THE STUDENTS' HANDY EDITION. THE WORKS OF SHAKESPEARE THE TEXT CAREFULLY RESTORED ACCORDING TO THE FIRST EDITIONS; WITH INTRODUCTIONS, NOTES ORIGINAL AND SELECTED, AND A LIFE OF THE POET ; BY THE REV. H. N. HUDSON, A.M. REVISED EDITION, WITH ADDITIONAL NOTES. IN TWELVE VOLUMES. VOL. I. BOSTON: ESTES AND LAURIAT, 301 WASHINGTON STREET. Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1871, by KOYE8, HOLMES, AND COMPANY, In the Office of the Librarian ot Congress at Washington. Copyright, 1881, BY ESTKS AND LAUKIAT. UNIVERSITY PRESS: JOHN Wasos AND Son, CAMBRIDGE. SRLi URL PREFACE pit THE REVISED EDITION. IT is now about twenty-one years since this edition of SHAKESPEARE'S WORKS was begun. The Edi- tor had good reasons for this delay ; for, besides that he was necessarily subject to divers interruptions, being compelled to do a good deal of other work, the task has proved a much longer and harder one than he had anticipated. But the edition is at length finished ; and the editor dismisses his labours to the public with a mixture of pleasure and regret ; pleasure, that his obligation to the publishers is now discharged ; regret, that the serene and tranquil de- lights of the task are to be no longer his save as a remembered experience. As for the reasons which led to this edition of Shakespeare, perhaps it were as well to leave them to be gathered from the manner of the performance ; but it is thought best to give a brief statement of them, as this may serve in some measure to unfold the plan of the work. The celebrated Chiswick edition, on which this is partly modelled, was published in 1826, and has for some time been out of print. In size of volume, in IV PREFACE TO THE REVISED EDITION. type, style of execution, aud adaptedness to the wants of both the scholar and the general reader, it pre- sented a combination of advantages possessed by no other edition at the time of its appearance. The text, however, abounds in corruptions introduced by preceding editors under the name of corrections Of the number and nature of these no adequate idea can be formed but on a close comparison, line by line, and word by word, with the original editions. The Chiswick Shakespeare has never been re- printed in this country. For putting forth an Amer- ican edition retaining the advantages of that without its defects, no apology, it is presumed, will be thought needful. How far those advantages are retained hi this edition, will appear upon a very slight compari- son : how far those defects have been removed, the Editor may be allowed to say that no little study and examination will be required to the forming of a right judgment. Until the present, there has been no American edition of Shakespeare proceeding upon a fresh re- visal and collation of the text with the original copies. So that, properly speaking, this is the first time the Poet's text has been edited in this country. Here it has been ascertained from the primitive sources ; the Editor having, in this respect, taken nothing upou hearsay, nor rested with any thing short of a con- tinual reference to the first editions. By this process, the Editor has detected and restored a few original readings which appear to have escaped all the other modern editors. But, notwithstanding all the care PREFACE TO THE REVISED EDITION. V and vigilance he could use, some things, as might be expected, escaped his eye in the original stereotyping of the text. Esteeming nothing unimportant on this score, however small and trivial it might appear, he has since made, with much care, a second colla- tion of his text with the originals ; and whatever oversights or inaccuracies he could detect have been rectified in the plates. So that, if a thorough revisal of every line, every word, every letter, and every point, with a continual reference to the original copies, be a reasonable ground of confidence, then the reader may be con- fidently assured that he will here find the genuine text of Shakespeare. The process of purification has been rendered much more difficult, and therefore much more neces- sary, by the mode in which it was for a long time customary to edit the Poet's works. This mode is well exemplified in the case of Steevens and Malone, who seem to have vied with each other which should most enrich his edition with textual emendations. Both of them had been very good editors, but for the unwarrantable liberty with which they reformed the Poet's text ; and, even as it was, they undoubt- edly rendered much valuable service. And the same work, though not always in so great a degree, has been carried on by many others : sometimes the alleged corrections of several editors have been brought together, that the advantages of them all might be combined and presented in one. Thus cor- ruptions of the text have accumulated, each successive VI PREFACE TO THE REVISED EDITION. editor adding his own to those of his predecessors. Nor were any decisive steps taken in the way of a return to the original text, till within a very limited period. The later editors, Knight, Collier, and Ver- planck, to all of whom this Editor is under great obligations, have pretty effectually put a stop to the old mode of Shakespearian editing ; nor is there much reason to apprehend that any one will now venture upon a revival of it. Of the editions hitherto printed in this country, Verplanck's is believed to be the only one that is at all free from these accumulated corruptions. Adopt ing, for the most part, the text of Collier as published in 1842-4, he brought to the work, however, his own taste and judgment, wherein he as far surpasses the English editor as he necessarily falls short of him in such external advantages as the libraries, public and private, of England alone can supply. And Collier's text of 1842-4 is indeed remarkably accu- rate and pure : nor, perhaps, can any other man of modern times be named, to whom Shakespearian literature is, on the whole, so largely indebted. How much he has done need not be dwelt upon here, as the results thereof will be found scattered all through this edition. Yet it must be confessed that both he and Knight, revolting from the extreme liberty of preceding editors, have gone to the opposite extreme of rejecting many valuable, and some indispensable corrections of the text. This excessive, not to say slavish adherence to the old copies, often in probable, sometimes in palpable misprints, greatly reduces th PREFACE TO THE REVISED EDITION. VT value of their editions for general use. In this par- ticular, Mr. Verplanck has judiciously deviated from his English standard, and his good judgment appears equally in what he adopts and in what he rejects. Of the critical remarks that enrich his edition, it is enough at present to express the belief that in this department he has no rival in this country, and will not soon be beaten. There is one class of restorations which the Edi- tor hopes to be excused for mentioning, inasmuch as, while they are separately so small as to escape notice, the number of them is so great as to be a matter of considerable importance. Every one at all conver- sant with the old writers must be aware that in their use of verbs, participles, and participial adjectives, the termination ed generally made a syllable by itself. This class of words being very numerous, not a little variety and flexibility of language were gained by omitting or retaining the e at an author's discretion. In Shakespeare's verse the pronouncing of ed as a distinct syllable is very often required by the measure : yet all the current texts of the poet are utterly dis ordered in this respect, so that the reader's ear, if it be at all sensitive, is continually put at odds with his eye, and the silent pleasure of the verse is marred either by discords or by watchfulness against them. Both forms often occur in the same line ; which makes the distinction still more important to be marked hi the printing. Here is an instance: " For this they have engrossed and pil'd up The canker'd heaps of strange-achieved gold." Vlll PREFACE TO THE REVISED EDITION. The same is to be said of verbs in the second person singular, and also of many adjectives, where the ending est makes a syllable by itself, or blends with the preceding syllable, according as the e is retained or omitted. In these respects, the original editions are printed with remarkable exactness ; so that, for keeping the Poet's verse rightly in tune, there needs but a scrupulous adherence to them. And the same holds true, in an equal degree, of his prose, which has as much variety in this particular as his verse. Now, in all the modern editions since Capell's, the Poet's usage in this matter has been quite ignored, and the rhythm of his prose (for good prose, no less than verse, has a rhythm of its own) thereby greatly marred. The present Editor has spent a great deal of care and labour upon these small items of restora- tion, deeming it of consequence to preserve, as nearly as might be, the words and even the syllables exactly as Shakespeare wrote them. It may be worth the while, indeed it seems rather needful, to remark that of the Poet's thirty-seven dramas seventeen were first printed, separately, in quarto form, all of them but one, Othello, during his life. Several of these issues, however, were evi- dently stolen, and, withal, so mangled and mutilated in the stealing, as to be of little if any real authority ; though all of them are of more or less value in as- certaining or completing the text. The remaining twenty plays were first printed in the folio of 1623 ; and in respect of these, that edition, and the reprint of it, under some revising hand, in 1632, are our only authorities foi the text. PREFACE TO THE REVISED EDITION. IX As to the folio of 1623, a great deal has been said on both sides respecting it. A long and minute ac- quaintance with its pages has satisfied the present Editor that no general statements can give any adequate impression of its character. In some of the plays the printing is shockingly bad ; in others, it is nearly as good as need be desired ; while in a portion of them it is neither so good nor so bad as has been sometimes represented. It is admitted on all hands that in several of the plays no text at all satisfactory can be had without resorting to the quar- tos, many of the best passages, and sometimes even whole scenes, being altogether wanting in the folio. .Notwithstanding, it is maintained by some (and this is one of the rocks on which Knight's editorial vessel split) that the folio is throughout the better authority Such is not the judgment of the present Editor : on the contrary, in some of the plays, as A Midsummer- Night's Dream, The Merchant of Venice, King Richard II., The First Part of King Henry IV., Romeo and Juliet, and Hamlet, he holds the quarto text as on the whole preferable to that of the folio. In these cases, accordingly, as is explained more at large in the Introductions, the older copies are treated as the chief standards of the text, in this edition. For the use here made of what have become widely known of late as " The Collier Emendations," the reader is referred to what follows this Preface. The text of Shakespeare as given in the old copies leaves open a wide field for editorial judgment, and w in just the state most apt to be benefited by a PREFACE TO THE REVISED EDITION. and legitimate exercise of that faculty. In cases of evident or probable misprint, the present fcditor has availed himself of all the suggestions within his reach : where the error seemed unques- tionable, the correction is sometimes made without remark ; where there seemed any room for doubt on this score, the correction is generally pointed out in the notes. The Chiswick edition, as things then stood, fur- nished in the mam a pretty judicious and not very cumbrous eclecticism of previous annotation. Of course, the purifying of the text has necessitated many changes in the notes. Moreover, superfluous notes and superfluous parts of notes required vigor- ous pruning : sometimes additional notes, sometimes Different ones, were demanded by the present state of Shakespearian literature: quotations and refer- ences, carelessly and inaccurately made, often needed to be verified and set right ; while in not a few cases the notes were written so awkwardly or so diffusely as rather to darken what they were meant to illus- trate. In the present edition all these points are carefully attended to, no pains being spared to render the notes as clear, brief, and pertinent, as practicable. For the matter of the notes the Editor has drawn with the utmost freedom from all the sources accessi- ble to him ; often bringing in illustrative passages that had occurred in his own reading, oftener those which had been quoted by others. It must be added that this work of annotation has been greatly facili- tated by Mrs. Cowden Clarke's Concordance to PREFACE TO THE REVISED EDITION. XI Shakespeare, unquestionably one of the most perfect and most useful books that have been written in con- nection with the Poet's name. In his Introductions, the Editor has aimed, prima- rily, to gather up all the historical and bibliographical information that has been made accessible, concerning the times when the several plays were written and first acted, and the sources whence the plots and materials of them were derived. It will be seen that in the history of the Poet's plays the indefatiga- ble labours of Mr. Collier and others, often resulting in important discoveries, have wrought changes amounting almost to a revolution, within the last fifty years. And there seems the more cause for dwelling on what the Poet took from preceding writers, in that it exhibits him, where a right-minded study should specially delight to contemplate him, as holding his unrivalled inventive powers subordinate to the higher principles of art. He cared little for the interest of novelty, which is but a short-lived thing at the best; much for the interest of truth and beauty, which is indeed immortal, and always grows upon acquaintance. And the novel-writing of our time shows that hardly any thing is easier than to get up new incidents or new combinations of inci- dents for a story ; and as the interest of such things turns mainly on their novelty, so of course they become less interesting the more one knows them; which order (for " a thing of beauty is a joy for ever ") is just reversed in genuine works of art. Besides, if Shakespeare is the most original of Ill PREFACE TO THE REVISED EDITION. writers, he is also one of the greatest of borrowers ; and as few authors have appropriated so freely from others, so none can better afford to have his obliga- tions in this kind made known. Of the critical remarks in the Introductions, per- naps the less said, the better. The Editor, how- ever, may be allowed to say, that in this part of his work he has held it as a sort of axiom, that the pro- per business of criticism is to translate truths of feeling into truths of intelligence ; and that his aim has been rather to involve or imply the principles of criticism so deeply meditated and expounded by Coleridge and Schlegel than to give a distinct formal expres- sion of them. For it may be aptly said that in studying works of art " he is oft the wisest man who is not wise at all." And the course here pursued seems the better, forasmuch as it holds out some hope of conducting the reader, by silent natural processes, to such a state and habit of mind, that he may contemplate the plays, perhaps without know- ing it, as works of art, and see all the parts and elements of a given struct are intertwining and coalescing and growing up together in vital, organic harmony and reciprocity. For if, without being drawn into an ugly conceit or vanity of criticism, the reader can be made to see and understand how in the Poet's delineations every thing is fitted to every other thing ; how each requires and infers the others, and all hang together in orderly coherence and mu tual support ; it is plain that both the pleasure and the profit of the reading must be greatly increased. PAEFACE TO THE REVISED EDITION. Xlij Ripe Shakespearians, it is true, may not need such help, and may even be impatient of it ; nevertheless the Editor ventures to think that just analyses of the Poet's characters, bringing out into conscious recog- nition their individual forms and distinctive springs, may be of service to many readers, not only in making them more at home with his truth, but in helping them to realize more fully the vast wealth and compass of his multitudinous mind. Shakespeare interprets Nature : to interpret him, is a much hum bier function indeed, but not altogether useless. In the Life here given of Shakespeare, the Edi- tor has aimed merely to set forth, in a simple and plain way, and without any flourish or fumigation, whatsoever lay within his reach, that seemed to illustrate, directly or remotely, the history and char- acter of the subject as a poet and as a man ; his aims in life, and his failures and successes in them ; wherein he was helpful to others, and wherein he received help from them. The materials for this work are meagre enough at the best, and their mea- greness is apt to induce an overworking of them. Besides, of the little matter there is, the greater part, being derived from legal documents and public records, is of so dry and hard a quality, that to make it inter- esting and attractive, save for the subject's sake, is nearly out of the question. If the present essay should be thought overcharged with the original sin of the matter, there is yet no law against holding that even such a fault is better than to offend good taste, as some of the Poet's biographers have done, b XIV PREFACE TO THE REVISED EDITION elaborate impertinence and ornate and fanciful con- jecture. The only kindling that seems desirable here is such as will throw real light on the Poet, not such as would smoke him into vastness. Touching the Historical Sketch of the English Drama, the writer's main purpose therein was to show, what has not always been duly attended to, that the Drama, as we have it in Shakespeare, was a national growth, not an individual creation ; and that we are probably indebted for it as much to the public taste and preparation of the time as to the genius of the man. The Shakespearian Drama came, not merely or mainly because Shakespeare was the greatest of human intellects, but rather because he was an Englishman, breathing, from the cradle upwards, the atmosphere of English life and thought, and concentrating in himself the whole spirit and efficacy of the English mind and character, as these had ripened up through centuries of development and progress. In his day, the Drama was and long had been an intense national passion ; a passion which kept growing deeper and stronger, till at length an age of daring innovation and expansion set it free; while the further want of an omniloquent organ to give it voice and expression was met and answered in Shakespeare. Thus the time and the man were suited to each other ; and it was in his direct, fearless, whole-hearted sympathy with the soul of the time that the man both lost himself and found his power : which is doubtless one reason why we see so little of him in his work ; he being too PREFACE TO THE REVISED EDITION. X much kindled to think of himself or of the figure he was making. So that the work could not possibly have been done anywhere but in England, the Eng- land of Spenser and Raleigh and Bacon ; nor could it have been done there and then by any man but Shakespeare. In his hand, what had long been a national passion became emphatically a National Institution ; how full of life, is shown in that it has ever since refused to die. And it seems well worth the while to bring this clearly into view, inasmuch as it serves to remove the subject upon deeper and broader principles of criticism than have commonly stood uppermost in the minds of the Poet's critics. To impart anything like just and adequate ideas touching the origin and progress of the English Drama, the Editor knew no better, nor indeed any other way, than by giving analyses of various speci- mens in the several forms or stages through which that Drama passed. It is not unlikely that he may have overdone this part of the work ; for the subject has a certain fascination for him, insomuch as to dis- qualify him perhaps for judging how far it might prove edifying or attractive to others. Of his slender qualifications for the task, perhaps it is enough for the Editor to say that he is deeply sensible of them ; that every step lie has taken in the work has reminded him of them ; and that none, it is hoped, will be more apt to charge him, than he is to charge himself, with presumption in un- dertaking it It is but justice to add, that the work sought him, not he the work. Fortunately, by far XVI PREFACE TO THE REVISED EDITION the most important part of the task, that of setting forth a pure and genuine text of the Poet, is one where patient industry and care may in some measure be made to supply the lack of other qualification. In the course of his work the Editor has incurred many obligations ; divers facilities having been kindly offered him before they were sought, and others as kindly granted upon his hinting a request. In fact, he has met with nothing but the most generous and hearty spirit of accommodation. To Mr. Charles Folsom, the late accomplished and gentlemanly librarian of the Boston Athenaeum ; to Mr. Henry T. Parker, formerly of Boston, now of London, England ; to George C. Shattuck, M. D., Mr. Edwin P. Whipple, and Mr. Joseph Burnett, of Boston ; also, to the learned and liberal Dr. Cogswell, of the Astor Library, the Hon. Gulian C. Verplanck, Mr. Evert A. Duyckinck, Mr. George L. Duyckinck, and Mr. Edward S. Gould, of New York ; to all these he has been and is indebted for important favours. Nor must the stereotypers of the Boston Foundry go unremembered ; whom he has found as fine a set of fellows to work with as an author or editor ought to desire. BOSTON, September, 1871. ADDITIONAL NOTES TO THE REVISED EDITION. Qy these eleven volumes six were stereotyped and in print before the appearance of what have come to be known as "The Collier Emendations." In the five volumes stereotyped since, we have aimed, as our foot- notes will show, to make a cautious, but not illiberal use of them. The same is now done in the first six volumes, the requisite alterations of the text being made in the plates. Of course it is impracticable to supply foot-notea of these changes ; and, as it were scarce allowable to adopt them without some notice, there is no way but to point them out in the manner here used. This is not the place for canvassing at length the gen- eral subject of those emendations. But it seems very proper to add a few remarks, by way of intimating oizr judgment concerning them, and the use Mr. Collier saw fit to make of them. First, however, we must state a few items of history. In the years 1842-4, Mr. Collier set forth a complete edition of Shakespeare's Works, restoring the text with great care and accuracy, and embodying a large fund of antiquarian and other lore in the form of introductions and notes. The edition has many points of excellence ; but there is one fault running through it, which must ever keep it from passing into general use. This fault ADDITIONAL NOTES TO ia a vicious and ibsurd extreme of adherence to the origi- nal copies. Previous editors had licentiously tampered with the text, acting too much on the principle of giving what, in their judgment, Shakespeare ought to have written : Mr. Collier rightly acted on the principle of giving what Shakespeare did write, but made far too little allowance for the errors of transcribers and printers. The first collected edition of Shakespeare's plays was printed in 1623, in folio form. Before this, seventeen of his plays had been separately issued, some of them several times, in quarto. The folio of 1623 was re- printed, with some corrections and some corruptions, in 1632. These several issues are our only authorities for ascertaining the text. All of them abound in palpable misprints ; besides, they vary a good deal among them- selves, and thus give large scope for criticism in a choice of readings. In 1851, Mr. Collier lighted on a copy of the second folio containing a large number of manuscript alterations, amounting, in all, to some 20,000, though much the greater portion were mere changes in the punctuation. The source of them was unknown, the date uncertain. Mr. Collier at first supposed them to be nearly as old as the volume itself, and that the maker of them might have had access to the Poet's own manuscripts, or something about as good. In 1853, Mr. Collier published most of the verbal changes in a separate volume, with an Intro- duction, arguing strongly for their authenticity. He put forth a theory as to their genesis, which, if fully made otit, would leave us no choice in regard to them. The theory, however, was mostly spun out of his own brain, and had no competent facts to rest upon. But, though maintaining those changes to be authentic in the mass, he nevertheless took the liberty of questioning and dis- allowing their authority in particular cases ; as if he had THE REVISED EDITION. XlX somehow got it fixed in his head, that they were to be authoritative on others, and the prerogative of over- ruling them limited to himself. This of course provoked a good deal of controversy. Dyce and Singer, both veteran Shakespearians, put forth each a volume stoutly repudiating the claim of those changes to be received as authentic, but admitting, in respect of some of them, whatever claim could grow from intrinsic fitness. Not long afterwards, Mr. Collier set forth, evidently for popular use, a reprint of his text of 1842-4, incor- porating therein those aforesaid verbal changes. Surely, in every right view of the matter, this was a very un- warrantable procedure. Shakespeare is the great Eng- lish classic. As such, his text is a sacred thing, and ought to be so held. And no man must arrogate to himself the prerogative of making and circulating such a wholesale innovation. Moreover, Mr. Collier was in all justice precluded, by his own mode of treating those changes, from the liberty of thus giving them to th public as a part of the Poet's authentic text. In his first edition, he took extreme ground against textual changes, even going so far as to reject many valuable and some indispensable corrections. In his second, he vaulted plump into the opposite extreme, setting forth as authentic a huge mass of ignorant tampering, and thereby, so far as in him lay, corrupting the text more than all the other modern editors put together. There is in literature, as in many other things, a sort of common law which, in so grave and delicate a matter as the text of Shakespeare, requires that changes, especially if at all numerous and important, should in some way be passed upon by the literary public or its representatives, before being admitted into popular use and circulation. Nor can any individual, however learned and sagacious, net up a peculiar, much less an exclusive, jurisdiction of XX ADDITIONAL NOTES TO Shakespeare's text : there is a literary Senate to whose collective judgment questions of that nature must be referred. For men, and editors of Shakespeare as well as others, are naturally partial to their own notions and discoveries ; and when these are on trial the case is so much their own that they can hardly be indifferent judges. They who, at least in a moral sense, are best qualified for such an office, will be most apt to distrust their own judgment, and to invoke a more disinterested verdict upon the points in issue. That some of the emendations in question are exceed- ingly apt and valuable, is now commonly admitted ; and our foot-notes in Coriolanus will furnish enough, we apprehend, to satisfy any fair-minded reader that such is the case. A portion of them, no doubt, will pass at once into the Poet's text, not to be disputed by future editors. But the number of such is not very large in comparison of the whole list. Of by far the larger por- tion, some are, to say the least, of very questionable merit, and many of very unquestionable demerit. To do the thing out somewhat in detail : The whole number of verbal changes found in Mr. Collier's folio of 1632 falls, in our counting, a little short of 3,500. Of these, only about 500, it seems to us, can be justly regarded as deserving of any consideration. Of these 500, again, about one-half had been adopted into the text, or pro- posed for adoption, long before any thing was heard of Mr. Collier's second folio ; a portion of those so adopted bijing taken from the quarto copies of such plays as were first printed in that form. And of the remaining 250. more than 100 are of doubtful merit, plausibility being the best that can be affirmed of them. Which leaves us less than 150 desirable or admissible changes to be credited to the unknown manuscript corrector. This estimate proceeds, too, upon a pretty free and THE REVISED EDITION. IXJ liberal view of the matter : any thing like severity of criticism would considerably reduce the amount of obli- gation to the corrector aforesaid. But, small, comparatively, as is the number of accep- table changes from this source, there are yet enough to deserve our grateful acknowledgment ; and we freely confess that the cause of Shakespearian literature is in no slight measure indebted to Mr. Collier's discovery. It is indeed a very important addition to our means of arriving at a satisfactory text of the Poet. It does an old Shakespearian's heart good to light, for instance, upon such an item of relief as the substitution of bisson multitude for bosom' multiplied, in Coriolanus, Act iii. Scene L, vol. viii., page 226: " How shall this bisson multitude digest The Senate's courtesy?" Also, the substitution of mirror'd for married in Tro\- lus and Cressida, Act iii., Scene iii., voL vii., page 450: " For speculation turns not to itself, Till it hath travell'd, and is mirror'd there Where it may see itself." Yet these changes are not more happy than that pro- posed by Singer, which substitutes wearer's for weary in As You Like It, Actii., Scene vii., vol. iii., page 186 : " Doth it not flow as hugely as the sea, Till that the wearer's very means do ebb? " Still more delightful, perhaps, is Mr. Richard Grant White's restoration in The Winter's Tale, Act iii., Scene iii., vol. iv., page 74 : "A god, or a child, I wonder?* 1 where the old copy has boy instead of god. ADDITIONAL NOTES TO Having said thus much, perhaps we ought to add that, highly as we prize some of the old corrector's work, we would nevertheless iciuch rather part with it all than be obliged to accept it all. If he had not made six times as many bad changes as good ones, and in numerous instances marred the text merely because he did not understand it, we might perhaps be justified in accepting a few doubtful cases on account of the good company they were in. As to his having access to some authentic source, all we have to say is, that, if so, then he certainly mixed up with what he derived therefrom such a mass of clumsy and awkward conjecture as to deprive his work of all external support. Such, for example, is his turning of mother into smother, in Cymbeline, Act iiL, Scene iv., vol. ix., page 91 : " Some jay of Italy, Whose mother was her painting, hath betray'd him." And again, his substitution of boast for beast, in Macbeth, Act i., Scene vii., vol. iv., page 264: " Macbeth. Pr'ythee, peace ! I dare do all that may become a man ; Who dares do more is none." "Lady Macbeth. What beast was't, then, That made you break this enterprise to me ? When you durst do it, then you were a man." All which infers, plainly enough, that we do not regard the changes in question as standing on any thing that can properly be termed authority. Any claim or pre- tence of that kind is simply absurd. We can discover no reasonable or even plausible ground for adopting any of them, but their intrinsic fitness ; precisely the same as in case of any other editorial emendations. And the only argument worth considering that has been urged for THE REVISED EDITION. XX1U their authenticity rests upon this very fitness, and has no other basis ; which of course concludes only such of them to be authentic as are judged to be fit, and so leaves us just where we were before. In fact, with the best study we could give them, which is somewhat more than a little, we have not been able to tie up in any general rules concerning them : we have still had to consider them severally, and to form a separate and independent judgment of each one of them, as it came before us ; which, we are right well persuaded, is the only judicious or safe way of treating them. This is indeed a slow and tedious process, and by no means agreeable to one who aspires to the honour of despatching a great work all in a lump : nevertheless it stands within the scope of the old maxim, " Stay awhile, and make an end the sooner." But indeed Mr. Collier himself has not been able to rest in his first conclusion upon the matter. In the Pre- face to his Notes of Coleridge's Lectures, published in 1856, he confesses to have fallen back upon his old common-sense principles in regard to Shakespeare's text. " I am more and more convinced," says he, " that the great majority of the corrections were made, not from better manuscripts, still less from unknown printed copies of the plays, but from the recitations of old actors while the performance was proceeding ; " and he takes this as going far to explain what would else be " an anomalous instance of one and the same mind dis- playing a sagacity worthy of Bentley, and yet capable of sinking below the dullest pedant." It is a real pleasure to us to record such proofs of this old Shakespearian's happy return to reason and sobriety. Well, the question has since been taken in hand by the most competent authorities; the character of the corrections has been sifted thoroughly ; chemical science and paleographic skill have been brought to bear upon XXIV ADDITIONAL NOTES TO it ; and the result goes near to make out a pretty decided 3ase of imposture and fraud. Yet we are far from being convinced that Mr. Collier has at any time acted or spoken otherwise than in perfect honesty and good faith in the matter. He surely could not afford to peril his well-earned reputation on the chances of so loose and bungling a device. The argument is much too long and intricate for any attempt to trace it here ; and we must content ourselves with saying, that while it succeeds in proving a fraud somewhere, it does not succeed in fixing the fra^d upon him. Call him the victim of a poor im- posture, if you will, but not the author of it : we are satisfied that the worthy gentleman does not deserve that ; and even if he did, he has already received exem- plary punishment in the ugly exposure that followed. But indeed we frankly acquit him of any further blame in the matter than is implied in saying that ' ' he was old enough, and big enough, and ought to have known better " than to rush upon the public such an undigested hodge-podge of reason and absurdity. The learned Mr. Singer, the accomplished Mr. Dyce, and several others well qualified for the office, have spoken more or less touching these emendations. For ourselves, we have ventured to admit very few of them, relying solely on our own opinion : in most of our adop- tions, and in many of our rejections, we have had the judgment of other and better men, to instruct or con- firm our own. And among those which we do not accept, there are some, no doubt, that may justly stand as candidates for future adoption ; nor is it anywise un- likely that a few of these may sooner or later make good then* claim. On the other hand, it is probable enough that some of those which we have admitted may. on better consideration, need to be ruled out of the text. All we can say is, that we have aimed and endeavoured THE REVISED EDITION. XX\ to be both cautious and liberal respecting these proffered emendations ; nor are we sensible of having, as indeed there is no reason why we should have, any bias one way or the other, to hinder a fair and candid treatment of them. Remains but to add, that a few of our changes in the plates are derived from other sources than Mr. Collier's second folio ; which few have also been proposed since the original stereotyping of the text. Besides the textual changes, the present issue corrects whatever typographical errors were missed in the read- ing of the proofs, and have since been discovered. VOLUME L THE TEMPEST. Page 22. *' I have with such prevision in mine art." Instead of prevision, the original has provision. The sense of ore vision just suits the context, and the misprint was of a Kind apt to be made. Page 64. ' But these sweet thoughts do even refresh my labour; Most busiest when I do it." The original has labours and busy blest. The present reading wa ; proposed by Holt White, and is approved by Singer. The Poet OB every reader of him knows, often uses the double superlative X2CV1 ADDITIONAL NOTES TO Of course the sense as here given is, " But these sweet thoughts, being busiest when I ain at work for such a prize, turn my labour into delight." Page 89. " What do you mean, To dote thus on such luggage ? Let's along, And do the murder first." The old copy reads, " Let's alone." The change is proposed by Mr. Dyce, in his " Few Notes on Shakespeare," 1853. THE TWO GENTLEMEN OF VERONA. Page 118. " 'Tis true ; but you are over boots in love." The original has for instead of but. For does not suit the con- text, and probably got repeated from the preceding line. Page 178. " Come, go with us: we'll bring you to our cave." The original reads crews instead of cave. It appears in Act v., Scene iii., that cave is right: "Come, I must bring you to out captain's cave." Page 188. " The other squirrel was stolen from me by the hangman boys." The original has " hangman's boys." Hangman means rascally. The Poet elsewhere has " a gallows boy," in a similar sense. Page 197. " These shadowy, desert, unfrequented woods." The old copies have thix instead of these. The change ought not to have waited for Collier's aiscovery. THE REVISED EDITION. THE MERRY WIVES OF WINDSOR. Page 234. " To steal at a minim's rest" TLa old copies read, " minute's rest." The change is aj proved by Singer, who says it had been suggested by Mr. Bennet Langton. Page 294. " Master Slender is get the boys leave to play." The old reading has let instead of get. The latter comes aptly from the mouth of Sir Hugh ; the former could hardly come from any one. Page 305. , " Ton see, he has been thrown into the rivers." The old copies read, "You say ; " which will hardly cohere either with the context or with the man. Page 321. " To Windsor chimneys when thou'st leapt." The original reads, "To Windsor chimneys shalt thou leap.' Some change like the one here given is evidently required both by the sense and the verse, as leap does not rhyme with swept. Page 329. " And this deceit loses the name of craft, Of disobedience, and unduteous guile." The old copies have title instead of guile. Truth and poetry unite in approving the change. TWELFTH NIGHT, OR WHAT YOU WILL. Page 376. "Vio. She took the ring of me." Mr. Collier's second folio reads, " She took no ring of me." The change is plausible, but misses the right sense. Viola divines at once the meaning of the ring, and will not expose the sendei of it. X.XVU1 ADDITIONAL NOTES TO Page 443. " Then he's a rogue, and apassy-measurespaynim.' 1 This is commonly printed " a passy-measures pavin ; and ex- plained to mean a slow, heavy dance ; passy-measures being a corruption of passamezzo, an Italian name for a style of dancing not much unlike walking. The original has panyn, doubtless a misprint for paynim, an old word for payan or heathen. So thai passy-measures paynim is a Sir Tobyism for an unmitigated pagan, or a pagan passing measure; which just suits the context. Of course the foot-note on the passage is defeated by this reading and explanation, the credit of which belongs to Mr. R. G. White VOLUME II. MEASURE FOR MEASURE. Page 46. " I'll rent the fairest house in it for three pence a day." The original has bay instead of day. There can be little question that day is the right word. Bay has been very troublesome to explain. Page 52. "But, ere they live, to end." The original has " here they live," which is clearly wrong, and is commonly changed to where. The present reading was sug- gested by Hanmer, and is adopted in Collier's folio. For a similar instance, see " All's Well that Ends Well," Act ii., Scene v., note 2. Page 57. ' Showing, we would not serve Heaven as we love it.*' "Spare Heaven" is the old reading, which is commonly ex> THE REVISED EDITION. XX1Z plained, " spare to offend Heaven." Possibly sjmre may be right ; but there can be little scruple of accepting the change front Collier's foho. Page 82. "He's a motion inyenerative ; that's infallible." So the sense evidently requires the passage to read, instead of " motion generative" the reading of the old copies. The word motion here means a puppet; often so used. Page 110. " For my authority Acre's of a credent bulk." The original has bears, instead of here's. Collier's folio has " bears such & credent bulk." The present reading, which is proposed by Singer, yields quite as good sense, and infers a much more probable misprint. Page 111. " He says, to 'vailful purpose." The old reading is, "to veil full purpose," which is sometimes explained, to conceal the full scope of his proceeding. Theobald would read " t' availful purpose." The change is made in Collier's folio. MUCH ADO ABOUT NOTHING. Page 161. " There is no measure in the occasion that breeds it, therefore the sadness is without limit." All the old copies are without it, which is plainly required by the sense. It was left for Collier's folio to supply the word. Page 167. " Balth. Well, I would you did like me." 'T"he old copies assign this and the next two speeches of Balthazai to Benedict. The change is proposed, with evident propriety, by Mr. Dyce. Prefixes beginning with the same letter, like " Bent " nd ''Balth.," were often thus confounded. XXX ADDITIONAL NOTES TO Page 186. " Beats her heart, tears her hair, prays, cnes." Instead of cries, the old copies have curses. The change, eup- clied by Collier's folio, needs no voucher but itself. A MIDSUMMER-NIGHT'S DREAM. Page 268. "But earthher happy is the rose distill'd." This is the authentic reading, which some editors, followrng Capell, have changed to earthly happier. The old reading is certainly right, and means " happy in a more earthly kind," as antithetic to happy in a more heavenly kind. So that the new Beading gives a wrong sense. Page 319. " me ! what means my love? " The old copies have newt, instead of means, which is found in Collier's folio. Page 328. " FairieSj-begone, and be a while away." The old copies read, "be always away," which is commonly changed to " be all ways away." Collier's folio supplies the pres- ent reading, which is unquestionably right. Page 345. " No lion fell, nor else no lion's dam." The old reading is, "A lion fell," which is too bad a blunder fci BO sharp a critic as Bottom. Ft. II is skin, hair and all. Page 352. " And the owner of it blest Ever shall in safety rest." The old copies transpose these two lines, and have thus furnished THE REVISE1> EDITION. XXXI a standing puzzle to the critics. A good many changes have been proposed, none of which would go. The present reading meets every difficulty, and leaves no cause of doubt. It was pro- posed by a correspondent, "(J. R. W.," of the London Illustrated News, in 1856. We thank him, whoever he is. LOVE'S LABOUR'S LOST. Page 376. " That shallow vessel." The old copies read vassal, which Collier's folio changes to vessel ; rightly, no doubt. Page ,384. " For your armiger is in love." The old copies have manager for armiger. Why the former word should be used here, has never been explained. Armiger, meaning, of course, knight, suits both the sense of the passage and the style of the speaker. It is from Collier's folio. Page 397. u A messager well sympathiz'd." The old copies have message, for which Collier's folio substitutes messenger. Messager, which is proposed by Singer, is an old word for messenger, and more likely to have been misprinted mess'tqe. Page 399. " And stay'd the odds by making four." The originals have adding instead of making, both here and in the sixth line below. The change, from Collier's folio, is necessary to the sense. Page 403. " A witty wanton with a velvet brow." Collier's folio corrects whitely, of the original, to witty, which ii the right epithet for Rosaline. Whitely would hardly have been applied to her, as she, it appears, was a brunette. XXX11 ADDITIONAL NOTES TO Page 428. " Teaches such learning as a woman's eye." Here, again, Collier's folio brings us relief, by changing be.avty to learning, which the context shows to be unquestionably right. Page 440. " So persantly would I o'ersway his state." Fhe old copies have pertaunt-like, which the commentators have never been able to make any thing of. Changes, too numerous to mention, have been proposed, but none of them seem to go. Collier's folio gives potently, which is plausible, but does not suit the style and purpose of the speaker, who means to sway her lover by sharp- ness of wit, not by power. Mr. R. G. White reads persaunt-like, which comes much nearer both the sense and the old printing of the passage. Piercingly would express the thought well, but would be too great a modernizing of the text. Persant, some- times spelled persaunt, is an old word used by Chaucer and Spenser, meaning much the same as piercingly. Thus, in the "Faerie Queene," Book iii., Canto ix., Stanza 20: " Like sunny beames, That in a cloud their light did long time stay, Their vapour vaded, shewe their golden gleames, And through the azure aire shoote forth their persant streames." Page 458. "Lie in the/of/ of them which it presents." The old copies read, "Dies in the zeal," for which various correc- tions have been offered. The present reading is Singer's, who justly remarks that the Poet elsewhere usesy*7 for failure. The false concord of them which and presents is but an instance of what was common whenever the verse required it. The change is so clearly demanded by the sense of the passage, that there needs be no scruple of adopting it. Page 466. "A heavy heartbeats not a nimble tongue." The old. reading is " an humble tongue." The change, first sug- gested by Theobald, is made in Collier's folio, and is fully ap- proved by the context. THE REVISED EDITION. XXXill Ibid. u The extreme haste of time extremely forms." The originals have parts instead of haste. The correction is pro- posed by Singer, who rightly observes that the context requires it. Ibid. "I understand you not: my griefs ari dull." The o!d reading is double instead of dull. The change, from Collier's folio, is not quite so happy as Singer's haste, but will do. Double expresses nothing that fits the sense ; dull aptly expresseg the reason why the Princess could not understand the King. VOLUME HI. AS YOU LIKE IT. Page 186. " Till that the wearer's very means do ebb." The original has " weary very means," which has posed all the commentators, till Singer suggested the present reading, and removed all the difficulty at once. This is one of the happy instances where, the right change being at last proposed, everv- body wonders it was not hit upon before. Page 212. " Are horns qiven to poor men alone ? " The original gives the passage thus: " 'Tis none of his own get- ting; horns, even so poor men alone." Theobald undertook to mend this by punctuation, thus : " Horns ? Even so : Poor men alone?" which reading has been commonly accepted. , Collier'* folio furnishes the present reading, which, though rather bold, is tha best that has been offered, while it does no more violence to the original than Theobald's. XXXIV ADDITIONAL NOTES TO ALL'S WELL THAT E1TOS WELL. Page 271. ' Couni. If the living be enemy to the grief, the excess soon makes it mortal." This speech rightly belongs to the Countess, and not to Helena, as we supposed, being misled therein by Knight and Tieck. The meaning is, "If the living be enemy to the grief, the excess of grief soon make it (the grief ) fatal; " the sense of mortal more common in Shakespeare than the one it now bears. To express the same thought, we should transpose Living and grief. The speech of Lafeu, " How understand we that? " is addressed to the Countess, and not to Bertram. The foot-note in loco is hereby revoked. Page 285. " Was this fair face, quoth she, the cause Why the Grecians sacked Troy ? Fond done, done fond, good sooth it was, Was this king Priam's joy." In the original, the first of these lines is transposed, thus: "was this fair face the cause, quoth she," in the third the words, good sooth it was, are wanting, and the whole song shockingly mis- printed. The corrected form here given is from Collier's folio. The Clown is fond of " repeating ballads," and what he sings in this case reads like an old ballad, now lost, from which the cor- rection may have been made. Warburton added the words,/br Paris he, in the third line, and has been generally followed. Fond done is foolishly done, and Was at the beginning of the fourth line is merely a repetition of the same word at the end of the third. Page 323. " Enter the DUKE of Florence, attended ; French Envoy, French Gentleman, and Soldiers.' 11 This stage-direction, and some of the prefixes in the scene follow- ing, are clearly wrong. The former should be, "Enter the DUKE of Florence, attended; two French Lords, and Soldiers," and the prefixes to the second and fourth speeches should be, " 1 Lord," nd that of the sixth speech "2 Lord." In (he original, the THE REVISED EDITION. XXXV entrances of these two persons, and their prefixes, are inextri- cably confused throughout the play, as may be seen from note 13 page 357. The same Lords reappear next in Act iii., Scene vi.. where we learn that they are brothers ; one of them reappears again in Act iv., Scene i. ; and both again in Act iv., Scene iii. where it appears that their names are Dumain, and that they are serving as captains in the Florentine army. In the present scene, the person introduced as "French Envoy " speaks in a way wholly unsuited to any one bearing such a character, as Mr. R. G. Whit* has clearly shown. On this point, the stage directions and pre- fixes went wrong by following Collier's edition of 1842 t, which distinguishes them as "French Envoy " and "French Gentle- man," merely because the original introduces them as "the two Frenchmen," and gives them the prefixes "French E." and "French G." Probably the original designations "E." and " G." had no reference to the persons of the drama, and got into the text merely by transference from the theatrical prompter's book. Page 382. " Her infinite cunning with her modern grace." The original reads, " Her insuite comming" which has found no adequate interpreter. In fact, none, we believe, pretend to see any meaning in it. The present reading was lately proposed by Mr. Sidney Walker, and is found in Collier's folio. It is gener- ally accepted. THE TAMING OF THE SHREW. Page 412. " As Stephen Sly, and old John Naps o' the Green." The original has "John Naps of Greece," which has received no satisfactory or even plausible explanation. Blackstone is said to have proposed the present reading; and it ought to have been generally accepted before now. Page 442. "No such load as you, if me you mean." The old copies have "No such jade as you." The present read- XXXVI ADDITIONAL NOTES TO ing is proposed by Singer, who justly remarks that " Petruchio's answer shows the word load is the true reading." Page 456. "His horse . . . possessed with the glanders, and likely tc mown in the chine." The old reading is, "like to mose in the chine." No such word as mose has been met with elsewhere, and nobody can imagine what it means. Mr. R. G. White, in his "Supplementary Notes," proposes mourn, and sustains it with the following, from Urqu- hart's translation of Rabelias, Booki., Chap. 39: "In our Abbey we never study for fear of the mumps, which disease in horses ia called mounting in the chine." This appears to settle the matter. Page 473. " 'Would all the world but he had quite forsworn her." The word her is added in Collier's folio, and is so evidently neo- essary to the sense, that there needs no scruple of adopting it. Page 486. " I thank you, sir. Where, then, do you hold best, We be affied." 'Where, then, do you know best," is the reading of the old copies, which, to say the least, is very obscure. Collier's folio makes the change. VOLUME IV. THE WINTER'S TALE. Page 28. " From heartiness, from bounty' & fertile bosom." The original has "from bounty, fertile bosom." Malone was of opinion that the letter s had dropped out, and Collier's folio sup- plies it. Strange that so easy an explanation of a difficulty should fiave been missed so long! THE KK.VISKD EDITION. XXXVU Page 38. "when he, Wafting his eyes to th' contrary, and falling A lip of much contempt, speeds from me ; and So leaves me to consider what is breeding, That changes thus his manners. " Camilla. I dare not know, my lord." Such is the common punctuation of this passage. Perhaps U should be thus: "A lip of much contempt, speeds from me, and So leaves me to consider. What is breeding, That changes thus his manners? " &c. Page 40. " Swear this thought over." The old reading is, " Swear his thought over; " which does not cohere at all with what goes before. The change ought to have been received at Theobald's suggestion, without waiting for Col- lier's discovery. We have frequent instances of his and this mis- printed for each other. The present reading, though perhaps not altogether clear of objections, seems to us much better than another that has been proposed: " Swear this, though, orer." Page 71. " Do not receive affliction, At my petition, I beseech you, rather Let me be punish'd." Such is clearly the right punctuation of this passage. It is cooi- monly given without any point after " affliction." and with a ( ; * after"! beseech you." "Do not receive affliction at my peti- tion," is very strange English. Besides, Paulina has not peti- tioned, and does not petition, to have the King afflicted : she here merely begs that at her own request punishment may rather light on herself. The awkwardness of the text with the common punc- tuation has caused several changes to be proposed. Collier's folia alters petition to repetition, and Singer suggests relation. Surely o change is needed but the one here pointed out. XXXV111 ADDITIONAL NOTES TO Page 74. " Mercy on's, a barn; a very pretty barn ! A god, or a child, [ wonder?" Instead of god, the original has boy, which has been a standing puzzle to the commentators; and their explanations even more puzzling than the reading itself. The change of boy to god v. as suggested, and is fully approved, by the corresponding passage of Greene's novel : " The sheepeheard, who before had never scene so faire a babe nor so riche jewels, thought assuredly that it -was tome little god, and began with great devocion to knock on his breast. The babe, who wrythed with the head to seek for the pap, began againe to cry afreshe, whereby the poore man knew it was a childe." This is strictly & first-class emendation, at once bold, legitimate, and unobvious; like Theobald's change of "a Tableof green fields" to '"a babbled of green fields." Mr. R. G. \Vhite is the author of it; and we thank him for it; yes, heartily. Page 94. "And where some stretch-mouthed rascal would, as it VTCFC, mean mischief, and break a foul jape into the matter." The original has gap here instead of jape, which is the reading of Collier's folio. Jape means jest, and exactly fits the sense. The emendation is a very happy one. Yet we need not suppose a misprint in the original ; for in the Poet's time English spelling was to a great extent phonographic, and the sound of certain con- sonants, as c, y " the King's company before Prince Charles, the Princess Elizabeth, and the Prince Palatine." So ihai the play n;usi needs have been written before 1612. As to any nearer fixing of the date we have nothing to go upon but probabilities. Some of these, however, are pretty strong From the " Extracts ' already quoted it appears that eleven other plays, Winter's Tale being one of them, were acted at Court within a year after the last of Oct. 1611, the oldest of which, so far as hath been ascertained, had not been written more than three years. From which it seems probable that The Tempest was not then an old play; and perhaps it was selected by the Mas- ter of the Revels for its novelty and its popularity on the public stage. Ben Jonson's Bartholomew Fair was first acted in 1614, and written perhaps the year before ; the Induction of which has an apparent, though not necessarily ill-natured glance at both The Tempest and Winter's Tale : " If there be never a Servant-mon- ster i' the Fair, who can help it, he says ; nor a nest of Antiques ? He is loth to make Nature afraid in his Plays, like those that beget Tales, Tempests, and such like Drolleries." We agree with Mr. Collier that some of the words in Italic, which we give just as they stand in the original, are " so applicable to The Tem- pest, that they can hardly refer to any thing else." Which seems to warrant the inference that Bartholomew Fair was written while The Tempest and Winter's Tale were yet in the morn and blush of popular favour. It can hardly be questioned that Shakespeare drew some of his materials for The Tempest from the sources thus indicated by Malone : " Sir George Somers, Sir Thomas Gates, and Captain Newport, with nine ships and five hundred people, sailed from England in May, 1609, on board the Sea Venture, which was tailed the Admiral's Ship; and on the 25th of July she was parted from the rest by a terrible tempest, which lasted forty- eight hours, and scattered the whole fleet, wherein some of them lost their masts, and others were much distressed. Seven of the vessels, however, reached Virginia ; and, after landing about three hundred and fifty persons, again set sail for England. During a great part of the year 1610 the fate of Somers and Gates was not known in England ; but the latter, having been sent home by Lord Delaware, arrived in August or September." In 1610 " one Jourdan, who probably returned from Virginia in the same ship with Sir Thomas Gates, published a pamphlet, entitled ' A Discovery of the Bermudas, otherwise called The Isle of Devils.'" In this book, after relating the circumstances of theii shipwreck, the author says : " But our delivery was not more strange in falling so opportunely and happily upon land, than our feeding and provision was, beyond our hopes and all men's ex- jactations, most admirable. For the Islands of the Hermit la* INTRODUCTION. 3 as every man knoweth, that hath heard or read of them, were never inhabited by any Christian or Heathen people, but ever esteemed and reputed a most prodigious and inchanted place, affording 1 nothing but gusts, storms, and foul weather ; which made every navigator and marhier to avoid them as Scylla and Charybdis, or as they would shun the Devil himself: and no man was ever heard to make for this place ; but as, against their wills, they have, by storms and dangerousness of the rocks lying seven leagues into the sea, suffered shipwreck. Yet did we find there the air so temperate, and the country so abundantly fruitful of all fit necessaries for the sustentation and preservation of man's life, that notwithstanding we were there for the space of nine months, we were not only well refreshed, comforted, and with good satiety contented, but out of the abundance thereof provided us some reasonable quantity of provision to carry us for Virginia, and to maintain ourselves and that company we found there." Some- what later the Council of Virginia put forth a narrative of " the disasters which had befallen the fleet, and of their miraculous fcscape," wherein they say : " These Islands of the Bermudas have ever been accounted an inchanted pile of rocks, and a desert in- habitation for devils ; but all the fairies of the rocks were but flocks of birds, and all the devils that haunted the woods wer< but herds of swine." The words in Italic may suggest a probable explanation of some points in the play. It is hardly needful to add, that the Poet's " still-vex'd Bermoothes " seems to link his work in some way with Jourdan's narrative. So that it is not easy to see how an earlier date can be assigned for The Tempest than 1610. The supernatural in the play was undoubtedly the Poet's own work ; but it had been in strict keeping with his usual method to avail himself of whatsoever interest may have sprung from the popular notions touching the Bermudas. In his marvellous creations the people of course would see nothing but the distant marvels with which their fancies were prepossessed. Concurrent with this external evidence is the internal evidence of the play itself. The style, language, and general tone of thought, the union of richness and severity, the grave, austere beauty of character that pervades it, and the organic compact- ness of its whole structure, all go to mark it as an issue of the Poet's ripest years. Mr. Collier says that Coleridge, in his lec- tures, " spoke of The Tempest as certainly one of Shakespeare's latest works, judging from the language only ; " and Schlegel, probably for similar reasons, was of the same opinion. Campbell, the poet, supposes it to have been his very latest work : " The Tempest has a sort of sacredness, as the last work of a mighty workman. Shakespeare, as if conscious that it would be his last and as if inspired to typify himself, has made his hero a natural a dignified, and benevolent magician, who could conjure up 4 THE TEMPEST. 