author; in this work there are 130 such attributions. This important
book has been splendidly edited in recent years by Mr. Charles
Crawford, who must have spent laborious hours in tracing the different
extracts and allotting them to their rightful owners. Every lover of
Elizabethan poetry should possess this book, which can be purchased
for quite a moderate sum. I should mention that in a dedication to
Sir Thomas Mounson the writer signs himself “R. A.” Farmer, the
Shakesperean scholar of the eighteenth century, saw a copy with the
name Robert Allot printed at length, and ever since, this author has
always been considered the editor of this Anthology.
PLAY.
I will play three myself (three characters).
V, 1, 150.
Our wrong doth not end like an old play;
Jack hath not Jill.
V, 2, 884.
A twelvemonth and a day, and then ’twill end,
That’s too long for a play.
V, 2, 883.
PROLOGUE. SHOWS.
Their shallow shows and prologues vilely penned.
V, 2, 305.
SCENE.
Worthies away! the scene begins to cloud.
V, 2, 730.
Of these four Worthies, in their first show thrive,
These four will change habits.
V, 2, 541.
There is five in the first show.
V, 2, 543.
It should have followed in the end of our show.
V, 2, 898.
The King would have me present the Princess with some delightful
ostentation or show a pageant or antic or firework.
V, I, 115.
WORTHY. (NINE WORTHIES.)
He is not quantity enough for that Worthy’s thumb.
V, I, 138.
For the rest of the Worthies? I will play three myself.
V, I, 149.
I will play on the tabor to the Worthies.
V, I, 161.
They would know whether the three Worthies should come in.
V, 2, 486.
I know not the degree of a Worthy but I stand for him.
V, 2, 508.
Here is like to be a good presence of Worthies.
V, 2, 537.
My hat to a halfpenny Pompey proves the best Worthy.
V, 2, 504.
He will be the ninth Worthy.
V, 2, 582.
There a Worthie’s acoming.
V, 2, 588.
Room for the insensed Worthies.
V, 2, 703.
Worthies away the scene begins to cloud.
V, 2, 730.
MASKS. VIZARD.
You have a double tongue within your mask
An would afford my speechless vizard half.
V, 2, 242.
HOBBY-HORSE.
But O, but O--the Hobby-horse is forgot.
III, I, 30.
MACBETH
ACT. PROLOGUE.
Two truths are told
As happy prologues to the swelling act
Of the imperial theme.
I, 3, 128.
PLAYER. STAGE.
A poor player
That struts and frets his hour upon the stage
And then is heard no more.
V, 5, 24.
SHOW.
Then yield thee coward
And live to be the show and gaze o’ the time.
We’ll have thee, as our rarer monsters are,
Painted on a pole and underwrit:
“Here may you see the tyrant.”
V, 7, 53.
MEASURE FOR MEASURE
STAGE. APPLAUSE.
I love the people,
But do not like to stage me to their eyes,
Though it do well, I do not relish well
Their loud applause and Aves vehement.
I, 1, 69.
This passage would seem connected in some manner with the theatre. The
Duke, who expresses this sentiment, wishes to convey that he is anxious
in avoiding the vulgar gaze. The “Aves” may refer to exclamations of
applause, and were possibly signs of approval at the Universities in
Elizabethan times. Its general signification is Hail! Welcome, or
Farewell! adieu. Also a shout of welcome. The word is better known in
the angelic salutation _Ave Maria_.
MERCHANT OF VENICE
MASQUE.
Will you prepare for this masque to-night?
II, 4, 23.
The mask, or later masque, was an entertainment which had been
introduced into England as far back as the reign of Edward III. In
1348, Edward II kept Christmas at Guildford, and a mask was held there
in his honour. When first seen in England, dancing was the only factor
of the masque, most often in masquerade, somewhat after the fashion of
our balmasques, with this difference: that stately dances nearly filled
the programme, the Master of the Revels allowing only two or three
round dances, such as galliards and corantos. A mask is introduced in
Shakespeare’s play of “King Henry VIII,” the King and his companions,
attired as shepherds, with masks covering their faces, enter the palace
of Cardinal Wolsey, and take part in the Revels. Early in the sixteenth
century, dialogue and scenery were introduced, and soon became a
prominent feature of the masque, but very shortly developed into set
speeches. This class of entertainment, under the guidance of Ben Jonson
and Inigo Jones, had become quite a literary and artistic undertaking.
Thousands of pounds were lavished on these court revels, and even the
King and Queen took part in them (King James the First and his consort,
Anne of Denmark).
The masque at this period, 1620, was a combination in variable
proportion of speech, dance and song. The Masquers were dressed in
gorgeous costumes in accordance with the characters they represented.
During James’s reign, the mask for the face was dispensed with, as it
was regarded as quite an unnecessary disguise. At the outbreak of the
Civil War, 1642, the masque abruptly ceased, and was never revived.
Many masques are extant, and survive in manuscript and printed copies.
PAGEANT.
Your mind is tossing on the ocean,
There where your argosies of portly sail,
Like Signors and rich burghers on the flood,
Or as it were, the pageants of the sea.
An allusion to those enormous machines that were drawn about the
streets in the ancient shows or pageants. These machines were in the
shape of castle dragons, ships, giants, and were regarded as the most
important part of the show.
DUMB-SHOW.
What say you, then, to Falconbridge, the young baron of England?
PORTIA.
He is a proper man’s picture, but, alas! who can converse with a
dumb-show?
I, 2, 78.
MASQUE.
I will not say you will see a mask.
II, 5, 23.
No masque to-night.
II, 6, 64.
What! are these masques?
II, 5, 28.
PLAY. STAGE. PART.
ANT.
I hold the world, but as the world, Gratanio,
A stage where every man must play a part and mine a sad one.
GRA.
Let me play fool.
Gratanio wishes to play the Fool, or comic part, which was a regular
character in the old morality interludes, whence came the phrase, to
‘play the fool.’
MERRY WIVES OF WINDSOR
PROPERTIES.
Get us properties, and tricking for our fairies.
IV, 4, 78.
“Properties” for stage purposes was in use much earlier than
Shakespeare’s time, and has remained in the vocabulary of the theatre
until the present day. In its technical theatrical signification, such
as the above quotation, it refers to any portable article whether
costume, furniture, or weapons required during the acting of the
play. In Elizabethan times the properties used were few and simple;
they consisted of things that were absolutely necessary, thus giving
a realistic appearance to the performance. If a bedroom scene is
being represented, a bed, table, chairs or stools and lights are
the properties mentioned in the play, and, no doubt, produced on the
stage. In scenes of open country, a wood, a park, and artificial trees,
mossy banks, and sometimes a rock, or a tomb, would be fixed on the
stage. That such properties were in use can be proved from the notes
in Henslowe’s invaluable Diary, where such things are mentioned. In
shop scenes, a counter and a few articles to indicate the nature of the
business were no doubt exhibited. No painted scenery was known, but the
stage was draped with tapestry and perhaps a few pictures were also
displayed. The floor in all scenes was covered with rushes, which were
suitable for any setting. If a room was being represented, rushes were
quite appropriate, as at that date they were the substitute for our
carpet. If a nature scene, they harmonised with the green foliage and
completed the picture. Many other articles besides the above-mentioned
were brought into use; thus it is quite evident that, however simple
the setting, it sufficed in conveying the proper allusion. Even in our
own times, I have witnessed a play of Molière’s, in which a table and
two chairs were the only properties on the stage.
“Of all properties for my Lord Admiral’s men, the 10th of March, 1598:
1 rock, 1 cage, 1 tomb, 1 Hell mouth, 2 marchepanes and the sittie
(city) of Rome (rather a tall order), 2 wooden canopies, old Mahomet’s
head, and other accessories.”
ACT. HISS.
If I do not act it, hiss me.
III, 3, 40.
CUE.
Remember you your cue.
III, 3, 40.
The concluding word or words of a speech in a play serving as a signal
or direction to another to begin his speech. The word cue has been
taken as French _queue_, that is, the tail or ending of the preceding
speech; but no such use of queue has even been used in French, where
the cue is called _replique_, and no literal sense of queue or cue
leading up to this appears in the sixteenth century English. On the
other hand, in the sixteenth and early seventeenth centuries it is
found written Q, q or qu, and it was explained by seventeenth century
writers as a contraction for some Latin word (_qualis_, _quando_), said
to have been used to mark in actors’ copies of plays the points at
which they were to begin. But no evidence confirming this has ever been
found.
Q. A qu, a term used among stage-plaiers, a Lat qualis--at what manner
of word the Actors are to beginne to speake one after another hath done
his speech. 1625.
Q. A note of entrance for actors, because it is the first letter of
quando--when, showing when to enter and speak. 1633. From Butler’s
_English Grammar_. The word is printed both Qu and Cue in the Folios
and quartos. All modern editions print cue.
The clock gives me my cue.
III, 2, 46.
MASQUED. VIZARDED.
For they must all be masqued and vizarded.
IV, 6, 40.
In the early days of the masque the performers always wore masks or
vizards.
PART.
(_Enter Sir Hugh Evans, disguised with others, as fairies._)
Trib, fairies; come! and remember your parts; be bold, I pray you;
follow me into the pit, and when I give ords, do as I pid you; come
come; trib, trib.
V, 4, 2.
SCENE.
Fat Falstaffe
Hath a great scene.
IV, 6, 17.
COMEDY. PROLOGUE.
After we had embraced, kissed and protested and
As it were spoke the prologue to our comedy.
III, 5, 76.
A comedy was a theatrical piece generally depicting the manners of the
period, always of an amusing and cheerful character, a happy conclusion
being one of the essential features. Some of Shakespeare’s so-called
comedies almost verge on the side of tragedy, as, for instance, the
plot of the “Merchant of Venice,” “The Winter’s Tale,” and others.
A MIDSUMMER NIGHT’S DREAM
QUINCE.
Is all our company here?
BOTTOM.
You were best to call them generally, man by man, according to the
scrip.
QUIN.
Here is the scroll of every man’s name, which is thought fit,
through all Athens, to play in our interlude before the Duke and
the Duchess on his wedding-day at night.
BOT.
First, good Peter Quince, say what the play treats on; then read
the names of the actors; and so grow to a point.
QUIN.
Marry, our play is, the most lamentable comedy, and most cruel
death of Pyramus and Thisby.
BOT.
A very good piece of work, I assure you, and a merry. Now, good
Peter Quince, call forth your actors by the scroll. Masters, spread
yourselves.
QUIN.
Answer as I call you. Nick Bottom, the weaver.
BOT.
Ready. Name what part I am for, and proceed.
QUIN.
You, Nick Bottom, are set down for Pyramus.
BOT.
What is Pyramus? a lover or a tyrant?
QUIN.
A lover, that kills himself most gallant for love.
BOT.
That will ask some tears in the true performing of it; if I do it,
let the audience look to their eyes; I will move storms, I will
condole in some measure. To the rest: yet my chief humour is for a
tyrant; I could play Ercles rarely, or a part to tear a cat in, to
make all split.
The raging rocks
And shivering shocks
Shall break the locks
Of prison-gates;
And Phibbus’ car
Shall shine from far,
And make and mar
The foolish Fates.
This was lofty! Now name the rest of the players. This is Ercles’
vein, a tyrant’s vein; a lover is more condoling.
QUIN.
Francis Flute, the bellows-mender.
FLU.
Here, Peter Quince.
QUIN.
Flute, you must take Thisby on you.
FLU.
What is Thisby?--a wandering knight?
QUIN.
It is the lady that Pyramus must love.
FLU.
Nay, faith, let me not play a woman; I have a beard coming.
QUIN.
That’s all one: you shall play it in a mask, and you may speak as
small as you will.
