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+*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 78148 ***
+
+
+
+
+Transcriber’s note
+
+Variable spelling and hyphenation have been retained. Minor punctuation
+inconsistencies have been silently repaired. Formatting and special
+characters are indicated as follows:
+
+  _italic_
+
+
+
+
+                             SHAKESPEARE’S
+                               DAUGHTERS
+
+                         A Fantasy in One Scene
+
+                                   BY
+                          GEORGE HENRY TRADER
+
+
+                   COPYRIGHT, 1910, BY SAMUEL FRENCH
+
+                                NEW YORK
+                             SAMUEL FRENCH
+                               PUBLISHER
+                          25 WEST 45TH STREET
+
+                                 LONDON
+                          SAMUEL FRENCH, LTD.
+                         26 SOUTHAMPTON STREET
+                                 STRAND
+
+
+
+
+SHAKESPEARE’S DAUGHTERS.
+
+
+_Being a fantasy, in one scene (a glade in which appear as many of
+Shakespeare’s female characters as practicable. It may be noted with
+regret, that they have been associating with the ordinary, their
+tongues no longer distributing the grace and wisdom they uttered when
+at home)._
+
+OPHELIA
+
+_Is found seated, unhappy, with a packet of letters tied with a ribbon.
+She may be well to the front of the picture to the players’ left hand._
+
+CORDELIA
+
+_May be found to the right hand of the players, but much in the
+background. She is disconsolate beyond measure and does not appear to
+be aware that there are other characters present._
+
+ROSALIND, PORTIA, VIOLA, IMOGEN
+
+_Are generally seen near the centre of the picture; they are at present
+discussing a weighty matter with avidity, as follows:--_
+
+IMOGEN. For me? I would endure such shame twice told for one I love.
+
+ROSALIND. Ay, it would take more than wearing of doublet and hose to
+give my cheek the blush.
+
+PORTIA. In tender questions, pride will ofttimes drown kind modesty
+with satisfaction in one’s seeming.
+
+Looked we in truth’s mirror our blush would be no flush but one
+continued fever, so frequent do we err in our deportment. For myself,
+if occasion should demand that I inhabit my person as a man, I would
+assume the guise of one who wears a gown or cowl or ample cloak: thus
+may our sex while feigning man, retain their modesty.
+
+VIOLA. Dear Portia, were you a man in truth, you’d soon turn judge.
+
+IMOGEN. No cowl nor ample cloak for her but gown I’ll warrant. For,
+secret, hark, it was, but yesterday I spied a weighty tome of Venice
+law bear down her lap.
+
+ROSALIND. What color gown? That’s _first_ determined is it not?
+
+PORTIA. So? Indeed! ’Twere worthier fondling books upon my lap than the
+senseless men I’ve seen upon the knees of Rosalinda here.
+
+IMOGEN. Men!
+
+VIOLA. Upon her knees!
+
+ROSALIND. It is not true.
+
+PORTIA. Their voices more tuneful, than in some men I have heard,
+in--that they were silent; their manners more gentler, in--that they
+were still; their dress of highest design, for they were modes of
+fashion, with that added virtue, that they could be put easily aside,
+being but on paper.
+
+IMOGEN. Only pictures, penned and painted?
+
+PORTIA. Ay, but of _men_, mark you, not girls, nor flowers, nor sheep;
+but men, whose outlines she scanned with eye of starveling.
+
+VIOLA. She determined then from _fashion’s_ whim, that long hose and
+jacket were wisest wear for women bent on playing man?
+
+PORTIA. Our Rosie scorned the fashions. She did not so decide.
+
+ROSALIND. Did not? What was my measure then?
+
+PORTIA. You give me leave to speak?
+
+ROSALIND. Judge on, oh lady-judge, we hunger for thy wisdom.
+
+PORTIA. If I am too bold, Viola and Imogen silence me. But listen
+thirstily to my reasons. Our Rosalind here hath no present need to mask
+in man’s attire; _why_ then should she desire to don it? Because, odds
+paticakes, she hath discovered it doth become her. One morning early
+risen, she observed herself upon the sunlit wall and her shadow did
+beguile her. Thence, I see, she is determined that the occasion shall
+appear. For “why” sighs she, “should a proper ankle waste, for always,
+its outline in the darkness of a skirt.”
+
+VIOLA. Well? well? well? If this indeed be true of Rosalind, is her
+reasoning then immodest?
+
+IMOGEN. If of the garb one is not conscious, that itself is answer.
+
+PORTIA. Ho, ho! You sing in tune! Are well poised ankles so plenty that
+they crowd forth to be basked on?
+
+ROSALIND. Not too plenteous, Portia, for we do know a maid, who, if
+occasion opportuned her to play in man’s attire, would choose to hide
+her in “gown or cowl or ample cloak.” No, no, a comedy face is no
+guarantor for a dainty limb, they stand not on every corner.
+
+PORTIA. Alone, they are a weak possession, a pointed ankle often bears
+a dull wit.
+
+ROSALIND. They bear enough to trip the wit of many men.
+
+ROSALIND. A truce about men, say I, whose giddy sight is hindrance to
+their reason.
+
+IMOGEN. So say we all of us.
+
+VIOLA. Here comes one whose youthful skirt our question puts to flight.
+
+_Enter_ JULIET _from their right_
+
+IMOGEN. Why so breathless, Julietta?
+
+JULIET. I am come to tell you, I am no longer a child. I have bade
+farewell to all my dolls. Soon there’ll be for me, one whom I, like
+you, may name “my own dear lord.” No longer will your secrets be too
+grown for me to share.
+
+PORTIA. Why then confide to us the charm, that brings to blossom thus
+suddenly the youngest of our buds.
+
+JULIET. In twenty days, my mother gives a wondrous ball, to which will
+come all the gallants of our house of Capulet.
+
+ROSALIND. And know you who are named?
+
+JULIET. None but one I know already, the County Paris. I would you all
+were bidden.
+
+VIOLA. So, alas, do we!
+
+ROSALIND. Our habitations are so distant.
+
+IMOGEN. Did ever father’s favorite daughters meet so little as we?
+
+JULIET. Are you his favorite daughter too?
+
+VIOLA. I know I am. Such love as he bears me, if held for all, would
+lift him off the earth.
+
+PORTIA. He hath bequeathed us each a special virtue, which we must
+emphasize as the flowers theirs.
+
+JULIET. Why does Ophelia sit alone and heed us not? I’ll share my news
+with her.
+
+VIOLA. Do not; she hath been curtly dealt with by Prince Hamlet or
+perchance her father. Contrast not thy happiness with her sorrow.
+Comparisons are steps to pain.
+
+PORTIA. Thoughts unmoved, like dead water, disease their confines.
+Therefore stir thou her sad thought, lest, becoming clogged, it
+o’erslough her like to Cordelia here.
+
+IMOGEN. What words of ours can heal her heart?
+
+ROSALIND. I will hazard, one from Hamlet could send more sunshine to
+her dark life than a thousand moonbeams of our cold comfort.
+
+JULIET. In twenty days, I sure shall see the dear, kind lord, who is to
+give me comfort all my days.
+
+PORTIA. Ay, those whom we know not to-day may give us joy to-morrow.