'spirits from tho vasty deep,' and command supernatural agency by the most seemingly natural and simple means. Shakespeara himself is Prospero, or rather the superior genius who commands both Prospero and Ariel. But the time was approaching when the potent sorcerer was to break his staff, and bury it fathoms in the ocean, ' Deeper than did ever plummet sound.' That staff has never been and will never be recovered." But there is more of poetry than of truth in this statement; at least we have no warrant for it : whereas, besides the improbability that Shakespeare would pass the last six years of his life entirely aloof from the wonted play of his faculties, besides this, there is good ground for believing that at least Coriolanus, Cymbeline, and perhaps Winter's Tale, were written after The Tempest. Mr. Verplanck, a critic of rare taste and judgment, rather than give op the notion so well put by Campbell, conjectures that the Poet may have revised The Tempest after all his other plays were written, and inserted the passage where Prospero abjures his " rough magic," and buries his staff, and drowns his book. But we cannot believe that Shakespeare had any reference to himself in that passage ; for, besides that he evidently did not use to put his own feelings and purposes into the mouth of his characters, his doing so in this case would fairly infer such a degree of self- exultation as, it seems to us, his native and habitual modesty would hardly permit. No play or novel has been discovered, to which Shakespeare could have been indebted for the plot or matter of The Tempest. Thomas Warton indeed tells a curious story, how Collins during his mental aberration said he had seen an Italian Romance, called Aurelio and Isabella, which contained the story of The Tempest. But Collins was afterwards found to be mistaken, there being no such matter in that Romance; and though the poor crazed poet may have put one name for another, it seems more likely that in the disorder of his mind his recollections of The Tempest itself got mixed up with other matter. Mr. Collier says : " We have turned over the pages of, we believe, every Italian novelist aute- rior to the age of Shakespeare, in hopes of finding some story containing traces of the incidents of The Tempest, hut without success." So that the notion started by Collins probably may as well be given up. What may be the issue of another notion started since, is not 10 clear. Mr. Thorns informs us through the New Monthly Magazine of Jan. 1841, that Jacob Ayrer, a notary of Nuremberg, was the author or translator of thirty plays, published in 1618. He is quite confident that Shakespeare derived his idea of The Tempest from a play of Ayrer's, called The Beautiful Sidea But besides that the resemblances, even as stated by Mr. Thorns, INTRODUCTION. u are so sl.ght or of such a kind as hardly to infer any connection between them, there appears nothing 1 to hinder that Ayrer's plaj may have been indebted to The Tempest, it being quite certain that some English dramas were known in Germany at that early period. The whole matter indeed is much too loose for us to build any conclusion upon. There is an old ballad called The Inchanted Island, which was once thought to have contributed something towards The Tempest. But it is now generally allowed to be more modern lhan the play, and probably founded upon it ; the names and some points of the story being varied, as if on purpose to hide its con- nection with a work that was popular on the stage. In the ballad no locality is given to the Island : on the contrary we are told : u From that daie forth the isle has beene By wandering sailors never scene : Some say, 'tis buryed deepe Beneath the sea, which breakes and rores Above its savage rocky shores, Nor e'er is known to sleepe." Wherefore, we shall probably have to rest, for the present, in the belief that in the case of The Tempest Shakespeare drew from no external source but the one already mentioned. There has been considerable discussion of late years as to the scene of The Tempest. A wide range of critics, from dull Mr. Chalmers to eloquent Mrs. Jameson, have taken for granted thai the Poet fixed the scene of his drama in the Bermudas. For thin they seem not to have had nor desired any authority but his men lion of " the still-vex'd Bermoothes." Ariel's trip from " the deep nook to fetch dew from the still-vex'd Bermoothes " does indeed show that the Bermudas were in the Poet's mind : but then it also shows that his scene was not there ; for it had been no feat at all worth mentioning for Ariel to fetch dew from one part of the island to another. On the other hand, Mr. Hunter is very positive that if we read the play with a map before us, (only think of it ! reading The Tempest with a map ! ) we shall bring up at the island of Lampedusa, which " lies midway between Malta and the African coast." He will hardly tolerate any other notion : " What I contend for is the absolute claim of Lampedusa to have been the island in the Poet's mind when he drew the scenes of this drama." Mr. Hunter makes out a pretty strong case, nevertheless we must be excused ; not so much that we positively reject his theory, as that we simply do not care whether it be right or not. But if we must have any supposal about it the most reasonable as well as most poetical one seems to be that the Poet, writing without a map, placed his scene upon an .stand of the mind, that his readers might not have to go away from THE TEMPEST. nomo to learn the truth of his representation; and that it suited ht< purpose to transfer to his ideal whereabout some of tho wonders and marvels of trans-Atlantic discovery. We should as soon think of going to history for the characters of Ariel and Caliban, as of going to geography for the size, locality, or whatever else, of their dwellir.g-place. . " The Tempest," says Coltridge, " is a specimen of the purely romantic dra*ma, in which the interest is not historical, or dependent upon fidelity of portraiture, or the natural connection of events, hut a birth of the imagination, and rests only on the coaptation and union of the elements granted to, or assumed by, the Poet. It is a species of drama which owes no allegiance to time or space, and in which, therefore, errors of geography and chronol- ogy, no mortal sins in any species, are venial faults, and count for nothing." In these remarks of the great critic there is but one point from which we should at all dissent. We cannot quite agree that the drama is purely romantic. Highly romantic it certainly is, in its wide, free, bold variety of character and incident, in its many- shaded, richly-diversified perspective, in all the qualities indeed that enter into the picturesque ; yet not romantic in such a sort, we think, but that it is at the same time equally classic ; classic, not only in that the unities of time and place are strictly observed, but as having the other qualities which naturally follow and cleave to these laws of the classic form ; in its solemn thought, its severe beauty, and majestic simplicity, its matchless interfusion of the lyrical and the ethical, and in the mellow atmosphere of serenity and composure which hovers over and envelops it : as if on pur- pose to show the Poet's mastery, not only of both the classic and the romantic drama, but of the common nature out of which both of them grew, and in which both are reconciled. This union of both kinds in one without any hindrance to the distinctive qualities of either, this it is, we think, that chiefly distinguishes The Tem- pest from the Poet's other dramas. Some have thought that in this play Shakespeare studiously undertook to silence the pedantic cavillers of his time, by showing that he could keep to the rules of the Greek stage, if he chose to do so, without being any the lesa himself. But it seems more likely that he was here drawn into such a course by the workings of his wise spirit than by the cavils of contemporary critics ; the form appearing too cognate and con- genial with the matter to have been dictated by any thing acci- dental or external to the work itself. There are some points that naturally suggest a comparison be- tween The Tempest and A Midsummer-Night's Dream. In both the Poet has with equal or nearly equal success carried nature, as it were, beyond her established limits, and peopled a purely ideal region with the power and life of reality, so that the character! eem like substantive personal beings, which he has but d INTRODUCTION. 7 not created ; but beyond this the resemblance ceases : indeed no two of his plays are more tvidely different in all other respects. The Tempest presents a combination of elements apparently *o incongruous that we cannot but marvel how they were brough and kept together ; yet thejj blend so sweetly and work together o naturally that we at once feel at home with them, and see noth- ing to hinder their union in the world of which we are a part. For it seems hardly more than a truism to say, that in the mingling of the natural and the supernatural there is here no gap, no break nothing disjointed or abrupt ; the two being drawn into each other so smoothly, and so knit together by mutual participations, that each seems but a continuation of the other, and the place where they meet and join is marked by no distinguishable line. Prospero, standing in the centre of the whole, acts as a kind of subordinate Providence, reconciling the diverse elements to himself, and in himself to one another. Though armed with supernatural might, so that the winds and waves obey him, his magical and mysterious powers are tied to truth and right} his " high charms work " only to just and beneficent ends ; and whatsoever might be repulsive in the magician is softened and made attractive by the virtues of the man and the feelings of the father : Ariel links him with the world above us, Caliban with (lie world beneath us, and Miranda ' (thee, my dear one ! thee, my daughter ! ) " with the world around and within us. And the mind acquiesces in the miracles attributed to him, his thoughts and aims being so at one with nature's pree'stablished harmonies as to leave it doubtful whether he controls her movements or falls in with them. His sorcery indeed is the sorcery of knowledge, his magic the magic of virtue; for what so marvellous as the in- ward, vital necromancy of good, which transmutes the wrongs that are done him into motives of beneficence, and is so far from being hurt by the powers of Evil that it turns their assaults into new sources of strength against them ! And with what a smooth tranquillity of spirit he every where speaks and acts ! as if the rough discipline of adversity had but served " to elevate the will, And lead him on to that transcendent rest Where every passion doth the sway attest Of reason, seated on her sovereign hill." It is observable that the powers, which cleave to his thoughts and obey his " so potent art," before his coming were at perpet- ual war, the better being in subjection to the worse, and all turned from their several ends into a mad, brawling dissonance : but he teaches them to know their places, and, " weak masters though they be,'' under his ordering they become powerful, and work THE TEMPEST. together as if endowed with a rational soul ; their uisane gahbl* being turned to speech, (heir savage howling to music, so thai " the isle is full of noises, Sounds, and sweet airs, that give delight, and hurt not." Wherein is boldly figured the educating of nature up, so to speak, into intelligent ministries, she lending man hands because he lends her eyes ; weaving her forces, as it were, into vital union with him, to the end that she may rise above herself and attain to a more excellent form. This, to be sure, is making the work rather an allegory than drama, and therein of course misrepresents its quality ; for the connecting links in this strange intercourse of the natural and the supernatural are " beings individually determined," and affect us as persons, not as propositions. Ariel and Caliban are equally preternatural, though in opposite directions. Ariel's very being is spun out of melody and fra- grance ; at least, if a feeling soul and an intelligent will be the warp, these are the woof of his exquisite texture. He has just enough of human-heartedness to know how he would feel were he human, and a proportionable sense of gratitude, which has been aptly called " the memory of the heart : " hence he needs to be often reminded of his obligations, but does all his spiriting gently while he holds the remembrance of them. Yet his deli- cacy of nature is nowhere more apparent than in his sympathy with right and good : the instant he comes within their touch he follows them without reserve ; and he will suffer any tortures rather than " act the earthy and abhorred commands " that go against his moral grain. And what a merry little personage he is withal ! as if his being were cast together in an impulse of play, and ne would spend his whole life in one perpetual frolic. But the main ingredients of his zephyr-like constitution are shown in his leading inclinations ; for he must needs have most affinity _ for that of which he is framed. Moral ties are irksome to him ; they are not his proper element : when he enters their sphere he feels them to be holy indeed ; but, were he free, he would keep out of their reach, and follow the circling seasons in their course, and ahvays dwell merrily in the fringes of summer. He is indeed an arrant little epicure of perfume and sweet sounds, and gives forth several songs which " seem to sound in the air, and as if the person playing them were invisible j " and which, " without conveying any distinct images, seem to recall all tha feelings connected with them, like snatches of half-forgotten music beard indistinctly and at intervals. " * Of Ariel's powers and functions as Prospero's prime minister Hazlitt. INTRODUCTION 9 ao logical forms, nothing but art, and perhaps nr> art but the poet's, can give any sort of an idea. Gifted with the ubiquity and multiformity of the substance from which he is named, before we can catch and define him in any one shape he has passed into another. All we can say of him on this score is, that through his agency Prospero's thoughts forthwith become things, his voli- tions events. And }-et, strangely and diversely as his nature is elemented and compacted, with touches akin to several orders of being, there is such a self-consistency about him, he is so cut out in individual distinctness and rounded in with personal attribute*, that contemplation freely and easily rests upon him as an object. If Caliban strike us as a more wonderful creation than Ariel, it is probably because he has more in common with us without be- ing in any proper sense human. Perhaps we cannot nit him better than by saying he represents, both in soul and body, a sort of intermediate nature between man and brute, with an infusion of something that belongs to neither : as though one of the transfor- mations, imagined by the author of " Vestiges of Creation," had stuck midway in its course, where a breath or vapour of essen- tial Evil had knit itself vitally into his texture. If he have all the attributes of humanity from the moral downwards, so that his nature touches and borders upon the sphere of mo. "\ life; still the result but approves his exclusion from such life, in that it brings him to recognize moral law only as jnaking for self. It is a most singular and significant stroke in tne representation, that sleep seems to loosen the fetters of his soul and lift him above himself; then indeed, and then only, the " muddy vesture of decay " doth uot so " grossly close him in " but that "The clouds, methought, would open, and show riches Ready to drop upon me ; " as though in his passive state the voice of truth and good vibrated down to his soul, and stopped there, being unable to kindle any answering tones within ; so that in his waking hours they are to him but as the memory of a dream. Thus Caliban is part man, part demon, part brute, each being drawn somewhat out of itself by combination with the others, and the union of all preventing his being either ; for which cause lan- guage has no generic term that fits him. Yet this strange, uncouth, but life-like confusion of natures Prospero has educated into a sort of poet. This, however, has nowise tamed, it has rather increased his innate malignity and crookedness of disposition ; education having of course but educed what was in him. Even his poetry is for the most part made up of the fascinations of ugliness ; a sort of inverted beauty ; the poetry of dissonance and deformity; the proper music of his nature being to curse, its proper laughtei jo snarl. Schlegel finely compares his mind to a dark cave into 10 THE TEMPEST. which the light of knowledge falling neither illuminates nor warmt it, but only serves to put 111 motion the poisonous vapours' gen erated there. Of course it is only by exhausting the resources of instruction on such a being that his innate and essential deficiency can be fully shown. For had he the germs of a human soul, they must needs have been drawn forth by the process that has made him a poet. The magical presence of spirits, it is true, hath cast into the caverns of his brain a faint reflection of a better world, but without calling up any answering emotions or aspirations ; he having indeed no susceptibilities to catch and take in the epipha- nies that throng his whereabout. So that, paradoxical as it may seem, he exemplifies the twofold triumph of art over nature, and of nature over art. But what is most remarkable of all is the perfect originality of his thoughts and manners. Though framed of grossness and malignity, there is nothing vulgar or common-place about him. His whole character indeed is developed from within, not impressed from without ; the effect of Prospero's instructions having been to make him all the more himself; and there being perhaps no soil in his nature for conventional vices and knaveries to take root and grow in. Hence the almost classic dignity of his behaviour compared with that of the drunken sailors, who are little else than a sort of low, vulgar conventionalities organized, and as such not less true to the life than consistent with themselves. In his simplicity indeed he at first mistakes them for gods who " bear celestial liquor," and they wax merry enough at the " credulous monster ; " but in his vigour of thought and purpose he soot conceives such a scorn at their childish interest in whatevei trinkets and gewgaws meet their eye, as fairly drives off his fit of intoxication ; and the savage of the woods, half-human though he be, seems nobility itself beside the savages of the city. In short, if Caliban be, as it were, the organized sediment and dregs of the place, from which all the finer spirit has been drawn off to fashion the delicate Ariel, yet having some parts of a human mind strangely interwoven with his structure ; every thing about him, all that he does and says, is suitable and correspondent to such a constitution of nature : so that all the elements and attributes of his being stand and work together in living coher- ence, thus rendering him no less substantive and personal to our apprehension than original and peculiar in himself. Such are the objects and influences amidst which the clear, placid nature of Miranda has been developed. Of the world whence her father was driven, its crimes and follies and sufferings, she knows nothing, he having studiously kept all sach notices from her, to the end, apparently, that nothing might thwart 01 hinder the plastic efficacies that surround her. And here all the amp'* and original elements of her being, love, light, grace. INTRODUCTION. 1 f Vmour, anil innocence, aJl pure feeling's and tender sympathies whatsoever is sweet and gentle and holy in womanhood, seem to have sprung up in her nature as from celestial seed : " the conta- gion of the world's slow stain " hath not visited her ; the chills and cankers of artificial wisdom have not touched nor come near her : if there were any fog or breath of evil in the place that might else dim or spot her soul, it has been sponged up by Cali- ban as being more congenial with his nature ; while he is simply " a villain she does not love to look on." Nor is this all. The aerial music, beneath which her nature has expanded with answer- ing sweetness, seems to rest visibly upon her, linking her, as it were, with some superior order of beings : the spirit and genius of the place, its magic and mystery, have breathed their power into her face ; and out of them she has unconsciously woven her- self a robe of supernatural grace, in which even her mortal na- ture seems half hidden, so that we hardly know whether she be- longs more to heaven or to earth. Thus both her native virtues and the efficacies of the place seem to have crept and stolen into her unperceived, by mutual attraction and assimilation twining together in one growth, and each diffusing its life and beauty all over and through the other. It would seem as if the great poet of our age must have had Miranda in his eye, (or was he but working in the spirit of that nature which she so rarely ezein plifies ?) when he wrote the lines : " The floating clouds their state shall lend To her ; for her the willow bend : Nor shall she fail to see Even in the motions of the storm Grace that shall mould the maiden's form By silent sympathy. " The stars of midnight shall be dear To her ; and she shall lean her ear In many a secret place Where rivulets dance their wayward round, And beauty born of murmuring sound Shall pass into her face." Yet for all this Miranda not a whit the less touches us as a creature of flesh and blood, " a being breathing thoughtful breath." Nay, she seems all the more so, forasmuch as the character thus coheres with the circumstances, the virtues and poetries of the place being expressed in her visibly ; and she would be far less real to our feelings, were not the wonders of her whereabout thus vitally incorporated with her innate and original attributes. This mailer has been put so well by Mrs. Jameson that it would be wronging the subject not to quote her words : " If we can 12 THE TEMPEST. presuppos* sucn a situation, do we not behold in the character of Miranda not only the credible, but the natural, the necessary result ? She retains her woman's heart, for that is unalterable anu inalienable, as a part of her being ; bu her deportment, her looks, her language, her thoughts, from the supernatural and poetical circumstances assume a cast of the pure ideal ; and to us, who are in the secret of her human and pitying nature, nothing can be more charming and consistent than the effect which she produces upon others, who, never having beheld any thing resembling her, approach her as ' a wonder,' as something celestial." It is observable that Miranda does not perceive the working of her father's art upon herself; as, when he puts her to sleep, she attributes it to the strangeness of his tale. And, on the other hand, he thinks she is not listening attentively to what he is say- ing, partly, perhaps, because he is not attending to it himself, his thoughts being about the approaching crisis in his fortunes while his speech is of the past, and partly because in her ecstasy of wonder at what he is relating she seems abstracted and self-with- drawn from the matter of his discourse. For indeed to her the supernatural stands in the place of nature, and nothing is so strange and wonderful as what actually passes in the life and heart of man : miracles have been her daily food, her father being the greatest miracle of all ; which must needs make the common events and passions and perturbations of the world seem to her miraculous. All which the Poet has wrought out wjth so much art, and so little appearance of it, that Franz Horn is the only critic, so far as we know, that seems to have thought of it. We may not dismiss Miranda without remarking upon the sweet union of womanly dignity and childlike simplicity in her charac- ter, she not knowing or not caring to disguise the innocent move- ments of her heart. This, too, is a natural result of her situa- tion. Equally fine is the circumstance, that her father opens to her the story of her life, and lets her into the secret of her noble birth and ancestry, at a time when she is suffering with those that she saw suffer, and when her eyes are jewelled with pity, as if on purpose that the ideas of rank and dignity may sweet- ly blend and coalesce in her mind with the sympathies of the woman. The strength and delicacy of imagination displayed in these characters are scarce more admirable than the truth and subtletj of observation shown in the others. Ill the delineation of Antonio and Sebastian, short as it is, there is a volume of wise science, the leading points of which are thus set forth by Coleridge : " Li the first scene of the second acl Shakespeare has shown the tendency in bad men to indulge iu scorn and contemptuous expressions as a mode of getting rid of their own uneasy feelings of inferiority to the good, and also of rendering the transition to wickedness easy oy making the good INTRODUCTION. 13 ridiculous. Shakespeare never puts habitual sconi into the mouths of other than bad men, as nere in the instances of Antonio and Sebastian. The scene of the intended assassination of Alonzo and Gonzalo is an exact counterpart of the scene between Mac- beth and his lady, only pitched in a lower key throughout, as de- signed to be frustrated and concealed, and exhibiting the same profound management in the manner of familiarizing a mind, not immediately recipient, to the suggestion of guilt, by associating the proposed crime with something ludicrous or out of place,- something not habitually matter of reverence." Nor is there less of sagacity in the means whereby Prospcro seeks to make them better, provoking in them the purpose and taking away the performance of crime, that so he may bring them to a knowledge of themselves, and awe or shame down their evil by his demonstrations of good. For such is the proper eflect of bad designs thus thwarted, showing the authors at once the wick- edness of their hearts and the weakness of their hands ; whereas if successful in their plans, pride of power would forestall an<*. prevent the natural shame and remorse of guilt. And we little know what evil it lieth and lurketh in our hearts to will or to do, until occasion permits or invites ; and Prospero's art here stands ia presenting the occasion until the wicked purpose is formed, and then removing it as soon as the hand is raised. It is notice- able that in the case of Antonio and Sebastian the workings of magic are so mixed up with those of nature that we cannot dis- tinguish them : or rather, Prospero here causes the supernatural to pursue the methods of nature ; thus, like the Poet himself, so concealing his art while using it that the result seems to spring from their own minds. And the same deep skill is shown in case of the good old mail, Gonzalo, whose sense of his own pains and perils seems lost in his care to minister comfort and diversion to others. Thus his virtue spontaneously opens the springs of wit and humour within him amid the terrors of the storm and shipwreck ; and he is merry while others are suffering, even from sympathy with them : and afterwards his thoughtful spirit plays with Utopian fancies ; and if " the latter end of his commonwealth forgets the beginning," it is all the same to him, his purpose being on_y to beguile the anguish of supposed bereavement. It hath been well aid, that " Gonzalo is so occupied with duty, in which alone he finds pleasure, that he scarce notices the gnat-stings of wit with which his opponents pursue him ; or, if he observes, firmly and easily repels them." In Ferdinand is portrayed one of those happy natures, such as we sometimes meet with, who are built up all the more strong! jr in virtue and honour by contact with the vices and meannesses of the world. The meeting of him and Miranda is replete with 14 THE TEMPEST. magic indeed ; a magic higher and more potent even than Pros- pero's : all the riches that nestle in their bosoms at once leaping forth and running together into a stream of poetry which no words of ours can describe. So much of beauty in so few words, and those few so plain and homely, " O, wondrous skill and sweet wit of the man ! " Here, again, Prospero does but fur- nish occasions : his art has the effect of unsealing the choice founts of nature, but the waters gush from depths which even he cannot reach ; so that his mighty magic bows before a still more wondrous potency. After seeing himself thus outdone by the nature he has been wont to control, and having witnessed such a " fair encounter of two most rare affections," no wonder that he longs to be a man again, like other men, and, with a heart " true to die kindred points of heaven and home," gladly returns to The homely sympathy that heeds The common life ; our nature breeds ; A wisdom fitted to the needs Of hearts at leisure." Some appear to have thought the presence of Trinculo and Stephano a blemish in the play. We cannot think so. Their follies give a zest and relish to the high poetries amidst which they grow. Such things go to make up the mysterious whole of human life ; and they often help on our pleasure while seeming to hinder it : we may think they bad better be away ; yet, were they away, we should feel that something were wanting. Be- sides, if this part of the work do not directly yield a grateful fragrance, it is vitally related to the parts that do. Such are the strangely-assorted characters that make up this charming play. And yet how they all concur in unity of effect ! This harmonious working together of diverse and opposite ele- ments, this smooth concurrence of heterogeneous materials in one varied yet coherent impression, by what subtle process this is brought about, must be left to keener and deeper wits. But how variously soever men may account for this, no one, surely, who has a proper sense of art, or of nature as addressed to the imaginative faculty, can well question, that all the parts are so vitally interwoven, that if any one be cut away the whole drama will be in danger of bleeding to death. We cannot leave the subject without remarking what an at mosphere of wonder and mystery overhangs and pervades this singular structure, and how the whole seems steeped in glories invisible to the natural eye, yet made visible by the Poet's art ; thus leading the thoughts insensibly upwards to other worlds and other forms of being. It were difficult indeed to name any thing else of human workmanship so thoroughly trans- figured with INTRODUCTION. 15 " the gleam. The light that never was on sea or land, The consecration and the poet's dream : " the celestial and the earthly being so commingled, coin mingled, but not confounded, that we see not where the one begins and the other ends . so that in reading it we seem trans- ported to a region where we are strangers, yet old acquaint- ances ; where all things are at once new and familiar : the un- earthly visions of the spot hardly touching us with surprise ; be- cause, though wonderful indeed, there is nothing about them but that somewhat within us owns and assimilates with more readily than is compatible with such an impression. That our thoughts and feelings are thus at home with such things and take pleasure in them, is not this because of some innate aptitudes and affini tin of our nature for a supernatural and celestial life ? u Point not these mysteries to an Art Lodged above the starry pole t " PERSONS REPRESENTED. ALONZO, King of Naples. SEBASTIAN, his Brother. PROSPERO, the rightful Duke of Milan. ANTONIO, his Brother, the usurping Duke of Milan. FERDINAND, Son to the King of Naples. GONZALO, an honest old Counsellor of Naples. ADRIAN, CALIBAN, a savage and deformed Slave. TRINCULO, a Jester. STEPHANO, a drunken Butler. Master of a Ship, Boatswain, and Mariners. MIRANDA, Daughter to Prospero. ARIEL, an airy Spirit. IRIS, CERES, JONO, Nymphs, Reapers, Spirits. Other Spirits attending on Prospero. SCENE, the Sea, with a Ship ; afterwards an unin- habited Island. THE TEMPEST. ACT L SCENE I. On a Ship at Sea.' A Storm, with Thunder and Lightning, Enter a Ship-master and a Boatswain. Mast. BOATSWAIN ! Boats. Here, master : what cheer 1 Mast. Good, speak to the mariners : fall to't yarely, 2 or we run ourselves aground : bestir, be- stir. [Exit. Enter Mariners. Boats. Heigh, my hearts ! cheerly, cheerly, my hearts ! yare, yare : Take in the top-sail ; tend to the master's whistle. Blow till thou burst thy wind, if room enough ! Enter ALONZO, SEBASTIAN, ANTONIO, FERDINAND, GONZALO, and others. Alon. Good boatswain, have care. Where's the master 1 Play the men. 3 1 Upon this scene Coleridge finely remarks : " The romance jpeiis with a busy scene admirably appropriate to the kind of drama, and giving, as it were, the key-note to the whole harmony It is the bustle of a tempest, from which the real horrors are abstracted ; therefore it is poetical, though not in strictness nat- ural (the distinction to which I have so often alluded) and is purposely restrained from concentering the interest on itself, but 'M used merely as an induction or tuning for what is to follow." H. * That is, readily, nimbly. * That is, act with spirit, behave like men. Thus Baret in In* 18 THE TEMPES1 ACT t Boats. I pray now, keep below. Ant. Where is the master, boatswain * Boats. Do you not hear him 1 You mar our labor : keep your cabins ; you do assist the storm, Gon. Nay, good, be patient. Boats. When the sea is. Hence ! What care these roarers for the name of king 1 To cabin : silence ! trouble us not. Gon. Good ; yet remember whom thou hast aboard. Boats. None that I more love than myself. You are a counsellor : if you can command these ele- ments to silence, and work the peace of the present, we will not hand a rope more ; use your authority : if you cannot, give thanks you have liv'd so long, and make yourself ready in your cabin for the mis- chance of the hour, if it so hap. Cheerly, good hearts ! Out of our way, I say. [Exit. Gon. I have great comfort from this fellow : me- thinks, he hath no drowning mark upon him ; his complexion is perfect gallows. Stand fast, good fate, to his hanging ! make the rope of his destiny our cable, for our own doth little advantage ! If he be not born to be hang'd, our case is miserable. [Exeunt. Re-enter Boatswain. Boats. Down with the top-mast : 4 yare ; lower, Alvearie : " To play the man, or to show himself a valiant man in any matter." 4 Of this order Lord Mulgrave, a sailor critic, says : " The striking the topmast was a new invention in Shakespeare's time, which h here very properly introduces. Sir Henry Manwaring says : ' If you have sea-room it is never good to strike the top- mast.' Shakespeare has placed his ship in the situation in which it was indisputably right 'o strike the topmast, where he had not sea-rcom." H C. I. THE TEMPEST. 19 lowei : Bring her to : try with main-course. 8 [A cry loithin.] A plague upon this howling! they are louder than the weather, or our office. Re-enter SEBASTIAN, ANTONIO, and GONZAI.O. Yet again ! what do lou here 1 Shall we give o'er, and drown 1 Hare you a mind to sink ? Scb. A pox o' your throat, you bawling, bias phemous, uncharitable dog ! Boats. Work you, then. Ant. Hang, cur, hang ! you whoreson, insolent noise-maker, we are less afraid to be drown'd than thou art. Gon. I'll warrant him for 6 drowning ; though the ship were no stronger than a nut-shell, and as leaky as an unstanched 7 wench. Boats. Lay her a-hold, a-hold : set her two courses ; 8 off to sea again ; lay her off. 8 This is a sea phrase. " As the gale increases the topmast is struck, to take the weight from aloft, make the ship drive less to leeward, and bear the mainsail, under which the ship is laid to." Smith, in his Sea Grammar, 1627, explains it : " To hale the tacke aboord, the sheate close aft, the holing set up, and the hehne tied close ahoord." H. 8 For is here archaic, and used in the sense of from; so that Theobald's substitution of the latter word is needless. Of course Gonzalo has in mind the old proverb, " He that is born to be banged will never be drowned." H. 7 In Beaumont and Fletcher's Mad Lover, Chilas says to the frightened priestess : " Be quiet, and be staunch too ; no inundations." Stevens printed this, set her two courses off, which Captain Glascock objects to, and says : " The ship's head is to be put lee* ward, and the vessel to be drawn off the land under that can- vass nautically denominated the two courses." The punctuation we have given is Lord Mulgrave's. Holt says : " The courses meant are two of the three lowest and largest sails of a ship, so called because they contribute most to gi v e her way through the water, and thus enable her to feel the helm, and steer her count better than when they are not set or spread to the wind." To lag a ship a-hold, is to bring her to lie as near the wind as she can, in order to keen clear of the lan.l. and eet her out to sea. H 20 THE TEMPEST. ACT 1. Enter Mariner*, wet. Afar. All lost ! to prayers, to prayers ! all lost t [Exeunt. Boats. What ! must our mouths be cold ? Gon. The king and prince at prayers ! let us assist them, For our case is as theirs. Seb. I am out of patience. Ant. We are merely 9 cheated of our lives by drunkards. Phis wide-chapp'd rascal! 'would, thou might'st lie drowning, The washing of ten tides. Gon. He'll be hang'd yet; Though every drop of water swear against it, And gape at wid'st to glut 10 liim. [A confused noise within. Mercy on us! We split, toe split I Farewell, my wife and children ! Fare- well, brotlier ! We split, we split, we split! n ] Ant. Let's all sink with the king. [Exit. Seb. Let's take leave of him. [Exit. Gon. Now would I give a thousand furlongs of sea for an acre of barren ground ; long heath, brown furze, any thing: The wills above be done ! but I would fain die a dry death. 12 [Exit. 9 Merely, absolutely, entirely ; Mer4, Lat. 10 To englut, to swallow him. 11 This passage is usually printed as a part of GonzaJo's speech ; which is clearly wrong. Dr. Johnson suggested that the words ' here enclosed in brackets should be given as a part, or rather as the particulars of the confused noise within. Which is so ob- viously right that we should hardly hesitate to adopt it, even if we had not the great authority of Dyee and Halliwell for doing so. H. 18 In Boswell's edition is a paper from Lord Mulgrave, show ing that the Poet must either have drawn his technical knowledge of seamanship from accurate personal observation, or else hav* had a remarkable power of applying the information gained from others. And he thinks Shakespeare must have conversed with some of the best seamen of the time, as " no books had then 8C. II. THE TEMPEST. 21 SCENE II. The Is and : before the Cell of PROSPERS Enter PROSPERO and MIRANDA. Mira. If by your art, my dearest father, you have Put the wild waters in this roar, allay them : The sky, it seems, would pour down stinking pitch, But that the sea, mounting to the welkin's cheek, Dashes the fire out. O ! I have suffered With those that I saw suffer : a brave vessel, Who had no doubt some noble creatures in her, Dash'd all to pieces. O ! the cry did knock Against my very heart. Poor souls ! they perish'd. Had I been any god of power, I would Have sunk the sea within the earth, or e'er ' It should the good ship so have swallow'd, and The fraughting souls within her. Pro. Be collected : No more amazement : tell your piteous heart, There's no harm done. Mira. O, woe the day ! Pro. No harm. I have done nothing but in care of thee, (Of thee, my dear one ! thee, my daughter ! ) who Art ignorant of what thou art, nought knowing been published on the subject." He then exhibits the ship in five positions, and shows how truly these are represented by the words of the dialogue, and says : " The succession of events is strictly observed in the natural progress of the distress described : the expedients adopted are the best that could have been devised for a chance of safety : the words of command are not only strictly proper, but are only such as point to the object to be attained, and ro superfluous ones of detail." Captain Glascock says i " The Boatswain in The Tempest delivers himself in the true ver- nacular style of the forecastle." H. 1 i. e. Before, sooner than ; as in Ecclesiastes, " or ever the silver cord be loosed ; " and again in Daniel, " or ever they came to the bottom of the den " H !2 THE TEMPEST. ACT 1. Of whence 1 am ; nor that I am more better * Than Prospero, master of a full poor cell. And thy no greater father. Mira, More to know Did never meddle 3 with my thoughts. Pro. 'Tis time I should inform thee further. Lend thy hand, And pluck my magic garment from me. So : [Lays down his mantle Lie there, my art. 4 Wipe thou thine eyes ; have comfort. The direful spectacle of the wreck, wliich touch d The very virtue of compassion in thee, I have with such prevision in mine art So safely order'd, that there is no soul No, not so much perdition as an hair, Betid to any creature in the vessel Wliich thou heard'st cry, which thou saw'st sink. Sit down ; For thou must now know further. Mira. You have often Begun to tell me what I am ; but stopp'd, And left me to a bootless inquisition ; Concluding, " Stay, not yet." Pro. The hour's now comb, The very minute bids thee ope tliine ear ; Obey, and be attentive. Canst thou remember A time before we came unto this cell 1 I do not think thou canst ; for then thou wast not Out 8 three years old. * The double comparative is in frequent use among our elder writers. 3 To meddle, is t.o mix, or mingle with. 4 Lord Burleigh, when he put off his gown at night, used to say, " Lie there, Lord Treasurer." Fuller's Holy State. * Out is used for entirely, quite. Thus in Act iv. : " And be ;i boy righ out." BC. II. THE TEMPEST. & Mircu Certainly, sir, I can. Pro. By what 1 by any other house, or person 1 Of any thing the image tell me, that Hath kept with thy remembrance. Mra. 'Tis far off; And rather like a dream than an assurance That my remembrance warrants : Had I not Four or five women once, that tended me 1 Pro. Thou hadst, and more, Miranda: Buv how is it, That this lives in thy mind 1 What seest thou else In the dark backward and abysm 6 of time ? If thou remember'st aught, ere thou cam'st here, How thou cam'st here, thou may'st. Mira. But that I do not Pro. Twelve year since, Miranda, twelve year since, Thy father was the duke of Milan, and A prince of power. Mira. Sir, are not you my father? Pro. Thy mother was a piece of virtue, and She said thou wast my daughter ; and thy father Was duke of Milan ; and his only heir And princess no worse issued. 7 Mira. O, the heavens ! What foul play had we, that we came from thence 7 Or blessed was't, we did? Pro. Both, both, my girl . 6 Abysm was the old mode of spelling abyss ; from its French original abisme. 1 This line is usually printed thus : " A princess ; no worse issued : " which might indeed be admitted, but that there is no authority foi it in the original ; ncr any need of the charge, the sense being clear enough without it. H 34 THE TEMPEST. ACT I. By foul play, as thou say'st, were we heav'd thence But blessedly holp liither. Mira. O, my heart bleeds To think o' the teen 8 that I have turn'd you to, Which is from my remembrance ! Please you, fiii- ther. Pro. My brother, and thy uncle, call'd Anton k I pray thee, mark me, that a brother should Be so perfidious ! he whom, next thyself, Of all the world I lov'd, and to him put The manage of my state ; as, at that time, Through ah 1 the signiories it was the first, And Prospero the prime duke, being so reputed In dignity ; and, for the liberal arts, Without a parallel : those being all my study, The government I cast upon my brother, And to my state grew stranger, being transported, And rapt in secret studies. Thy false uncle Dost thou attend me ? Mira. Sir, most heedfully. Pro. Being once perfected how to grant suits,, How to deny them ; whom to advance, and whom To trash 9 for overtopping ; new created The creatures that were mine, I say, or chang'd them Or else new form'd them : having both the key Of officer and office, set all hearts i' the state To what tune pleas'd his ear ; that now he was The ivy, which had hid my princely trunk, 8 Teen is grief, sorrow. ' To trash means to check the pace or progress of any one The term is said to be still in use among sportsmen in the North, and signifies to correct a dog for misbehaviour in pursuing tli game ; or overtopping or outrunning the rest of the pack. Trashes are clogs strapped round the neck of a dog to prevent his over- speed. Todd has given four instances from Hammond's works of the word in this sense : " Clog and trash " " encumber and trash " " to trash or overslow " and " foreslowed and trashed ' flC II. THE TEMPEST. 2b And suck'd my verdure out on't. Thou attend'st not. Hfira. O good sir ! I do. Pro. I pray thee, irark me. I thus neglecting worldly ends, all dedicated To closeness, and the bettering of my mind With that, which, but by being so retir'd, O'er-pri/.'d all popular rate, 10 in my false brother Awak'd an evil nature : and my trust, Like a good parent, 11 did beget of Jum A falsehood, in its contrary as great As my trust was ; which had, indeed, no limit, A confidence sans bound. He being thus lorded, Not only with what my revenue yielded, But what my power might else exact, like one. Who having, unto truth, by telling of it, 18 Made such a sinner of his memory, To credit his own lie, he did believe He was indeed the duke ; out o' the substitution, And executing the outward face of royalty, With all prerogative : Hence his ambition Growing, Dost thou hear 1 Mira. Your tale, sir, would cure deafness. Pro. To have no screen between this part he play'd And him he play'd it for, he needs will be w The sense is here rendered somewhat obscure hv the brevity of expression. The meaning seems to be : " Which would have exceeded all popular estimate, but that it withdrew me from my public duties -, " as if he were sensible of his error in getting so " rapt in secret studies " as to leave the State a prey to vio- lence and usurpation. H. 11 Alluding to the observation that a father above the common rate of nen has generally a son below it. 12 It here refers to lie in the second line below. So that the meaning is : " Who, having made his memory such a sinner to truth by lying, that he came to believe his own lie." In likfl manner Tacitus says of certain men, Jingebant simul credcbant Thou didst prevent me ; I had peopled else Tliis isle with Calibans. Pro. Abhorred slave, Which any print of goodness will not take, Being capable of all ill ! I pitied thee, Took pains to make thee speak, taught thee each hour One thing or other : when thou didst not, savage, Know thine own meaning, but would'st gabble like A thing most brutish, I endow'd thy purposes With words that made them known : But thy vile race, Though thou didst learn, had that in't which good natures Could not abide to be with ; therefore waet thou Deservedly confin'd into this rock, Who hadst deserv'd more than a prison. Cal. You taught me language ; and my profit on'l Is, I know how to curse : The red plague rid 33 you. For learning me your language ! 83 Destroy. SC. 11. THE TEMPEST. 117 Pro. Hag-seed, hence ! Fetch us in fuel ; and be quick, thoti wert best, To answer other business. Shrug'st thou, malice 1 If thou neglect'st, or dost unwillingly What I command, I'll rack thee with old cramps ; Fill all thy bones with aches; 34 make thee roar, That beasts shall tremble at thy din. Cal No, 'pray thee ! [Aside.] I must obey : his art is of such power, It would control my dam's god, Setebos, 34 And make a vassal of him. Pro. So, slave ; hence ! [Exit CALIBAN, Re-enter ARIEL invisible, playing and singing ; FERDINAND fullmoing him. ARIEL'S Song.^ Come unto these yellow sands, And then take hands : ** Ac'nts was formerly a word of two syllables, and is required by the measure to he so here. Of this there are many examples in the old writers. Some of our readers may have heard of the clamour that was raised against Kemble for pronouncing 1 the word thus on the stage x wherein some may still think he followed an old custom at the expense of good judgment. H. 35 Setebos was the name of an American god, or rather devil, worshipped by the Patagonians. In Eden's " History cf Tra- vaile/' printed in 1577, is an account of Magellan's voyage to the South Pole, containing a description of this god and his worship- pers ; wherein the author says . " When they felt the shackles fast about their legs, they began to doubt ; but the captain did put them in comfort and bade them stand still. In fine, when they saw how they were deceived, they roared like bulls, and cryed upon their great devil Setebos, to help them." Sycorax, as we have seen, was from Algiers, where she doubtless learned to wor- ship this god. So that here the Poet has but transferred into the neighbourhood of his scene the matter of some of the then recent dis"*- -eries in America. H. 38 THE TEMPEST. ACT I Court'sied when you have, and kisa'd The wild waves whist, 38 Foot it featly here and there ; And, sweet sprites, the burden bear. Hark, hark ! Burden. [Dispersedly.] Bowgh, wowgh. The watch-dogs bark : Burden. [Dispersedly.] Bowgh, wowgh. Hark, hark ! I hear The strain of strutting chanticlere Cry, Cock-a-doodle-doo. Far. Where should this music be 1 i' the air, or the earth ? It sounds no more ; and sure, it waits upon Some god o' the island. Sitting on a bank, Weeping again the king my father's wreck, This music crept by me upon the waters ; Allaying both their fury, and my passion, With its sweet air : thence I have follow'd it, Or it hath drawn me rather : But 'tis gone. No, it begins again. ARIEL sings. Full fathom five thy father lies ; Of his bones are coral made : Those are pearls that were his eyea Nothing of him that doth fade, But doth suffer a sea-change Into something rich and strange. Sea-nymphs hourly ring his kneil : Burden. Ding-dong. Hark now I hear them, ding-dong, bell. Fer. The ditty does remember my drown 1 father. M i. e. ' court'sied and kiss'd the wild waves" into silence; ft delicate touch of poetry that is quite lost, as the passage is usually printed ; tin; line, The wild wares wlilst, lein maHf C. II. THE TEMPEST. 39 This is no mortal business, nor no sound That the earth owes : 37 I hear it now above me. Pro. The fringed curtains of tliine eye advance, And say, what thou seest yond'. Mira. What is't 1 a spirit 1 Lord, how it looks about ! Believe me, sir, It carries a brave form : But 'tis a spirit. Pro. No, wench : it eats and sleeps, and hath such senses As we have, such. This gallant, which thou seest, Was in the wreck ; and, but he's something stain'd With grief, that's beauty's canker, thou might'st call him A goodly person. He hath lost his fellows, And strays about to find them. Mira. I might call hiro A tiling divine ; for nothing natural I ever saw so noble. Pro. [Asia*:] It goes on, I see, As my soul prompts it : Spirit, fine spirit ! I'll free thee Within two days for this. Per. Most sure, the goddess On whom these airs attend! Vouchsafe, my prayer May know, if you remain upon this island ; And that you will some good instruction give, How I may bear me here : My prime request, Which I do last pronounce, is, O you wonder ! If you be maid, 38 or no 1 parenthetical, and that too without any authority from the original Such are the improvements sometimes foisted in by those who prefer grammar to poetry, and cannot read a song without think ing of Syntax. H. 17 i. e. owns. To owe was to possess or own, in ancient language, * Ferdinand has already spoken of Miranda as a goddess 40 THE TEMPEST. ACT I Mira. No wonder, sir ; But, certainly a maid. FIT. My language ! heavens ! I am the best of them that speak this speech, Were I but where 'tis spoken. Pro. How ! the best ? What wert thou, if the king of Naples heard thee 1 Fer. A single thing, 39 as I am now, that wonders To hear thee speak of Naples : He does hear me ; And, that he does, I weep : myself am Naples ; Who with mine eyes, ne'er since at ebb, beheld The king my father wreck'd. Mira. Alack, for mercy ! Fcr. Yes, faith, and all his lords ; the duke of Milan, A.nd his brave son, being twain. Pro. The duke of Milan, And his more braver daughter, could control 40 thee, If now 'twere fit to do't. [Aside.] At the first sight They have chang'd eyes : Delicate Ariel, I'll set thee free for this ! [To FERD.] A word, good sir : I fear, you have done yourself some wrong : 41 a word- Mira. Why speaks my father so ungently 1 This Is the third man that e'er I saw ; the first That e'er I sigh'd for : Pity move my father To be inclin'd my way ! he now asks, if she be a mortal ; not a celestial being, but a maiden. Of course her answer is to be taken in the same sense as his question. H. 39 i. e. a weak, feeble thing. The Poet elsewhere uses single in this sense ; as in Macbeth : " Shakes so my single state of man." H. 40 To control here signifies to confute, to contradict unanswer- ably. The ancient meaning of control was to check or exhibit a contrary account, from the old French contre-roller. * l i. e. lone wrong to your character, in claiming to re king *f Naples SO. II. THE TEMPEST. 41 Fcr. O ! if a virgin, And your affection not gone forth, I'll make you The queen of Naples. Pro. Soft, sir : one word more. [Aside.] They are both in either's powers : but this swift business I must uneasy make, lest too light winning Make the prize light. [To FERD.] One word more : I charge thee, That thou attend me : thou dost here usurp The name thou ow'st not ; and hast put thyself Upon this island, as a spy, to win it From me, the lord on't. Fer. No, as I am a man. Mira. There's nothing ill can dwfell in such a temple : If the ill spirit have so fair a house, Good things will strive to dwell with't. Pro. [ To FERD.] Follow me. Speak not you for him ; he's a traitor. Come I'll manacle thy neck and feet together ; Sea-water shall thou drink, thy food shall be The fresh-brook muscles, wither'd roots, and husks, Wherein the acorn cradled : Follow. Fer. No : I will resist such entertainment, till Mine enemy has more power. [He draws, and is charmed from moving JUira. O dear father, Make not too rash a trial of him, for He's gentle, and not fearful. Pro. What ! I say : My foot my tutor ! Put thy sword up, traitor ; Who, mak'st a show, but dar'st not strike, thy con- science 42 THE TEMPEST. ACT I. Is so possess'd with guilt : come from thy ward ; 4 For I can here disarm thee with tliis stick, And make thy weapon drop. Mira. Beseech you, father ! Pro. Hence ! hang not on my garments. Mira. Sir, have pity : 111 be liis surety. Pro. Silence ! one word more Shall make me elude thee, if not hate thee. What ! An advocate for an impostor 1 hush ! Thou think'st there are no more such shapes as he, Having seen but liim and Caliban : Foolish wench ! To the most of men this is a Caliban, And they to him are angels. Mira. My affections Are then most humble : I have no ambition To see a goodlier man. Pro. [ To FEKD.] Come on ; obey : Thy nerves are in their infancy again, And have no vigor in them. Fer. So they are : My spirits, as in a dream, are all bound up. My father's loss, the weakness which I feel, The wreck of all my friends, or this man's threats, To whom I am subdued, are but light to me, Might I but through my prison once a day Behold this maid : all corners else o' the earth Let liberty make use of; space enough Have I in such a prison. Pro. [Aside.] It works. [To FERD. and MIR A. Come on. Thou hast done well, fine Ariel ! Follow me. [ To ARIEL.] Hark, what then else shalt do me. Mira. Be of comfort : 41 i. e. posture of defence. SC. II. THE TEMPEST. 43 My father's of a better nature, sir, Than he appears by speech : tliis is unwonted, Which now came from him. Pro. Thou shall be as free As mountain winds : but then exactly do All points of my command. Ari. To the syllable. Pro. Come, follow: Speak not for him. [Exeunt ACT II. SCENE I. Another part of the Island. Enter ALONZO, SEBASTIAN, ANTONIO, GONZALO, ADRIAN, FRANCISCO, and ot/iers. Gon. 'Beseech you, sir, be merry : you hare cause (So have we all) of joy; for our escape Is much beyond our loss : Our liint of woe ' Is common : every day, some sailor's wife, The masters of some merchant, 2 and the merchant, Have just our theme of woe ; but for the miracle, I mean our preservation, few in millions Can speak like us: then wisely, good sir, weigh Our sorrow with our comfort. Alon. Pr'ythee, peace. Scb. He receives comfort like cold porridge. Ant. The visitor 3 will not give him o'er so. Seb. Look ; he's winding up the watch of Ins wit : by and by it will strike. 1 i. c. cause of sorrow. ' It was usual to call a merchant-vessel a merchant, as we now Bay a merchant-man. * He calls Gonzalo the risitor, in allusion to the office of on* who visits the sick to give advice and consolation. 44 THE TEMPEST. ACT II don. Sir, Scb. One: Tell. Gon. When every grief is entertain'd, that's offer'd, Comes to the entertainer Seb. A dollar. Gon. Dolour comes to him, indeed: you have spoken truer than you purposed. Seb. You have taken it wiselier than I meant you should. Gon. Therefore, my lord, Ant. Fie, what a spendthrift is he of his tongue i Alon. I pr'ythee, spare. Gon. Well, I have done : But yet Seb. He will he talking. Ant. Which of them, he, or Adrian, for a good wager, Qrst begins to crow 1 Scb. The old cock. Ant. The cockrel. Seb. Done: The wager? Ant. A laughter. Seb. A match. Adr. Though this island seem to be desert, Ant. Ha, ha, ha! Seb. So, you're paid. Adr. Uninhabitable, and almost inaccessible, Seb. Yet Adr. Yet Ant. He coula not miss it. Adr It must needs be of subtle, tender, and delicate temperance. 4 Ant. Temperance was a delicate wench. 4 By temperance Adrian means temperature, and Antonio plays upon thfl word ; doubtless an allusion to the Puritan custom of bestowing the names of the cardinal virtues upon their children H SC. I. THE TEMPEST. 45 Scb. Ay, and a subtle; as he most learnedly delivered. Adr. The air breathes upon us here most sweetly Scb. As if it had lungs, and rotten ones. Ant. Or as 'twere perfum'd by a fen. Gon. Here is every tiling advantageous to life. Ant. True ; save means to live. Seb. Of that there's none, or little. Gon, How lush 5 and lusty the grass looks! how green ! Ant. The ground, indeed, is tawny. Scb. With an eye 6 of green in't. Ant. He misses riot much. Scb. No ; he doth but mistake the truth totally. Gon. But the rarity of it is, which is indeed almost beyond credit, Seb. As many vouch'd rarities are. Gon. that our garments, being, as they were, drenched in the sea, hold, notwithstanding, their freshness, and glosses ; being rather new dyed than stain'd with salt water. Ant. If but one of his pockets could speak, would it not say, he lies ? Scb. Ay, or very falsely pocket up his report. Gon. Methinks, our garments are now as fresh as when we put them on first in Afric, at the mar- riage of the king's fair daughter Claribel to the king of Tunis. Scb. 'Twas a sweet marriage, and we prosper well in our return. Adr. Tunis was never grac'd before with such a paragon to their queen. * i. e. juicy, succulent. 8 A tint or tinge of green. So in Sandy's Travels : " (/! >th of silver, tissued with an eye of ^reen ; " and Bayle says. " Km) with an eye of blue makes a purple " H 46 THE TEMPEST. ACT II Gon. Not since widow Dido's time. Ant. Widow 1 a pox o' that ! How came that widow in 7 Widow Dido ! Scb. What if he had said widower ^Eneas too 1 good lord, how you take it ! Adr. Widow Dido, said you ? you make mo study of that : she was of Carthage, not of Tunis. Gon. This Tunis, sir, was Carthage. Adr. Carthage ? Gon. I assure you, Carthage. Ant. His word is more than the miraculous harp. 7 Seb. He hath rais'd the wall, and houses too. Ant. What impossible matter will he make easy next ? Scb. I think he will carry this island home in Ids pocket, and give it his son for an apple. Ant. And sowing the kernels of it in the sea, bring forth more islands. Gon. Ay ? Ant. Why, in good time. Gon. Sir, we were talking, that our garments seem now as fresh as when we were at Tunis at the marriage of your daughter, who is now queen. Ant. And the rarest that e'er came there. Seb. 'Bate, I beseech you, widow Dido. Ant. O! widow Dido ; ay, widow Dido. Gon. Is not, sir, my doublet as fresh as the first day I wore it ? I mean, in a sort. Ant. That sort was well fish'd for. 7 Alluding to The Gift to king Amphion That walled a city with its melody." A lute was given to Amphion by Mercury, and with it he mar dialled the stones of TL ;bes into their place*, n sJC. I. THE TEMPEST 4^ Gon. When I wore it at your daughter's mar riage? Alan. You cram tliese words into mine ears, against The stomach of my sense : 'Would I had never Married my daughter there ! for, coming thence, My son is lost ; and, in my rate, she too, Who is so far from Italy remov'd, I ne'er again shall see her. O thou mine heir Of Naples and of Milan ! what strange fish Hath made his meal on thee 1 Fran. Sir, he may live : [ saw him beat the surges under him, And ride upon their backs: he trod the water, Whose enmity he flung aside, and breasted The surge most swoln that met him : his bold head 'Bove the contentious waves he kept, and oar'd Himself with liis good arms in lusty stroke To the shore, that o'er his wave-worn basis bow'd, As stooping to relieve liim : I not doubt, He came alive to land. Alon. No, no; he's gone. Scb. Sir, you may thank yourself for this great loss; That would not bless our Europe with your daughter, But rather lose her to an African ; Where she, at least, is banish'd from your eye, Who hath cause to wet the grief ori't. 8 Alon. Pr'ythee, peace. St 6. You were kneel'd to, and importun'd otherwise By all of us; and the fair soul herself 8 The meaning of this line will he clear enough. If wht> b un derstood as referring to rye, \Vlw aud tcfiicft were often used indiscriminately. u 48 THE TEMP2.ST. ACT 11. Weigh'd, between loathness and obedience, at Wliich end o' the beam she'd bow. 9 We have lost your son, I fear, for ever: Milan and Naples have More widows in them of this business' making, Than we bring men to comfort them : the fault's Your own. Alon. So is the dear'st o' the loss. Gon. My lord Sebastian, The truth you speak doth lack some gentleness, And time to speak it in : you rub the sore, When you should bring the plaster. Seb. Very well. Ant. And most chirurgeonly. Gon. It is foul weather in us all, good sir, When you are cloudy. Seb. Foul weather ? Ant. Very foul Gon. Had I plantation of this isle, my lord, Ant. He'd sow't with nettle-seed. Seb. Or docks, or mallows. Gon. And were the king on't, what would I do 1 Seb. 'Scape being drunk, for want of wine. Gon. I' the commonwealth I would by contraries Execute all tilings : for no kind of traffic Would I admit ; no name of magistrate ; Letters should not be known ; riches, poverty, And use of service, none ; contract, succession Bourn, bound of land, tilth, vineyard, none: No use of metal, corn, or wine, or oil: No occupation ; ail men idle, all ; And women too ; but innocent and pure : No sovereignty : * i. e. she was in doubt towards which scale o f the balanc* h! should mcliuu. H. Mi I. THE TEMPEST. 4i) Scb. Yet he would be king on't. Ant. The latter end of his commonwealth for- gets the beginning. Gon. All things in common nature should produce Without sweat or endeavour : treason, felony, Sword, pike, knife, gun, or need of any engine, 1 " Would 1 not have ; but nature should bring forth, Of its own kind, all foison, 11 all abundance, To feed my innocent people. Scb. No marrying 'mong his subjects ? Ant. None, man ; all idle ; whores, and knaves Gon. I would with such perfection govern, sir, To excel the golden age. 12 Seb. 'Save his majesty ! Ant. Long live Gonzalo ! Gon. And, do you mark me, sir ? Alon. Pr'ythee, no more : thou dost talk noth- ing to me. Gon. I do well believe your highness ; and did 10 An engine was a term applied to any kind of machine in Shakespeare's age. 11 Foison is only another word for plenty or abundance of pro- vision, but chiefly of the fruits of the earth. " In Montaigne's Essay " Of the Cannibals," translated by Florio in 1603, is the following : " Me seemeth that what in those nations we see by experience, doth not only exceed all ihe pictures wherewith licentious poesy hath proudly embellished the golden age, and all her quaint inventions to feign a happy condi- tion of man, but also the conception and desire of philosophy It is a nation, would I answer Plato, that hath no kind of traffic, no knowledge of letters, no intelligence of numbers, no name of' magistrate, nor of politic superiority ; no use of service, of richer, or of poverty ; no contracts, no successions, no dividences ; no occupation, but idle ; no respect of kindred, but common ; no apparel, but natural ; no manuring of lands ; no use of wine corn, or metal. The very words that import lying, falsehood treason, dissimulation, covetousness, envy, detraction, and pardon were never hoard amongst thrin." From which it is piain enough, that Montaigne and Gonzak aust have been together, and " fed on one thought '' u 50 THE TEMPEST. ACT II. it to minister occasion to these gentlemen, who are of such sensible and nimble lungs, that they always use to laugh at nothing. Ant, 'Twas you we laugh'd at. Gon. Who, in this kind of merry fooling, am nothing to you: so you may continue, and laugh at notlung still. Ant. What a blow was there given! Seb. An it had not fallen flat-long. Gon. You are gentlemen of brave mettle: you would lift the moon out of her sphere, if she would continue in it five weeks without changing. Enter ARIEL invisible, playing solemn music. Seb. We would so, and then go a bat-fowling. Ant. Nay, good my lord, be not angry. Gon. No, I warrant you ; I will not adventurn my discretion so weakly. Will you laugh me asleep for I am very heavy 1 Ant. Go sleep, and hear us. [All sleep but ALON. SEB. and ANT. Alan. What! all so soon asleep? I wish mine eyes Would, with themselves, shut up my thoughts: I find, They are inclin'd to do so. Seb. Please you, sir, Do net omit the heavy offer of it: It seldom visits sorrow; when it doth, It is a comforter. Ant. We two, my lord, Will guard your person, while you take your rest, And watch your safety. Alon. Thank you : Wondrous heavy [ALONZO sleeps. Exit ARIEL 9C. I. THE TEMPEST. 51 Scb. What a strange drowsiness possesses them Ant. It is the quality o' the climate. Seb Why Doth it not then our eye-lids sink 1 I find not Myself dispos'd to sleep. Ant. Nor I : my spirits are nimble. They fell together all, as by consent ; They dropp'd, as by a thunder-stroke. What might Worthy Sebastian ! 