BOT.
And I may hide my face. Let me play Thisby, too; I’ll speak in a
monstrous little voice: “Thisne, Thisne”; “Ah, Pyramus, my lover,
dear! thy Thisby, dear, and lady dear!”
QUIN.
No, no; you must play Pyramus; and, Flute you Thisby.
BOT.
Well, proceed.
QUIN.
Robin Starveling, the tailor.
STAR.
Here, Peter Quince.
QUIN.
You, Pyramus’ father; myself, Thisby’s father; Snug, the joiner;
you, the lion’s part; and, I hope, here is a play fitted.
SNUG.
Have you the lion’s part written? Pray you, if it be, give it me,
for I am slow of study.
QUIN.
You may do it extempore, for it is nothing but roaring.
BOT.
Let me play the lion, too: I will roar, that I will do any man’s
heart good to hear me; I will roar, that I will make the Duke say:
“Let him roar again, let him roar again.”
QUIN.
And you should do it too terribly, you would fright the Duchess and
the ladies, that they would shriek; and that were enough to hang us
all.
ALL.
That would hang us, every mother’s son.
BOT.
I grant you, friends, if you should fright the ladies out of their
wits, they would have no more discretion but to hang us; but I will
aggravate my voice so that I will roar you as gently as any sucking
dove; I will roar you an’ ’twere any nightingale.
QUIN.
You can play no part but Pyramus; for Pyramus is a sweet-faced man;
a proper man, as one shall see in a summer’s day; a most lovely,
gentleman-like man; therefore you must needs play Pyramus.
BOT.
Well, I will undertake it. What beard were I best to play it in?
QUIN.
Why, what you will.
BOT.
I will discharge it in either your straw colour beard, your
orange-tawny beard, your purple-in-grain beard, or your French
crown colour beard, your perfect yellow.
QUIN.
Some of your French crowns have no hair at all, and then you will
play barefaced. But, masters, here are your parts; and I am to
entreat you, request you, and desire you, to con them by to-morrow
night; and meet me in the palace wood, a mile without the town,
by moonlight; there we will rehearse, for if we meet in the city,
we shall be dogged with company, and our devices known. In the
meantime I will draw a bill of properties, such as our play wants.
I pray you, fail me not.
BOT.
We will meet; and there we may rehearse most obscenely and
courageously. Take pains; be perfect. Adieu.
QUIN.
At the duke’s oak we meet.
BOT.
Enough; hold or cut bow-strings.
_Act_ I. _Scene_ II.
* * * * *
BOT.
Are we all met?
QUIN.
Pat, pat; and here’s a marvellous convenient place for our
rehearsal. This green plot shall be our stage, this hawthorn-brake
our tiring-house; and we will do it in action as we will do it
before the Duke.
BOT.
Peter Quince ----.
QUIN.
What sayest thou, Bully Bottom?
BOT.
There are things in this comedy of Pyramus and Thisby that will
never please. First, Pyramus must draw a sword to kill himself;
which the ladies cannot abide. How answer you that?
SNOUT.
By’r lakin, a parlous fear.
STAR.
I believe we must leave the killing out when all is done.
BOT.
Not a whit: I have a device to make all well. Write me a prologue;
and let the prologue seem to say, we will do no harm with our
swords, and that Pyramus is not killed indeed; and, for the more
better assurance, tell them that I, Pyramus, am not Pyramus, but
Bottom, the weaver: this will put them out of fear.
QUIN.
Well, we will have such a prologue; and it shall be written in
eight and six.
BOT.
No, make it two more; let it be written in eight and eight.
SNOUT.
Will not the ladies be afeard of the lion?
STAR.
I fear it, I promise you.
BOT.
Masters, you ought to consider with yourselves: to bring in--God
shield us!--a lion among ladies is a most dreadful thing; for there
is not a more fearful wild-fowl than your lion living, and we ought
to look to’t.
SNOUT.
Therefore another prologue must tell he is not a lion.
BOT.
Nay, you must name his name, and half his face must be seen through
the lion’s neck; and he himself must speak through, saying thus,
or to the same defect: “Ladies,”--or, “Fair ladies--I would wish
you”--or, “I would request you,”--or, “I would entreat you--not to
fear, not to tremble: my life for yours. If you think I come hither
as a lion, it were pity of my life: no, I am no such thing; I am a
man as other men are”; and there indeed let him name his name, and
tell them plainly, he is Snug, the joiner.
QUIN.
Well, it shall be so. But there is two hard things; that is, to
bring the moonlight into a chamber, for, you know, Pyramus and
Thisby meet by moonlight.
SNOUT.
Doth the moon shine that night we play our play?
BOT.
A calendar, a calendar! look in the almanac; find out moonshine,
find out moonshine.
QUIN.
Yes, it doth shine that night.
BOT.
Why, then, may you leave a casement of the great chamber window,
where we play, open, and the moon may shine in at the casement.
QUIN.
Ay; or else one must come in with a bush of thorns and a lantern,
and say he comes to disfigure, or to present, the person of
moonshine. Then there is another thing: we must have a wall in the
great chamber; for Pyramus and Thisby, says the story, did talk
through the chink of a wall.
SNOUT.
You can never bring in a wall. What say you, Bottom?
BOT.
Some man or other must present wall; and let him have some plaster,
or some loam, or some rough-cast about him to signify wall; and let
him hold his fingers thus, and through that cranny shall Pyramus
and Thisby whisper.
QUIN.
If that may be, then all is well. Come, sit down, every mother’s
son, and rehearse your parts. Pyramus, you begin: when you have
spoken your speech, enter into that brake, and so every one
according to his cue.
(_Enter Puck, behind._)
PUCK.
What hempen home-spuns have we swaggering here,
So near the cradle of the fairy queen?
What, a play toward! I’ll be an auditor;
An actor, too, perhaps, if I see cause.
QUIN.
Speak, Pyramus. Thisby, stand forth.
BOT.
Thisby, the flowers of odious savours sweet, ----.
QUIN.
Odours, odours.
BOT.
---- Odours savours sweet:
So hath thy breath, my dearest Thisby, dear.
But hark, a voice! stay thou but here awhile,
And by and by I will to thee appear. (_Exit_).
PUCK.
A stranger Pyramus than e’er play’d here.
FLU.
Must I speak now?
QUIN.
Ay, marry, must you; for you must understand he goes but to see a
noise that he heard, and is to come again.
FLU.
Most radiant Pyramus, most lily-white of hue,
Of colour like the red rose on triumphant brier,
Most brisky juvenal, and eke most lovely Jew,
As true as truest horse, that yet would never tire,
I’ll meet thee, Pyramus, at Ninny’s tomb.
QUIN.
“Ninus’ tomb,” man; why, you must not speak that yet; that you
answer to Pyramus. You speak all your part at once, cues and all.
Pyramus enter: your due is past; it is, “never tire.”
FLU.
O,--As true as truest horse, that would never tire.
(_Re-enter Puck and Bottom, with an ass’s head._)
BOT.
If I were fair, Thisby, I were only thine.
QUIN.
O monstrous! O strange! we are haunted.
Pray, masters! fly, masters! Help!
_Act_ III, Sc. I, _lines_ 1-107.
THESUS.
Come now; what masques, what dances shall we have
To wear away this long age of three hours
Between our after-supper and bed-time?
Where is our usual manager of mirth?
What revels are in hand? Is there no play
To ease the anguish of a torturing hour?
Call Philostrate.
PHIL.
Here, mighty Thesus.
THE.
Say, what abridgement have you for this evening?
What masque? what music? How shall we beguile
The lazy time, if not with some delight?
PHIL.
There is a brief how many sports are ripe:
Make choice of which your highness will see first.
THE.
(_Reads_) The battle with the Centaurs, to be sung
By an Athenian eunuch to the harp.
We’ll none of that: that have I told my love,
In glory of my kinsman, Hercules.
(_Reads_) The riot of the tipsy Bacchanals,
Tearing the Thracian singer in their rage.
That is an old decide; and it was play’d
When I from Thebes came last a conqueror.
(_Reads_) The thrice three Muses mourning for the death
Of Learning, late deceased in beggary.
That is some satire, keen and critical,
Not sorting with a nuptial ceremony.
(_Reads_) A tedious brief scene of young Pyramus
And his love Thisbe; very tragical mirth.
Merry and tragical! tedious and brief!
That is, hot ice and wondrous strange snow.
How shall we find the concord of this discord?
PHIL.
A play there is, my lord, some ten words long,
Which is as brief as I have known a play;
But by ten words, my lord, it is too long,
Which makes it tedious; for in all the play
There is not one word apt, one play fitted:
And tragical, my noble lord, it is;
For Pyramus therein doth kill himself.
Which, when I saw rehearsed, I must confess,
Made mine eyes water; but more merry tears
The passion of loud laughter never shed.
THE.
What are they that do play it?
PHIL.
Hard-handed men, that work in Athens here,
Which never labour’d in their minds till now;
And now have toil’d their unbreathed memories
With this same play, against your nuptial.
THE.
And we will hear it.
PHIL.
No, my noble lord;
It is not for you: I have heard it over,
And it is nothing, nothing in the world;
Unless you can find sport in their intents,
Extremely stretch’d and conn’d with cruel pain,
To do you service.
THE.
I will hear that play;
For never anything can be amiss,
When simpleness and duty tender it.
Go, bring them in: and take your places, ladies.
HIP.
I love not to see wretchedness o’ercharged,
And duty in his service perishing.
THE.
Why, gentle sweet, you shall see no such thing.
HIP.
He says they can do nothing in this kind.
THE.
The kinder we, to give them thanks for nothing.
Our sport shall be to take what they mistake:
And what poor duty cannot do noble respect
Takes in it might, not merit.
Where I have come, great clerks have purposed
To greet me with premeditated welcomes;
Where I have seen them shiver and look pale,
Make periods in the midst of sentences,
Throttle their practised accent in their fears,
And, in conclusion, dumbly have broken off,
Not paying me a welcome. Trust me, sweet,
Out of this silence yet I picked a welcome;
And in the modesty of fearful duty
I read as much as from the rattling tongue
Of saucy and audacious eloquence
Love, therefore, and tongue-tied simplicity
In least speak most, to my capacity.
(_Re-enter Philostrate._)
PHIL.
So please, your Grace, the Prologue is address’d.
(_Flourish of trumpets._)
(_Enter Quince for the Prologue._)
PRO.
If we offend, it is with our good will.
That you should think, we come not to offend,
But with good will. To show our simple skill,
That is the true beginning of our end.
Consider, then, we come but in despite
We do not come, as minding to content you
Our true intent is. All for your delight,
We are not here. That you should here repent you.
The actors are at hand; and, by their show,
You shall know all, that you are like to know.
THE.
This fellow doth not stand upon points.
LYS.
He hath rid his prologue like a rough colt; he
Knows not the stop. A good moral, my lord:
It is not enough to speak, but to speak true.
HIP.
Indeed he hath played on his prologue like a child on a recorder; a
sound, but not in government.
THE.
His speech was like a tangled chain; nothing impaired, but all
disordered. Who is next?
(_Enter Pyramus and Thisbe, Wall, Moonshine and Lion._)
PRO.
Gentles, perchance you wonder at this show;
But wonder on, till truth make all things plain.
This man is Pyramus, if you would know;
This beauteous lady, Thisby, is certain.
This man, with line and rough-cast, doth present
Wall, that vile Wall, which did these lovers sunder;
And through Wall’s chink, poor souls, they are content
To whisper. At the which let no man wonder.
This man, with lanthorn, dog, and bush of thorn,
Presenteth Moonshine; for, if you will know,
By moonshine did these lovers think no scorn.