+But, infant-woman, do not forget the touch of thy nurse’s apron string
+before thou canst walk.
+
+ROSALIND. Peace, torrential adviser, here comes the newly wedded
+Beatrice who will o’erwash thee with advice as utterly as the Amazon a
+desert spring.
+
+JULIET. Oh, my ears are unstrung with her re-echoed wisdom. Come, I
+have a store of sugared rose leaves, enough for all. I would rather see
+them pass in through your lips, than proverbs pass out.
+
+IMOGEN. Is Desdemona shallow or deep that she proves so good a listener?
+
+PORTIA. Neither, but like a plate of gold, shines broad again the
+brightness she receives.
+
+ROSALIND. Then I will stand where she can shine on me, some of her news
+concerning man’s attire.
+
+PORTIA. Oh! Another day. For this instant, let Juliet’s rose leaves
+silence us awhile.
+
+_They exeunt together towards their right_
+
+_Enter_ BEATRICE _and_ DESDEMONA _another way_
+
+BEATRICE. I tell thee ’Mona, to keep thy lord after thou hast won him,
+do not show him too oft thy back, lest some other woman standing face
+to face, he find her smile a better picture than the nape bone of thy
+neck. No, when thou hast let the man thou hast chosen, catch thee,
+stand thenceforth, where, if he run, he will fall into thy arms; and
+not where, he slipping by, thou wilt have to run, ignominiously, after
+him.
+
+DESDEMONA. But, I am still a maid.
+
+BEATRICE. Then life to thee remains a maze.
+
+_Enter_ LADY MACBETH, _who stands apart_
+
+BEATRICE. Your unmarried woman is without a ship whereon to trim the
+sails of her ambition.
+
+LADY MACBETH. And if her ship sail a restless tide, like to my Macbeth,
+what the advantage of wedlock? Notwithstanding, find some ground to
+plant thy faith where it may thrive. Choose thee a husband who may lift
+thee, or thou canst lead to thy level; then raise thyself and him again
+till death find thee higher, more exalted than thy birth. Thus action
+giving thee life, thou wilt ’scape stagnation, which proves to be the
+food of death.
+
+DESDEMONA. Tell me, Beatrice, doth the outer man have ought to do with
+wedded peace; as if, he be fair or dark? and if being dark, how dark
+for proprieties’ satisfaction?
+
+BEATRICE. Young love is color blind. Within the month I swore my Ben as
+perfect as Apollo, but now my love, being saner placed, mine eyes can
+note the tawney of his skin and peering deeper to the better man, my
+love doth tighten.
+
+DESDEMONA. But were he more than common brown, past Spanish tan?
+
+BEATRICE. Were he burnt as to a Moor and know him as I now do, my love
+could know no change.
+
+DESDEMONA. Yet if his blood were dark from birth, an Indie or a Moor?
+
+BEATRICE. Not all the sultry blood of Africa could stain the true
+strong heart of Benedict.
+
+DESDEMONA. Couldst thou then marry a Moor?
+
+BEATRICE. Had he the soul of Benedict and I the eyes
+of Beatrice, subtlest lies of Satan could not part us.
+Father,--mother,--duty,--time,--space,--all, methinks, could find no
+chink for needle point to scratch an entrance ’twixt our loves.
+
+DESDEMONA. As I listen to thy feeling, my heart doth preen for flight.
+How is’t, since wedded, thou dost talk more sober?
+
+BEATRICE. The yoke of marriage, curbing speed, combines the power and
+so gives ballast to the mind. Does my assurance make you happy?
+
+DESDEMONA. More than I dare think. O I could tell thee battle stories I
+have lately heard, but so well told, that I fear recounting would spoil
+their memory. And yet what is to fear, come tell me again.
+
+_Exeunt_ BEATRICE _and_ DESDEMONA
+
+LADY MACBETH. “Ballast to thy mind”? Conceited plaything! thy ballast
+is but pride. These lambkin loves are sweetened honey to my taste.
+
+_She peruses a letter_
+
+OPHELIA
+
+_Clasping her package of letters and weeping_
+
+Alone, alone, alone! My father’s present harshness gives more
+loneliness to my heart than leagues of distance from my gentle brother.
+And Hamlet, motive of my thoughts and acts, art thou worlds away or
+nearer than an hour ago? I cannot tell. Love and cruelty so much
+commingled in his words. I know not where I rest. I do not rest,--I am
+at sea. O who can give me peace?
+
+LADY MACBETH _moves away_
+
+He says I am not true, yet bade me hide my purity in solitude. His
+words spake hate, his voice told love. I cannot think. I cannot move.
+Each drop in me is chaos.
+
+CORDELIA
+
+_For the first time is seen to move. She looks stonily and for a long
+time at_ OPHELIA
+
+If she can pity me ’twill ease her heart.
+
+_Arises and comes quietly to_ OPHELIA, _then covering her face with her
+hands, she kneels and rests her head in_ OPHELIA’S _lap_
+
+OPHELIA. It is Cordelia. Look up. Why, thou art wretched too and yet
+thine eye is dry. Come you to me for comfort? If so, I can but hold
+thee close and if thou seest tears, translate them as for thee, for
+sympathy in words I know not how to give.
+
+CORDELIA. Place thine ear to mine, so,--and we will listen for each
+other’s thoughts.
+
+OPHELIA. I would not have thee hear my miseries, for then thou too must
+weep.
+
+CORDELIA. To weep is best of all. Could I do so, ingratitude would melt
+away, would have no power, I’d feel my father’s presence. O teach me
+how to weep.
+
+OPHELIA. Cordelia, why hast thou long been silent, is’t for thy father?
+
+CORDELIA. O precious silence! Ophelia, in a world where little truth
+is spoken, silence less evil there obtains. These maidens are all kind,
+but should I unstop my pain to them, a scatter of advice unsuited,
+would fall like winter’s leaves about mine ears. Each day they chatter
+up a house of words and when the day is spent, it leaves no trace
+behind. For pastime, they do weave a happy future round some ne’erborn
+man of their conceiving. Thy Hamlet is the dearest, sanest man of all,
+yet him they do consider to be mad.
+
+OPHELIA. I had a mind to ask their thoughts concerned with Hamlet, but
+now thy words dissuade.
+
+CORDELIA. I’ll tell their answer e’er thou ask them. This day their
+remedy for troubled love lies these ways. Thou shouldst mask thee
+in the habiliments of a man and so engage as Hamlet’s servant, then
+learning all his moods, thou mayest wisely soothe him. One will ’vise
+thee how to dress, another how demean thyself, a third shall give
+thee points at law and preach to thee of modesty. Coaxing, pleading,
+baiting, all shall be proposed to bring him out and when their talk is
+run, why, a riddle hath been asked thee.
+
+OPHELIA. Cordelia, Prince Hamlet is so vast a man the world can scarce
+comprise him, and yet his dear simplicity did link his tastes to mine.
+Now, now he is estranged, oh am I so to lose him?
+
+CORDELIA. If I had held thy place and live as near to such a thought as
+Hamlet, and then there came a void between our loves, wouldst know my
+course?
+
+OPHELIA. O tell it me.
