beat her.
MRS. PAGE. Heaven guide him to thy husband's cudgel; and
the devil guide his cudgel afterwards!
MRS. FORD. But is my husband coming?
MRS. PAGE. Ay, in good sadness is he; and talks of the basket
too, howsoever he hath had intelligence.
MRS. FORD. We'll try that; for I'll appoint my men to carry
the basket again, to meet him at the door with it as they
did last time.
MRS. PAGE. Nay, but he'll be here presently; let's go dress
him like the witch of Brainford.
MRS. FORD. I'll first direct my men what they shall do with
the basket. Go up; I'll bring linen for him straight. Exit
MRS. PAGE. Hang him, dishonest varlet! we cannot misuse
him enough.
We'll leave a proof, by that which we will do,
Wives may be merry and yet honest too.
We do not act that often jest and laugh;
'Tis old but true: Still swine eats all the draff. Exit

Re-enter MISTRESS FORD, with two SERVANTS

MRS. FORD. Go, sirs, take the basket again on your shoulders;
your master is hard at door; if he bid you set it down, obey
him; quickly, dispatch. Exit
FIRST SERVANT. Come, come, take it up.
SECOND SERVANT. Pray heaven it be not full of knight again.
FIRST SERVANT. I hope not; I had lief as bear so much lead.

Enter FORD, PAGE, SHALLOW, CAIUS, and SIR HUGH EVANS

FORD. Ay, but if it prove true, Master Page, have you any
way then to unfool me again? Set down the basket, villain!
Somebody call my wife. Youth in a basket! O you panderly
rascals, there's a knot, a ging, a pack, a conspiracy
against me. Now shall the devil be sham'd. What, wife, I
say! Come, come forth; behold what honest clothes you
send forth to bleaching.
PAGE. Why, this passes, Master Ford; you are not to go loose
any longer; you must be pinion'd.
EVANS. Why, this is lunatics. This is mad as a mad dog.
SHALLOW. Indeed, Master Ford, this is not well, indeed.
FORD. So say I too, sir.

Re-enter MISTRESS FORD

Come hither, Mistress Ford; Mistress Ford, the honest
woman, the modest wife, the virtuous creature, that hath
the jealous fool to her husband! I suspect without cause,
Mistress, do I?
MRS. FORD. Heaven be my witness, you do, if you suspect
me in any dishonesty.
FORD. Well said, brazen-face; hold it out. Come forth, sirrah.
[Pulling clothes out of the basket]
PAGE. This passes!
MRS. FORD. Are you not asham'd? Let the clothes alone.
FORD. I shall find you anon.
EVANS. 'Tis unreasonable. Will you take up your wife's
clothes? Come away.
FORD. Empty the basket, I say.
MRS. FORD. Why, man, why?
FORD. Master Page, as I am a man, there was one convey'd
out of my house yesterday in this basket. Why may not
he be there again? In my house I am sure he is; my
intelligence is true; my jealousy is reasonable.
Pluck me out all the linen.
MRS. FORD. If you find a man there, he shall die a flea's
death.
PAGE. Here's no man.
SHALLOW. By my fidelity, this is not well, Master Ford; this
wrongs you.
EVANS. Master Ford, you must pray, and not follow the
imaginations of your own heart; this is jealousies.
FORD. Well, he's not here I seek for.
PAGE. No, nor nowhere else but in your brain.
FORD. Help to search my house this one time. If I find not
what I seek, show no colour for my extremity; let me for
ever be your table sport; let them say of me 'As jealous as
Ford, that search'd a hollow walnut for his wife's leman.'
Satisfy me once more; once more search with me.
MRS. FORD. What, hoa, Mistress Page! Come you and the old
woman down; my husband will come into the chamber.
FORD. Old woman? what old woman's that?
MRS. FORD. Why, it is my maid's aunt of Brainford.
FORD. A witch, a quean, an old cozening quean! Have I not
forbid her my house? She comes of errands, does she? We
are simple men; we do not know what's brought to pass
under the profession of fortune-telling. She works by
charms, by spells, by th' figure, and such daub'ry as this
is, beyond our element. We know nothing. Come down, you
witch, you hag you; come down, I say.
MRS. FORD. Nay, good sweet husband! Good gentlemen, let
him not strike the old woman.