To meet at Ninus’ tomb, there, there to woo.
This grisly beast, which Lion hight by name,
The trusty Thisby, coming first by night,
Did scare away, or rather did affright;
And, as she fled, her mantle she did fall,
Which Lion vile with bloody mouth did stain.
Anon comes Pyramus, sweet youth and tall,
And finds his trusty Thisby’s mantle slain:
Whereat, with blade, with bloody blameful blade,
He bravely broach’d his boiling bloody breast;
And Thisby, tarrying in mulberry shade,
His dagger drew, and died. For all the rest,
Let Lion, Moonshine, Wall, and lovers twain
At large discourse, while here they do remain.
(_Exeunt Prologue, Pyramus, Thisbe, Lion and Moonshine._)
THE.
I wonder if the lion be to speak.
DEM.
No wonder, my lord: one lion may, when many asses do.
WALL.
In this same interlude it doth befall
That I, one Snout by name, present a wall;
And such a wall, as I would have you think,
That had in it a crannied hole or chink,
Through which the lovers, Pyramus and Thisby,
Did whisper often very secretly.
This loam, this rough-cast, and this stone, doth show
That I am that same wall; the truth is so:
And this the cranny is, right and sinister,
Through which the fearful lovers are to whisper.
THE.
Would you desire lime and hair to speak better?
DEM.
It is the wittiest partition that ever I heard discourse, my lord.
THE.
Pyramus draws near the wall; silence!
(_Re-enter Pyramus_).
PYR.
O grim-look’d night! O night with hue so black!
O night, which ever art when day is not!
O night, O night! alack, alack, alack,
I fear my Thisby’s promise is forgot!
And thou, O wall, O sweet, O lovely wall,
That stand’st between her father’s ground and mine!
Thou wall, O wall, O sweet and lovely wall,
Show me thy chink, to blink through with mine eyne!
(_Wall holds up his fingers._)
Thanks, courteous wall; Jove shield thee well for this!
But what see I? No Thisby do I see.
O wicked wall, through whom I see no bliss!
Cursed be thy stones for thus deceiving me!
THE.
The wall, methinks, being sensible, should curse again.
PYR.
No, in truth, sir, he should not. “Deceiving me,” is Thisby’s cue; she
is to enter now, and I am to spy her through the wall. You shall see,
it will fall pat as I told you. Yonder she comes.
(_Re-enter Thisbe._)
THIS.
O wall, full often hast thou heard my moans,
For parting my fair Pyramus and me!
My cherry lips have often kiss’d thy stones,
Thy stones with lime and hair knit up in thee.
PYR.
I see a voice: now will I to the chink,
To spy an’ I can hear my Thisby’s face.
Thisby!
THIS.
My love thou art, my love I think.
PYR.
Think what thou wilt, I am thy lover’s grave;
And, like Limander, am I trusty still.
THIS.
And I like Helen, till the Fates me kill.
PYR.
Not Shafalus to Procrus was so true.
THIS.
As Shafalus to Procrus, I to you.
PYR.
O, kiss me through the hole of this vile wall!
THIS.
I kiss the wall’s hole, not your lips at all.
PYR.
Wilt thou at Ninny’s tomb meet me straightway?
THIS.
’Tide life, ’tide death, I’d come without delay.
(_Exeunt Pyramus and Thisbe._)
WALL.
Thus have I, wall, my part discharged so;
And, being done, this wall away doth go.
THE.
Now is the mural down between the two neighbours.
DEM.
No remedy, my lord, when walls are so wilful to hear without
warning.
HIP.
This is the silliest stuff that ever I heard.
THE.
The best in this kind are but shadows; and the worst are no worse,
if imagination amend them.
HIP.
It must be your imagination then, and not theirs.
THE.
If we imagine no worse of them than they of themselves, they may
pass for excellent men. Here come two noble beasts in, a man and a
lion.
(_Re-enter Lion and Moonshine._)
LION.
You, ladies, you, whose gentle hearts do fear
The smallest monstrous mouse that creeps on floor,
May now perchance both quake and tremble here,
When lion rough in wildest rage doth roar.
Then know that I, one Snug the joiner, am
A lion-fell, nor else no lion’s dam;
For, if I should as lion, come in strife
Into this place, ’twere pity on my life.
THE.
A very gentle beast, and of good conscience.
DEM.
The very best at a beast, my lord, that e’er I saw.
LYS.
This lion is a very fox for his valour.
THE.
True; and a goose for his discretion.
DEM.
Not so, my lord; for his valour cannot carry his discretions; and
the fox carries the goose.
THE.
His discretion, I am sure, cannot carry his valour for the goose
carries not the fox. It is well: leave it to his discretion, and
let us listen to the moon.
MOON.
This lanthorn doth the horned moon present;--
DEM.
He should have worn the horns on his head.
THE.
He is no crescent, and his horns are invisible within the
circumference.
MOON.
This lanthorn doth the horned moon present;
Myself the man i’ the moon do seem to be.
THE.
This is the greatest error of all the rest: the man should be put
into the lanthorn. How is it else the man i’ the moon?
DEM.
He dares not come there for the candle; for, you see, it is already
in snuff.
HIP.
I am aweary of this moon: would he would change!
THE.
It appears, by his small light of discretion, that he is on the
wane; but yet, in courtesy, in all reason, we must stay the time.
LYS.
Proceed, Moon.
MOON.
All that I have to say is to tell you that the lanthorn is the
moon; I, the man i’ the moon; this thorn-bush, my thorn-bush; and
this dog, my dog.
DEM.
Why, all these should be in the lantern; for all these are in the moon.
But, silence! here comes Thisbe.
(_Re-enter Thisbe._)
THIS.
This is old Ninny’s tomb. Where is my love?
LION.
(_Roaring_) Oh, ----.
DEM.
Well roared, Lion.
THE.
Well run, Thisbe.
HIP.
Well shone, Moon. Truly the moon shines with a good grace.
(_The Lion shakes Thisbe’s mantle, and exit._)
THE.
Well moused, Lion.
DEM.
And then came Pyramus.
LYS.
And so the Lion vanished.
(_Re-enter Pyramus._)
PYR.
Sweet Moon, I thank thee for thy sunny beams;
I thank thee, Moon, for shining now so bright;
For, by thy gravious, golde, glittering gleams,
I trust to take of truest Thisby’s sight.
But stay, O spite!
But mark, poor knight,
What dreadful dole is here!
Eyes, do you see?
How can it be?
O dainty duck! O dear!
Thy mantle good,
What, stain’d with blood!
Approach, ye Furies fell!
O Fates, come, come,
Cut thread and thrum;
Quail, crush, conclude, and quell!
THE.
This passion, and the death of a dear friend, would go near to make
a man look sad.
HIP.
Beshrew my heart, but I pity the man.
PYR.
O wherefore, Nature, didst thou lions frame?
Since lion vile hath here deflower’d my dear:
Which is--no, no--which was the fairest dame
That lived, that loved, that liked, that look’d with cheer.
Come, tears, confound;
Out, sword, and wound
The pap of Pyramus;
Ay, that left pap,
Where heart doth hop. (_Stabs himself._)
Thus die I, thus, thus, thus.
Now am I dead,
Now am I fled;
My soul is in the sky;
Tongue, lose thy light;
Moon, take thy flight. (_Exit Moonshine._)
Now die, die, die, die, die. (_Dies._)
DEM.
No die, but an ace, for him; for he is but one.
LYS.
Less than an ace, man, for he is dead; he is nothing.
THE.
With the help of a surgeon he might yet recover, and prove an ass.
HIP.
How chance Moonshine is gone before Thisbe comes back and finds her
lover?
THE.
She will find him by starlight. Here she comes; and her passion ends
the play.
(_Re-enter Thisbe._)
HIP.
Methinks she should not use a long one for such a Pyramus. I hope
she will be brief.
DEM.
A mote will turn the balance, which Pyramus, which Thisbe, is the
better; he for a man, God warrant us; she for a woman, God bless us.
LYS.
She hath spied him already with those sweet eyes.
DEM.
And thus she means, videlicet:
THIS.
Asleep, my love?
What, dead, my dove?
O Pyramus, arise!
Speak, speak. Quite dumb?
Dead, dead! A tomb
Must cover thy sweet eyes.
These lily lips,
This cherry nose,
These yellow cowslip cheeks,
Are gone, are gone,
Lovers, make moan:
His eyes were green as leeks.
O Sisters Three,
Come, come to me,
With hands as pale as milk:
Lay them in gore,
Since you have shore
With shears his thread of silk.
Tongue, not a word:
Come, trusty sword;
Come, blade, my breast imbrue: (_Stabs herself._)
And, farewell, friends:
Thus Thisbe ends:
Adieu, adieu, adieu. (Dies.)
THE.
Moonshine and Lion are left to bury the dead.
DEM.
Ay, and Wall, too.
BOT.
(_Starting up._) No, I assure you, the wall is down that parted
their fathers. Will it please you to see the epilogue, or to hear a
Bergomask dance between two of our company?
THE.
No epilogue, I pray you; for your play needs no excuse. Never
excuse, for when the players are all dead there need none to be
blamed. Marry, if he that writ it had played Pyramus and hanged
himself in Thisbe’s garter, it would have been a fine tragedy;
and so it is, truly; and very notably discharged. But, come, your
Bergomask: let your epilogue alone.
_Act_ V. _Scene_ I. _Line 32-line_ 369.
ACTORS.
Read the names of the actors, and so grow to a point.
I, 2, 9.
Call forth your actors by the scroll,
Masters spread yourselves.
I, 2, 16.
I’ll be an auditor;
An actor, too, perhaps. If I see cause.
III, 1, 82.
Most dear actors, eat no onions nor garlic, for we are to utter
sweet breath.
IV, 2, 43.
The actors are at hand, and by their show
You shall know all.
V, 1, 116.
AUDIENCE.
If I do let the audience look to their eyes.
V, 1, 145.
COMEDY.
Our play is the most lamentable comedy, and most cruel death of
Pyramus and Thisbe.
I, 11, 12.
There are things in this comedy of Pyramus and Thisby that will
never please.
III, 1, 9.
I do not doubt but to hear them say it is a sweet comedy.
IV, 2, 45.
CUE. PART.
And so every one according to his cue.
III, 1, 78.
You speak all your parts at once, cues and all.
III, 1, 102.
When my cue comes, call me, and I will answer.
IV, 1, 205.
“Deceiving me” is Thisby’s cue.
V, 1, 186.
ABRIDGEMENT.
Say, what abridgement have you for this evening?
What masques, what music? How shall we beguile
The lazy time if not with some delight.
V, 1, 35.
An “Abridgement” appears to be an entertainment consisting of a
dramatic performance of short duration to while away the time. Another
meaning was a compendium of a larger work with the details abridged.
I cannot find any contemporary use of this term, as it is employed by
Shakespeare.
AUDITOR.
I’ll be an auditor; an actor, too, perhaps.
III, 1, 81.
EIGHT AND SIX. PROLOGUE.
QUINCE.
We will have such a prologue; and it shall be written in eight and
six.
III, 1, 25.
The ballads of the day were generally written in this metre, alternate
verses of eight and six syllables. The sonnets of the time were
composed in fourteen lines. All Shakespearean sonnets are written in
this number. Quince may have had this reckoning in his mind when he
recommended eight and six--fourteen. George Gascoigne, the Elizabethan
poet, composed the verses for a masque in fourteen syllable metre. In
the play as performed before the Duke, the prologue does not appear.
EPILOGUE.
Please you to see the epilogue or to hear a Bergomask dance between
two of our company?
V, i, 360.
A Bergomask dance was performed after the manner of a dance by Bergamo
peasants. Bergamo was formerly a town in Venetia; now it is in the
province of Lombardy.