+
+CORDELIA. I’d fill my silence full with love and sitting quiet watch
+and wait, not tiring with sad looks, but simply and with hope await my
+place, then as some ground for tiny seed and deed of love appear, it
+should be sown, until some day he’d turn and find my garden grown, a
+place wherein to rest.
+
+_They hold each other close._ OPHELIA _weeps_
+
+CORDELIA. I giv’st thee my best counsel, dear, Hast ought to solve _my_
+hardened ache?
+
+PORTIA _enters, looks on_ OPHELIA, _then to her enter_ ROSALIND,
+IMOGEN, BEATRICE, DESDEMONA,--_they stand together_
+
+PORTIA. Poor child, see how she clings unto Cordelia.
+
+ROSALIND. Of sorrow she’s too much now, we dare not give her more.
+
+DESDEMONA. How did her father die!
+
+BEATRICE. ’Tis not yet given out.
+
+LADY MACBETH _and_ REGAN _enter_
+
+LADY MACBETH. See, Regan, there she sits and broods upon Cordelia.
+
+REGAN. I’ll tell her straight.
+
+LADY MACBETH. ’Twere better not, too much of anguish may undo her.
+
+REGAN. An overflow of bitterness will sure, then, taint Cordelia, and I
+be some avenged. In any wise she soon must hear, and to later tear raw
+the half healed wound were worse. I’ll tell her now.
+
+_She approaches_ OPHELIA
+
+Daughter of Polonius, turn thee from my father’s stain and heed my
+news, thy tears do prove her comfort worthless. I do bring thee further
+cause for grief, yet am I kind, in that I make thy present tears do
+double duty. Thy father hath been murdered;--and by the mad lord Hamlet.
+
+PORTIA _and her friends draw a sudden breath and hold to one another_
+
+CORDELIA _draws_ OPHELIA _close to her while looking with pity upon_
+REGAN
+
+ROSALIND. Said she by Hamlet?
+
+PORTIA. The gentlest of all gentlemen?
+
+BEATRICE. Can nature be upset?
+
+IMOGEN. A rose give poison?
+
+VIOLA. Or the sun freeze?
+
+LADY MACBETH. All humankind seem not what they are. In truth his deed
+is deeper still. He sought and thought not her arras-hidden father to
+destroy, it was, so runs the hint, the husband of his mother.
+
+BEATRICE. The king!
+
+PORTIA. God save him then.
+
+VIOLA. Look to Ophelia, she scarce can stand, yet wills to stand alone.
+
+IMOGEN. Shall we humor her?
+
+DESDEMONA. Peace to her. Our _master_, now, alone can make her new.
+
+ROSALIND. O, Regan, why wast ever born?
+
+LADY MACBETH. They all condemn thee.
+
+REGAN. For doing what thou durst not. Where I am unloved, I leave. I’ll
+have more news and better liking there.
+
+REGAN _exits_
+
+OPHELIA _moves uncertain, distraught_
+
+IMOGEN. Her words have beat her to a living death.
+
+OPHELIA
+
+_Has ceased to weep, has released herself from the embrace of_
+CORDELIA. _We see her put her finger to her lips as she walks across
+to the other side, then passing through the others, who make way for
+her. She is about to go--they are about to follow--she returns and with
+gesture indicates that she does not wish them to. She then speaks_
+
+I must gather flowers by the river--they are best.--Do not come. I will
+bring enough for all.
+
+_She listens_
+
+The little river is very quiet, but I can hear it. It has a message for
+me. I am going to put my ear so close that I shall lose not a whisper.
+
+_She bows_
+
+Be kind. Always be kind.
+
+_She smiles and leaves them_
+
+ROSALIND. Shall we not follow?
+
+LADY MACBETH. ’Twould but distress her.
+
+VIOLA. Is she feigning that she suffers less than we?
+
+PORTIA. She died at Regan’s word.
+
+BEATRICE. Let us to the cloister and there think on immortality, not
+death.
+
+DESDEMONA. Dear Cordelia, will you come?
+
+CORDELIA
+
+_With head thrown back and eyes closed, spreads, like wings, her arms
+with palms turned backward,--the others perceiving that she wishes them
+to go, they accede to her wish. When alone she covers her face with her
+hands, there is a tumult within her and at last, she weeps_
+
+Unwelcome, welcome tears. I weep for her, that could not for myself.
+Thus not feeding on another’s woes, by pity we do lose our own.
+
+_She follows the way_ OPHELIA _went_
+
+THE ACTRESS
+
+_Who has performed_ CORDELIA _now returns, bows a little, then speaks,
+as follows_:--
+
+My eyes are washed and now I do perceive that all the world’s a stage,
+from whence, at end of day, we look inquiringly at those who looked on
+us.
+
+If we have read our author’s plot aright, our reward should be, to spy,
+with ours, some brighter, fonder eyes, who flash us thanks, and who in
+turn do work and watch and play; while we in turn do dream new action
+for the morrow.
+
+MUSIC _is heard_
+
+O all’s not done. We’ve another here to thank and love and I must have
+my share.
+
+THE ACTRESS _hurries away_
+
+Then after brief interlude, is seen,--WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE.
+
+It may be that he appears personified, or in the form of a statue,
+bust or painting. Then come to him (or he along with them) all the
+characters in this fantasy; or even as many of the female characters in
+all his plays as may be.
+
+Now is to be performed a pantomime, to music, which indicates “love and
+thanks” to Shakespeare.
+
+So let the artist who directs this scheme, use all the arts he may
+command and with a generous and active eye, paint his action tunefully.
+
+
+THE END
+
+When the time is scant, in which to arrange a pantomime especially
+suited to the material at hand, let the following be performed to
+Mendelssohn’s music from “A Midsummer Night’s Dream,” the fairy theme
+especially. This music should commence pianissimo when the actress who
+plays Cordelia, says: “action for the morrow,” and becomes mezzo-forte
+as she hurries away.
+
+After a slight pause, TITANIA trips on with her fairy wand, and
+listens right and left, then apparently hears something and tripping
+up to some bushes in the background in the centre, she peers through
+and dances with delight at her discovery, she comes forward and
+beckons right and left;--then dance on the four little fairies
+PEAS-BLOSSOM--COBWEB--MOTH--and MUSTARD SEED, two from each side, they
+turn about in little circles until they come together in the centre,
+forming a little picture with their backs to the audience, stooping
+with their hands on their knees and their heads together. Now TITANIA,
+who has been up in the centre, trips down and points up to the bushes
+and putting her head close to theirs whispers to them, at which they
+all dance up and down on their toes and clap their hands with glee.
+TITANIA beckons that she wishes to whisper to them again, thereupon
+they form the little picture again, this time with faces towards the
+audience and TITANIA with her back to it. She whispers to them, at
+which they all trip off right and left to the music, TITANIA meanwhile
+waving her wand over them and when they are gone she goes to the bushes
+at the back and waves a salutation over it. Now the little fairies, two
+from each side, come dancing on backwards, beckoning on from near and
+far AS MANY OF THE FEMALE CHARACTERS OF SHAKESPEARE’S PLAYS AS MAY BE
+OBTAINED.