Re-enter FALSTAFF in woman's clothes, and MISTRESS PAGE

MRS. PAGE. Come, Mother Prat; come. give me your hand.
FORD. I'll prat her. [Beating him] Out of my door, you
witch, you hag, you. baggage, you polecat, you ronyon!
Out, out! I'll conjure you, I'll fortune-tell you.
Exit FALSTAFF
MRS. PAGE. Are you not asham'd? I think you have kill'd the
poor woman.
MRS. FORD. Nay, he will do it. 'Tis a goodly credit for you.
FORD. Hang her, witch!
EVANS. By yea and no, I think the oman is a witch indeed; I
like not when a oman has a great peard; I spy a great peard
under his muffler.
FORD. Will you follow, gentlemen? I beseech you follow;
see but the issue of my jealousy; if I cry out thus upon no
trail, never trust me when I open again.
PAGE. Let's obey his humour a little further. Come,
gentlemen. Exeunt all but MRS. FORD and MRS. PAGE
MRS. PAGE. Trust me, he beat him most pitifully.
MRS. FORD. Nay, by th' mass, that he did not; he beat him
most unpitifully methought.
MRS. PAGE. I'll have the cudgel hallow'd and hung o'er the
altar; it hath done meritorious service.
MRS. FORD. What think you? May we, with the warrant of
womanhood and the witness of a good conscience, pursue
him with any further revenge?
MRS. PAGE. The spirit of wantonness is sure scar'd out of
him; if the devil have him not in fee-simple, with fine and
recovery, he will never, I think, in the way of waste,
attempt us again.
MRS. FORD. Shall we tell our husbands how we have serv'd
him?
MRS. PAGE. Yes, by all means; if it be but to scrape the
figures out of your husband's brains. If they can find in their
hearts the poor unvirtuous fat knight shall be any further
afflicted, we two will still be the ministers.
MRS. FORD. I'll warrant they'll have him publicly sham'd;
and methinks there would be no period to the jest, should
he not be publicly sham'd.
MRS. PAGE. Come, to the forge with it then; shape it. I
would not have things cool. Exeunt

SCENE 3.

The Garter Inn

Enter HOST and BARDOLPH

BARDOLPH. Sir, the Germans desire to have three of your
horses; the Duke himself will be to-morrow at court, and
they are going to meet him.
HOST. What duke should that be comes so secretly? I hear
not of him in the court. Let me speak with the gentlemen;
they speak English?
BARDOLPH. Ay, sir; I'll call them to you.
HOST. They shall have my horses, but I'll make them pay;
I'll sauce them; they have had my house a week at
command; I have turn'd away my other guests. They must
come off; I'll sauce them. Come. Exeunt

