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REMARKS, CRITICAL AND ILLUSTRATIVE, ON THE TEXT AND NOTES OF THE LAST EDITION OF SHAKSPEARE.

Ah, think not, Mistreſs, more true Dulneſs lies
In Follys Cap, than Wisdoms grave disguiſe.
Like buoys, that never ſink into the flood,
On Learnings ſurface we but lie and nod.
For thee we dim the eyes, and ſtuff the head,
With all ſuch reading as was never read:
For thee explain a thing till all men doubt it,
And write about it, Goddeſs, and about it.
DUNCIAD.

LONDON: PRINTED FOR J. JOHNSON IN ST. PAULS CHURCH-YARD. MDCCLXXXIII.

PREFACE.

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IF a variety of editions, and innumerable comments can be ſuppoſed to perfect and correct the inaccurate text of a celebrated author, ſufficient, one would think, has been done to leave that of Shakſpeare without a blemiſh. So ſlow, however, or ſo inefficacious, is the progreſs and exertion of verbal criticiſm, when moiling in the duſt and cobwebs of antiquity, ſo much is to be demoliſhed, ſo much to be rebuilt, that it will not, except to thoſe who place implicit confidence in the intereſted and unqualifyed aſſertions of every publiſher, be a matter of much ſurpriſe to learn, that, after all that has been done by the labour of Shakſpeares numerous editors and commentators,—after all that has been urged or aſſumed in favour of the laſt [ii]edition, — as much more ſtill remains to be done to bring his text back even to the ſtate of correctneſs in which it was left by his firſt editors. A reader of heſitation and reflection will hear this with perfect calmneſs; he will be no ſtranger to the fluctuating ſtate of former editions; he will have noticed the boldneſs and aſſurance, the legislative and dictatorial manner in which every ſucceeding editor has uſhered hisſelf into the world; and will not eaſyly forget the confidence of each in aſſuring the public that nothing further could poſſibly be done to his author:—Is not this the language of Rowe, and Pope, and Theobald, and Warburton, and Hanmer, and Capell? And where are they now? Where even dr. Johnſon and mr. Steevens may, in the courſe of a few revolving years, be ſent to accompany them:—the regions of oblivion or disgrace.

The chief and fundamental buſineſs of an editor is carefully to collate the original and authentic editions of his author. It is otherwiſe impoſſible for him to be certain that he is giving the genuine text, becauſe he does not know what that text is. There have been no leſs than eight profeſsed editors of Shakſpeare; and [iii]yet the old copies, of which we have heard ſo much, have never been collated by any one of them: no, not even either of the two firſt folios, books indifferently common, and quoted by every body. And yet, ſtrange as it may ſeem, not one of the eight but has taken the credit of, or actually aſſerted, his having collated them. One may be well allowed to paſs by the pretenſions of thoſe prior to dr. Johnſon without particular notice; their falſehood is ſufficiently apparent in the margin of the late edition. Surely, men who thus proudly expoſe and ſeverely reprobate the crimes of their neighbours ſhould effectually guard theirſelves againſt ſimilar accuſations.

"I," ſays dr. Johnſon, "collated ſuch copies as I could procure, and wiſhed for more 1:" "I collated ... all [the folios] at the beginning, but afterwards uſed only the firſt 2." He muſt be very hardy, indeed, that dares give a flat contradiction to ſuch poſitive aſſertions as theſe from ſo reſpectable a character. But the cauſe of Shakſpeare and truth obliges one to ſay that the learned writer is certainly mistaken. The text of his own edition, [iv]the notes of mr. Steevens, and, in ſome reſpect, the remarks in the following ſheets, will prove that he never collated any one of the folios, —no not for a ſingle play,— or at leaſt that of his collations he has made little or no uſe. That he picked out a reading here and there from the old editions, is true: all his predeceſſors did the ſame: but this is not collation. So much for dr. Johnſon.

With regard to the laſt edition, mr. Steevens explicitly tells us that "it has been conſtantly compared with the moſt authentic copies, whether collation was abſolutely neceſſary to the ſenſe, or not 3." "Would not any one, from this declaration," to uſe the ingenious critics own words, "ſuppoſe that he had at leaſt compared the folios with each other 4?" But he has been deceived, no doubt, by the perſon employed in this laborious but neceſſary work. What an abuſe of that confidence and credit which the public naturally place in an editor of rank and character, to tell them, that "by a diligent collation of all the old copies hitherto discovered, and the judicious reſtoration [v]of ancient readings, the text of this author ſeems now finally ſettled 5!" To what better cauſe can we aſcribe ſuch unfounded aſſertions than to indolence and temerity? ſince, had the ingenious writer compared the old and preſent editions through a ſingle play, he muſt neceſſaryly have perceived, that all the old copies had NOT been diligently collated, that ancient readings had NOT been judiciously reſtored, and that the text is no more finally ſettled at preſent than it was in the time of Theobald, Hanmer, and Warburton: nay, that it is, at large, in the ſame ſtate of inaccuracy and corruption in which it was left by mr. Rowe.