+
+They come on singly, excitedly, shrugging their shoulders in
+interrogation, asking in pantomime, what it is all about. TITANIA
+trips among them forming them into a half circle, the open side to the
+audience, she bades, with her wand, look up at the bushes,--they turn
+half away from the audience and await in saucy attitude, with their
+hands on their hips, the surprise they have in store for them. TITANIA
+directs the little fairies, who trip up to the bushes, carefully
+draws them away and discovers SHAKESPEARE asleep on a green bank, an
+old-fashioned book lying loosely in his hand.
+
+At sight of him all the characters express joy, kneel with their
+hands outstretched in reverence, then they rush to him on their toes,
+extending their hands to him. TITANIA placing her wand horizontally,
+keeps them away, the little fairies also stand on guard. They try to
+peep at him but back away, while he still sleeps. TITANIA comes forward
+to the centre with the four little fairies, she encircles them with
+her wand, at this they all proceed to trip an elaborate “grand right
+and left,” taking bouquets from their belts they strike them as they
+pass one another,--they do not take one another’s hand but simply tip
+the fingers as they dance past, with their hands held high. They all
+keep glancing at SHAKESPEARE, who finally awakens, at which they, each
+in turn, dance up and lay the bouquets at his feet, tripping up from
+one side and returning the opposite side and forming the original half
+circle right and left. SHAKESPEARE rises much pleased and kisses his
+hands to them, when they have all arrived in the half circle he raises
+his hands as if in benediction, at which they all kneel on one knee,
+their hands stretched toward him in appeal.
+
+The MUSIC at this point descends to a pianissimo,--then SHAKESPEARE
+speaks as follows:
+
+  Children of my dreams, how I love thee!--
+  Yet more than dream-children; for, down the ages shall ye live as
+  jewels to adorn those artist souls, painters, players, writers, who
+  love thee.
+  Then as _they_ pass to other spheres and other poets, some per
+  chance, to meet with me again, thou shalt remain to entrance and
+  cheer and give ambition to the ages soon to come.--
+  Play on sweet children, thy joy is mine, mine is thine. Would my arms
+  were great enough to crush thee all, like to a bouquet of sweetest
+  flowers.
+  My heart is thine, thine is mine.
+  Play on. Play on.
+
+They now all sing “Good-night” (words from Romeo and Juliet, music by
+Howard Glover). And as SHAKESPEARE retreats amongst the foliage (or
+disappears by special light effects), descends the
+
+
+CURTAIN
+
+*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 78148 ***
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+<body>
+<div style='text-align:center'>*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 78148 ***</div>
+
+<div class="transnote"><h3>Transcriber’s note</h3>
+
+<p>Variable spelling and hyphenation have been retained. Minor punctuation
+inconsistencies have been silently repaired.</p></div>
+
+<h1> SHAKESPEARE’S DAUGHTERS </h1>
+
+<p class="center">
+  <em class="gesperrt"><strong>A Fantasy in One Scene</strong></em></p>
+
+  <p class="center p2">BY <br>
+  GEORGE HENRY TRADER </p>
+
+  <p class="center p4 bt bb"><span class="smcap">Copyright, 1910, by Samuel French</span></p>
+<p class="p6">&nbsp;</p>
+  <table class="autotable">
+<tr><td class="br tdc"><span class="smcap">New York</span></td>
+<td class="tdc"><span class="smcap">London</span></td></tr>
+  <tr><td class="br tdc">SAMUEL FRENCH</td>
+<td class="tdc">SAMUEL FRENCH, <span class="smcap">Ltd.</span></td></tr>
+  <tr><td class="br tdc">PUBLISHER </td>
+<td class="tdc"><span class="smcap">26 Southampton Street</span></td></tr>
+  <tr><td class="br tdr"><span class="allsmcap">25</span> WEST <span class="allsmcap">45<sup>TH</sup></span> STREET<br>
+ </td>
+  <td class="tdc">STRAND</td></tr></table>
+
+<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop">
+<figure class="figcenter illowp40" id="titlepage" style="max-width: 37.5em;">
+  <img class="w100" src="images/titlepage.jpg" alt="titlepage">
+</figure>
+<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop">
+<div class="chapter">
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_3">[3]</span></p>
+
+
+  <h2 class="nobreak" id="SHAKESPEARES_DAUGHTERS">
+    SHAKESPEARE’S DAUGHTERS.
+  </h2>
+</div>
+
+<p class="hang"><i>Being a fantasy, in one scene (a glade in which appear
+as many of Shakespeare’s female characters as
+practicable. It may be noted with regret, that they
+have been associating with the ordinary, their
+tongues no longer distributing the grace and
+wisdom they uttered when at home).</i></p>
+
+
+<p class="center"><span class="smcap">Ophelia</span></p>
+
+<p class="hang"><i>Is found seated, unhappy, with a packet of letters tied
+with a ribbon. She may be well to the front of the
+picture to the players’ left hand.</i></p>
+
+
+<p class="center"><span class="smcap">Cordelia</span></p>
+
+<p class="hang"><i>May be found to the right hand of the players, but much
+in the background. She is disconsolate beyond measure
+and does not appear to be aware that there are
+other characters present.</i></p>
+
+
+<p class="center"><span class="smcap">Rosalind</span>, <span class="smcap">Portia</span>, <span class="smcap">Viola</span>, <span class="smcap">Imogen</span></p>
+
+<p class="hang"><i>Are generally seen near the centre of the picture; they are
+at present discussing a weighty matter with avidity,
+as follows:—</i></p>
+
+<p><span class="smcap">Imogen.</span> For me? I would endure such shame
+twice told for one I love.</p>
+
+<p><span class="smcap">Rosalind.</span> Ay, it would take more than wearing of
+doublet and hose to give my cheek the blush.</p>
+
+<p><span class="smcap">Portia.</span> In tender questions, pride will ofttimes
+drown kind modesty with satisfaction in one’s seeming.</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_4">[4]</span></p>
+
+<p>Looked we in truth’s mirror our blush would be no
+flush but one continued fever, so frequent do we err
+in our deportment. For myself, if occasion should
+demand that I inhabit my person as a man, I would
+assume the guise of one who wears a gown or cowl or
+ample cloak: thus may our sex while feigning man,
+retain their modesty.</p>
+
+<p><span class="smcap">Viola.</span> Dear Portia, were you a man in truth, you’d
+soon turn judge.</p>
+
+<p><span class="smcap">Imogen.</span> No cowl nor ample cloak for her but gown
+I’ll warrant. For, secret, hark, it was, but yesterday I
+spied a weighty tome of Venice law bear down her lap.</p>
+
+<p><span class="smcap">Rosalind.</span> What color gown? That’s <i>first</i> determined
+is it not?</p>
+
+<p><span class="smcap">Portia.</span> So? Indeed! ’Twere worthier fondling
+books upon my lap than the senseless men I’ve seen
+upon the knees of Rosalinda here.</p>
+
+<p><span class="smcap">Imogen.</span> Men!</p>
+
+<p><span class="smcap">Viola.</span> Upon her knees!</p>
+
+<p><span class="smcap">Rosalind.</span> It is not true.</p>
+
+<p><span class="smcap">Portia.</span> Their voices more tuneful, than in some
+men I have heard, in—that they were silent; their manners
+more gentler, in—that they were still; their dress
+of highest design, for they were modes of fashion, with
+that added virtue, that they could be put easily aside,
+being but on paper.</p>
+
+<p><span class="smcap">Imogen.</span> Only pictures, penned and painted?</p>
+
+<p><span class="smcap">Portia.</span> Ay, but of <i>men</i>, mark you, not girls, nor
+flowers, nor sheep; but men, whose outlines she scanned
+with eye of starveling.</p>
+
+<p><span class="smcap">Viola.</span> She determined then from <i>fashion’s</i> whim,
+that long hose and jacket were wisest wear for women
+bent on playing man?</p>
+
+<p><span class="smcap">Portia.</span> Our Rosie scorned the fashions. She
+did not so decide.</p>
+
+<p><span class="smcap">Rosalind.</span> Did not? What was my measure then?</p>
+
+<p><span class="smcap">Portia.</span> You give me leave to speak?</p>
+
+<p><span class="smcap">Rosalind.</span> Judge on, oh lady-judge, we hunger for
+thy wisdom.</p>
+
+<p><span class="smcap">Portia.</span> If I am too bold, Viola and Imogen silence
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_5">[5]</span>me. But listen thirstily to my reasons. Our Rosalind
+here hath no present need to mask in man’s attire; <i>why</i>
+then should she desire to don it? Because, odds paticakes,
+she hath discovered it doth become her. One
+morning early risen, she observed herself upon the
+sunlit wall and her shadow did beguile her. Thence,
+I see, she is determined that the occasion shall appear.