SCENE 4

FORD'S house

Enter PAGE, FORD, MISTRESS PAGE, MISTRESS FORD, and SIR HUGH EVANS

EVANS. 'Tis one of the best discretions of a oman as ever
did look upon.
PAGE. And did he send you both these letters at an instant?
MRS. PAGE. Within a quarter of an hour.
FORD. Pardon me, wife. Henceforth, do what thou wilt;
I rather will suspect the sun with cold
Than thee with wantonness. Now doth thy honour stand,
In him that was of late an heretic,
As firm as faith.
PAGE. 'Tis well, 'tis well; no more.
Be not as extreme in submission as in offence;
But let our plot go forward. Let our wives
Yet once again, to make us public sport,
Appoint a meeting with this old fat fellow,
Where we may take him and disgrace him for it.
FORD. There is no better way than that they spoke of.
PAGE. How? To send him word they'll meet him in the Park
at midnight? Fie, fie! he'll never come!
EVANS. You say he has been thrown in the rivers; and has
been grievously peaten as an old oman; methinks there
should be terrors in him, that he should not come;
methinks his flesh is punish'd; he shall have no desires.
PAGE. So think I too.
MRS. FORD. Devise but how you'll use him when he comes,
And let us two devise to bring him thither.
MRS. PAGE. There is an old tale goes that Heme the Hunter,
Sometime a keeper here in Windsor Forest,
Doth all the winter-time, at still midnight,
Walk round about an oak, with great ragg'd horns;
And there he blasts the tree, and takes the cattle,
And makes milch-kine yield blood, and shakes a chain
In a most hideous and dreadful manner.
You have heard of such a spirit, and well you know
The superstitious idle-headed eld
Receiv'd, and did deliver to our age,
This tale of Heme the Hunter for a truth.
PAGE. Why yet there want not many that do fear
In deep of night to walk by this Herne's oak.
But what of this?
MRS. FORD. Marry, this is our device-
That Falstaff at that oak shall meet with us,
Disguis'd, like Heme, with huge horns on his head.
PAGE. Well, let it not be doubted but he'll come,
And in this shape. When you have brought him thither,
What shall be done with him? What is your plot?
MRS. PAGE. That likewise have we thought upon, and
thus:
Nan Page my daughter, and my little son,
And three or four more of their growth, we'll dress
Like urchins, ouphes, and fairies, green and white,
With rounds of waxen tapers on their heads,
And rattles in their hands; upon a sudden,
As Falstaff, she, and I, are newly met,
Let them from forth a sawpit rush at once
With some diffused song; upon their sight
We two in great amazedness will fly.
Then let them all encircle him about,
And fairy-like, to pinch the unclean knight;
And ask him why, that hour of fairy revel,
In their so sacred paths he dares to tread
In shape profane.
MRS. FORD. And till he tell the truth,
Let the supposed fairies pinch him sound,
And burn him with their tapers.
MRS. PAGE. The truth being known,
We'll all present ourselves; dis-horn the spirit,
And mock him home to Windsor.
FORD. The children must
Be practis'd well to this or they'll nev'r do 't.
EVANS. I will teach the children their behaviours; and I will
be like a jack-an-apes also, to burn the knight with my
taber.
FORD. That will be excellent. I'll go buy them vizards.
MRS. PAGE. My Nan shall be the Queen of all the Fairies,
Finely attired in a robe of white.
PAGE. That silk will I go buy. [Aside] And in that time
Shall Master Slender steal my Nan away,
And marry her at Eton.-Go, send to Falstaff straight.
FORD. Nay, I'll to him again, in name of Brook;
He'll tell me all his purpose. Sure, he'll come.
MRS. PAGE. Fear not you that. Go get us properties
And tricking for our fairies.
EVANS. Let us about it. It is admirable pleasures, and fery
honest knaveries. Exeunt PAGE, FORD, and EVANS
MRS. PAGE. Go, Mistress Ford.
Send Quickly to Sir John to know his mind.
Exit MRS. FORD
I'll to the Doctor; he hath my good will,
And none but he, to marry with Nan Page.
That Slender, though well landed, is an idiot;
And he my husband best of all affects.
The Doctor is well money'd, and his friends
Potent at court; he, none but he, shall have her,
Though twenty thousand worthier come to crave her. Exit

SCENE 5.

The Garter Inn

Enter HOST and SIMPLE

HOST. What wouldst thou have, boor? What, thick-skin?
Speak, breathe, discuss; brief, short, quick, snap.
SIMPLE. Marry, sir, I come to speak with Sir John Falstaff
from Master Slender.
HOST. There's his chamber, his house, his castle, his
standing-bed and truckle-bed; 'tis painted about with the
story of the Prodigal, fresh and new. Go, knock and can; he'll
speak like an Anthropophaginian unto thee. Knock, I say.
SIMPLE. There's an old woman, a fat woman, gone up into
his chamber; I'll be so bold as stay, sir, till she come down;
I come to speak with her, indeed.
HOST. Ha! a fat woman? The knight may be robb'd. I'll call.
Bully knight! Bully Sir John! Speak from thy lungs
military. Art thou there? It is thine host, thine Ephesian, calls.
FALSTAFF. [Above] How now, mine host?
HOST. Here's a Bohemian-Tartar tarries the coming down of
thy fat woman. Let her descend, bully, let her descend;
my chambers are honourible. Fie, privacy, fie!

Enter FALSTAFF

FALSTAFF. There was, mine host, an old fat woman even
now with, me; but she's gone.
SIMPLE. Pray you, sir, was't not the wise woman of
Brainford?
FALSTAFF. Ay, marry was it, mussel-shell. What would you
with her?
SIMPLE. My master, sir, my Master Slender, sent to her,
seeing her go thorough the streets, to know, sir, whether one
Nym, sir, that beguil'd him of a chain, had the chain or no.
FALSTAFF. I spake with the old woman about it.
SIMPLE. And what says she, I pray, sir?
FALSTAFF Marry, she says that the very same man that
beguil'd Master Slender of his chain cozen'd him of it.
SIMPLE. I would I could have spoken with the woman
herself; I had other things to have spoken with her too,
from him.
FALSTAFF. What are they? Let us know.
HOST. Ay, come; quick.
SIMPLE. I may not conceal them, sir.
FALSTAFF. Conceal them, or thou diest.
SIMPLE.. Why, sir, they were nothing but about Mistress
Anne Page: to know if it were my master's fortune to
have her or no.
FALSTAFF. 'Tis, 'tis his fortune.
SIMPLE. What sir?
FALSTAFF. To have her, or no. Go; say the woman told me
so.
SIMPLE. May I be bold to say so, sir?
FALSTAFF. Ay, sir, like who more bold?
SIMPLE., I thank your worship; I shall make my master glad
with these tidings. Exit SIMPLE
HOST. Thou art clerkly, thou art clerkly, Sir John. Was
there a wise woman with thee?
FALSTAFF. Ay, that there was, mine host; one that hath
taught me more wit than ever I learn'd before in my life;
and I paid nothing for it neither, but was paid for my
learning.