13 O, what might ! No more : And yet, methinks, I see it in thy face, What thou should'st be : The occasion speaks thee ; and My strong imagination sees a crown Dropping upon thy head. Scb. What ! art thou waking 1 Ant. Do you not hear me speak ? Stb. 1 do ; and, surely, It is a sleepy language ; and thou speak'st Out of thy sleep : What is it thou didst say 1 This is a strange repose, to be asleep With eyes wide open ; standing, speaking, moving, And yet so fast asleep. Ant. Noble Sebastian, Thou let'st thy fortune sleep die rather; wink's! Whiles thou art waking. Scb. Thou dost snore distinctly There's meaning in thy snores. Ant. I am more serious than my custom : you Must be so too, if heed me ; which to do, Trebles thee o'er. 14 Scb. Well ; I am standing water. Ant. I'll teach you how to flow. 13 Understand be after Sebastian. H 14 i e. makes tliee three times what thou art now. v 52 THE TEMPEST ACT II. Stb. Do so : to ebb. Hereditary sloth instructs thee. Ant. O ! [f you but knew how you the purpose cherish, Whiles thus you mock it ! how, in stripping it, You more invest it ! Ebbing men, indeed, Most often do so near the bottom run By their own fear, or sloth. Seb. Pr'ythee, say on : The setting of thine eye, and cheek, proclaim A matter from thee ; arid a birth, indeed, Which throes thee much to yield. Ant. Thus, sir: Although this lord of weak remembrance, this, (Who shall be of as little memory, When he is earth'd,) hath here almost persuaded (For he's a spirit of persuasion, only Professes to persuade) the king his son's alive ; 'Tis as impossible that he's undrown'd, As he, that sleeps here, swims. Seb. I have no hope That he's undrown'd. Ant. O ! out of that no hope, What great hope have you ! no hope, that way, its Another way so high a hope, that even Ambition cannot pierce a wink beyond, But doubts discovery there. Will you grant, with me, That Ferdinand is drown 'd 1 Seb. He's gone. Ant. Then tell me Who's the next heir of Naples 1 Seb. Claribel. Ant She that is queen of Tunis ; she that dwells Ten leagues beyond man's life ; she that from Naples iC. I- THE TEMPEST. 53 Can have no note, unless the sun were post, (The man i' the moon's too slow,) till new-horn china Be rough and razorable : she, from whom We all were sea-swallow'd, though some cast again ; And, by that destiny, 15 to perform an act, Whereof what's past is prologue ; what to come, In yours arid my discharge. 16 Seb. What stuff is this ! How say you 1 'Tis true, my brother's daughter's queen of Tunis ; So is she heir of Naples ; 'twixt which regions There is some space. Ant. A space whose every cubit Seems to cry out, " How shall that Claribel Measure us back to Naples 7 " Keep in Tunis, And let Sebastian wake ! Say, this were death That now hath seiz'd them ; why they were no worse Than now they are : There be, that can rule Naples As well as he that sleeps ; lords, that can prate As amply, and unnecessarily, As this Gonzalo ; I myself could make A chough 17 of as deep chat. O, that you bore The mind that I do ! what a sleep were tliis For your advancement ! Do you understand me ? Scb. Methinks, I do. Ant. And how does your content Tender your own good fortune 1 15 i. e. by their being cast ashore again. H. 16 This passage has given commentators a fine opportunity of showing their superiority to the Poet in the knowledge of geog- raphy. But, besides that in Shakespeare's time a voyage from Milan to Tunis was not so easy as it has been since, could they not see that he purposely makes Antonio exaggerate the distance, to persuade Sebastian into his plans ? So that in showing theii knowledge of what the Poet did not aim at, they but showed then ignorance of his proper business. As usual. H. 17 A chough is a bird of the jackdaw kind. S4 THE TEMPEST. ACT II Seb I remember, You did supplant your brother Prospero. Ant. True : And look how well my garments sit upon me ; Much feater than before : My brother's servants Were then my fellows, now they are my meu. Seb. But, for your conscience Ant. Ay, sir ; where lies that ? if it were a kybe Twould put me to my slipper ; but I feel not This deity in my bosom : twenty consciences, That stand 'twixt me and Milan, candied be they, And melt, ere they molest ! Here lies your brother, No better than the earth he lies upon, If he were that which now he's like, that's dead ; Whom I, with this obedient steel, three inches of it, Can lay to bed for ever : whiles you, doing thus, To the perpetual wink for aye might put This ancient morsel, this sir Prudence, who Should not upbraid our course. For all the rest, They'll take suggestion," as a cat laps milk ; They'll tell the clock to any business that We say befits the hour. Seb. Thy case, dear friend, Shall be my precedent as thou got'st Milan, I'll come by Naples. Draw thy sword : one stroke Shall free thee from the tribute which thou pay'st ; And I the king shall love thee. Ant. Draw together And when I rear my hand, do you the like, To fall it on Gonzalo. Seb. O ! but one word. [They converse apart, 18 Suggestion is frequently used in the sense of temptation, or teduc'ion, by Shakespeare and his contemporaries. 8C. I. THE TEMPEST. 55 Music. Re-enter ARIEL, invisible Ari. My master through his art foresees the danger That you, his friend, are in ; and sends me forth (For else liis project dies,) to keep thee living. [Sings in GONZAI.O'S ear While you here do snoring lie, Open-ey'd conspiracy His time doth take: If of life you keep a care, Shake off slumber, and beware Awake ! awake ! Ant. Then let us both be sudden. Gon. Now, good angels, preserve the king ! [They wake- Alon. Why, how now, ho ! awake ! Why are you drawn ? Wherefore this ghastly looking? Gon. What's the matter ? Seb. Whiles we stood here securing your repose. Even now, we heard a hollow burst of bellowing Like bulls, or rather lions : did it not wake you ? It struck mine ear most terribly. Alon. I heard nothing. Ant. O ! 'twas a din to fright a monster's ear ; To make an earthquake : sure it was the roar Of a whole herd of lions. A Ion. Heard you this, Gonzalo 1 Gon. Upon mine honour, sir, I heard a humming, And that a strange one too, which did awake me : I shak'd you, sir and cried ; as mine eyes open'd. * Them evidently refers to Gonzalo and the king, not to * projects," as the Chiswick edition has it, thus corrupting the laxt Of course but one of the persons referred to was mean! in, you, hit friend. u 56 THE TEMPEST. ACT 11 I saw their weapons drawn : There was a noise. That's verity : 'tis best we stand upon our guard, Or that we quit this place : Let's draw our weapons Alan. Lead off this ground; and let's make further search For my poor son. Gon. Heavens keep him from these beasts ! For he is, sure, i' the island. Aim. Lead away. Ari. [Aside.] Prospero, my lord, shall know what I have done : So, king, go safely on to seek thy son. [Exeunt SCENE n. Another part of the Island. Enter CALIBAN, with a burden of wood, A noise of Thunder heard. CaL All the infections that the sun sucks up From bogs, fens, flats, on Prosper fall, and make him By inch-meal a disease ! His spirits hear me, And yet I needs must curse. But they'll nor pinch, Fright me with urchin-shows, pitch me i' the mire, Nor lead me, like a fire-brand, in the dark Out of my way, unless he bid them ; but For every trifle are they set upon me : Sometime like apes, that moe ' and chatter at me, And after, bite me ; then like hedge-hogs, which Lie tumbling in my bare-foot way, and mount Their pricks 2 at my foot-fall ; sometime am I All wound with adders, who, with cloven tongues, Do hiss me into madness : Lo, now ! lo ! 1 To mat is to make mouths. " To make a moe like an ape. Distorquere os." Baret. Sometimes spelt morn; as in Nash'g ' Pierce Penniless : " " Nobody at home but an ape that sat in the porch, and made mops and mows at him." H. * Prick* is the ancient word for prickle* SC. II. THK TEMPEST. 57 Enter TRINCULO. Here comes a spirit of his ; and to torment me, For bringing wood in slowly : I'll fall flat ; Perchance he will not mind me. Trin. Here's neither bush nor shrub, to bear off any weather at all, and another storm brewing ; I hear it sing i' the wind : yond' same black cloud, yond' huge one, looks like a foul bumbard J that would shed his liquor. If it should thunder, as it did before, I know not where to hide my head: yond' same cloud cannot choose but fall by pailfuls. What have we here ? a man or a fish ? Dead or alive 1 A fish : he smells like a fish ; a very ancient and fish-like smell : a kind of, not of the newest, Poor-John. A strange fish ! Were I in England now, (as once I was,) and had but this fish painted, not a holiday fool there but would give a piece of silver : there would this monster make a man ; * any strange beast there makes a man : when they will not give a doit to relieve a lame beggar, they will lay out ten to see a dead Indian. Legg'd like a man ! and his fins like arms ! Warm, o' my troth ! I do now let loose my opinion, hold it no longer ; this is no fish but an islander, that hath lately suf- fered by a thunderbolt. [ Thunder.] Alas ! the storm is come again : my best way is to creep under his gaberdine ; 5 there is no other shelter hereabout . Misery acquaints a man with strange bed-fellows. * A bumbard is a black jack of leather, to hold beer, dz/c. 4 i. e. make a man's fortune. Thus in A Midsummer-Night'g ream : " We are all made men ; " and in the old comedy of Ram Alley : She's a wench was born to make us alL" 4 A gaberdine was a coarse outer garment. " A shepherd'i pelt, frock, or gaberdine, such a coarse long jacket as our porten wear over the rest of their garments," says Cotgrave. " A kind of rough cassock or frock like an Irish mantle," says Philips 58 THE TEMPEST. ACT II I will here shroud, till the dregs of the storm be past. Enter STEPHANO, singing; a bottle in his hand. Ste. I shall no more to sea, to sea, Here shall I die ashore : This is a very scurvy tune to sing at a man's funeral Well, here's my comfort. [Drinks The master, the swabber, the boatswain, and I, The gunner, and his mate, Lov'd Mall, Meg, and Marian, and Margery, But none of us car'd for Kate : For she had a tongue with a tang, Would cry to a sailor, " Go, hang : " She lov'd not the savour of tar nor of pitch, Yet a tailor might scratch her where'er she did itch : Then to sea, boys, and let her go hang. This is a scurvy tune too : But here's my comforu [Drinks. Cal. Do not torment me : O ! Ste. What's the matter 1 Have we devils here 1 Do you put tricks upon us with savages, and men of Inde ? Ha ! I have not scap'd drowning, to be afeard now of your four legs ; for it hath been said, as proper a man as ever went on four legs cannot make him give ground : and it shall be said so again, while Stephano breathes at nostrils. Cal. The spirit torments me : O ! Ste. This is some monster of the isle, with four legs ; who hath got, as I take it, an ague : Where the devil should he learn our language ? I will give him some relief, if it be but for that : If I can recov- er him, and keep liim tame, and get to Naples with him, he's a present for any emperor that ever trod on neat's-leather. SC. II. THE TEMPEST. 59 Cal. Do not torment me, pr'ythee : I'll bring my wood home faster. Ste. He's in his fit now, and does not talk after the wisest. He shall taste of my bottle : if he have never drunk wine afore, it will go near to remove his fit : 6 If I can recover him, and keep him tame, 1 will not take too much for him : 7 he shall pay for liim that hath him, and that soundly. Cal. Thou dost me yet but little hurt ; thou wilt anon, I know it by thy trembling : now Prosper works upon thee. Ste. Come on your ways ; open your mouth here is that which will give language to you, cat ; open your mouth : this will shake your shaking, 1 can tell you, and that soundly : you cannot tell who's your friend : open your chaps again. Trin. I should know that voice : It should be but he is drowri'd ; and these are devils : O ! de fend me ! Ste. Four legs, and two voices ! a most delicate monster. His forward voice now is to speak well of his friend ; his backward voice is to utter foul speeches, and to detract. If all the wine in my hot tie will recover him, I will help his ague : Come, Amen ! I will pour some in thy other mouth. Trin. Stephano ! Ste. Doth thy other mouth call me ? Mercy ! mercy ! This is a devil, and no monster : I will leave him ; I have no long spoon. 8 * No impertinent hint to those who indulge in the constant use of wine. When it is necessary for them as a medicine, it pf duces no effect. 7 A piece of vulgar irony, meaning, I'll take as much as f can get. 8 Shakespeare gives his characters appropriate language i " They belch forth proverbs in their drink," " Good liquor will make a cat tpeaJc," and " He who eats with the devil had ueed 60 THE TEMPEST. ACT 11 Trin. Stephano ! If thou beest Stepliano, touch me, and speak to me ; for I am Trinculo : be rot afeard, thy good friend Trinculo. Ste. If thou beest Trinculo, come forth ; I'll pull thee by the lesser legs : If any be Trinculo's legs, these are they. Thou art very Trinculo, indeed ! How cam'st thou to be the siege 9 of this moon-calf] Can he vent Trinculos 1 Trin. I took him to be kill'd with a thunder- stroke. But art thou not drown'd, Stephano 1 I hope now, thou art not drown'd. Is the storm overblown ? I laid me under the dead moon-calf's 10 gaberdine for fear of the storm. And art thou living, Stephano ? O Stephano ! two Neapolitan? 'scap'd ? Ste. Pr'ythee, do not turn me about : my stomach is not constant. Cal. These be fine things, an if they be not sprites. That's a brave god, and bears celestial liquor : I will kneel to him. Ste. How didst thou 'scape ? How cam'st thou hither ? swear by this bottle, how thou cam'st liither. I escap'd upon a butt of sack, which the sailors heaved orer-board, by this bottle ! which I made of the bark of a tree, with mine own hands, since I was cast a-shore. Cal. I'll swear, upon that bottle, to be thy true subject ; for the liquor is not earthly. Ste. Here ; swear then how thou escap'dst. Trin. Swam a-shore, man, like a duck : I can swim like a duck, I'll be sworn. of a long spoon." The last is again used in The Comedy of Errors, Act iv. sc. 2. ' Siege for stool, and in the dirtiest sense of the word. 10 The best account of the moon-calf may be found in Dray Uui'g poem with that title. 8C. II. THE TEMPEST. Ok Ste. Here, kiss the book : Though tliou canst swim like a duck, thou art made like a goose. Trin. O Stephano ! hast any more of this 7 Ste. The whole butt, man : my cellar is in a rock by the sea-side, where my wine is hid. How now, moon-calf! how does thine ague ? Cal. Hast thou not dropp'd from heaven ? !1 Ste. Out o' the moon, I do assure thee : I was the man i' the moon, when time was. Cal. 1 have seen thee in her, and I do adore thee : my mistress show'd me thee, and thy dog, and thy bush. Ste. Come, swear to that ; kiss the book : I will furnish it anon with new contents : swear. Trin. By this good light, this is a very shallow monster : I afeard of him ? a very weak mon- ster : The man i' the moon ! a most poor credulous monster : Well drawn, monster, in good sooth. Cal. I'll show thee every fertile inch o' the island ; and I will kiss thy foot : 1 pr'ythee, be my god. Trin. By this light, a most perfidious and drunken monster ! when his god's asleep, he'll rob his bottle. Cal. I'll kiss thy foot : I'll swear myself thy subject. Ste. Come on then ; down, and swear. Trin. I shall laugh myself to death at this pup- py-headed monster : A most scurvy monster ! I could find in my heart to beat him, Ste. Come, kiss. Trin. but that the poor monster's ID drink : An abominable monster ! 11 The Indians of the Island of S. Salvador asked by signs whether Columbus and his companions were not come down frum heaven. 62 THE TEMPEST. ACT II Ceil. I'll show thee the best springs ; I'll pluck thee berries ; I'll fish for thee, and get thee wood enough. A plague upon the tyrant that I serve ! I'll bear him no more sticks, but follow thee, Thou wondrous man. Trin. A most ridiculous monster ! to make a wonder of a poor drunkard. Col. I pr'ythee, let me bring thee where crabs grow ; And I with my long nails will dig thee pig-nuts ; Show thee a jay's nest, and instruct thee how To snare the nimble marmozet : I'll bring thee To clustering filberds, and sometimes I'll get thee Young sea-mells 12 from the rock : Wilt thou go with me ? Ste. I pr'ythee now, lead the way, without any more talking. Trinculo, the king and all our com- pany else being drown'd, we will inherit here. Here ; bear my bottle. Fellow Trinculo, we'll fill him by and by again. Col. [Sings drunkerdy.] Farewell, master ; farewell, farewell. Trin. A howling monster ; a drunken monster ! '* The original has scamels in this place, a word that has not heen found any where else ; though Holt, writing in 1749, says limpets are called scams in some parts of England, and Mr. Halli- well says he has the authority of Mr. Crofton Croker for asserting, that the term is still used in that sense in Ireland. Theobald altered scamels into sea-mells ; wherein he has been followed by some of the best editions, the Chiswick among others. The sea- meil, or sea-mall, is a species of gull, which builds its nest in the rock, and which, when young, was accounted a good dish at the best tables. Dyce, than whom we have no better authority in such matters, thinks staniel, now spelt stannyel, to be the right word. Stannyel is a species of mountain hawk, and the word is so u.sed in Twelfth Niffht, Act ii. sc. 5. H SC. II. THE TEMPEST. 63 Col, No more dams I'll make for fish ; Nor fetch in firing At requiring, Nor scrape trencher, 13 nor wash dish : 'Ban, 'Ban, Ca Caliban, Has a new master Get a new man. Freedom, hey-day ! hey-day, freedom ! freedom hey-day, freedom ! Ste. O brave monster ! lead the way. [Exeunt ACT III. SCENE I. Before PROSPERO'S CelL Enter FERDINAND, bearing a log. Per. There be some sports are painful ; and * their labour Delight in them sets off: 8 some kinds of baseness Are nobly undergone ; and most poor matters Point to rich ends. This my mean task Would be as heavy to me, as odious ; but The mistress, which I serve, quickens what's dead. And makes my labours pleasures : O ! she is Ten times more gentle than her father's crabbed ; And he's compos'd of harshness. I must remove Some thousands of these logs, and pile them up, Upon a sore injunction : My sweet mistress s The original has trenchering here. This was corrected oy Dryden and Theobald, yet several later editions hold on to it. Mr. Dyce says : " That trenchering is an error of the printer (or transcriber), occasioned by the preceding words firing- and requiring, is beyond a doubt." Caliban's words, get a new man, are to be understood as referring to Prospero. H. 1 And in the sense of and yet. 1 Mo/liter austerum .udio fallente laborem. Hor. Sat. ii. 1. & So, in Macbeth: " The labour we delight in physics pain." 04 THE TEMPEST. ACT lit Weeps when she sees me work ; and says, such baseness Had never like executor. I forget : But these sweet thoughts do even refresh my labour, Most busiest, when I do it. Enter MIRANDA, and PROSPERO at a distance. Mira. Alas ! now, pray you, Work not so hard : I would, the lightning had Burnt up those logs, that you are enjoin'd to pile. Pray, set it down, and rest you : when this burns, 'Twill weep for having wearied you : My father Is hard at study ; pray now, rest yourself; He's safe for these three hours. Per. O, most dear mistress ! The sun will set, before I shall discharge What I must strive to do. Mira. If you'll sit down, I'll bear your logs the while : Pray, give me that ; I'll carry it to the pile. Fer. No, precious creature : I'd rather crack my sinews, break my back, Than you should such dishonour undergo, While I sit lazy by. Mira. It would become me As well as it does you : and I should do it With much more ease ; for my good will is to it, And yours it is against. Pro. Poor worm ! thou art infected : This visitation shows it. Mira. You look wearily.. Fer. No, noble mistress ; 'tis fresh morning with me, When you are by at night. I do beseech you, (Chiefly, that I might set it in my prayers,) What is your name ? SC. I. THE TEMPEST. 65 Mira. Miranda : O my father ! 1 have broke your hest 3 to say so. Fer. Admir'd Miranda 1 Indeed the top of admiration ; worth What's dearest to the world ! Full many a lady I have ey'd with best regard ; and many a time The harmony of their tongues hath into bondage Brought my too diligent ear : for several virtues Have I lik'd several women ; never any With so full soul, but some defect in her Did quarrel with the noblest grace she ow'd, 4 And put it to the foil : But you, O you ! So perfect, and so peerless, are created Of every creature's best* Mira. I do not know One of my sex ; no woman's face remember, Save, from my glass, mine own ; nor have I seen More that I may call men, than you, good friend, And my dear father : how features are abroad, I am skill-less of; but, by my modesty, (The jewel in my dower,) I would not wish Any companion in the world but you ; Nor can imagination form a shape, Besides yourself, to like of : But I prattle Something too wildly, and my father's precepts 1 therein do forget. Fer. I am, in my condition, A prince, Miranda ; I do think, a king ; (I would, not so !) and would no more endure This wooden slavery, than to suffer * Behest. 4 Owned. 5 In the first book of Sidney's Arcadia, a lover says of his mis- tress : " She is herself of best things the collection." In the third book there is a fable which may have been in Shakespeare'* mind. 60 THE TEMPEST. ACT HI The flesh-fly blow my mouth. Hear my soul speak : The very instant that I saw you, did My heart fly to your service ; there resides, To make me slave to it ; and, for your sake, Am I this patient log-man. Mira. Do you love me t Per. O heaven ! O earth ! bear witness to this sound, And crown what I profess with kind event, If I speak true ; if hollowly, invert What best is boded me to mischief ! I, Beyond all limit of what else 6 i' the world, Do love, prize, honour you. Mira. I am a fool, To weep at what I am glad of. Pro. Fair encountei Of two most rare affections ! Heavens rain grace On that which breeds between them ! Fer. Wherefore weep you 1 Mira. At mine unworthiness, that dare not offei What I desire to give ; and much less take What I shall die to want : But this is trifling ; And all the more it seeks to hide itself, The bigger bulk it shows. Hence, bashful cunning And prompt me, plain and holy innocence ! [ am your wife, if you will marry me ; If not, I'll die your maid : to be your fellow 7 You may deny me ; but I'll be your servant, Whether you will or no. Fer. My mistress, dearest, And I thus humble ever. Mira. My husband then 1 ' What else, for wluttsoever else. 7 i. e. vour convoanion. THE TEMPEST. 67 Per Ay, with a heart as willing As bondage e'er of freedom: here's my hand. SGra. And mine, with my heart in't : And now farewell, Till half an hour hence. Fer. A thousand, thousand ! 8 [Exeunt FER. and MIR. Pro. So glad of this as they, I cannot be, Who are surpris'd with all ; but my rejoicing At nothing can be more. I'll to my book ; For yet, ere supper time, must I perform Much business appertaining. [Exit. SCENE II. Another part of the Island. Enter STEPHANO and TRINCULO ; CALIBAN follow ing wth a bottle. Ste. Tell not me : when the butt is out, we nill drink water ; not a drop before : therefore bear ap, and board 'em : Servant-monster, drink to me. Trin. Servant-monster ? the folly of this island ' They say, there's but five upon this isle : we are three of them ; if the other two be brain'd like us, the state totters. Ste. Drink, servant-monster, when I bid thee: thy eyes are almost set in thy head. Trin. Where should they be set else ? he were a brave monster indeed, if they were set in his tail. Ste. My man-monster hath drown'd his tongue in sack : for my part, the sea cannot drown me : 1 swam, ere I could recover the shore, five-aod-thirty leagues, off and on, by this light. Thou shall be uiy lieutenant, monster, or my standard. 1 * i. e. a thousand, thousand times farewell 1 i. e. ensign. Of* THE TEMPEST. ACT 11- Trin. Yoar lieutenant, if you list ; he's no standard. Ste. We'll not run, monsieur monster. Trin. Nor go neither : but you'll lie like dogs, and yet say nothing neither. Ste. Moon-calf, speak once in thy life, if thou heest a good moon-calf. Col. How does thy honour 1 Let me lick thy shoe : I'll not serve him, he is not valiant. Trin. Thou liest, most ignorant monster : I am in case to justle a constable : Why, thou debosh'd s fish thou, was there ever man a coward, that hath drunk so much sack as I to-day 1 Wilt thou tell a monstrous lie, being but half a fish, and half a monster ? Cal. Lo, how he mocks me ! wilt thou let him, my lord? Trin. Lord, quoth he ! that a monster should be such a natural ! Cal. Lo, lo, again ! bite him to death, I pr'ythee Ste. Trinculo, keep a good tongue in your head : if you prove a mutineer, the next tree The poor monster's my subject, and he shall not suffer in- dignity. Cai I thank my noble lord. Wilt thou be pleas'd to hearken once again to the suit I made thee ? Ste. Marry, will I: kneel, and repeat it: I will stand, and so shall Trinculo. Enter ARIEL, invisibk. Cal. As I told thee before, I am subject to a tyrant ; a sorcerer, that by his cunning hath cheated me of the island. * Deboshed is the old orthography of debauched ; following the sound of the French original. In altering the spelling we have departed from the proper pronunciation of the win* SC. II. THE TEMPEST. 69 Ari. Thou liest. Cal. Thou liest, thou jesting monkey, thou ! I would, my valiant master would destroy thee : I do not lie. Ste. Trinculo, if you trouble him any more in his tule, by this hand, I will supplant some of your teeth. Trin. Why, I said nothing. Ste. Mum then, and 110 more. [To CAL.] Pru ceed. CaL I say, by sorcery he got this isle ; From me he got it : If thy greatness will Revenge it on him, for, I know, thou dar'st ; But this thing dare not, Ste. That's most certain. Cal. thou shalt be lord of it, and I'll serve thee. Ste. How now shall this be compass'd 1 Canst thou bring me to the party 1 Cal. Yea, yea, my lord: I'll yield him thee asleep, Where thou mayst knock a nail into his head. Ari. Thou liest ; thou canst not. Cal. What a pied ninny's this ! 3 Thou scurvy patch ! I do beseech thy greatness, give him blows, And take his bottle from him : when that's gone, He shall drink nought but brine ; for I'll not show him Where the quick freshes 4 are. Ste. Trinculo, run into no further danger : inter- rupt the monster one word further, and, by this hand, I'll turn my mercy out of doors, and make a stock fish of thee. 8 He calls him a pied ninny, alluding to Trinculo's motley dress : he was a licensed fool or jester. * Quick freshes are living springs. 70 THE TEMPEST ACT I1L Trin. Why, what did 1 1 I did nothing : I'll go further off. Ste. Didst thou not say, he lied ? An. Thou liest. &te. Do I so 7 take thou that. [Strikes him.] As you like this, give me the lie another time. Trin. I did not give the lie : Out o' your wits and hearing too ? A pox o' your bottle ! this can sack and drinking do. A murrain on your mon- ster, and the devil take your fingers ! Col. Ha, ha, ha! Ste. Now, forward with your tale. Pr'ythee stand further off. CaL Beat him enough . after a little time, I'll beat him too. Ste. Stand further. Come, proceed. Col. Why, ns I told thee, 'tis a custom with him ['the afternoon to sleep: there thou mayst brain him, Having first seiz'd his books ; or with a log Batter his skull, or paunch him with a stake, Or cut his wezand 5 with thy knife. Remember, First to possess his books; for without them He's but a sot, 6 as I am, nor hath not One spirit to command : they all do hate him, As rootedly as I : Burn but his books. He has brave utensils, (for so he calls them,) Which, when he has a house, he'll deck withal : And that most deeply to consider, is The beauty of his daughter ; he himself CaLs her a nonpareil : I never saw a woman, But only Sycorax my dam, and she ; But she as far surpasseth Sycorax, As great'st does least. Ste. Is it so brave a lass 1 5 i. e. throat or windpipe. Sot here means fool ; from the French. 1C. II. THE TEMPEST. 71 CaL Ay, lord ; she will become thy bed, 1 warrant, And bring thee forth brave brood. Ste. Monster, I will kill tnis man : his daughter and I will be king and queen ; (save our graces ! ) and Trinculo and thyself shall be viceroys : Dost thou like the plot, Trinculo 1 Trin. Excellent. Ste. Give me thy hand ; I am sorry I beat thee : but,- while thou livest, keep a good tongue in thy head. Col. Within this half hour will he be asleep : Wilt thou destroy him then ? Ste. Ay, on mine honour. Ari. This will I tell my master. Col. Thou mak'st me merry : I am full of pleasure. Let us be jocund : Will you troll the catch You taught me but while-ere ? Ste. At thy request, monster, I will do reason, any reason : Come on, Trinculo, let us sing. [Sings* Flout 'em, and skout 'em ; and skout 'em, and flout 'em; Thought is free. Cal That's not the tune. [ARIEL plays the tune on a tabor and pipe, Ste. What is this same ? Trin. This is the tune of our catch, play'd by the picture of Nobody. 7 Ste. If thou beest a man, show thyself in thy likeness : if thou beest a devil, take't as thou list. Trin. O, forgive me my sins ! Ste. He that dies, pays all debts : I defy thee : Mercy upon us! 7 The picture of Nobody was a common sign, and consisted of a nead upon two legs, with arms. There was also a wood-cut prefixed to an old play of Nobody and Somebody, which repre nted this personage. H, 72 THE TEMPEST. ACT III. CaL Art thou afeard ? Ste. No, monster, not I. Col. Be not afeard ; the isle is full of noises, Sounds, and sweet airs, that give delight, and hurt not. Sometimes a thousand twangling instruments Will hum about mine ears ; and sometimes voices, That, if I then had wak'd after long sleep, Will make me sleep again : and then, in dreaming, The clouds, methought, would open, aud show riches Ready to drop upon me ; that, when I wak'd, I cry'd to dream again. Ste. This will prove a brave kingdom to me, Where I shall have my music for nothing. Gal. When Prospero is destroy'd. Ste. That shall be by and by : I remember the story. Trin. The sound is going away : let's follow it, and after do our work. Ste. Lead, monster ; we'll follow. I would I could see this laborer : 8 he lays it on. Trin. Wilt come ? I'll follow, Stephano. [Exeunt. SCENE III. Another part of the Island. Enter ALONZO, SEBASTIAN, ANTONIO, GONZALO, ADRIAN, FRANCISCO, and others. Goivi) ; for it was assured unto me, that the said bird died with that tree, and revived of itselfe as the tree sprung againe." Holland's Trans- lation of Pliny, B. xiii. C. 4. * Certainly. 6 Wonder. 7 " Praise in departing" is a proverbial phrase signifying, Do not praise your entertainment too soon, lest you should have rea- wm to retract your commeir'atioii. 8C. ID. THE TEMPEST. 7fi They vanish'd strangely. Seb. No matter, since They have left their viands behind ; for we have stomachs. Will't please you taste of what is here 1 Aim. Not I. Gon. Faith, sir, you need not fear. When we were boys, Who would believe that there were mountaineers Dew-lapp'd like bulls, whose throats had hanging at them Wallets of flesh 1 or that there were such men, Whose heads stood in their breasts ? which now we find, Each putter-out on five for one 8 will bring us Good warrant of. Alan. I will stand to and feed, Although my last : no matter, since I feel The best is past. Brother, my lord the duke, Stand to, and do as we. 8 A sort of inverted life-insurance was practised by travellers in Shakespeare's time. Before going- abroad they put out a sum of money, for which they were to receive two, three, four, or even five times the amount upon their return ; the rate being according to the supposed danger of the expedition. Of course the sum put out fell to the depositary, in case the putter-out did not return. Davies has an epigram of some point on this practice : " Lycus, which lately is to Venice gone, Shall, if he do return, gain three for one ; But, ten to one, his knowledge and his wit Will not be better'd or increas'd a whit." T men, " whose heads stood in their breasts," were probably the same that Othello speaks of : " The Anthropophagi, and men whose heads Do grow beneath their shoulders." Knight suggests that the report of " mountaineers dew-lapp'd like bulls " may have sprung from some remarkable cases of goitre, seen by travellers, but not understood H. 70 THE TEMPEST. ACT III. Thunder and lightning. Enter ARIEL like a harpy ; claps his icings upon the table, and, by a quaint device, the banquet vanishes. An. You are three men of sin, whom destiny (That hath to instrument this lower world, And what is in't) the never-surfeited sea Hath caused to belch up, and on this island Where man doth not inhabit ; you 'mongst men Being most unfit to live. I have made you mad ; [Seeing ALON. SEB. Sfc. draw their swords. And even with such like valour, men hang and drown Their proper selves. You fools ! I and my fellows Are ministers of fate : the Elements, Of whom your swords are temper'd, may as well Wound the loud winds, or with bemock'd-at stabs Kill the still-closing waters, as diminish One dowle 9 that's in my plume : my fellow ministers Are like invulnerable : If you could hurt, Your swords are now too massy for your strengths, And will not be uplifted. But) remember, (For that's my business to you,) that you three From Milan did supplant good Prospero ; Expos'd unto the sea, which hath requit it, Him, and his innocent child : for which foul deed The powers, delaying, not forgetting, have [ncens'd the seas and shores, yea all the creatures Against your peace : Thee, of thy son, Alonzo, They have bereft ; and do pronounce by me, Lingering perdition (worse than any death Can be at once) shall step by step attend You, and your ways ; whose wraths to guard you from (Which here, in this most desolate isle, else fall 9 Bailey, in his Dictionary, says that dowle is a feather, or Bather the single particles of the down. SC. III. THE TEMPEST. 77 Upon your heads,) is nothing, but heart's sorrow, And a clear life ensuing. He vanisJies in thunder : then, to soft music, enter the Shapes again, and dance with mops and mowes, and carry out tlie table. Pro. [Aside.'] Bravely the figure of this harpy hast thou Perform'd, my Ariel ; a grace it had, devouring : Of my instruction hast thou nothing 'bated, In what thou hadst to say : so, with good life, 10 And observation strange, my meaner ministers Their several kinds have done. My high charms work, And these, mine enemies, are all knit up In their distractions : they now are in my power ; And in these fits I leave them, whilst I visit Young Ferdinand, (whom they suppose is drown'd,) And his and my lov'd darling. [Exit PROSPERoyrom above. Gon. I' the name of something holy, sir, why stand you In this strange stare 1 Aim. O, it is monstrous ! monstrous ! Methought, the billows spoke, and told me of it ; The winds did sing it to me ; and the thunder, That deep and dreadful organ-pipe, pronounc'd The name of Prosper : it did bass my trespass. Therefore my son i' the ooze is bedded ; and I'll seek him deeper than e'er plummet sounded, And with him there lie mudded. [Exit, 10 With good life, i. e. with full bent and energy of mind Mr. Henley says that the expression is still in use in the west of Eng and. 78 THE TEMPEST. ACT IV Seb. But one fiend at a tune I'll fight their legions o'er. Ant. I'll be thy second. [Exeunt SEB. and ANT. Gon. All three of them are desperate : their great guilt, Like poison given to work a great time after," Now 'gins to bite the spirits. I do beseech you, That are of suppler joints, follow them swiftly, And hinder them from what this ecstasy IS May now provoke them to. Adr. Follow, I pray you. [Exeunt ACT IV. SCENE I. Before PROSPERO'S Cell. Enter PROSPERO, FERDINAND, and MIRANDA. Pro. If I have too austerely punish'd you, Your compensation makes amends; for I Have given you here a thread of mine own life, Or that for which I live ; whom once again I tender to thy hand : all thy vexations Were but my trials of thy love, and thou 11 The natives of Africa have been supposed to possess the secret how to temper poisons with such art as not to operate till several years after they were administered. Their drugs were then as certain in their effect as subtle in their preparation. 11 Shakespeare uses ecstasy for any temporary alienation of mind, a fit, or madness ; as in Hamlet ; " That unmatch'd form and feature of b'own youth. Blasted with ecstasy ; " and again i This bodiless creation ecstaty Is very cunning in." B. 6C. I. THE TEMPEST 79 Hast strangely stood the test : here, afore Heaven, I ratify this my rich gift. O Ferdinand ! Do not smile at me, that I boast her off, For thou shalt find she will outstrip all praise, And make it halt behind her. Fer. I do believe it, Against an oracle. Pro. Then, as my gift, and thine own acquisition Worthily purchas'd, take my daughter : But If thou dost break her virgin knot ' before All sanctimonious ceremonies may With full and holy rite be minister'd, No sweet aspersion * shall the heavens let fall To make this contract grow ; but barren hate, Sour-ey'd disdain, and discord, shall bestrew The union of your bed with weeds so loathly, That you shall hate it both : therefore, take heed, As Hymen's lamps shall light you. Fer. As I hope For quiet days, fair issue, and long life, With such love as 'tis now ; the murkiest den, The most opportune place, the strong'st sugges- tion* Our worser Genius can, shall never melt Mine honour into lust; to take away The edge of that day's celebration, When I shall think, or Phoebus' steeds are founder'd, Or night kept chain'd below. Pro. Fairly spoke ; The same expression occurs in Pericles. Mr. Henley sayi that it is a manifest allusion to the zones of the ancients, which were worn as guardians ef chastity before marriage. ' Aspersion is here used in its primitive sense of sprinkling: at present it is used in its figurative sense of throwing out hfnU of calumny and detraction Suggestion nere means temptation- or wicked prompting. 80 THE TEMPEST. ACT IV Sit then, and talk with her ; she is thine own. What, Ariel ! my industrious servant Ariel ! Enter ARIEL. An. What would my potent master ? here I am Pro. Thou and thy meaner fellows your last ser- vice Did worthily perform ; and I must use you In such another trick : Go, bring the rabble, O'er whom I give thee power, here, to this place Incite them to quick motion ; for I must Bestow upon the eyes of this young couple Some vanity 4 of mine art : it is my promise. And they expect it from me. Ari. Presently ? Pro. Ay, with a twink. Ari. Before you can say, " Come," and " go,*' And breathe twice ; and cry, " so, so ; " Each one, tripping on his toe, Will be here with mop and mowe : Do you love me, master 1 no ? Pro. Dearly, my delicate Ariel : Do not approach, Till thou dost hear me call. Ari. Well ; I conceive. [Exit Pro. Look, thou be true : do not give dalliance Too much the rein ; the strongest oaths are straw To the fire i' the blood : Be more abstemious, Or else, good night your vow ! Fer. I warrant you, sir . The white-cold virgin snow upon my heart Abates the ardour of my liver. 8 Pro. Well. 4 i. e. show or exhibition. The liver was anciently supposed to be the seat of the pas nons ; hence often put for the passions themselves. H SC. I THE TEMPEST. 81 Now come, ray Ariel ! bring a corollary,* Rather than want a spirit : appear, and pertly. No tongue, all eyes ; be silent. [Soft music. A Masque. Enter IRIS. Iris. Ceres, most bounteous lady, thy rich leas Of wheat, rye, barley, vetches, oats, and peas ; Thy turfy mountains, where live nibbling sheep, And flat meads thatch'd with stover, 7 them to keep ; Thy banks with peonied and lilied brims, 8 Which spongy April at thy hest betrims, To make cold nymphs chaste crowns ; and thy broom groves, Whose shadow the dismissed bachelor loves, 8 i. e. bring more than enough ; corollary meaning a surplus number. H. 7 Stover is fodder for cattle, as hay, straw, and such like ; still used thus in the north of England. H. 8 The original has " pioned and twilled brims ; " which reading some late editors have retained, taking pioned to mean dug, a sense in which it is used by Spenser, and twilled to mean ridged, or made into ridges, a sense which it yet bears in reference to some kinds of linen. Knight says : " Any one who has seen the operation of banking and ditching in early spring, so essential to the proper drainage of land, must recognize the propriety of Shakespeare's epithets." Still this strikes us as so discordant a note, it so untunes the harmony of the passage, that we cannot but think the original reading a misprint for the one proposed by Steevens and VVarton. Milton, whose poetical language is so much formed upon Shakespeare's as often to afford the best com- ment upon him, has in his Arcades the line : " By sandy Ladon's lilied banks ; " which, as Warton says, is " an authority for reading lilied instead of twilled in a verse of The Tempest ; " and he adds, " lilied seems to have been no uncommon epithet for the banks of a river." Henley urges in behalf of the old reading, that pionies and lilies never bloom in April ; which is refuted by a passage in Lord Bacon's Essay "Of Gardens:" "In April follow the double white violet, the wall-flower, the stock-gilly-flower, the cowslip, flower-de-luces, and lilies of all natures ; rose-mary flower?, the tulip, the double piony, the pale daffodil," &,c. Bui the tnair t* THE TEMPEST. ACT IV Being luss-lorn ; 9 thy pole-clipt vineyaid ; And thy sea-marge, steril, and rocky-hard, Where thou thyself dost air ; the queen o' the sky Whose watery arch, and messenger, am I, Bids thee leave these, and with her sovereign grace, Here on this grass-plot, in this very place. To come and sport : Her peacocks fly amain : Approach, rich Ceres, her to entertain. Enter CERES. Cer. Hail, many-colour'd messenger, that ne'er Dost disobey the wife of Jupiter; Who, with thy saffron wings upon my flowers Diffusest honey-drops, refreshing showers ; 10 And with each end of thy blue bow dost crown My bosky " acres, and my unshrubb'd down, Rich scarf to my proud earth ; why hath thy queen Summon 'd me hither, to this short-grass'd green 1 Iris. A contract of true love to celebrate ; And some donation freely to estate On the bless'd lovers. objection to the old reading' lies in the words, " to make cold nymphs chaste crowns," which apparently refer to the popular belief touching the flowers in question. Lyte, in his Herbal, says, " One kind of peonie is called by some, maiden or virgin peonie." And Pliny mentions the water-lily as a preserver of chastity ; and Edward Fenton, in his Secret Wonders of Nature, 1569, says, " The water-lily mortifieth altogether the appetite of sensuality, and defends from unchaste thoughts." H. 9 i. e. forsaken by his lass. Pole-clipt vineyard refers to vines that clip, clasp the poles that support them. H. 13 Mr. Douce remarks that this is an elegant expansion of the following lines in Phaer's Virgil, JEneid, Lib. iv. " Dame Rainbow down therefore with safron wings of dropping Siiowres, Whose face a thousand sundry hues against the sun devoures, From heaven descending came." 11 Bosky acres are woody acres, fields intersected by luxuriant hedge-rows and copses. C. I. THE TEMPEST. 83 Ccr. Tell me, heavenly bow, If Venus, or her son, as thou dost know, Do now attend the queen ? since they did plot The means, that dusky Dis my daughter got. Her and her blind boy's scandal'd company 1 have forsworn. Iris. Of her society Be not afraid : I met her deity Cutting the clouds towards Paphos ; and her son Dove-drawn with her : Here thought they to have done Some wanton charm upon this man and maid. Whose vows are, that no bed-rite shall be paid Till Hymen's torch be lighted ; but in vain : Mars's hot minion is return 'd again ; Her waspish-headed son has broke his arrows, Swears he will shoot no more, but play with sparrows, And be a boy right out. Ccr. Highest queen of state, Great Juno comes : I know her by her gait. Enter JUNO. Juno. How does my bounteous sister ? Go with me, To bless this twain, that they may prosperous be. And honour'd in their issue. Song. June. Honour, riches, marriage-blessing, Long continuance, and increasing. Hourly joys be still upon you ! Juno sings her blessings on you. Cer Earth's increase, foison plenty, Barns and garners never empty ; Vines, with clust'ring branches growing; Plants, with goodly burden bowing ; 84 THE TEMPEST. ACT FV Spring come to you, at the farthest. In the very end of harvest ! Scarcity and want shall shun you ; Ceres' blessing so is on you. Fer. This is a most majestic vision, and Harmonious charmingly : I2 May I be bold To think these spirits 1 Pro. Spirits, which by mine art t have from their confines call'd, to enact My present fancies. Fer. Let me live here ever ; So rare a wonder'd l3 father, and a wise, Makes this place Paradise. [.TUNO and CERES whisper, and send IRIS on employment. Pro. Sweet now, silence : Juno and Ceres whisper seriously ; There's something else to do : hush, and be mute, Or else our spell is marr'd. Iris. You nymphs, call'd Naiads, of the winding brooks, With your sedg'd crowns, and ever harmless looks, Leave your crisp u channels, and on tliis green land Answer your summons : Juno does command. Come, temperate nymphs, and help to celebrate A contract of true love ; be not too late. Enter certain Nymphs. You sun-burn 'd sicklemen, of August weary, Come lu'ther from the furrow, and be merry ; '* i. e. charmingly harmonious. 13 i. e. a father able to produce such wondors. 14 Crisp channels ; i. e. curled, from the curl raised by a breeze on the surface of the water. So in 1 K. Hen. IV. Act i. sc. 3 " hid his crisp head in the hollow hank." oC. I THE TEMPEST. 85 Make holiday : your rye-straw hats put on, And these fresh nymphs encounter every one In country footing. Enter certain Reapers, properly habited: they join urith tJie Nymphs in a graceful dance; towards the end whereof PB.OSPERO starts suddenly, and speaks ; after which, to a strange, hollow, and con- fused noise, they heavily vanish. Pro. [Aside.'] I had forgot that foul conspiracy Of the beast Caliban, and his confederates, Against my life ; the minute of their plot Is almost come. [To ilie, Spirits.] Well done : avoid ; no more. Per. This is strange : your father's in some passion That works him strongly. Mira. Never till tliis day, Saw I liim touch'd with anger so distemper'd. Pro. You do look, my son, in a mov'd sort, As if you were dismay'd: be cheerful, sir. Our revels now are ended : These our actors, As I foretold you, were all spirits, and Are melted into air, into thin air : And, like the baseless fabric of this vision, The cloud-capp'd towers, the gorgeous palaces, The solemn temples, the great globe itself, Yea, all wliich it inherit, shall dissolve ; And, like this insubstantial pageant faded," Leave not a rack behind. 16 We are such stuff '* i. e. vanished, from the Latin vado. The ancient English figeants were shows, on the reception of princes or other festive occasions ; they were exhibited on stages in the open air. 18 Rack, according to Home Tooke, is vapour, from reek. It here means, apparently, the highest aud therefore lightest clouds- Lord Bacon says : " The winds which *-ave the clouds above which we call the rack, are not perceived below, pass without noise." 8 r*f THE TEMPEST. ACT IV As dreams are made on, and our little life Is rounded with a sleep. 17 Sir, am vex'd : Bear with my weakness ; my old brain is troubled : Be riot disturb'd with my infirmity. If you be pleas'd, retire into my cell, And there repose : a turn or two I'll walk, To still my beating mind. Far. Mira. We wish your peace. [Exeunt Pro. Come with a thought : I thank thee : Ariel, come ! Enter ARIEL. An. Thy thoughts I cleave to : What's thy pleasure 1 ? Pro. Spirit, We must prepare to meet with Caliban. 18 17 In the tragedy of Darius, by Lord Sterline, printed in 1603, is a passage that has something of the same train of thought with Shakespeare : '< And when the eclipse comes of our glory's light Then what avails the adoring of a name ? A mere illusion made to mock the sight, Whose best was but the shadow of a dream. Let greatness of her glassy sceptres vaunt, Not sceptres, no, but reeds, soon bruis'd, soon broken ; And let this worldly pomp our wits enchant, All fades, and scarcely leaves behind a token. Those golden palaces, those gorgeous halls, With furniture superfluously fair, Those stately courts, those sky-encountering walls, Evanish all, like vapours in the air.'' It is evident that one poet wrote somewhat from the other, and Shakespeare was doubtless the borrower ; it being far more credi- ble that he should thus glorify what he took, than that any one could thus deflower in taking. Besides, The Tempest was written after 1603. H. 18 To meet with was anciently the same as to counteract, 01 oppose. So in Herbert'* " Country Parson : " " He knows the temper and pulse of every tne in his house, and accordingly eithet meets with their vices, or advanceth their virtues." H. SC. 1. THE TEMPEST. 87 Ari. Ay, my commander : when I presented Ceres, 1 thought to have told thee of it ; but I fear'd, Lest I might anger thee. Pro. Say again, where didst thou leave these varlets ? Ari. I told you, sir, they were red-hot with drinking; So full of valour, that they smote the air For breathing in their faces ; beat the ground For kissing of their feet ; yet always bending Towards their project : Then I beat my tabor, At wliich, like unback'd colts, they prick'd their ears, Advanc'd their eye-lids, lifted up their noses, As they smelt music : 19 so I charm M their ears, That, calf-like, they my lowing follow'd, through Tooth'd briers, sharp furzes, pricking gorse, and thorns, Which enter'd their frail shins : at last I left them I' the filthy mantled pool beyond your cell, There dancing up to the chins, that the foul lake O'er-stunk their feet. Pro. This was well done, my bird : Thy shape invisible retain thou still : The trumpery in my house, go, bring it liither, For stale 20 to catch these thieves. Ari. I go, I go. [Eril. Pro. A devil, a born devil, on whose nature Nurture can never stick ; on whom my pains, Humanely taken, all, all lost, quite lost ; And as with age lus body uglier grows, 19 This, we are told, is an accurate description of the effect music has upon colts. " On first hearing even a trumpet, instead of being terrified, they will often advance, and thrust their nose np to the very mouth" (bell?) "of the instrument, while it a >>lown, provided this be done with some consideration." H. * Stiilf. in tie art of fowling, signified a bait or lure to decoy birds 38 THE TEMPEST. ACT IV So his mind cankers : I will plague them all, Re-enter ARIEL louden with glistering apparel, fife Even to roaring : Come, hang them on this line PROSPERO and ARIEL remain invisible. Enter CALI- BAN, STEPHANO, and TRINCULO, all wet. CaL Pray you, tread softly, that the blind mole may not Hear a foot fall : we now are near his cell. Ste. Monster, your fairy, which, you say, is a harmless fairy, has done little better than play'd the Jack with us. 21 Trin. Monster, I do smell all horse-piss ; at which my nose is in great indignation. Ste. So is mine. Do you hear, monster 1 If I should take a displeasure against you, look you, Trin. Thou wert but a lost monster. CaL Good my lord, give me thy favour still : Be patient, for the prize I'll bring thee to Shall hood-wink this mischance : therefore, speak softly ; All's hush'd as midnight yet. Trin. Ay, but to lose our bottles in the pool, Ste. There is not only disgrace and dishonour in that, monster, but an infinite loss. Trin. That's more to me than my wetting : yet this is your harmless fairy, monster. Ste. I will fetch off my bottle, though I be over ears for my labour. Cal. Pr'ythee, my king, be quiet: Seest thou here 1 Tliis is the mouth of the cell : no noise, and enter 81 To play the Jack, was to play the Knave ; or it may have been, to play the Jack o' lantern, by leading them astray. H C. 1. THE TEMPEST. 89 Do that good mischief, which may make tliis island Thine own for ever, and I, thy Caliban, For aye thy foot-licker. Ste. Give me thy hand : I do begin to have bloody thoughts. Trin. O king Stephano ! O peer ! " O worthy .Stephano ! look, what a wardrobe here is for thee ! CaL Let it alone, thou fool : it is but trash. Trin. O, ho, monster ! we know what belongs, to a frippery : * 3 O king Stephano ! Ste. Put off that gown, Trinculo : by this hand, I'll have that gown. Trin. Thy grace shall have it. CaL The dropsy drown this fool ! what do you mean, To dote thus on such luggage 1 Let's along,* 4 And do the murder first : if he awake, From toe to crown he'll fill our skins with pinches ; Make us strange stuff. Ste. Be you quiet, monster. Mistress line, is not this my jerkin ? Now is the jerkin under the line : now, jerkin, you are like to lose your hair, and prove a bald jerkin. Trin. Do, do : We steal by line and level, an't like your grace. Ste. I thank thee for that jest ; here's a garment for't : wit shall not go unrewarded, while I am king of this country : " Steal by line and level," is an ex- cellent pass of pate ; there's another garment for't. Trin. Monster, come, put some lime " upon your fingers, and away with the rest. n This is a humourous allusion to the old ballad " King Stephen was a worthy peer," of which lago sings a verse in Othello. 13 A shop for the sale of old clothes. Fripparie, FR. 84 The old copy reads, " Let's alone." 16 i. e. bird-lime. 90 THE TEMPEST. ACT IV CaL I will have none on't : we shall lose our time And all be turn'd to barnacles, 26 or to apes With foreheads villainous low. Ste. Monster, lay-to your fingers : help to bear this away, where my hogshead of wine is, or T'll turn you out of my kingdom : Go to, carry this. Trin. And this. Ste. Ay, and this. A noise of hunters heard. Enter divers Spirits in shape of hounds, and hunt them about ; PROSPERO and ARIEL setting them on. Pro. Hey, Mountain, hey! Ari. Silver ! there it goes, Silver ! Pro. Fury ! Fury ! there, Tyrant, there ! hark, hark ! [CAL. STE. and TRIN. are driven out. (TO, charge my goblins that they grind their joints With dry convulsions ; shorten up their sinews With aged cramps ; and more pinch-spotted make them, Than pard 2T or cat o' mountain. Ari. Hark, they roar. Pro. Let them be hunted soundly : At tliis hour Lie at my mercy all mine enemies : Shortly shall all my labours end, and thou Shalt have the air at freedom : for a little, Follow, and do me service. [Exeunt. * The barnacle is a kind of shell-fish, Upas anatifera, which ancient credulity believed to produce the barnacle-goose. Bishop Hall refers to it in the second Satire of his fourth Book : " That Scottish barnacle, if I might choose, That of a worm doth wax a winged goose." Caliban's barnacle is the clakis, or tree-goose. 87 i. e. 'eopard THE TEMPEST. ill ACT V. SCENE I. Before the Cell of PROSPERO. Enter PROSPERO in his magic robes, and ARIEL, Pro. Now does ray project gather to a head : My charms crack not ; my spirits obey ; and time Goes upright with his carriage. How's the day ? Ari. On the sixth hour ; at which time, my lord, You said our work should cease. Pro. I did say so, When first I rais'd the tempest. Say, my spirit, How fares the king and's followers ? Ari. Confin'd together In the same fashion as you gave in charge ; Just as you left them : all prisoners, sir, In the line-grove which weather-fends l your cell : They cannot budge, till your release. 8 The king, His brother, and yours, abide all three distracted ; And the remainder mourning over them, Brim-full of sorrow, and dismay ; but chiefly Him you term'd, sir, "The good old lord, GOIK zalo : " His tears run down liis beard, like winter's drops From eaves of reeds : Your charm so strongly works them, That if you now beheld them, your affections Would become tender. Pro. Dost thou think so, spirit t Ari. Mine would, sir, were I human. 1 i. e. defends from the weather. Line-grove is usually printed Kme-grove ; but line-tree is the true name of the tree referred to and it stands so in all the old copies. v 8 i e. until .you release them. 92 THE TEMPEST. ACT V Pro. And mine shall Hast thou, which art but air, a touch, a feeling Of their afflictions, and shall not myself, One of their kind, that relish all as sharply, Passion as they, be kindlier mov'd than thou art 1 Though with their high wrongs I am struck to the quick, Yet, with my nobler reason, 'gainst my fury Do I take part : The rarer action is In virtue than in vengeance : they being penitent, The sole drift of my purpose doth extend Not a frown further. Go, release them, Ariel : My charms I'll break, their senses I'll restore, And they shall be themselves. An. I'll fetch them, sir. [Exit. Pro. Ye elves of hills, brooks, standing lakes, and groves ; 3 And ye, that on the sands with printless foot Do chase the ebbing Neptune, and do fly him When he comes back ; you demy-puppets, that By moon-shine do the green-sour ringlets make, Whereof the ewe not bites ; and you, whose pastime Is to make midnight-mushrooms ; that rejoice To hear the solemn curfew ; by whose aid (Weak masters though ye be 4 ) I have be-dimm'd The noon-tide sun, call'd forth the mutinous winds. And 'twixt the green sea and the azur'd vault Set roaring war : to the dread rattling thunder Have I given fire, and rifted Jove's stout oak With his own bolt : the strong-bas'd promontory Have I made shake, and by the spurs pluck'd up * This speech is in some measure borrowed from Medea's, u> Ovid ; the expressions are, many of them, in the old translation by Goiding. But the exquisite fairy imagery is Shakespeare's own 4 i. e. ye are powerful auxiliaries, but weak if left to yourselves; jrour employments being of 'he trivial nature before: mentioned. SC. I. THE TEMPEST. 93 The pine, and cedar : graves, at my command, Have wak'd their sleepers ; op'd, and let them forth By my so potent art : But this rough magic I here abjure : and, when I have requir'd Some heavenly music, (which even now I do,) To work mine end upon their senses, that This airy charm is for, I'll break my staff, Bury it certain fathoms in the earth, And, deeper than did ever plummet sound, I'll drown my book. [Solemn music. He-enter ARIEL : after him, ALONZO, with a frantic gesture, attended by GONZALO ; SEBASTIAN and ANTONIO in like manner, attended by ADRIAN and FRANCISCO : They all enter the circle which PROS- PERO had made, and there stand charmed; which PROSPERO observing, speaks. A solemn air, and the best comforter To an unsettled fancy, cure thy brains, Now useless, boil'd within thy skull ! 5 There stand, For you are spell-stopp'd. Holy Gonzalo, honourable man, Mine eyes, even sociable to the show of thine, Fall fellowly drops. The charm dissolves apace ; And as the morning steals upon the night, Melting the darkness, so their rising senses Begin to chase the ignorant fumes that mantle Their clearer reason. O thou good Gonzalo ! O My true preserver, and a loyal sir To him thou follow'st, I will pay thy graces Home, both in word and deed. Most cruelly Didst thou, Alonzo, use me and my daughter : 6 So in A Midsummer-Night's Dream : " Lovers and madmen have such seething brains." 94 THE TEMPEST ACT V Thy brother was a fiirtherer in the act ; Thou'rt pinch'd for't now, Sebastian. Flesh and blood, You brother mine, that entertain'd ambition, Expell'd remorse and nature ; 6 who with Sebastian, (Whose inward pinches therefore are most strong,) Would here have kill'd your king ; I do forgive thec, Unnatural though thou art ! Their understanding Begins to swell ; and the approaching tide . Will shortly fill the reasonable shores, That now lie foul and muddy. Not one of them, That yet looks on me, or would know me : Ariel, Fetch me the hat and rapier in my cell ; [Exit ARTEL. I will disease me, and myself present, As I was sometime Milan : quickly, spirit ; Thou shall ere long be free. ARIEL re-enters, singing, and helps to attire PROSPERO. Jbi. Where the bee sucks, there suck I ; In a cowslip's bell I lie ; There I couch when owls do cry : On the bat's back I do fly After summer, merrily. 7 Merrily, merrily, shall I live now, Under the blossom that hangs on the bough. 8 * Remorse is pity, tenderness of heart ; nature is natural ajfectit n 7 " At night, ' when owls do cry,' Ariel couches ' in a cowslip's bell ; ' and he uses < the bat's back ' as his pleasant vehicle, to pursue summer in its progress round the world, and thus live merrily under continual blossoms." Such appears the most nat- ural as well as most poetical meaning of this much disputed pas- sage. As a matter of fact, however, bats do not migrate in quest of summer, but become torpid in winter. Was the Poet ignorant 01 this, or did he disregard it, thinking that such beings as Ariel were not bound to observe the rules of natural history ? H. 8 This was the received opinion: so in Fairfax's Tasso. Book iv. stanza I 1 * ; SC. t. THE TEMPEST. 95 Pro. Why, that's my dainty Ariel ! I shall misa thee ; But yet thou shall have freedom : so, so, so. - To the king's ship, invisible as thou art : There shalt thou find the mariners asleep Under the hatches : the master and the boatswain Being awake, enforce them to this place, And presently, I pr'ythee. Ari. I drink the air before me, and return Or e'er your pulse twice beat. [Exit ARIEL. Gon. All torment, trouble, wonder, and amaze- ment Inhabit here : Some heavenly power guide .us Out of this fearful country ! Pro. Behold, sir king, The wronged duke of Milan, Prospero : For more assurance that a living prince Does now speak to thee, I embrace thy body , And to thee and thy company, I bid A hearty welcome. Alon. Whe'r 9 thou beest he, or no, Or some enchanted trifle to .abuse me, As late I have been, I not know : thy pulse Beats, as of flesh and blood ; and, since I saw thee The affliction of my mind amends, with which, I fear, a madness held me : This must crave, (An if this be at all,) a most strange story. Thy dukedom I resign ; and do entreat Thou pardon me my wrongs : But how should Prospero Be living, and be here 1 '< The goblins, fairies, fiends, and furies mad, Ranged in flow-He dales, and raountaines hore And under every trembling leaftliey tit." 9 Whether. 9fi THE TEMPEST. ACT V Pro. First, noble friend, Let me embrace thine age ; whose honour cannot Be measur'd. or confin'd. Gon. Whether this be, Or be not, I'll not swear. Pro. You do yet taste Some subtilties I0 o' the isle, that will not let you Believe things certain. Welcome, my friends all: [Aside to SEE. and ANT.] But you, my brace of lords, were I so minded, I here could pluck his highness' frown upon you, And justify you traitors : at this time I'll tell no tales. Seb. [Aside.] The devil speaks in him. Pro. No : For you, most wicked sir, whom to call brother Would even infect my mouth, I do forgive Thy rankest fault ; all of them ; and require My dukedom of thee, which, perforce, I know, Thou must restore. Alon. If thou beest Prospero, Give us particulars of thy preservation : How thou hast met us here, who three hours since Were wreck'd upon this shore ; where I have lost (How sharp the point of this remembrance is !) IVIy dear son Ferdinand. Pro. I am woe n for't, sir. Alon. Irreparable is the loss ; and Patience Says, it is past her cure. Pro. I rather think, You have not sought her help ; of whose soft grace, 10 Subtilttet are quaint deceptive inventions ; the word is com mon to ancient cookery, in which a disguised or ornamented disb is so UTiuetL n I am sorry for it. SC. I. THE TEMPEST. 97 For the like loss, I have her sovereign aid, And rest myself content. Alan. You the like loss ? Pro. As great to me, as late ; 12 and supportable To make the dear loss, have I means much weaker Than you may call to comfort you ; for I Have lost my daughter. 4/o. A daughter ? heavens ! that they were living both in Naples, The king and queen there ! that they were, I wish Myself were mudded in that oozy bed Where my son lies. When did you lose your daughter ? Pro. In this last tempest. I perceive, these lords At this encounter do so much admire, That they devour their reason ; and scarce think Their eyes do offices of truth, their words Are natural breath : but, howsoe'er you have Been justled from your senses, know for certain, That I am Prospero, and that very duke Which was thrust forth of Milan ; who most strangely Upon this shore, where you were wreck'd, wan landed, To be the lord on't. No more yet of this ; For 'tis a chronicle of day by day, Not a relation for a breakfast, nor Befitting this first meeting. Welcome, sir ; This cell's my court : here have I few attendants, And subjects none abroad : pray you, look in. My dukedom since you have given me again, 1 will requite you with as good a thing ; At least, bring forth a wonder to content ye, As much as me my dukedom. w i. e. as great to me, and as late. 98 THE TEMPEST. ACT ? The entrance of the Cell opens, and discovers FERDI NAND and MIRANDA playing at chest. Mira. Sweet lord, you play me false. Per. No, my dearest love, I would not for the world. Mira. Yes, for a score of kingdoms you should wrangle, And I would call it fair play. Alon. If this prove A vision of the island, one dear son Shall I twice lose." Seb. A most high miracle ! Fer. Though the seas threaten, they are merciful : i have curs'd them without cause. [Kneels to ALON. Alon. Now, all the blessings Of a glad father compass thee about ! Arise, and say how thou cam'st here. Mira. O, wonder ! How many goodly creatures are there here ! How beauteous mankind is ! O brave new world, That has such people in't ! Pro. 