+For “why” sighs she, “should a proper ankle waste,
+for always, its outline in the darkness of a skirt.”</p>
+
+<p><span class="smcap">Viola.</span> Well? well? well? If this indeed be true
+of Rosalind, is her reasoning then immodest?</p>
+
+<p><span class="smcap">Imogen.</span> If of the garb one is not conscious, that
+itself is answer.</p>
+
+<p><span class="smcap">Portia.</span> Ho, ho! You sing in tune! Are well
+poised ankles so plenty that they crowd forth to be
+basked on?</p>
+
+<p><span class="smcap">Rosalind.</span> Not too plenteous, Portia, for we do
+know a maid, who, if occasion opportuned her to play
+in man’s attire, would choose to hide her in “gown or
+cowl or ample cloak.” No, no, a comedy face is no
+guarantor for a dainty limb, they stand not on every
+corner.</p>
+
+<p><span class="smcap">Portia.</span> Alone, they are a weak possession, a
+pointed ankle often bears a dull wit.</p>
+
+<p><span class="smcap">Rosalind.</span> They bear enough to trip the wit of
+many men.</p>
+
+<p><span class="smcap">Rosalind.</span> A truce about men, say I, whose giddy
+sight is hindrance to their reason.</p>
+
+<p><span class="smcap">Imogen.</span> So say we all of us.</p>
+
+<p><span class="smcap">Viola.</span> Here comes one whose youthful skirt our
+question puts to flight.</p>
+
+<p class="center"><i>Enter</i> <span class="smcap">Juliet</span> <i>from their right</i></p>
+
+<p><span class="smcap">Imogen.</span> Why so breathless, Julietta?</p>
+
+<p><span class="smcap">Juliet.</span> I am come to tell you, I am no longer a
+child. I have bade farewell to all my dolls. Soon
+there’ll be for me, one whom I, like you, may name
+“my own dear lord.” No longer will your secrets be
+too grown for me to share.</p>
+
+<p><span class="smcap">Portia.</span> Why then confide to us the charm, that
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_6">[6]</span>brings to blossom thus suddenly the youngest of our
+buds.</p>
+
+<p><span class="smcap">Juliet.</span> In twenty days, my mother gives a wondrous
+ball, to which will come all the gallants of our
+house of Capulet.</p>
+
+<p><span class="smcap">Rosalind.</span> And know you who are named?</p>
+
+<p><span class="smcap">Juliet.</span> None but one I know already, the County
+Paris. I would you all were bidden.</p>
+
+<p><span class="smcap">Viola.</span> So, alas, do we!</p>
+
+<p><span class="smcap">Rosalind.</span> Our habitations are so distant.</p>
+
+<p><span class="smcap">Imogen.</span> Did ever father’s favorite daughters meet
+so little as we?</p>
+
+<p><span class="smcap">Juliet.</span> Are you his favorite daughter too?</p>
+
+<p><span class="smcap">Viola.</span> I know I am. Such love as he bears me,
+if held for all, would lift him off the earth.</p>
+
+<p><span class="smcap">Portia.</span> He hath bequeathed us each a special
+virtue, which we must emphasize as the flowers theirs.</p>
+
+<p><span class="smcap">Juliet.</span> Why does Ophelia sit alone and heed us
+not? I’ll share my news with her.</p>
+
+<p><span class="smcap">Viola.</span> Do not; she hath been curtly dealt with by
+Prince Hamlet or perchance her father. Contrast not
+thy happiness with her sorrow. Comparisons are steps
+to pain.</p>
+
+<p><span class="smcap">Portia.</span> Thoughts unmoved, like dead water, disease
+their confines. Therefore stir thou her sad thought,
+lest, becoming clogged, it o’erslough her like to Cordelia
+here.</p>
+
+<p><span class="smcap">Imogen.</span> What words of ours can heal her heart?</p>
+
+<p><span class="smcap">Rosalind.</span> I will hazard, one from Hamlet could
+send more sunshine to her dark life than a thousand
+moonbeams of our cold comfort.</p>
+
+<p><span class="smcap">Juliet.</span> In twenty days, I sure shall see the dear,
+kind lord, who is to give me comfort all my days.</p>
+
+<p><span class="smcap">Portia.</span> Ay, those whom we know not to-day may
+give us joy to-morrow. But, infant-woman, do not forget
+the touch of thy nurse’s apron string before thou canst
+walk.</p>
+
+<p><span class="smcap">Rosalind.</span> Peace, torrential adviser, here comes the
+newly wedded Beatrice who will o’erwash thee with
+advice as utterly as the Amazon a desert spring.</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_7">[7]</span></p>
+
+<p><span class="smcap">Juliet.</span> Oh, my ears are unstrung with her re-echoed
+wisdom. Come, I have a store of sugared rose leaves,
+enough for all. I would rather see them pass in
+through your lips, than proverbs pass out.</p>
+
+<p><span class="smcap">Imogen.</span> Is Desdemona shallow or deep that she
+proves so good a listener?</p>
+
+<p><span class="smcap">Portia.</span> Neither, but like a plate of gold, shines
+broad again the brightness she receives.</p>
+
+<p><span class="smcap">Rosalind.</span> Then I will stand where she can shine
+on me, some of her news concerning man’s attire.</p>
+
+<p><span class="smcap">Portia.</span> Oh! Another day. For this instant, let
+Juliet’s rose leaves silence us awhile.</p>
+
+<p class="center"><i>They exeunt together towards their right</i></p>
+
+<p class="center"><i>Enter</i> <span class="smcap">Beatrice</span> <i>and</i> <span class="smcap">Desdemona</span> <i>another way</i></p>
+
+<p><span class="smcap">Beatrice.</span> I tell thee ’Mona, to keep thy lord after
+thou hast won him, do not show him too oft thy back,
+lest some other woman standing face to face, he find
+her smile a better picture than the nape bone of thy neck.