But come, your Bergomask; let your epilogue alone.
V, i, 369.
ERCLES VEIN. PART.
I could play Ercles rarely, or a part to tear a cat in.
I, 2, 31.
This is Ercles’ vein, a tyrant’s vein; a lover is more condoling.
I, 2, 42.
The “Ercles vein” referred to a style of acting widely prevalent in
Shakespeare’s day. This method gained his unqualified disapproval,
which he specially denounced in Hamlet’s advice to the players. Through
his influence, this melodramatic bombastic ranting was finally driven
from the stage, not, alas, without many pleadings for its retention
amongst several playgoers. Robert Greene, the dramatist, in his
_Groatsworth of Wit_, the same pamphlet in which he accuses Shakespeare
of downright plagiarism, mentions an actor who observes how he heard
“The Twelve Labours of Hercules thunder on the stage.” Henslowe, in his
Diary, notes the name of a play on this subject, and others are also
known. It gave an opportunity for a robust actor to carry an audience
with him in his display of fiery outbursts of uncontrollable passion.
EXTEMPORE.
You may do it extempore, for it is nothing but roaring.
I, 2, 70.
MASK.
FLUTE.
Nay, faith, let not me play a woman: I have a beard coming.
QUI.
That’s all one, you shall play it in a mask.
There is a tradition that masks were worn by ladies attending the
theatres in the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries. This custom may
have originated from the stage use of boys and men playing female
parts, sometimes in masks. Very little is known of the history of
wearing masks, both in public and private performances. The above
quotation proves that it would not be at all incongruous for an actor
to play his part in a mask.
MASQUE.
What masques, what dances shall we have?
V, 1, 32.
What masque? what music? How shall we beguile
The lazy time, if not with some delight.
V, 1, 40.
INTERLUDE.
Here is the scroll of every man’s name which is thought fit,
through all Athens, to play in our interlude.
I, 2, 5.
APPAREL.
Get your apparel together, good strings to your beards, new ribbons
to your pumps. In any case, let Thisby have clean linen.
IV, 2, 36.
Although scenic effects did not play a great part in Elizabethan
performances, the actors spared no pains in appearing before the
audience in most elaborate costumes. The court masques were most
gorgeously costumed, and the expenses totalled thousands of pounds.
It is on record that noblemen lent their rich doublets and hose to
actors on special occasions, all characters, whether ancient or
modern, appearing in the costume of the day. Henslowe’s Diary affords
many glimpses of the dresses supplied to the actors. In fact, the
rich apparel of the actors is one of the noteworthy features of an
Elizabethan play, and can be attested by many contemporary witnesses.
We see here the rude mechanicals aping their betters, and Bottom’s
request that the performers shall appear in their best and do
everything in their power to make a goodly show before the Duke.
PLAY.
Say what the play treats on.
I, 2, 9.
Mary! our play is The most lamentable comedy.
I, 2, 11.
I could play Ercles rarely.
I, 2, 31.
Let me not play a woman, I have a beard coming.
You shall play it in a mask.
I, 2, 51.
Let me play Thisby, too.
I, 2, 53.
You must play Pyramus: And Flute, you Thisby.
I, 2, 57.
Robin Starveling you must play Thisby’s mother.
I, 2, 62.
Here is a play fitted
I, 2, 67.
Let me play the lion, too. I will roar.
I, 2, 72.
You can play no part but Thisby.
I, 2, 87.
What beard where I best to play it in.
I, 2, 93.
And then you will play barefaced.
I, 2, 100.
I will draw a bill of properties, such as our play wants.
I, 2, 105.
Doth the moon shine that night we play our play.
III, 1, 53.
Leave a casement of the great chamber window where we play, open.
III, 1, 58.
What a play toward.
III, 1, 81.
To rehearse a play.
III, 11, 2.
I will sing it the latter end of the play.
IV, 1, 23.
If he come not then the play is marred.
IV, 2, 5.
Our play is preferred.
IV, 2, 39.
Let not him that plays the lion pare his nails.
IV, 2, 41.
Is there no play
To ease the anguish of a torturing hour?
V, i, 36.
A play there is, my lord, some ten words long,
Which is as brief as I have known a play.
V, 1, 61.
For in all the play
There is not one word apt, one player fitted.
V, i, 64.
What are they that do play it?
V, 1, 71.
And now have toiled their unbreathed memories
With this same play.
V, 1, 75.
I will hear that play.
V, 1, 81.
Here she comes, and her passion ends the play.
V, 1, 321.
No epilogue, I pray you; for your play needs no excuse.
V, 1, 362.
This palpable gross play hath well beguil’d
The heavy gait of night.
V, 1, 374.
PLAYED.
A stranger Pyramus than e’er played here.
II, 1, 91.
It was play’d
When I from Thebes came last a conqueror.
V, 1, 90.
He hath played on his prologue like a child on a recorder.
V, 1, 122.
If he that writ it had played Pyramus and hanged himself in
Thisbe’s garter it would have been a fine tragedy.
V, 1, 365.
PLAYER.
Now name the rest of the players.
I, 2, 42.
For in all the play there is not one word apt, one player fitted.
V, 1, 65.
Never excuse, for when the players are all dead there need none to
be blamed.
V, 1, 364.
PUPPET.
Fie: you counterfeit, you puppet you!
Puppet? why so?
III, 2, 288.
PROLOGUE.
Write me a prologue.
III, 1, 1a.
We will have such a prologue.
III, 1, 24.
Therefore another prologue must tell he is not a lion.
III, 1, 35.
So please, your grace, the prologue is addressed.
V, 1, 106.
He hath rid his prologue like a rough colt.
V, 1, 119.
Indeed he hath played on his prologue like a child on a recorder.
V, 1, 122.
PART.
Name what part I am for and proceed.
I, 2, 20.
I could play Ercles rarely or a part to tear a cat in.
I, 2, 31.
Snug, the joiner; you, the lion’s part.
I, 2, 66.
Have you the lion’s part written?
I, 2, 68.
You can play no part by Pyramus.
I, 2, 87.
Here are your parts; and I am to entreat you and desire you to con
them by to-morrow night.
I, 2, 101.
Sit down, every mother’s son, and rehearse your parts.
III, 1, 102.
Every man look o’er his part.
IV, 2, 38.
Thus have I, Wall, my part discharged.
PLAYING.
O sweet Bully Bottom; Thus hath he lost sixpence a day during his
life: he could not have scaped sixpence a day; or the duke had not
given him sixpence a day for playing Pyramus, I’ll be hanged; he
would have deserved it; sixpence a day in Pyramus or nothing.
IV, 2, 23.
There is probably an allusion here to some actor who had been pensioned
by the Queen with this sum. The author of “Cambyses,” Thomas Preston,
was pensioned, at the rate of twenty pounds a year, by the Queen for
his rare ability in acting. The play in which Preston acted was John
Ritwise’s “Dido,” played before Queen Elizabeth at Cambridge, 1564.
Shakespeare likewise ridiculed the title page of “Cambyses” by alluding
to the most lamentable comedy of Pyramus and Thisby.
After the lapse of so many years it is doubtful whether the audience
fully appreciated or understood the allusion.
PROPERTIES.
In the meantime I will draw a bill of properties.
I, 2, 108.
REHEARSAL.
A marvellous convenient place for our rehearsal.
III, 1, 3.
REHEARSE.
A mile without the town, by moonlight: there will we rehearse.
I, 2, 105.
There may we rehearse most obscenely and courageously.
I, 2, 110.
Sit down every mother’s son, and rehearse your parts.
III, 1, 75.
Were met together to rehearse a play.
III, 2, 11.
Which, when I saw rehearsed, I must confess made more eyes water.
V, i, 68.
The first authentic use of this word, in its technical theatrical
sense, is made by Shakespeare in this passage: “A marvellous convenient
place for our rehearsal.” Cunningham, in his Revels Accounts, quotes
the use of the word in 1580: “Rehersinge of divers plaies and their
sundry Rehersells.” There is a grave suspicion of forgery overhanging
Cunningham’s transcripts of the Revels Account. Most critics would
condemn them as modern forgeries, while others uphold their genuineness.
REVELS.
The King doth keep his Revels here to-night.
II, 1, 18.
THESEUS.
Where is our usual manager of mirth?
What revels are in hand?
V, 1, 36.
A fortnight hold we this solemnly
In nightly revels and new jolity.
V, 1, 377.
Where is our usual manager of mirth?
What Revels are in hand? Is there no play
To ease the anguish of a torturing house?
Call Egeus (Philostrate Master of the Revels).
There is a curious error in the above passage, which is copied from
the First Folio. Egeus is simply an Athenian Lord, and is in no way
connected with the household of Theseus. Philostrate, who is really
Master of the Revels to the Duke, is correctly named in this extract
in Fisher’s quarto edition of the play, issued in Shakespeare’s
life-time. The error probably arose through the same actor’s doubling
the characters of both Egeus and Philostrate, and must be attributed to
the prompter, who adapted for the stage the quarto edition, dated 1600.
This was, in fact, the original quarto, and fraudulently re-issued
in 1619. It was called the Robert’s quarto, from the name of the
printer, and this quarto was used by the editors of the First Folio in
reprinting the play. Although the date of 1600, the same as that of
Fisher’s quarto, is stamped on the title page, it has been conclusively
proved by Mr. Pollard, of the British Museum, that this edition was
really issued in 1619, together with other quartos, some of which bear
false dates, and the nine false quartos were bound in one volume in the
year 1619.
The Master of the Revels was an important official at the Court. All
plays that were publicly acted were obliged beforehand to obtain the
sanction of the Master of the Revels, much in the same way as the
approval of the Lord Chamberlain must be obtained in our own times.
During Elizabeth’s reign, Edward Tilney held this post in the Royal
Household; his official residence was at St. John’s Gate, Clerkenwell,
and here were stored the properties and costumes that were used in the
masques and entertainments, which were presented at the palaces of
Whitehall, Greenwich, Hampton Court, and other royal residences. During
the last years of the Queen’s reign, Henry Carey, first Baron Hunsdon,
was Lord Chamberlain; after his death, William Brooke, Lord Cobham,
succeeded to the office, to be followed by George Carey, second Lord
Hunsdon, the son of the earlier Lord Chamberlain.
SCENE.
Forsook his scene and entered in a brake.
III, 2, 15.
A tedious, brief scene of young Pyramus and his love, Thisbe.
V, 1, 56.
SHOW.
Gentles, perchance you wonder at this show:
But wonder on, till truth make all things plain.
V, 1, 128.
STAGE.
This green plot shall be our stage.
III, 1, 4.
STUDY.
Have you the lion’s part written? Pray, if it be, give it me; I am
slow of study.
I, 2, 69.
I am told that to study a part belongs to the theatrical vocabulary of
to-day. Another proof of the conservatism of the English stage.
TIRING HOUSE.
This green plot shall be our stage, this hawthorn brake our tiring
house.
III, 1, 4.
Every Elizabethan theatre possessed a tiring house or a tiring room, as
it is generally named. The word is an abbreviation of attiring house:
the place where the actors dressed or attired themselves. From the very
earliest times the tiring room was a part of theatrical equipment. In
the early days of the Greek drama, the Coryphæus mounted on a table,
surrounded by choristers, who danced and chanted the dithyrambs in the
orchestra. This was the name given to the flat service enclosed between
the stage buildings and the inside boundary of the auditorium. It was
called the orchestra, or dancing place, because in Greek theatres it
was reserved for the performance of the chorus.