'Tis new to thee. Alon. What is this maid, with whom thou wast at play 1 Your eld'st acquaintance cannot be three hours : Is she the goddess that hath sever'd us, And brought us thus together 1 Fer. Sir, she's mortal ; But, by immortal Providence, she's mine : I chose her, when I could not ask my father For his advice ; nor thought I had one : She 13 The sense of this passage is not altogether clear. The word not seems wanting after prove ; unless if have by some means got substituted for but. Alonzo has lost his son once, and if this which fie now sees prove not a mere vision, he will have to lose bin egam. H. SC. I. THE TEMPEST. 99 Is daughter to this famous duke of Milan, Of whom so often I have 4 heard renown, But never saw before ; of whom I have Receiv'd a second life, and second father This lady makes him to me. Alon. I am hers : But O ! how oddly will it sound, that I Must ask my child forgiveness. Pro. There, sir, stop : Let us not burden our remembrances With heaviness that's gone. Gon. I have inly wept, Or should have spoke ere this. Look down, you gods, And on this couple drop a blessed crown ; For it is you, that have chalk'd forth the way Which brought us hither ! Alon. I say, Amen, Gonzalo 1 Gon. Was Milan thrust from Milan, that his issue Should become kings of Naples ? O ! rejoice Beyond a common joy : and set it down With gold on lasting pillars : In one voyage Did Claribel her husband find at Tunis ; And Ferdinand, her brother, found a wife Where he himself was lost ; Prospero his dukedom In a poor isle ; and all of us, ourselves, When no man was his own. 14 Alon. [ To FER. and MIRA.] Give me your hands Let grief and sorrow still embrace his heart, That doth not wish you joy ! Gon. Be't so ! Amen ! Re-enter ARIEL, loith the Master and Boatswain amazedly following. look, sir, look, sir ! here are more of us. ' i. e. when no man was in his senses, or had self-possttrio* 100 THE TEMPEST. ACT V 1 prophesied, if a gallows were on land, This fellow could not drown : Now, blasphemy, That swear'st grace o'erboard, not an oath on shore ! Hast thou no mouth by land ? What is the news ? Boats. The best news is, that we have safely found Our king, and company : the next, our ship, Which, but three glasses since, we gave out split, Is tight, and yare, 15 and bravely rigg'd, as when We first put out to sea. Ari. Sir, all this service ~) Have I done since I went. > [Aside. Pro. My tricksy 18 spirit ! j Alon. These are not natural events ; they strengthen From strange to stranger : Say, how came you hither ? Boats. If I did think, sir, I were well awake, I'd strive to tell you. We were dead of sleep, And (how we know not) all clapp'd under hatches, Where, but even now, with strange and several noises Of roaring, shrieking, howling, jingling chains, And more diversity of sounds, all horrible, We were awak'd ; straightway at liberty : Where we, in all her trim, freshly beheld Our royal, good, and gallant ship ; our master Capering to eye her : On a trice, so please you, Even in a dream, were we divided from them, And were brought moping hither. Ari. Was't well done ? ^ Pro. Bravely, my diligence. Thou shall > [Aside be free. ) Alon. This is as strange a maze as e'er men trod And there is in this business more than nature 15 i e. ready. ' i. e. adroit, nimhl" SC. 1. THE TEMPEST. 101 Was ever conduct of : " some oracle Must rectify our knowledge. Pro. Sir, my liege, Do not infest your mind with beating on '" The strangeness of this business : at pick'd leisure^ Which shall be shortly, single I'll resolve you, (Which to you shall seem probable,) of every These happen'd accidents : till when, be cheerful, And think of each tiling well. [.Aside.] Come hither, spirit : Set Caliban and his companions free ; Untie the spell. [Exit ARIEL.] How fares my gra- cious sir 1 There are yet missing of your company Some few odd lads, that you remember not. Re-enter ARIEL, driving in CALIBAN, STEPHANO, and TRINCULO, in their stolen apparel. Ste. Every man shift for all the rest, and let no man take care for himself ; for all is but fortune : Coragio, bully-monster, coragio ! Trin. If these be true spies which I wear in my head, here's a goodly sight. Cal. O Setebos ! these be brave spirits, indeed ! How fine my master is ! I am afraid He will chastise me. Seb. Ha, ha ! What things are these, my lord Antonio ? Will money buy them 1 Ant. Very like : one of them Is a plain fish, and, no doubt, marketable. Pro. Mark but the badges of these men, my lords* 17 Conductor of. 18 There is a vulgur expression stil La use, of similar import " Still hammering at it." 102 THE TEMPEST. ACT V Then say, if they be true : >9 This misshapen knave, His mother was a witch ; and one so strong That could control the moon, make flows and ebbs, And deal in her command, without her power : * These three have robb'd me ; and this demi-devil, (For he's a bastard one,) had plotted with them To take my life : two of these fellows you Must know, and own ; this thing of darkness I Acknowledge mine. Col. I shall be pinch'd to death. Alon. Is not this Stephano, my drunken butler ? Seb. He is drunk now : Where had he wine ? Alon, And Trinculo is reeling ripe : Where should they Find this grand liquor that hath gilded them ? 21 How cam'st thou in this pickle ? Trin. I have been in such a pickle, since I saw you last, that, I fear me, will never out of my bones : I shall not fear fly-blowing. Seb. Why, how now, Stephano ? Ste. O ! touch me not : I am not Stephano, but a cramp. Pro. You'd be king of the isle, sirrah ? Ste. I should have been a sore one then. Alon. This is as strange a thing as e'er I look'd on. [Pointing to CALIBAN, Pro. He is as disproportion'd in his manners, As in his shape : Go, sirrah, to my cell ; 19 Honest. * i. e. work the same effects as the moon without her del gated authority. 81 The phrase of being gilded was a trite one for being drunk Fletcher uses it in The Chances, Act iv. sc. 3 : " Duke. Is she not drunk too ? Con A little gilded o'er, sir : old sack, ?4d sack, boy* SC. 1. . THE TEMPEST. 103 Take with you your companions : as you look To have my pardon, trim it handsomely. Col. Ay, that I will ; and I'll be wise hereafter, And seek for grace : What a thrice double ass Was I, to take this drunkard for a god, And worship this dull fool 7 Pro. Go to ; away I Alon. Hence, and bestow your luggage wnere you found it. Scb. Or stole it, rather. [Exeunt CAL. STE. and Turn. Pro. Sir, I invite your highness, and your train, To my poor cell : where you shall take your rest For this one night ; which, part of it, I'll waste With such discourse, as, I not doubt, shall make it Go quick away : the story of my life, And the particular accidents gone by, Since I came to this isle : And in the morn I'll bring you to your ship, and so to Naples, Where I have hope to see the nuptial Of these our dear-beloved solemniz'd ; And thence retire me to my Milan, where Every third thought shall be m) grave. Alon. I long To hear the story of your life, which must Take the ear strangely. Pro. I'll deliver all ; And promise you calm seas, auspicious gales, And sail so expeditious, that shall catch Your royal fleet far off. My Ariel. chick, That is thy charge : then to the elements ; Be free, and fare thou well! Please you, drtwi near. [Exeunt 104 THE TEMPEST. EPILOGUE. SPOKEN BY PROSPE8O. Now my charms are all o'erthrown. And what strength I have's mine own Which is most faint : now, 'tis true, I must be here confin'd by you, Or sent to Naples : Let me not, Since I have my dukedom got, And pardon'd the deceiver, dwell In this bare island by your spell ; But release me from my bands, With the help of your good hands. 1 Gentle breath of yours my sails Must fill, or else my project fails, Which was to please : Now I want Spirits to enforce, art to enchant ; And my ending is despair, Unless I be reliev'd by prayer ; Which pierces so, that it assaults Mercy itself, and frees all faults. As you from crimes would pardon'd be, Let your indulgence set me free. 1 i. e. by your applause. Noise was supposed to dissolve a spell. Thus before in this play : " hush, and be mute, Or else our spelt is marr'd." INTRODUCTION THE TWO GENTLEMEN OF VERONA VAST labour and research have been spent in endeavours u ascertain the times when Shakespeare's several plays were writ, ten, and the sources whence his plots and materials were drawn. The subject is certainly very curious and interesting, not only in reference to the Poet's external history, but as illustrating the growth and progress of the greatest individual mind that hath re ported itself in human speech. And, though the desired results have seldom been reached, enough has been done to pay the labour : even where the end has not been gained such approxima- tions have been often made as amply vindicate the undertaking ; and in overhauling the musty records of antiquity, along with much that is valuable only or chiefly as bearing- upon something else, much has also been brought to light, that is of rare value in itself. Thus Shakespeare, ever fresh and ever young himself, keeps alive many things which it is for our interest not to let die ; he being, as it were, the master of ceremonies to bring us ac quainted with the great spirits that cluster and revolve around him. We are apt to think of Shakespeare too much as an abstraction of intellectual power, with whom the ordinary laws and processes of mental life and action had little or nothing to do. He must indeed have been a prodigious infant, yet an infant he unquestion- ably was ; and had to proceed by the usual paths from infancy to manhood, how unusual soever may have been the ease and speed of his passage. Dowered perhaps with such a portion of genius as hath fallen to no other mortal, still his powers had to struggle through the common infirmities and encumbrances of our nature For, assuredly, his mind was not born full-grown and ready-fur- nished for the course and service of Truth, but had to creep, totter and prattle ; much study, observation, experience, in short, a long, evere tentative process being required to insiuew, and discipline, and regulate his genius into power. Had he been naturally fre* 108 TWO GENTLEMEN OF VERONA. from inward insufficiencies, still he was beset with clogs and draw- backs from without : to act upon the age as he did, he must needi have been more or less acted upon by it ; and even had he been able to start from the point where he ended, It was impracticable for him to do so, since in that case he would have been too far ahead of those for whom he wrote to take them along with him. And such, no doubt, were the very trials and chastenings whereby be came to be " of a rectified spirit, By many revolutions of discourse refin'd Frc in all the tartarous moods of common men i most severe In fashion and collection of himself; And then as clear, and confident as Jove." Dryden rather oddly represents the Poet's ghost as saying, " Untaught, unpracds'd, in a barbarous age, I found not, but created first, the stage : " but this is far from true, the ghost being made to utter Dryden's thoughts, not Shakespeare's. For, though the least that ne did may be worth more than all that was done before him, and his poorest performances surpass the best of his models ; it is never- theless certain that his task was but to continue and perfect what others had begun. Not only were the three forms of comedy, history, and tragedy in use on the English stage, but the elements of these were to some extent blended in the freedom and variety of the Romantic Drama ; though of course in nothing like th purity and harmony wherein he presented them. The usage, also, of dramatic blank-verse stood up inviting his adoption ; there be- ing scarce any variety of measure, or pause, or cadence, of which Marlowe had not set the example : though no one before or since has come near Shakespeare in the maste.y of its capabilities, in the ever-varying, never-tiring fluctuation of his verse ; his genius being an inexhaustible spring of both mental and verbal modulation. Nor can this be rightly regarded as any alleviation of his task, or any abatement of his fame. For to work thus with materials and upon models already prepared, without being drawn down to their level and subdued to their quality, asks a highei order an J exercise of power, than to strike out in a way and will a stock entirely new. And herein it is that the absorbing, ant purifying, and quickening virtue of Shakespeare's genius is best seen : he had not a drama to create in any of its forms or ele- ments, but a drama to regenerate and rectify, to inform its shapes with life and grace, to temper and mould its elements in the happ^v symmetry and proportion of living art. Thus his work naturally inked in with the whole past : in his hands the collective INTRODUCTION. 109 (bought and wisdom of ages were smelted out of the earth and dross wherein they lay imbedded, and wrought into figures of undccay ing beauty ; and the extraction and efficacy of centuries were treasured up in his pages. It can hardly be questioned that THE Two GENTLEMEN OP VERONA was among the earliest-written of our author's plays. This is apparent from the internal evidence : the frequency of rhymes, the comparative want of variety, and the general smooth- ness of the versification showing that he had not 3 r et grown to a just reliance on his own strength, and to the free working of his powers ; that he was rather looking at his models than oversee'ng them, rather mastered by them than mastering them and rising upon them. Compared to the plays of what is termed his '.bird or even his second period, the poetry, rich as it is, has more of a yrical than dramatic cast ; particular parts and passages, though often full of beauty, are less subordinated to the whole, and seem more as if used for their own sake ; the general style and struc- ture is loose, unvital, inorganic ; and we miss the elose-k:;!uiiig of thought and image, the subtle and sinewy discourse, and the " working words," that give such matchless energy and operation to his later and riper performances. Hence, no doubt, the pei- suasion of certain men, that Shakespeare had little share in the making of this play. Concerning whom Mr. Collier says, " The notion of some critics, that The Two Gentlemen of Verona con- tains few or no marks of Shakespeare's hand, is strong proof of their incompetence to form a judgment." Wherein we agree with him ; for Shakespeare's marks are set all over the play : but they are the marks of his " prentice hand," though such as no pren- tice hand but his could have put into it ; the play, especially in the more comic parts, poor as these are beside others from the same source, as much outstripping any thing done before him as i falls short of what he afterwards did. The internal evidence is corroborated by whatsoever of exter nal evidence hath come down to us. Of the plays mentioned by Francis Meres in his Wit's Treasury, published in 1598, The Two Gentlemen of Verona stands first in the list. He says : " As Plautus and Seneca are accounted the best for comedy and tragedy among the Latins ; so Shakespeare among the English is the most excellent in both kinds for the stage. For comedy, witness his Gen- tlemen of Verona, his Errors, his Love's Labour's Lost, his Love's Labour Won,* his Midsummer-Night's Dream, and his Merchant of Venice ; for tragedy, his Richard II., Richard 111., Henry IV., King Joan, Titus Aiidronicus, and his Romeo and Juliet." Sup- posing Meres to include both parts of Henry IV., and adding lh three parts of Henry VI., which were written before this date, The original t ; tle of All's Well That Ends Well 110 TWO GENTLEMEN OF VEHONA. we have sixteen plays out of thirty-seven, when the author was ir his thirty-fourth year. Which, unless we attribute to him such a facility and fluency of pen as neither the reason of the thing nor the facts of the case will warrant, will force us to set his firs* efforts at play-making back to au earlier period iu his life than is generally supposed. Nor, considering his aptitudes for the work, 's it at all unlikely that he made some attempts that way even be- "bre he left Stratford : at all events, that some of the plays which we now have were written before the end of his twenty-fourth year, seems hardly questionable. And if it seem extraordinary that so young a man should have produced The Two Gentlemen of Verona, how much more extraordinary is it that a man of what soever age should have written Lear ! In 1589 Shakespeare, at the age of twenty-five, was a joint proprietor of the Blackfriars theatre; a place which he could hardly have won but by ability and usefulness in the offices per taining to such an establishment. And where was he so likely to be able and useful as in the field where he has so far surpassed all other men ? In 1592 appeared " A Groatsworth of Wit," by Robert Greene, which contains an unmistakeable allusion to Shakespeare. It was written amidst the anguishes of a death-bed repentance, the au thor's purpose being to dissuade " those gentlemen, his quondam acquaintance," from " spending their wits in making plays ; " to which end he uses this argument : " For there is an upstart crow, beautified with our feathers, that with his tigre's lieart wrapp'd in a. player's hide supposes he is as well able to bombast out a blank verse as the best of jou; and, being an absolute Johannes Fac- tntiiin. is in his own conceit the only Shake-scene in a country.' The words in Italic are a parody of a verse in Henry VI., " O, tigre's heart wrapp'd in a woman's hide ; " which goes still fur- ther to ascertain the writer's aim. And the fair inference is, thai Shakespeare was known as a sort of Do-all, a Fac-totum, who could turn his hand to any thing, and beat Greene and his asso- ciates in the very walks where they severally excelled ; and that he was successful not only as a writer, but as an adapter and improver of plays : in which latter quality he had perhaps over- hauled some of their writings, and thrown the authors into the shade by adding more to them than they were originally worth ; thus getting beautified with their feathers because he had feathen still more beautiful of his own. As the three parts of Henry VI., and perhaps Titus Androuicus, were in fact adapted from preex- isting stock copies, into which Shakespeare distilled something of the life and spirit of his genius, it is quite probable thai Greene and those whom he addresses had, jointly or severally, a hand in writing them. Soon after " A Groatsworth of Wit " was written and before (t was published Greene died ; and a few months later Henry INTRODUCTION. Ill Chettle, his fellow-dramatist, anil his publisher, put f'irth a book entitled Kind-heart's Dream, wherein he regrets the attack on Shakespeare, " because myself have seen his demeanour no less civil, then he excellent in the quality he professes : besides, divers of worship have reported his uprightness of dealing, which argues his honesty, and his facetious grace in writing, that approves his art." It is considerable- that at this time Shakespeare had pub- lished nothing, his Venus and Adonis not being issued till the fol- lowing year, 1593. Yet he was distinguished for " his facetious grace in writing, that approves his art;" from which it would seem lhat he was best known in the lighter and finer graces of poetry, his mastery of its deeper powers being as yet either unat- tained or unappreciated. How was he so likely to win such a reputation as by plays like The Two Gentlemen of Verona, Love's Labour's Lost, and The Comedy of Errors, where quips, and quirks, and clenches meet us in showers at every turn ? the per sons having apparently set out to " act freely, carelessly, and capriciously, as if their veins ran with quicksilver; and not utter a phrase but what shall come forth steept in the very brine of conceit, and sparkle like salt in fire ; " yet the redundant face- tiousness is every where touched with a grace at that time un- exampled on the English stage. All which amply warrants the conclusion, that Shakespeare was " our pleasant Willy," whom Spenser, in his Tears of Tl> Muses, published in 1591, speaks of as " the man whom Nature's selfe had made, To mock herselfe, and Truth to imitate." Uid again, after complaining that '' Each idle wit at will presumes to make, And doth the Learned's taske upon him take : " But that same gentle Spirit, from whose pen Large streames of honnie and sweete nectar flowe, Scorning the boldness of such base-borne men, Which dare their follies forth so rashlie throwe, Doth rather choose to sit in idle cell, Thai, so himselfe to mockerie to sell." The Two Gentlemen of Verona was probably one of the " streames " that drew forth this no less appropriate than beauti- ful tribute from the great sweet poet of Faery Land. For even in the plays, which we suppose to have been written before this period, there are frequent touches of that inexpressible sweetness and delicacy of spirit which won him the name, " my gentle 112 TWO GENTLEMl^, OF VERONA. Shakespeare," and which comes out in all his works, like the unconscious issues of a mind " As gsntle as the stroking wind Runs o'er the gender flowers." The Two Gentlemen of Verona was first printed in the folia of 1623, where it follows next The Tempest. No note has been discovered of the performance of this play during the author's life. Doubtless it was brought upon the stage, for the Poet had uo thought of writing dramas merely for the closet : but if it had been acted as often as his other plays, we should most likely have some record of its performance, as we have in the case of so many of the others. Notwithstanding its superiority in char- acter and poetry to any plays then in use from other hands, per- haps its comparative excess of the rhetorical over the dramatic elements made it less popular in that most action-loving age, than many far below it in all other respects. This lack of success on the boards may also account in part for its freedom from the in- equalities we find in several of his earlier plays ; as, for exam- ple, in Love's Labour's Lost and All's Well That Ends Well there are parts and passages where both the tone of the thought and the structure of the verse evince a pitch of mastership that had not been reached when the plays were originally written. It was then quite common for a play, when brought out anew, to be revised and retouched either by the author or by some other hand ; and some of Shakespeare's are known to have undergone this process much to their advantage. Which was probably the cause of the inequalities in question ; a cause that would not be likely to operate, unless there were call for the revival of a play. No novel or romance has been found, to which Shakespeare could have been muck indebted for the plot or matter of the play before us. In the part of Julia and her maid Lucetta there are indeed some points of resemblance to the Diana of Jorge do Montmayor, a Spanish romance at that time very popular in Eng- land, and of which an English version by Bartholomew Yonge was published in 1598. The Diana is one of the books spared from the bonfire of Don Quixote's library, because, in the words of the Priest who superintends the burning, " They do not de- serve to be burnt like the rest, for they cannot do the mischief that those of chivalry have done : they are works of genius and fancy, and do nobody any hurt." The part from which Shake- speare is thought to have borrowed is the story of Felismena, the heroine : " My father having early followed my mother to tha tomb, I was left an orphan. Henceforth I resided with a distant relative ; and, at the age of seventeen, fell in love with Do Felix, a young nobleman of the province where I lived. Thf INTRODUCTION. 1 18 object of my affections felt a reciprocal passion ; but his father, having learned the attachment between us, sent his son to court with a view to prevent our union. Soon after his departure I fol- lowed him in the disguise of a page, and on the night of my arrival discovered, by a serenade I heard him give, that he had disposed of his affections. Not being recognized, I was taken into his service, and engaged to conduct the correspondence with the mistress who had supplanted me in his heart." Though Yonge's version of the Diana was not published till 1598, several years after the probable date of The Two Gentlemen of Verona ; yet the story was generally well known ; parts of it were trans- lated in Sidney's Arcadia, which came out in 1590 ; and there is good reason to think that the " History of Felix and Philiomena," which was acted at court as far back as 1582, was a play founded on the story of Felix and Felismena. So that, granting Shake- speare to have followed the tale in question, he might well enough have been familiar with it long before Yonge's translation appeared. But the truth is, such and similar incidents were the common sta pie of romances in that age. And the same may be said touch- ing the matter of Valentine's becoming captain of the outlaws ; for which the Poet has been written down as obliged to the Arca- dia. Excepting the Diana, there is no reason to think tha Shakespeare was indebted to any thing but his. own invention for the materials of the play under consideration. Dr. Johnson remarks, that " in this play there is a strange mix- ture of knowledge and ignorance, of care and negligence." IE proof of the ignorance he then adduces the Poet's violation of geography in making his persons pass from Verona to Milan by water, there being no such passage between those cities. This is one of the departures from fact which critics have been fond of quoting, in order, as would seem, to impeach or disrepute his science. But, inasmuch as Shakespeare's geography and chro- na'ogy are always accurate enough when such accuracy will serve the purpose of his art, it seems rather questionable whether in this case his inaccuracy should be set down to ignorance. Perhaps, after all, he showed as much knowledge here as he meant to show ; and he must have been ignorant indeed, not to know that his geography was incorrect. It should be borne in mind that his purpose was art, not science ; that he spoke to the imagination rather than the understanding: which being the case, science itself would tell him that literal or geographies, truth was to be sacrificed, in so far as such sacrifice would serve the methods of imagination and the uses of art. Thus, by the laws of his work, the lower gives way to the higher : he facilitates the passage to Milan for the convenience of his hearers in that quality or capacity wherein he addresses them. And he knew well enough that they did not visit the theatre to learn geography or chronology, but to tee a vivid, truthful, lifelike representation of action character, 114 TWO GENTLEMEN OF VERONA. and passion ; and that nothing but a poor conceit of scientific accuracy would stick and boggle at such freedoms as art and imagination gladly allow. The Two Gentlemen of Verona betrays much the same unripe - ness in its characterization as we have remarked in its other quali- ties. Coleridge pronounces it " a sketch," and Hazlitt says it is * little more than the first outlines of a comedy loosely sketched in ; " which expressions, though perhaps somewhat too general and sweeping, do not seem to strike very wide of the truth. The main exception is in the two clownish servants, who, though so inelegant and unrefined that Pope wanted to eject them from their place, display, to our mind, more truth and energy of characteriza- tion, than all the other persons put together. It is true, they are continually pelting those about them with very small wit, wherein they seem rather too much like one mind in two persons ; bui their wit, if such it may be called, is quite as good as that of theii betters : from beneath their affectations we catch some tones of native humour : their talk, rude and undignified enough, still relishes of nature, and smells of the places where men actually walk. Launce, master of quibbles and cranks, with his warm heart and wagging tongue sobbing in parables and conceits, is a genuine sprout of the Poet's brain. The scene between him and his dog Crab, where he recounts the sins of the latter which ho has taken upon himself, to save the poor brute from being cud gelled and killed, is one of those odd, touching, nonsensical things, such as we find nowhere but in Shakespeare and nature. Launce and Speed, Proteus and Valentine, Julia and Silvia, seem designedly arranged by pairs, and have such a mixture of contrast and resemblance between them as might fitly serve to herald the matchless combinations that were still to come from the same cunning hand. Julia, seeking out and attending her faith- less lover in the disguise of a page, and even making herself ser- vant to his infidelity, is one of those exhibitions of female purity, sweetness, and devotion, wherein Shakespeare so far excels all other writers. Her innocence and gentleness are but the more apparent for the chill, rough atmosphere that threatens them ; the Poet, here as elsewhere, multiplying the difficulties of the situa- tion, the better to approve the beauty of the character. Perhaps the best excuse for her undertaking is, that she never dreams but her lover's heart is as far from fraud as her own, till she finds him with proofs to the contrary on his tongue. Julia, however, is little else than a dim foreshadowing of Imogen : we might almost call them the same person, now seen before, now after marriage ; though, in the latter case, by a much clearer light. Perhaps, withal, Imogen has both more rectitude of thought and more delicacy of feeling, than to set forth on such an adventure with so little cause : for Julia has no persecution at home to drive her away, and her love seems rather unwise in not bearing the INTRODUCTION. lift absence of its object, this being so manifestly for his good. Silvia, though rather thin and unsubstantial, is a goodly, graceful figure. As strong in love perhaps as Julia ; of demeanour not quite so pretty, but more becoming ; a little more artful, and withal much nore prudent and practical ; though her virtue be far above sus- picion, yet she raises a shrewd doubt whether the offers of a second lover would be so greatly unwelcome to her, but that he under- takes to supplant the first, instead of accepting a place beside him in her thoughts. In her disguise and Sight there is no such appearance of turning romantic for the sake of romance, as strikes us in the case of Julia. Proteus, truant to love, and thereby rendered tatse to friendship, moves little feeling of any sort, as his faults appear to spring from the rank and undisciolined impulses of youth. His passion is evi- dently of the kind that thinks more of itself than of its onject ; and his much talking about it breeds in us a secret distrust of its quality from the first, as knowing, " When the blood burns, how prodigally the spul Lends the tongue vows : " for which cause we do not wonder that it betrays him into some thing of baseness. But, though passion seduces him from truth and reason, the failure of his undertaking and Julia's heroic con- stancy recover him to them : love, overmastered in the absence of its object, resumes its sway in her presence ; and experience brings him to the discovery of his own weakness, which is the beginning of wisdom, and the first stepping towards virtue. In Valentine we have the rudiments, and something more, of a truly noble and beautiful character. His slowness to take the meaning of Silvia's artful and enigmatical invitations finely exem- plifies the innate modesty of a true affection, that is kept from discerning the signs of a return by a sense of its own un worthiness. And yet, for some cause or other, these persons do not greatly interest or move us ; there being an appearance of art either in the characters themselves or in the delineation of them, that still beats back our sympathies, and keeps us from really feeling as in the presence of nature while with them. Nevertheless, the play, taksn as a whole, illustrates with considerable skill the truan* fickleness of human passion, and the weakness of human reason when opposed by passion, and at the same time depicts the beauty of maiden truth and constancy. Mr. Hallam sets it down as " probably the first English comedy in which characters are drawc from social life, at once ideal ami true." PERSONS REPRESENTED DUKE of MILAN, Father to Silvia. VALENTINE, ) >-, , f , T PROTEUS, \ Gentlemen of Verona. ANTOJITO, Father to Proteus. THURIO, a foolish Rival to Valentine. EGLAMOUK. Agent for Silvia in her escape. SPEED, a clownish Servant to Valentine. LAUNCH, Servant to Proteus. PANTHINO, Servant to Antonio. Host, where Julia lodges in Milan. Outlaws. JULIA, a Lady of Verona, beloved by Proteus. SILVIA, the Duke's Daughter, beloved by Valentine. LUCETTA, Waitingwoman to JuKa. Servants, Musicians. SCENE, sometimes in VERONA ; sometimes in MILAN and on the frontiers of MANTUA. TWO GENTLEMEN OF VERONA ACT I. SCENE I. An open place in Verona, Enter VALENTINE and PROTEUS. Vol. CEASE to persuade, my loving Proteus Home-keeping youth have ever homely wits. Were't not, affection chains thy tender days To the sweet glances of thy honour'd love, I rather would entreat thy company, To see the wonders of the world abroad, Than, living dully sluggardiz'd at home, Wear out thy youth with shapeless idleness.* But, since thou lov'st, love still, and thrive therein, Even as I would, when I to love begin. Pro. Wilt thou begone 1 Sweet Valentine, adieu ! Think on thy Proteus, when thou, haply, seest Some rare note-worthy object in thy travel : Wish me partaker in thy happiness, When thou dost meet good hap ; and in thy danger, If ever danger do environ thee, Commend thy grievance to my holy prayers, For I will be thy beadsman, 3 Valentine. ' Milton has the same play upon words in his Comus i " It is for homely features to keep home ; They had their name thence." J Idleness is called shapeless, as preventing the shaping of tte eharacter and manners. H. 1 A beadsman, as the word is here used, is one who offer* up I 18 TWO GENTLEMEN ACT 1. VaL And on a love-book praj for my success. Pro. Upon some book I love, I'll pray for thee. VaL That's on some shallow story of deep love, How young Leander cross'd the Hellespont. Pro. That's a deep story of a deeper love ; For he was more than over shoes in love. VaL 'Tis true ; but you are over boots in love, And yet you never swam the Hellespont. Pro. Over the boots ? nay, give me not the boots ' VaL No, I will not, for it boots thee not. Pro. What 1 ? VaL To be in love, where scorn is bought with groans ; Coy looks, with heart-sore sighs ; one fading mo- ment's mirth, With twenty watchful, weary, tedious nights : Tf haply won, perhaps a hapless gain ; [f lost, why, then a grievous labour won ; However, 4 but a folly bought with wit, Or else a wit by folly vanquished. Pro. So, by your circumstance you call me fool. VaL So, by your circumstance, 6 1 fear, you'll prove. prayers for another's welfare. Thus we are told that Sir Henry Lee, upon retiring from the office of Champion to Queen Eliza- beth, said " his hands, instead of wielding the lance, should now be held up in prayer for Her Majesty's welfare ; and he trusted sh6 would allow him to be her beadsman, now that he had ceased to incur knightly perils in her service." Bead was the Anglo-Saxon word for prayer, and so gave name to the small wooden balls which were used in numbering prayers, and a string of which was called a rosary. Such appears to have been the origin of the name, if not of the thing, a string of beads. H. 4 A proverbial expression, now disused, signifying, " Don't make a laughing-stock of me." Perhaps deduced from a humour ous punishment at harvest-home feasts in Warwickshire. * That is, either way ; whether " haply won " or " lost." H. We have here a play upon the word circumstance, the first being used for circumlocution, as in Othello : " He evades then- with a bombast circumstance, horribly stuiT'd with epithets ul JsU. 1. OF VERONA. 1 IU Pro. 'Tis Love you cavil at : I am not Love. Val. Love is your master, for he masters you ; And he that is so yoked by a fool, Metliinks, should not be clironicled for wise. Pro. Yet writers say, as in the sweetest but! The eating canker dwells, so eating love Inhabits in the finest wits of all. Val. And writers say, as the most forward bud Is eaten by the canker ere it blow, Even so by love the young and tender wit Is turn'd to folly ; blasting in the bud, Losing liis verdure even in the prime, And all the fair effects of future hopes. But wherefore waste I time to counsel thee, That art a votary to fond desire 1 Once more, adieu : My father at the road Expects my coming, there to see me shipp'd. Pro. Aiid thither will I bring thee, Valentine. Val. Sweet Proteus, no ; now let us take our leava To Milan let me hear from thee by letters, 7 Of thy success in love, and what news else Betideth here in absence of thy friend ; And 1 likewise will visit thee with mine. Pro. All happiness bechance to thee in Milan ! Val. As much to you at home ; and so, farewell ! [Exit. Pro. He after honour hunts, I after love : He leaves his friends, to dignify them more ; I leave myself, my friends, and all for love. Thou, Julia, thou hast metamorphos'd me ; Made me neglect my studies, lose my time, war;" the second for course of action or conduct. Thus Barei in his Alvearie. published in 1580 : " To use great circumstarut of woordes, to go about the bushe." H. 7 The construction is, " Let me hear from thee by letters sj Milau."' f20 TWO GENTLEMEN ACT > War with good counsel, set the world at nought , Made wit with musing weak, heart sick with thought. Enter SPEED. Speed. Sir Proteus, save you ! SaAV you my master 1 ! Pro. But now he parted hence, to embark for Milan. Speed. Twenty to one, then, he is shipp'd already ; And I have played the sheep, 8 in losing him. Pro. Indeed a sheep doth very often stray, An if the shepherd be awhile away. Speed. You conclude that my master is a shep- herd then, and I a sheep ? Pro. I do. Speed. Why, then my horns are his horns, whether I wake or sleep. Pro. A silly answer, and fitting well a sheep. Speed. This proves me still a sheep. Pro. True ; and thy master a shepherd. Speed. Nay, that I can deny by a circumstance Pro. It shall go hard, but I'll prove it by another Speed. The shepherd seeks the sheep, and not the sheep the shepherd; but I seek my master, and my master seeks not me : therefore I am no sheep Pro. The sheep for fodder follow the shepherd, the shepherd for food follows not the sheep ; thoti for wages followest thy master, thy master for wages follows not thee : therefore thou art a sheep. Speed. Such another proof will make m cry baa. Pro. But, dost thou hear ? gav'st thou my letter to Julia 1 . Speed. Ay, sir : I, a lost mutton, gave your let- * In Warwickshire, and some other counties, sheep is pro uounced ship. Without this explanation the jest, such as it U might escape the reader. SC. I. OF VERONA. !'/! ter to her, a lac d mutton ; ' and she, a lac'd mut- ton, gave me, a lost mutton, nothing for my labour. Pro. Here's too small a pasture for such a stor* of muttons. Speed. If the ground be overcharg'd, you were best stick her. Pro. Nay, in that you are astray : 'twere best pound you. Speed. Nay, sir, less than a pound shall serve me for carrying your letter. Pro. You mistake : I mean the pound, a pinfold. Speed. From a pound to a pin 1 fold it over and over, 'Tis threefold too little for carrying a letter to your lover. Pro. But what said she 1 [SPEED nods.] Did she nod ? 10 Speed. Ay. Pro. Nod-ay? why, that's noddy. Speed. You mistook, sir : I say she did nod ; nnd you ask me, if she did nod ; and I say, ay. Pro. And that set together, is noddy. Speed. Now you have taken the pains to set it together, take it for your pains. ' " Laced mutton," we are told, " was so established a term fur a courtesan, that a lane in Clcrkenwell, much frequented by loose women, was thence called Mutton Lane." Speed apparently uji- derstaaids the person he is talking with, for it is observable thai he uses no such language in his speech with Valentine ; and the reason of his daring to speak thus respecting Julia is to be found in the nature of Sir Proteus' passion, which, though doubtless characteristic of him, is not very honourable to him. H. 10 These words were supplied by Theobald to introduce whai fc.lows. The poor quibble just below is more apparent in th* original, where, according to the mode of that time, the affirma live particle, ay, is spelt I. Noddy was a game at cards : applied to a person, the word meant foot ; Noddy being the name of wbal commonly called the Jack. H 122 TWO GENTLEMEN ACT I. Pro. No, no ; you shall have it for bearing the letter. Speed. Well, I perceive I must be fain to bear with you. Pro. Why, sir, how do you bear with me ? Speed. Marry, sir, the letter very orderly ; having nothing but the word noddy for my pains. Pro. Beshrew me, but you have a quick wit. Speed. And yet it cannot overtake your slow purse. Pro. Come, come ; open the "matter in brief. What said she 1 Speed. Open your purse, that the money and the matter may be both at once deliver'd. Pro. Well, sir, here is for your pains : What, said she 1 Speed. Truly, sir, I think you'll hardly win her. Pro. Why 1 Couldst thou perceive so much from her 1 Speed. Sir, I could perceive nothing at all from her ; no, not so much as a ducat for delivering your letter : And being so hard to me that brought your mind, I fear she'll prove as hard to you in telling your mind. 11 Give her no token but stones, for she's as hard as steel. Pro. What ! said she nothing 1 Speed. No, not so much as "take this for th) pains." To testify your bounty, I thank you, you have testern'd me ; 12 in requital whereof, henceforth 11 The meaning is, " Since she has been so hard to me, the bearer of your mind, I fear she will be equally hard to you whose mind I bore." H. 18 That is, you have given me a testern. Testern, now calle call the tenor. This use of musical terms before a popular audi- ence would seem to infer, which was indeed the case, that taste and knowledge in music was a characteristic trait of " merry SC. II. OF VERONA. I'.!? Jul. The mean is drown'd with your unruly base. Luc. Indeed, I bid the base 8 for Proteus. Jul. Tins babble shall not henceforth trouble me. Here is a coil 9 with protestation \ [Tears the letter. do, get you gone ; and let the papers lie : You would be fingering them, to anger me. Luc. She makes it strange ; but she would be best pleas'd To be so anger'd with another letter. [Exit. Jul. Nay, would I were so anger'd with the same ' hateful hands \ to tear such lonng words : Injurious wasps \ to feed on such sweet honey, And kill the bees that yield it with your stings \ 10 I'll kiss each several paper for amends. Look, here is writ " kind Julia : " Unkind Julia \ As in revenge of thy ingratitude, 1 throw thy name against the bruising stones, Trampling contemptuously on thy disdain. And here is writ " love-wounded Proteus." - Poor wounded name \ my bosom, as a bed, Shall lodge thee, till thy wound be throughly heal'd ; And thus I search it with a sovereign kiss. England in the olden time." What with the sour fanaticism of the Commonwealth, and- the licentiousness of the Restoration, both of which were equally fatal, this beautiful feature was so blasted, 'hat it has never been fully recovered. H. 8 Lucetta is still quibbling-, and turns the allusion off upon the rustic game of base, or prison-base, in which one ran and cfaal lengeti another to catch him. H. That is, bustle, stir. 10 Shakespeare has given several proofs of a practical acquaint- ance with the economy of bees ; some of which the naturalist as well as the poet may study with profit ; as the fine description in Henry V. Act i. sc. 2, " for so work the honey-bees," &.c. He nad doubtless observed how they " make boot upon the summer's velvet buds, 1 ' and also how the " injurious wasps " plunder them, sting-ing them to death for the sweetness they yield. Knight says, "The metaphoi of the pretty pouting Julia is as accurate as it if heautiful." H 128 TWO GENTLEMEN ACT . But twice, or thrice, was Proteus written down : Be calm, good wind, blow not a word away, Till I have found each letter in the letter, Except mine own name ; that some whirlwind bes.1 Unto a ragged, fearful, hanging rock, And throw it thence into the raging sea. Lo ! here in one line is his name twice writ, " Poor forlorn Proteus, passionate Proteus, To the sweet Julia : " that I'll tear away ; And yet I will not, sith 11 so prettily He couples it to his complaining names. Thus will I fold them one upon another : Now kiss, embrace, contend, do what you will. Re-enter LUCETTA. Luc. Madam, Dinner is ready, and your father stays. Jul. Well, let us go. Luc. What ! shall these papers lie like tell-tales here 1 Jul. If you respect them, best to take them up. Luc. Nay, I was taken up for laying them down Yet here they shall not lie, for catching cold. 12 Jul. I see you have a month's mind 13 to them. 11 Since. 11 That is, lest they should catch cold ; anciently a comm HI foim of expression. 3 " A month's mind," says Mr. Collier, " is here equivalent to 1 a great mind,' or strong inclination." In its " ritual sense " the phrase meant a month's remembrance, referring to the masses or other solemnities enjoined in the will of a deceased person for the repose of his soul. The strong desire with which these ceremonies were regarded may have caused the phrase to signify an eager longing in which sense it is generally thought to be used here It occurs in Ben Jonson's Magnetic Lady: " I have a month' mind to peep a little too ; " and in Hudibras : " For if a trumpet sound, or drum beat, Who hath not a month's mind to a combat T " H. SC. IIL OF VERONA. 129 Luc. Ay, madam, you may say what sights you see ; I see things too, although you judge I wink. JuL Come, come; will't please you go 1 [Exeunt. SCENE m. The same. A Room in ANTONIO'S House. Enter ANTONIO and PANTHINO. Ant. Tell me, Panthino, what sad ' talk was that, Wherewith my brother held you in the cloister 1 Pant. 'Twas of his nephew Proteus, your son. Ant. Why, what of him ? Pant. He wonder'd, that your lordship Would suffer him to spend his youth at home ; While other men, of slender reputation, Put forth their sons to seek preferment out : Some to the wars, to try their fortune there ; Some, to discover islands far away ; Some, to the studious universities. 2 For any, or for all these exercises, He said, that Proteus, your son, was meet; And did request me to importune you 1 That is, grave or serious. * This passage is all alive with the spirit of Shakespeare's own time, when enterprise, adventure, and study were every where the order of the day, and all ranks were stirred with noble agitations ; the mind's life being then no longer exhausted in domestic broils, nor as yet stifled by a passion for gain. And, to say nothing 1 of foreign discoveries, where wonder and curiosity were ever finding new stores of food, and still grew hungry by what they fed on ; or of Flemish campaigns, where chivalrous honour and mental ac- complishment " kissed each other ; " what a tremendous perturba- tion must have run through the national mind, what a noble fury must have enriched the nation's brain, to make it effervesce in such a flood as hath rolled down to us in the works of Spenser Hooker, Shakespeare, and Bacon ! n UN TWO GENTLEMEN \CT L To let liim spend his time no more at home, Which would be great impeachment to his age, (n having known no travel in his youth. Ant. Nor need'st thou much importune me to that Whereon this month I have been hammering [ have consider'd well his loss of time, And how he cannot be a perfect man, Not being tried and tutor'd in the world. Experience is by industry achiev'd, And perfected by the swift course of time : Then, tell me, whither were I best to send him * Pant. I think, your lordship is not ignorant How his companion, youthful Valentine, Attends the emperor in his royal court. Ant. I know it well. Pant. 'Twere good, I think, your lordship sent him thither : There shall he practise tilts and tournaments, 3 Hear sweet discourse, converse with noblemen, And be in eye of every exercise, Worthy his youth and nobleness of birth. Ant. I like thy counsel : well hast thou advis'd ; And, that thou mayst perceive how well I like it The execution of it shall make known : Even with the speediest expedition I Mill despatch him to the emperor's court. 3 Here again the Poet is alluding' to the practices of his owr time. At an earlier period when wa was expressly conducted by the laws of kaigh'hoocl, "the tournay, wi'h all its magnifi- cence, its nvnstrels, and 'icralds, and damosels in lofty towers, hau its hard blows, its wounds, and sometimes its deaths." But the trurnameuts of Shakespeare's time, and such as Proteus was sent to practise, were the tournaments of ^ay pen.ions and pointless lances ; " as magnificent indeed as th^ old knightly ei.counters but " as harmless to the combatants as those between other less noble actors, the heroes of the stage." The Poet had no doubt witnessed some of these " courtly pastimes," as held by Her JVtajesty in the Tilt-yard at Westminster, or by proud Leices ler ii. the Tilt-yard a. Kenilworth. n SO. I1L OF VERONA. 13 / Pant, To-morrow, may it please you, Don AJ phonso, With other gentlemen of good esteem, Are journeying to salute the emperor, And to commend their service to his will. Ant. Good company ; with them shall Proteus go : And, in good time, now will we break with him. 4 Enter PROTEUS. Pro. Sweet love ! sweet lines ! sweet life ! Here is her hand, the agent of her heart ; Here is her oath for love, her honour's pawn : O ! that our fathers would applaud our loves, To seal our happiness with their consents ! O heavenly Julia ! Ant. How now ! what letter are you reading there 7 Pro. May't please your lordship, 'tis a word or two Of commendations sent from Valentine, Oeliver'd by a friend that came from him. Ant. Lend me the letter : let me see what news. Pro. There is no news, my lord; but that he writes How happily he lives, how well belov'd And daily graced by the emperor ; Wishing me with him, partner of his fortune. Ant. And how stand you affected to his wish * Pro. As one relying on your lordship's will, And not depending on his friendly wish. Ant. My will is something sorted with his wish 4 That is, break, or open, the matter to him ; one of many in stances showing how much the use of prepositions has changed To break with a person, now wears a very different meaning Antonio's words, in good time, refer to Proteus, whom he just thai sees coming. t? 132 TWO GENTLEMEN ACT I Muse not that I thus suddenly proceed; For what I will, I will, and there an end. I am resolv'd, that thou shalt spend some time With Valentinus in the emperor's court : What maintenance he from his friends receives, Like exhibition * thou shalt have from me. To-morrow be in readiness to go : Excuse it not, for I am peremptory. Pro. My lord, I cannot be so soon provided Please you, deliberate a day or two. Ant. Look, what thou want'st, shall be sent aftel thee : No more of stay ; to-morrow thou must go. Come on, Panthino : you shall be employ'd To hasten on his expedition. [Exeunt ANT. and PANT Pro. Thus have I shunn'd the fire, for fear of burning ; And drench'd me in the sea, where I am drown'd: I fear'd to show my father Julia's letter, Lest he should take exceptions to my love ; And with the vantage of mine own excuse Hath he excepted most against my love. O ! how this spring of love resembleth The uncertain glory of an April day ; Which now shows all the beauty of the sun, And by and by a cloud takes all away. 8 ' Exhibition is allowance of money; it is still used in thu Universities for a stipend. ' It is curious to note with what accuracy as well as vividness the Poet here paints the manners of April. The play was written in his youth, when he was more at home with external nature than with man, his mind not having yet clomb the height of this latter argument. What a study is traced in the progress of his mind as the gay riches of vision gradually yielded to the sterner and olider riches of thought ' the first, however, giving a promise of the last, and the last keeping up a remembrance of the first. Th SC. III. OF VERONA. 138 Re-enter PANTHINO. Pant. Sir Proteus, your father calls for you : He is in haste ; therefore, I pray you go. Pro. Why, this it is ! my heart accords thereto ; And yet a thousand times it answers, no. \Excunt* ACT II. SCENE I. Milan. A Room in the DUKE'S Palace. Enter VALENTINE and SPEED. Speed. Sir, your glove. Vol. Not mine ; my gloves are on. Speed. Why, then this may be yours, for this u but one. 1 Vol. Ha ! let me see : ay, give it me, it's mine : Sweet ornament that decks a thing divine ! 4h Silvia ! Silvia ! Speed. Madam Silvia ! madam Silvia ! Val How now, sirrah ? Speed. She is not within hearing, sir. i*.ne ecstasy with which, in his earlier plays, as in his poems, hti dwells on the movements and aspects of nature has often sent oui thoughts to a passage of Wordsworth, describing his youthful self i " For nature then To me was all in all. I cannot paint What then I was. The sounding cataract Haunted me like a passion : the tall rock, The mountain, and the deep and gloomy wood, Their colours and their forms, were then to me An appetite ; a feeling and a love." H. 1 On and one were anciently pronounced alike, and freqenti written so. 134 TWO GEMTLEMEN ACT II Vol. Why, sir, who bade you call her '. Speed. Your worship, sir ; or else I mistook. Val. Well, you'll still be too forward. Speed. And yet I was last chidden for being too slow. Val. Go to, sir : Tell me, do you know madam Silvia 1 Speed. She that your worship loves ? Val. Why, how know you that I am in love T Speed. Marry, by these special marks : First, you have learn'd, like Sir Proteus, to wreath your arms like a malcontent ; to relish a love-song, like a robin-redbreast ; to walk alone, like one that had the pestilence ; to sigh, like a schoolboy that had lost his ABC; to weep, like a young wench that had buried her grandam ; to fast, like one that takes diet ; 2 to watch, like one that fears robbing ; to speak puling, like a beggar at Hallowmas. 3 You were wont, when you laugh'd, to crow like a c.ock ; when you walk'd, to walk like one of the 1 ons ; when you fasted, it was presently after dinner ; when you look'd sadly, it was for want of money : and now you are metamorphos'd with a mistress, that, when I look on you, I can hardly think you my master. Val. Are all these things perceiv'd in me 1 Speed. They are all perceiv'd without ye. VaL Without me 1 They cannot. Speed. Without you ! nay, that's certain, for, * To take diet is to be under a regimen for a disease. * The feast of All-hallows, or All Saints, at which time the pool in Staffordshire go from parish to parish a smiling, as they call it j that is, begging and puling, (or singing small, as Bailey's Dic- tionary explains puling,) for soul-cakes, and singing what they call the souler's song. These terms point out the condition of this benevolence, which was, that the beggars should pray for the soul? of the giver's departed friends. fC. I. OF VERONA. 135 without you were so simple, none else would : but you are so without these follies, that these follies are within you, and shine through you like the water in an urinal ; that not an eye, that sees you, but is a physician to comment on your malady. Vol. But, tell me, dost thou know my lady Silvia 1 Speed. She that you gaze on so, as she sits at tiupper 1 Vol. Hast thou observ'd that ? even she I mean. Spred. Why, sir, I know her not. Vol. Dost thou know her by my gazing on her, and yet know'st her not ? Speed. Is she not hard-favour'd, sir ? Vol. Not so fair, boy, as well favour'd. Speed. Sir, I know that well enough. Vol. What dost thou know 1 Speed. That she is not so fair, as (of you) well favour'd. Vol. I mean, that her beauty is exquisite, but her favour infinite. Speed. That's because the one is painted, and the other out of all count. Vol. How painted ? and how out of count ? Speed. Marry, sir, so painted to make her fair, that no man 'counts of her beauty. Vol. How esteem'st thou me 1 I account of her beauty. Speed. You never saw her since she was de for in 'd. Vol. How ong hath she been deform'd 1 Speed. Ever since you lov'd her. Vol. I have lov'd her ever since I saw her; and still I see her beautiml. Speed. If you love her, you cannot see her Val. Why? 130 TWO GENTLEMLN ACT IL Speed. Because love is blind. O! tint you hud mine eyes ; or your own eyes had the lights they were wont to have, when you chid at Sir Proteus for going ungarter'd ! 4 Val What should I see then 1 Speed. Your own present folly, and her passing deformity : for he, being in love, could not see to garter his hose ; and you, being in love, cannot see to put on your hose. Val. Belike, boy, then you are in love ; for last morning you could not see to wipe my shoes. Speed. True, sir ; I was in love with my bed : I thank you, you swing'd me for my love, which makes me the bolder to chide you for yours. Val. In conclusion, I stand affected to her. Speed. I would you were set ; 8 so your affection would cease. Val. Last night she enjoin'd me to write some lines to one she loves. Speed. And have you ? Val. I have. Speed. Are they not lamely writ ? Val. No, boy, but as well as I can do them : Peace ! here she comes. Enter SILVIA. Speed. O excellent motion ! 8 O exceeding pup pet ! now will he interpret to her. 4 Going ung-artered is enumerated by Rosalind as one of the undoubted marks of love. " Then your hose should be ungartered, your bonnet unbanded," &c. As You Like It, Act iii. sc. 2. * Set, for seated, in opposition to stand in the preceding lino. It appears, however, to be used metaphorically in the sense ap- plied to the sun when it sinks below the horizon. ' A motion signified, in Shakespeare's time, a pupvet-shtne Speed means, what a fine puppet-show shall we have now ! Here Sil Servant! Vol. Mistress ! Speed. Master, Sir Thurio frowns on you. Val Ay, boy ; it's for love. Speed. Not of you. Val. Of my mistress then. Speed. 'Twere good you knock'd him. Sil. Servant, you are sad. 1 Val. Indeed, madam, I seem so. Thu. Seem you that you are not? Val. Haply 2 I do. Thu. So do counterfeits. VaL So do you. Thu. What seem I that I am not ? Val Wise. T}M. What instance of the contrary ? Val Your folly. Thu. And how quote s you my folly ! 1 That is, you are serious. * That ig, perhaps. * To quote is to mark, to observe. It was formerly pronounced aiid sometimes vritten coate, from the French : hence the quibble here upoii the words quote and coat H 144 TWO GENTLEMEN ACT IL Vol. I coat it in your jerkin. Thu, My jerkin is a doublet. 4 Vol. Well, then, I'll double your folly. Thu. How? Sil. What ! angry, Sir Thurio ? do you change colour 1 Vol. Give him leave, madam : he is a kind of cameleon. Thu. That hath more mind to feed on your blood, than live in your air. Vol. You have said, sir. 77m. Ay, sir, and done too, for this time. Vol. I know it well, sir : you always end ere you begin. Sil. A fine volley of words, gentlemen, and quickly shot off. Vol. 'Tis indeed, madam ; we thank the giver. t Sil. Who is that, servant ? Vol. Yourself, sweet lady ; for you gave the fire Sir Thurio borrows his wit from your ladyship's looks, and spends what he borrows kindly in your company. Thu. Sir, if you spend word for word with me, I shall make your wit bankrupt. Vol. I know it well, sir : you have an exchequer of words, and, I think, no other treasure to give your followers ; for it appears by their bare liveries, that they live by your bare words. Sil. No more, gentlemen, no more : Here comes my father. * This is much the same as saying, in the wardrobe dialect of our day, My coat is a vest. The jerkin, or jacket, was generally worn over the doublet ; but sometimes the latter was worn alone and so confounded with the former. Sometimes both had sleeves sometimes neither, and in the latter case sleeves were separate articles of dress. H sc. nr. OF VERONA 145 Enter DUKE. Duke. Now, daughter Silvia, you are hard beset Sir Valentine, your father's in good health . What say you to a letter from your friends Of much good news 1 VaL My lord, I will be thankful To any happy messenger from thence. Duke. Know you Don Antonio, your countryman ! VaL Ay, my good lord ; I know the gentleman To be of worth, and worthy estimation, And not without desert so well reputed. Duke. Hath he not a son 1 Vol. Ay, my good lord ; a son, that well deservei The honour and regard of such a father Duke. You know lam well ? VaL I know him, as myself; for from our infancy We have convers'd, and spent our hours together * And though myself have been an idle truant, Omitting the sweet benefit of time, To clothe mine age with angel-like perfection ; Yet hath Sir Proteus, for that's his name, Made use and fair advantage of his days : His years but young, but his experience old ; His head unmellow'd, but his judgment ripe; And, in a word, (for far behind his worth Come all the praises that I now bestow,) He is complete in feature, 6 and in mind, With all good grace to grace a gentleman. Duke. Beshrew 6 me, sir, but, if he make this good, He is as worthy for an empress' love, 6 Feature in the Poet's age was often used for form or person in general. So in Ant. and Cleop. Act ii. sc. 5. " Report the feature of Octavia." Thus also Spenser : " Which the fair feat we of ner limbs did hide." ' A petty mode of adjuration, equivalent to ill betide mn. 146 TWO GENTLEMEN AC1 II. As meet to be an emperor's counsellor. Well, sir, this gentleman is come to me With commendation from great potentates ; And here he means to spend Ids time a wliile : I think, 'tis no unwelcome news to you. Vol. Should I have wish'd a thing, it had been he. Duke. Welcome him, then, according to his worth. Silvia, I speak to you ; and you, Sir Thurio : For Valentine, I need not 'cite 7 him to it : I'll send him hither to you presently. [Exit. Vol. This is the gentleman, I told your ladyship, Had come along with me, but that his mistress Did hold his eyes lock'd in her crystal looks. Sil. Belike, that now she hath enfranchis'd them Upon some other pawn for fealty. Vol. Nay, sure, I think, she holds them prisoners still. SiL Nay, then he should be blind ; and, being blind How could he see his way to seek out you 1 Vol. Why, lady, Love hath twenty pair of eyes. Thu. They say, that Love hath not an eye at all Vol. To see such lovers, Thurio, as yourself: Upon a homely object love can wink. Enter PROTEUS. Sil Have done, have done : Here comes the gentleman. [Exeunt THURIO and SPEED VaL Welcome, dear Proteus ! Mistress, I be- seech you, Confirm his welcome with some special favour. Sil. His worth is warrant for his welcome hither If this be he you oft have wish'd to hear from. 7 Cite, for incite SO IV. OF VERONA. 147 VdL Mistress, it is : sweet lady, entertain him To be my fellow-servant to your ladyship. SiL Too low a mistress for so high a servant. Pro. Not so, sweet lady; but too mean a servant To have a look of such a worthy mistress. VaL Leave off discourse of disability : Sweet lady, entertain him for your servant. Pro. My duty will I boast of, nothing else. SiL And duty never yet did want his meed : Servant, you are welcome to a worthless mistress Pro. I'll die on him that says so, but yourself. SiL That you are welcome 1 Pro. That you are worthless. Re-enter THURIO." Thu. Madam, my lord your father would speak with you. SiL I wait upon his pleasure : Come, Sir Thurio, Go with me. Once more, new servant, welcome I'll leave you to confer of home affairs ; When you have done, we look to hear from you. Pro. We'll both attend upon your ladyship. [Exeunt SILVIA and THURIO. VaL Now, tell me, how do all from whence you came Pro. Your friends are well, and have them much commended. 