Theſe, it may be objected, are merely negative and unproved aſſertions. It is very true. And they who do not think them confirmed in the courſe of the following pages, and will not give theirſelves the trouble to investigate their truth, are at liberty to disbelieve them. To publiſh the various readings of the old editions would be a buſyneſs of ſome labour, and little utility.

[vi] As to the notes and conjectures here offered to the public, very little need be ſaid. Shakſpeare is the God of the writers idolatry, and ſhould any one of theſe remarks be thought pertinent or uſeful in the opinion of a ſingle individual who, like him, admires the effuſions of this darling child of nature and fancy, whom, age cannot wither, and whoſe infinite variety custom cannot ſtale, it will be a ſufficient gratification to him for the pains beſtowed in drawing them up. And if there ſhould be a future edition of this favourite, this inimitable author, the writer is not without vanity to hope that the following ſheets may ſtimulate the editors care and attention to give his text with integrity, judgement, and correctneſs, —

— a conſummation
Devoutly to be wiſh'd;

and, which muſt of conſequence follow, to reduce the number of exuberant and impertinent notes 6.

The freedom with which every editor has treated his predeceſſors precludes the neceſſity [vii]of an apology for the liberties taken in the enſuing pages, with the ſentiments of ſome of our moſt eminent literary characters. The ſuperiority of a commentators rank, however, does not intitle his blunders to reſpect. It were to be wiſhed that dr. Johnſon had ſhewn ſomewhat leſs partiality to pride of place; for, though he profeſses to have treated his predeceſſors with candour, Theobald, the beſt of Shakſpeares editors, experiences as much ſcurrility and injustice at his hands, as Hanmer and Warburton, the worſt of them, do deference and reſpect. For this, however, the learned critic might have his private reaſons, which, as they could ſcarcely have justifyed his conduct, he did right to conceal.

To controvert the opinions, or disprove the aſſertions of mr. Steevens, dr. Farmer and mr. Tyrwhitt, men no leſs remarkable for their learning and genius than for their obliging dispoſitions and amiable manners, has been a painful and odious taſk. But whereever the writer has been under the neceſſity of differing from any of theſe gentlemen either in point of opinion or in point of fact, he will not be [viii]found to have expreſsed hisſelf in a manner inconſistent with a due ſenſe of obligations and the profoundeſt reſpect. Such, at leaſt, was his intention, ſuch has been his endeavour, and ſuch is his hope.

ERRATA.

  • P. 17. l. 13. for might read might have.
  • P. 28. l. 9. dele it.
  • P. 39. l. 15. for wyffyves read wyffves.
  • P. 62. l. 11. for is, not as—read is not, as—
  • P. 128. l. 14. for latte read latter.
  • P. 145. l. 14. for the read due.
  • P. 145. l. 15. for due read the.
  • P. 221. l. 26. dele and apologiſe for.

REMARKS ON THE LAST EDITION OF SHAKSPEARE.

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VOLUME THE FIRST.

(PROLEGOMENA.)

p. 199.
(SHAKSPEARES WILL.)

The ſlighteſt alteration in the name of this great writer is a circumſtance of ſo much importance to the public, that, although the editors may not have been too haſty in preferring SHAKSPEARE to SHAKESPEARE, it might be wiſhed that a more deciſive and leſs equivocal authority than his WILL had been produced to justify and enforce the change. This will, it ſhould ſeem, the poet made in his laſt ſickneſs, when he appears to have been ſo incapable of paying that attention to the writing of his name which a man in health uſually does, that he has actually ſubſcribed it two different ways: SHAKSPERE, and SHAKSPEARE. So that we are ſtill uncertain which mode to adopt. How negligent, therefor, have the editors been, and how much are they to be blamed, for not procuring better and more poſitive evidence, if it were to be come at [...] [2]it certainly was! Mr. Garrick, as they muſt have known, though they did not think it neceſſary to notice the fact, had then in his poſſeſſion a leaſe or mortgage from Shakſpeare of a houſe in Blackfriars, ſubſcribed (as we learn from mr. Colmans preface to Beaumont and Fletcher) with his own hand, WM. SHAKSPEARE; which, very luckyly, confirms the alteration made, with leſs authority, by the preſent editors. This deed was discovered among ſome old writings by mr. Wallis, of Norfolk-ſtreet, who preſented it to mr. Garrick, in the poſſeſſion of whoſe widow it, moſt probably, ſtill remains. Mr. Colman likewiſe informs us, that the name is, in the poets own county, pronounced with the firſt a ſhort 1, and, in the register of Stratford church, uniformly entered SHAKSPERE.

p. [294].
(ATTEMPT TO ASCERTAIN THE ORDER IN WHICH THE PLAYS OF SHAKSPEARE WERE WRITTEN [BY MR. MALONE].)