Thespis, who first introduced an actor on the scene, in the latter
part of the sixth century B.C., erected a booth at the back of the
orchestra in order to facilitate the changing of his costume. As this
one actor impersonated all the characters in the play, it can easily
be imagined how necessary the tiring room became. In later years,
when the dramas of Æschylus, Sophocles and Euripides were produced,
regular stage buildings, with ample accommodation for the actors,
were then in vogue. The tiring house of the Globe Theatre was in all
probability constructed at the back or on the side of the lower
stage. Some critics would also allot a space on the first floor for
a second tiring room, adjoining the music room, which was known to
be situated in that part of the building. There can be no doubt that
in the engraving of the so-called “Inside of the Red Bull Theatre,”
spectators are watching the play from these rooms, but it is not safe
to deduce any dogmatic conclusions from this drawing: one critic would
place the tiring room behind the proscenium doors on the ground floor,
and the second room behind the balcony windows on the first floor. It
would also seem, by a quotation from Melton’s _Astrologaster_, 1620,
that the tiring room was used for preparing scenic illusion. “While
Drummer’s made thunder in the Tyring-house.” The whole subject of the
exact situation and the uses of this room is beset with difficulties,
and no one so far has grappled with them successfully. That an actors’
dressing room did exist is a positive certainty. The most convenient
place would be at the back of the lower stage, and, until further proof
is forthcoming, there it must be located. This is the only instance in
which Shakespeare uses the word.
TRAGEDY.
Mary, if he that writ it had play’d Pyramus and hanged himself in
Thisbe’s garter, it would have been a fine tragedy; and so it is,
truly and very notably discharged.
V, 1, 367.
By the above quotation, the word discharge bore some theatrical
meaning, but I have failed to trace the use of the word as connected
specially with the stage.
TRAGICAL.
Very tragical mirth. Merry and tragical.
V, 1, 57.
And tragical, my noble lord, it is
For Pyramus therein doth kill himself.
V, 1, 66.
THESEUS.
Here come the lovers, full of joy and mirth,
Joy, gentle friends; joy and fresh days of love
Accompany your hearts.
Come now, what masques, what dances shall we have
To wear away this long age of three hours
Between our after-supper and bed-time?
Where is our usual manager of mirth?
What revels are in hand? Is there no play
To ease the anguish of a torturing hour.
Call Philostrate.
V, 1, 37.
When a marriage was celebrated in a nobleman’s family it was customary
for a play, interlude or some kind of dramatic entertainment to be
represented, in presence of the invited guests. This play of “A
Midsummer Night’s Dream” may have been written and acted to solemnize
the marriage of the Earl of Southampton to Elizabeth Vernon, or that
of Edward Russell to Lucy Harrington. Noblemen, who were nominally the
patrons of the different actors’ companies, often requisitioned their
services at their private houses or summoned them to their country
houses, to play before them on some festive occasion. The assumption
that this play was acted in honour of Southampton’s marriage is the
merest guess, no atom of proof being available that such was the case.
Perhaps a version of the play was acted before the Court, but even this
statement is pure surmise.
Flourish of Trumpets.
V, 1, 107.
The above stage direction appears only in the First Folio; it is
omitted in the quartos, but retained in all modern editions. These
musical honours announced the commencement of the play. In the sketch
of the Swan Theatre, the trumpet is being sounded, although the action
of the drama is in progress. To account for this anomaly, we must
infer that the artist drew his sketch from memory, and inadvertently
overlooked this slight discrepancy. Dekker, in his _Gulls Hornbook_,
first printed in 1609, addresses the Gallant, who is about to visit
the theatre, not to present himself until the quaking prologue hath,
by rubbing himself, got colour in his cheeks, and is ready to give the
trumpets their cue that he’s about to enter. On the modern English
stage a bell is rung to indicate the rise of the curtain. In France,
three knocks on the stage announce the appearance of the actors.
TAWYERS WITH A TRUMPET BEFORE THEM.
Enter Pyramus and Thisbe, Wall, Moonshine and Lion.
V, 1, 127.
This is a stage direction peculiar only to the First Folio; it is not
included in modern editions. The correct direction should be: Enter
Pyramus and Thisbe, Moonshine and Lion, Tawyers before them with a
trumpet. Tawyer was an actor who played subordinate parts; at one
time he was in the employment of Heminge, one of the chief actors of
the Lord Chamberlain’s servants, and more important still, one of the
editors of the famous and the most precious books in all literature,
the _First Folio of Shakespeare’s Works_, 1623. There is a monument
erected in his honour and that of his fellow editor, Henry Condell, in
the churchyard of St. Mary’s, Aldermanbury, in the City of London. No
true Shakesperean should omit paying a visit to this shrine. The real
names of the actors occur several times in the Folio edition. In “Much
Ado About Nothing” a certain Jacke Wilson is mentioned in the stage
directions: “Enter Prince Leonato, Claudio and Jacke Wilson.” This
Jacke Wilson impersonated the character of Balthazar, a servant of Don
Pedro, who sings the well-known song in the second act, entitled, “Sigh
no more, Ladies.”
There has been some controversy respecting the identity of this actor.
He has been confounded with Dr. John Wilson, who composed the music to
“Sigh no more, Ladies.” Jack Wilson, the actor and singer, belonged to
St. Giles’s, Cripplegate, where he was baptized in 1585, whereas John
Wilson, the Doctor of Music, was born at Faversham, Kent, in 1594. Dr.
Wilson set to music many of Shakespeare’s lyrics, and is the author of
a rare book, entitled _Cheerful Ayres and Ballads_, 1660. This book
is also noted as being the first essay of printing music at Oxford.
Although the editors strongly assert that the plays are printed from
the author’s manuscripts, a slight acquaintance with the original
edition will prove that this statement is not accurate. In fact, I
doubt that any single play in the entire collection was copied from a
Shakespeare holograph. The many stage directions alone indicate that
transcript copies, expressly written out for the prompter, formed the
basis of the text as it has come down to us. In some instances it
can be proved that the latest printed quarto before 1623 served the
compositors for setting up the type. The question is of great interest,
and deserves a thoroughly exhaustive examination.
Enter Quince for the Prologue.
V, 1, 108.
In a prologue prefixed to Beaumont and Fletcher’s “Woman Hater,” 1607,
the authors affirm that the person who delivered the prologue wore a
garland of bay leaves, and was dressed in a black velvet coat. The bay
was the sign of authorship, and the person who delivered the prologue
was generally the author or his representative. In this instance, we
are to accept Quince as the author of the interlude.
PYRAMUS AND THISBE.
The interlude of Pyramus and Thisbe, acted by the rude mechanicals,
is a burlesque of a famous legend, related originally by Ovid, in
the fourth book of the _Metamorphoses_. This poem, which consists
of fifteen books, was composed shortly after the first years of the
Christian era. The first printed edition, which was in Latin, was
issued at Bologna, 1471. Dr. Rouse, in his beautiful edition of
Golding’s translation (which, by the way, cost me more than the second
complete edition of 1575) relates, in his interesting introduction, the
following important information. In the Bodleian Library is a copy of
Ovid’s _Metamorphoses_, printed by Aldus in 1502, which bears on the
title page the signature “Wm. Shr,” and opposite is written, in what
appears to be a seventeenth century hand: “This little book of Ovid
was given to me by W. Hall, who sayd it was once Will Shakespere’s T.
N., 1682.” John Hall, it will be remembered, married Shakespeare’s
daughter, Susanna. The genuineness of the inscription has, of course,
been questioned, and, no doubt, it is a clever forgery. The book has
been used by more than one person for study. One has written in a fine
minute hand meanings and paraphrases in Latin above the text throughout
the earlier part of the volume. Many verses have been underlined,
especially in the earlier books, and but very few pages show no marks
of use. There are also marginal scribblings and caricatures, which
are carelessly done, and do not appear to be so old as the rest. The
first English translation of the _Metamorphoses_ was made by Arthur
Golding, which consisted of the first four books, and consequently
included the story of Pyramus and Thisbe. This edition was printed
and perhaps published, although the latter fact is not stated, by
William Seres. The title page is as follows: “Imprynted at London by
William Seres, anno 1565.” Two years later the entire fifteen books
were published, and other editions followed in 1575, 1587, 1603, 1612.
The Pyramus and Thisbe legend is found in most European literature. I
possess an edition of Montemayer’s _Diana_, in Spanish, dated 1585, a
pastoral romance well known to Shakespeare. At the end of this romance
is related in verse the history of Pyramus and Thisbe. In French the
same story is dramatised by Theophile de Vian, published in 1627. Other
versions are known in Greek, Italian, German, Dutch and Roumanian.
Shakespeare has treated the story very unkindly, burlesqueing it in
a most merciless fashion; even the rustic amateurs have not been
spared being ridiculed in no less degree. Although exaggerated beyond
recognition, the burlesque is most amusing, and must have caused
endless delight and roaring laughter from the groundlings for whom it
would appear it was principally intended.
MUCH ADO ABOUT NOTHING
BILLS.
BEATRICE.
He set up his bills here in Messina and challenged Cupid at the
flight.
I, 1, 39.
In Shakespeare’s day the only means of advertising were by posting
bills all over the town. As early as 1579 we are told the players used
to set up their bills upon posts certain days before the performances,
to admonish the people to make resort unto their theatres, and that
the players, by sticking up their bills in London, defile the streets
with their infectious filthiness. These bills were mostly set up around
St. Paul’s Cathedral. The monopoly of this trade was for many years
held by Charlwood, a London printer. By marrying Charlwood’s widow
James Roberts, the notorious piratical publisher of Shakespeare’s
plays, succeeded to this business, and at his death, Jaggard, the chief
promoter in publishing the _First Folio_, obtained this lucrative post.
Roberts’ connexion with printing the bills for the players may in some
way account for the fact that he managed to secure the manuscripts of
the plays from the playhouse proprietors, and then print and publish
them, either by bribing the players or some official connected with the
theatre.
The first authentic quarto of “Hamlet” was published by Roberts in
1604, without doubt from a manuscript copy, whatever modern critics
may say to the contrary. The idea that it was taken down in shorthand
or longhand from the actors’ lips is preposterous; the copy could
only have been obtained from genuine sources. The mutilated edition
of 1603 is quite another story, and only confirms my theory. Many of
the quarto editions of Shakespeare’s plays, although they may have
been published without the sanction of the author or the owners of the
manuscript, were nevertheless derived from authentic copies of the
original manuscripts.
An excellent story, illustrating the nature of setting up bills for the
play will be found in an early English jest book, entitled “Mery Tales,
Wittie Questions, and Quicke Answeres, Very pleasant to be Readde.”
Imprinted
at London
in Fleete Strete by
H. Wykes. 1567.
Another book of this kind is more famous, having been mentioned by
Shakespeare in this very play. The quotation will be found in Act 2,
Scene 1, where Beatrice mentions Benedick as having said: “That I
was disdainful, and that I had my good wit out of the _Hundred Merry
Tales_.”
Well, this was Signor Benedick that said so.
A. C. Mery
Tales.
Thus endeth the booke of a C mery
talys. Empryntyd at London at the
sygne of the Merymayd at Powlys gate
next to Chepe side. The yere of our
Lord M.D.C.XXVI.
The XXII day of November.
How a merry man divised to call people to a play
C XXX III.