Enter BARDOLPH

BARDOLPH. Out, alas, sir, cozenage, mere cozenage!
HOST. Where be my horses? Speak well of them, varletto.
BARDOLPH. Run away with the cozeners; for so soon as I
came beyond Eton, they threw me off from behind one of
them, in a slough of mire; and set spurs and away, like
three German devils, three Doctor Faustuses.
HOST. They are gone but to meet the Duke, villain; do not
say they be fled. Germans are honest men.

Enter SIR HUGH EVANS

EVANS. Where is mine host?
HOST. What is the matter, sir?
EVANS. Have a care of your entertainments. There is a friend
of mine come to town tells me there is three
cozen-germans that has cozen'd all the hosts of Readins,
of Maidenhead, of Colebrook, of horses and money. I tell you for
good will, look you; you are wise, and full of gibes and
vlouting-stogs, and 'tis not convenient you should be
cozened. Fare you well. Exit

Enter DOCTOR CAIUS

CAIUS. Vere is mine host de Jarteer?
HOST. Here, Master Doctor, in perplexity and doubtful
dilemma.
CAIUS. I cannot tell vat is dat; but it is tell-a me dat you
make grand preparation for a Duke de Jamany. By my
trot, dere is no duke that the court is know to come; I
tell you for good will. Adieu. Exit
HOST. Hue and cry, villain, go! Assist me, knight; I am
undone. Fly, run, hue and cry, villain; I am undone.
Exeunt HOST and BARDOLPH
FALSTAFF. I would all the world might be cozen'd, for I have
been cozen'd and beaten too. If it should come to the car
of the court how I have been transformed, and how my
transformation hath been wash'd and cudgell'd, they
would melt me out of my fat, drop by drop, and liquor
fishermen's boots with me; I warrant they would whip me
with their fine wits till I were as crestfall'n as a dried pear.
I never prosper'd since I forswore myself at primero. Well,
if my wind were but long enough to say my prayers,
would repent.

Enter MISTRESS QUICKLY

Now! whence come you?
QUICKLY. From the two parties, forsooth.
FALSTAFF. The devil take one party and his dam the other!
And so they shall be both bestowed. I have suffer'd more
for their sakes, more than the villainous inconstancy of
man's disposition is able to bear.
QUICKLY. And have not they suffer'd? Yes, I warrant;
speciously one of them; Mistress Ford, good heart, is beaten
black and blue, that you cannot see a white spot about her.
FALSTAFF. What tell'st thou me of black and blue? I was
beaten myself into all the colours of the rainbow; and
was like to be apprehended for the witch of Brainford. But
that my admirable dexterity of wit, my counterfeiting the
action of an old woman, deliver'd me, the knave constable
had set me i' th' stocks, i' th' common stocks, for a witch.
QUICKLY. Sir, let me speak with you in your chamber; you
shall hear how things go, and, I warrant, to your content.
Here is a letter will say somewhat. Good hearts, what ado
here is to bring you together! Sure, one of you does not
serve heaven well, that you are so cross'd.
FALSTAFF. Come up into my chamber. Exeunt

SCENE 6.