One Hamlet (or Hamnet) Sadler, being a witneſs to, and mentioned in Shakſpeares will, mr. Malone takes it for granted that he acquired this name from the testators tragedy of Hamlet; and thence infers, at leaſt gives it as one reaſon, that the play muſt have been written in 1596; that he might be of what the critic thinks a competent age for a witneſs. In fact, however, the name of Hamlet was in common uſe long before Shakſpeare was able to write a line; ſo that the gentlemans preſumption muſt, in this inſtance, neceſſaryly fall to the ground.

"Here under lyeth buried Eleanor Wife of HAMLET Clarke. She dyed on Sunday the 14th of January 1626. [3]After they had been married 33 years and about two months." Stows Survey, by Strype. I. iii. 39.

p. [307].

Whenever the Merry Wives of Windſor may have been written, it is certain, as well from the enquirers quotations and remarks, as from the play its ſelf, that the time of action is in the reign of king Henry the fourth. But "if it ſhould be placed," ſays he, "as dr. Johnſon obſerves it ſhould be read, between the Second part of K. Henry IV. and Henry V." (where, however, it cannot be introduced without the moſt flagrant impropriety) "it muſt be remembered that mrs. Quickly, who is half-bawd, half-hoſteſs in K. Henry IV. is, in the Merry Wives of Windſor, Dr. Caius's houſekeeper, and makes a decent appearance; and in K. Henry V. is Piſtols wife, and dies in an hoſpital; a progreſſion that is not very natural." It is ſtrange enough that the critic ſhould not perceive that Dr. Caiuses houſekeeper and the landlady of the Boars-head are totally diſtinct characters; and have not, if we except their name, ſex, ſentiments, and loquacity, a ſingle circumſtance in common between them. Shakſpeare could have been at no loſs for one of the ſame name and family in any town in England.

TEMPEST.

p. 6.
Boatſ.

—If you can command theſe elements to ſilence, ... we will not handle a rope more.

This is a very early, though not the moſt favourable, ſpecimen of the integrity and correctneſs of the preſent text Both the folios read—"we will not hand a rope more;" [4]which is evidently right; that being the proper ſea-term in uſe at this day.

p. 10.
Mira.
More to know
Did never meddle with my thoughts.

To meddle, ſays mr. Steevens, in this inſtance, ſignifies to mingle. Hence, adds he, the ſubſtantive medley. But it ſhould rather mean to interfere, to trouble, to buſy its ſelf, as ſtill uſed in the North: e. g. Don't meddle with me: i. e. Let me alone; Don't moleſt me. Medley can ſcarce be formed of meddle: it is, moſt likely, a corruption of the French word, meſleé.

p. 13.
Pro.
—being transported,
And wrapp'd in ſecret ſtudies.

And could this bald and threadbare phraſe have paſsed the examination of judicial collaters and correctors of Shakſpeares text? Would not rapt have been a fair and probable conjecture, even if it had not been, as it is, the reading of the old editions? And could it, poſſibly, have eſcaped the obſervation of any perſon who had made a conſtant compariſon with the moſt authentic copies?

p. 28.
Pro.
urchins
Shall, for that vaſt of night that they may work,
All exerciſe on thee.

Spirits, perhaps, in the ſhape of urchins, or hedge-hogs; which as Caliban elſewhere complains, would ſometimes

Lie tumbling in 'his' bare-foot way, and mount
Their prickles at 'his' foot fall.

[5]In the Merry Wives of Windſor, however, it ſeems to imply a ſpirit or fairy of a peculiar appearance.

Nan Page my daughter, and my little ſon,
And three or four more of their growth, we'll dreſs
Like urchins, ouphes, and fairies, green and white,
With rounds of waxen tapers on their heads,
And rattles in their bands.
p. 30.
Pro.
—when thou didſt not, ſavage,
Know thy own meaning, but wouldſt gabble like
A thing more brutiſh.

More brutiſh than what? The old edition reads—"a thing moſt brutiſh;" and ſo ſhould this; as the quotation to dr. Warburtons note might have led the editors to ſuſpect.

p. 38.
Mira.
Make not too raſh a trial of him, for
He's gentle and not fearful.

That is: Do not raſhly determine to treat him with ſeverity: he is mild and harmleſs, and not in the leaſt terrible or dangerous.

p. 47.
Gon.

You are gentlemen of brave metal.

What metal? Braſs or copper? Read mettle.

p. 59.
Ste.

—If I can recover him and keep him tame, I will not take too much for him; he ſhall pay for him that hath him, and that ſoundly.

Too much, ſays mr. Steevens, means, any ſum, ever ſo much. But this can hardly be right. Stephano evidently propoſes to ſell his monſter for a good round price; which it would have been rather difficult for him to do, if he were determined [6]not to take any ſum, ever ſo much, for it. He means that he could not rate his purchaſe too high:—Let me, ſays he, get ever ſo much for him, it ſhall not be more than enough.

p. 64.
Cal.

Nor ſcrape trencher.