“A mery man, called Qualitees, in a time set up bills upon posts about
London, that whosoever would come to Northumberland place should hear
such an antic play, that both for the matter and handling the like
was never heard before. For all that they should play therein were
gentlemen. Those bills moved the people when the day came to come
thither thick and threefold. Now he had hired two men to stand at the
gate with a box as the fashion is, who took of every person that came
in a penny or an halfpenny at the least. So when he thought the market
was at the best he came to the gate and took from the man the box with
money, and giving them their duty, bad them go into the hall, and see
the room kept, for he should go and fetch in the players. They went in,
and he went out and lockt the gate fast and took the key with him, and
got him on his gelding, which stood ready saddled without Aldersgate,
at an Inn, and toward Barnet he rode apace. The people tarried from
two o’clock till three, from three to four, still asking and crying
‘When shall the play begin? How long shall we tarry?’ When the clock
struck four all the people murmured and said, ‘Wherefore tarry we any
longer? Here shall be no play. Where is the knave that hath beguiled us
hither?’ ‘It were alms to thrust a dagger through his cheeks,’ sayeth
one. ‘It were well done to cut off his ears,’ sayeth another. ‘Have him
to Newgate,’ sayeth one; ‘Nay, have him to Tyburn,’ sayeth another.
‘Shall we lose our money?’ thus sayeth he. ‘Shall we be thus beguiled,’
sayeth this man. ‘Should this be suffered?’ sayeth that man. And so
muttering and chiding, they came to the gate to go out, but they could
not, for it was fast locked and Qualitees had the key away with him.
Now began they afresh to fret and fume, now they swear and stare, now
they stamp and threaten. For the locking in grieved them more than all
the loss and mockery before; but all avail not. For there must they
abide till ways be found to open the gate that they may go out. The
maidens that should have dressed their masters’ suppers, they weep and
cry, boys and ’prentices sorrow and lament, they wot not what to say
when they come home, for all this foul array, for all this great fray,
Qualitees is merry riding on his way.”
Another well known story, illustrating the custom of setting up
bills, occurs in _Tales and Quick Answers_, a book printed by Thomas
Berthelet, in Fleet Street, about 1533:
“Of him that lost his purse in London.”
“A certain man of the country, the which for business came up to
London, lost his purse, as he went late in the evening. And by cause
the sum therein was great, he set up bills in divers places, that if
any man of the city had found the purse and could bring it again to
him, he should have well for his labour. A gentleman of the Temple
wrote under one of the bills how the man should come to his chamber,
and told where. So when he was come, the gentleman asked him, first
what was in the purse; secondly, what countryman he was; and thirdly,
what was his name. ‘Sir,’ quoth he, ‘twenty nobles was in the purse. I
am half a Welshman, and my name is John ap Janken.’ ‘John ap Janken,’
said the gentleman, ‘I am glad I know thy name, for now so long as I
live thou nor none of thy name shall have my purse to keep. And now
farewell, gentle John ap Janken.’ Thus he was mocked to scorn and went
his way.”
CUE.
Speak, Count, ’tis your cue.
II, 1, 316.
DUMB SHOW. SCENE.
That’s the scene that I would see, which will be merely a dumb show.
II, 3, 226.
PLAYED.
My Lord, I have played the part of Lady Fame.
II, 1, 225.
Hero and Margaret have by this played their parts with Beatrice.
III, 2, 79.
PART. DIALOGUE.
Fear you not my part of the dialogue.
III, 1, 30.
OTHELLO
PROMPTER.
Were it my cue to fight, I should have known it without a prompter.
I, 2, 84.
In a special theatrical sense, the prompter denotes a person stationed
out of sight of the audience to prompt or assist any actor who is at
a loss in remembering his part. In early days of the drama, the usual
word for this official was book-holder, and is so quoted in Higgins’
_Junius Nomenclator_, 1588: “He that telleth the players their part
when they are out and have forgotten. The prompter or book-holder.”
Ben Jonson uses the word book-holder in several of his plays, likewise
many dramatists of this period. The word is now obsolete.
Other references:
PROLOGUE.
Is he often thus?
’Tis ever more the prologue to his sleep.
II, 3, 134.
An index and obscure prologue.
II, 1, 264.
CUE.
Were it my cue to fight, I should have known it without a prompter.
I, 2, 84.
PERICLES
PLAY.
Our scene must play
His daughter’s woe.
IV, 4, 48.
SCENE.
Whom our fast-growing scene must find at Tarsus.
_Chorus_ IV, _line_ 6, IV, 4, 6.
We commit no crime
To use one language in each several clime
Where our scenes seem to live.
IV, 4, 7.
While our scene must play
His daughter’s woe.
IV, 4, 48.
DUMB-SHOW.
Enter Pericles talking with Cleon.
_Chorus_ II, _line_ 16.
Enter Pericles and Simonides.
_Chorus_ III, _line_ 15.
SHOWS.
What pageantry, what feats, what shows,
What minstreling, and pretty din,
The regent made in Mitylene
To greet the King.
V, 2, 6.
STAGE.
In your imagination hold
This stage the ship, upon whose deck
The sea-tost Pericles appears to speak.
POEMS
ACT. DUMB-PLAY. CHORUS.
And all this dumb-play had his acts made plain
With tears, which chorus-like her eyes did rain.
_Venus and Adonis, line_ 359.
Many critics have inferred that this poem was composed whilst
Shakespeare still resided in Stratford. By the above lines it would
be nearer the mark to assert that the first heir of his invention was
composed after he had been acquainted with the theatrical literature of
the London theatres.
ACTOR. STAGE. PART.
As an imperfect actor on the stage
Who with his fear is put beside his part.
_Sonnet_ 23, _line_ 1.
CHORUS. SCENE.
Co-supremes and stars of love
As chorus to their tragic scene.
_Phœnix and Turtle, line_ 52.
STAGE. SHOWS.
This huge stage presenteth nought but shows.
_Sonnet 15, line_ 3.
STAGE. PART.
My part is youth and beat these from the stage.
_Lucrece, line_ 278.
Black stage for tragedies and murders fell.
_Lucrece, line_ 766.
“My part is youth” may refer to some particular play, but “Lusty
Juventus,” suggested by Stevens, contains no such scene.
In the interlude of “Youth,” youth drives charity from the stage, but
with threats not blows. Malone supposes that Shakespeare was thinking
of the conflicts between the Devil and the Vice in the old Morality
plays, where the Vice was always victorious and drove the Devil roaring
off the stage.
Black stage for tragedies refers to the custom of draping the stage in
black when tragedies were performed. Another allusion to this custom is
found in the first part of Henry VI.
SHOWS.
Or to turn white and swoon at tragic shows.
_Lover’s Complaint, line_ 308.
RICHARD II
ACTOR. THEATRE. STAGE. ENTERS.
As in a theatre the eyes of men,
After a well grac’d actor leaves the stage,
Are idly bent on him that enters next,
Thinking his prattle to be tedious.
V, 2, 24.
This passage is an excellent example of the use Shakespeare made of
theatrical metaphors in giving life and reality to his dialogue. The
well graced actor can only refer to Richard Burbage, the creator of
Shakespeare’s most important characters. He was a fellow member of
the same company of actors as Shakespeare, both belonging to the Lord
Chamberlain’s company.
SCENE.
Al owing him a breath, a little scene to monarchise.
III, 2, 164.
Our scene is altered from a serious thing.
V, 3, 79.
RICHARD III
ACT. SCENE.
DUCHESS.
What means this scene of rude impatience?
QUEEN.
To make an act of tragic violence.
II, 2, 39.
CUE. PART.
Had not you come upon your cue, my Lord,
William Lord Hastings had pronounced your part,
I mean your voice.
III, 4, 27.
In the First Folio, cue is written Q.; in the later folios it is
spelt kew.
III, 4, 27.
PAGEANT.
The flattering index of a direful pageant.
IV, 4, 85.
Pageants are dumb-shows, and the poet, no doubt, alluded to one of
these shows, the index of which promised a happier conclusion. The
pageants then displayed on public occasions were generally preceded
by a brief account of the order in which the characters were to walk.
These indexes were distributed among the spectators that they might
understand the meaning of such allegorical stuff as was usually
exhibited.
PLAY.
The beholders of this tragic play.
IV, 4, 68.
SCENE.
A Queen in jest only to fill the scene.
IV, 4, 91.
VICE. INIQUITY.
I say without characters, fame lives long,
Thus, like the formal vice iniquity,
I moralize two meanings in one word.
III, 1, 82.
“Formal” appears to be here used as we now use “conventional” to
describe that which was regular and in accordance with ordinary
rule and custom. The vice of the stage was a familiar figure to the
audience, and they were thoroughly accustomed to his proceedings. It
would appear from the present passage that one of his devices, in order
to create a laugh, was to play upon the double meaning of words.
TRAGEDIAN.
GLOU.
Come cousin,
Canst thou quake, and change thy colour,
Murder thy breath in middle of a word,
And then begin again and stop again
As if thou were distraught and mad with terror?
BUCK.
Tut, I can counterfeit the deep tragedian,
Speak and look back and pry on every side,
Tumble and start at wagging of a straw,
Intending deep suspicion; ghastly looks
Are at my service, like enforced smiles,
And both are ready in their offices,
At any time to grace any stratagems.
III, 5, 5.
This admirable passage forcibly illustrates the methods adopted by the
actors in the art of acting in Elizabethan times. In our days this mode
of producing stage effects is chiefly associated with the style of
acting pursued by followers of the melodramatic school. If we examine
carefully the substructure of Shakespeare’s tragic plays, we shall
perforce arrive at the conclusion that melodrama enters largely into
their composition.
Stript of their dialogue, the acts of these plays bear a striking
resemblance to the lurid and blood curdling dramas nightly performed
at our provincial theatres, and during the nineteenth century presented
at the London theatres, principally those situated on the Surrey side
of the Metropolis, and merely gaining the well-known sobriquet of the
transpontine drama. These plays were interpreted by the actors in
rather a boisterous manner by ranting and martial stalk, in reality
tearing a passion to tatters, to very rags, tricks of the actors
preserved by tradition from the very days of Shakespeare himself, who
often alluded to and deprecated this inartistic and uncritical style of
acting.
ROMEO AND JULIET
ACT. SCENE.
My dismal scene I needs must act alone.
IV, 3, 19.
MASQUERS.
Enter Romeo, Mercutio, Benvolio, with five or six other Masquers,
Torchbearers and others.
WITHOUT-BOOK. PROLOGUE. PROMPTER. ENTRANCE.
Nor so without-book prologue faintly spoke
After the prompter, for our entrance.
I, 4, 7.
The prompter was much in evidence in the early days of the theatre. The
actor who spoke the prologue (not in the book of the play, but written
by another hand at the command of the manager), no doubt, was much in
need of that useful functionary.
MASK.
We mean well in going to this mask;
But ’tis no wit to go.
I, 4, 48.
How long is’t now since last yourself and I
Were in the mask?
’Tis since the nuptial of Incentio,
Some five and twenty years, and then we mask’d.
I, 5, 35.
SCENE.
In fair Verona, where we lay our scene.
_Chorus_ I, _line_ 2.
CHORUS.
The first chorus is omitted in the First Folio. The second chorus at
the end of the first act, or beginning of the second act, is included.
Most critics would deny to Shakespeare both these compositions.
STAGE.
Is now the two hours’ traffic of the stage.
_Chorus_ I, _line_ 12.
The opening chorus of “Romeo and Juliet” contains the interesting
information concerning the duration of an Elizabethan play. In those
early days there were no long waits between the acts, no scenic effects
to be staged, and but few properties required. Even allowing for the
quick action without interruption, two hours is all too short for the
proper representation of a Shakesperean play. There is evidence to
prove that three hours was the limit. Ben Jonson, in the “Induction
to Bartholomew Fair,” acted in 1614 at the Hope, refers to the space
of two hours and a half, and somewhat more. Dekker, the prose writer
and dramatist, mentions three hours: “Ye shall be glad to play three
hours for twopence to the basest groundlings in London, whose breath is
stronger than garlick and able to poison all the twelvepenny rooms.”
The last phrase refers to the best places in the house.