The Garter Inn

Enter FENTON and HOST

HOST. Master Fenton, talk not to me; my mind is heavy; I
will give over all.
FENTON. Yet hear me speak. Assist me in my purpose,
And, as I am a gentleman, I'll give the
A hundred pound in gold more than your loss.
HOST. I will hear you, Master Fenton; and I will, at the least,
keep your counsel.
FENTON. From time to time I have acquainted you
With the dear love I bear to fair Anne Page;
Who, mutually, hath answer'd my affection,
So far forth as herself might be her chooser,
Even to my wish. I have a letter from her
Of such contents as you will wonder at;
The mirth whereof so larded with my matter
That neither, singly, can be manifested
Without the show of both. Fat Falstaff
Hath a great scene. The image of the jest
I'll show you here at large. Hark, good mine host:
To-night at Heme's oak, just 'twixt twelve and one,
Must my sweet Nan present the Fairy Queen-
The purpose why is here-in which disguise,
While other jests are something rank on foot,
Her father hath commanded her to slip
Away with Slender, and with him at Eton
Immediately to marry; she hath consented.
Now, sir,
Her mother, even strong against that match
And firm for Doctor Caius, hath appointed
That he shall likewise shuffle her away
While other sports are tasking of their minds,
And at the dean'ry, where a priest attends,
Straight marry her. To this her mother's plot
She seemingly obedient likewise hath
Made promise to the doctor. Now thus it rests:
Her father means she shall be all in white;
And in that habit, when Slender sees his time
To take her by the hand and bid her go,
She shall go with him; her mother hath intended
The better to denote her to the doctor-
For they must all be mask'd and vizarded-
That quaint in green she shall be loose enrob'd,
With ribands pendent, flaring 'bout her head;
And when the doctor spies his vantage ripe,
To pinch her by the hand, and, on that token,
The maid hath given consent to go with him.
HOST. Which means she to deceive, father or mother?
FENTON. Both, my good host, to go along with me.
And here it rests-that you'll procure the vicar
To stay for me at church, 'twixt twelve and one,
And in the lawful name of marrying,
To give our hearts united ceremony.
HOST. Well, husband your device; I'll to the vicar.
Bring you the maid, you shall not lack a priest.
FENTON. So shall I evermore be bound to thee;
Besides, I'll make a present recompense. Exeunt

ACT V. SCENE 1.

The Garter Inn

Enter FALSTAFF and MISTRESS QUICKLY

FALSTAFF. Prithee, no more prattling; go. I'll, hold. This is
the third time; I hope good luck lies in odd numbers.
Away, go; they say there is divinity in odd numbers, either
in nativity, chance, or death. Away.
QUICKLY. I'll provide you a chain, and I'll do what I can to
get you a pair of horns.
FALSTAFF. Away, I say; time wears; hold up your head, and
mince. Exit MRS. QUICKLY

Enter FORD disguised

How now, Master Brook. Master Brook, the matter will
be known tonight or never. Be you in the Park about
midnight, at Herne's oak, and you shall see wonders.
FORD. Went you not to her yesterday, sir, as you told me
you had appointed?
FALSTAFF. I went to her, Master Brook, as you see, like a
poor old man; but I came from her, Master Brook, like a
poor old woman. That same knave Ford, her husband, hath
the finest mad devil of jealousy in him, Master Brook, that
ever govern'd frenzy. I will tell you-he beat me grievously
in the shape of a woman; for in the shape of man, Master
Brook, I fear not Goliath with a weaver's beam; because
I know also life is a shuttle. I am in haste; go along with
me; I'll. tell you all, Master Brook. Since I pluck'd geese,
play'd truant, and whipp'd top, I knew not what 'twas to
be beaten till lately. Follow me. I'll tell you strange things
of this knave-Ford, on whom to-night I will be revenged,
and I will deliver his wife into your hand. Follow. Strange
things in hand, Master Brook! Follow. Exeunt

SCENE 2.

Windsor Park

Enter PAGE, SHALLOW, and SLENDER

PAGE. Come, come; we'll couch i' th' Castle ditch till we
see the light of our fairies. Remember, son Slender, my daughter.
SLENDER. Ay, forsooth; I have spoke with her, and we have
a nay-word how to know one another. I come to her in
white and cry 'mum'; she cries 'budget,' and by that we
know one another.
SHALLOW. That's good too; but what needs either your mum
or her budget? The white will decipher her well enough.
It hath struck ten o'clock.
PAGE. The night is dark; light and spirits will become it well.
Heaven prosper our sport! No man means evil but the
devil, and we shall know him by his horns. Let's away;
follow me. Exeunt

SCENE 3.