8 Theobald put " a servant " in the place of Thurio here, keep- ing Thurio or 'he stage during the preceding dialogue ; and tne Change has oeer. received by most editors since. The object was, no doubt, to save the Duke from employing Sir Thurio, who is suitor to his daughter, and the one favoured by himself, as his nearer of despatches. It must be owned that the etiquette of the paiace does give way a little here to the exigencies of the stage, which in the Poet's time often had more characters than perform- ers, and therefore could not always spare an actor to serve merei\ as message-earner. Nevertheless we restore the old order of the 148 TWO GENTLEMEN ACT II, Vol. And how do yours ? Pro. I left them all in health Val How does your lady 1 and how thrives your love 1 Pro. My tales of love were wont to weary you f know, you joy not in a love-discourse. Val. Ay, Proteus, but that life is alter'd now : I have done penance for contemning love ; Whose high imperious 9 thoughts have punish'd me With bitter fasts, with penitential groans, With nightly tears, and daily heart-sore sighs ; For, in revenge of my contempt of love, Love hath chas'd sleep from rny enthralled eyes, And made them watchers of mine own heart's sorrow O ! gentle Proteus, Love's a mighty lord ; And hath so humbled me, as, I confess, There is no woe 10 to his correction, Nor, to his service, no such joy on earth ! Now, no discourse, except it be of love ; Now can I break my fast, dine, sup, and sleep, Upon the very naked name of love. Pro. Enough ; I read your fortune in your eye Was this the idol that you worship so 1 Val. Even she ; and is she not a heavenly saint 1 Pro. No ; but she is an eartlily paragon. Val. Call her divine. Pro. I will not flatter her Val. O ! flatter me ; for love delights in praises Pro. When I was sick, you gave me bitter pills And I must minister the like to you. 9 That is, imperial. Thus in Hamlet: "Imperious Caesa dead and turn'd to clay." 10 That is. no miseiy compared to that inflicted by love; a form of speech not unusal in the old writers : Thus an old ballad " There is no comfort in the world To women that are kind." H. SC IV. OF VERONA. 149 VaL Then speak the truth by her : if not divine, Yet let her be a principality, 11 Sovereign to all the creatures on the earth. Pro. Except my mistress. VaL Sweet, except not any, Except thou wilt except against my love. Pro. Have I not reason to prefer mine own 1 VaL And I will help thee to prefer her, too : She shall be dignified with this high honour, To bear my lady's train ; lest the base earth Should from her vesture chance to steal a kiss, And, of so great a favour growing proud, Disdain to root the summer-swelling flower, And make rough winter everlastingly. Pro. Why, Valentine, what braggardism is this ? VaL Pardon me, Proteus : all I can, is nothing To her, whose worth makes other worth as nothing. She is alone. Pro. Then, let her alone. Val. Not for the world : why, man, she is mine own ; And I as rich in having such a jewel, As twenty seas, if all their sand were pearl, The water nectar, and the rocks pure gold. Forgive me, that I do not dream on thee, Because thou seest me dote upon my love. My foolish rival, that her father likes, Only for his possessions are so huge, Is gone with her along ; and I must after, For love, thou know'st, is full of jealousy. Pro. But she loves you 1 VaL Ay, and we are betroth'd; 11 A principality is an angel of the highest order, and there- fore next to divine. Speak the truth by her, that is, speak th truth o/her ; another obsolete use of a preposition. H. 150 TWO GENTLEMEN ACT II Nay, more, our marriage hour, With all the cunning manner of our flight, Determin'd of: how I must climb her window, The ladder made of cords, and all the means Plotted, and 'greed on, for my happiness, flood Proteus, go with me to my chamber, In these affairs to aid me with thy counsel. Pro. Go on before ; I shall inquire you forth . f must unto the road, 12 to disembark Some necessaries that I needs must use ; And then I'll presently attend you. Vol. Will you make haste 1 Pro. I will. [Exit VALENTINE Even as one heat another heat expels, Or as one nail by strength drives out another, So the remembrance of my former love Is by a newer object quite forgotten. Is it mine eye, 13 or Valentinus' praise, Her true perfection, or my false transgression, That makes me, reasonless, to reason thus 1 She's fair ; and so is Julia, that I love ; That I did love, for now my love is thaw'd ; Which, like a waxen image 'gainst a fire, 14 l * That is, the haven where the ships lie at anchor. 13 The original has, " It is mine, or Valentine's praise ? *' where the latter end, the mark, 1, seems to forget the beginning, It is. Mine eye is Warburton's emendation ; and the pointing itself suggests the transposition of It is. Mr. Collier thinks the true reading may have been mine eyen, corrupted, as it might easily be, by the printer into mine. Malone's reading, Is it her mien which is the one generally followed, seems something ajar with the context. That the name should here be Valentin?/,?, is prob- able, because the verse requires it, and from its having been be fore used in that form, Act i. sc. 3. H. 14 It was anciently supposed that if a witch made a waxen image of any one she wished to destroy 01 torment, and hung il by the fire, as the image wasted away the original would do so too. Hence the allusion in the text. u *c. v. UK VF:RONA. 151 Bcurs no impression of the tiling it was. Methinks, my zeal to Valentine is cold ; And that I love him not, as I was wont : O ! but I love his lady too, too much ; And that's the reason T love him so little. How shall I dote on her with more advice, That thus without advice begin to love her ! 'Tis but her picture I have yet beheld, 15 And that hath da/zled 16 my reason's light ; But when I look on her perfections, There is no reason 17 but I shall be blind. If 1 can check my erring love, I will ; If not, to compass her I'll use my skill. \E%it. SCENE V. The same. A Street. Enter SPEED and LAUNCE. Speed. Launce ! by mine honesty, welcome to Milan ! Laun. Forswear not thyself, sweet youth ; for J am not welcome. I reckon this always that a man is never undone, till he be hang'd; nor never welcome to a place, till some certain shot be paid, and the hostess say, welcome. Speed. Come on, you madcap ! I'll to the ale- house with you presently ; where for one shot of 15 Dr. Johnson censures the Poet for making Proteus say ht> hns hut seen the " picture " of Silvia, when he has just been talk- ing with the lady herself. The great Doctor was not great eiiousrb to catch Shakespeare so, and in this case he made a blunder, in- stead of finding one. Proteus wants to get deeper in love with Silvia, and so resorts to the argument, that the little he has seen of her is as though he had but seen her picture. Tho figure i> not more apt for his purpose than beautiful in itself. Advice, 11 the two lines above, is used in the sense of acquaintance. H " Dazzled is used as a trisyllable. '" Reason is here used iu the sense of doubt. u IrV-J TWO GENTLEMEN ACT II five pence thou shalt have five thousand welcomes. But, sirrah, how did thy master part with madam Julia? Lami. Marry, after they clos'd in earnest, they parted very fairly in jest. Speed. But shall she marry him ? Latin. No. Speed. How then 1 Shall he marry her 1 Laun. No, neither. Speed. What, are they broken 1 Laun. No, they are both as whole as a fish. Speed* Why, then, how stands the matter with them 1 Latin. Marry, thus : when it stands well with him, it stands well with her. Speed. What an ass art thou ! I understand thee not. Laun. What a block art thou, that thou canst not ! My staff understands me. Speed. What thou say'st 1 Laun. Ay, and what 1 do too : look thee ; I'll but lean, and my staff understands me. Speed. It stands under thee, indeed. Laun. Why, stand-under and under-stand is all one. Speed. But tell me true, will't be a match 1 Laun. Ask my dog : if he say ay, it will ; if he say no, it will ; if he shake liis tail, and saj nothing, it will. Speed. The conclusion is, then, that it will. Laun. Thou shalt never get such a secret from me, but by a parable. Speed. 'Tis well that I get it so. But, Launce, how say'st thou, 1 that my master is become a no- table lover 1 1 That is, what say'st thou to this. 5C. VI. OF VERONA. ISA Laun. I never knew him otherwise. Speed, Than how 1 Laun. A notable lubber, as thou reportest him to be? Speed. Why, thou whoreson ass ! thou mistak'st me. Laun. Why, fool, I meant not thee ; I meant thy master. Speed. I tell thee, my master is become a hot lover. Laun. Why, I tell thee, 1 care not though he burn himself in love. If thou wilt go Avith me to the ale- house, so ; if not, thou art a Hebrew, a Jew, and not worth the name of a Christian. Speed. Why? Laun. Because thou hast not so much charity in thee, as to go to the ale with a Christian. 2 Wilt thou go ? Speed. At thy service. [Exeunt. SCENE VL The same. An Apartment in the Palace Enter PROTEUS. Pro. To leave my Julia, shall I be forsworn , To love fair Silvia, shall I be forsworn ; To wrong my friend, I shall be much forsworn ; And even that power, wliich gave me first my oath Provokes me to this threefold perjury. Love bade me swear, and love bids me forswear * The festivals of the Church were often celebrated with merry -nakings, of which ale-drinking formed a part : hence they were called " Ales," and " Church Ales." Before the days of Puritan- ism, of course none but Jews would refuse " la go tc the Ale ith a Christian." Launce is quibbling still, a* usual. fct. 54 TWO GENTLEMEN ACT II- sweet -suggesting ' love ! if thou hast sinn'd. Teach me, thy tempted subject, to excuse it. At first I did adore a twinkling star, But now I worship a celestial sun. Unheedful vows may heedfully be broken ; And he wants wit, that wants resolved will To learn his wit to exchange the bad for better. Fie, fie, unreverend tongue ! to call her bad, Whose sovereignty so oft thou hast preferr'd With twenty thousand soul-confirming oaths. 1 cannot leave to love, and yet I do ; But there I leave to love, where 1 should love. Julia I lose, and Valentine I lose : If I keep them, I needs must lose myself; If I lose them, thus find I by their loss, For Valentine, myself; for Julia, Silvia. I to myself am dearer than a friend ; For love is still most precious in itself: And Silvia, (witness heaven, that made her fair !) Shows Julia but a swarthy Ethiope. I will forget that Julia is alive, Remembering that my love to her is dead ; And Valentine I'll hold an enemy, Aiming at Silvia as a sweeter friend. I cannot now prove constant to myself, Without some treachery us'd to Valentine : This night, he meaneth with a corded ladder To climb celestial Silvia's chamber- window ; Myself in counsel, his competitor : 2 1 That is, sweetly-tempting. To suggest, in the language of oui ancestors, was to tempt. * Competitor here means confederate, assistant, partner. Tbuf ui Ant. Cleop. Act v. sc. 1 : " That thou my brother, my competitor In top of all design, my mate in empire, Friend and companion in the front of war." M:. Vll. OF VERONA. 155 Now presently I'll give her father notice Of their disguising, and pretended flight ; 3 Who, all enrag'd, will banish Valentine ; For Thurio, he intends, shall wed his daughter: But, Valentine being gone, I'll quickly cross, By some sly trick, blunt Thurio's dull proceeding. Love, lend me wings to make my purpose swift, As thou hast lent me wit to plot this drift ! [Exit SCENE VH. Verona. A Room in JULIA'S House. Enter JULIA and LUCETTA. JuL Counsel, Lucetta ; gentle girl, assist me ! And, even in kind love, I do conjure thee, Who art the table wherein all my thoughts Are visibly character'd and engrav'd, 1 To lesson me ; and tell me some good mean, How, with my honour, I may undertake A journey to my loving Proteus. Luc. Alas ! the way is wearisome and long. JuL A true-devoted pilgrim is not weary To measure kingdoms with his feeble steps : f * That is, proposed or intended flight. The verb prdtendre has the same signification in French. 1 The tables, or table-book, made of ivory or slate, were used, as they now are, for noting down any thing to be remembered. Thus the well-known lines in Hamlet, Act i. sc. 5 : " My tables, meet it is, I set it down, That one may smile, and smile, and be a villain." H. " An allusion to the pilgrimages formerly made by religious enthusiasts, who, like Julia, loved mu.ch, but not wisely, often to Rome, Compostella, and Jerusalem, but oftener still to " the House of our Lady at Loretto." In that age. when there were few roads and many robbers, to go afoot and alone through nil the pains and perils of a passage from England to either of 156 TWO GENTLEMEN ACT 11 Much less shall she, that hath love's wings to fly ; And when the flight is made to one so dear, Of such divine perfection, as Sir Proteus. Luc. Better forbear, till Proteus make return. Jul O ! know'st thou not, his looks are my soul's food? Pity the dearth that I have pined in, By longing for that food so long a time. Didst thou but know the inly touch of love, Thou wouldst as soon go kindle fire with snow, As seek to quench the fire of love with words. Luc. I do not seek to quench your love's hot fire. But qualify the fire's extreme rage, Lest it should burn above the bounds of reason. Jul. The more thou damm'st it up, the more it burns : The current, that with gentle murmur glides, Thou know'st, being stopp'd, impatiently doth rage But, when his fair course is not hindered, He makes sweet music with the enamel'd stones, Giving a gentle kiss to every sedge He overtaketh in his pilgrimage ; And so by many winding nooks he strays With willing sport to the wild ocean. Then let me go, and hinder not my course : I'll be as patient as a gentle stream, And make a pastime of each weary step, Till the last step have brought me to my love , And there I'll rest, as, after much turmoil, A blessed soul doth in Elysium. these shrines, was deemed proof that the person was thoroughly in earnest. The Santa asa at Loretto was supposed to be the house in which the Blessed Virgin was born, it having been super naturally transported from Galilee to Italy, and placed in a wood at midnight ; which was the cause of so many more pilgrimage* being made to that place. H. SC. VII. OF VERONA. 157 Luc. But in what habit will you go along ? Jul. Not like a woman ; for I would prevent The loose encounters of lascivious men : Gentle Lucetta, fit me with such weeds As may beseem some well reputed page. Luc. Why, then your ladyship must cut your hair. Jul. No, girl ; I'll knit it up in silken strings, With twenty odd-conceited true-love knots : To be fantastic may become a youth Of greater time than I shall show to be. Luc. What fashion, madam, shall I make your breeches ? Jul. That fits as well as " tell me, good my lord, What compass will you wear your farthingale ? " Why, even what fashion thou best lik'st, Lucetta. Luc. You must needs have them with a codpiece madam. Jul. Out, out, Lucetta ! that will be ill-favour'd. Luc. A round hose, madam, now's not worth a pin, Unless you have a codpiece to stick pins on. Jul. Lucetta, as thou lov'st me, let me have What thou think'st meet, and is most mannerly. But tell me, wench, how will the world repute me For undertaking so unstaid a journey ? [ fear me, it will make me scandaliz'd. Luc. If you think so, then stay at home, and go not Jul. Nay, that I will not. Luc. Then never dream on infamy, but go. If Proteus like your journey, when you come, No matter who's displeas'd, when you are gone : I fear me, he will scarce be pleas'd withal. Jul. That is the least, Lucetta, of my fear: A thousand oaths, an ocean of his tears, 158 TWO GENTLEMEN ACT 11. And instances of infinite of love, 3 Warrant me welcome to my Proteus. Luc. All these are servants to deceitful men. JuL Base men, that use them to so base effect ! But truer stars did govern Proteus' birth : His words are bonds, his oaths are oracles ; His love sincere, his thoughts immaculate ; His tears, pure messengers sent from his heart ; His heart as far from fraud as heaven from earth. Luc. Pray heaven he prove so, when you come to him ! JuL Now, as thou lov'st me, do him not that wrong, To bear a hard opinion of his truth : Only deserve my love by loving him ; And presently go with me to my chamber, To take a note of what I stand in need of, To furnish me upon my longing journey. 4 All that is mine I leave at thy dispose, My goods, my lands, my reputation ; Only, in lieu thereof, 5 despatch me hence ' Infinite is here used for infinity. So in Much Ado Abou Nothing we find " the infinite of thought ; " and Chaucer has " al- though the life of it be stretched with infinite of time." The read- ing is that of the first folio : the second has " instances as infinite of love," which is adopted by Mr. Collier. But the former, be- sides having better authority, seems better in itself. H 4 That is, the journey that I long to be making ; or, it way be, the journey that I shall make with continual longing to reach the end of it. H. * That is, in consideration thereof. So in The Tempest, Act i. c. J : " That he in lieu o' the premises," &.c. This use of liev is not uncommon in the old writers. Thus in Hooker : " But be it that God of his great liberality had determined in lieu of man's endeavours to bestow the same," &.c. Eccle. Pol. B. i. ch. . aec. 6 ; and in Spenser's Dedication of his " Four Hymns " to tie Countesses of Cumberland and Warwick : " Beseeching you to accept this my humble service, in lieu of tho great graces and honourable favours which ye daily show unto one." H. SC. VII. OF VERONA. I5U Come, answer not, but to it presently ; I am impatient of my tarriance. [Exeunt ACT III. SCENE I. Milan. An Ante-room in the DUKE'S Palace Enter DUKE, THURIO, and PROTEUS. Duke. Sir Thurio, give us leave, I pray, awhile : We have some secrets to confer about. [Exit THURIO. Now, tell me, Proteus, what's your will with me ? Pro. My gracious lord, that which I would dis- cover, The law of friendship bids me to conceal ; But, when I call to mind your gracious favours Done to me, undeserving as I am, My duty pricks me on to utter that Which else no worldly good should draw from ma Know, worthy prince, Sir Valentine, my friend, This night intends to steal away your daughter j Myself am one made privy to the plot. I know you have determin'd to bestow her On Thurio, whom your gentle daughter hates ; And should she thus be stolen uway from you, It would be much vexation to your age. Thus, for my duty's sake, I rather chose To cross my friend in his intended drift, Than, by concealing it, heap on your head A pack of sorrows, which would press you down, Being unprevented, to your timeless grave. Duke Proteus, I thank thee for thine honest care 160 TWO GENTLEMEN ACT ML Which to requite, command me while I live. Tliis love of theirs myself have often seen, Haply, when they have judg'd me fast asleep ; And oftentimes have purpos'd to forbid Sir Valentine her company, and my court . But, fearing lest my jealous aim ' might err, And so ui worthily disgrace the man, (A rashness that I ever yet have shunn'd,) I gave him gentle looks ; thereby to find That which thyself hast now disclos'd to me. And, that thou mayst perceive my fear of this, Knowing that tender youth is soon suggested,* I nightly lodge her in an upper tower, The key whereof myself have ever kept ; And thence she cannot be convey'd away. Pro. Know, noble lord, they have devis'd a mean How he her chamber-window will ascend, And with a corded ladder fetch her down ; For which the youthful lover now is gone, And this way comes he with it presently ; Where, if it please you, you may intercept liim But, good my lord, do it so cunningly, That my discovery be not aimed at ; For love of you, not hate unto my friend, Hath made me publisher of this pretence. 3 Duke. Upon mine honour, he shall never know That I had any light from thee of this. Pro. Adieu, my lord : Sir Valentine is coming. [Exit Enter VALENTINE. Duke. Sir Valentine, whither away so fast ? Vol. Please it your grace, there is a messenger 1 That is, guess. In Romeo and Juliet we have i " I aim'd se near when I suppos'd you lov'd." 1 That is, tempted. Vid note 1, Act ii. sc. 6. That is, design. BC. I. OF VERONA. 161 That stays to bear my letters to my friends, And I am going to deliver them. Duke. Be they of much import 1 Fov. The tenor of them doth but signify My health, and happy being at your court. Duke. Nay, then no matter ; stay with me a while : I am to break with thee of some affairs, That touch me near, wherein thou must be secret. *Tis not unknown to thee, that I have sought To match my friend, Sir Thurio, to my daughter. Vol. I know it well, my lord ; and, sure, the match Were rich and honourable : besides, the gentleman Is full of virtue, bounty, worth, and qualities Beseeming such a wife as your fair daughter : Cannot your grace win her to fancy him 1 Duke. No, trust me : she is peevish, sullen, fro ward, Proud, disobedient, stubborn, lacking duty; Neither regarding that she is my child, Nor fearing me as if I were her father : And, may I say to thee, this pride of hers, Upon advice, hath drawn my love from her ; And, where 4 I thought the remnant of mine age Should have been cherish'd by her childlike duty, I now am full resolv'd to take a wife, And turn her out to who will take her in : Then let her beauty be her wedding-dower ; For me and my possessions she esteems not. Vol. What would your grace have me to do in this? Duke. There is a lady, sir, in Milan, here, Whom I affect ; but she is nice, and coy, And nought esteems my aged eloquence : Now, therefore, would I have thee to my tutor. * Where for whereas, often used by old writers 162 TWO GENTLEMEN ACT III, (For long agone I have forgot to court ; Besides, the fashion of the time is chang d,) How, and which way, I may bestow myself, To be regarded in her sun-bright eye. Val. Win her with gifts, if she respect not words Dumb jewels often, in their silent kind, More than quick words, do move a woman's mind Duke. But she did scorn a present that I sent her Val. A woman sometimes scorns what best con- tents her : Send her another ; never give her o'er ; For scorn at first makes after-love the more. If she do frown, 'tis not in hate of you, But rather to beget more love in you : [f she do chide, 'tis not to have you gone ; For why, the fools are mad, if left alone. Take no repulse, whatever she doth say ; For " get you gone," she doth not mean " away ; '* Flatter, and praise, commend, extol their graces ; Though ne'er so black, say they have angels' faces. That man that hath a tongue, I say, is no man, If with his tongue he cannot win a woman. Duke. But she I mean is promis'd by her frienda Unto a youthful gentlemen of worth, And kept severely from resort of men, That no man hath access by day to her. Val. Why, then I would resort to her by night. Duke. Ay, but the doors be lock'd, and keya kept safe, That no man hath recourse to her by mgnu VaL What lets, 5 but one may enter at her window 1 Duke. Her chamber is aloft, far from the ground And built so shelving that one cannot climb it Without apparent hazard of his life. * That is, hinder SC . L OF VERONA. IGfl Vol. Why, then a ladder, quaintly made of cords, To cast up vith a pair of anchoring hooks, Would serve to scale another Hero's tower, So bold Leander would adventure it. Duke. Now, as thou art a gentleman of blood, Advise me where I may have such a ladder. Vol. When would you use it 1 pray, sir, tell me that. Duke. This very night ; for Love is like a cliild. That longs for every thing that he can come by. Vol. By seven o'clock I'll get you such a ladder Duke. But, hark thee ; I will go to her alone : How shall I best convey the ladder thither ? Vol. It will be light, my lord, that you may bear it Under a cloak that is of any length. Duke. A cloak as long as thine will serve the turn 1 Vol. Ay, my good lord. Duke. Then let me see thy cloak : I'll get me one of such another length. Val. Why, any cloak will serve the turn, my lord. Duke. How shall I fashion me to wear a cloak ? I pray thee, let me feel thy cloak upon me. What letter is this same 1 What's here 1 " To Silvia ! " And here an engine fit for my proceeding ! I'll be so bold tc break the seal for once. [Reads. u My thoughts do harbour with my Silvia nightly ; And slaves tney are to me, that send them flying : O ! could their master come and go as lightly, Himself would lodge where senseless they are lying. My herald thoughts in thy pure bosom rest them ; While I, their king, that thither them importune, Do curse the grace that with such grace hath bless'd them, Because mvself do want my servants' fortune : 164 TWO GENTLEMEN ACT III I curse myself, for fl they are sent by me, That they should harbour where their lord should be.'* What's here ? " Silvia, this night I will enfranchise thee . " 'Tis so ; and here's the ladder for the purpose. Why, Phaeton, (for thou art Merops' son,) Wilt thou aspire to guide the heavenly car, And with thy daring folly burn the world ? Wilt thou reach stars, because they shine on thee 1 Go, base intruder ! overweening slave ! Bestow thy fawning smiles on equal mates; And think my patience, more than thy desert, Is privilege for thy departure hence: Thank me for this, more than for all the favour* Which, all too much, I have bestow'd on thee But if thou linger in my territories Longer than swiftest expedition Will give thee time to leave our royal court, By heaven, my wrath shall far exceed the love I ever bore my daughter, or thyself. Be gone ! 1 will not hear thy vain exc.use ; But, as thou lov'st thy life, make speed from hence [Exit DUKE Vol. And why not death, rather than living tor ment 7 To die, is to be banish'd from myself; And Silvia is myself: banish'd from her, Is self from self ; a deadly banishment ! What light is light, if Silvia be not seen ? What joy is joy, if Silvia be not by ? Unless it be to think that she is by, And feed upon the shadow of perfection. 7 f That is, because. And feed upon the shadow of perfection. Animum pictura pascit inani " Virgil. SC. I. OF VERONA. '66 Except I be by Silvia in the night, There is no music in the nightingale ; Unless I look on Silvia in the day, There is no day for me to look upon : She is my essence ; and I leave to be, If I be not by her fair influence Foster'd, illumin'd, cherish'd, kept alive. I fly not death, to fly this deadly doom: Tarry I here, I but attend on death ; But, fly I hence, I fly away from life. Enter PROTEUS and LAUNCE. Pro. Run, boy ; run, run, and seek him out. Laun. So-ho ! so-ho ! Pro. What seest thou 1 Laun. Him we go to find : there's not a hair on's head, but 'tis a Valentine. Pro. Valentine 1 Val No. Pro. Who then ? his spirit ? Val Neither. Pro. What then 1 Val. Nothing. Laun. Can nothing speak 1 master, shall I strike ? Pro. Whom wouldst thou strike ? Laun. Nothing. Pro. Villain, forbear ! Laun. Why, sir, I'll strike nothing : I pray you, Pro. Sirrah, I say, forbear. Friend Valentine, a word. Val. My ears are stopp'd, and cannot hear good news, So much of bad already hath possess'd them. 8 That is, by flying, or in flying. It is a Gallicism. 9 Launce is still quibbling : he is running down the hart he slnrted when he first entered 1(36 TWO GENTLEMEN ACT III Pro. Then in dumb silence will I bury mine, For they are harsh, untuneable, and bad. VaL Is Silvia dead 1 Pro. No, Valentine. Vol. No Valentine, indeed, for sacred Silvia ! I lath she forsworn me ? Pro. No, Valentine. VaL No Valentine, if Silvia have forsworn me ! What is your news ? Laun. Sir, there is a proclamation that you are vanish'd. Pro. That thou art banish'd O ! that is the news From hence, from Silvia, and fi >m me, thy friend Vol. O ! I have fed upon this woe already, And now excess of it will make me surfeit. Doth Silvia know that I am banished ? Pro. Ay, ay ; and she hath offer'd to the doom (Which, unrevers'd, stands in effectual force) A sea of melting pearl, which some call tears : Those at her father's churlish feet she tender'd; With them, upon her knees, her humble self; Wringing her hands, whose whiteness so became them, As if but now they waxed pale for woe : But neither bended knees, pure hands held up, Sad sighs, deep groans, nor silver-shedding tears, Could penetrate her uncompassionate sire ; But Valentine, if he be ta'en, must die. Besides, her intercession chaf 'd him so, When she for thy repeal was suppliant, That to close prison he commanded her, With many bitter threats of 'biding there. VaL No more ; unless the next word that thou speak'st jC I. OF VERONA. 167 Have some malignant power upon my life : If so, I pray thee, breathe it in mine ear, As ending anthem of my endless dolour. Pro. Cease to lament for that thou canst not help And study help for that which thou lament'st. Time is the nurse and breeder of all good. Here if thou stay, thou canst not see thy love ; Besides, thy staying will abridge thy life. Hope is a lover's staff; walk hence with that, And manage it against despairing thoughts. Thy letters may be here, though thou art hence; Which, being writ to me, shall be deliver'd Even in the milk-white bosom of thy love. 10 The time now serves not to expostulate : Come, I'll convey thee through the city gate ; And, ere I part with thee, confer at large Of all that may concern thy love affairs : As thou lov'sj Silvia, though not for thyself, Regard thy danger and along with me. Vol. I pray thee, Launce, an if thou seest my boy, Bid him make haste, and meet me at the north gate. Pro. Go, sirrah, find him out. Come, Valentine. Vol. O my dear Silvia ! hapless Valentine ! [Exeunt VAL. and PRO. fjaun. I am but a fool, look you ; and yet I ha\ 8 the wit to think my master is a kind of a knave : but that's all one, if he be but one knave." He lives 10 So in Hamlet : " These to her excellent white bosom." To understand this mode of addressing letters, it should be known that women anciently had a pocket in the forepart of their stays, in which they carried not only love letters and love tokens, but even their money. In many parts of England rustic damsels still continue the practice. A very old lady informed Mr. Steevens, hat when it was the fashion to wear very prominent stays it was the custom for stratagem or gallantry to drop its literary favours within the front of them. M But onie. knave, according to Dr Johnson, here means, lui l(fc< TWO GENTLEMEN ACT 111 not now, that knows me to be in love : yet I am in love ; but a team of horse shall not pluck that from me ; nor who 'tis I love, and yet 'tis a woman : but what woman, I will not tell myself; and yet 'tis a milk-maid : yet 'tis not a maid, for she hath had gossips; 12 yet 'tis a maid, for she is her master's maid, and serves for wages. She hath more quali- ties than a water spaniel, which is much in a bare 13 Christian. Here is the cate-log [Pulling out a paper] of her conditions. " Imprimis, She can fetch and carry." Why, a horse can do no more : nay, a horse cannot fetch, but only carry ; there- fore is she better than a jade. " Item, She can milk ; " look you, a sweet virtue in a maid with clean hands. Enter SPEED. Speed. How now, signior Launce ? what new with your mastership ] Laun. With my master's ship ? why, it is at sea Speed. Well, your old vice still ; mistake the word : What news then in your paper ? Laun. The blackest news that ever thou heard'st. Speed. Why, man, how black 1 Laun. Why, as black as ink. Speed. Let me read them. Laun. Fie on thee, jolt-head ! thou can'st not read. ante a knave, as opposed to twice a knave, or a double knave But it seems more likely that Launce is simply engaged in his usua. occupation of punning ; his sense being, " if he be but one knave, that's all one. n. " Gossips not only signify those who answer for a child ID baptism, but the tattling women who attend lyings-ill. Tne quibble is evident. 13 Bare has two senses, mere and naked. Launce, quibbling on, uses it in both senses, and opposes the naked person to the water-spaniel thickly covered with hair SO. I. OF VEKONA. 169 Speed, Thou liest ! I can. Laun. I will try thee. Tell me this : Who be- got thee 1 Speed. Marry, the son of my grandfather. Laun. O illiterate loiterer ! it was the son of thy grandmother. This proves that thou canst not read. Speed. Come, fool, come : try me in thy paper. Laun. There ; and saint Nicholas 14 be thy speed ! Speed. " Item, She can milk." Laun. Ay, that she can. Speed. " Item, She brews good ale." Laun. And therefore comes the proverb, Blessing of your heart, you brew good ale. Speed. " Item, She can sew." Laun. That's as much as to say, Can she so 1 Speed. " Item, She can knit." Laun. What need a man care for a stock with a wench, when she can knit him a stock. 1 * Speed. "Item, She can wash and scour." Laun. A special virtue ; for then she need not be wash'd and scour'd. 14 St. Nicholas had many weighty cares, but was best known as the patron-saint of scholars, in which office he is here invoked. He is said to have gained this honour by restoring to life three scholars, whom a wicked host had murdered while on their way to school. By the statutes of St. Paul's School, London, the scholars are required to attend divine service in the cathedral or. the anniversary of St. Nicholas. The parish clerks of London, probably because scholars were called clerks, formed themselves into a guild, with this saint for their patron. In King Henry 1 V. thieres are called St. Nicholas' clerks ; wh ther from the similarity of the names Nicholas and Old Nick, or from some similarity of conduct in thieves and scholars in the old days of learned beg- gary, doth not fully appear. St. Nicholas was also the patron- saint of Holland an I Russia; and Mr. Verplanck says, "he ha? long been known in Holland and New York as the special frier d -f child/en." B 11 That is, stocking I?0 TWO GENTLEMEN ACT III Speed. " Item, She can spin." Latin. Then may I set the world on wheels, when she can spin for her living. Speed. " Item, She hath many nameless virtues.** Laun. That's as much as to say, bastard virtues that, indeed, know not their fathers, and therefore have no names. Speed. " Here follow her vices." Laun. Close at the heels of her virtues. Speed. " Item, She is not to be kiss'd fasting, in respect of her breath." Laun. Well, that fault may be mended with a breakfast : Read on. Speed. " Item, She hath a sweet mouth." 18 Laun. That makes amends for her sour breath. Speed. " Item, She doth talk in her sleep." Laun. It's no matter for that, so she sleep not in her talk. Speed. " Item, She is slow in words." Laun. O villain, that set this down among her vices ! To be slow in words, is a woman's only vir tue : I pray thee, out with't ; and place it for het chief virtue. Speed. " Item, She is proud." Laun. Out with that too : it was Eve's legacy, and cannot be ta'en from her. Speed. " Item, She hath no teeth." Laun. I care not for that neither, because I love crusts. Speed. " Item, She is curst." Laun. Well, the best is, she hath no teeth to bite Speed. "Item, She will often praise her liquor." 18 A sweet mouth formerly meant ti sweet tooth, and so wa reckoned a vice : but Launce chooses to take it literally, that he may have something to offset the sow breath. H. sC. I. OF VERONA. 171 Laun. If her liquor be good, she shall : if she will not, I will ; for good things should be praised. Speed. "Item, She is too liberal." 17 Laun. Of her tongue she cannot ; for that's writ down she is slow of: of her purse she shall not ; for that I'll keep shut : now, of another thing she may ; and that cannot I help. Well, proceed. Speed. " Item, She hath more hair than wit, and more faults than hairs, and more wealth than faults." Laun. Stop there ; I'll have her : she was mine, and not mine, twice or thrice in that last article : Rehearse that once more. Speed. " Item, She hath more hair than wit," Laun. More hair than wit, it may be ; I'll prove it : The cover of the salt hides the salt, 18 and there- fore it is more than the salt : the hair, that covers the wit, is more than the wit ; for the greater hides the ess. What's next 1 Speed. " and more faults than hairs," Laun. Thai's monstrous : O, that that were out ! Speed. and more wealth than faults." Laun. Why, that word makes the faults gra- cious : Well, I'll have her ; and if it be a match, as nothing is impossible, Speed. What then 1 17 That is, free beyond the allowing^ of modesty. Thus IH Othello Desdemona says of lago : " Is he not a most profane and libe^'i, counsellor? " She will often praise her liquor ; that is, by drinking of it. Curst is peevish, scolding. Thus in Tlie Taming of The Shrew one of the persons calls Kate a curtt threw. H. 18 The ancient English saltcellar was very different from th modern, being a large piece of plate, generally much ornamented, with a cover to keep the salt clean. There was but one on the dinner table, which was placed near the top, and those who sat below it wer . for the most part, of inferior condition to thoM who sat above .1. 172 TWO GENTLEMEN ACT HI Loan. why, then will I tell thee, that thj master stays for thee at the north gate. Speed. For me 1 Latin. For thee 1 ay : who art thou ? he hath stay'd for a better man than thee. Speed. And must I go to him ? Lftim. Thou must run to him, for thou hast stay'd so long, that going will scarce serve the turn. Speed. Why didst not tell me sooner ? 'pox of your love-letters ! [Exit. Loan. Now will he be swing'd for reading my letter : An unmannerly slave, that will thrust him- self into secrets ! I'll after, to rejoice in the boy's correction. [Exit. SCENE n. The same. A Room in the DUKE'S Palace. Enter DUKE and THURIO ; PROTEUS behind. Duke. Sir Thurio, fear not, but that she will lovw you, Now Valentine is banish'd from her sight. Thu. Since his exile she hath despis'd me most j Forsworn my company, and rail'd at me, That I am desperate of obtaining her. Duke. This weak impress of love is as a figure Trenched ' in ice ; which with an hour's heat Dissolves to water, and doth lose his form. A little time will melt her frozen thoughts, And worthless Valentine shall be forgot. How now, Sir Proteus ! Is your countryman, According to our proclamation, gone 1 Pro. Gone, my good lord. 1 That is, cut, carved ; from the Fr tranchtr. SCX II. OF VERONA. 173 Duke. My daughter takes his going grievously. Pro. A little time, my lord, will kill that grief. Duke. So I believe ; but Thurio thinks not so. Proteus, the good conceit I hold of thee, (For thou hast shown some sign of good desert,) Makes me the better to confer with thee. Pro. Longer than I prove loyal to your grace, Let me not live to look upon your grace. Duke. Thou know'st how willingly I would effect The match between Sir Thurio and my daughter. Pro. I do, my lord. Duke. And also, I think, thou art not ignorant How she opposes her against my will. Pro. She did, my lord, when Valentine was here Duke. Ay, and perversely she persevers so. What might we do, to make the girl forget The love of Valentine, and love Sir Thurio ? Pro. The best way is, to slander Valentine With falsehood, cowardice, and poor descent; Three tilings that women highly hold in hate. Duke. Ay, but she'll think that it is spoke in hate. Pro. Ay, if his enemy deliver it : Therefore it must, with circumstance, be spoken By one whom she esteemeth as his friend. Duke. Then you must undertake to slander him. Pro. And that, my lord, I shall be loth to do: 'Tis an ill office for a gentleman ; Especially against liis very 2 friend. Duke. Where your good word cannot advantage him, Your slander never can endamage him : Therefore the office is indifferent, Being entreated to it by your friend. * That is, true ; from the Lit. vents. Massingei calls ona nf his plays " A Very Woma* IT4 TWO GENTLEMEN ACT III Pro. You have prevail'd, my lord : if I can do it, By aught that I can speak in his dispraise, She shall not long continue love to him. But say, this weed her love from Valentine, [t follows not that she will love Sir Thurio. Thu. Therefore, as you unwind her love from liim, Lest it should ravel, and be good to none, Yon must provide to bottom it on me ; 3 Which must be done, by praising me as much As you in worth dispraise Sir Valentine. Duke. And, Proteus, we dare trust you in this kind; Because we know, on Valentine's report, You are already love's firm votary, And cannot soon revolt and change your mind. Upon this warrant shall you have access, Where you with Silvia may confer at large ; For she is lumpish, heavy, melancholy, And, for your friend's sake, will be glad of you, Where you may temper her, by your persuasion. To hate young Valentine, and love my friend. Pro. As much as I can do, I will effect : But you, Sir Thurio, are not sharp enough ; You must lay lime, 4 to tangle her desires, By wailful sonnets, whose composed rhymes Should be full fraught with serviceable vows. Duke. Ay, much is the force of heaven-bred poesy Pro. Say, that upon the altar of her beauty * As you unwind her love from him, make me the bottom on which you wind it. A bottom is the housewife's term for that upon which a ball of yarn or thread is wound. Thus in Giau- ge's Garden : " A bottom for your silk, it seems, My letters are become, Which, oft with winding off and on, Are wasted whole and some." u. That is, birdlime SC. II. OF VERONA. 175 You sacrifice your tears, your sighs, your heart : Write till your ink be dry; and with your tears 'Moist it again ; and frame some feeling line, That may discover such integrity : ' For Orpheus' lute was strung with poet's sinews; Whose golden touch could soften steel and stones. Make tigers tame, and huge leviathans Forsake unsounded deeps to dance on sands. After your dire-lamenting elegies, Visit by night your lady's chamber window With some sweet consort : 6 to their instruments Tune a deploring dump ; 7 the night's dead silence Will well become such sweet complaining grievance. Tliis, or else nothing, will inherit her. 8 Duke. This discipline shows thou hast been in love. Thu. And thy advice this night I'll put in practice : Therefore, sweet Proteus, my direction-giver, Let us into the city presently, To sort 9 some gentlemen well skill'd in music I have a sonnet that will serve the turn, To give the onset to thy good advice. Duke. About it, gentlemen. Pro. We'll wait upon your grace till after supper; And afterward determine our proceedings. Duke. Even now about it : I will pardon you. 10 [Exeunt. 8 That is, sincerity, such as is shown by impassioned writing. Integrity is here used in its original sense, the sense of entire- nest, or wholeheartedness. H. ' The old copy has consort, which, according to Bullokar and Phillips, signified " a set or company of musicians." If we prim concert, as M alone would have it, the relative pronoun their has no correspoL'< 4 .ent word. ' A dump was the ancient term for a mournful elegy. 8 To inherit is sometimes used by Shakespeare for to obtain possession of. Milton in Comus has disinherit Chaos, meaning only to dispostt >s it. 9 To sort, tc cl oose out. >0 That '.e jxcuse your attendance on me. R 176 TWO GENTLEMEN ACT TV ACT IV. SCENE L A Forest, between Milan *d Verona Enter certain Outlaws. 1 Out. Fellows, stand fast : I see a passenger. 2 Out. If there be ten, shrink not, but down with 'em. Enter VALENTINE and SPEED. 3 Out. Stand, sir, and throw us that you have about you; If not, we'll make you sit, and rifle you. Speed. Sir, we are undone ! these are the villains that all the travellers do fear so much. Vol. My friends, 1 Out. That's not so, sir : we are your enemies- 2 Out. Peace ! we'll hear him. 3 Out. Ay, by my beard, will we ; for he is a proper 1 man. Vol. Then know, that I have little wealth to lose A man I am, cross'd with adversity : My riches are these poor habiliments, Of which if you should here disfurnish me, You take the sum and substance that I have. 2 Out. Whither travel you 1 Vol. To Verona. 1 Out. Whence came you ? Vol. From Milan. 3 Out. Have you long sojourn'd there ? VaL Some sixteen months; and longer might have stay'd, If crooked fortune had not thwarted me. 1 A proper man was a ? omely, tall, or well-proportioned man SC. 1. OF VERONA. 177 1 Out. What ! were you banish'd thence 1 Vol. I was. 2 Out. For what offence ? Vol. For that which now torments me to rehearse I kill'd a man, whose death I much repent ; But yet I slew him manfully in fight, Without false vantage, or base treachery. 1 Out. Why, ne'er repent it, if it were done so . But were you banish'd for so small a fault ? Vol. I was, and held me glad of such a doom, 1 Out. Have you the tongues 1 * VaL My youthful travel therein made me happy ; Or else I had been often miserable. 3 Out. By the bare scalp of Robin Hood's fat friar, 3 This fellow were a king for our wild faction. 1 Out. We'll have him : Sirs, a word. Speed. Master, be one of them : It is an honourable kind of thievery. Vol. Peace, villain ! 2 Out. Tell us this: Have you any thing to take to ? Vol. Nothing but my fortune. 3 Out. Know, then, that some of us are gentlemen, Such as the fury of ungovern'd youth Thrust from the company of awful 4 men : * That is, do you speak various languages ? H. * Friar Tuck, the chaplain of Robin Hood's merry crew ; that ancient specimen of clerical baldness and plumpness and jollity, who figures so largely in old ballads and in Ivanhoe, of whom Drayton says : * Of Tuck, the merry friar, which many a sermon made Is praise of Robin Hood, his outlaws, and his trade." H. 4 That is, men full of awe, or of respect for just authority. So in 2 Henry IV., Act iv. sc. 1 : " We come within our awful banks a^ain." No instance of a similar use of the word has been found ITS TWO GENTLEMEN ACT I> Myself was from Verona banished, For practising to steal away a lady, An heir, and near allied unto the duke. 2 Out. And I from Mantua, for a gentleman, Whom, in my mood, 5 I stabb'd unto the heart. 1 Out. And I, for such like petty crimes as these. But to the purpose ; for we cite our faults, That they may hold excus'd our lawless li ves ; And, partly, seeing you are beautify'd With goodly shape ; and by your own report A linguist, and a man of such perfection, As we do in our quality 6 much want ; 2 Out. Indeed, because you are a banish'd man, Therefore, above the rest, we parley to you : Are you content to be our general 7 To make a virtue of necessity, And live, as we do, in this wilderness 7 % Out. What say 'st thou 7 wilt thou ' be of our consort 7 Say ay, and be the captain of us all : We'll do thee homage, and be rul'd by thee, Love thee as our commander and our king. 1 Out. But if thou scorn our courtesy, thou diest. 2 Out. Thou shalt not live to brag what we have offer'd. VaL I take your offer, and will live with you, Provided that you do no outrages On silly women, or poor passengers. 3 Out. No ; we detest such vile base practices. Come, go with us : we'll bring thee to our cave, oat of Shakespeare ; for which cause some have set it down as a misprint for lawful. But the word, as it stands, sounds to nt Shakespearian. B. * Mood is anger or resentment. * That is condition, profession, occupation. *C. IL OF VERONA. 179 And show thce all the treasure we have got ; Wliich, with ourselves, all rest at thy dispose. [Exeunt, SCENE II. Milan. Court of the Palace. Enter PROTEUS. Pro. Already have I been false to Valentine, And now I must be as unjust to Thurio. Under the colour of commending him, I have access my own love to prefer; But Silvia is too fair, too true, too holy, To be corrupted with my worthless gifts. When I protest true loyalty to her, She twits me with my falsehood to my friend; When to her beauty I commend my vows, She bids me think how I have been forsworn In breaking faith with Julia whom I lov'd : And, notwithstanding all her sudden quips, 1 The least whereof would quell a lover's hope, Yet, spaniel-like, the more she spurns my love, The more it grows and fawneth on her still. But here comes Thurio : now must we to her window And give some evening music to her ear. Enter THURIO and Musicians. Thu. How now, Sir Proteus 1 are you crept be- fore us ? Pro Ay, gentle Thurio ; for you know that love Will creep in service where it cannot go. Thu. Ay, but I hope, sir, that you love not hera Pro. Sir, but I do ; or else I would be hence. Thu. Whom? Silvia? 1 Sudden quips, hasty, passionate reproaches. 180 TWO GENTLEMEN ACT IT. Pro. Ay, Silvia, for your sake. Thu. I thank you for your own. Now, gentlemen, Let's tune, and to it lustily a while. Enter Host, at a distance; and JULIA, in boy y s clothes Host. Now, my young guest ! methinks you're allycholly : I pray you, why is it ? Jul. Marry, mine host, because I cannot be merry. Host. Come, we'll have you merry : I'll bring you where you shall hear music, and see the gen- tleman that you ask'd for. Jul. But shall I hear him speak 1 Host. Ay, that you shall. Jul. That will be music. [Music plays Host. Hark! hark! Jul. Is he among these 1 Host. Ay : but peace, let's hear 'em. Song. Who is Silvia ? what is she, That all our swains commend her ? Holy, fair, and wise is she ; The heavens such grace did lend hex, That she might admired be. Is she kind, as she is fair ? For beauty lives with kindness : Love doth to her eyes repair, To help him of his blindness ; And, being help'd, inhabits there. Then to Silvia let us sing, That Silvia is excelling ; She excels each mortal thing, Upon the dull earth dwelling: To her let us garlands bring. &C. II, OF VERONA. 181 Host. How now ! you are sadder than you were before : How do you, man ? the music likes you not. Jul. You mistake : the musician likes me not. Host. Why, my pretty youth 1 Jul. He plays false, father. Host. How 1 out of tune on the strings ? Jul. Not so ; but yet so false that he grieves my very heart-strings. Host. You have a quick ear. Jul. Ay, I would I were deaf ! it makes me have a slow heart. Host. I perceive, you delight not in music. Jul. Not a whit, when it jars so. Host. Hark ! what fine change is in the music ! Jul. Ay ; that change is the spite. Host. You would have them always play but one thing ? Jul. I would always have one play but one thing. But, host, doth this Sir Proteus, that we talk on, often resort unto this gentlewoman ? Host. I tell you what Launce, his man, told me, he lov'd her out of all nick. 2 Jul. Where is Launce 1 Host. Gone to seek his dog; which, to-morrow, by his master's command, he must carry for a present to his lady. Jul. Peace ! stand aside : the company parts. * That is, beyond all reckoning. Accounts were formerly kept by cutting nicks or notches in a tally-stick Thus in an old play, " A Woman Never Vexed," an innkeeper says : " I have carried the tallies at my girdle seven years together ; for I did ever love to deal honestly in the nick." It is but few years since these tallies were -ised in the English Exchequer ; being laid aside, n doubt, because the accounts grew to be out of all nick. a 18*2 TWO GENTLEMEN ACT IV Pro. Sir Thurio, fear not you : T will so plead, That you shall say my cunning drift excels. TJiu. Where meet we? Pro. At saint Gregory's well. 3 Tku. Farewell. [Exeunt THU. and Musicians SILVIA appear* above, at her window. Pro. Madam, good even to your ladyship. SiL I thank you for your music, gentlemen. Who is that, that spake 1 Pro. One, lady, if you knew his pure heart's truth, You would quickly learn to know liim by his voice. SiL Sir Proteus, as I take it. Pro. Sir Proteus, gentle lady, and your servant SiL What is your will 1 Pro. That I may compass yours. SiL You have your wish : my will is even this, That presently you hie you home to bed. Thou subtle, perjur'd, false, disloyal man ! Think'st thou, I am so shallow, so conceitless, To be seduced by thy flattery, That hast deceiv'd so many with thy vows ? Return, return, and make thy love amends. For me, by this pale queen of night I swear, I am so far from granting thy request, That I despise thee for thy wrongful suit ; And by and by intend to chide myself, Even for this time 1 spend in talking to thee. Pro. I grant, sweet love, that I did love a lady ; But she is dead. 3 This was probably one of the " holy wells " to which popu- lar belief attributed supernatural virtues, and which were visited something as our fashionable watering-places are, but with how different feelings ! The place of St. Winifred's well in Flintshire is called Holywell ; but of course the ancient virtue has all been untight ened out of its waters. H. *C. II. OF VERONA. 183 Jul. [Aside.] 'Twere false, if I should speak it ; For, I am sure, she is not buried. Sil. Say that she be ; yet Valentine, thy friend. Survives ; to whom, thyself art witness, I am betroth'd : arid art thou not asham'd To wrong liim with thy importunacy 1 Pro. I likewise hear that Valentine is dead. Sil. And so suppose am I ; for in his grave, Assure thyself, my love is buried. Pro. Sweet lady, let me rake it from the eartlu Sil. Go to thy lady's grave, and call hers thence ; Or, at the least, in hers sepulchre thine. Jul. [Aside.'] He heard not that. Pro. Madam, if your heart be so obdurate, Vouchsafe me yet your picture for my love, The picture that is hanging in your chamber , To that I'll speak, to that I'll sigh and weep : For, since the substance of your perfect self Is else devoted, I am but a shadow; And to your shadow will I make true love. Jul. [Aside.] If 'twere a substance, you would, sure, deceive it, And make it but a shadow, as I am. Sil. I am very loth to be your idol, sir ; But, since your falsehood shall become you well To worship shadows, and adore false shapes, Send to me in the morning and I'll send it : And so, good rest. Pro. As wretches have o'ernight, That wait for execution in the morn. [Exeunt PROTEUS ; and SILVIA, from above, Jul. Host, will you go ? Host. By my halidom, 4 I was fast asleep. 4 Several interpretations have been given of this word ; but the one offered by Nares seems the most probable. He says it is 1 84 TWO GENTLEMEN ACT I* JuL Pray you, where lies Sir Proteus? Host. Marry, at my house. Trust me, I think 'tis almost day. Jul. Not so ; but it hath been the longest night That e'er I watch'd, and the most heaviest. 5 [Exeunt SCENE HI. The same. Enter E GLAMOUR. Egl. This is the hour that madam Silvia Entreated me to call and know her mind : There's some great matter she'd employ me in. Madam, madam ! SILVIA appears above, at her toindow Sil. Who calls ? Egl. Your servant, and your friend ; One that attends your ladyship's command. Sil. Sir Eglamour, a thousand times good morrow Egl. As many, worthy lady, to yourself. According to your ladyship's impose, 1 I am thus early come, to know what service [t is your pleasure to command me in. Sil. O Eglamour, thou art a gentleman, (Think not I flatter, for I swear I do not,) Valiant, wise, remorseful, 2 well accomplish'd. Thou art not ignorant, what dear good-will composed of holy and dom, like kingdom ; thus meaning the same as faith. Another interpretation makes it refer to the Holy Dame, that is, the Virgin Mother. A third derives it from the Saxon halig, sacred, and dome, a house. H. * The double superlative was often used in Shakespeare's time. It occurs frequently in the Liturgy of the " Reformed Catholio Church." H. 1 Impose is injunction, command ; a task set at college in con sequence of a fault is still an imposition. 1 That is, pitiful. JJC. III. OF VERONA. 185 I bear unto the banish'd Valentine ; Nor how my father would enforce me marry Vain Thurio, whom my very soul abhorr'd. Thyself hast lov'd ; and I have heard thee say, No grief did ever come so near thy heart, As when* thy lady and thy true love died, Upon whose grave thou vow'dst pure chastity. ' Sir Eglamour, I would to Valentine, To Mantua, where, I hear, he makes abode ; And, for the ways are dangerous to pass, I do desire thy worthy company, Upon whose faith and honour I repose. Urge not my father's anger, Eglamour, But think upon my grief, a lady's grief; And on the justice of my flying hence, To keep me from a most unholy match, Which heaven and fortune still reward with plagues. I do desire thee, even from a heart As full of sorrows as the sea of sands, To bear me company, and go with me ; If not, to hide what I have said to thee, That I may venture to depart alone. EgL Madam, I pity much your grievances ; * Which since I know they virtuously are plac'd, I give consent to go along with you ; Recking 5 as little what betideth me, As much I wish all good befortune you. When will you go 1 * It was common in former ages for widowers and widows to make vows of chastity in honour of their deceased wives or hus- bands This will account for Silvia's having chosen Sir Egla- mour as a person in whom she could confide without injury to her character. 4 In Shakespeare's time griefs frequently signified grievances ; and the present instance shows that in return grievance was some- times used in the sense of grief. 8 To reck is to care fur. So in Hamlet : " And reckt not his own read " 180 TWO GENTLEMEN ACT IV Sil. Tliis evening coming. Egl. Where shall I meet you 1 Sil. At friar Patrick's cell, Where I intend holy confession. Egl. I will not fail your ladyship. Good morrow, gentle lady. Sil. Good morrow, kind Sir Eglamour. [Exeunt SCENE IV. The same. Enter LAUNCE, with his dog. When a man's servant shall play the cur with him, look you, it goes hard : one that I brought up of a puppy ; one that I sav'd from drowning, when three or four of his blind brothers and sisters went to it. I have taught him, even as one would say precisely, Thus I would teach a dog. I was sent to deliver him, as a present to mistress Silvia, from my master ; and I came no sooner into the dining- chamber, but he steps me to her trencher, 1 and steals her capon's leg. O ! 'tis a foul tiling, when a cur cannot keep 2 himself in all companies. I would have, as one should say, one that takes upon him to be a dog indeed, to be, as it were, a dog at all things If I had not had more wit than he, to take a fault upon me that he did, I think verily he had been hang'd t'or't ; sure as I live, he had suffer'd for't : you shall judge. He thrusts me himself into the company of three or four gentleman-like dogs, under the duke's table : he had not been there (bless the mark !) a 1 That the daughter of a duke should eat from a treru.ner, need not seem strange, since in the privy-purse expenses of Henry VI [I. we find the following entry : " Item, payed to the sergeant of the pantry for certain trenchers for the king, 23s. 6d ' H. 9 That is, restrain. -O. IV. OF VERONA. 187 pissing while, but all the chamber smelt him. " Out with the dog ! " says one ; " What cur is that ? ' says another ; " Whip him out ! " says the third ; " Hang him up ! " says the duke. I, having been acquainted with the smell before, knew it was Crab ; and goes me t3 the fellow that whips the dogs: " Friend," quoth I, " you mean to whip the dog ? " " Ay, marry, do I," quoth he. " You do him the more wrong," quoth I ; " 'twas I did the thing you wot of." He makes me no more ado, but whips me out of the chamber. How many masters would do this for their servant ? Nay, I'll be sworn, I have sat in the stocks for puddings he hath stolen, other wise lie had been executed : I have stood on the pillory for geese he hath kill'd, otherwise he had suffer'd for't : thou think'st not of this now ! Nay, I remember the trick you serv'd me, when 1 took my leave of madam Silvia. Did not I bid thee still mark me, and do as I do 1 When didst thou see me heave up my leg, and make water against a gentlewoman's farthingale ? didst thou ever see me do such a trick 1 Enter PROTEUS and JULIA. Pro. Sebastian is thy name ? I like thee well, Ind will employ thee in some service presently. Jul. In what you please : I will do what I can, Pro. I hope thou wilt. How now, you whore son peasant ! [ To LAUNCE Vhere have you been these two days loitering ? Laun. Marry, sir, I carried mistress Silvia the dog you bade me. Pro. And what says she to my little jewel ? Laun. Marry, she says your dog was a cur ; and tells you currish thanks is good enough for such a present 188 TWO GENTLEMEN ACT IV, Pro. But she receiv'd my dog ? Laun. No, indeed, did she not : here have 1 brought him back again. Pro. What ! didst thou offer her this from me ? Laun. Ay, sir : the other squirrel was stolen from me by the hangman boys in the market-place : and then I offer'd her mine own ; who is a dog as big as ten of yours, and therefore the gift the greater. Pro. Go, get thee hence, and find my dog again, Or ne'er return again into my sight. Away, I say ! Stay'st thou to vex me here ? A slave, that still an end 3 turns me to shame. [Exit LAUNCE Sebastian, I have entertained thee, Partly, that I have need of such a youth, That can with some discretion do my business, For 'tis no trusting to yon foolish lout ; But, chiefly, for thy face and thy behaviour, Which, if my augury deceive me not, Witness good bringing up, fortune, and truth : Therefore know thou, for this I entertain thee. Go presently, and take this ring with thee; Deliver it to madam Silvia : She lov'd me well deliver'd it to me. Jul. It seems you lov'd not her, to leave her token . She's dead, belike. Pro. Not so : I think she lives Jul. Alas ! Pro. Why dost thou cry, alas ? JuL I cannot choose but pity her. 3 Still an end, and most an end, are vulgar expressions, ano mean perpetually, generally. See Gifford's Massinger, iv. 282. " Now help, good heaven ! 'tis such an uncouth thing To be a widow out of Term-time ! I Do feel such aguish qualms, and dumps, and fits, And shakings still an end.'" Tlie Ordinary 8C. IV. OF VERONA 189 Pro. Wherefore shouldst thou pity her ? Jul. Because, methinks, that she lov'd you as well As you do love your lady Silvia : She dreams on him that has forgot her love ; You dote on her that cares not for your love : 'Tis pity, love should be so contrary ; And thinking on it makes me cry, alas ! Pro. Well, give her that ring, and therewithal This letter : that's her chamber. Tell my lady, [ claim the promise for her heavenly picture. Your message done, hie home unto my chamber, Where thou shalt find me sad and solitary. [Exit Jul. How many women would do such a message 1 Alas, poor Proteus ! thou hast entertain'd A fox to be the shepherd of thy lambs. Alas, poor fool ! why do I pity him That with his very heart despiseth me? Because he loves her, he despiseth me ; Because I love him, I must pity him. This ring I gave him, when he parted from me, To bind him to remember my good-will ; And now am I (unhappy messenger !) To plead for that, which I would not obtain ; To carry that which I would have refus'd ; To praise his faith which I would have disprais'd I am my master's true confirmed love ; But cannot be true servant to my master, Unless I prove false traitor to myself. Yet I will woo for him ; but yet so coldly, As, heaven it knows, I would not have him speed, Enter SILVIA, attended. Gentlewoman, good day ! I pray you, be my mean To bring me where to speak with madam Silvia. SKL What would you with her, if that I be sho f Ji*0 TWO GENTLEMEN ACT IV Jul. If you be she, I do entreat your patience To hear me speak the message I am sent on. Sil. From whom? Jul. From my master, Sir Proteus, madam. Sil. O ! he sends you for a picture ? Jul. Ay, madam. Sil. Ursula, bring my picture there. [Picture brought Go, give your master this : tell him from me t One Julia, that his changing thoughts forget, Would better fit his chamber, than tliis shadow. Jul. Madam, please you peruse this letter. Pardon me, madam ; I have unadvis'd Deliver'd you a paper that I should not : This is the letter to your ladysliip. Sil. I pray thee let me look on that again. Jul. It may not be : good madam, pardon me. SiL There, hold. I will not look upon your master's lines : I know they are stuff'd with protestations, And full of new-found oaths ; which he will break As easily as I do tear his paper. Jul. Madam, he sends your ladysliip this ring. Sil. The more shame for him that he sends it me ; For, I have heard him say a thousand times, His Julia gave it him at his departure : Though his false finger hath profan'd the ring, Mine shall not do his Julia so much wrong. Jul. She thanks you. SiL What say'st thou 1 Jul. I thank you, madam, that you tender her : Poor gentlewoman ! my master wrongs her much SiL Dost them know her 1 Jul. Almost as well as I do know myself: To thiak upon her woes, I do protest, That I have wept a hundred several times. SO. IV. OF VERONA. 191 SiL Belike, she thinks that Proteus hath forsook her. Jul, I think she doth, and that's her cause of sorrow. Sil. Is she not passing fair ? Jul. She hath been fairer, madam, than she is : When she did think my master lov'd her well, She, in my judgment, was as fair as you ; But since she did neglect her looking-glass, And threw her sun-expelling mask away, 4 The air hath starv'd the roses in her cheeks, And pinch'd the lily-tincture of her face, That now she is become as black as I. Sil. How tall was she? Jul. 