+No, when thou hast let the man thou hast chosen, catch
+thee, stand thenceforth, where, if he run, he will fall
+into thy arms; and not where, he slipping by, thou
+wilt have to run, ignominiously, after him.</p>
+
+<p><span class="smcap">Desdemona.</span> But, I am still a maid.</p>
+
+<p><span class="smcap">Beatrice.</span> Then life to thee remains a maze.</p>
+
+<p class="center"><i>Enter</i> <span class="smcap">Lady Macbeth</span>, <i>who stands apart</i></p>
+
+<p><span class="smcap">Beatrice.</span> Your unmarried woman is without a ship
+whereon to trim the sails of her ambition.</p>
+
+<p><span class="smcap">Lady Macbeth.</span> And if her ship sail a restless tide,
+like to my Macbeth, what the advantage of wedlock?
+Notwithstanding, find some ground to plant thy faith
+where it may thrive. Choose thee a husband who
+may lift thee, or thou canst lead to thy level; then
+raise thyself and him again till death find thee higher,
+more exalted than thy birth. Thus action giving thee
+life, thou wilt ’scape stagnation, which proves to be
+the food of death.</p>
+
+<p><span class="smcap">Desdemona.</span> Tell me, Beatrice, doth the outer man
+have ought to do with wedded peace; as if, he be fair
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_8">[8]</span>or dark? and if being dark, how dark for proprieties’
+satisfaction?</p>
+
+<p><span class="smcap">Beatrice.</span> Young love is color blind. Within the
+month I swore my Ben as perfect as Apollo, but now
+my love, being saner placed, mine eyes can note the
+tawney of his skin and peering deeper to the better
+man, my love doth tighten.</p>
+
+<p><span class="smcap">Desdemona.</span> But were he more than common
+brown, past Spanish tan?</p>
+
+<p><span class="smcap">Beatrice.</span> Were he burnt as to a Moor and know
+him as I now do, my love could know no change.</p>
+
+<p><span class="smcap">Desdemona.</span> Yet if his blood were dark from birth,
+an Indie or a Moor?</p>
+
+<p><span class="smcap">Beatrice.</span> Not all the sultry blood of Africa could
+stain the true strong heart of Benedict.</p>
+
+<p><span class="smcap">Desdemona.</span> Couldst thou then marry a Moor?</p>
+
+<p><span class="smcap">Beatrice.</span> Had he the soul of Benedict and I the
+eyes of Beatrice, subtlest lies of Satan could not part
+us. Father,—mother,—duty,—time,—space,—all, methinks,
+could find no chink for needle point to scratch
+an entrance ’twixt our loves.</p>
+
+<p><span class="smcap">Desdemona.</span> As I listen to thy feeling, my heart
+doth preen for flight. How is’t, since wedded, thou
+dost talk more sober?</p>
+
+<p><span class="smcap">Beatrice.</span> The yoke of marriage, curbing speed,
+combines the power and so gives ballast to the mind.
+Does my assurance make you happy?</p>
+
+<p><span class="smcap">Desdemona.</span> More than I dare think. O I could
+tell thee battle stories I have lately heard, but so well
+told, that I fear recounting would spoil their memory.
+And yet what is to fear, come tell me again.</p>
+
+<p class="center"><i>Exeunt</i> <span class="smcap">Beatrice</span> <i>and</i> <span class="smcap">Desdemona</span></p>
+
+<p><span class="smcap">Lady Macbeth.</span> “Ballast to thy mind”? Conceited
+plaything! thy ballast is but pride. These
+lambkin loves are sweetened honey to my taste.</p>
+
+<p class="center"><i>She peruses a letter</i></p>
+
+<p><span class="smcap">Ophelia</span></p>
+
+<p class="center"><i>Clasping her package of letters and weeping</i></p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_9">[9]</span></p>
+
+<p class="noin">Alone, alone, alone! My father’s present harshness
+gives more loneliness to my heart than leagues of distance
+from my gentle brother. And Hamlet, motive
+of my thoughts and acts, art thou worlds away or
+nearer than an hour ago? I cannot tell. Love and
+cruelty so much commingled in his words. I know
+not where I rest. I do not rest,—I am at sea. O who
+can give me peace?</p>
+
+<p class="center"><span class="smcap">Lady Macbeth</span> <i>moves away</i></p>
+
+<p class="noin">He says I am not true, yet bade me hide my purity in
+solitude. His words spake hate, his voice told love.
+I cannot think. I cannot move. Each drop in me is
+chaos.</p>
+
+<p><span class="smcap">Cordelia</span></p>
+
+<p class="center"><i>For the first time is seen to move. She looks stonily and
+for a long time at</i> <span class="smcap">Ophelia</span></p>
+
+<p class="noin">If she can pity me ’twill ease her heart.</p>
+
+
+<p class="hang"><i>Arises and comes quietly to</i> <span class="smcap">Ophelia</span>, <i>then covering her
+face with her hands, she kneels and rests her head in</i>
+<span class="smcap">Ophelia’s</span> <i>lap</i></p>
+
+<p><span class="smcap">Ophelia.</span> It is Cordelia. Look up. Why, thou
+art wretched too and yet thine eye is dry. Come you
+to me for comfort? If so, I can but hold thee close
+and if thou seest tears, translate them as for thee, for
+sympathy in words I know not how to give.</p>
+
+<p><span class="smcap">Cordelia.</span> Place thine ear to mine, so,—and we
+will listen for each other’s thoughts.</p>
+
+<p><span class="smcap">Ophelia.</span> I would not have thee hear my miseries,
+for then thou too must weep.</p>
+
+<p><span class="smcap">Cordelia.</span> To weep is best of all. Could I do so,
+ingratitude would melt away, would have no power,
+I’d feel my father’s presence. O teach me how to
+weep.</p>
+
+<p><span class="smcap">Ophelia.</span> Cordelia, why hast thou long been silent,
+is’t for thy father?</p>
+
+<p><span class="smcap">Cordelia.</span> O precious silence! Ophelia, in a
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_10">[10]</span>world where little truth is spoken, silence less evil
+there obtains. These maidens are all kind, but should
+I unstop my pain to them, a scatter of advice unsuited,
+would fall like winter’s leaves about mine ears. Each
+day they chatter up a house of words and when the
+day is spent, it leaves no trace behind. For pastime,
+they do weave a happy future round some ne’erborn
+man of their conceiving. Thy Hamlet is the dearest,
+sanest man of all, yet him they do consider to be mad.</p>
+
+<p><span class="smcap">Ophelia.</span> I had a mind to ask their thoughts concerned
+with Hamlet, but now thy words dissuade.</p>
+
+<p><span class="smcap">Cordelia.</span> I’ll tell their answer e’er thou ask them.
+This day their remedy for troubled love lies these ways.