A street leading to the Park

Enter MISTRESS PAGE, MISTRESS FORD, and DOCTOR CAIUS

MRS. PAGE. Master Doctor, my daughter is in green; when
you see your time, take her by the hand, away with her to
the deanery, and dispatch it quickly. Go before into the
Park; we two must go together.
CAIUS. I know vat I have to do; adieu.
MRS. PAGE. Fare you well, sir. [Exit CAIUS] My husband
will not rejoice so much at the abuse of Falstaff as he will
chafe at the doctor's marrying my daughter; but 'tis no
matter; better a little chiding than a great deal of
heartbreak.
MRS. FORD. Where is Nan now, and her troop of fairies, and
the Welsh devil, Hugh?
MRS. PAGE. They are all couch'd in a pit hard by Heme's
oak, with obscur'd lights; which, at the very instant of
Falstaff's and our meeting, they will at once display to the
night.
MRS. FORD. That cannot choose but amaze him.
MRS. PAGE. If he be not amaz'd, he will be mock'd; if he be
amaz'd, he will every way be mock'd.
MRS. FORD. We'll betray him finely.
MRS. PAGE. Against such lewdsters and their lechery,
Those that betray them do no treachery.
MRS. FORD. The hour draws on. To the oak, to the oak!
Exeunt

SCENE 4.

Windsor Park

Enter SIR HUGH EVANS like a satyr, with OTHERS as fairies

EVANS. Trib, trib, fairies; come; and remember your parts.
Be pold, I pray you; follow me into the pit; and when I
give the watch-ords, do as I pid you. Come, come; trib,
trib. Exeunt

SCENE 5.

Another part of the Park

Enter FALSTAFF disguised as HERNE

FALSTAFF. The Windsor bell hath struck twelve; the minute
draws on. Now the hot-blooded gods assist me!
Remember, Jove, thou wast a bull for thy Europa; love set on thy
horns. O powerful love! that in some respects makes a
beast a man; in some other a man a beast. You were also,
Jupiter, a swan, for the love of Leda. O omnipotent love!
how near the god drew to the complexion of a goose! A
fault done first in the form of a beast-O Jove, a beastly
fault!-and then another fault in the semblance of a fowl-
think on't, Jove, a foul fault! When gods have hot backs
what shall poor men do? For me, I am here a Windsor
stag; and the fattest, I think, i' th' forest. Send me a cool
rut-time, Jove, or who can blame me to piss my tallow?
Who comes here? my doe?

Enter MISTRESS FORD and MISTRESS PAGE

MRS. FORD. Sir John! Art thou there, my deer, my male deer.
FALSTAFF. My doe with the black scut! Let the sky rain
potatoes; let it thunder to the tune of Greensleeves, hail
kissing-comfits, and snow eringoes; let there come a tempest
of provocation, I will shelter me here. [Embracing her]
MRS. FORD. Mistress Page is come with me, sweetheart.
FALSTAFF. Divide me like a brib'd buck, each a haunch; I
will keep my sides to myself, my shoulders for the fellow
of this walk, and my horns I bequeath your husbands. Am
I a woodman, ha? Speak I like Heme the Hunter? Why,
now is Cupid a child of conscience; he makes restitution.
As I am a true spirit, welcome! [A noise of horns]
MRS. PAGE. Alas, what noise?
MRS. FORD. Heaven forgive our sins!
FALSTAFF. What should this be?
MRS. FORD. } Away, away.
MRS. PAGE. } Away, away. [They run off]
FALSTAFF. I think the devil will not have me damn'd, lest the
oil that's in me should set hell on fire; he would never else
cross me thus.

Enter SIR HUGH EVANS like a satyr, ANNE PAGE as
a fairy, and OTHERS as the Fairy Queen, fairies, and
Hobgoblin; all with tapers