The old copy, mr. Steevens obſerves, reads trenchering: and one might naturally have expected a reaſon why this did not, as the word is, certainly, not ſo very improper. Houſing is one of the ſame kind. Rightly, trencheren, houſen; trenchers, houſes. The participle beholden is, by a ſimilar mistake, every where, in the old editions, beholding.

p. 74.
S [...].

Lead monſter; we'll follow.—I would, I could ſee this laborer: he lays it on.

Trin.

Wilt come? I'll follow, Stephano.

Is it not evident that the words Wilt come ſhould be the laſt of the preceding ſpeech?

TWO GENTLEMEN OF VERONA.

p. 139.
Pro.
Oh, how this ſpring of love reſembleth
The uncertain glory of an April day;
Which now ſhews all the beauty of the ſun,
And by and by a cloud takes all away!

Reſembleth, mr. Tyrwhitt ſays, is here uſed as a quadriſyllable, as if it was written reſembeleth. And in ſupport of this aſſertion he inſtances the two following lines: the one from the Comedy of Errors, the other from As you like it:

And theſe two Dromios, one in ſemblance.
The parts and graces of the wreſtler.

"And it ſhould be obſerved," continues he, "that Shakeſpeare takes the ſame liberty with many other words, in [7]which l or r are [is] ſubjoined to another conſonant. See Com. of Errors: ‘"Theſe are the parents to theſe children."’

Mr. Steevens, in a note immediately preceding mr. Tyrwhitts, has obſerved, that when a word was not long enough to complete the meaſure, our early writers occaſionally extended it. Thus, ſays he, Spenſer in his Faery Queen: ‘"Formerly grounded, and faſt ſetteled."’ Again:

"The while ſweet Zephirus loud whiſteled,
"His treble, a ſtrange kind of harmony;
"Which Guyon's ſenſes ſoftly tickeled," &c.

From this practice, he ſuppoſes, the author wrote reſembeleth, which, though it affords no jingle, completes the verſe. "The old ballad of Titus Andronicus," adds he, "is written in this meaſure, where the ſecond and fourth lines only rhime." Whether this be a fact or not "let the foreſt judge." The ballad is printed by Percy, and begins thus: (the ſtanza being the ſame throughout:)

You noble minds, and famous martiall wights,
That in defence of native country fights,
Give eare to me that ten yeeres fought for Rome,
Yet reapt diſgrace at my returning home.

There is much greater and more important matter i [...] theſe obſervations than either of the ingenious commentators was aware of. Neither Shakſpeare nor Spenſer appears, from the above inſtances, at leaſt, to have taken the ſmalleſt liberty in extending his words: neither has the incident of l or r being ſubjoined to another conſonant any thing to do in the matter. But that great authors and great critics ſhould not be better acquainted with the orthography and grammatical ſtructure of their native tongue, is a circumſtance which, if not to be wondered at, is, ſurely, very much [8]to be regretted. The truth is, that every verb in the Engliſh language gains an additional ſyllable by its termination in eſt, eth, ed, ing, or (when formed into a ſubſtantive) in er: and the above words, when rightly printed, are not onely unexceptionable, but moſt juſt. Thus, reſemble makes reſemble-eth; wrestle, wrestle-er; and ſettle, whistle, tickle, make ſettle-ed, whistle-ed; tickle-ed.

Semblance, indeed, cannot properly be written as three ſyllables; neither, perhaps, is it altogether neceſſary to pronounce it ſo. Childeren, however, would be certainly right.

Another inſtance of this ſort occurs in K. John: ‘That were embatteled and rank'd in Kent:’ which ſhould now be written embattleed; though the verb was, probably enough, in Shakſpeares time, uſually ſpelled embattel.

Again, in Butlers panegyric on ſir John Denham:

No poet jeer'd for ſcribbling amiſs,
With verſes forty times more lewd than his.

Here ſcribbling ſhould be printed ſcribbleing: the metre evidently requiring three ſyllables, which are neceſſaryly articulated in the pronunciation.

Theſe ideas, had they been more germane to the object of the preſent ſheets, or more likely to experience a favorable reception, might have been much expanded and further purſued; but, indeed, our orthographical ſystem is ſo thoroughly corrupted, and the principles and formation of the language are, even by thoſe who have profeſsedly treated the ſubject 2, ſo little investigated or underſtood, that a writer, hardy enough to attempt a reform, will naturally expect to find many of his cleareſt axioms conſidered as the offſpring of ſingularity, affectation, and caprice.

p. 149.
[9]
Launce.

—I am the dog:—no, the dog is himſelf, and I am the dog,—oh, the dog is me, and I am myſelf; ay, ſo, ſo.

This paſſage, dr. Johnſon very gravely remarks, is much confuſed, and of confuſion, ſays he, the preſent reading makes no end. There is not, however, the leaſt room for alteration; Shakſpeare has evidently intended to make honeſt Launce puzzle and confound hisſelf in the arrangement of his dramatis perſonae; and, it ſhould ſeem, he has tolerably well ſucceeded.