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 judgments, 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, s For I did play a lamentable part : Madam, 'twas Ariadne, passioning 8 For Theseus' perjury, and unjust flight ; * Alluding, no doubt, to the custom thus noticed by Stubbs in his " Anatomic of Abuses," published in 1595 : " When they " (the ladies) " use to ride abroad, they have masks or visors made of velvet, wherewith they cover all their faces, having holes made in them against their eyes, whereout they look." ic. * That is, in good earnest, heartily. The word is met with occasionally in the old writers. Thus, in Tuberville's Lover, 1567 " And in her arms the naked boy she strain'd, Whereat the boy began to strive a-gocd:" and in Drayton's Dowsabel 1593 1 But then the shepherd pip'd a-good, That all his sheep forsook their food To hear his melody." H. * To ptusion was used as a verb formerly. 192 TWO GENTLEMEN ACT IV Which I so lively acted with my tears, That my poor mistress, moved therewithal, Wept bitterly ; and would I might be dead, [f I in thought felt not her very sorrow. SiL She is beholden to thee, gentle youth. Alas, poor lady ! desolate and left ! I weep myself, to think upon thy words. Here, youth, there is my purse : I give thee this For thy sweet mistress' sake, because thou lov'st her Farewell. [Exit SILVIA, Jul. And she shall thank you for't, if e'er you know her. A virtuous gentlewoman, mild, and beautiful. [ hope my master's suit will be but cold, Since she respects my mistress' love so much. Alas, how love can trifle with itself! Here is her picture : Let me see : I think, If I had such a tire, this face of mine Were full as lovely as is this of hers ; And yet the painter flatter'd her a little, Unless I flatter with myself too much. Her hair is auburn, mine is perfect -yellow : If that be all the difference in his love, I'll get me such a colour'd periwig. 7 Her eyes are grey as glass ; 8 and so are mine : 7 False hair was much worn by ladies in Shakespeare's time 5 it being then one of the " latest fashions," and induced by a gen- eral desire to have hair like the Queen's. In " Northward Hoe," 1607, is an allusion to it: "There is a new trade come up for cast gentlewomen, of periwig-making. Let your wife set up in the Strand." The fashion is thus referred to in The Merchant of Venice : " So are those crisped, snaky, golden locks, Which make such wanton gambols with the wind, Upon supposed fairness, often known To be the dowry of a second head, The scull that bred them in the sepulchre." H. * The grey eyes of the Poet's time were the same as the bliu 9C. IV. OF VERONA. 19Q Ay, but her forehead's low, and mine's as high.* What should it be, that he respects in her, But I can make respective lo in myself, If tliis fond love were not a blinded god ? Come, shadow, come, and take this shadow up, For 'tis thy rival. O thou senseless form ! Thou shalt be worshipp'd, kiss'd, lov'd, and ador'd And, were there sense in tliis idolatry, My substance should be statue " in thy stead. I'll use thee kindly for thy mistress' sake, That us'd me so ; or else by Jove I vow, I should have scratch'd out your unseeing eyes, To make my master out of love with thee. [Exit ACT V. SCENE I. The same. An Abbey. Enter EGLAMOTTR. Egl. The sun begins to gild the western sky ; And now it is about the very hour eyes of ours. Glass was not colourless then as we have it, but of a light-blue tint. So that eyes as grey as glass were of the soft azure or cerulean, such as usually go with the auburn and yellow hair of Silvia and Julia. H. 9 A high forehead was then accounted a feature eminently beau- tiful. Our author, in The Tempest, shows that low foreheads were in disesteem : " apes with foreheads villainous low." 10 That is, " What he respects in her has equal relation to myself." H. 11 The words statue and picture were often used indiscrim- inately. Thus Stowe, speaking of Elizabeth's funeral, says : '' When they beheld her statue or picture lying upon the coffin, there was a general sighing." And in Massinger's "City Madam " Sir John Frugal desires that his daughters "may take leave of their late suitors' statues ; " and Luke answers, " There they a. 194 TWO GENTLEMEN ACT V That Silvia at friar Patrick's cell should meet mo She will not fail ; for lovers break not hours, Unless it be to come before their time ; So much they spur their ex|>edition. Enter SILVIA. See, where she comes : Lady, a happy evening I Sil. Amen, amen ! go on, good Eglamour ' Out at the postern by the abbey-wall : I fear I am attended by some spies. EgL Fear not : the forest is not three leagues ofl *, If we recover that, we are sure enough.- [Exeunt SCENE II. The same. A Room in the DUKE'S Palace Enter THURIO, PROTEUS, and JULIA. Thu. Sir Proteus, what says Silvia to my suit f Pro. O, sir ! I find her milder than she was ; And yet she takes exceptions at your person. Thu. What ! that my leg is too long ? Pro. No ; that it is too little. Thu. I'll wear a boot, to make it somewha; rounder. Jul. [Aside.] But love will not be spurr'd to what it loathes. 1 Thu. What says she to my face ? Pro. She says it is a fair one. 1 In all the old copies this speech is given to Protens, and addressed to Thurio ; which is evidently a mistake ; for as Pro- teus is bantering and playing upon Thurio, to speak thus would defeat his own aim. Boswell suggested that it should be set down to Julia, and as spoken aside. This correction seems the more admissible, inasmuch as a similar one just below is generally ad- mitted. H. SC. II. OF VERONA. I US Thu. Nay, then the wanton lies : my face is black Pro. But pearls are fair; and the old saying is, Black men are pearls in beauteous ladies' eyes. Jul. [Aside.] 'Tis true ; such pearls as put ou ladies' eyes ; Tor I had rather wink than look on them. Thu. How likes she my discourse ? Pro. Ill, when you talk of war. Thu. But well, when I discourse of love and peace 1 Jul. [Aside.] But better, indeed, when you hold your peace. Thu. What says she to my valour 1 Pro. O, sir ! she makes no doubt of that. JuL [Aside.] She needs not, when she knows it cowardice. Thu. What says she%> my birth ? Pro. That you are well deriv'd. Jul. [Aside.] True ; from a gentleman to a fooL Thu. Considers she my possessions ? Pro. O ! ay ; and pities them. Thu. Wherefore? Jul. [Aside.] That such an ass should owe * them. Pro. That they are out by lease. 3 JuL Here comes the duke. Enter DUKE. Duke. How now, Sir Proteus ! how now, Thurio ! Which of you saw Sir Eglamour of late ? Thu. Not I Pro. Nor I. Duke. Saw you my daughter ? * That is, possess them, own them. * Thurio of course means his lands ; but Proteus chooses to take him as referring to his mental endowments, which, he says are out by lease, that is, out of his keeping ; so that he, lacking them, is a dun^e. H 196 TWO GENTLEMEN 4CT V Pro. Neither. Duke. Why, then she's fled unto that peasant Valentine ; And E glamour is in her company. 'Tis true ; for friar Laurence met them both, As he in penance wander'd through the forest : Him he knew well, and guess'd that it was she ; But, being mask'd, he was not sure of it : Besides, she did intend confession At Patrick's cell this even, and there she was not: These likelihoods confirm her flight from hence. Therefore, I pray you, stand not to discourse, But mount you presently, and meet with me Upon the rising of the mountain foot That leads towards Mantua, whither they are fled : Despatch, sweet gentlemen} and follow me. [Exit, Thu. Why, this it is to be a peevish 4 girl, That flies her fortune when it follows her : '11 after ; more to be reveng'd on E glamour, Than for the love of reckless 6 Silvia. [Exit, Pro. And I will follow, more for Silvia's love, Than hate of Eglamour that goes with her. [Exit Jul. And I will follow, more to cross that love, Than hate for Silvia, that is gone for love. [Exit SCENE III. The Forest. Enter SILVIA and Outlaws. Out. Come, come ; be patient : we must bring fou to our captain. Sll. A thousand more mischances than this one Have learn'd me how to brook this patiently. 2 Out. Come, bring her away. * Peevish in ancient language signified foolish. That is, cardess, heedless. SC. IV. OF VTERONA. 197 1 Out. Where is the gentleman that was with her 1 3 Out. Being nimble-footed, he hath outrun us ; But Moses and Valerius follow liim. Go thou with her to the west end of the wood ; There is our captain. We'll follow him that's fled : The thicket is beset ; he cannot 'scape. 1 Out. Come, I must bring you to our captain's cave : Fear not ; he bears an honourable mind, And will not use a woman lawlessly. Sil. O Valentine, this I endure for thee ! [Exeunt SCENE IV. Another part of the Forest. Enter VALENTINE. Vol. How use doth breed a habit in a man ! These shadowy, desert, unfrequented woods, I better brook than flourishing peopled towns : Here can I sit alone, unseen of any, And to the nightingale's complaining notes Tune my distresses, and record ' my woes. O ! thou that dost inhabit in my breast, Leave not the mansion so long tenantless ; Lest, growing ruinous, the building fall, And leave no memory of what it was ! Repair me with thy presence, Silvia ; Thou gentle nymph, cherish thy forlorn swain ! What hallooing, and what stir, is this to-day 1 These are my mates, that make their wills their law Have some unhappy passenger in chase. 1 To record anciently signified to sing. So in Drayton's EC logues ; u Fair Philomel, night-music of the spring, Sweetly records her tuneful harmony." K 198 TWO GENTLEMEN ACT T They love me well ; yet I have much to do To keep them from uncivil outrages- Withdraw thee, Valentine : who's this comes here 1 [Steps aside Enter PROTEUS, SILVIA, and JULIA. Pro. Madam, this service I have done for you, (Though you respect not aught your servant doth,) To hazard life, and rescue you from him That would have forc'd your honour and your love. Vouchsafe me, for my meed, but one fair look ; A smaller boon than this I cannot beg, And less than this, I am sure, you cannot give. Vol. [Aside.] How like a dream is this I see and hear ! Love, lend me patience to forbear a while. Sil. O ! miserable, unhappy that I am ! Pro. Unhappy were you, madam, ere I came ; But by my coming I have made you happy. Sil. By thy approach thou mak'st me most un- happy. Jul. [Aside.] And me, when he approacheth to your presence. Sil. Had I been seized by a hungry lion, I would have been a breakfast to the beast, Rather than have false Proteus rescue me. ! heaven be judge, how I love Valentine, Whose life's as tender 2 to me as my soul ; And full as much (for more there cannot be) 1 do detest false perjur'd Proteus : Therefore begone : solicit me no more. Pro. What dangerous action, stood it next to death, Would I not undergo for one calm look ! * That is, as dear. SO. IV. OF VERONA. l'J9 O ! 'tis the curse in love, and still approv'd, 3 When women cannot love where they're belov'd. Sil. When Proteus catinot love where he's belov'd. Read over Julia's heart, thy first best love, For whose dear sake thou didst then rend thy faith Into a thousand oaths ; and all those oaths Descended into perjury to love me. Thou hast no faith left now, unless thou hadst two, And that's far worse than none : better have none Than plural faith, which is too much by one. Thou counterfeit to thy true friend ! Pro. In love, Who respects friend ? Sil. All men but Proteus. Pro. Nay, if the gentle spirit of moving words Can no way change you to a milder form, I'll woo you like a soldier, at arms' end ; And love you 'gainst the nature of love ; force you. Sil. O heaven ! Pro. I'll force thee yield to my desire. Vol. [Coming forward.] Ruffian, let go that rude uncivil touch ; Thou friend of an ill fashion ! Pro. Valentine ! Vol. Thou common friend, that's without faith or love ; ^For such is a friend now,) treacherous man ! Thou hast beguil'd my hopes : nought but mine eye Could have persuaded me. Now I dare not say I have one friend alive : thou wouldst disprove me. Who should be trusted now, when one's right hand Is perjur'd to the bosom ? Proteus, 1 am sorry I must never trust thee more, But count the world a stranger for thy sake. 3 Approved is confirmed by proof C. IV. OF VERONA. 2(>3 Take but possession of her with a touch ; I dare thee but to breathe upon my love. Thu. Sir Valentine, I care not for her, I. I hold him but a fool, that will endanger His body for a girl that loves him not: I claim her not, and therefore she is thine. Duke. The more degenerate and base art thou, To make such means 9 for her as thou hast done, And leave her on such slight conditions. Now, by the honour of my ancestry, I do applaud thy spirit, Valentine, And think thee worthy of an empress' love Know then, I here forget all former griefs, Cancel all grudge, repeal 10 thee home again, Plead a new state in thy unrivall'd merit, To which I thus subscribe, Sir Valentine, Thou art a gentleman, and well deriv'd: Take thou thy Silvia, for thou hast deserv'd her. VaL I thank your grace ; the gift hath made me happy. 1 now beseech you, for your daughter's sake, To grant one boon that I shall ask of you. Duke. I grant it for thine own, whate'er it be. Vol. These banish'd men, that I have kept withal, 11 Are men endued with worthy qualities : Forgive them what they have committed here, And let them be recall'd from their exile : They are reformed, civil, full of good, And fit for great employment, worthy lord. Duke. Thou hast prevail'd ; I pardon them, and thee : Dispose of them, as thou know'st their deserts. 9 " To make, such means for her," to make such interett for, to take such disingenuous pains about her. 10 That is, repeal the sentence of banishment. a 11 That is, that I have been living with. H 204 TWO GENTLEMEN OF VERONA. ACT V. Come, let us go : we will include 12 all jars With triumphs, 13 mirth, and rare solemnity. Vol. And, as we walk along, I dare be bold With our discourse to make your grace to smile : What think you of this page, my lord ? Duke. I think the boy hath grace in him: he blushes. Vol. I warrant you, my lord ; more grace than boy. Duke. What mean you by that saying? Val. Please you, I'll tell you as we pass along, That you will wonder what hath fortuned. Come, Proteus ; 'tis your penance, but to hear The story of your loves discovered : That done, our day of marriage shall be yours ; One feast, one house, one mutual happiness. [Exeunt. 12 Include is here used for conclude. This is another of Shak- speare's Latinisms. 13 Triumphs are pageants, such as masks and shows. INTRODUCTION THE MERRY WIVES OF WINDSOR. THE MERRY WIVES OF WINDSOR, as we have it, was nrsi printed in the folio of 1623, where it occupies the third place in the list of Comedies. An imperfect and probably fraudulent edi lion, however, came out in 1602, and was reprinted in 1619. In this edition the play is but about half as long as in the authentic eopy of 1623; the scenes following- each other in the same order, except in one instance ; and some prose parts being printed in the manner of verse. Much question has been made, whether the impression of 1602 were from a correct copy of an unfinished play, or from a report stolen at the theatre and mangled in the stealing. Of course every reader of Shakespeare has heard the tradition that Queen Elizabeth, upon witnessing the performance of Henry IV., was so taken with Falstaff that she forthwith requested the Poet to represent him in the quality of a lover ; in compliance with which request he wrote The Merry Wives of Windsor. Queen Elizabeth was indeed a great woman, and did some great things : but if it were certain that she was thus the occasion of this play, there are many who would not scruple to set it down as the best thing she had any agency in bringing to pass ; and another many who might regard it as the best but one. If this be wrong, there is no help for it ; for such, assuredly, will always be the case so long as men can " laugh and grow fat." But there is much diversity of judgment touching the amount of credit due to this tradition. Mr. Collier says : " When traced to its source, it can be carried back no further than 1702 : Joiui Dennis in that year printed his Comical Gallant,' founded upon ' The Merry Wives of Windsor,' and in the dedication he states that the comedy was written at the command of Queen Elizabeth, and by her direction ; and she was so eager to see it acted, that he commanded it to be finished in fourteen davs.' Dennis give* 208 THE MERRY WIVES OF WINDSOR. no authority for any part of this assertion : but because he knew Dryden, it is supposed to have come from him ; and because Dryden was acquainted with Davenant, it has been conjectured that the latter communicated it to the former. We own that we place little or no reliance on the story, especially recollecting that Dennis had to make out a case in favour of his alterations, by showing that Shakespeare had composed the comedy in an incredi- bly short period, and consequently that it was capable of improve- ment." Ail which is clever and spirited enough, but strikes us as a rather too summary disposing of the matter; the tradition not being incredible in itself, nor the immediate sources of it uneri- titled to confidence : for, granting that " Dennis had to make out a case in favour of his alterations." would he not be more likely to avail himself of something generally received, than to get up so questionable a fabrication ? The date of his statement was but eighty-six years after the Poet's death ; a time when much tra- ditionary matter, handed down from the reign of Elizabeth, was doubtless in circulation, that had not yet got into print : Dennis moved more or less in the literary circle of which Dryden was the centre ; and that circle, however degenerate, was the lineal sue cessor of the glorious constellation gathered about Shakespeare It is considerable that Dennis gave no reason for the Queen's alleged request ; which reason Rowe a few years later stated to be the pleasure she had from Falstaff in Henry IV. ; a differ- ence of statement that rather goes to accredit the substance of the tradition, because it looks as if both drew from a common source, not one from the other ; each using such and so much of the tra ditionary matter as would best serve his turn. Their account, or rather, perhaps, the general belief from which it was taken, was received by Pope, Theobald, and other contemporaries, men who would not be very apt to let such a matter go unsifted, or help to give it currency unless they thought there was good ground for it. " An excellent and pleasant conceited comedy of Sir John Fal staff and the Merry Wives of Windsor " was entered in the Regis- ters of the Stationers' Company, Jan. 18, 1602. The title-page of the edition which came out soon after reads thus : " A most pleasant and excellent conceited comedy of Sir John Falstaff and the Merry Wives of Windsor; intermixed with sundry variable and pleasing humours of Sir Hugh . the Welch Knight, Justice Shallow, and his wise Cousin M. Slender; with the swaggering vein of Ancient Pistol, and Corporal Nym. By William Shake- speare. As it hath been divers times acted by the Right Honour- able my Lord Chamberlain's servants ; both before Her Majesty, and elsewhere." We may set it down, therefore, as tolerably certain that The Merry Wives of Windsor was performed before ibe Queen near the close of 1601, notwithstanding the opinion of INTRODUCTION. ^U9 '"lialmers, that " she was then in no mood foi such fooleries.' And probably one reason for getting up the piratical edition of 1602 was, that the play had been " divers ti-; es acted, both oelore Her Majesty and elsewhere." Now, that Queen Elizabeth was capable of appreciating the genius of Falstaff, will hardly be questioned ; that she had been present at the performance ot Henry IV., is quite probable, considering the great popularity of that play as evinced in that five editions of it were published be- tween 1598 and 1613 ; that, having seen the irresistible Knight as there presented, she should desire to see more of him, was cer- 'ainly natural enough : all which being granted, there appears nothing to hinder, either that she should request the Poet to con- tinue the character through another play, or that he should hasten to comply with the request. Moreover, we learn from the " Ac- counts of the Revels at Court," that The Merry Wives of Wind- sor was acted before King James, in Nov. 1604. May we not justly conclude, then, that this was probably one of the plays re- ferred to by Ben Jonson in his noble poem, " To the Memory ol my beloved Mr. William Shakespeare, and what he hath left us ? " Sweet Swan of Avon, what a sight it were, To see thee in our waters yet appear ; And make those flights upon the banks of Thames, That so did take Eliza and our James ! " So that, upon the whole, we can by no means bring ourselves to regard the forecited tradition with the contempt which Mr. Collier seems to think it deserves. The only part of it that much troubles us to digest, is that concerning the time wherein it makes the play to have been written : this, we confess, staggers us somewhat : yet, supposing it to be false, it does not greatly invalidate the substance of the tradition ; and we are well assured that the play, as published in 1602. might well enough have been written by Slw.kespea.rf. within the time alleged. The question, therefore, turns somewhat upon the point, whether that edition was from a correct copy of an imperfect and unfinished play, a sort of rough draught hastily gotten up for the occasion, or from a false and mutilated copy stolen from the actors' lips by incompetent reporters, to gratify the cupidity of unscrupulous publishers. This question we have not room to discuss ; and, if we had, the long discussions, indulged in by former critics to little purpose, shut us up from all hope of being able ever to detennine it. We may remark, how- ever, there can be little doubt that the edition of 1602 was fraudu- lent and surreptitious ; though this need not infer but that it may Lave been from a faithful copy fraudulently obtained for the prest. Yet there are some things in it, such as the printing of prose so as to look like vprse, which go to show that it was partly taken down ELS spoken, and partly made up from memory ; the pirates ap- 210 THE MERRY WIVES OF WINDSOR parently having no ear to distinguish prose and verse, aud so me- suming it to be poetry, because written by a poet. Thai such frauds and piracies were practised with some of Shakespeare's plays, scarce admits of dispute. But, for aught appears. The Merry Wives of Windsor may have been at that time very imper- fect and inferior to what it is now, and yet the first edition a stolen and mangled copy of the play as it then was. And, whether from a correct or from a mutilated transcript, that edition contains pas- sages of which no traces are discoverable in the play as it now stands. Such is the following from the fifth act : " Sir Hugh. Go you and see where brokers sleep, And fox-ey'd Serjeants, with their mace ; Go lay the proctors in the street, And pinch the lousy Serjeant's face : Spare none of these when they're a-bed, But such whose nose looks blue and red. Quickly. Away, begone ; his mind fulfil, And look that none of you stand still : Some do that thing, some do this, All do something, none amiss." There being no corresponding passage ' ,^8 later edition strongly argues that the play, at least in th^ /art, was entirely rewritten after the first copy was taken for tl e press ; for men, whether pur- loining a manuscript or reporting it as spoken, would obviously be much more apt to omit or alter words and sentences, than to make additions or put in quite other matter. On the other hand, the authentic edition has some passages that can hardly be explained but upon the supposal that the play was revised, and those pas sages inserted, after the accession of James in the spring of 1603 Such is the odd reason Mrs. Page gives Mrs. Ford for declining to share the honour of Knighthood with Sir John " These knights will hack ; and so thou shouldst not alter the article of thy gentry : " which can scarce bear any other sense than as referring to the p;odigality with which the King dispensed those honours in the first of his reign ; Knighthood being thereby in a way to grow so hackneyed that it would rather be an honour not to have been dubbed. And, indeed, perhaps it may as well be noted here, that many of Shakespeare's plays apparently underwent so many revisals and improvements between the first sketching and the last finishing of them, that any allusions they may contain to the events of his time afford a very uncertain clew to the date of their original composition. There remains a question of some interest as to the time when The Merry Wives was first written ; whether before or aftei Henry IV. ; for, if before, this at once upsets that part of the tradition which assigns the huge delight the Queen iad at seeing INTRODUCTION. 21 1 Kaistaff in wit and war. as the cause of her requesting 1 to see him in love. Knight and Halliwell, taking the edition of 1602 as a faithful, though perhaps surreptitious, copy of the play as then written, date " the original sketch " as far back as 1592 or 1593. In proof of this they urge what passes between Sir Hugh Evans, '< mine Host de Jarterre," and Dr. Caius respecting " a duke de Jannany ; " because in 1592 a German duke actually did travel in England, with such special privileges and accommodations as are indicated in the play. Mr. Knight's argument runs thus : " Now, if we knew that a real German duke had visited Windsor, (a rare occurrence in the days of Elizabeth,) we should have the date of the comedy pretty exactly fixed. The circumstance would be one of those local and temporary allusions which Shake- speare seized upon to arrest the attention of his audience. We have before us a narrative, printed in the old German language, of the journey to England of the Duke of Wurtemburg in 1592 ; which narrative, drawn up by his secretary, contains a daily jour- nal of his proceedings. He was accompanied by a considerable retinue, and travelled under the name of " The Count Mombe liard." From the resemblance of this name to Garmomble, an apparent anagram of Mumpelgart, which occurs ill the copy of 1602, Mr. Knight justly infers the identity of the person. Yet the force of (is reasoning is not altogether apparent, as it proceeds by a very jmcertain measure between the date of an event alluded to and the date of the allusion itself. Surely, in proportion to the rare- ness of an occurrence and the sensation it caused, it would nat- urally be remembered and remarked upon afterwards : nor is it easy to see how so rare and remarkable a thing as Mr. Halliwell represents this to have been, was " a matter to be forgotten in 1601." Shakespeare's "local and temporary allusions," be it observed, were not merely for novelty and popularity, or used as ear-catchers to his audience ; but for whatsoever matter he saw in them that could be made to serve the general purposes of art : and that the thing in question would not so soon be spoilt for his use, appears in the interest it has for us ; and would have, even if we had never heard of any such event occurring in his time. In further proof of his point Mr. Knight alleges several pas- sages from the finished play, which are not found in the " original sketch," and which apparently refer to things occurring after the supposed date of that sketch. But all such arguments are at once nonsuited by the supposition, which, to say the least, is a probable one, that the edition of 1602 was not from a faithful transcript, however obtained, of an unfinished play, but from a copy fraudulently taken down and made up by unskilful reporters. There appears no good reason, therefore, but that The Merry Wives of Windsor may have been written after Henry IV., the First Part of which was first pub'ished in 1598. and probahii 212 THE MERRY WIVES OF WINDSOR written the year before: that it was written earlier than Jbl'b nobody pietends. And that The Merry Wives had not been heard of in 1598, is further probable from its not being mentioned oy Meres in his Wit's Treasury, which came out that year ; for, bis purpose being to approve Shakespeare " the most excellent among the English in both " comedy and tragedy, it seems rather unlikely that lie would have passed by so apt a document of comic power, had it been known. A deal of perplexity has been gotten up as to the time of the action in this play ; that is, in what period of his life Falstaff undertook the adventures at Windsor, whether before or after his exploits represented in Henry IV., or at some intermediate time ; questions scarce worth the discussing or even the raising, but that it would hardly do to ignore a thing about which there has been so much ado. Much of this perplexity seems to have risen from confounding the order in which the several plays were made, with the order of the events described in them. Now, at the close of Henry IV. Falstaff and his companions are banished the neighbour hood of the Court, " till their conversations appear more wise and modest to the world ; " and near the opening of Henry V., which follows hard upon the close of the former play, we have an accoun of Falstaff's death. And because The Merry Wives of Windsor was probably written after both those plays, therefore the Poel has been thought by some to have ventured upon the questionable experiment of bringing Sir John and two of his followers upon the stage after their death ; just as though one could not write the latter part of a man's life, and tell the story of his last hours, and then go back and give the history of his boyhood and youth, without breaking the sacred peace of the grave. That the exploits at Windsor were before those at Gadshill, Eastcheap, and Shrews- bury, in the order of time, is shown by Mrs. Quickly's progress ; who in the Merry Wives is a maiden and the housekeeper of Dr. Caius ; but in the other plays she has become a wife, tnough still Quickly ; then she dwells awhile in widowhood, until, the sweet- ness of her former marriage having taught her better than to live out of wedlock, " she taketh to herself another mate." And the same thing is further shown in Falstaff's fearing lest the noise of his shames should come to the ears of the Court ; which fear could hardly be, but that he still have something there to lose : for he seems not to be aware how completely his genius in other exigen- cies will triumph over his failures in love-making. Nevertheless, it must be owned that the Poet, probably because the subject never occurred to him, or because he sometimes lost the historical order of things in an overmastering sense of art, did not in all cases take care to shun such anachronisms as criticism hath de- lighted to find in his plays. Perhaps it should be observed in this connection, that the two parts of Henry IV. cover a period of ten and a half years, from the battle of Homildon, Sept. 1402, to the INTRODUCTION. '213 death of the King, March, 1413 ; in which time FalstaflT (".otihtlest had intervals of leisure for such adventures as those at Windsor. So that the action of the Comedy, supposing it were not before, might well enough have taken place some time during, the action of the History. And if the former seem too early a date for 'he mention of " the wild Prince and Poins ; " it would be 'considered that the Poet represents the Prince as already noted for his loose and idle courses, his connection with the rioters of Eastcheap hav- ing begun even before his father reached the throne. For the plot and matter of The Merry Wives, Shakespeare was apparently little indebted to any thing but his own invention. " The Two Lovers of Pisa," a tale borrowed from the novels of Straparola, and published in Tarlton's " Newes out of Purgatorie," 1590, is thought to have suggested some of the incidents ; and the notion seems probable enough. In that Tale a young gallant falls in love with a jealous old doctor's wife, who is also young, and really encourages the unlawful passion. The gallant, not know- ing the doctor, takes him for confidant and counsellor in the prose- cution of his suit, and is thus thwarted in all his plans. The naughty wife conceals her lover first in a basket of feathers, then between the ceilings of a room, and again in a box of deeds and valuable papers. If the Poet had any other obligations, they have not been traced clearly enough to be worth the mentioning. As a specimen of pure comedy, The Merry Wives of Windsor by general concession stands unrivalled ; the play being not only replete with the most ludicrous situations and predicaments, but surpassingly rich both in quality and variety of comic character! zation. To say nothing of Falstaff, who is an inexhaustible store- house of laughter-moving preparations, there is comic matter enough in the other persons to keep the world in perpetual laughter. Though historically connected with the reign of Henry IV., the play is otherwise a delineation of the manners and humours of the Poet's time : in which view we need but compare it with Ben Jonson's Every Man in His Humour, great as is the latter, to see " how much easier it was to vanquish the rest of Europe than to contend with Shakespeare." The action of this play proceeds throughout by intrigue ; mean- ing thereby such a complication of cross-purposes and conflicting aims, wherein the several persons strive to outwit and circumvent or.e another. And the stratagems all have the appropriate merit of causing a grateful surprise, and a perplexity that interests be- cause it stops short of confusion ; while the awkward and grotesque predicaments, into which the persons throw each other by their cross- plottings and counter-plottings, are often a source of exquisite diver lion. The play finely illustrates, moreover, though in its own pecu- 'iar line, the general order and method of Shakespeare's art ; the turrounding parts falling in with the central one, and the subordinate plots drawing, as by a hidden impulse, into harmon\ with the leao- 214 THE MERRY WIVES OF WINDSOR. ing one : if Falstaff be doomed to repeated collapses from u hero into a butt, that others may laugh at him instead of with him, the Welch Parson and French Doctor are also defeattd of their re- venge, just as they are getting over the preliminary pains and vexatinns, and while pluming themselves with forthcoming honours are suddenly deplumed into " vlouting-stogs ; " Page and his wife no sooner begin to exult in their success than they are taken down by the thrift of a counter-stratagem, and left to the double shame of ignobly failing in a disreputable undertaking : r the cloud with him, being little more than the shadows of what they appear when their master is fully himself: the light of Bardolph's nose is not well kindled yet; Pistol, ancient Pistol's tongue has not yet learned to strut with such potent impotence as it elsewhere waxes great withal. Quickly, however, is altogether herself as far as she goes, and she lets oif some brilliancies that would not discredit her maturity in the more congenial atmosphere of Eastcheap ; though of course we may not expect her to be the woman now that she will be when she has known Sir John " these twenty-nine years, come peascod time." Acting here in the capacity of a matchmaker and go-between, her perfect impartiality towards all of Anne Page's suitors, both in the service she renders and in the return she accepts, finely ex- emplifies the indefatigable benevolence of that class of worthies towards themselves, and is so true to the life of a certain perpet- ual sort of people, as almost to make one believe in the transmi- gration of souls. " Mine Host of the Garter " is indeed a model of a host : up to any thing, and brimful of fuu, so that it runs out at the ends of his fingers, nothing suits him so well as to uncork the wit-holders of his guests, unless, peradventure, it be to uncork his wine-holders for them. His exhilarating conceit of practical shrewdness, " Am I politic ? am I subtle ? am I a Machiavel ? " which serves as oil to make the wheels of his mind run smooth and glib, is richly characteristic, both of himself individually and of the class he represents. Sir Hugh Evans is an odd marriage of the ludicrous and the respectable. In his officious simplicity he moralizes the play much better, doubtless, than a wiser man could do it. The scene where, in expectation of the fight with the French doctor, he is full of " cholers," and " trempling of mind," and " melancholies," and has " a great dispositions to cry," and strikes up a lullaby to the palpitations of his heart without seeming to know it, while those palpitations in turn scatter his memory and discompose his singing, is replete with a quiet deli- cacy of humour, hardly to be surpassed. It is quite probable, as haih been said, that both he and Doctor Caius are delineations, slightly caricatured, of what the Poet had seen and con /ersed w:ih ; there being a portrait-like reality and effect about them, with just enough infusion of the ideal to lift them into the region if art. Hazlitt boldly pronounces Shakespeare " the only writer vbo INTRODUCTION. 2 1 7 ivas as great in describing weakness as strength." However this may be, we are pretty sure, that after Falstaff there is not a greater piece of work in the play than Master Abraham Slender, cousin to Robert Shallow Esquire, a dainty sprout, or rather sapling, of provincial gentry, who, once seen, is never to be forgotten. In his consequential verdancy, his aristocratic official boobyism, and his lean-witted, lack-brain originality, this pithless hereditary squireling is altogether inimitable and irresistible ; a tall though slender specimen of most effective imbecility, whose manners and character must needs be all from within, because he lacks force of nature enough to shape or dress himself by anv model. Mr. Hallam, whose judgment in such things is not often at fault, thinks Slender was intended as " a satire on the brilliant youth of the provinces," such as they were " before the introduction of news- papers and turnpike roads ; awkward and booby ish among civi people, but at home in rude sports, and proud of exploits at which the town would laugh, yet perhaps with more courage and good- nature than the laughers." Ford's jealousy is managed with great skill so as to help on the plot, bringing out a series of the richest incidents, and drawing the most savoury issues from the mellow, juicy old sinner upon whom he is practising. The means whereby he labours to justify his passion, spreading temptations and then concerting surprises, are quite as wicked as any thing Falstaff does, and have, besides, the further crime of exceeding meanness ; but both their meannesn and their wickedness are of the kind that rarely fail to be their own punishment. The way in which his passion is made to sting and ash him into reason, aud the crafty discretion of his wife in glut- ting his disease and thereby making an opportunity to show him what sort of stuff it lives on, are admirable instances of the wis- dom with which the Poet delights to underpin his most fantastical creations. The counter-plottings, also, of Page and his wife to sell their daughter against her better sense, are about as far from virtue as the worst purposes of Sir John ; though their sins are of a more respectable kind than to expose them to ridicule. But we are the more willing to forget their unhandsome practices herein, because of their good-natured efforts at last to make FalsUJf for- get his sad miscarriages, and to compose whatsoever vexations and disquietudes still remain, in a well-crowned cup of social merriment. Anne Page is but an average specimen of discreet, placid, innocent mediocrity, yet with a mind of her own, in whom we can feel no such interest as a rich father causes to be felt by those about her. In her and Fenton a slight dash of romance u given to the play ; their love forming a barely audible undertone of poetry in the grand chorus of comicalities, as if on purpose that while the sides are shaken the heart may not be left altogether untouched. PERSONS REPRESENTED. SIR JOHN FALSTAFF. FENTON. SHALLOW, a country Justice. SLENDER, Cousin to Shallow. MR. FORD, ) MR PAGE \ two Gent ' emen dwelling at Windsor. WILLIAM PAGE, a Boy, Son to Mr. Page. SIR HUGH EVANS, a Welch Parson. DR. CAIUS, a French Physician. Host of the Garter Inn. BARDOLPH, ^ PISTOL, V Followers of Falstaff. NYM, ) ROBIN, Page to Falstaff. SIMPLE, Servant to Slender. RUGBY, Servant to Dr. Caius. MRS. FORD. MRS. PAGE. ANNE PAGE, her Daughter, in love with Fenton. MRS. QUICKLY, Servant to Dr. Caius. Servants to Page, Ford, dtc. SCENE, Windsor, and the Parts adjacent. MERRY WIYES OF WINDSOR ACT 1 SCENE I. Windsor. Before PAGE'S House. Enter Justice SHALLOW, SLENDER, and Sir HUGH EVANS. ShaL SIR HUGH,' persuade me not ; I will make a Star-chamber 2 matter of it : if he were twenty Sir John Falstaffs, he shall not abuse Robert Shal low, Esquire. Slen. In the county of Gloster, justice of peace, and coram. 3 ShaL Ay, cousin Slender, and cust-alorum. 4 Sir was formerly applied to the inferior clergy as well as to knights. Fuller in his Church History says : " Such priests as have Sir before their Christian name were men not graduated in the university ; being in orders, but not in degrees 5 while others, entitled ' masters/ had commenced in the arts. 1 ' Besides Sir Hugh, Shakespeare has Sir Oliver Mar-text, the Vicar, in As You Like It, Sir Topas in Twelfth Night, and Sir Nathaniel, the Curate, in Love's Labour's Lost. H. 8 The old court of Star-Chamber had cognizance of such cases. Thus in Jouson's Magnetic Lady, Act iii. sc. 3 : " There is a court above, of the Star-chamber, to punish routs and riots." H. 3 Coram is a corruption of quorum. A justice of quorum was so called from the words in the commission, Quorum A. unum use volumus ; and as there could be no quorum, that is, nothing could be done, without him, of course he had greater dignity than the others. Cust-alorum, in the next line, is the sapient Shallow's abbreviation of custos rotulorum, keeper of the rolls or records Slender, not understanding this, adds, " and ratolorum too.' 1 Shallow's official attestation was, Coram me, Roberto Shallow, armigero: and his slender nephew, speaking by the book, puts the ablative, armigero, for the nominative, armiger, esquire. H. 220 MERRY WIVES ACT 1. Slen. Ay, and ratolorum too ; and a gentlemai born, master parson ; who writes himself armigero ; in any bill, warrant, quittance, or obligation, armi- gero. ShaL Ay, that I do ; and have done any time these three hundred years. 4 SltiL All his successors, gone before him, hath done't; and all his ancestors, that come after liim, may : they may give the dozen white luces in their coat. Shal. It is an old coat. Eva. The dozen white louses do become an old coat well ; it agrees well, passant : it is a familiar beast to man, and signifies love. Shal. The luce is the fresh fish ; the salt fish is an old coat. 6 4 Shallow here identifies himself with " all his successors gone before him ; " an aristocratic way of speaking once common in England, and not wholly laid aside yet. Washington Allston was once the guest of an English nobleman who, though Shallow in nothing else, said he came over with William the Conqueror. We are indebted to Mr. Verplanck for this anecdote, and also for the information that Shallow's mode of speech, though common, is characteristic of him. H. 5 This passage is exceedingly obscure, and perhaps no expla nation can make it clear. Shallow is allowed on all hands to he a satire on Sir Thomas Lucy, the Poet's old Stratford enemy, whose coat-of-arms bore three luces, not a dozen, as stated by Slender; though one of the family had a coat marked in four divisions, with three luces in each. Luce is the old name for pike, of which there were two kinds, the fresh-water and the salt- water pike. The most probable explanation, then, seems to be this : In the first place Slender blunders, calling them white luces, white being apparently used to denote the fresh-water pike ; and Shallow, proud of his ancestry and therefore scorning the white luce, the fresh fish, corrects this blunder by saying, " It is an old coat," inferring that, because it is old, therefore it has the salt- water fish, not the fresh. Then Sir Hugh makes a double blun- der, giving- a white luce to an old coat, and mistaking luce foi louse., the " familiar beast to man." And finally Shallow blun- ders, mistaking Sir Hugh's " familiar beast " for the white luce C. U OF WINDSOR. 22 . Slen. I may quarter, coz 1 Shctl. You may, by marrying. Eva. It is marring indeed, if he quarter it. ShaL Not a whit. Eva. Yes, py 'r-lady ; if he has a quarter of your coat, 8 there is but three skirts for yourself, in my simple conjectures : but that is all one. If Sir John Falstaff have committed disparagements unto you, I am of the church, and will be glad to do my be- nevolence, to make atonements and compremisea between you. Shal. The Council shall hear it : it is a not. Eva, It is not meet the Council hear a riot ; there is no fear of Got in a riot : the Council, look you, shall desire to hear the fear of Got, and not to hear a riot : take your vizaments 7 in that. Shal. Ha ! o' my life, if I were young again, the sword should end it. Eva. It is petter that friends is the sword, and end it : and there is also another device in my prain, which, peradventure, prings goot discretions with it : There is Anne Page, which is daughter to master George Page, which is pretty virginity. Slen. Mistress Anne Page ? She has brown hair, and speaks small like a woman. 8 and proceeds to correct him by saying, " The luce " (that is, the louse) that you speak of " is the fresh fish," and so does not " become an old coat well," such as mine is : for " the salt fish is an old coat." a. * To quarter meant, in heraldic language, to have armorial bearings as an appendage to hereditary arms ; as a man, bj marrying, may add his wife's titles, if she have any, to his own. Sir Hugh, who must still be talking, however ignorant he may be of the matter in question, goes on from blunder to blunder, mis- taking coat-of-arms for coat, and the quartering of heraldry for (he cutting of a thing into four parts. H. * Advisement. * To speak small means much the same as what old Lear so SERS MERRY WIVEb Ar.T I. Eva. It is that fery person for all the 'or Id, as just as you will desire ; and seven hundred pounds of monies, and gold, and silver, is her grandsire, upon his death's bed, (Got deliver to a joyful resur- rections!) give, when she is able to overtake seven- teen years old: it were a goot motion, if we leave our pribbles and prabbles, and desire a marriage between master Abraham and mistress Anne Page. Slen. 9 Did her grandsire leave her seven hundred pound 1 Eva. Ay, and her father is make her a petter penny. Slen. I know the young gentlewoman ; she has good gifts. Eva. Seven hundred pounds, and possibilities, is goot gifts. Shal. Well, let us see honest master Page : Is Falstaff there 1 Eva. Shall 1 tell you a lie ? I do despise a liar, as 1 do despise one that is false ; or, as I despise one that is not true. The knight, Sir John, is there ; and, I beseech you, be ruled by your well-willers. I will peat the door [Knocks] for master Page. What, hoa ! Got pless your house here ! touchingly says over his dying Cordelia : " Her voice was evel soft, gentle, and low ; an excellent thing in woman." So also in Chaucer : " The company answered all, With voice sweet entuned, and so small, That methought it the sweetest melody." H. In the modem editions this and the following speeches of Slender are strangely taken away from him and given to Shallow. There being no apparent cause why they should not belong to the owner, we concur with Collier and Verplanck in restoring them at they are in the original. It seems to be a part of Slender's char- acter, that his fai.cy begins to take fire as soon as he learns the gin in ncu H. SC I OK W1NDSOB 223 Enter PAGE. Page. Who's there 1 Eva. Here is Got's plessing, and your friend, and justice Shallow: and here young master Slen- der ; that, preadventures, shall tell you another tale, if matters grow to your likings. Page. I am glad to see your worships well : I thank you for my venison, master Shallow. Shal. Master Page, I am glad to see you : Much good do it your good heart ! I wish'd your venison better ; it was ill kill'd : How doth good mistress Page 1 and I thank you always with my heart, la ; with my heart. Page. Sir, I thank you. Shal. Sir, 1 thank you ; by yea and no, 1 do. Page. I am glad to see you, good master Slender. Slen. How does your fallow greyhound, sir! I heard say, he was outrun on Cotsall. 10 Page. It could not be judg'd, sir. Slen. You'll not confess, you'll not confess. Shal. That he will not ; 'tis your fault, 'tis your fault : " 'Tis a good dog. Page. A cur, sir. Shal. Sir, he's a good dog, and a fair dog ; can 10 The Cotswold hills in Gloucestershire were once quite fa- mous for rural sports. Shallow in Henry IV. speaks of " Will Squcle, a Cotswold man ;" as if it were something of a distirc- tiou to be born there. Perhaps it was the Cotswold games that edu- cated Will up into that remarkable company of which the Justice says, " You had not four such swinge-bucklers in all the inns of court again." We learn from Warton that these games con- tinued till " the grand Rebellion broke up every liberal establish ment." H. M Fault was anciently much used for misfortune. Shallow Mere very politely tries to arrest the unplcusc ut course of speecfc which Slender persists in taking. B 224 MERRY WIVES ACT I there be more said ? lie is good, and fair. - Is Sir John Falstaff here 1 Page. Sir, he is within ; and I would I could do a good office between you. Eva. It is spoke as a Christians ought to speak. Shal. He hath wrong'd me, master Page. Page. Sir, he doth in some sort confess it. SJial. If it be confessed, it is not redressed : is not that so, master Page 1 He hath wrong'd me ; indeed he hath ; at a word, he hath ; believe me : Robert Shallow, Esquire, saith he is wronged. Page. Here comes Sir John. Enter Sir JOHN FALSTAFF, BARDOLPH, NYM, and PISTOL. Fal. Now, master Shallow ; you'll complain oi me to the king ? Shal. Knight, you have beaten my men, kill'd my deer, and broke open my lodge. Fal. But not kiss'd your keeper's daughter ? I2 Shal. Tut, a pin ! this shall be answer'd. Fal. I will answer it straight ; I have done all this : That is now answer'd. Shal. The Council shall know this. FaL 'Twere better for you, if it wore known in counsel: you'll be laugh'd at. Eva. Pauca verba, Sir John ; goot worts. FaL Good worts? 13 good cabbage ! Slender, I broke your head : What matter have you against me 1 11 Scott in Kenilworth suggests that this was part of the charge made against the Poet by Sir Thomas Lucy. Council and coun- sel, just below, are probably a quibble, the one meaning the Star- Chamber, the other being used in the sense of secrery. Sir Thomas seems to have gained nothing by his proceedings against the Poet but the honour of being " laughed at." H. 18 Worts was the ancient term lor all the cabbage kind. SC. I. OF WINDSOR. iKJo SI.en. Marry, sir, I have matter in my head against you; and against your coney-catching 14 rascals, Bardolph, Nym, and Pistol. They carried me to the tavern, and made me drunk, and afterwards pick'd my pocket. Bar, You Banbury cheese ! 15 Slen. Ay, it is no matter. Pist. How now, Mephostophilus ? " Slen. Ay, it is no matter. Nym. Slice, I say ! pauca, pauca ; " slice ! that s my humour. Slen. Where's Simple, my man 1 can you tell, cousin ? Eva. Peace ! I pray you. Now let us under- stand : There is three umpires in this matter, as I understand ; that is master Page, Jidelicet, master Page ; and there is myself, Jidelicet, myself ; and the three party is, lastly and finally, mine Host of the Garter. Page. We three, to hear it, and end it between them. Eva. Fery goot : I will make a prief of it in my note-book ; and we will afterwards 'ork upon the cause with as great discreetly as we can. Fal. Pistol, Pist. He hears with ears. Eva. The tevil and his tarn ! what phrase is this, * He hears with ear I " Why, it is affectations. 14 A common name for cheats and sharpers in the time of Eliza beth. 15 Said in allusion to the thin carcass of Slender. So, in Jack Drum's Entertainment, 1601 : " Put off your clothes, and you are like a Banbury Cheese, nothing but paring." 14 The name of a spirit, or familiar, in the old story book of Faustus : to whom there is another allusion Act ii. sc. ~. It wa* a cant phrase, probably for an ugly fellow. 17 1 ew words 236 MERRY WIVES ACT I Fal. Pistol, did you pick master Slender's purse 1 Slen. Ay, by these gloves, did he, (or I would I might never come in mine own great chamber again else,) of seven groats in mill-sixpences, and two Edward shovel-boards, 18 that cost me two shilling and two pence a-piece of Yed Miller, by these gloves. Fal Is this true, Pistol 1 Eva. No it is false, if it is a pick-purse. Pist. Ha, thou mountain-foreigner ! Sir John and master mine, I combat challenge of this lattin bilbo : 19 Word of denial in thy labras here ; 20 Word of denial : froth and scum, thou liest. Slen. By these gloves, then 'twas he. Nym. Be avis'd, sir, and pass good humours : 1 will say, " marry trap," with you, if you run the nuthook's 21 humour on me ; that is the very note of it. Slen. By this hat, then he in the red face had it : for though I cannot remember what I did when you made me drunk, yet I am not altogether an ass. Fal. What say you, Scarlet and John ? Bard. Why, sir, for my part, I say the gentle man had drunk liimself out of his five sentences. Eva. It is his five senses : fie, what the igno ranee is ! 13 Mill sixpences were used as counters ; and King Edward's shill.ugs used in the game of shuffle-board. 19 Another allusion to Slender's slenderncss. Bilbo is from Bilbao., in Spain, where fine swords were made : and lattin is a mixture of copper and calamine, made into thin plates. The word is used in the north of England for tin. H. * " Word of denial in thy labras " is the same as, " the lie in thy teeth." Labras is a Pistolism for lips. H. fl That is, if you say I am a thief; the nuthook being used bv thieves to hook things out of a window. Marry tu.p seems to Dave been a word of triumph upon seeing one caught in his own ware. H BC. I. OF WINDSOR. '427 Bard, And being fap, zs sir, was, as they say, cashier'd ; and so conclusions pass'd the carieres, 21 Slcn. Ay, you spake in Latin then too ; but 'tis no matter. I'll ne'er be drunk whilst I live again, but in honest, civil, godly company, for this trick : If 1 be drunk, I'll be drunk with those that have the fear of God, and not with drunken knaves. Eva. So Got 'udge me, that is a virtuous mind. FaL You hear all these matters denied, gentle- men ; you hear it. Enter ANNE PAGE, uritk urine; Mrs. FORD and Mrs, PAGE following. Page. Nay, daughter, carry the wine in ; we'D drink witliin. [Exit ANNE PAGE Slen. O heaven ! this is mistress Anne Page. Page. How now, mistress Ford 1 FaL Mistress Ford, by my troth, you are very well met : by your leave, good mistress. [Kissing her. Page. Wife, bid these gentlemen welcome : Come, we have a hot venison pasty to dinner ; come, gentlemen, I hope we shall drink down all unkindness. [Exeunt all but SHAL., SLEN., and EVANS. Slen. I had rather than forty shillings I had my book of Songs and Sonnets 84 here : * Fap was a cant word of the time, meaning fuddled. H. 43 Cariere, according to Baret, was " the short turning of nimble horse, now this way, now that way." The application her is probably too deep for any body but Bardolph ; unless it refei io the reeling of a drunken man, now this way, now that. Slen- der mistook Pistol's lattin for Latin ; and he now thinks that Bar dolph speaks the same language. H. M Slender means a popular book of Shakespeare's time 228 MERRY WIVES ACT 1 Enter SIMPLE. How now, Simple! where have you been? I must wait on myself, must 1 1 You have not the Book of Riddles about you, have you 1 Sim. Book of Riddles ! why, did you not lend it to Alice Shortcake upon Allhallowmas last, a foit- night afore Michaelmas 1 2S ShaL Come, coz ; come, coz ; we stay for you. A word with you, coz ; marry, this, coz : There is, as 'twere, a tender, a kind of tender, made afar off by Sir Hugh here : Do you understand me 1 Slen. Ay, sir, you shall find me reasonable : if it be so, I shall do that that is reason. ShaL Nay, but understand me. Slen. So I do, sir. Eva, Give ear to his motions, master Slender : 1 will description the matter to you, if you be capacity of it. Slen. Nay, I will do as my cousin Shallow says : I pray you, pardon me ; he's a justice of peace in his country, simple though I stand here. Eva. But this is not the question : the question is concerning your marriage. ShaL Ay, there's the point, sir. Eva. Marry, is it ; the very point of it ; to mis- tress Anne Page. Slen. Why, if it be so, I will marry her upon any reasonable demands. Eva. But can you affection the 'oman 1 Let ua command to know that of your mouth, or of your " Sanges and Sonnettes, written by the Earle of Surrey an^ others." 15 This is an intended blunder. Theobald would in sober sad nss have corrected it to Martlemaa . BC. L OF WINDSOR. 229 lips; for divers pnilosophers hold that the lips i* parcel* 8 of the mouth: Therefore, precisely, can you carry your good will to the maid ? SJiaL Cousin Abraham Slender, can you love her ? Slen. I hope, sir, I will do as it shall become one that would do reason. Eva. Nay, Got's lords and his ladies ! you must speak possitable, if you can carry her your desires towards her. Shal. That you must : Will you, upon good dowry, marry her? Slen. I will do a greater thing than that, upon your request, cousin, in any reason. SJiaL Nay, conceive me, conceive me, sweet coz ; what I do is to pleasure you, coz : Can you love the maid ? Slen. I will marry her, sir, at your request ; but if there be no great love in the beginning, yet heaven may decrease it upon better acquaintance, when we are married, and have more occasion to know one another : I hope upon familiarity will grow more content : * 7 but if you say, "marry her," I will marry her ; that I am freely dissolved, and dissolutely. Eva. It is a fery discretion answer; save the faul' i? in the 'ort dissolutely : the 'ort is, accord- ing to our meaning, resolutely : His meaning is good. Sfutl. Ay, I think my cousin meant well. Slen. Ay, or else I would I might be hang'd, la. * That is, part ; a law term, often used in conjunction with its synonyme. 87 Content in the original, but generally altered to contempt ii modern editions. But the change is needless, as Slender prob- ably mistakes the word, and thence falls into a misapplication of the proverb. a 230 MERRY WIVES ACT I. Re-enter ANNE PAGE. Here comes fair mistress Anne : Woula I were young for your sake, mistress Anne ! Anne. The dinner is on the table ; my father de- ares yout worships' company. SlidL I will wait on him, fair mistress Anne. Eva. Od's plessed will ! I will not be absence at the grace. [Exeunt SHAL. and EVANS. Anne. Will't please your worship to come in, sir 1 Slen. No, I thank you, forsooth, heartily ; I am r ery well. Anne. The diuner attends you, sir. Slen. I am not a-hungry, I thank you, forsooth : Go, sirrah, for all you are my man, go, wait upon my cousin Shallow. 88 [Exit SIMPLE.] A justice of peace sometime may be beholden to his friend for a man. I keep but three men and a boy yet, till my mother be dead : But what though 7 yet I live like a poor gentleman born. Anne. I may not go in without your worship: they will not sit till you come. Slen. I'faith, I'll eat nothing; I thank you as much as though I did. Anne. I pray you, sir, walk in. Slen. I had rather walk here, I thank you : 1 bruis'd my shin the other day with playing at sword and dagger with a master of fence, three veneys Si for a dish of stew'd prunes ; and, by my troth, I 88 It was formerly the custom in England for persons to be attended at dinner by their own servants wherever they dined. ** Master of fence here signifies not merely a fencing-mastei but a person who had taken his master's degree in the science There were three degrees, a master's, a provost's, and a scholar's . For each of these a prize was played with various weapons, ii some open place or square. Veney means a bout, or a come-on from the French venir. 8C. I. OF WINDSOR. '/231 cannot abide the smell of hot meat since. Why do your dogs bark so ? be there bears i' the town ? Anne. I think there are, sir ; I heard them talk'd of. Slen. I love the sport well ; but I shall as soon quarrel at it as any man in England : You are afraid, if you see the bear loose, are you not ? Anne. Ay, indeed, sir. Slcn. That's meat and drink to me now : I have seen Sackerson 30 loose twenty times ; and have taken him by the chain : but, I warrant you, the women have so cried and shriek'd at it, that it pass'd : 31 But women, indeed, cannot abide 'em ; they are very ill-favour'd rough tilings. Re-enter PAGE. Page. Come, gentle master Slender, come; we stay for you. Slen. I'll eat nothing ; I thank you, sir. Page. By cock and pye, 3 * you shall not choose, sir: come, come. Slen. Nay, pray you, lead the way. Page. Come on, sir. * The name of a bear exhibited at Paris Garden, in Southwark *' That is, passed all expression. M This phrase occurs in several old plays, and once again in Shakespeare, 2 Henry IV., Act v. sc. 1 ; but its origin and impor'. have not been satisfactorily explained. The most likely account seems to be, that it was a humorous oath, the Cock and Mag- pie being an ancient and favourite alehouse sign. Some think, however, that cock was a corruption of the sacred Name, and that pye referred to a table in the old Roman Offices, showing the service for the day. That the phrase was not so understood, may be gathered from " A Catechisme containing the Summe of Reli- gion," by George Giffard, 1583 : " Men suppose that they do nol offend when they do not swear falsely ; and because they will no' lake the name of God to abuse it, they swear by small things s hy cock and pye, bv the mousefoot. and many such like H 232 MERRY WIVES ACT I Slen. Mistress Anne, yourself shall go first. Anne. Not I, sir ; pray you, keep on. Slen. Truly, I will not go first : truly, la, I will not do you that wrong. Anne. I pray you, sir. Slen. I'll rather be unmannerly than troublesome You do yourself wrong, indeed, la. [Exeunt, SCENE H. The same. Enter Sir HUGH EVANS and SIMPLE. Eva. Go your ways, and ask of Doctor Caius 1 house, which is the way: 1 and there dwells one mistress Quickly, which is in the manner of liis nurse, or his dry nurse, or his cook, or his laundry, his washer, and bis wringer. Simp. Well, sir. Eva. Nay, it is petter yet : Give her this let- ter ; for it is a 'oman that altogether's acquaintance with mistress Anne Page : and the letter is, to desire and require her to solicit your master's desires to mistress Anne Page : I pray you, be gone. I will make an end of my dinner : there's pippins and oheese to come. [Exawi SCENE III. A Room in the Garter Inn. Enter FALSTAFF, Host, BARDOLPH, NYM, PISTOL, and ROBIN. Fal. Mine Host of the Garter ! Host. What says my bully-rook 1 1 Speak schol- arly, and wisely. 1 That is, " ask which is the way to Doctor Caius' hous. Laundry, a little after, is Sir Hugh's blunder for laundress. H. 1 Bully-rook 'appears to he mine Host's can! term for a shar-pr NC. III. OF WINDSOR. j Fal. Truly, mine Host, I must turn away some of my followers. Host. Discard, bully Hercules ; cashier : let then' wag ; trot, trot. Fal. I sit at ten pounds a week. Host. Thou'rt an emperor, Csesar, Keisar, and Pheezar. 2 I will entertain Bardolph ; he shall draw, he shall tap : said I well, bully Hector ? FaL Do so, good mine Host. Host. I have spoke ; let him follow. Let me see thee froth, and lime : 3 I am at a word ; follow. [Exit Host. FaL Bardolph, follow him : A tapster is a good trade : an old cloak makes a new jerkin ; a wither'd servingman, a fresh tapster : Go ; adieu. Bard. It is a life that I have desir'd : I will thrive. [Exit BARD. Pist. O base Hungarian wight ! 4 wilt thou the spigot wield 1 Nym. He was gotten in drink : Is not the humour conceited? His mind is not heroic, and there's the humour of it. * Keisar is an old form of Caesar, the general word for an emperor; Kings and Keisars being a common phrase. The meaning of Pheezar is uncertain. Maloue derives it from pheeze, to whip, or to beat, and so used in the Induction to The Taming of The Shrew. H. 3 To froth beer and to lime sack were tapsters' tricks. Mr. Steevens says the first was done by putting soap in the bottom of the tankard ; the other by mixing lime with the wine to make ir sparkle in the glass. 