FAIRY QUEEN. Fairies, black, grey, green, and white,
You moonshine revellers, and shades of night,
You orphan heirs of fixed destiny,
Attend your office and your quality.
Crier Hobgoblin, make the fairy oyes.
PUCK. Elves, list your names; silence, you airy toys.
Cricket, to Windsor chimneys shalt thou leap;
Where fires thou find'st unrak'd, and hearths unswept,
There pinch the maids as blue as bilberry;
Our radiant Queen hates sluts and sluttery.
FALSTAFF. They are fairies; he that speaks to them shall die.
I'll wink and couch; no man their works must eye.
[Lies down upon his face]
EVANS. Where's Pede? Go you, and where you find a maid
That, ere she sleep, has thrice her prayers said,
Raise up the organs of her fantasy
Sleep she as sound as careless infancy;
But those as sleep and think not on their sins,
Pinch them, arms, legs, backs, shoulders, sides, and shins.
FAIRY QUEEN. About, about;
Search Windsor castle, elves, within and out;
Strew good luck, ouphes, on every sacred room,
That it may stand till the perpetual doom
In state as wholesome as in state 'tis fit,
Worthy the owner and the owner it.
The several chairs of order look you scour
With juice of balm and every precious flower;
Each fair instalment, coat, and sev'ral crest,
With loyal blazon, evermore be blest!
And nightly, meadow-fairies, look you sing,
Like to the Garter's compass, in a ring;
Th' expressure that it bears, green let it be,
More fertile-fresh than all the field to see;
And 'Honi soit qui mal y pense' write
In em'rald tufts, flow'rs purple, blue and white;
Like sapphire, pearl, and rich embroidery,
Buckled below fair knighthood's bending knee.
Fairies use flow'rs for their charactery.
Away, disperse; but till 'tis one o'clock,
Our dance of custom round about the oak
Of Herne the Hunter let us not forget.
EVANS. Pray you, lock hand in hand; yourselves in order set;
And twenty glow-worms shall our lanterns be,
To guide our measure round about the tree.
But, stay. I smell a man of middle earth.
FALSTAFF. Heavens defend me from that Welsh fairy, lest he
transform me to a piece of cheese!
PUCK. Vile worm, thou wast o'erlook'd even in thy birth.
FAIRY QUEEN. With trial-fire touch me his finger-end;
If he be chaste, the flame will back descend,
And turn him to no pain; but if he start,
It is the flesh of a corrupted heart.
PUCK. A trial, come.
EVANS. Come, will this wood take fire?
[They put the tapers to his fingers, and he starts]
FALSTAFF. Oh, oh, oh!
FAIRY QUEEN. Corrupt, corrupt, and tainted in desire!
About him, fairies; sing a scornful rhyme;
And, as you trip, still pinch him to your time.
THE SONG.
Fie on sinful fantasy!
Fie on lust and luxury!
Lust is but a bloody fire,
Kindled with unchaste desire,
Fed in heart, whose flames aspire,
As thoughts do blow them, higher and higher.
Pinch him, fairies, mutually;
Pinch him for his villainy;
Pinch him and burn him and turn him about,
Till candles and star-light and moonshine be out.

During this song they pinch FALSTAFF. DOCTOR
CAIUS comes one way, and steals away a fairy in
green; SLENDER another way, and takes off a fairy in
white; and FENTON steals away ANNE PAGE. A noise
of hunting is heard within. All the fairies run away.
FALSTAFF pulls off his buck's head, and rises

Enter PAGE, FORD, MISTRESS PAGE, MISTRESS FORD, and
SIR HUGH EVANS

PAGE. Nay, do not fly; I think we have watch'd you now.
Will none but Heme the Hunter serve your turn?
MRS. PAGE. I pray you, come, hold up the jest no higher.
Now, good Sir John, how like you Windsor wives?
See you these, husband? Do not these fair yokes
Become the forest better than the town?
FORD. Now, sir, who's a cuckold now? Master Brook,
Falstaff's a knave, a cuckoldly knave; here are his horns,
Master Brook; and, Master Brook, he hath enjoyed nothing of
Ford's but his buck-basket, his cudgel, and twenty pounds
of money, which must be paid to Master Brook; his horses
are arrested for it, Master Brook.
MRS. FORD. Sir John, we have had ill luck; we could never
meet. I will never take you for my love again; but I will
always count you my deer.
FALSTAFF. I do begin to perceive that I am made an ass.
FORD. Ay, and an ox too; both the proofs are extant.
FALSTAFF. And these are not fairies? I was three or four
times in the thought they were not fairies; and yet the
guiltiness of my mind, the sudden surprise of my powers,
drove the grossness of the foppery into a receiv'd belief,
in despite of the teeth of all rhyme and reason, that they
were fairies. See now how wit may be made a Jack-a-Lent
when 'tis upon ill employment.
EVANS. Sir John Falstaff, serve Got, and leave your desires,
and fairies will not pinse you.
FORD. Well said, fairy Hugh.
EVANS. And leave you your jealousies too, I pray you.
FORD. I will never mistrust my wife again, till thou art able
to woo her in good English.
FALSTAFF. Have I laid my brain in the sun, and dried it, that
it wants matter to prevent so gross, o'er-reaching as this?
Am I ridden with a Welsh goat too? Shall I have a cox-comb
of frieze? 'Tis time I were chok'd with a piece of
toasted cheese.
EVANS. Seese is not good to give putter; your belly is all
putter.
FALSTAFF. 'Seese' and 'putter'! Have I liv'd to stand at the
taunt of one that makes fritters of English? This is enough
to be the decay of lust and late-walking through the realm.
MRS. PAGE. Why, Sir John, do you think, though we would
have thrust virtue out of our hearts by the head and
shoulders, and have given ourselves without scruple to hell,
that ever the devil could have made you our delight?
FORD. What, a hodge-pudding? a bag of flax?
MRS. PAGE. A puff'd man?
PAGE. Old, cold, wither'd, and of intolerable entrails?
FORD. And one that is as slanderous as Satan?
PAGE. And as poor as Job?
FORD. And as wicked as his wife?
EVANS. And given to fornications, and to taverns, and sack,
and wine, and metheglins, and to drinkings, and swearings,
and starings, pribbles and prabbles?
FALSTAFF. Well, I am your theme; you have the start of me;
I am dejected; I am not able to answer the Welsh flannel;
ignorance itself is a plummet o'er me; use me as you will.
FORD. Marry, sir, we'll bring you to Windsor, to one Master
Brook, that you have cozen'd of money, to whom you
should have been a pander. Over and above that you have
suffer'd, I think to repay that money will be a biting
affliction.
PAGE. Yet be cheerful, knight; thou shalt eat a posset
tonight at my house, where I will desire thee to laugh at my
wife, that now laughs at thee. Tell her Master Slender hath
married her daughter.
MRS. PAGE. [Aside] Doctors doubt that; if Anne Page be
my daughter, she is, by this, Doctor Caius' wife.