A ſimilar thought, mr. Steevens obſerves, occurs in a play of an elder date than this: A Chriſtian turn'd Turk, 1612. The Two Gentlemen of Verona is mentioned by Meres in 1598; and, in the opinion of mr. Malone, "bears ſtrong internal marks of an early compoſition." He therefor refers it to the year 1593. Surely then the play quoted by mr. Steevens can hardly be ſuppoſed to be of an elder date.

Ibi.
Launce.

Now come I to my mother;—oh that ſhe could ſpeak now like a wood woman!

Mr. Steevens was not certain that he underſtood this paſſage; and, indeed, the contrary does not appear by his explanation of it. Now, ſays Launce, I come to my mother (i. e. to the old ſhoe with the hole in it, which he has juſt told us was to repreſent her); oh, that ſhe (i. e. the old ſhoe) could now ſpeak like a wood woman! that is, like a woman craz'd, mad, out of her ſenſes, with grief for my departure. And where's the difficulty of this?

p. 159.
Pro.

Is it mine eye or Valentino's praiſe.

The word eye was ſupplyed by dr. Warburton, who ſays that in ALL the old editions, we find the line printed thus: It is mine, or Valentino's praiſe.

[10] But this, to uſe his own "warm language 3," is a lye. ‘The line is ſo printed in NO old edition.’

The firſt folio reads: ‘It is mine or Valentines praiſe.’

The ſecond: ‘Is it mine then or Valentineans praiſe?’

There is no quarto.

p. 165.
Jul.
Out, out, Lucetta! that will be ill-favour'd.
Out, out, Lucetta! means no more than fie, fie!
p. 187.
3. Out. Know then, that ſome of us are gentlemen,
Such as the fury of ungovern'd youth
Thruſt from the company of awful men.

That is, ſays dr. Johnſon, reverend, worſhipful, ſuch as magiſtrates, &c. Sir John Hawkins propoſes lawful, which mr. Steevens and mr. Tyrwhitt ſeem half-inclined to admit. But awful men is certainly right; and means men wellgoverned, obſervant of law and authority; full of, or ſubject to awe. In the ſame kind of ſenſe as we uſe fearful.

p. 188.
3 Out. Myſelf was from Verona baniſhed,
For practiſing to ſteal away a lady,
An heir, and niece ally'd unto the duke.

Niece mr. Theobald altered to near: as the poet he thought, "would never have expreſsed himſelf ſo ſtupidly, as to tell us, this lady was the duke's niece and allied to him." And, indeed, if he had done ſo, the remark and alteration might have been juſt: but he does not ſay ſhe was the dukes niece, any more than he does that ſhe was his [11]heir. She was the niece and heir of ſome body elſe, and a distant relation of the duke.

p. 194.
Sil.
I am very loath to be your idol, ſir;
But ſince your falſhood, ſhall become you well
To worſhip ſhadows, and adore falſe ſhapes,
Send to me in the morning, and I'll ſend it.

Dr. Johnſon ſays that this is hardly ſenſe. He might have ſaid more. It is nonſenſe. We might, he thinks, read thus: ‘But ſince you're falſe, it ſhall become you well.’

Mr. Tyrwhitt, however, will have no alteration: he ſuppoſes the word it to be underſtood: i. e. But, ſince your falſehood, it ſhall become you well, &c. Or, that To worſhip ſhadows, &c. is the nominative caſe to ſhall become.

How far any of theſe oppoſite conjectures would rectify or elucidate the text, it is not now propoſed to examine, as the omiſſion of a ſingle comma will reſtore ſenſe to the whole paſſage.

I am very loth, ſays Silvia, to be your idol; but, ſince your falſehood to your friend and mistreſs ſhall well become you to worſhip ſhadows and adore falſe ſhapes (i. e. will be properly employed in ſo doing), ſend to me, and you ſhall have my picture.

Ibi.
Hoſt.
By my hallidom, I was faſt ſleep.
i. e. By my holydame; our lady.
p. 199.
Jul.

It ſeems you lov'd not her to leave her taken.

Protheus, ſays dr. Johnſon, does not properly leave his ladys token, he gives it away: he, therefor, propoſes a [12]different reading. But what puerile quibbling this is! To leave is to quit, abandon, forſake, part with, &c. To leave her taken, is, properly, to give it away.

MERRY WIVES OF WINDSOR.

Shal.

The council ſhall know this.

Fal.

'Twere better for you, if 'twere known in council; you'll be laughed at.

Dr. Johnſon conſiders this as a broken and abrupt ſpeech, and alters the paſſage accordingly. Mr. Steevens ſays, the modern editors read—if 'twere not known in council; and believes Falſtaff quibbles between council and counſel (ſecrecy). But the preſent reading is juſt; neither is there any ſuch conceit in the ſpeech, which is quite in Falſtaffs inſolent, ſneering manner. It would be much better for you, indeed, ſays he, to have it known in the council, where you would onely be laugh'd at!

p. 230.
Slen.