4 So in the folio of 1623. The common reading is Gongarian, taken from the quarto of 1602. Hungarian means p gipsy, and is .equivalent to the Bohemian of Quentin Durward. Bishop Hall in his Satires has the pun, " So sharp and meagre tf at who should them see, Would swear they lately came from Hungary ; " which infers that Hungarian was used for a hungry, starvoi fol low. H 234 MERRY WIVES ACT I Fal. I am glad I am so acquit of this tinderbox. his thefts were too open ; his filching was like au unskilful singer, he kept not time. Nym. The good humour is, to steal at * minim'fi rest. Pist. Convey, the wise it call : Steal ! foh ; a fico 5 for the phrase ! Fal. Well, sirs, I am almost out at heels. Pist. Why then let kibes ensue. Fal. There is no remedy ; I must coney-catch ; f must shift. Pist. Young ravens must have food. Fal. Which of you know Ford of this town 1 Pist. I ken the wight: he is of substance good. Fal. My honest lads, I will tell you what I am about. Pist. Two yards, and more. Fal. No quips now, Pistol : indeed I am in the waist two yards about ; but I am now about no waste ; I am about thrift. Briefly, I do mean to make love to Ford's wife : I spy entertainment in her ; she discourses, she carves, 6 she gives the leer of invitation : I can construe the action of her famil- iar style, and the hardest voice of her behaviour, to he English'd rightly, is, " I am Sir John Falstaff's." Pist. He hath studied her well, and translated her will out of honesty into English. Nym. The anchor is deep : will that humour pass 1 Fal. Now, the report goes, she lias all the rule of her husband's purse ; he hath legions of angels. 7 5 Fico is a Pistolism for Jig. H. e It seems to have been a mark of kindness when a lady carved to a gentleman. So, in Vittoria Corombona : " Your husband is wondrous discontented. Vit. I did nothing to displease htm ; I tarwi to him at supper time." 7 Gold coin. 9C. III. OF WINDSOR. 236 Pist. As many devils entertain ; and, " To her, boy," say I. Nym. The humour rises ; it is good : humour me the angels. Fal. I have writ me here a letter to her ; and here another to Page's wife, who even now gave me good eyes too, examin'd my parts with most judicious eyliads : 8 sometimes the beam of her view gilded my foot, sometimes my portly belly. Pist. Then did the sun on dunghill shine. Nym. I thank thee for that humour. Fal. O ! she did so course o'er my exteriors with such a greedy intention, 9 that the appetite of her eye did seem to scorch me up like a burning glass. Here's another letter to her : she bears the purse too ; she is a region in Guiana, all gold and bounty. I will be cheater 10 to them both, and they shall be exchequers to me : they shall be my East and West Indies, and I will trade to them both. Go, bear thou this letter to mistress Page ; and thou this to mistress Ford : we will thrive, lads, we will thrive. Pist. Shall I Sir Pandarus of Troy become, And by my side wear steel 1 then, Lucifer take all ! Nym. I will run no base humour : here, take the humour-letter : I will keep the 'haviour of reputa- tion. FaL [ To ROB.] Hold, sirrah ; bear you these let- ters tightly : Sail like my pinnace," to these golden shores. 8 Eyliads are soft glances, or wanton looks. Cotgrave trans- ates it, " to cast a sheep's eye." H. 9 That is, intentness. 10 The escheators were officers of the exchequer, and popularly called cheaters. H. 11 A pinnace was a light vessel built for speed, and was also called a brigantine. Hence the word is used for a go-between In Ben Jonson's Bartholomew Fair, Justice Overdo says of the '236 MERRY WIVES ACT I. Rogues, hence ! avaunt ! vanish like hailstones, go ; Trudge, plod away o' the hoof; seek shelter, pack ! Falstaff will learn the humour of this age, French thrift, you rogues : myself, and skirted page. [Exeunt FALSTAFF and ROBIN. Pist. Let vultures gripe thy guts ! I2 for gourd and fullam 13 holds, And liigh and low beguile the rich and poor : Tester u I'll have in pouch, when thou shalt lack, Base Phrygian Turk ! Nym. I have operations, which be humours of revenge. Pist. Wilt thou revenge 1 Nym. By welkin, and her star ! Pist. With wit, or steel ? Nym. With both the humours, I : I will discuss the humour of this love to Page, Pist. And I to Ford shall eke unfold, How Falstaff, varlet vile, His dove will prove, his gold will hold, And his soft couch defile. Nym. My humour shall not cool : I will incense Page to deal with poison ; I will possess him with yellowness ; 15 for the revolt of mine is danger ous : 16 that is my true humour. pig-woman, " She has been before me, punk, pinnace, and bawd any time these two and twenty years." 11 A burlesque on a passage in Marlowe's Tamburlaine : " and now doth ghastly death With greedy talents gripe my bleeding heart, And like a harper tyers on my life." 18 In Decker's Bellman of London, 1640, among the false dice are enumerated " a bale of fullams a bale of gordes, with as many high men as low men for passage." The false dice were chiefly made at Fulham ; hence the name. 14 Sixpence I'll have in pocket. l8 Jealousy. 18 Evidently referring to his revolt from Falstaff, which is now his " true humour " BO. IV OF WINDSOR. 237 Pist. Thou art the Mars of malcontents : I second thee ; troop on. [Exeunt. SCENE IV. A Room in Dr. CAIUS'S House. Enter Mrs. QUICKLY, SIMPLE, and RUGBY. Quick. What, John Rugby ! I pray thee, go to the casement, and see if you can see my master, master Doctor Caius, coming : if he do, i'faith, and find any body in the house, here will be an old abusing ' of God's patience, and the king's English. Rug. I'll go watch. [Exit RUGBY. Quick. Go ; and we'll have a posset for't soon at night, in faith, at the latter end of a sea-coal fire. An honest, willing, kind fellow, as ever servant shall come in house withal : and, I warrant you, no tell- tale, nor no breed-bate : 2 his worst fault is, that he is given to prayer ; he is something peevish 3 that way : but nobody but has his fault ; but let that pass. Peter Simple, you say, your name is ? Sim. Ay, for fault of a better. Quick. And master Slender's your master ? Sim. Ay, forsooth. Quick. Does he not wear a great round beard, like a glover's paring knife ? Sim. No, forsooth : he hath but a little wee face, with a little yellow beard ; a Cain-colour'd beard. 4 1 Old is here intensive, much the same as huge ; a common use of the word in the Poet's time. Thus we have old coil in Much Ado about Nothing. H. 8 That is, breeder of debate, maker of strife. * Foolish. 4 It is said that Cain and Judas in old pictures and tapestry were constantly represented with yellow beards. In an age when but a small part of the nation could read, ideas were frequently borrowed from these representations. The quartos read kine- ti'lottred, that is, having the colour of cane 238 MEKRY WIVES ACT I Quick. A softly-sprighted man, is he not 1 Sim. Ay, forsooth : but he is as tall a man of his hands, 6 as any is between this and his head ; he hath fought with a warrener. 6 Quick. How say you 1 O ! I should remember him : Does he not hold up his head, as it were, and strut in his gait 1 Sim. Yes, indeed, does he. Quick. Well, heaven send Anne Page no worse fortune ! Tell master parson Evans, I will do whal I can for your master : Anne is a good girl, and 1 wish Re-enter RUGBY. Rug. Out, alas ! here comes my master. [Exit Quick. We shall all be shent : 7 Run in here, good young man ; go into this closet. [Shuts SIMPLE in the closet.] He will not stay long. What, John Rugby ! John, what, John, I say ! Go, John, go inquire for my master ; I doubt, he be not well, that he comes not home : [Sings.] " and down, down adown-a," &c. Enter Doctor CAIUS.' Caius. Vat is you sing ? I do not like dese toys Pray you, go and vetch me in my closet un boitiet * A common phrjse of the time for a man of valour or execu tion, something like the French homme liaut a la main. Thus again in TwelAh Night : " As tall a man as any's in Illyria." It is one of the new phrases ridiculed by Mercutio,as being used by the " antic, lisping, affected fantasticos " of his age : " A very good blade, a very tall man ! " H. a The keeper of a warren. * The original meaning of shent was killed or mined ; but il osme to oe used for reviled, or abused with rough language, in which sense it occurs several times in Shakespeare. H. 8 It has been thought strange that Shakespeare should take tba name of Caius for his Frenchman, as an eminent physician of tba &C. IV. OF WINDSOR. 239 nerd; a box, a green-a box : Do intend vat I speak '! a green-a box. Quick. Ay, forsooth: I'll fetch it you. [Aside.] 1 am glad he went not in himself: if he had found the young man, he would have been horn-mad. Caius. Fe, fe, fe, fe ! ma foi t il fait fort chaud Je nt'en vais d la Cour, la grande affaire. Quick. Is it this, sir 1 Caius. Ouy ; mette le au mon pocket ; Depec/ie t quickly : Vere is dat knave Rugby ? Quick. What, John Rugby ! John ! Rug. Here, sir. Caius. % You are John Rugby, and you are Jack Rugby : Come, take-a your rapier, and come after my heel to de court. Rug. 'Tis ready, sir, here in the porch. Caius. By my trot, I tarry too long : Od's me ! Qu'ay foublie 1 dere is some simples in my closet dat I vill not for the varld I shall leave behind. Quick. [Aside.] Ah me ! he'll find the young man there, and be mad. Caius. O diable, diable ! vat is in my closet ? Villainy ! larron ! [Pulling SIMPLE out.] Rugby, ray rapier ! Quick. Good master, be content. Caius. Verefore shall I be content-a ? Quick. The young man is an honest man. Caius. Vat shall de honest man do in my closet 1 dere is no honest man dat shall come in my closet. name, founder of Caius College, Oxford, flourished in Elizabeth'* reign. But Shakespeare was little acquainted with literary his lory, and without doubt, from this unusual name, supposed him to have been some foreign quack. The character might however be drawn from the life, for in Jack Dover's Quest of Eiiquirie, J604, a story called The Foole of Windsor turns upon a simple out Isndisli Doctor of Physic. 24U MERKY WIVES ACT 1. Quick. I beseech you, be not so phlegmatic; hear the truth of it : He came of an errand to me from parson Hugh. Caius. Veil. Sim. Ay, forsooth, to desire her to Quick. Peace, I pray you. Caius. Peace-a your tongue ! Speak-a your tale. Sim. To desire this honest gentlewoman, your maid, to speak a good word to mistress Anne Page for my master, in the way of marriage. Quick. This is all, indeed, la ; but I'll ne'er put my finger in the fire, and need not. Caius. Sir Hugh send-a you ? Rugby t bailkz me some paper : Tarry you a littel-a while. [ Writes. Quick. I am glad he is so quiet : if he had been throughly moved, you should have heard him so loud, and so melancholy. But notwithstanding, man, I'll do for your master what good I can : and the very yea and the no is, the French Doctor, my master, I may call him my master, look you, for I keep his house ; and I wash, wring, brew, bake, scour, dress meat and drink, make the beds, and do all myself; Sim. 'Tis a great charge, to come under one body's hand. Quick. Are you avis'd o' the F'airy Queen. SC. II. OF W1NDSOK. &~>O Fal. But what says slie to me ? be brief, my good she Mercury. Quick. Marry, she hath receiv'd your letter ; for the which she thanks you a thousand times : and she gives you to notify, that her husband will be absence from his house between ten and eleven. Fal. Ten and eleven ? Quick. Ay, forsooth ; and then you may come and see the picture, she says, that you wot of : master Ford, her husband, will be from home. Alas ! the sweet woman leads an ill life with him ; he's a very jealousy man ; she leads a very frampold 10 life with him, good heart. Fal. Ten and eleven : Woman, commend me to her ; I will not fail her. Quick. Why, you say well : But I have another messenger to your worship : Mistress Page hath her hearty commendations to you too ; and let me tell you in your ear, she's as fartuous a civil modest wife, and one (I tell you) that will not miss you morning nor evening prayer, as any is in Windsor, whoe'er be the other : and she bade me tell your worship, that her husband is seldom from home ; but she hopes there will come a time. I never knew a woman so dote upon a man : surely, I think you have charms, la ; yes, in truth. Fal. Not I, I assure thee ; setting the attraction of my good parts aside, I have no other charms. Quick. Blessing on your heart for't ! Fal. But, I pray thee, tell me this : has Ford'a wife, and Page's wife, acquainted each other how they love me ? Quick. That were a jest, indeed ! they have no! 10 Frampold here means uneasy or vexatious. This obsoleM word is of uncertain etymology. 256 MERRY WIVES iCT It BO little grace, I hope : that were a trick, indeed ! But mistress Page would desire you to send her your little page, of all loves: " her husband has a marvellous infection to the little page ; and, truly, master Page is an honest man. Never a wife in Windsor leads a better life than she does : do what she will, say what she will, take all, pay all, go to bed when she list, rise when she list, all is as she mil ; and, truly, she deserves it ; for if there be a kind woman in Windsor, she is one. You must send her your page; no remedy. Pal. Why, I will. Quick. Nay, but do so then : and, look you, he may come and go between you both ; and, in any case, have a nay-word, 12 that you may know one another's mind, and the boy never need to under- stand any thing ; for 'tis not good that children should know any wickedness : old folks, you know have discretion, as they say, and know the world. Fal. Fare thee well : commend me to them both- There's my purse ; I am yet thy debtor. Boy, go along with this woman. This news distracts me ! [Exeunt QUICKLY and ROBIN. Pist. Tliis punk is one of Cupid's carriers : Clap on more sails ; pursue, up with your fights : " Give fire ! she is my prize, or ocean whelm them all ! [Exit PISTOL. Pal. Say'st thou so, old Jack? go thy ways; I'll make more of thy old body than I have done. Will they yet look after thee 1 Wilt thou, after the ex- 11 Of all loves signifies no more than by all means. It is again used in Othello and in A Midsummer-Night's Dream. 11 A watchword. 13 Figltis are the waist cloths which hang round about the ship to hinder men from being seen in fight ; or any ilace whereiu men may cover themselves, and ye. use their arms. C. II. OF WINDSOR. 267 pense of so much money, be now a gainer ? Good body, J thank thee : let them say, 'tis grossly done ; so it be fairly done, no matter. Enter BARDOLPH. Bard. Sir John, there's one master Brook below would fain speak with you, and be acquainted with you : and hath sent your worship a morning's draught of sack. 14 FaL Brook is his name ? Bard. Ay, sir. FaL Call him in: [Exit BARDOLPH.] Such Brooks are welcome to me, that o'erflow such liquor. Ah, ha ! mistress Ford and mistress Page, have I encompass'd you ? go to; via! IS Re-enter BARDOLPH, with FORD disguised. Ford. Bless you, sir. FaL And you, sir : Would you speak with me ? Ford. I make bold to press with so little prepara- tion upon you. FaL You're welcome : What's your will ? Give us leave, drawer. [Exit BARDOLPH. Ford. Sir, I am a gentleman that have spent much : my name is Brook. 14 It seems to have been a common custom in taverns, in Shake- speare's time, to send presents of wine from one room to another either as a memorial of friendship, or by way of introduction to acquaintance. In the Parliamentary History, we have the follow- ing passage from The Life of General Monk, by Dr. Price : " I came to the Three Tuns, before Guildhall, where the general had quartered two nights before. I entered the tavern with ;i servart and portmanteau, and asked for a room, which I had scarce got mto but wine followed me us a present from some citizens desiring leave to drink their morning's draught with me." 16 Via, an Italian word, which Florio explains : '< An advert of encouragement, on away, go to, away forward, go oil, dispatch. 258 MERRY WIVES ACT II Fal. Good master Brook, I desire more acquaint- ance of you. Ford. Good Sir John, I sue for yours : not to charge you ; for I must let you understand, I think myself in better plight for a lender than you are : the which hath something embolden'd me to this unseasori'd intrusion ; for they say, if money go be fore, all ways do lie open. Fal. Money is a good soldier, sir, and will on. Ford. Troth, and I have a bag of money here troubles me : if you will help me to bear it, Sir John, take all, or half, for easing me of the carriage. Fal. Sir, I know not how I may deserve to be your porter. Ford. I will tell you, sir, if you will give me the hearing. Fal. Speak, good master Brook ; I shall be glad to be your servant. Ford. Sir, I hear you are a scholar, I will be brief with you, and you have been a man long known to me, though I had never so good means, as desire, to make myself acquainted with you. I shall discover a thing to you, wherein I must very much lay open mine own imperfection : but, good Sir John, as you have one eye upon my follies, as you hear them unfolded, turn another into the regis- ter of your own ; that I may pass with a reproof the easier, sith 16 you yourself know how easy it is to be such an offender. Fal. Very well, sir ; proceed. Ford. There is a gentlewoman in this town, her husband's name is Ford. Fal. Well, sir. Ford. I have long lov'd her, and, I protest to 10 Since. SC. 11. OF WINDSOR. 5i5& you, bestowed much on her ; followed her with a doting observance ; engross'd opportunties to meet her ; fee'd every slight occasion that could but nig- gardly give me sight of her ; not only bought many presents to give her, but have given largely to many, to know what she would have given : briefly, I have pursu'd her as love hath pursued me ; which hath been on the wing of all occasions. But whatsoever I have merited, either in my mind or in my means, meed, I am sure, I have received none ; unless ex- perience be a jewel : that I have purchased at an infinite rate ; and that hath taught me to say this : Love like a shadow flies, when substance love pursues ; Pursuing that that flies, and flying what pursues. Fal. Have you receiv'd no promise of satisfac- tion at her hands 7 Ford. Never. Fal. Have you importun'd her to such a purpose t Ford. Never. Fal. Of what quality was your love, then? Ford. Like a fair house built on another man's ground ; so that I have lost my edifice, by mistaking the place where I erected it. Fal. To what purpose have you unfolded this to me 1 Ford. When I have told you that, I have told you all. Some say, that, though she appear honest to me, yet in other places she enlargeth her mirth so far, that there is shrewd construction made of her. Now, Sir John, here is the heart of my purpose : You are & gentleman of excellent breeding, admirable dis- course, of great admittance, 17 authentic in your That is, admitted into all, or the greatest ccmpanie* '2t>U MERRY WIVES ACT IL place and person, generally allow'd for your many war-like, court-like, and learned preparations. Pal O, sir ! Ford. Believe it, for you know it : There is money ; spend it, spend it : spend more ; spend all I have ; only give me so much of your time in exchange of it, as to lay an amiable siege to the honesty of this Ford's wife : use your art of wooing, win her consent to you ; if any man may, you may as soon as any. Fal. Would it apply well to the vehemency of your affection, that I should win what you would enjoy ? Methinks you prescribe to yourself very preposterously. Ford. O ! understand my drift : She dwells so securely on the excellency of her honour, that the folly of my soul dares not present itself : she is too bright to be look'd against. Now, could I come to her with any detection in my hand, my desires had instance and argument to commend themselves ; I could drive her then from the ward of her purity, her leputation, her marriage-vow, and a thousand other her defences, which now are too strongly em- battled against me : What say you to't, Sir John 1 Fal. Master Brook, I will first make bold with your money ; next give me your hand ; and last, as I am a gentleman, you shall, if you will, enjoy Ford's wife. Ford. O good sir ! Fal. I say you shall. Ford. Want no money, Sir John ; you shall want none. Fal. Want no mistress Ford, master Brook ; you shall want none. I shall be with her, (I may tell you,) by her own appointment ; even as you came SO. II. OF WINDSOR. 261 in to me, her assistant, or go-between, parted from me : I say I shall be with her between ten and eleven ; for at that time the jealous rascally knave, her husband, will be forth. Come you to me at night ; you shall know how I speed. Ford. I am blest in your acquaintance. Do you know Ford, sir? Fed. Hang him, poor cuckoldly knave ! I know him not : yet I wrong him to call him poor ; they say the jealous wittolly knave hath masses of money ; for the which his wife seems to me well- favour'd : I will use her as the key of the cuckoldly rogue's coffer ; and there's my harvest-home. Ford. I would you knew Ford, sir, that you might avoid him, if you saw him. Fal. Hang him, mechanical salt-butter rogue ! I will stare bira out of his wits ; I will awe him with my cudg^' : it shall hang like a meteor o'er the cuckold's horis. Master Brook, thou shall know 1 will predominate o'er the peasant, and thou shalt lie with his wife. Come to me soon at night: Ford's a knave, and I will aggravate his style ; 18 thou, master Brook, shalt know him for a knave and cuckold : come to me soon at night. [Exit. Ford. What a damn'd Epicurean rascal is this ! My heart is ready to crack with impatience. Who says this is improvident jealousy 1 My wife hath sent to him, the hour is fix'd, the match ia made. Would any man have thought this ? Seo the hell of having a false woman ! my bed shall be 18 That is, / will add more titles to those he already has. The phrase is from the Herald's Office. Thus in Heywood's Golden Age : " I will create lords of a greater style ; " and in Spenser'i Faery Queen : " A.s to abandon that which doth contain Your honour's style, that is, your warlike shield." JJ. 2()2 MERRV WIVES AOT II, abus'd, my coffers ransack'd, my reputation gnawn at ; and I shall not only receive this villanous wrong but stand under the adoption of abominable terms, and by him that does me this wrong. Terms ! names ! Amaimon sounds well ; Lucifer, well ; Barbason, 19 well ; yet they are devils' additions, the names of fiends : but cuckold ! wittol 20 cuckold ! the devil himself hath not such a name. Page is an ass, a secure ass; he will trust his wife, he will not be jealous : J will rather trust a Fleming with my butter, parson Hugh the Welchman with my cheese, an Irishman with my aqua-vitae 2I bottle, or a thief to walk my ambling gelding, than my wife with herself: then she plots, then she ruminates, then she devises ; and what they tliink in their hearts they may effect, they will break their hearts but they will effect. Heaven be prais'd for my jealousy ! Eleven o'clock the hour : 1 will prevent this, detect my wife, be reveng'd on Falstaff, and laugh at Page. I will about it ; better three hours too soon than a minute too late. Fie, fie, fie ! cuckold ! cuckold ! cuckold ! [Exit SCENE III. Windsor Park. Enter CAIUS and RUGBY. Caius. Jack Rugby ! Rug. Sir. Caius. Vat is de clock, Jack 1 19 Reginald Scot, in his Discovery of Witchcraft, may be con suited concerning these demons. " Amaimon," he says, " was King of the East, and Barbatos a great countie or earle." But Randle Holme, in his Academy of Armory, informs us that " Amaymnn is the chief whose dominion is on the north part of the infernal gulph ; and that Barbatos is like a Sagittarius, and has thirt) legions under him." * A tame contented cuckold knowing nimself to be one. From the Saxon wittan, to know 91 Usquebaugh. at,. III. OF WINDSOR 263 Rug 'Tis past the hour, sir, that Sir Hugh prornis'd to meet. Caius. By gar, he has save his soul, dat he is no come : he has pray his Pible veil, dat he is no come : by gar, Jack Rugby, he is dead already, il he be come. Rug. He is wise, sir ; he knew your worship would kill him, if he came. Caius. By gar, de herring is no dead, so as I vill kill him. Take your rapier, Jack ; I vill tell you how I vill kill him. Rug. Alas, sir ! I cannot fence. Caius. Villainy, take your rapier. Hug. Forbear ; here's company. Enter Host, SHALLOW, SLENDER, and PAOJ. Host. 'Bless thee, bully doctor. Shal. Save you, master doctor Caius. Page. Now, good master doctor ! Slen. Give you good-morrow, sir. Caius. Vat be all you, one, two, tree, four, come for? Host. To see thee fight, to see thee foin, 1 to see thee traverse, to see thee here, to see thee there ; to see thee pass thy punto, thy stock, thy reverse, thy distance, thy montant. 8 Is he dead, my Ethiopian 1 is he dead, my Francisco 1 ha, bully ! What says my ^Esculapius 1 my Galen ? my heart of elder ? J ha ! is he dead, bully-Stale 1 * is he dead 1 1 The ancient term for making a thrust in fencing. * Terms used in fencing ; punto, stock, (stoccado,) reverse, (reverso,) and montant, being from the Italian. In Much Ado about Nothing, Beatrice calls Benedick Signior Montanto. H. 3 Heart of elder. The joke is that elder has a heart of pith 4 Bully- Stair and king-Urinal will be sufficiently obvious tr those who recollect the prevalence of empirical water- doctor- 264 MERRY WIVES ACT II Caius. By gar, he is de coward Jack priest of de vorld ; he is not show his face. Host. Thou art a Castilian king-Urinal ! Hector of Greece, my boy ! Caius. I pray you, bear vitness dat me have stay six or seven, two, tree hours for liim, and he is no come. ShaL He is the wiser man, master doctor : he is a curer of souls, and you a curer of bodies ; if you should fight, you go against the hair of your profes- sions : is it not true, master Page 1 Page. Master Shallow, you have yourself been a great fighter, though now a man of peace. ShaL Bodykins, master Page, though I now be old, and of the peace, if I see a sword out, my fin- ger itches to make one : though we are justices, and doctors, and churchmen, master Page, we have some salt of our youth in us; we are the sons of women, master Page. Page. 'Tis true, master Shallow. Sfial. It will be found so, master Page. Master doctor Caius, I am come to fetch you home. I am sworn of the peace : you have show'd yourself a wise physician, and Sir Hugh hath shown himself a wise and patient churchman : You must go with me, master doctor. Host. Pardon, guest-justice : A word, mon aieur Mock-water. 5 Caius. Mock-vater ! vat is dat ? Host. Mock-water, in our English tongue, ia valour, bully. Castilian appears to have been generally used as a term of re proach after the defeat of the Spanish Armada. The Host availi himself of the poor doctor's ignorance of English phraseology in applying to him these high-sounding opprobrious epithets ; tie lierv means to call him coward. 6 Probably some allusion to the doctor's medical practice. H 3C. 111. OF WINDSOR- 265 Caius. By gar, then I have as much mock-vatex as de Englishman : Scurvy jack-dog priest ! by gar, me vil cut his ears. Host. He will clapper-claw thee tightly, bully. Coins. Clapper-de-claw ! vat is dat ? Host. That is, he will make thee amends. Caius. By gar, me do look, he shall clapper-de- daw me ; for, by gar, me vill have it. Host. And I will provoke him to't, or let him wag. Caius. Me tank you for dat. Host. And moreover, bully, But first, master guest, and master Page, and eke cavalero Slender, go you through the town to Frogmore. [Aside to them. Page. Sir Hugh is there, is he ? Host. He is there : see what humour he is in ; and I will bring the doctor about by the fields : will it do well 1 Shal. We will do it. Page, Shal., and Slen. Adieu, good master doctor. [Exeunt PAGE, SHAL., and SLEN. Caius. By gar, me vill kill de priest ; for he speak for a jack-an-ape to Anne Page. Host. Let him die : Sheath thy impatience $ throw cold water on thy choler : go about the fields with me through Frogmore ; I will bring thee where mistress Anne Page is, at a farm-house a feasting ; and thou shall woo her. Cried I aim 1 * said I well .' The usual reading here is, Cride-game, said I well ? What is meant by Cride-game, and whether it be used as an epithet of Dr. Caius or of Anne Page, nobody can tell. Much learned ink has been shed on the question ; but to little purpose, save to show that the writers could not ascertain the right reading. We have adopted the one proposed by Mr. Dyce : Cried I aim ? that is, did I give you encouragement 1 siid I well 1 This reading u 'J66 MERRY WIVES ACT 111 Coins. By gar, me dank you vor dat : by gar, I love you ; and I shall procure-a you de good guest, de earl, de knight, de lords, de gentlemen, my pa- tients Host. For the wltich I will be thy adversary towards Anne Page : said I well ? Ccdus. By gar, 'tis good ; veil said. Host. Let us wag, then. Ccdus. Come at my heels, Jack Rugby. [Exeunt. ACT III. SCENE I. A Field near Frogmore. Enter Sir HUGH EVANS and SIMPLE. Eva. I pray you now, good master Slender's serving-man, and friend Simple by your name, which way have you look'd for master Caius, that calls himself Doctor of Physic ? Sim. Marry, sir, the Petty-ward, the Park-ward, 1 every way ; old Windsor way, and every way but the town way. Eva, I most fehemently desire you, you will also look that way. Sim. I will, sir. [Retiring. Eva. Pless my soul ! how full of cholers I aru, and trempling of mind ! I shall be glad, if he have deceived me. How melancholies I am ! I will supported by what Ford says afterwards : " To these violent pro- ceedings all my neighbours shall cry aim." See Act iii. sc. 2 note 2. H. 1 These were names of streets or places about Windsor Probably the Little Park was then sometimes called Petty. Thus a part of Cambridge is named Petty-cury, and in Westminster is a. place known as Petty-France. n **,. i OF WINDSOR. 267 knog his urinals about his knave's costard, when I have good opportunities for the 'ork: pless my soul ! [Sing* To shallow rivers, to whose falls Melodious birds sing madrigals ; There will we make our peds of roses, C. VI. OF WINDSOR. Hlft Quick, From the two parties, forsooth. Fal. The devil take one party, a i his dam the other, and so they shall be both bestowed ! I have suffer'd more for their sakes, more than the villa- nous inconstancy of man's disposition is able to bear. Quick. And have not they suffer'd 1 Yes, I war- rant ; speciously one of them : mistress Ford, good heart, is beaten black and blue, that you cannot see a white spot about her. Fal. What tell'st thou me of black and blue ! J was beaten myself into all the colours of the rain- bow, and I was like to be apprehended for the witch of Brentford ; but that my admirable dexterity of wit, my counterfeiting the action of an old woman, deliver'd me, the knave constable had set me i' the stocks, i' the common stocks, for a witch. Quick. Sir, let me speak with you in your cham ber : you shall hear how things go ; and, I warrant, to your content. Here is a letter will say somewhat. Good hearts, what ado here is to bring you together ! Sure, one of you does not serve Heaven well, that you are so cross'd. Fal. Come up into my chamber. [Exeunt. SCENE VI. Another Room in the Garter Inn. Enter FENTON and Host. Host. Master Fenton, talk not to me : my mind is heavy ; J will give over all. Pent. Yet hear me speak : Assist me in my pur- pose, And, as I am a gentleman, I'll give thee A hundred pound in gold, more than your loss. Host. I will hear you, master Fenton ; and I wili. at the least, keep your counsel. 314 MERRY WIVES ACT iv Fmt. From time to time I have acquainted you With the dear love I bear to fair Anne Page ; Who, mutually, hath answer'd my affection, (So far forth as herself might be her chooser,) Even to my wish : I have a letter from her Of such contents as you will wonder at ; The mirth whereof so larded with my matter, That neither, singly, can be manifested, Without the show of both ; wherein fat Falstaff Hath a great scene : the image of the jest [Showing the letter I'll show you here at large. Hark, good mine Host i To-night at Herne's oak, just 'twixt twelve and one Must my sweet Nan present the fairy queen ; The purpose why, is here ; ' in which disguise, While other jests are something rank on foot. Her father hath commanded her to slip Away with Slender, and Avith him at Eton Immediately to marry : she hath consented. Now, sir, Her mother, ever strong against that match, And firm for doctor Caius, hath appointed That he shall likewise shuffle her away, While other sports are tasking of their minds, And at the deanery, where a priest attends, Straight marry her : to this her mother's plot She, seemingly obedient, likewise hath Made promise to the doctor. Now, thus it rests : Her father means she shall be all in white ; And in that habit, when Slender sees his time To take her by the hand, and bid her go, She shall go with him: her mother hath intended, The better to denote her to the doctor, they must all be mask'd and vizarded,) 1 In the letter. SC. VL OF WINDSOR. 315 That quaint * in green she shall be loose enrob'd, With ribands pendant, flaring 'bout her head And when the doctor spies his vantage ripe, To pinch her by the hand, and, on that token, The maid hath given consent to go with him. Host. Which means she to deceive 1 father or mother ? Pent. Both, my good Host, to go along with me : And here it rests, that you'll procure the vicar To stay for me at church, 'twixt twelve and one, And, in the lawful name of marrying, To give our hearts united ceremony. Host. Well, husband your device : I'll to the vicar . Bring you the maid, you shall not lack a priest. Pent. So shall 1 evermore be bound to thee ; Besides, I'll make a present recompense. [Exeunt, ACT V. SCENE I. A Room in the Garter Inri. Enter FALSTAFF and Mrs. QUICKLY. Pal. Pr'ythee, no more prattling ; go. I'll hold : ' Tliis is the third time ; I hope, good luck lies in odd numbers. Away, go ; they say there is divinity in odd numbers, either in nativity, chance, or death. Away. Quick. I'll provide you a chain ; and I'll do what I can to get you a pair of horns. * Qraint, here, may mean neatly, or elegantly, which were an- cient acceptations of the word, and not fantastically ' but eithei nense will suit. Keep to the time. 316 MERRY WIVES ACT V FaL Away I say ; time wears : hold up you) head and mince. 2 [Exit Mrs. QUICKLY Enter FORD. How now, master Brook ? Master Brook, the mat- ter will be known to-night, or never. Be you in the Park about midnight, at Herne's oak, and you shall see wonders. Ford, Went you not to her yesterday, sir, as you told me you had appointed 1 FaL I went to her, master Brook, as you see, like H poor old man : but I came from her, master Brook, like a poor old woman. That same knave, Ford, her husband, hath the finest mad devil of jealousy in him, master Brook, that ever govern'd frenzy. 1 will tell you : He beat me grievously, in the shape of a woman ; for in the shape of man, master Brook, 1 fear not Goliah with a weaver's beam ; because I know also, life is a shuttle. 3 I am in haste : go along with me ; I'll tell you all, master Brook. Since I pluck'd geese, 4 play'd truant, and whipp'd top, J knew not what 't was to be beaten, till lately. Follow me : I'll tell you strange tilings of this knave Ford ; on whom to-night I will be revenged, and I will deliver his wife into your hand. Follow : Strange tilings in hand, master Brook ! follow. [Exeunt * That is, walk: to mince signified to walk with affected delicacy. * An allusiou to the Book of Job, c. vii. v. 6. " My days are vriftcr than a weaver's shuttle." 4 To strip a living goose of its feathers was forrrerly an act of puerile barl>arity 6.C. in. OP WINDSOR. 31? SCENE H. Windsor Park. Enter PAGE, SHALLOW, and SLENDER. Page. Come, come; we'll couch i' the castle- ditch, till we see the light of our fairies. Remem- lier, son Slender, my daughter. Skn. Ay, forsooth ; I have spoke with her, and we have a nay-word ' how to know one another. 1 come to her in white, and cry " mum ; " she cries " budget ; " and by that we know one another. SJial. That's good too : But what needs either your " mum," or her " budget ; " the white will decipher her well enough. It hath struck ten o'clock. Page. The night is dark ; light and spirits will become it well. Heaven prosper our sport ! No man means evil but the devil, 8 and we shall know him by his horns. Let's away ; follow me. [Exeunt SCENE in. A Street in Windsor. Enter Mrs. PAGE, Mrs. FORD, and Dr. CAIUS. Mrs. Page. Master doctor, my daughter is in green : when you see your time, take her by the hand, away with her to the deanery, and despatch it quickly. Go before into the park : we two must go together. Caius. I know vat I have to do : Adieu. Mrs. Page. Fare you well, sir. [Exit CAIUS.] My husband will not rejoice so much at the abuse of Falstaff, as he will chafe at the doctor's marry * Watchword. 1 Page indirectly alludes to FalstafT, who was to have boras on bid head. 31S MERRY WIVES ACT V. ing my daughter : but 'tis no matter ; better a little chiding, than a great deal of heart-break. Mrs. Ford. Where is Nan now, and her troop of fairies 1 and the Welch devil, Hugh ? Mrs. Page. They are all couch'd in a pit hard by Herne's oak, with obscur'd lights ; which at the very instant of Falstaff's and our meeting, they will at once display to the night. Mrs. Ford. That cannot choose but amaze him. Mrs. Page. If he be not amaz'd, he will be mock'd ; if he be amaz'd, he will every way be mock'd. Mrs. Ford. We'll betray him finely. Mrs. Page. Against such lewdsters, and their lechery, Those that betray them do no treachery. Mrs. Ford. The hour draws on : To the oak, to the oak ! [Exeunt SCENE IV. Windsor Park. Enter Sir HUGH EVANS and Fairies. Eva. Trib, trib, fairies : come ; and remember your parts : Be pold, I pray you ; follow me into the pit ; and when I give the watch-'ords, do as I pid you : Come, come ; trib, trib. [Exeunt. SCENE V. Another part of the Park. Enter FALSTAFF disguised, with a buck's head on. Fal. The Windsor bell hath struck twelve ; the minute draws on. Now, the hot-blooded gods assist me : Remember, Jove, thou wast a bull for thy Europa; love set on thy horns: O powerful love, that, in some respects, makes a beast a man ; in ac. v. OF WINDSO 319 some other, a man a beast. You were also, Jupi ter, a swan, for the love of Leda : O, omnipotent love ! how near the god drew to the complexion of a goose ! A fault done first in the form of a beast ; O Jove, a beastly fault ! and then another fauli in the semblance of a fowl : think on't, Jove ; a foul fault. When gods have hot backs, what shall poor men do ? For me, I am here a Windsor stag ; and the fattest, I think, i' the forest : send me a coo) rut-time, Jove, or who can blame me to piss my tallow 7 ' Who comes here 1 my doe 1 Enter Mrs. FORD and Mrs. PAGE. Mrs. Ford. Sir John 1 art thou there, my deer 1 my male deer 1 Fal. My doe with the black scut 1 Let the sky rain potatoes ; let it thunder to the tune of " Green Sleeves ; " hail kissing-comfits, and snow eringoes , let there come a tempest of provocation, 2 I will shelter me here. [Embracing her. Mrs. Ford. Mistress Page is come with me, sweetheart. Fal. Divide me like a bribe-buck, 3 each a haunch . I will keep my sides to myself, my shoulders for the 1 This is technical. " During the time of their rut the harts live with small sustenance. The red mushroome helpetr. well to make them pysse their greace, they are then in so vehement beat.'' Turberviile's Book of Hunting, 1575. * The sweet potato was used in England as a delicacy long before the introduction of the common potato by Sir "Walla Raleigh in 1586. It was imported in considerable quantities from Spain and the Canaries, and was supposed to possess the power of restoring decayed vigour. The kissing-comfits were principally made of these and eringo roots, and were perfumed to make the breath sweet. Gerarde attributes the same virtues to the common potato, which be distinguishes as the Virginian sort. * That is, according to Theobald, a buck sent as a bribe. The original lias brib'd buck ; and bribe anciently meant steal. So that a brib'd buck is a stolen buck. H. &W MERRY WIVES ACT V fellow 4 of this walk, and my horns I bequeath youi husbands. Am I a woodman ? 5 ha ! Speak I like Herne the hunter ? Why, now is Cupid a child of conscience ; he makes restitution. As I am a true spirit, welcome ! [Noise toithin* Mrs. Page. Alas ! What noise 1 Mrs. Ford. Heaven forgive our sins ! Pal What should this be ? Mrs. Ford. Mrs. Page. FaL I think the devil will not have me damn'd, lest the oil that is in me should set hell on fire ; he would never else cross me thus. Enter Sir HUGH EVANS, like a satyr; Mrs. QtriCKLf , and PISTOL ; ANNE PAGE, as the Fairy Queen, attended by her brother and others, dressed like fairies, with waxen tapers on their heads. Anne. Fairies, black, grey, green, and white, You moonshine revellers, and shades of night, You ouphen-heirs 6 of fixed destiny, Attend your office, and your quality. 7 Crier Hobgoblin, make the fairy oyes. * The keeper. The shoulders of the buck were among his per- quisites. * The woodman was an attendant on the forester. It is here howe%-er used in a wanton sense, for one who chooses female game for the object of his pursuit. Thus, in Measure for Measure, Lucio says, " The Duke is a better woodman thau thou takes! him for." ' The old copy reads orphan-hens. Warburton reads ouphen, and not without plausibility ; ouphes being mentioned before and afterward. Malone thinks it means mortals by birth, but adopted by the fairies ; orphans in respect of their real parents, and now only dependent on destiny herself. Singer. We cannot help thinking that ouphen is the true word ; tbf meaning being, " fairy children, who execute the decrees of destiny.'" H 7 Profession. ii. v. OF WINDSOR. 321 Pist. Elves, list your names : silence, you airy toys ! Cricket, to Windsor chimneys when thou'st leapt, Where fires thou find'st unrak'd, and hearths un- swept, There pinch the maids as blue as bilberry : Our radiant queen hates sluts, and sluttery. 8 FaL They are fairies ; he that speaks to them shall die : I'L wink and couch : No man their works must eye. [Lies down upon his face. Eva. Where's Bead ? Go you, and where you find a maid, 8 This office of the ancient fairies appears to have been quite favourite theme with poets. Thus in Draytou's Nymphidia : " These make our girls their sluttery rue, By pinching them both black and blue, And put a penny in their shoe, The house for cleanly sweeping." So also in an old ballad entitled The Merry Pranks of Robin tioodfellow, sometimes attributed to Ben Jonson : " When house and harth doth sluttish lye, I pinch the maidens black and blue; The bed-clothes from the bedd pull I, And lay them naked all to view." And again in the ancient song of the Fairy Queen i " And, if the bouse be foul With platter, dish, or bowl, Up stairs we nimbly creep, And find the sluts asleep : There we pinch their arms and thighes j None escapes, nor none espies. But if the house be swept, And from uncleanness kept, We praise the household maid, And duely she is paid : For we use before we goe To drop a tester in her shoe." It were a curious inquiry, what this superstition had to do, e cause or effect, with the well-known cleanliness of the English people. B. 322 ItfERRT WIVES ACT V. That, ere she sleep, has thrice her prayers said, Raise up the organs of her fantasy, 9 Sleep she as sound as careless infancy ; But those as sleep, and think not on their sins, Pinch them, arms, legs, backs, shoulders, sides and shins. Anne. About, about ! Search Windsor castle, elves, within and out : Strew good luck, ouphes, on every sacred room ; That it may stand till the perpetual doom, In state as wholesome, as in state 'tis fit; Worthy the owner, and the owner it. The several chairs of order look you scour With juice of balm, and every precious flower : Ia Each fair instalment, coat, and several crest, With loyal blazon, evermore be blest ! And nightly, meadow-fairies, look, you sing, Like to the Garter's compass, in a ring : The expressure that it bears, green let it be, More fertile-fresh than all the field to see ; And, Honi soit qui mal y pense, write, In emerald tufts, flowers purple, blue, and white ; Like sapphire, pearl, and rich embroidery, Buckled below fair knighthood's bending knee : Fairies use flowers for their charactery. 11 Away ; disperse : But, till 'tis one o'clock, Our dance of custom, round about the oak Of Herne the hunter, let us not forget. Eva. Pray you, lock hand in hand ; yourselves in order set : That is. elevate her fancy, and amuse her tranquil mind with gome delightful vision, though she sleep as soundly as an infant. 10 It was an article of ancient luxury to rub tables, &c. with aromatic herbs. Pliny informs us that the Romans did so to driv* eway evil spirits. 11 Charactery is a writing by characters, or by strange merku SC. V OF WINDSOR. 323 And twenty glow-worms shall our lanterns be, To guide our measure round about the tree. But, stay ! I smell a man of middle earth. 18 Fal. Heaven defend me from that Welch fairy, lest he transform me to a piece of cheese ! Pist. Vile worm, thou wast o'erlook'd IS even In thy birth. Anne. With trial-fire touch me his finger-end : If he be chaste, the flame will back descend, And turn him to no pain ; but if he start, It is the flesh of a corrupted heart. Pist. A trial ! come. Eva. Come, will this wood take fire f [They burn him with their tapers Fal Oh, oh, oh ! Anne. Corrupt, corrupt, and tainted in desire ! About him, fairies ; sing a scornful rhyme ; And, as you trip, still pinch him to your time I4 Song-. Fie on sinful fantasy ! Fie on lust and luxury ! 11 The globe was often called "middle earth." H. 18 By overlooked, is here meant bewitched by an evil eye. This use of the word sprung from the popular belief, that the eyes of fairies and witches were full of spells and enchantments. See note on the Merchant of Venice, Act iii. sc. 2 : " Beshrew your eyes, they have o'erlooked me." H. 14 After this line Malone and others add the following from the quartos : " Eva. It is right ; indeed he is full of lecheries and iniquity." It is to be observed, that in this interlude the speakers, except Falstaff, do not appear in their own characters : they are acting parts ; and surely Sir Hugh would not speak any thing that was not put down for him. It is true, Falstaff a little before speaka of " that V/elch fairy ; " but he does this from the Welchman'i Accent not from his saying anj' thing that is not in his part. H 324 MERRY WIVES ACT V Lust is but a bloody fire, Kindled with unchaste desire, Fed in heart ; whose flames aspire, As thoughts do blow them, higher and higher. Pinch him, fairies, mutually ; Pinch him for his villany ; Pinch him, and burn him, and turn him about, Till candles, and starlight, and moonshine be out [During this song, the fairies pinch FALSTAFT. Doc- tor CAIDS comes one way, and steak away a fairy in green ; SLENDER another way, and takes off a fairy in white ; and FENTON comes, and steals away ANNE PAGE. A noise of hunting is made within. All the fairies run away. FALSTAFF pulls off his buck's head, and rises.] Enter PAGE, FORD, Mrs. PAGE, and Mrs. FORD. They lay hold on him. Page. Nay, do not fly : I think we have watch'd you now. Will none but Herne the hunter serve your turn ? Mrs. Page. I pray you, come ; hold up the jest no higher : Now, good Sir John, how like you Windsor wives 1 See you these, husband 1 do not these fair yokes '* Become the forest better than the town ? Ford. Now, sir, who's a cuckold now ? Maste/ Brook, Falstaff 's a knave, a cuckoldy knave ; here are his horns, master Brook : And, master Brook, he hath enjoyed nothing of Ford's but his buck basket, his cudgel, and twenty pounds of money, 16 The extremities of yokes for oxen, as still used in severa counties of England, bend upwards, and, rising very high, in shai* resemble horns. SC. V. OF WINDSOR. 325 which must be paid to master Brook : his horses are arrested for it, master Brook. Mrs. Ford. Sir John, we have had ill luck ; wr could never meet. I will never take you for my love again, but I will always count you my deer. , Fal. I do begin to perceive that I am made an ass. Ford. Ay, and an ox too ; both the proofs are extant. Fal. And these are not fairies ? I was three 01 four times in the thought, they were not fairies : and yet the guiltiness of my mind, the sudden surprise of my powers, drove the grossness of the foppery into a receiv'd belief, in despite of the teeth of all rhyme and reason, that they were fairies. See now, how wit may be made a Jack-a-lent, when 'tis upon ill employment ! Eva. Sir John Falstaff, serve Got, and leave youi desires, and fairies will not pinse you. Ford. Well said, fairy Hugh. Eva. And leave you your jealousies too, I pray you. Ford. I will never mistrust my wife again, till thou art able to woo her in good English. Fal. Have I laid my brain in the sun, and dried it, that it wants matter to prevent so gross o'er- reaching as this ? Am I ridden with a Welch goat too 1 Shall I have a coxcomb of frize 1 18 'Tis time I were chok'd with a piece of toasted cheese. Eva. Seese is not good to give putter : your pelly is all putter. Fal. Seese and putter ! Have I lived to stand at the taunt of one that makes fritters of English 1 18 That is, a fool s cap made out of Welch materials. \V t Is; was famous for this cloth. 326 MERRY WIVES AC1 V This is enough to be the decay of lust and late walking through the realm. Mrs. Page. Why, Sir John, do you think, though we would have thrust virtue out of our hearts b) the head and shoulders, and have given ourselves without scruple to hell, that ever the devil could have made you our delight ? Ford. What ! a hodge-pudding ? a bag of flax ? Mrs. Page. A puff'd man ? Page. Old, cold, wither'd, and of intolerable entrails ? Ford. And one that is as slanderous as Satan 1 Page. And as poor as Job 1 Ford. And as wicked as his wife ? Eva. And given to fornications, and to taverns, and sack, and wine, and metheglins, and to drinkings, and swearings, and starings, pribbles and prabbles ? Fal. Well, I am your theme : you have the start of me ; I am dejected ; I am not able to answer the Welch flannel : n Ignorance itself is a plummet o'er me : 18 use me as you will. Ford. Marry, sir, we'll bring you to Windsor, to one master Brook, that you have cozen'd of money, to whom you should have been a pander : over and above that you have suffer'd, I think, to repay that money will be a biting affliction. 18 17 The very word flannel is derived from a Welch one, and it is almost unnecessary to add that it was originally the manufac- ture of Wales. 19 Ignorance itself weighs me down, and oppresses me. 19 After this speech the following is usually added from the quartos : Mrs. Ford. Nay, husband, let that go to make amends t Forgive that sum, and so we'll all be friends. Ford. Well, here's my hand ; all's forgiven at last." Those who have taken this from the quartos have not told us whj they left out some other mp.Uer that is equally there. H. SC. V. OF WINDSOR. 327 Page. Yet be cheerful, knight : thou shah eat a posset to-night at my house ; where I will desire thee to laugh at my wife, that now laughs at thee : Tell her, master Slender hath married her daughter. Mrs. Page. [Aside.] Doctors douht that : If Anne Page be my daughter, she is, by this, doctor Caius' wife. Enter SLENDER. Slen. Whoo ! ho ! ho ! father Page ! Page. Son! how now ? how now, son? have you despatch'd 1 Slen. Despatch'd ! I'll make the best in Glou- cestershire know on't ; would I were hang'd, la, else. Page. Of what, son ? Slen. I came yonder at Eton to marry mistress Anne Page, and she's a great lubberly boy. If it had not been i' the church, I would have swing'd him, or he should have swing'd me. If I did not think it had been Anne Page, would I might never stir ; and 'tis a post-master's boy. Page. Upon my life, then, you took the wrong. Slen. What need you tell me that 1 I think so, when I took a boy for a girl : If I had been mar- ried to him, for all he was in woman's apparel, I would not have had him. Page. Why, this is your own folly. Did not 1 tell you, how you should know my daughter by her garments ? Slen. I went to her in white, and cried " mum,' 1 and she cried " budget," as Anne and I had appointed ; and yet it was not Anne, but a post-master's boy. 20 * Here, again, we commonly have the following thrust in from the quartos : Eva. Jeshu! master Slender, cannot yoa see but marrj boys? Page. O. I am vex'd at heart ! Whai shall I do T " B 328 MERR7 WIVES ACT V Mrs. Page. Good George, be not angry : I knew of your purpose ; turn'd my daughter -nto green ; arid, indeed, she is now with the doctor at the deanery, and there married. Enter CAIUS. Caius. Vere is mistress Page ? By gar, I am cozened : I ha' married un gar pan, a boy ; un paisan, by gar, a boy ; it is not Anne Page : by gar, 1 am cozened. Mrs. Page. Why, did you take her in green ? Caius. Ay, be gar, and 'tis a boy : be gar, I'll raise all Windsor. [Exit CAIUS. Ford. This is strange ! Who hath got the right Anne? Page. My heart misgives me : Here comes mas- ter Fenton. Enter FENTON and ANNE PAGE. How now, master Fenton? Anne. Pardon, good father ! good my mother, p rdon ! Page. Now, mistress ! how chance you went not with master Slender ? Mrs. Page. Why went you not with master doc- tor, maid ? Pent. You do amaze 21 her : Hear the truth of it You would have married her most shamefully, Where there was no proportion held in love. The truth is, she and I, long since contracted, Are now so sure that nothing can dissolve us. The offence is holy that she hath committed : And this deceit loses the name of craft, 11 Confound her by your questions. C. V OF WINDSOR. 3& Of disobedience, or unduteous guile ; Since therein she doth evitate 22 and shun A thousand irreligious cursed hours, Which forced marriage would have brought upon her. Ford. Stand not amaz'd : here is no remedy. fn love, the heavens themselves do guide the state : Money buys lands, and wives are sold by fate. Fed. \ am glad, though you have ta'en a special rtand to strike at me, that your arrow hath glanc'd. Page. Well, what remedy ? Fenton, heaven give thee joy ! What cannot be eschew'd, must be embrac'd. Fed. When night-dogs run, all sorts of deer are chas'd. 23 Mrs. Page. Well, I will muse no further : mu.*- ter Featon, Heaven give you many, many merry days ! Good husband, let us every one go home, And laugh this sport o'er by a country fire ; Sir John and all. Ford. Let it be so : Sir John, To master Brook you yet shall hold your word , For he to-night shall he with mistress Ford. [Exeunt. ** Avoid. 13 Here, too, we commonly have a Hue added from the quartos " Eva. I will dance and eat plums at your wedding." It is questionable whether these passages, evidently either not written by the Poet, or else thrown out in the revisal, ought to bave a place even in the notes. H. (330; THE PASSIONATE SHEPHERD TO HIS LOVE. BT CHRISTOPHER MARLOWE. HBVEBHXD TO in THE MERRY WIVES OF WINDSCB, Anr in So, i. ( COME live with me, and be my love, And we will all the pleasures prove That vallies, groves, and hills and field, Or woods and steepy mountains yield. Where we will sit upon the rocks, And see the shepherds feed their flocks, By shallow rivers, to whose falls Melodious birds sing madrigals. And I will make thee beds of roses, And a thousand fragrant posies ; A cap of flowers, and a kirtle, Embroider'd all with leaves of myrtle A gown made of the finest wool, Which from our pretty lambs we pull ; Fair lined slippers for the cold. With buckles of the purest gold : A belt of straw and ivy buds, With coral clasps and amber studs ; And if these pleasures may thee move, Come live with me, and be my love. The shepherd swains shall dance and sing For thy delight, each May-morning : If these delights thy mind may move, Then live with me, and be my love. (331) THE NYMPH'S REPLY FT SIR WALTER RALEIGH. IT all the world and love were young, And truth in every shepherd's tongue, These pretty pleasures might me move To live with thee, and be thy love. But time drives flocks from field to fold When rivers rage, and rocks grow cold, Then Philomel becometh dumb, And age complains of cares to come. The flowers do fade, and wanton fields To wayward winter reckoning yields ; A honey tongue, a heart of gall, Is fancy's spring, but sorrow's fall. Thy gowns, thy shoes, thy beds of roses Thy cap, thy kirtle, and thy posies, Soon break, soon wither, soon forgotten, In folly ripe, in reason rotten. Thy belt of straw and ivy-buds, Thy coral clasps and amber studs, All these in me no means can move To come to thee, and be thy love. But could youth last and love still breed, Had joys 110 date, nor age no need, Then these delights my mind might move To live with thee, and be thy love. INTRODUCTION TWELFTH NIGHT, OR WHAT YOU WILL TWELFTH NIGHT, OR WHAT You WILL, originally ap- peared in the folio of 1623, being the thirteenth in the list of Com- edies. We keep to the order of the Chiswick edition, not so much because of any reason for it, as because we can discover no good reason for departing from it. The arrangement of the first edition seems preferable, simply as being the first ; but the change, though made capriciously, may as well stand, till something bettei than caprice plead for restoration. In default of positive information, Twelfth Night was for a long time set down as among the last-written of our author's plays. This opinion was based upon such slight indications gathered from the work itself, as could have no weight but in the absence of other proofs. For example, the word undertaker occurs in the play ; therefore Tyrwhitt dated the writing of it in 1614, because the term was that year applied to certain men who undertook to carry matters in Parliament according to the King's liking ; their arts and methods probably being much the same as are used by the lobby members of American legislatures : from which Mr. Ver planck very naturally infers that some of the Anglo-Saxon blood still runs in the veins of our republic. Chalmers, however, sup posing that reference was had to the undertakers for colonizing Ulster in 1613, assigned the play to that year; and was confirmed therein by the Poet's use of the term Sophy, because the same yea> Sir Anthony Shirley published his Travels, wherein something w? said about the Sophy of Persia. Perhaps *t did not occur to either of these men that Shakespeare might have taken up the former word from its general use and meaning, not from any special ap- plications of it ; these being apt to infer that it was already under- stood. Malone at first fixed upon 1614, but afterwards changrJ it to 1607, because the play contains the expression, " westvi4 hot; ! " and Dekker's comedy entitled Westward-Hoe cam* out 386 TWELFTH NIGHT, OR WHAT YOU WILL.. that year; thus assuming that the play gave currency to the phrase, instead of b>ing so named because the phrase was already jommon. Several other arguments of like sort were urged in favour of this or that date, arguments for which the best apol- ogy is. that the authors had nothing better to build conjecture upon. All these inferences have been set aside, and their weakness ihown, by a recent discovery. In 1828 Mr. Collier, while delving in the " musty records of antiquity " stored away in the Museum, a work not more toilsome to him than gratifying to us, met with the following memorandum in a Diary preserved among the Har ieian Manuscripts : " Feb. 2, 1602. At our feast we had a play called Twelve triglU 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. A good practice in it to make the steward be- lieve his lady widow was in love with him, by counterfeiting a letter, as from his lady, in general terms telling him what she liked best in him, and prescribing his gestures, his apparel, &.c., and then when he came to practise, making him believe they took him to be mad." The authorship of the Diary containing this precious item was unknown to Mr. Collier, till the Rev. Joseph Hunter ascertained it to be the work of John Manning-ham, a barrister who was en- tered at the Middle Temple in 1597. The occasion of the per- formance thus noted down by Manningham was the feast of the Purification, anciently called Candlemas ; an important link in the course of festivities that used to continue from Christmas to Shrovetide. It would seem that the benchers and members of the several Inns were wont to enrich their convivialities with a course of wit and poetry. And the glorious old Temple is yet standing, where one of Shakespeare's sweetest plays was enjoyed by his contemporaries, at a time when this annual jubilee had rendered their minds congenial and apt, and when Christians have so much cause to be happy and gentle and kind, and therefore to cherish the convivial delectations whence kindness and happiness naturally grow. It scarce need be said that a new grace is added to that ancient and venerable structure by this relic of John Manningham, whom a few strokes of the pen have rendered immortal so long after all other memorials of him had been swept away. Twelfth Night, therefore, was unquestionably written before 1602. That it was not written before 1598, is probable from its not being spoken of in Meres' Palladia Tamia, which came oul that year. This probability is heightened almost to certainty by what Maria says of Malvolio in his ludicrous beatitude : " He does smile his face into more lines than are in the new map, with the augmentation of the Indies ; " which is evidently an allusion tr some contemporary matter, and was so regarded before the daw of any such mulfilineal map was known. It is now ascertained INTRODUCTION. 337 Uiat an English version of Linschoten's Discourse of Voy;ige<) ; containing a map exactly answering to Maria's description, was published in 1598. The allusion can hardly be to any thing else; and the words new map would seem to infer that the passage was written not long after the appearance of the map in question. Dr. Ulrici and other German critics, thinking Twelfth Night to be glanced at in Ben Jonson's Every Man out of His Humour, which was first acted in 1599, of course conclude the former play to have been made before that date. But we can discover nothing in Jonson's play, that may be fairly construed as an allusion to Twelfth Night. On the other hand, there is good reason for thinking that the play was not made before 1600. For on the 22d of June thaj year the Privy Council issued an order laying very severe restric- tions upon stage performances. After prescribing " that there shall be about the city two houses and no more, allowed to serve foi U.e use of common stage plays ; of the which houses, one shall be in Surrey, in the place commonly called The Bankside, or thereabouts, and the other in Middlesex ; " the order runs thus : ' Forasmuch as these stage plays, by the multitude of houses and company of players, have been so frequent, not serving for recre- ation, but inviting and calling the people daily from their trade and work to misspend their time ; it is likewise ordered, that the two several companies of players, assigned unto the two houses allowed, may play each of them in their several houses twice a week, and no oftener : and especially tney shall refrain to play on the Sabbath day, upon pain of imprisonment and further penalty. And they shall forbear altogether in the time of Lent, and likewise at such time and times as any extraordinary sickness, or infection of disease, shall appear to be in or about the city." This paper was directed to the Lord Mayor and the Justices of Middlesex and Surrey, " strictly charging them to see to the execution of the same ; " and it is plain, that if rigidly enforced it would have amounted almost to a total suppression of play-houses, as the expenses of such establishments could hardly have been met, in the face of so great drawbacks. In Twelfth Night, Act iii. sc. 1, the Clown says to Viola, Rut, indeed, words are very rascals, since bonds disgraced them 5 " which strikes us as a probable allusion to the forecited order. More- over, the Puritans were especially forward and zealous in urging the comnlaiuts which put the Privy Council upon issuing this tringent process ; an.J it will hardly be disputed th\t '.he char- acter of Malvolio was meant as a satire upon the virtues of that extraordinary people. /That the Poet should be somewhat pro yoked by their instrumentality in bringing about such tight re strain Is upon the freedom of his art, was certainly natural enough. And surely it is no slight addition to their many claims on oui gratitude, that their characteristic violence against the liberty of J8 TWELFTH NIGHT, OR WHAT YOU WILL. others, and their Innate aptness to think, " because they were vir luous, there should be no more cakes and ale," called forth so rirli and withal so good-natured a piece of retaliation. And it is a considerable instance of the Poet's equanimity, that he dealt so fairly by them notwithstanding their vexatious assaults, being content merely to play off upon them the divine witchcraft of his genius. Perhaps it should be remarked, that the order in ques- tion, though solicited by the authorities of the city, was not en- forced ; for even at this early date those righteous magistrates had hit upon the method, which they afterwards plied with such fatal success, of stimulating the complaints of discontented citizens, till orders were taken to remove the alleged grievances, and then letting such orders sleep, lest the enforcing thereof should hust taose complaints, and thus lose them their cherished opportunities of annoying the Government. The critics all agree that some outlines of the serious portioi. of Twelfth Night were drawn, directly or indirectly, from the Ital- ian of Bandello. Several intermediate sources have been pointed out, to which the Poet may have gone ; and among them the English of Barnabe Rich, and the French of Belleforest, either of which might well enough have been the true one. Besides these, two Italian plays have lately been discovered, severally entitled CrV Inganni and GV Ingannati, both also founded upon Bandello though differing considerably from each other. From the way Manuiugham speaks, it would seem that GU Inganni was gener- ally regarded at the time as the original of so much of Twelfth Night as was borrowed : yet the play has less of resemblance to this than to any of the other sources mentioned. The point however, where they all agree, is in having a brother and sister so much alike in person and habit as to be indistinguishable ; upon which some of the main incidents are made to turn. In Gl' In- gannati there is the further resemblance that Lelia, the heroine, in the disguise of a page serves Flammiiiio, with whom she is in love, but who is in love with a lady named Isabella ; and that Flamminio employs Lelia to plead his cause with Isabella. Mr. Collier thinks it cannot be said with any certainty, that Shakespeare resorted to either of the Italian plays, though he may have read both while considering the best mode of adapting to the stage the inci- dents of Baiidello's novel. As the leading points which they have in common with Shakespeare arc much the same in all the authors in question, perhaps we cannot do better than to give an outline 01 brief abstract of the tale as told by Barnabe Rich ; from which a pretty fair estimate of the Poet's obligations may be easily made out. The events of the story, as will be seen, are supposeo to have taken place before Constantinople fell into the hands of the Turks. A certain duke, named Apolonius, had served a year in the wars against die Turk. Returning homewards by sea, he wis INTRODUCTION. 