+Thou shouldst mask thee in the habiliments of a man
+and so engage as Hamlet’s servant, then learning all
+his moods, thou mayest wisely soothe him. One will
+’vise thee how to dress, another how demean thyself, a
+third shall give thee points at law and preach to thee
+of modesty. Coaxing, pleading, baiting, all shall be
+proposed to bring him out and when their talk is run,
+why, a riddle hath been asked thee.</p>
+
+<p><span class="smcap">Ophelia.</span> Cordelia, Prince Hamlet is so vast a man
+the world can scarce comprise him, and yet his dear
+simplicity did link his tastes to mine. Now, now he is
+estranged, oh am I so to lose him?</p>
+
+<p><span class="smcap">Cordelia.</span> If I had held thy place and live as near
+to such a thought as Hamlet, and then there came a
+void between our loves, wouldst know my course?</p>
+
+<p><span class="smcap">Ophelia.</span> O tell it me.</p>
+
+<p><span class="smcap">Cordelia.</span> I’d fill my silence full with love and sitting
+quiet watch and wait, not tiring with sad looks,
+but simply and with hope await my place, then as some
+ground for tiny seed and deed of love appear, it should
+be sown, until some day he’d turn and find my garden
+grown, a place wherein to rest.</p>
+
+<p class="center"><i>They hold each other close.</i> <span class="smcap">Ophelia</span> <i>weeps</i></p>
+
+<p><span class="smcap">Cordelia.</span> I giv’st thee my best counsel, dear,
+Hast ought to solve <i>my</i> hardened ache?</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_11">[11]</span></p>
+
+<p class="hang center"><span class="smcap">Portia</span> <i>enters, looks on</i> <span class="smcap">Ophelia</span>, <i>then to her enter</i>
+<span class="smcap">Rosalind</span>, <span class="smcap">Imogen</span>, <span class="smcap">Beatrice</span>, <span class="smcap">Desdemona</span>,—<i>they
+stand together</i></p>
+
+<p><span class="smcap">Portia.</span> Poor child, see how she clings unto Cordelia.</p>
+
+<p><span class="smcap">Rosalind.</span> Of sorrow she’s too much now, we dare
+not give her more.</p>
+
+<p><span class="smcap">Desdemona.</span> How did her father die!</p>
+
+<p><span class="smcap">Beatrice.</span> ’Tis not yet given out.</p>
+
+<p class="center"><span class="smcap">Lady Macbeth</span> <i>and</i> <span class="smcap">Regan</span> <i>enter</i></p>
+
+<p><span class="smcap">Lady Macbeth.</span> See, Regan, there she sits and
+broods upon Cordelia.</p>
+
+<p><span class="smcap">Regan.</span> I’ll tell her straight.</p>
+
+<p><span class="smcap">Lady Macbeth.</span> ’Twere better not, too much of
+anguish may undo her.</p>
+
+<p><span class="smcap">Regan.</span> An overflow of bitterness will sure, then,
+taint Cordelia, and I be some avenged. In any wise
+she soon must hear, and to later tear raw the half
+healed wound were worse. I’ll tell her now.</p>
+
+<p class="center"><i>She approaches</i> <span class="smcap">Ophelia</span></p>
+
+<p class="noin">Daughter of Polonius, turn thee from my father’s stain
+and heed my news, thy tears do prove her comfort
+worthless. I do bring thee further cause for grief,
+yet am I kind, in that I make thy present tears do
+double duty. Thy father hath been murdered;—and
+by the mad lord Hamlet.</p>
+
+<p class="center"><span class="smcap">Portia</span> <i>and her friends draw a sudden breath and hold
+to one another</i></p>
+
+<p class="center"><span class="smcap">Cordelia</span> <i>draws</i> <span class="smcap">Ophelia</span> <i>close to her while looking
+with pity upon</i> <span class="smcap">Regan</span></p>
+
+<p><span class="smcap">Rosalind.</span> Said she by Hamlet?</p>
+
+<p><span class="smcap">Portia.</span> The gentlest of all gentlemen?</p>
+
+<p><span class="smcap">Beatrice.</span> Can nature be upset?</p>
+
+<p><span class="smcap">Imogen.</span> A rose give poison?</p>
+
+<p><span class="smcap">Viola.</span> Or the sun freeze?</p>
+
+<p><span class="smcap">Lady Macbeth.</span> All humankind seem not what
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_12">[12]</span>they are. In truth his deed is deeper still. He sought
+and thought not her arras-hidden father to destroy, it
+was, so runs the hint, the husband of his mother.</p>
+
+<p><span class="smcap">Beatrice.</span> The king!</p>
+
+<p><span class="smcap">Portia.</span> God save him then.</p>
+
+<p><span class="smcap">Viola.</span> Look to Ophelia, she scarce can stand, yet
+wills to stand alone.</p>
+
+<p><span class="smcap">Imogen.</span> Shall we humor her?</p>
+
+<p><span class="smcap">Desdemona.</span> Peace to her. Our <i>master</i>, now,
+alone can make her new.</p>
+
+<p><span class="smcap">Rosalind.</span> O, Regan, why wast ever born?</p>
+
+<p><span class="smcap">Lady Macbeth.</span> They all condemn thee.</p>
+
+<p><span class="smcap">Regan.</span> For doing what thou durst not. Where I
+am unloved, I leave. I’ll have more news and better
+liking there.</p>
+
+<p class="center"><span class="smcap">Regan</span> <i>exits</i></p>
+
+<p class="center"><span class="smcap">Ophelia</span> <i>moves uncertain, distraught</i></p>
+
+<p><span class="smcap">Imogen.</span> Her words have beat her to a living death.</p>
+
+<p><span class="smcap">Ophelia</span></p>
+<blockquote>
+<p class="hang"><i>Has ceased to weep, has released herself from the embrace
+of</i> <span class="smcap">Cordelia</span>. <i>We see her put her finger to her lips
+as she walks across to the other side, then passing
+through the others, who make way for her. She is
+about to go—they are about to follow—she returns
+and with gesture indicates that she does not wish
+them to. She then speaks</i></p></blockquote>
+
+<p class="noin">I must gather flowers by the river—they are best.—Do
+not come. I will bring enough for all.</p>
+
+<p class="center"><i>She listens</i></p>
+
+<p class="noin">The little river is very quiet, but I can hear it. It has
+a message for me. I am going to put my ear so close
+that I shall lose not a whisper.</p>
+
+<p class="center"><i>She bows</i></p>
+
+<p class="noin">Be kind. Always be kind.</p>
+
+<p class="center"><i>She smiles and leaves them</i></p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_13">[13]</span></p>
+
+<p><span class="smcap">Rosalind.</span> Shall we not follow?</p>
+
+<p><span class="smcap">Lady Macbeth.</span> ’Twould but distress her.</p>
+
+<p><span class="smcap">Viola.</span> Is she feigning that she suffers less than
+we?</p>
+
+<p><span class="smcap">Portia.</span> She died at Regan’s word.</p>
+
+<p><span class="smcap">Beatrice.</span> Let us to the cloister and there think on
+immortality, not death.</p>
+
+<p><span class="smcap">Desdemona.</span> Dear Cordelia, will you come?</p>
+
+<p><span class="smcap">Cordelia</span></p>
+
+<blockquote>
+<p class="hang"><i>With head thrown back and eyes closed, spreads, like
+wings, her arms with palms turned backward,—the
+others perceiving that she wishes them to go, they
+accede to her wish. When alone she covers her face
+with her hands, there is a tumult within her and at
+last, she weeps</i></p>
+</blockquote>
+
+<p class="noin">Unwelcome, welcome tears. I weep for her, that could
+not for myself. Thus not feeding on another’s woes,
+by pity we do lose our own.</p>
+
+<p class="center"><i>She follows the way</i> <span class="smcap">Ophelia</span> <i>went</i></p>
+
+<p><span class="smcap">The Actress</span></p>