Whetstone, as early as 1582, in his Civil Discourses, would allow three
hours for a performance. If we bear in mind that a jig, which we should
now call a farce, was performed after the regular piece and lasted at
least half an hour, it must be conceded that three hours is none too
many for the entire afternoon performance.
In winter the play commenced about two and lasted till dusk; in summer,
three o’clock was the appointed hour. In a letter from Lord Hunsdon to
the Lord Mayor in 1594, it is stated “that where heretofore they began
not their plays till towards four o’clock, they will now begin at two
and have done between four or five.” By this evidence about two hours
and a half was the time required to act an Elizabethan play.
The quarto editions are not divided into scenes or acts. The text
forming some of these plays was actually taken down from the actor’s
lips, either by stenography or from memory, and if any interval had
occurred it would have been recorded, which goes a long way to prove
that the play was continuous throughout, otherwise three hours would be
all too short to see the play through, especially a lengthy one like
“Hamlet,” which has nearly four thousand lines. It is quite possible
that a break of a few minutes may have taken place during certain
scenes, but no stage directions exist sanctioning the usage.
TAMING OF THE SHREW
THE PRESENTERS ABOVE SPEAK.
The presenter in former times was one who took part in a play, an
actor. The word is now obsolete. Even in Shakespeare’s day it is rarely
met with. The Presenters in this scene were represented by Sly, the
Page and the First Serving man, all being seated in the balcony above
the stage.
ENTER A MESSENGER.
Your honour’s players hearing your amendment
Are come to play a pleasant comedy:
For so your doctors hold it very meet,
Seeing too much sadness hath congealed your blood,
And melancholy is the nurse of frenzy.
Therefore they thought it good you hear a play
And frame your mind to mirth and merriment,
Which bars a thousand harms and lengthens life.
SLY.
Marry, I will let them play it. Is not a Christmas gambol or a
tumbling trick?
PAGE.
No, my good lord; it is more pleasing stuff.
SLY.
What, household stuff?
PAGE.
It is a kind of history.
SLY.
Well, we’ll see it. Come, madam, wife, sit by my side. And let the
world slip; we shall ne’er be younger.
COMEDY. PLAY. PLAYERS.
Your honour’s players hearing your amendment,
Are come to play a pleasant comedy.
_Ind. Sc._ 2, 1, 136.
Therefore, they thought it good you hear a play.
_Ind. Sc._ 2, _line_ 136.
Marry, I will let them play it. Is not a Christmas gambol or a
tumbling trick?
_Ind. Sc._ II, _line_ 140.
Every actor in the time of Elizabeth was forced to serve in some
company of actors, who were under the protection of a nobleman,
otherwise the poor actor was classed as a rogue and a vagabond,
and liable to be sent to prison. “Your honour’s players” does not
necessarily infer that they owed entire allegiance to their patron,
but most likely they were prepared at all times to offer their
services to their Lord protector. During the last two decades of the
sixteenth century this patronage became merely formality, but owing to
the strictures of the law this regulation was almost compulsory, so
that in all England every play actor was under the patronage of some
nobleman. As every one knows, Shakespeare belonged for many years to
the servants of the Lord Chamberlain, and Edward Alleyn, the Founder of
Dulwich College, and the greatest actor of his time, was a member of
the Lord Admiral’s company. Even to-day there is a well known case of a
gentleman owning his own orchestra a band of musicians, so that it is
not at all unlikely that some wealthy or powerful nobleman retained a
company of actors who only performed at his pleasure.
PART. PLAY.
My Lord, I warrant you we will play our part.
_Ind. Sc._ I, _line_ 69.
PLAY’D. PLAY. PLAYERS.
There is a lord will hear you play to-night.
_Ind. Sc._ I, _line_ 93.
For yet his honour never heard a play.
_Ind. Sc._ I, _line_ 86.
They thought it good you hear a play
And frame your mind to mirth.
_Ind. Sc._ II, _line_ 139.
My lord, you nod; you do not mind the play.
I, 1, 2.
Players that offer service to your lordship.
_Ind. Sc._ 1, _line_ 77.
PART. ENTER PLAYERS. PERFORMED.
LORD.
Now, fellows you are welcome.
PLAYERS.
We thank your honour.
LORD.
Do you intend to stay with me to-night?
PLAYERS.
So please your lordship to accept our duty.
LORD.
With all my heart. This fellow I remember
Since once he played a farmer’s eldest son,
’Twas where you woo’d the gentlewoman so well:
I have forgotten your name, but sure, that part
Was aptly fitted and naturally performed.
PLAYERS.
I think ’twas Soto that your honour means.
LORD.
’Tis very true: thou did’st it excellent.
After having copied out the above passage, which was quite a _bonne
bouche_ for my theory, that Shakespeare on all occasions that offered
themselves, introduced theatrical affairs into his plays, it came as
rather a disappointment to find, on consulting the old drama of “The
Taming of a Shrew,” the same scene slightly differently treated.
This old play was the one on which Shakespeare founded his own comedy
of “The Taming of the Shrew.” The scene in which the players are
introduced is called The Induction, and is founded on an episode in
the life of Philip the Good, Duke of Burgundy, which is related in a
Latin work by Heuterus, 1584, called _De Rebus Burgundias_. The story
relates how the Duke, suddenly stumbling upon a drunken fellow lying in
the road, has him conveyed to his palace, attires him like a lord, and
when he wakes, the Duke and his followers keep the game up. The players
present a comedy before him, and when he falls asleep he is again
placed outside the ale house, and, on waking again, tells the host that
he has had the grandest dream of his life, and if his wife vexes him
he knows how to tame her. Strange to say, plays are mentioned in this
Latin chronicle in which, to amuse the mock lord, the same incident is
used in both English plays to entertain the so-called lord. I possess
a late English book called _Admirable Events_. The fifth event relates
the same adventures under the heading of “The Waking Man’s Dream.”
It is believed that an early edition of this book was in circulation
before Shakespeare’s time, but is now lost.
I have printed the players scene on account of its theatrical interest.
It will be noted that the unusual word properties is used, also that
the Duke is patron of a company of actors. The entire scene has an air
of being taken straight from life. It was quite a common custom for
actors to travel in the country or, as we should say, to go on tour.
The company must have been a fairly large one, as several characters
are introduced in the real play.
PLAYERS SCENE FROM THE OLD PLAY.
MESSENGER.
And it please your honour your players be come,
And do attend your honour’s pleasure here.
LORD.
The fittest time they could have chosen out;
Bid one or two of them come hither straight,
Now will I fit myself accordingly,
For they shall play to him when he wakes.
(_Enter two of the players with packs at their backs and a boy._)
Now, sirs, what store of plays have you?
SAN. (SANDER.)
Marry, my Lord, you may have a tragical or comodity or what you
will.
THE OTHER.
A comedy, thou shouldst say:
Souns, thou’lt shame us all.
LORD.
And what’s the name of your comedy?
SAN.
Marry, my lord, ’tis called “The Taming of a Shrew.”
’Tis a good lesson for us my lord that are married men.
LORD.
“The Taming of a Shrew,” that’s excellent sure,
Go, see that you make ready straight,
For you must play before a lord to-night.
Say, you are his men and I your fellow,
He’s something foolish, but whatso’er he says,
See that you be not dashed out of countenance.
Now, sirs, go you and make you ready, too,
For you must play as soon as he doth wake.
SAN.
O brave, sirrah Tom, we must play before
A foolish lord; come, let’s go make us ready:
Go get a dishclout to make clean your shoes,
And I’ll speak for the properties. My lord, we must
Have a shoulder of mutton for a property,
And a little vinegar to make our devil roar.
LORD.
Very well, sirrah, see that they want nothing.
LORD.
May it please you, your honour’s players be come to offer your
honour a play.
SLY.
A play, Sim. O brave be they my players?
LORD.
Ay, my lord.
SLY.
Is there not a fool in the play?
LORD.
Yes, my lord.
SLY.
When will they play him?
LORD.
Even when it please your honour, they be ready.
BOY.
I’ll go bid them begin the play.
SLY.
Do, but look that you come again.
BOY.
I warrant you, my lord, I will not leave you.
SLY.
Come, Sim, where be the players? Sim, stand by me and we’ll flout
the players out of their coats.
LORD.
I’ll call them, my lord. Ho, where are you there?
TEMPEST
PERFORM. CAST. ACT. PROLOGUE. DISCHARGE.
We all were sea-swallowed, though some cast again
And by that destiny, to perform an act
Whereof what’s past is prologue, what to come
In yours and my discharge.
II, 1, 252.
ACTORS.
These our actors
As I foretold you, were all spirits.
IV, 1, 148.
CAST.
We all were sea-swallowed though some cast again.
W. A. Wright would associate cast with its modern theatrical meaning,
namely, of a company of actors to whom different parts of a play are
assigned. The word in this sense was unknown in Shakespeare’s day; its
earliest use as a theatrical term dates from 1631.
PLAYED. PART.
To have no screen between this part, he play’d,
And him he played it for.
I, 2, 107.
REVELS.
Be cheerful, Sir,
Our revels now are ended.
IV, 1, 148.
TIMON OF ATHENS
ACT.
Performance is ever the duller for his act.
V, 1, 26.
TITUS ANDRONICUS
I have read this disagreeable play very carefully, and can find therein
no theatrical allusion of any kind.
Although included in the _First Folio_, and mentioned by Meres,
Shakespeare’s contemporary, in a book published by him in 1598, a
great many critics refuse to believe in the Shakesperean authorship.
Many monographs have been written on the subject for and against. The
weight of evidence is rather against the Shakesperean authorship. The
plot is of a most blood-curdling nature, and many of the episodes are
too terrible and nasty to be represented on the stage. There are many
passages in the play which are truly poetical. It is to be hoped for
Shakespeare’s reputation that he had no hand in this vile composition.
TROILUS AND CRESSIDA
ACTOR. PROLOGUE. ARGUMENT.
PLAY.
And hither am I come
A prologue armed, but not in confidence
Of author’s pen or actor’s voice, but suited
In like condition as our argument.
To tell you fair beholders, that our play
Leaps o’er the vaunt and firstlings of these broils,
Beginning in the middle, starting thence away
To what may be digested in a play.
_Prologue, line_ 23.
HISS.
Some two months hence my will shall here be made.
It should be now, but that my fear is this,
Some galled goose of Winchester would hiss.
V, 10, 55.
PAGEANT.
Q.
Let my lady apprehend no fear; in all
Cupid’s pageant there is represented no monster.
III, 2, 80.
From this passage it must be inferred that a Fear was a part played or
impersonated in our old pageants or moralities. To this circumstance,
Aspatia alludes in _The Maid’s Tragedy_, “And then a Fear,” “Do that
Fear bravely wench.”
Let Patroclus make demands to me,
You shall see the pageant of Ajax.
III, 3, 275.
PLAYER. SCAFFOLDAGE.
And like a strutting player, whose conceit
Lies in his hamstring, and doth think it rich
To hear the wooden dialogue and sound
’Twixt his stretched footing and the scaffoldage.
Such to be pitied and o’er wrested seeming
He acts thy greatness in.
Good all round acting in Shakespeare’s time was not the order of the
day, as practised in ours. One or two stars, and the rest nowhere. Thus
Shakespeare compares the strutting actor to the wooden boards on which
he treads, making up in martial gait and heavy tread what he lacks in
spiritual fire. The scaffoldage refers to the wooden platform on which
plays were enacted. A hamstring is one of the tendons which form the
sides of the ham or space at the back of the knee.
APPLAUSE.
From his deep chest laughs out a loud applause.
I, 11, 163.
PLAY.
Now play me Nestor.
I, 3, 165.
Now play him me Patroclus.