339 driven by stress of weather to the isle of Cyprus, whore he was well received by Pontus the governor, whose daughter Silla fell so deeply in love with him, that alter his departure to Constantinople she forsook home in pursuit of him, having persuaded her man Pedro to go along with her. For security against such perils and injuries as are apt to befall young ladies in her situation, she as sumed the dress and name of her brother Silvio, who was absent from home when she left. Coming to Const:intinople she inquired out the residence of Apolonius, and presented herself before him. craving to be his servant; and he, being well disposed towards strangers and liking her appearance, took her into his service. Her smooth and gentle behaviour soon won his confidence, and her happy diligence in waiting upon him caused her to be ad- vanced above all the rest of his servants in credit and trust. At this time there dwelt in the city a lady widow named Jul/r.a, whose husband had lately died, leaving her large possessions ar.d rich livings, and who, moreover, surpassed all the ladies of Con- stantinople in beauty. Her attractions of course proved too much for the Duke : he became an earnest suitor to the lady, and employed his new servant to carry his love-tokens and forward his suit. Thus, besides her other afflictions, this piece of disguised sweetness had to endure the greater one of being the instrument to work her own mishap, and of playing the attorney in a cause that made against herself: nevertheless, being altogether desirous to please her master, and caring nothing at all to offend herself, she urged his suit with as much zeal as if it had been her own preferment. But 'twas not long till Silla's sweetness stole through her disguise right into the heart of the lady Julina, who at length got so entangled with the often sight of this sweet temptation, that she fell as much in love with the servant as the master was with herself. Thus things went on, till one day Silla, being sent witb a message to the lady, began to solicit very warmly for the Duke, when Julina interrupted her, saying, Silvio, it is enough thai you have said for your master : henceforth either speak for your self, or say nothing at all. Meanwhile Silla's brother, the right Silvio indeed, had returned home to Cyprus ; and was much grieved to find her missing, whom he loved the more tenderly for that, besides being his own lister, she was so like him in person and feature that no one could distinguish them, save by their apparel. Learning how she had disappeared, and supposing that Pedro had seduced and stolen Her away, he vowed to his father that he would not only seek oul his sister, but take revenge on the servant. In this mind he departed, and, after seeking through many towns and cities iu vain, arrived at Constantinople. One evening, as he was walking for recreation on a pleasant green without the walls of the city, he chanced to meet the lady Julina, who had also gone forth to take the air. Casting her eyes upon Silvio, and thinking' hem W 340 TWELFTH NIGHT, OR WHAT YOU WILL. He the messenger that had so often done enchantment upon her, she drew him aside, and soon courted him into a successful court- ship of herself. Of course she was not long in getting tied up beyond the Duke's hope. Now Apolonius had already con ceived such a tender friendship for his gentle page as always makes the better part of a genuine love. The appearance of Silla's brothei forthwith brings about a full disclosure what and who she is ; whereupon the Duke, seeing the lady widow now quite beyond his reach, and learning what precious riches are already his in the form of a serving-man, transfers his heart to Silla, and takes her to his bosom. The story of Apolonius and Silla, which was evidently made from the matter of Bandello's Nicuola, is in a collection entitled Rich's Farewell to The Military Profession, which was originally published somewhere between 1578 and 1581, and re-issued in 1606 ; a book, says Rich, " containing very pleasant discourses fit for a peaceable time, and gathered together for the only delight of the courteous gentlewomen of England and Ireland." Whether Shakespeare drew directly from this source is very doubtful, there being no verbal resemblances whereby such obligations may usu- ally be traced. Mr. Collier thinks there might be in Shakespeare's time some version of Bandello more like the original than that made by Rich ; and that, whether there were or not, the Poet may have gone to the Italian story, since Le Noodle, di Bandello were very well known in England as early as about the middle of the sixteenth century. It is observable that the lady Julina of Rich's novel, who answers to the Olivia of Twelfth Night, is a widow ; and that Manningham speaks of Olivia as a " widow." Which suggests that she may have been so represented in the play as acted at the Readers' Feast in 1602 ; the Poet afterwards making the change : but it seems more likely that the barrister's recollec- tions of Julina got mixed up with his impression of Olivia ; the similarity of the stories being apt enough to generate such a confusion. Thus it appears that the most objectionable, or rather the least admirable points in Twelfth Night are precisely those which were least original with the Poet ; they being already familiar to ins audience, and recommended to his use by the popular literaturu of the time. Nor is it to be overlooked that his borrowings relate only to the plot of the work, the poetry and character being all his own 5 and that, here as elsewhere, he used what he took merely as the canvas whereon to pencil out and express the breathing creatures of his mind. As to the comic portion, there is no pretence that any hints or traces of it are to be found in any preceding writer. Mr. Knight justly remarks upon the singularly composite soci- ety here delineated, that while the period of action is undefined and the scene laid in Illyria, the names of the persons are a nvx INTRODUCTION. IJ41 lurt of Spanish. Italian, and English. And the discrepancies thence arising he thinks may he best made up, by supposing Duke Orsino to oe a Venetian governor of so much of ancient Illyria as remained subject to Venice at the beginning of the seventeenth century ; his attendants, Valentine, Curio, &c., as well as Olivia, Malvolio, and Maria, being also Venetians : and Sir Toby and Sir Andrew to be English residents ; the former, a maternal uncle to Olivia, her father, a Venetian count, having married his sister. This discrepancy in the grouping of the persons, whether so in- tended or not, very well accords with the spirit in which, or the occasion for which, the title indicates the play to have been written. Twelfth Day. anciently so called as being the twelfth after Christ- mas, is the day whereon the Church has always kept the feast of " The Epiphany, or the Manifestation of Christ to the Gentiles." by the miraculous leading of a star. So that, in preparing a Twelfth-Night entertainment the idea of fitness might aptly suggest, that national lines and distinctions should be lost in the para- mount ties of a common Religion : and that people the most diverse in kindred and tongue should draw together in the senti- ment of One Lord, One Faith, One Baptism ; their social mirth being thus seasoned with a spicery of heaven, and relishing of universal brotherhood. The general scope and plan of Twelfth Night, a* a work of art, is wisely hinted in its second title : all the comic elements being, as it were, thrown out simultaneously and held in a sort of eqi poise, thus leaving the readers to fix the preponderance where will best suit their several bent or state of mind ; so that within certain limits and conditions each may take the work in ichai sense lie will. For where no special prominence is given to one thing, there must needs be wide scope for individual aptitudes and inclinations, and great freedom for every one to select for virtual prominence such parts as best express or knit in with what is up- permost in his thoughts. Taking another view of Twelfth Night in the light of the same principle, the significancy of the title is further traceable in a pe- culiar spontaneousness running though the play. Replete as it is with humours and oddities, they all seem to spring up of their own accord ; the comic characters being free alike from disguises and pretensions, and seeking merely to let off their inward redundancy ; caring not at all whether every body or nobody sees them, so they may have their whim out, and giving utterance to folly and nonsense simply because they cannot help it. Thus their very deformities have a certain grace, since they are genuine and of nature's planting : absurdity and whimsicality are indigenous u the soil, and shoot up in free, happy luxuriance, from the life tA<* is in them. And by thus setting the characters out in their h->- piest aspects, the Poet contrives to make them simply ludicr. 41 342 TWELFTH NIGHT, OR WHAT YOU WILL. and diverting, instead of putting upon them the construction of wit or spleen, and thereby making them ridiculous or coiitempti Die. Hence it is that we so readily enter into a sort of fellowship with them ; their foibles and follies being shown up in such a spirit of good humour that the subjects themselves would rather join with us in laughing, than be angered or hurt by the exhibition. Moreover, the high and the low are here seen moving in free and familiar intercourse, without any apparent consciousness of their respective ranks : the humours and comicalities of the play keep running and frisking in among the serious parts, to their mutual advantage ; the connection between them being of a kind to be felt, not described. Thus the piece overflows with the genial, free-and-easy spirit of a merry Twelfth Night. Chance, caprice, and intrigue, it is true, are brought together in about equal portions ; and their meeting, and crossing, and mutual tripping, cause a deal of per- plexity and confusion, defeating the hopes of some, suspending those of .others : yet here, as is often the case in actual life, from this conflict of opposites order and happiness spring up as the final result : if what we call accident thwart one cherished purpose, it draws on something better ; blighting a full-blown expectation now, to help the blossoming of a nobler one hereafter : and it so happens in the end that all the persons but two either have what they will, or grow willing to have what comes to their hand. If the characters of this play be generally less interesting m themselves than some we meet with elsewhere in the Poet's works, the defect is pretty well made up by the felicitous grouping of them. For broad comic effect, the cluster of which Sir Toby is the centre, all of them drawn in clear yet delicate colours, is .nferior only to the unparalleled assemblage that makes rich the air of Eastcheap. Of Sir Toby himself, that most whimsical, mad- cap, frolicsome old toper, so full of antics and fond of sprees, with a plentiful stock of wit and an equal lack of money to keep it in mo tion, it is enough to say, with one of the best of Shakespearian critics, that " he certainly comes out of the same associations where the Poet saw Falstaff hold his revels ; " and that though " not Sir John, nor a fainter sketch of him, yet he has an odd sort of a family likeness to him." Sir Andrew Ague-cheek, the aspiring, lack a- daisical, self-satisfied echo and sequel of Sir Toby, fitly serves the double purpose of butt and foil to the latter, at once drawing him out and setting him off*. Ludicrously proud of the most petty childish irregularities, which, however, his natural fatuity keeps him from acting, and barely suffers him to affect, on this point he reminds us of that impressive imbecility, Abraham Slender ; yet not in such sort as to encroach at all upon Slender's province. There c*n scarce be found a richer piece of diversion than Sir Toby's practice in dandling him out of his money, and paying him off with the odd hope of gaining Olivia's hand. And the funniest of i< INTRODUCTION. -1^ is, that while Sir T *by thoroughly understands him he has nr-i himself the slightest suspicion what he is, being as contideut of %ia own wit as others are of his want of it. Malvolio, the self-love- sick Steward, has hardly had justice done him, his bad qualities being indeed just of the kind to defeat the recognition of his /ood ones. He represents a class of men, not quite extinct even yet, whose leading characteristic is moral vanity and conceit, and who are never satisfied with a law that leaves them free to da right, unless it also give them power to keep others from doing 1 wrong Of course, therefore, he has too much conscience to mind nis own business, and is too pure to tolerate mirth in others, because too much swollen and stiffened with self-love to be merry himself. But here again Mr. Verplanck has spoken so happily that we must needs quote him : " The gravity, the acquirement, the real talent and accomplishment of the man, all made ludicrous, fantastical, and absurd, by his intense vanity, is as true a conception as it is original and droll, and its truth may still be frequently atiested by comparison with real Malvolios, to be found every where from humble domestic life up to the high places of learning, of the state, and even of the Church." Maria's quaint stratagem of the letter is evidently for the purpose of disclosing to othei i what her keener sagacity has discovered long before ; and its wi,:kirg lifts her into a model of arch roguish mischievousness, with wit to plau and art to execute whatsoever falls within the scope of such a c.5irac- ter. The scenes where the waggish troop, headed by this ' aoble gull-catcher " and most " excellent devil of wit," bewitch Mlvo lio into " a contemplative idiot," practising upon his vanitj and conceit until he seems ready to burst with an ecstasy of self-Con- sequence, and they " laugh themselves into stitches " over him are almost painfully diverting. At length, however, our merriment a* seeing him "jet under his advanc'd plumes " passes into pity for his sufferings, and we feel a degree of resentment towards his in gcnious persecutors. Doubtless the Poet meant to push the joke upon him so far as to throw our feelings over on his side, an*sl tastings, that he dare not laugh lest the noise thereof should 1. te him the remainder; and the witty-wise Fool, who lives but tojvit out philosophy, and moralize the scenes where he moves, y " pinning the pied lappets of his wit to the backs of all ab it him," complete this strange group of laughing and laughter-mo '- ing personages. Such are the scenes, such the characters that enliven Olivii i mansion during the play ; Olivia herself, calm, cheerful, c f smooth, discreet, and stable bearing," hovering about then, sometimes unbending, never losing her dignity among then; 344 TWELFTH NIGHT, OR WHAT YOU WILL. often checking, oftener enjoying their merry-makings, and occa- sionally emerging from her seclusion to be plagued by the Duke's message and bewitched by his messenger : and Viola, always per- fect in her part, yet always shrinking from it, appearing among them from time to time on her embassies of love ; sometimes a partaker, sometimes a provoker, sometimes the victim, of theii mischievous sport. All this array of comicalities, exhilarating as it is in itself, is rendered doubly so by the frequent changes and playings-in of poetry breathed from the sweetest spots of romance, and which " gives a very echo to the seat where Love is thron'd ; " ideas and images of beauty creeping and stealing over the mind with footsteps so soft and delicate that we scarce know what touches us, the motions of one that had learned to tread " As if the wind, not he, did walk, Nor prest a flower, nor bow'd a stalk." Upon this portion of the play Hazlitt remarks in his spirited way, " Much as we think of catches, and cakes and ale, there is some- thing that we like better. We have a friendship for Sir Toby ; we patronize Sir Andrew ; we have an understanding with the Clown, a sneaking kindness for Maria and her rogueries ; we feel a regard for Malvolio, and sympathize with his gravity, his smiles, his cross-garters, his yellow stockings, and imprisonment : But there is something that excites in us a stronger feeling than all this." Olivia is a considerable instance how much a fair and candid setting-forth may do to render an ordinary person attractive, and shows that for the home-bred comforts and fireside tenor of life such persons after all are apt to be the best ; and it is not a little remarkable that one so wilful and perverse on certain points should be so agreeable and interesting upon the whole. If it seem rather naughty in her not to give the Duke a fair chance to try his powers upon her, she gets pretty well paid in falling a victim to the eloquence which her obstinacy stirs up and provokes. Nor is it altogether certain whether her conduct springs from a pride that will not listen where her fancy is not taken, or from an un- ambitious modesty that prefers not to " match above her degree." Her " beauty truly blent, whose red and white Nature's own sweet and cunning hand laid on," g&ves the credit of the fancy-smitten Duke in such ar, urgency of suit as might else breed some question of his manliness : and her winning infirmity, as expressed in the sweet violence with whicb he hastens on " a contract and eternal bond of love " with the astonished and bewildered Sebastian, " that her most jealous and INTRODUCTION. 345 too doubtful soul may live at peace," shows how well the stern ness of the brain may be tempered into amiability by the meek- ness of womanhood Manifold indeed are the attractions which the Poet has shed upon his heroes and heroines 5 yet perhaps the learned spirit of me man is more wisely apparent in the home- keeping virtues and unostentatious beauty of his average charac- ters. And surely the contemplation of Olivia may well suggest the question, whether the former be not sometimes too admirable ta be so instructive as those whose graces walk more in the light of common day. Similar thoughts might aptly enough be started by the Duke, who, without any very splendid or striking qualities, manages somehow to be a highly agreeable and interesting person. Hw character is merely that of an accomplished gentleman, enrap lured at the touch of music, and the sport of thick-thronging fancies. It is plain that Olivia has rather enchanted his imagination thau won his heart ; though he is not himself aware that such is the case. This fancy-sickness, for it appears to be nothing else, nat- urally renders him somewhat capricious and fantastical, " unstaid and skittish " in his motions ; and, but for the exquisite poetry which it inspires him to utter, would rather stir up our mirth than start our sympathy. To use an illustration from another play, Olivia is not so much his Juliet as his Rosaline ; and perhaps a secret impression of something like this is the real cause of her rejecting his suit. Accordingly when he sees her placed beyond bis hope he has no more trouble about her ; but turns and builds a true affection where, during the preoccupancy of his imagina- tion, so many sweet and tender appeals have been made to his heart. In Viola, what were else not a little scattered are thoroughly composed ; her character being the unifying power that draws and binds together the several groups of persons in true dramatic consistency. Love-taught herself, it was for her to teach both the Duke and the Countess how to love : indeed she plays into all the other parts, causing them to embrace and kiss within the com- pass of her circulation. And yet, like some subtle agency work- ing most where we perceive it least, she does all this in such a way as not to render herself a special prominence in the play. It is observable that the Poet has left it uncertain whether Violm was in love with the Duke before the assumption of her disguise, or whether her heart was won afterwards by reading " the book even of his secret soul " while wooing another. Nor does it much matter whether her passion were one of the motives, or one of the consequences, of her disguise, since in either case such a man as Olivia describes him to be might well find his way to tougher hearts than hers. But her love has none of the skittish- ness and unrest which mark the Duke's passion for Olivia : com plicated out of all the elements of her richly-gifted, sweetly-tem- pered nature, it is strong without violence; never mars the innaM #46 TWELFTH NIGHT, OR WHAT YOU WILL. modesty of her character ; is deep as life, tender as infancy, pure peaceful, and unchangeable as truth. Mrs. Jameson, who, with the best right to know what belongs to woman, unites a rare talent for taking others along with her and letting them see the choice things which her gifted, genial eye discerns, and who, in respect of Shakespeare's heroines, has left little for after critics to do but quote her words, remarks that " in Viola a sweet consciousness of her feminine nature is for ever breaking through her masquerade ; she plays her part well, bui never forgets, nor allows us to forget, that she is playing a part." And, sure enough, every thing about her save her dress " is sem- blative a woman's part : " she has none of the pretty assumptior of a pert, saucy, waggish manhood, which so delights us in the Rosalind of As You Like It ; but she has that which, if not better in itself, is more becoming in her, " the inward and spiritual grace of modesty " pervading all she does and says. Even in her sweet-witted railleries with the comic characters there is all the while an instinctive drawing back of female delicacy, touching our sympathies, and causing us to feel most deeply what she is, when those with whom she is playing least suspect her to be other than she seems. And the same is true concerning her passion, of which she never so speaks as to compromise in the least the delicacies and proprieties of her sex, yet she lets fall many things from which the Duke easily gathers the true drift and quality of her feelings as soon as he learns what she is. But the great charm of her character lies in a moral rectitude so perfect as to be a secret unto itself; a clear, serene composure of truth, min- gling so freely and smoothly with the issues of life, that while, and perhaps even because, she is herself unconscious of it, she is never once tempted to abuse or shirk her trust, though it be to play the attorney in a cause that makes so much against herself. In this respect she presents a fine contrast to Malvolio, who has much virtue indeed, yet not so much but that the counter-pullings of temptation have rendered him deeply conscious of it, and so drawn him into the vice, at once hateful and ridiculous, of moral pride. Twelfth Night naturally falls, by internal as well as external notes, into the middle period of the author's productive years. It has no such marks of vast but immature powers as are often to be met vdth in his earlier plays ; nor any of " that intense idiosyn- crasy of thought and expression, that unparalleled fusion of the intellectual with the passionate," which distinguishes his later ones. Every thing is cain-i and quiet, with an air of unruffled serenity and composure about it, as if the Poet had purposely taken to such matter as he could easily mould into graceful and entertaining forms; thus exhibiting none of the crushing muscu- larity of mind to which the hardest materials afterwards or else- where became as limber and pliant as clay in the bauds of a potter. Yet the play has a marked severity of taste ; the style, INTRODUCTION. 347 though by no means so great as in some others, is singular) v faultless ; the graces of wit and poetry are distilled into it wi.a indescribable delicacy, as if they came from a hand at once the most plentiful and the most sparing : in short, the work is every where replete with " the modest charm of not too much ; " its beauty, like that of the heroine, being of the still, deep, retiring sort which it takes some time to find, forever to exhaust, and which can be fully caught only by the reflective imagination in " the quiet and still air of delightful studies." Thus all things are disposed it most happy keeping with each oilier, and tern pered ii. the blandest proportion of art, as if on purpose to show bow " Grace, laughter, and discourse may meet, And yet the beauty not go less ; For what is noble should be sweet." Such, we believe, is pretty nearly our impression of this charm ing play ; " a drama/' as Knight happily describes it, < run- ning over *"b imagination, and humour, and wit ; in which high poetry is welded with intense fun ; and we are made to feel that the lofty and the ludicrous in human affairs can only be ade- quately presented by one who sees the whole fiorn an eagie- heigin to which ordinary men cannot sou." PERSONS REPRESENTED ORSINO, Duke of Illyria. SEBASTIAN, a young Gentleman, Brother to VJola. ANTONIO, a Sea Captain, Friend to Sebastian. A Sea Captain, Friend to Viola. VALENTINE, ) G ti emen aUen ding on the Duke. CORIO, ) SIR TOBY BELCH, Uncle of Olivia. SIR ANDREW AGUE-CHEEK. MALVOLIO, Steward to Olivia. FABIAN, ) g te to Olivia . Clown, ) OLIVIA, a rich Countess. VIOLA, in love with the Duke. MARIA, Olivia's Woman. Lords, Priests, Sailors, Officers, Musicians, and otliei Attendants. SCENE, a City in Illyria ; and the Sea-Coast near it TWELFTH NIGHT, OR WHAT YOU WILL. ACT I. SCENE I. An Apartment in the DUKE'S Palace Enter DUKE, CURIO, Lords; Musicians attending. Duke. IF music be the food of love, play on : Give me excess of it ; that, surfeiting, The appetite may sicken, and so die. That strain again ; it had a dying fall : ' O ! it came o'er my ear like the sweet south,* 1 The sense of dying, as here used, is technically expressed by diminuendo. Respecting the fall Lord Bacon says, "The falling from a discord to a concord maketh great sweetness in music." H. 2 The original has sound in this place. The change is Pope's, and, whether right or not, is certainly one of rare felicity. Most readers of the Poet are accustomed to south, and therefore it is, perhaps, that sound grates somewhat on the ear : for Knight argues so plausibly for the latter word as to breed no little hesita- tion as to the true reading. Upon the whole, however, to say " the sweet sound breathes upon a bank of violets, stealing and giving odour," seems hardly allowable ; unless it be proper to speak of " smelling music," which would evidently be too comic for such a strain of poetry as this. In Sidney's Arcadia we read ; " Her breath is more sweet than a gentle south-wesl wind, which comes creeping over flowery fields and shadowed waters in the extreme heat of summer ; " and " the flock of unspeakable vir- tues," which occurs soon after, is so like " the flock of all affec- tions else that live in her " as to suggest that the Poet must heie have fed upon the sweet pages of the Hero ; thus lending some confirmation to the reading we have adopted. H. 350 TWELFTH NIGHT, ACT L That breathes upon a bank of violets, Stealing and giving odour. 3 Enough ! no more : 'Tis not so sweet now as it was before. O, spirit of love ! how quick and fresh art thou, That, notwithstanding thy capacity Receiveth as the sea, nought enters there, Of what validity * and pitch soe'er, But falls into abatement and low price, Even in a minute ! so full of shapes is fancy, That it alone is high-fantastical. Cur. Will you go hunt, my lord ? Duke. What, Curio ? Cur. The hart. Duke. Why, so I do, the noblest that I have. O ! when mine eyes did see Olivia first, Methought she purg'd the air of pestilence : That instant was I turn'd into a hart ; And my desires, like fell and cruel hounds, E'er since pursue me. 5 How now ! what news from her ? 3 Milton seems to have had this in his eye when he wrote the richly-freighted lines : " Now gentle gales, Fanning their odoriferous wings, dispense Native perfumes, and whisper whence they stole Those balmy spoils." H. 4 That is, worth, value. So, in All's Well that Ends Well, Ac' v. sc. 3: " Behold this ring, whose high respect and rich validity did lack a parallel." H. 6 Shakespeare seems to think men cautioned against too great familiarity with forbidden beauty by the fable of Acteon, who saw Diana naked, and was torn to pieces by his hounds ; as a man indulging his eyes or his imagination with a view of a woman he cannot gain, has his heart torn with incessant longing. An inter- pretation far more elegant and natural than Lord Bacon's, who, in his Wisdom of the Ancients, supposes this story to warn us against inquiring into the secrets of princes, by showing that those who know that which for reasons of state ought to be concealed will be detected and destroyed by their own servants. aC. 1. OR WHAT YOU WILL. 35l Enter VALENTINE. VaL So please my lord, I might not be admitted, Bat from her handmaid do return this answer : The element itself, till seven years heat, 8 Shall not behold her face at ample view ; But, like a cloistress, she will veiled walk, A.nd water once a day her chamber round With eye-offending brine : all this, to season 7 A brother's dead love, which she would keep fresh And lasting, in her sad remembrance. Duke. O ! she that hath a heart of that fine frame, To pay this debt of love but to a brother, How will she love, when the rich golden shaft Hath kill'd the flock 8 of all affections else That live in her : when liver, brain, and heart, These sovereign thrones, are all supplied, and fill'd (Her sweet perfections) with one self king. 9 * Heat for heated. * That is, preserve. The Poet elsewhere uses teason in Uui nen.se. Thus in Romeo and Juliet, Act ii. sc. 3 : " Jesu Maria ! what a deal of brine Hath wash'd thy sallow cheeks for Rosaline ! How much salt water thrown away in waste, To season love ! " H. * See note 2, before. ' It seems impossible to clear this passage of obscurity, all attempts that way having failed. Mr. Collier says, " The pas- sage would run better for the sense, and equally well for the verse, if it were to read, ' when liver, brain, and heart, These sovereign thrones, her sweet perfections, Are all supplied and fill'd with one self king.' " Which may give the true meaning, if it be not the right order, of the text. The marks of parenthesis, though needful as the text stands, are not in the original. Knight says, " The phrase ought proba- bly to be, ' Her sweet perfection.' The filling of the ' sovereign thrones ' with one self king ' is the perfection of Olivia's merits 352 TWELFTH NIGHT, ACT I Away before me to sweet beds of flowers ; Love-thoughts lie rich, when canopied with bowers. [Exeunt SCENE II. The Sea-coast. Enter VIOLA, Captain, and Sailors. Vio. What country, friends, is this ? Cap. This is Illyria, lady Vw. And what should I do in Illyria 1 My brother he is in Elysium. Perchance he is not drown'd : What think you, sailors ? Cap. It is perchance that you yourself were sav'd. Vio. O, my poor brother ! and so, perchance, may he be. Cap. True, madam : and, to comfort you with chance, Assure yourself, after our ship did split, When you, and those poor number ' sav'd with you, Hung oil our driving boat, I saw your brother, Most provident in peril, bind himself 'Courage and hope both teaching him the practice) To a strong mast, that liv'd upon the sea ; Where, like Arion on the dolpliin's back, according to the ancient doctrine that a woman was not com plete till her union with ' a self king.' " Whichever of these be taken, the sense seems just and natural enough, and we have no third suggestion to offer. " Liver, brain, and heart," says Steevens, " are admitted in poetry as the residence of passions, judgment, and sentiments." Self king apparently means the same as self-same king ; as in Lear Regan says. " I am made of that self metal as my sister." Accordingly the second folio reads, " with one self-same king," as if to complete the measure : but the endings, lion and sion, were often used as two syllables by the old poets. H. 1 Number is here used as the plural, so that those should not lx changed to that, as it usually is. H. SC. 1L OR WHAT YOU WILL. 35M 1 afiw him hold acquaintance with the waves, So long as I could see. Vio. For saying so there's gold. Mine own escape unfoldeth to my hope, Whereto thy speech serves for authority, The like of him. Know'st thou this country ! Cap. Ay, madam, well ; for 1 was bred and born Not three hours' travel from this very place. Vic. Who governs here ? Cap. A noble duke, in nature as in name. Vio. What is his name 1 Cap. Orsino. Vio. Orsino ! I have heard my father name him . He was a bachelor then. Cap. And so is now, or was so very late : For but a month ago I went from hence ; And then 'twas fresh in murmur, (as, you know, What great ones do the less will prattle of,) That he did seek the love of fair Olivia. Vio. What's she 7 Cap. A virtuous maid, the daughter of a count That died some twelvemonth since ; then leaving her In the protection of his son, her brother, Who shortly also died : for whose dear love They say she hath abjur'd the company And sight of men. Vio. O, that I serv'd that lady ! And might not be deliver'd to the world, Till I had made mine own occasion mellow, What my estate is.* Cap. That were hard to compass, * That is. " I wish I might not be made public to the world, with regard to the state of my birth and fortune, till 1 have gained a ripe opportunity for my design," U54 TWELFTH NIGHT, ACT L Because she will admit no kind of suit, No, not the Duke's. Vio. There is a fair behaviour in thee, captain; And though that nature with a beauteous wall Doth oft close in pollution, yet of thee I will believe, thou hast a mind that suits With tliis thy fair and outward character. I pray thee, and I'll pay thee bounteously, Conceal me what I am ; and be my aid For such disguise as, haply, shall become The form of my intent. I'll serve this Duke : Thou shall present me as an eunuch to him. 3 It may be worth thy pains ; for I can sing, And speak to him in many sorts of music, That will allow 4 me very worth his service. What else may hap, to time I will commit ; Only shape thou thy silence to my wit. Cap. Be you his eunuch, and your mute I'll be . When my tongue blabs, then let mine eyes not see. Vio. I thank thee : Lead me on. [Exeunt SCENE HI. A Room in OLIVIA'S House. Enter Sir TOBY BELCH and MARIA. Sir To. What a plague means my niece, to take the death of her brother thus ? I am sure care's an enemy to life. Mar. By my troth, Sir Toby, you must come in earlier o'nights : your cousin, my lady, takes great exceptions to your ill hours. Sir To. Why, let her except before excepted. * This plan of Viola's was not pursued, as it would have been inconsistent with the plot of the play. She was presented u page, not as an eunuch * Approve. sc. in. OR WHAT YOU WILL. 5355 Mar. Ay, but you must confine yourself within the modest limits of order. Sir To. Confine? I'll confine myself no finer than I am : these clothes are good enough to drink in, and so be these boots too ; an they be not, let them hang themselves in their own straps. Mar. That quaffing and drinking will undo yon : I heard my lady talk of it yesterday ; and of a foolish knight, that you brought in one night here to be her wooer. Sir To. Who ? Sir Andrew Ague-cheek 1 Mar. Ay, he. Sir To. He's as tall ' a man as any's in Illyna. Mar. What's that to the purpose 1 Sir To. Why, he has three thousand ducats a year. Mar. Ay, but he'll have but a year in all these ducats : he's a very fool and a prodigal. Sir To. Fie, that you'll say so ! he plays o' the viol-de-gamboys, 2 and speaks three or four languages word for word without book, and hath all the good gifts of nature. Mar. He hath, indeed, almost natural : for, be- sides that he's a fool, he's a great quarreller ; and, but that he hath the gift of a coward to allay the gust he hath in quarrelling, 'tis thought among the prudent he would quickly have the gift of a grave. Sir To. By this hand, they are scoundrels, and substractors, that say so of him. Who are they 1 1 The use of tall for bold, raliant, stout, was common in Shake- speare's time, and occurs several times in his works. See Merry Wives of Windsor, Act i. sc. 4, and note. Sir Toby is evidently bantering with the word, Sir Andrew being equally deficient in spirit and in stature. H. f That is the viol-di-gambo, a kind of violincello with sii strings, then much used ; so called because held between the legs. K 356 TWELFTH NIGHT, ACT L Mar. They that add, moreover, he's drunk nightly in your company. Sir To. With drinking healths to my niece : I') drink to her, as long as there is a passage in my throat, and drink in Illyria : He's a coward, and a coystril, 3 that will not drink to my niece, till his brains turn o' the toe like a parish-top. 4 What, wench ! Castiliano vulgo ; * for here comes Sir An- drew Ague-face. Enter Sir ANDREW AGUE-CHEEK. Sir And. Sir Toby Belch ! how now, Sir Toby Belch ? Sir To. Sweet Sir Andrew. Sir And. Bless you, fair shrew. Mar. And you too, sir. 3 Holinshed classes coisterels with lacqueys and women, the onwarlike followers of an army. It was thus used as a term of contempt. Nares says, "A eoys'trel, or kestril, in falconry, is sometimes wrongly used for the name of a worthless, mongrel kind of hawk." H. 4 A large top was formerly kept in each village of " merry England," for the peasantry to exercise and amuse themselves with in frosty weather. " He sleeps like a town-top," is an old proverb. H. 5 It is generally allowed that here is a mistake ; though wheth ery great liberties, must finally become his prey. The lino are probably a part of some well-known old comic song, resound ing the exploits of this ancient theatrical personage. 434 TWELFTH NIGHT, ACT IV Yet there he was ; and there I found this credit, 1 That he did range the town to seek me out. His counsel now might do me golden service : For though my soul disputes well with my sense, That this may be some error, but no madness, Yet doth this accident and flood of fortune So far exceed all instance, all discourse, That I am ready to distrust mine eyes, And wrangle with my reason, that persuades me To any other trust but that I am mad, Or else the lady's mad : yet, if 'twere so, She could not sway her house, command her fol- lowers, Take and give back affairs, and their despatch, With such a smooth, discreet, and stable bearing, As, I perceive, she does : There's something in't. That is deceivable. 8 But here the lady comes. Enter OLIVIA and a Priest. OK- Blame not this haste of mine : If you mean well, Now go with me, and with this holy man, Into the chantry 3 by : there, before him, And underneath that consecrated roof, Plight me the full assurance of your faith ; That my most jealous and too doubtful soul May live at peace : He shall conceal it, Whiles 4 you are willing it shall come to note ; What time we will our celebration keep According to my birth. What do you say ? 1 That is, belief, or thing believed. H. * That is, deceptive. The Poet often uses the passive and the active adjectives interchangeably. See Act ii. sc. 1, note 4. H. 3 Chantry, a little chapel, nr particular altar in some cathedra, or parochial church, endowed for the purpose of having masses sung therein for the souls of the founuers. * Until. BO. III. OR WHAT YOU WILL,. 4#* Scb. I'll follow tliis good man, and go with you ; And, having sworn truth, 4 ever will be true. OK. Then lead the way, good father : And heavens so shine, That they may fairly note this act of mine ! [Exeunt. ACT V. SCENE I. The Street before OLIVIA'S House. Enter Clown and FABIAN. Fab. Now, as thou lovest me, let me see his letter. Clo. Good master Fabian, grant me another request. Fab. Any thing. Clo. Do not desire to see this letter. Fab. This is, to give a dog, and in recompense desire my dog again. Enter DUKE, VIOLA, and Attendants. Duke. Belong you to the lady Olivia, friends ? Clo. Ay, sir ; we are some of her trappings. Duke. I know thee well : how dost thou, my good fellow 1 Clo. Truly, sir, the better for my foes, and the worse for my friends. Duke. Just the contrary ; the better for thy friends. Clo. No, sir, the worse. Duke. How can that be ? Troth or fidelity. It should be remarked that this was not an actual marriage, but a betrothing, affiancing 1 , or solemn promise of future marriage ; anciently distinguished by the name of espousal* See The Two Gentlemen of Verona, Act ii. sc. 2, note 1 436 fWELFTH NIGHT, ACT 7 Clo. Marry, sir, they praise me, and make an ass of me : now my foes tell me plainly I am an ass ; so that by my foes, sir, I profit ia the knowledge oi myself ; and by my friends I am abused : so that conclusions to be as kisses, 1 if your four negatives make your two affirmatives, why, then the worse for my friends, and the better for my foes. Duke. Why, this is excellent. Clo. By my troth, sir, no ; though it please you to be one of my friends. Duke. Thou shalt not be the worse for me : there's gold. Clo. But that it would be double-dealing, sir, I would you could make it another. Duke. O ! you give me ill counsel. Clo. Put your grace in your pocket, sir, for this once, and let your flesh and blood obey it. Duke. Well, I will be so much a sinner to be a double-dealer : there's another. Cfa. Primo, secundo, tertio, is a good play ; and the old saying is, the third pays for all : the triplex, sir, is a good tripping measure ; or the bells of St. Bennet, sir, may put you in mind, One, two, three. Duke. You can fool no more money out of me at this throw : if you will let your lady know I am here to speak with her, and bring her along with you, it may awake my bounty further. Clo. Marry, sir, lullaby to your bounty, till I 1 Warburton thought this should read, "conclusion to be asked, is ; " upon which Coleridge remarks : " Surely Warburten could never have wooed by kisses and won, or he would not have flounder-flatted so just and humorous, nor less pleasing than hu- morous, an image into so profound a nihility. In the name of love and wonder, do not four kisses make a double affirmative 1 The humour lies in the whispered ' No ! ' and the inviting ' Don't ! ' with which the maiden's kisses are accompanied, and thence com pared to negatives, which hy repetition constitute an affirmative.' SC. I. OR WHAT YOU WILL. 437 come again. I go, sir ; but I would not have you to think that my desire of having is the sin of cov- etousness ; but, as you say, sir, let your bounty take a uap ; I will awake it anon. [Exit Cloum. Enter ANTONIO and Officers. Vto. Here comes the man, sir, that did rescue me. Duke. That face of his I do remember well ; Yet, when I saw it last, it was besmear'd As black as Vulcan, in the smoke of war : A bawbling vessel was he captain of, For shallow draught and bulk unprizable ; With which such scathfiil grapple did he make With the most noble bottom of our fleet, That very envy, and the tongue of loss, Cried fame and honour on him. What's the matter! 1 Off. Orsino, this is that Antonio That took the Phoenix and her fraught from Candy ; And this is he that did the Tiger board, When your young nephew Titus lost his leg: Here in the streets, desperate of shame and state,* In private brabble did we apprehend him. Vio. He did me kindness, sir ; drew on my side ; But, in conclusion, put strange speech upon me : I know not what 'twas, but distraction. Duke. Notable pirate ! thou salt-water thief ! What foolish boldness brought thee to their mercies, Whom thou, in terms so bloody and so dear, 8 Hast made thine enemies ? 2 Inattentive to his character or condition, like a desperate man. 1 Dear is evidently used in the same sense here as in Hamlet ! Would I had met my dearest foe in heaven ere I had seen that day." Tooke has shown that this is much nearer the original sense of the word than the meaning commonly put upon it ; dear twing from the Anglo-Saxon .verb to dere, which signifies to hurt, An object of love, any thing -th-it we hold dear, may obviously 438 TWELFTH NIGHT, ACT V Ant. Orsino, noble sir, Be pleas' J that I shake off these names you give ine Antonio never yet was thief, or pirate, Though, I confess, on base and ground enough, Orsino's enemy. A witchcraft draw me hither : That most ingrateful boy there, by your side, From the rude sea's enrag'd and foamy mouth Did I redeem : a wreck past hope he was. His life I gave him, and did thereto add My love, without retention or restraint, All his in dedication : for his sake Did I expose myself, pure for his love, Into the danger of this adverse town ; Drew to defend him, when he was beset : Where, being apprehended, his false cunning (Not meaning to partake with me in danger) Taught him to face me out of liis acquaintance, And grew a twenty-years-removed tiling, While one would wink ; denied me mine own purse, Which I had recommended to his use Not half an hour before. Vio. How can this be 1 Duke. When came he to this town 1 Ant. To-day, my lord ; and for three months before No interim, not a minute's vacancy ; Both day and night did we keep company. Enter OLIVIA and Attendants. Duke. Here comes the Countess : now heaven walks on earth ! But for thee, fellow, fellow, thy words are madness cause us pain, distress, or anxiety, and is a natural source of care and solicitude : hence the word came to be used in the opposite senses of hateful and beloved. Perhaps we should add, thai dearth and dear are from the same orginal SU. I. OR WHAT YOl WILL. 439 Three months tliis youth hath tended upon me ; But more of that anon. Take him aside. OK. What would my lord, but that he may not have Wherein Olivia may seem serviceable ? Cesario, you do not keep promise with me. Via. Madam 1 Duke. Gracious Olivia, OK. What do you say, Cesario ? Good my lord, Via. My lord would speak, my duty hushes me. OK. If it be ought to the old tune, my lord, It is as fat 4 and fulsome to mine ear As howling after music. Duke. Still so cruel 1 OIL Still so constant, lord. Duke. What ! to perverseness ? you uncivil lady, To whose ingrate and unauspicious altars My soul the faithfull'st offerings hath breath'd out, That e'er aevotion tender'd ! What shall I do ? OK. Even what it please my lord, that shall be- come him. Duke. Why should I not, had I the heart to do it. Like to the Egyptian thief, at point of death, Kill what I love 1 8 a savage jealousy, 4 Dull, gross. * An allusion to the story of Thyamis, as told by Heliodorus in his Etniopics, of which an English version by Thomas Under downe was published a second time in 1587. Thyamis was a native of Memphis, and chief of a band of robbers. Cha:iclea, a Greek, having fallen into his hands, he grew passionately in love with her, and would have married her : but being surprised by a stronger oand of robbers, and knowing he must die, he went to the cave where he had secreted her with his other treasures, and, seizing her by the hair with his left hand, with his right plunged a gword in her breast ; it being the custom with those barbarian* when they despaired of their own life, first to kill those whom thej held most dear, *o as to have them as companions in the otha world. H 440 TWELFTH NIGHT, ACT V That sometime savours nobly. But hear me this Since you to non-regardance cast my faith, And that I partly know the instrument That screws me from my true place in your favour, Live you, the marble-breasted tyrant, still ; But this your minion, whom I know you love, And whom, by heaven I swear, I tender dearly. Him will I tear out of that cruel eye, Where he sits crowned in his master's spite. Come, boy, with me : my thoughts are ripe in mis- chief: I'll sacrifice the lamb that I do love, To spile a raven's heart within a dove. [Going. Vio And I, most jocund, apt, and willingly, To do you rest, a thousand deaths would die. {Following OIL Where goes Cesario 1 Vio. After him I love, iMore than I love these eyes, more than my life, More, by all mores, than e'er I shall love wife : If I do feign, you witnesses above, Punish my life, for tainting of my love ! OK. Ah me, detested ! how am I beguil'd ! Vio. Who does beguile you ? who does do you wrong 1 OIL Hast thou forgot thyself 1 Is it so long 1 Coll forth the holy father. [Exit an Attendant. Duke. [To VIOLA.] Come away. OIL Whither, my lord ? Cesario, husband, stay. Dulce. Husband 1 OIL Ay, husband : Can he that deny t Duke. Her husband, sirrah ? Vio. No, my lord, not I OIL Alas, it is the baseness of thy fear C. I. OK WHAT YOU WILL. 441 That makes thee strangle thy propriety : * Far not, Cesario ; take thy fortunes up : Be that thou know'st thou art, and then thou art As great as that thou fear'st. O, welcome, father Re-enter Attendant and Priest. Father, I charge thee, by thy reverence, Here to unfold (though lately we intended To keep in darkness what occasion now Reveals before 'tis ripe) what thou dost know Hath newly pass'd between this youth and me. Priest. A contract of eternal bond of love, Confirm'd by mutual joinder of your hands, Attested by the holy close of lips, Strengthen'd by interchangement of your rings ; ' And all the ceremony of tliis compact Seal'd in my function, by my testimony : Since when, my watch hath told me, toward my grave I have travell'd but two hours. Duke. O, thou dissembling cub ! what wilt thou be. When time hath sow'd a grizzle on thy case ? 8 Or will not else thy craft so quickly grow, That thine own trip shall be thine overthrow 1 Farewell, and take her ; but direct thy feet, Where thou and I henceforth may never meet. Via. My lord, I do protest, OIL O ! do not swear : Hold little faith, though thou hast too much fear. That is, suppress or disown thy proper self; deny what yon really are. H. 7 In ancient espousals the man received as well as gave a ring. The skin of a fox or rabbit was often called its case. So, in Gary's Present State of England, 1626 : " Queen Elizabeth asked a knight, named Young, how he liked a company of brave ladies. He answered, As I like my silver-haired conies at home' lb catex are far better than the bodies." 442 TWELFTH NIGHT, ACT V. Enter Sir ANDREW AGUE-CHEEK, with his head broke Sir And. For the love of God, a surgeon ! send one presently to Sir Toby. OIL What's the matter ? Sir And. He has broke my head across, and ha* given Sir Toby a bloody coxcomb too : for the love of God, your help ! I had rather than forty pound, I were at home. OIL Who has done this, Sir Andrew ? Sir And. The Count's gentleman, one Cesario : we took him for a coward, but he's the very devil incardinate. Duke. My gentleman, Cesario 1 Sir And. Od's lifelings! here he is: You broke my head for nothing ; and that that I did, I was set on to do't by Sir Toby. Via. Why do you speak to me ? I never hurt you You drew your sword upon me, without cause ; But I bespake you fair, and hurt you not. Sir And. If a bloody coxcomb be a hurt, you have hurt me : I think you set nothing by a bloody coxcomb. Enter Sir TOBY BELCH, drunk, led by the Clown,. Here comes Sir Toby halting ; you shall hear more : but if he had not been in drink, he would have tickled you othergates 9 than he did. Duke. How now, gentleman ! how is't with you 1 Sir To. That's all one : he has hurt me, and there's the end on't. Sot, didst see Dick Surgeon, sot 7 Clo. O ! he's drunk, Sir Toby, an hour agone his eyes were set at eight i'the morning. ' Olherways. SC. 1. OR WHAT YOU WILL. 443 Sir To. Then's he's a rogue, and a passy-measures paynini : I hate a drunken rogue. Oli. Away with him ! Who hath made this havoc with them ? Sir And. I'll help you, Sir Toby, because we'll be dress'd together. Sir To. Will you help 1 An ass-head, and a coxcomb, and a knave ! a thin-fac'd knave, a gull ' OK. Get him to bed, and let his hurt be look'd to. [Exeunt Clown, Sir To., and Sir AND. Enter SEBASTIAN. Seb. I am sorry, madam, I have hurt your kins- man ; But, had it been the brother of my blood, I must have done no less, with wit and safety. You throw a strange regard upon me, and by that I do perceive it hath offended you : Pardon me, sweet one, even for the vowa We made each other but so late ago. Duke. One face, one voice, one habit, and two persons ; A natural perspective, 11 that is, and is not. 10 Pavin, derived from pavo, a peacock, means a slow, heavy dance, such as a drunken man might be supposed to perform. Passy-measures is a corruption of passamezzo, an Italian uame for a style of dancing not much unlike walking. Sir Toby there- fore probably moans that Dick Surgeon, when overloaded, went through a kind of slow, half-walking dance. It is observable that the Knight is very deep in the science of dancing, and liquor only helps on the outcome of his character. H. 11 A perspective formerly meant a glass that assisted the sight in any way. The several kinds used in Shakespeare's time are enumerated in Scot's Discoverie of Witchcraft, 1584, where that alluded to by the Duke is thus described : " There be glasses also wherein one man may see another man's image and not his own " where tliat which is, is not, or appears, in a different petition, another thing. 444 TWELFTH NIGHT, ACT T Seb. Antonio ! O, my dear Antonio ! How have the hours rack'd and tortur'd me, Since I have lost thee ! Ant. Sebastian are you 1 Seb. Fear'st thou that, Antonio T Ant. How have you made division of yourself 1 An apple, cleft in two, is not more twin Than these two creatures. Which is Sebastian 1 OH. Most wonderful ! Seb. Do I stand there 1 I never had a brother , Nor can there be that deity in my nature, Of here and every where. I had a sister, Whom the blind waves and surges have devoured. [ To Vio.j Of charity, what kin are you to me ? What countryman ? what name ? what parentage 1 Via. Of Messalirie : Sebastian was my father ; Such a Sebastian was my brother too ; So went he suited to his watery tomb : If spirits can assume both form and suit, You come to fright us. Seb. A spirit I am, indeed ; But am in that dimension grossly clad, Which from the womb I did participate. Were you a woman, as the rest goes even, I should my tears let fall upon your cheek, And say thrice welcome, drowned Viola ! Vio. My father had a mole upon his brow. Seb. And so had mine. Vio. And died that day when Viola from her birth Had number'd thirteen years. Seb. O, that record is lively in my soul 1 He finished, indeed, his mortal act, That day that made my sister thirteen years. Vio. If nothing lets to make us happy both, But this my masculine usurp'd attire. *C. I. OR WHAT YOU WILL. 445 Do not embrace me, till each circumstance Of place, time, fortune, do cohere, and jump, That I am Viola : which to confirm, I'll bring you to a captain in this town, Where lie my maiden weeds ; by whose gentle help I was preserv'd, to serve this noble Count : Ail the occurrence of my fortune since Hath been between this lady, and this lord. Seb. [ To OLI.] So comes it, lady, you have been mistook ; But nature to her bias drew in that. You would have been contracted to a maid; Nor are you therein, by my life, deceiv'd : You are betroth'd both to a maid and man. Duke. Be not amaz'd ; right noble is his blood. If this be so, as yet the glass seems true, I shall have share in this most happy wreck : [To Vio.] Boy, thou hast said to me a thousand times, Thou never should'st love woman like to me. Vio. And all those sayings will I over-swear ; And all those swearings keep as true in soul, As doth that orbed continent the fire That severs day from night. Duke. Give me thy hand ; And let me see thee in thy woman's weeds. Vio. The captain, that did bring me first on shore, Hath my maid's garments : he, upon some action, Is now in durance at Malvolio's suit, A gentleman and follower of my lady's. OH. He shall enlarge him : Fetch Malvolk hither : A nd yet, alas ' now I remember me, They say, poor gentleman, he's much distract *4fi TWELFTH NIGHT, ACT V A most extracting' 2 frenzy of mine own From my remembrance clearly banish'd his. - Re-enter Clown, with a letter. How does he, sirrah 1 Clo. Truly, madam, he holds Belzebub at the stave's end, as well as a man in his case may do. He has here writ a letter to you : 1 should have given it you to-day morning ; but as a madman's epistles are no gospels, so it skills not much 13 when they are deliver'd. OIL Open it, and read it. Clo. Look then to be well edified, when the foo delivers the madman : [Reads.] " By the Lord, madam," OIL How now ! art thou mad 1 Clo. No, madam, I do but read madness : an your ladyship will have it as it ought to be, you must allow vox.* 4 OIL Pr'ythee, read i'thy right wits. Clo. So I do, madonna ; but to read his right wits, is to read thus : therefore perpend, 1 * my prin- cess, and give ear. OIL [To FABIAN.] Read it you, sirrah. Fab. [Reads.] By the Lord, madam, you wrong me, anc the world shall know it : though you have put me into darkness, and given your drunken cousin rule over me, yet have I the benefit of my senses as well as your lady ship. I have your own letter that induced me to the sem- blance I put on ; with the which I doubt not but to do " That is, a frenzy that drew me away from every thing bul .is object. 13 A. common expression in the Poet's time, meaning, it sig- nifies not much. H. 14 This may be explained : " If you would have the letter read in character, you must allow me to assume the voice or frantic tone of a madman." 16 Consider. 8C. I. OR WHAT YOU WILL. 447 myself much right, or you much shame. Think of me as you please. I leave my duty a little unthought of, and speak out of my injury. The madly-us'd MALVOLIO. OIL Did he write this 1 Clo. Ay, madam. Duke. This savours not much of distraction. OK. See him deliver'd, Fabian : bring him hither. [Exit FABIAN; My lord, so please you, (these things further thought on,) To think me as well a sister as a wife, One day shall crown the alliance on't, so please you, Here at my house, and at my proper cost. Duke. Madam, I am most apt t'embrace your offer. [To Vio.] Your master quits you ; and, for your service done him, So much against the mettle of your sex, So far beneath your soft and tender breeding, And since you call'd me master for so long, Here is my hand : you shall from this time be Your master's mistress. OH. A sister : you are she. Re-enter FABIAN, with MALVOLIO. Duke. Is this the madman ? OIL Ay, my lord, this same How now, Malvolio 1 Mai. Madam, you have done me wrong, Notorious wrong. Oil. Have I, Malvolio 1 no. Mai Lady, you have. Pray you, peruse thai letter: You must not now deny it is your hand, &48 TWELFTH NIGHT, ACT V. Write from it, if you can, in hand, or phrase, Or say 'tis not your seal, nor your invention; You can say none of this : Well, grant it then, And tell me, in the modesty of honour, Why you have given me such clear lights of favour Bade me come smiling, and cross-garter'd to you, To put on yellow stockings, and to frown Upon Sir Toby, and the lighter people : And, acting this in an obedient hope, Why have you suffer'd me to be imprison'd, Kept in a dark house, visited by the priest, And made the most notorious geek, 16 and gull, That e'er invention play'd on ? tell me why. OIL Alas ! Malvolio, this is not my writing, Though, I confess, much like the character : But, out of question, 'tis Maria's hand. And now I do bethink me, it was she First told me thou wast mad : thou cam'st in smiling, And in such forms which here were presuppos'd Upon thee in the letter. Pr'ythee, be content : This practice hath most shrewdly pass'd upon thee , But, when we know the grounds and authors of it, Thou shalt be both the plaintiff and the judge Of thine own case. Fab. Good madam, hear me speak ; And let no quarrel, nor no brawl to come, Taint the condition of this present hour, Which I have wonder'd at. In hope it shall not, Most freely I confess, myself, and Toby, Set tliis device against Malvolio here, Upon some stubborn and uncourteous parts We had conceiv'd against him : Maria writ The letter at Sir Toby's great importance ; " 18 Prom the Saxon geac, a cuckoo, and here meaning a fool, B. 1T The Poet sometimes uses important arid inuoortunate indis- criminately. " BC. L OR WHAT YOU WILL. 44I In recompense whereof he hath married her. How with a sportful malice it was folio w'd, May rather pluck on laughter than revenge ; If that the injuries be justly weigh'd, That have on both sides pass'd. OIL Alas, poor fool! how have they baffled thee ! Clo. Why, "some are born great, some achieve greatness, and some have greatness thrown upon them." I was one, sir, in this interlude ; one Sir Topas, sir; but that's all one. "By the Lord, fool, I am not mad : " But do you remember ? " Madam, why laugh you at such a barren rascal t an you smile not, he's gagg'd : " And thus the whirligig of time brings in his revenges. MaL I'll be reveng'd on the whole pack of you. [Exit. OIL He hath been most notoriously abus'd. Duke. Pursue him, and entreat him to a peace : He hath not told us of the captain yet : When that is known and golden time convents, 18 A solemn combination shall be made Of our dear souls. Meantime, sweet sister, We will not part from hence. Cesario, come, For so you shall be, while you are a man ; But, when in other habits you are seen, Orsino's mistress, and his fancy's queen. [Exeunt Clown sings. When that I was and a little tiny boy, With hey, ho, the wind and the rain, A foolish thing was but a toy, For the rain it raineth every day. 18 That is, shall serve, agree, make convenient. 450 TWELFTH NIGHT, OR WHAT YOU WILL. ACT V But when 1 cair.e to man's estate, With hey, ho, the wind and the rain, 'Gainst knaves and thieves men shut their gate, For the rain it raineth every day. But when I came, alas ! to wive, With hey, ho, the wind and the rain, By swaggering could I never thrive, for the rain it raineth every day. But when I came unto my bed, With hey, ho, the wind and the rain, With toss-pots still had drunken head, For the rain it raineth every day. A great while ago the world begun, With hey, ho, the wind and the rain, But that's all one, our play is done, And well strive to please you every day. [Exit,