+
+<p class="hang center"><i>Who has performed</i> <span class="smcap">Cordelia</span> <i>now returns, bows a little,
+then speaks, as follows</i>:—</p>
+
+<p class="noin">My eyes are washed and now I do perceive that all
+the world’s a stage, from whence, at end of day, we
+look inquiringly at those who looked on us.</p>
+
+<p>If we have read our author’s plot aright, our reward
+should be, to spy, with ours, some brighter, fonder
+eyes, who flash us thanks, and who in turn do work
+and watch and play; while we in turn do dream new
+action for the morrow.</p>
+
+<p class="center"><span class="smcap">Music</span> <i>is heard</i></p>
+
+<p class="noin">O all’s not done. We’ve another here to thank and love
+and I must have my share.</p>
+
+<p class="center"><span class="smcap">The Actress</span> <i>hurries away</i></p>
+
+<p class="noin">Then after brief interlude, is seen,—<span class="smcap">William Shakespeare</span>.</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_14">[14]</span></p>
+
+<p>It may be that he appears personified, or in the form
+of a statue, bust or painting. Then come to him (or
+he along with them) all the characters in this fantasy;
+or even as many of the female characters in all his
+plays as may be.</p>
+
+<p>Now is to be performed a pantomime, to music,
+which indicates “love and thanks” to Shakespeare.</p>
+
+<p>So let the artist who directs this scheme, use all the
+arts he may command and with a generous and active
+eye, paint his action tunefully.</p>
+
+<p class="center">THE END</p>
+
+<p>When the time is scant, in which to arrange a pantomime
+especially suited to the material at hand, let the
+following be performed to Mendelssohn’s music from
+“A Midsummer Night’s Dream,” the fairy theme especially.
+This music should commence pianissimo
+when the actress who plays Cordelia, says: “action for
+the morrow,” and becomes mezzo-forte as she hurries
+away.</p>
+
+<p>After a slight pause, <span class="smcap">Titania</span> trips on with her fairy
+wand, and listens right and left, then apparently hears
+something and tripping up to some bushes in the background
+in the centre, she peers through and dances
+with delight at her discovery, she comes forward and
+beckons right and left;—then dance on the four little
+fairies <span class="smcap">Peas-Blossom</span>—<span class="smcap">Cobweb</span>—<span class="smcap">Moth</span>—and <span class="smcap">Mustard
+Seed</span>, two from each side, they turn about in
+little circles until they come together in the centre,
+forming a little picture with their backs to the audience,
+stooping with their hands on their knees and their
+heads together. Now <span class="smcap">Titania</span>, who has been up in
+the centre, trips down and points up to the bushes and
+putting her head close to theirs whispers to them, at
+which they all dance up and down on their toes and
+clap their hands with glee. <span class="smcap">Titania</span> beckons that she
+wishes to whisper to them again, thereupon they form
+the little picture again, this time with faces towards
+the audience and <span class="smcap">Titania</span> with her back to it. She
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_15">[15]</span>whispers to them, at which they all trip off right and
+left to the music, <span class="smcap">Titania</span> meanwhile waving her wand
+over them and when they are gone she goes to the
+bushes at the back and waves a salutation over it.
+Now the little fairies, two from each side, come dancing
+on backwards, beckoning on from near and far <span class="smcap">as
+many of the female characters of Shakespeare’s
+plays as may be obtained</span>.</p>
+
+<p>They come on singly, excitedly, shrugging their
+shoulders in interrogation, asking in pantomime, what
+it is all about. <span class="smcap">Titania</span> trips among them forming
+them into a half circle, the open side to the audience,
+she bades, with her wand, look up at the bushes,—they
+turn half away from the audience and await in saucy
+attitude, with their hands on their hips, the surprise
+they have in store for them. <span class="smcap">Titania</span> directs the little
+fairies, who trip up to the bushes, carefully draws them
+away and discovers <span class="smcap">Shakespeare</span> asleep on a green
+bank, an old-fashioned book lying loosely in his hand.</p>
+
+<p>At sight of him all the characters express joy, kneel
+with their hands outstretched in reverence, then they
+rush to him on their toes, extending their hands to him.
+<span class="smcap">Titania</span> placing her wand horizontally, keeps them
+away, the little fairies also stand on guard. They try
+to peep at him but back away, while he still sleeps.
+<span class="smcap">Titania</span> comes forward to the centre with the four
+little fairies, she encircles them with her wand, at this
+they all proceed to trip an elaborate “grand right and
+left,” taking bouquets from their belts they strike them
+as they pass one another,—they do not take one another’s
+hand but simply tip the fingers as they dance
+past, with their hands held high. They all keep glancing
+at <span class="smcap">Shakespeare</span>, who finally awakens, at which
+they, each in turn, dance up and lay the bouquets at his
+feet, tripping up from one side and returning the opposite
+side and forming the original half circle right
+and left. <span class="smcap">Shakespeare</span> rises much pleased and kisses
+his hands to them, when they have all arrived in the
+half circle he raises his hands as if in benediction, at
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_16">[16]</span>which they all kneel on one knee, their hands stretched
+toward him in appeal.</p>
+
+<p>The <span class="smcap">Music</span> at this point descends to a pianissimo,—then
+<span class="smcap">Shakespeare</span> speaks as follows:</p>
+
+<div class="poetry">
+<div class="stanza">
+  <div class="verse indent0">Children of my dreams, how I love thee!—</div>
+  <div class="verse indent0">Yet more than dream-children; for, down the ages shall ye live as jewels to adorn those artist souls, painters, players, writers, who love thee.
+</div>
+  <div class="verse indent0">Then as <i>they</i> pass to other spheres and other poets, some per chance, to meet with me again, thou shalt remain to entrance and cheer and give ambition to the ages soon to come.—
+</div>
+  <div class="verse indent0">Play on sweet children, thy joy is mine, mine is thine.</div>
+  <div class="verse indent0">Would my arms were great enough to crush thee all, like to a bouquet of sweetest flowers.
+</div>
+  <div class="verse indent0">My heart is thine, thine is mine.</div>
+  <div class="verse indent0">Play on. Play on.</div>
+</div></div>
+
+<p>They now all sing “Good-night” (words from
+Romeo and Juliet, music by Howard Glover). And as
+<span class="smcap">Shakespeare</span> retreats amongst the foliage (or disappears
+by special light effects), descends the</p>
+
+
+<p class="center">CURTAIN</p>
+
+<div style='text-align:center'>*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 78148 ***</div>
+</body>
+</html>
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+Project Gutenberg (https://www.gutenberg.org) public repository for eBook #78148
+(https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/78148)