Two Edward ſhovel-boards, that coſt me two ſhillings and two-pence a-piece.

"Edward ſhovel-boards," dr. Farmer thinks, "were the broad ſ [...]illings of Edw. VI." But why Edward the Sixths ſhillings for the ſhovel boards of Henry the Fourths time? Can it be imagined, that theſe ſhillings, in Shakſpeares time, not fifty years after their coinage, and when they were in common circulation, could be poſſibly ever ſold for two and two-pence? It may likewiſe be doubted, if Edward the Sixths ſhillings ever were, or, indeed, could be, uſed at ſho [...]el board, as they appear much too light for that diverſion. M [...]ster Slenders "Edward ſhovel-boards" have undoubtedly been broad ſhillings of Edward the Third.

Ibi.
[13]
Sim.

I combat challenge of this latten bilbo.

One could well wiſh that the greater part of the long notes on this paſſage had been omitted. Latten is certainly tin. But whether the alluſion be to Slenders ſoftneſs, rather than to his thinneſs, is not quite ſo clear.

p. 244.
Fal.

Hold, firrah, bear you theſe letters tightly.

This is nonſenſe. The quarto and ſecond folio read rightly, for which tightly, the reading of the firſt folio, is onely a misprint.

p. 248.
Sim.

No, forſooth: he hath but a little wee face.

Wee, ſays mr. Steevens, in the northern dialect, ſignifies very little. But, though he is ſo near the true meaning, he hints that on the authority of the quarto, 1619, we might be led to read whey face. Little wee, however, is certainly the right reading; it implies ſomething extremely diminutive; and is a very common vulgar idiom in the North. Wee, alone, has only the ſignification of little. Thus Cleveland: ‘A Yorkſhire wee bit, longer than a mile.’ The proverb is, A mile and a wee bit; i. e. about a league and a half.

p. 250.
Quic.

We ſhall all be ſhent.

i. e. (according to Mr. Steevens) ſcolded, roughly treated. The word has, indeed, a variety of ſignifications in old authors, and theſe are two of them; but, in modern language, mrs. Quicklys exclamation would have been:—We ſhall be all murder'd, ruin'd, undone!

p. 261.
[14]
Piſt.

Hope is a curtail'd dog in ſome affairs.

The tail, ſays dr. Johnſon, is counted neceſſary to the agility of a grey-hound; and one method, he obſerves, of disqualifying a dog, according to the foreſt-laws, is [was] to cut his tail, and make him a curtail. A curtail-dog, adds mr. Steevens, was the dog of an unqualifyed perſon, whoſe tail, by the laws of the foreſt, was cut off.

But it does not appear that there either is, or could be any ſuch regulation in the Foreſt-laws; as greyhounds, which alone would be disqualifyed by excauditation, could never have been the objects of laws made ſolely for the preſervation of the kings deer. By thoſe modern foreſt-laws, however, the acts of parliament for the preſervation (i. e. deſtruction) of the Game, as expounded by that learned and reſpectable body ycleped Juſtices of the Peace; an unqualifyed perſon is allowed to keep a curtailed greyhound, without incurring the penalties of the aforeſaid ſtatutes, in which it is difficult to ſay whether Juſtice or Humanity be moſt apparent. A curtail dog, ſimply, is one of that inferior ſpecies of thoſe animals, now called curs, from the prevailing uſage of cutting their tails. A piece of wanton barbarity which (though, by no means, ſingular, even in this country) can onely be perpetrated by unfeeling wretches who ſeem to enjoy no more reaſon than is juſt ſufficient to plunge them into a more degraded and brutal ſtate than that of the poor animal they ſo inhumanly mangle.

p. 279.
Quic.

But Mrs. Page would deſire you to ſend her your little page, of all loves.

This, which, mr. Steevens thinks, ſignifies no more than by all means, is an expreſſion of kindneſs, and an earneſt deſire [15]that the perſon would comply with the requeſt out of affection and regard.

p. 310.
Fal.

—I ſee what thou wert, if Fortune thy foe were not.

He alludes to a very old, and formerly very popular ſong, beginning: ‘Fortune, my foe, why doſt thou frown on me?’

It is, more than once, mentioned by Beaumont and Fletcher, and from a paſſage in The Rump or Mirrour of the Times, an old comedy by John Tatham, it ſhould ſeem to have been a common dance tune; which may ſerve to ſhew that the old dances were much more grave and ſolemn than thoſe now in uſe, the tune being a very ſlow movement; as the reader will immediately recollect when he is informed that it is the identical air, now known by the ſong of Death and the Lady, to which the metrical lamentations of extraordinary criminals have been uſually chanted for upwards of theſe two hundred years.

p. 335.
Mrs. Ford.

—It is my maids aunt of Brentford

Ford.

A witch, a quean &c.—ſhe works by charms &c.