Enter SLENDER

SLENDER. Whoa, ho, ho, father Page!
PAGE. Son, how now! how now, son! Have you dispatch'd'?
SLENDER. Dispatch'd! I'll make the best in Gloucestershire
know on't; would I were hang'd, la, else!
PAGE. Of what, son?
SLENDER. I came yonder at Eton to marry Mistress Anne
Page, and she's a great lubberly boy. If it had not been i'
th' church, I would have swing'd him, or he should have
swing'd me. If I did not think it had been Anne Page,
would I might never stir!-and 'tis a postmaster's boy.
PAGE. Upon my life, then, you took the wrong.
SLENDER. What need you tell me that? I think so, when I
took a boy for a girl. If I had been married to him, for all
he was in woman's apparel, I would not have had him.
PAGE. Why, this is your own folly. Did not I tell you how
you should know my daughter by her garments?
SLENDER. I went to her in white and cried 'mum' and she
cried 'budget' as Anne and I had appointed; and yet it was
not Anne, but a postmaster's boy.
MRS. PAGE. Good George, be not angry. I knew of your
purpose; turn'd my daughter into green; and, indeed, she
is now with the Doctor at the dean'ry, and there married.

Enter CAIUS

CAIUS. Vere is Mistress Page? By gar, I am cozened; I ha'
married un garcon, a boy; un paysan, by gar, a boy; it is
not Anne Page; by gar, I am cozened.
MRS. PAGE. Why, did you take her in green?
CAIUS. Ay, be gar, and 'tis a boy; be gar, I'll raise all
Windsor. Exit CAIUS
FORD. This is strange. Who hath got the right Anne?
PAGE. My heart misgives me; here comes Master Fenton.

Enter FENTON and ANNE PAGE

How now, Master Fenton!
ANNE. Pardon, good father. Good my mother, pardon.
PAGE. Now, Mistress, how chance you went not with Master
Slender?
MRS. PAGE. Why went you not with Master Doctor, maid?
FENTON. You do amaze her. Hear the truth of it.
You would have married her most shamefully,
Where there was no proportion held in love.
The truth is, she and I, long since contracted,
Are now so sure that nothing can dissolve us.
Th' offence is holy that she hath committed;
And this deceit loses the name of craft,
Of disobedience, or unduteous title,
Since therein she doth evitate and shun
A thousand irreligious cursed hours,
Which forced marriage would have brought upon her.
FORD. Stand not amaz'd; here is no remedy.
In love, the heavens themselves do guide the state;
Money buys lands, and wives are sold by fate.
FALSTAFF. I am glad, though you have ta'en a special stand
to strike at me, that your arrow hath glanc'd.
PAGE. Well, what remedy? Fenton, heaven give thee joy!
What cannot be eschew'd must be embrac'd.
FALSTAFF. When night-dogs run, all sorts of deer are chas'd.
MRS. PAGE. Well, I will muse no further. Master Fenton,
Heaven give you many, many merry days!
Good husband, let us every one go home,
And laugh this sport o'er by a country fire;
Sir John and all.
FORD. Let it be so. Sir John,
To Master Brook you yet shall hold your word;
For he, to-night, shall lie with Mistress Ford. Exeunt

THE END