I, 3, 170.
SCENE.
In Troy there lies the scene.
_Prologue, line_ 1.
TWELFTH NIGHT
STAGE. PLAYED.
FABIAN.
If this were played upon a stage now, I could condemn it as
improbable fiction.
III, 4, 140.
This passage refers to the interview between Malvolio, Sir Toby,
Maria and Fabian, after his appearance before the Countess in yellow
stockings and the keep-smiling face. Shakespeare always strove to
impress on his audience that his chief characters were impersonating
events of everyday life; in order to heighten this belief, he
frequently contrasts the real with the stage life or life of fiction.
VICE.
I am gone, sir, and Anon, sir,
I’ll be with you again. In a trice, Like to the old Vice
Your need to sustain; Who with dagger of lath
In his rage and his wrath, Cries ha! ha! to the devil
Like a mad lad, Pare his nails, dad.
Adieu, goodman devil.
IV, 2, 134.
The Vice is a character chiefly to be met with in interludes, for the
sake of comic relief, much in the same manner as in our melodramas
of to-day comic characters are introduced, in order to render less
oppressive the serious or tragic situations. This personality was
dressed in a cap with ass’s ears, a long coat, and provided with a
dagger of lath. One of his chief employments was to make sport with the
devil by leaping on his back and belabouring him with his cardboard
property till he made him roar. The devil, however, always carried him
off in the end. His Satanic Majesty was supposed from choice to keep
his nails always unpared, therefore to pare them was considered an
affront.
* * * * *
In an interlude, “The Trial of Treasure,” he appeared in his customary
stage apparel, with the addition of a pair of huge spectacles, no doubt
to render him more ridiculous. The character seems to have been quite
a popular one in mediæval times. The Vice appears in several plays of
the sixteenth century, and is frequently mentioned by Elizabethan
dramatists.
INTERLUDE.
I was one, sir, in this interlude, one
Sir Topaz, sir, but that’s all one.
V, 1, 380.
The _New English Dictionary_ describes an interlude as a dramatic
representation of a light and humourous kind, such as was commonly
introduced between the acts of the long mystery play or moralities, or
exhibited as a part of an elaborate entertainment. This title was given
to the first comedy written in English, “Our Comedie or Interlude which
we intend to play is named ‘Ralph Royster Doyster in deede.’”
Sir A. Ward, the learned author of a history of English dramatic
literature, writes: “It seems to have been applied to plays performed
by professional actors from the time of Edward IV onwards. Its origin
is doubtless to be found in the fact that such plays were occasionally
performed in the interval of banquets and entertainments which, of
course, would have been out of question in the case of religious plays
proper.” Mr. E. K. Chambers, in his magnificent and scholarly work,
_The Mediæval Stage_, would apply the meaning of the word Interlude to
any kind of play, religious or otherwise, but instead of deriving the
word from a “ludus” during the interval of something else, he would
give it the meaning of a play carried on between (inter) two or more
performers; in fact, a ludus in dialogue.
_Ludus_ is the Latin for a play.
COMEDIAN.
Are you a comedian.
I, 5, 194.
This word, now in general use, was quite a novel introduction in
Shakespeare’s time. The _New English Dictionary_ quotes this passage as
the first instance of the words being used in this sense. The date of
this play is about 1601, which is proved from an entry in Manningham’s
Diary, dated February 2nd, 1601; by our present reckoning this
performance took place in 1602, as formerly the New Year began on the
25th of March.
“Feb. 2, 1601. At our feast we had a play called “Twelve Night,” or
What you Will. Much like the “Comedy of Errors” or Menechmi in Plautus,
but most like and near to that in Italian called Inganni.”
There is also a reference in the play to the map of the Indies. This
map was issued in 1599, so between this date and the entry in the Diary
1601, this comedy must have been written.
ACT.
VIOLA.
My father had a mole upon his brow.
SEBASTIAN.
And so had mine.
VIOLA.
And died that day when Viola from her birth
Had numbered thirteen years.
SEBASTIAN.
O, that record is lively in my soul,
He finished indeed his mortal act
That day that made my sister thirteen years.
V, 1, 249.
It shall become thee well to act my woes.
I, 4, 26.
MASQUE. REVELS.
SIR ANDREW.
I delight in masques and revels sometimes altogether.
I, 3, 121.
PART.
And all is semblative a woman’s part.
I, 4, 34.
WITHOUT BOOK.
An affectioned ass, that can state without book.
Without book was a technical theatrical term used by actors when they
had got their part by heart. The phrase is now obsolete.
These pastimes were in great vogue when this play was written.
PLAY.
This fellow is wise enough to play the fool.
III, 1, 67.
That’s all one, our play is done
And we’ll strive to please you every day.
V, 1, 416.
REVELS.
Shall we set about some revels?
I, 3, 145.
ZANY.
MALVOLIO.
I take these Wisemen that crow so at these set kind of fools,
No better than the fool’s Zanies.
I, 5, 96.
The Italian Zanni or Zany is a contraction for Giovanni in the dialect
of Bergamo, and is a nickname for a peasant of that place. The term
Zany was generally applied in England to an inferior kind of fool
imitating another or professional jester, corresponding in some degree
to our own clown and pantaloon, the latter being the zany.
In connexion with the word Zany, it should be noted that Molière,
the greatest dramatist after Shakespeare, usually introduced this
character into his farces, under the name of Sgnarelle, which is a
French rendering of the Italian word Zanarelle, the diminutive of
Zanni. Molière himself generally acted this comic rôle.
TWO GENTLEMEN OF VERONA
ACTED. PAGEANTS. WOMAN’S PART. PLAY. PART. PLAY’D.
How tall was she?
About my stature: for at Pentecost
When all our pageants of delight were play’d,
Our youth got me to play the woman’s part,
And I was trimm’d in Madam Julia’s gown;
Which served me as fit by all men’s judgment,
As if the garment had been made for me;
Therefore I know she is about my height,
And at that time I made her weep a good,
For I did play a lamentable part;
Madam, ’twas Ariadne passioning
For Theseus’ perjury and unjust flight:
Which I so lively acted with my tears,
That my poor mistress moved therewithal
Wept bitterly, and would I might be dead
If I in thought felt not her very sorrow.
IV, 4, 163.
The page who delivered this speech relates how he played the woman’s
part. In Shakespeare’s time, and until half a century later, no woman
appeared on the public stage. I have always held the opinion that
it was on this account that so many of Shakespeare’s heroines were
disguised as pages, thus enabling the boys who took their parts to
be more natural. Most readers will call to mind Rosalind in “As you
Like It” and Imogen in “Cymbeline,” but principally Viola in that
delightful of all comedies “Twelfth Night.” Julia, one of the heroines
in this play, also played the part of a page. The observant will notice
that Madam Julia lent her gown to the impersonator of Ariadne, but in
those days the costume of the period delineated was not regarded. By
all accounts, all the characters were clothed in contemporary costumes.
Even as late as the eighteenth century, David Garrick played Macbeth,
dressed in a scarlet coat like a military officer, a waistcoat laced
with silver, with a wig and breeches of the cut of the time. Macklin,
a great actor of the eighteenth century, was the first to appear in a
tartan and kilt about the year 1772.
MOTION. PUPPET.
O excellent motion! O exceeding puppet!
Now will he interpret to her.
II, 1, 92.
A puppet was a figure dressed up like a doll and moved by strings
by a person concealed behind a curtain, similar to our Punch and
Judy and marionettes shows of to-day. The word was frequently used
metaphorically by the early dramatists, when they wished to describe
a person’s actions controlled by others, also applied contemptuously
to a person as in the above passage. These puppet shows or motions,
as they were termed, were exceedingly popular in Shakespeare’s time,
and a special one is mentioned by Ben Jonson in _Every Man Out of his
Humour_: “They say there’s a new Motion of the City of Nineveh with
Jonas (not Maurice) and the whale to be seen at Fleet Bridge.” A Motion
that was extremely popular was the history of the prodigal son, quoted
by Shakespeare in a “Winter’s Tale.” “Then he compassed a motion of
the Prodigal Son.” Biblical episodes often formed the subject of these
shows.
Both puppet and motion, in their original sense, are now obsolete.
“Now will he interpret her” refers to the dialogue spoken by the
manipulation of the puppets
“The peeling accents of her voice, is like
a fained treble on one’s voice
that interprets to the puppets.”
THE WINTER’S TALE
ACT. AUDIENCE. ACTED.
The dignity of this act was worth the audience of Kings and princes,
For by such was it acted.
V, 2, 86.
PART. PLAY. HISS.
Thy Mother plays and I
Play too, but so disgraced a part whose issue
Will hiss me to my grave.
I, 2, 188.
I see the play so lies
That I must bear a part
IV, 4, 670.
PART. PERFORMED.
Good Paulina,
Lead us from hence, where we may leisurely
Each one demand and answer to his part
Performed in this wide gap of time since first
We were dissevered.
V, 3, 151.
MOTION.
Then he compassed a motion of the Prodigal son.
IV, 3, 103.
The puppet or motion showman exclaims in “Bartholomew Fair”: “O, the
motions that I, Lanthorn Leatherhead, have given light to in my time.”
PLAY. SCENE.
My care to have you royally appointed as if
The scene you play were mine.
IV, 4, 604.
SPECTATORS.
Though devised
And played to take spectators.
III, 2, 38.
PASTORAL.
I play as I have seen them do
In Whitsun pastorals.
IV, 4, 134.
The reference is to the several kinds of May games which were performed
at this season of the year. They consisted of short dramatic pieces
of French origin. The earliest known is that of the “Jeu de Robin et
Marian,” which was played in 1392. M. Guy quotes it as folk going
“desguiziez un Jeu qui l’endit Robin et Marian ainsi qu’il est
accoutume de fere chacun an en les foiries de Penthecouste.” These
pieces were a mixture of folk song and minstreling, which developed
into a kind of primitive drama. The principal characters being
represented by Shepherds and Shepherdesses, surrounded by woodland
scenery. In Molière’s plays will be found two of these pastoral dramas,
“Melicente,” comedie pastorale heroique; another was simply entitled,
“Pastorale comique.”
[Illustration:
_THE_
LONDON
Prodigall.
As it was plaide by the Kings Maiesties
seruants.
By _VVilliam Shakespeare_,
[Illustration]
LONDON.
Printed by T. C. for _Nathaniel Butter_, and
are to be sold neere _S. Austins_ gate,
at the signe of the pyde Bull.
1605.
Title page of an English Play.]
I cannot close this book without mentioning the assistance rendered
me respecting the illustrations. As in a previous volume, my friend,
Mr. H. Franklin Waghorn, kindly holds himself responsible for the
photographic work he has so ably executed. My friend, in order to
help me, made many visits to the British Museum on my behalf. The
authorities of that marvellous institution graciously permitted Mr.
Waghorn to take photographs of any rare books which he desired for my
work, for which permission I beg to offer my best thanks. Mr. Fleming,
who made the blocks for the facsimiles, has executed his work beyond
all praise.
[Illustration:
ANDROMEDE
TRAGEDIE
Representée auec les Machines sur le
Theatre Royal de Bourbon.
[Illustration]
A ROVEN,
Chez LAVRENS MAVRRY, prés le Palais.
_AVEC PRIVILEGE DV ROY._
M. D C. LI.
_Et se vendent_ A PARIS,
Chez CHARLES DE SERCY, au Palais, dans la Salle
Dauphine, à la bonne Foy Couronnée.
Title page of a French Tragedy by Pierre Corneille, indicating at which
Theatre the play was produced, showing a similarity with dramatic title
pages of the seventeenth century.]
End of Project Gutenberg's Shakespeare and the Stage, by Maurice Jonas