Concerning ſome old woman of Brentford, ſays mr. Steevens, there are ſeveral ballads; among the reſt, Julian of Brentfords laſt will and teſtament, 1599. The learned commentator has in this aſſertion, perhaps, been misled by the vague expreſſion of the ſtationers book. Iyl of breyntfords teſtament, to which he ſeems to allude, was written by Robert, and printed by William Copland, long before 1599. But this, the only publication, it is believed, concerning the above lady at preſent known, is certainly no ballad.

p. 347.
[16]
Sim.

May I be ſo bold to ſay ſo, ſir?

Fal.

Ay, ſir Tike; like who more bold.

"In the firſt edition the latter ſpeech ſtands: I Tike, who more holde.—And ſhould plainly be read here, Ay ſir Tike, &c. FARMER."

The word recommended by this ingenious critic is indeed inſerted; but, doubtleſs, by the printers overſight, the corrupt one, which it was intended to ſupplant, has been likewiſe continued.

p. 363.
Eva.

—But, ſtay; I ſmell a man of middle earth.

Spirits, ſays dr. Johnſon, are ſuppoſed to inhabit the ethereal regions, and fairies to dwell underground, men therefor are in a middle ſtation. Yes; but to make the explanation conſistent, we muſt ſuppoſe ſpirits to inhabit a higher earth, and fairies a lower; otherwiſe the ſtation of man cannot, with reſpect to them, be called middle earth. The truth is, that the phraſe, which is a very common one, ſignifies neither more nor leſs than the earth, or world, from its imaginary ſituation in the midſt or middle of the Ptolemaic ſystem, and has not the leaſt reference to either ſpirits or fairies.

VOLUME THE SECOND.

MEASURE FOR MEASURE.

p. 16.
Enter Clown.

As this is the firſt clown who makes his appearance in the plays of our author, mr. Steevens thought it not amiſs, from a paſſage in Tarltons News out of Purgatory, [17]to point out one of the ancient dreſses appropriated to the character. ‘— I ſaw one actired in ruſſet, with a buttoned cap on his head, a great bag by his ſide and a ſtrong bat in his hand; ſo artificially attired for a clowne, as I began to call Tarlton's wonted ſhape to remembrance.’

This may, probably enough, have been the dreſs appropriated to ſuch a character as the clown or fool in As you like it, All's Well that Ends Well, Twelfth Night, and King Lear; but the clown of this play is a different perſonage, the tapſter to a bawdy-houſe, and reſembles the above character no more than Launce, Speed, Costard, or Launclot Gobbo, the note and quotation, therefor, which might had their uſe elſewhere, are here certainly misplaced.

p. 20.
Claud.
—Upon a true contract,
I got poſſeſſion of Juliettas bed;
You know the lady; &c.

This ſpeech, as mr. Steevens well obſerves, is too indelicate to be ſpoken concerning Juliet, before her face; for ſhe appears to be brought in with the reſt, though ſhe has nothing to ſay. The clown points her out as they enter; and yet, from Claudios telling Lucio that he knows the lady, &c. one would think, he ſays, ſhe was not meant to have made her perſonal appearance upon the ſtage.

That Julietta enters at the ſame time with Claudio;— that ſhe is not preſent during his converſation with Lucio; —and that ſhe is afterwards in the custody of the provoſt;—are evident and certain. The little ſeeming impropriety there is will be entirely removed by ſuppoſing, that, when Claudio ſtops to ſpeak to Lucio, the provoſts officers depart with Julietta.

p. 24.
[18]
Duke.
We have ſtrict ſtatutes and moſt biting laws,
Which for theſe nineteen years we have let ſleep.

It was fourteen years in all the editions prior to Theobald who made the alteration. The reaſon of which, he, in his note upon the place, ſays, will be obvious to him who recollects what the duke has ſaid in a foregoing ſcene. But the duke had not before uttered a ſyllable about the matter; he muſt therefor mean Claudio, who mentions

—the enrolled penalties
Which have, like unſcour'd armour, hung by the wall,
So long, that nineteen zodiacks have gone round,
And none of them been worn.

Theobald ſays, the author could not ſo disagree with himſelf; and that it is neceſſary to make the two accounts correſpond. But there is no reaſon to charge the author with inconſistency, neither is it neceſſary that the two ſpeakers ſhould agree in their calculation. If it were, the dukes account ſhould moſt certainly be preferred, as he was doubtleſs much better acquainted with the exact time of the disuſe of thoſe laws than Claudio can be reaſonably ſuppoſed to have been. For, though he may not be too young a man to have a perfect recollection of the circumſtance, (and it ſhould rather appear he is) yet it muſt be obſerved that he is about to ſuffer by the revival of theſe very penalties, which, both his intereſt and inclination would naturally lead him to repreſent as much more obſolete than they actually were. The old reading ſhould, in all events, be reſtored.

p. 28.
Iſab.

Sir, make me not your ſtory.

i. e. do not make a jeſt of me. Dr. Johnſon: do not by deceiving me, make me ſubject for a tale. Mr. Steevens: do [19]not divert yourſelf with me as you would with a ſtory, do not make me the ſubject of your drama.

p. 40.
Elb.
[Eſcal.]

Which is the wiſer here? Justice or iniquity?

Theſe, ſays dr. Johnſon, were, I ſuppoſe, two perſonages well known to the audience by their frequent appearance in the old moralities. The words, therefor, continues he, at that time produced a combination of ideas, which they have now loſt.

Justice or iniquity, i. e. the conſtable or the fool. Eſcalus calls the latter iniquity in alluſion to the old Vice, a neceſſary character, it is ſaid, in the ancient moralities or dumb ſhews; and the Harlequin of the modern ſtage. Justice may have a ſimilar alluſion to his ſuppoſed antagoniſt, into whoſe hands, after a variety of eluſions, he was always made to fall.

p. 45.
Enter Lucio and Iſabella.
Prov.

Save your honour!

Ang.

Stay yet awhile—[To Iſab.] you are welcome: what's your will?

It is not clear, dr. Johnſon thinks, why the provoſt is bidden to ſtay, nor when he goes out.

The entrance of Lucio and Iſabella ſhould not, perhaps, be made till after Angelos ſpeech to the provoſt, who had only announced a lady, and ſeems to be detained as a witneſs to the purity of the deputys converſation with her. His exit may be fixed with that of Lucio and Iſabella. He cannot remain longer, and there is no reaſon to think he departs before.

Stay yet a while.] The old copies, which dr. Johnſon pretends to have collated, read Stay a little while.

p. 51.
[20]
Ang.
[Aſide.] She ſpeaks, and 'tis
Such ſenſe, that my ſenſe breeds with it.

That is, ſays dr. Johnſon, new thoughts are ſtirring in my mind, new conceptions are hatched in my imagination. So, adds he, we ſay to brood over thought. But can this be right? Does not the deputy plainly mean, that her wisdom raiſed his deſires?

p. 66.
Ang.
As theſe black maſks
Proclaim an enſhield beauty ten times louder
Than beauty could displayed.

Theſe maſks, in mr. Tyrwhitts opinion, mean the maſks of the audience; an indecorum, he thinks, of which Shakſpeare would hardly have been guilty to flatter a common audience; he therefor concludes that the play may have been written to be acted at court.

The remark is ingenious, but not deciſive. It is hardly generous or candid to make the author abſurd, when his language or ſentiment will obviously bear a different and rational interpretation. The idea in Angelos ſpeech might be eaſyly communicated by the maſk which Iſabella held in her hand. And theſe black maſks will, in that caſe, onely be ſuch maſks as theſe, or this kind of maſks. Which doubtleſs is Shakſpeares meaning. Enſhield is certainly put by contraction for enſhielded, and not by corruption for inſhe [...]'d, as mr. Tyrwhitt would ſuppoſe.

p. 88.
Duke.

—And here, by this, is your brother ſaved,—and the corrupt deputy ſealed.

To ſca [...]e is certainly to reach (as dr. Johnſon explains it), as well as to diſperſe or ſpread abroad, and hence its application [21]to a routed army, which is ſcattered over the field: further than this it ſeems nothing to the purpoſe of mr. Steevenses note. The dukes meaning appears to be, either, that Angelo would be over-reached, as a town is by the ſcalade; or, that his true character would be ſpread or lay'd open, ſo that his vileneſs would become evident. Dr. Warburtion thinks it is weighed; a meaning which dr. Johnſon affixes to the word in another place: Scaling his preſent bearing with his paſt. Coriolanus.

p. 89.
Duke.

I will preſently go to St. Lukes; there at the moated grange reſides this Mariana.

A grange does not properly mean any ſolitary farm houſe, as mr. Steevens explains it. It implies ſome one particular houſe, immediately inferior in rank to a hall, ſituated at a ſmall distance from the town or village from which it takes its name; as Hornby-grange, Blackwell-grange; and is, in the neighbourhood, ſimply called the Grange. Originally, perhaps, theſe buildings were the lords granary or ſtorehouſe, and the reſidence of his chief bailiff. (Grange, Fr. Granagium, Lat.) This note may likewiſe ſerve to correct mr. Wartons misinterpretation of the word in vol. x. p. 436.

p. 100.
Eſcal.

Double and treble admonition, and ſtill forfeit in the ſame kind? this would make Mercy ſwear, and play the tyrant.

Certainly right. We ſtill ſay to ſwear like an emperor; and, from ſome old book, of which the writer unfortunately neglected to copy the title, he has noted, to ſwear like a tyrant. To ſwear like a termagant is quoted [22]elſewhere. Dr. Warburton would read mercy ſwerve, and dr. Farmer ſevere. A ſimilar paſſage occurs in As you like it.

Patience herſelf would ſtartle at this letter,
And play the ſwaggerer.
p. 101.
Duke.
I am a brother
Of gracious order, lately come from the ſee,
In ſpecial buſineſs from his holineſs.

The folio, as dr. Johnſon obſerves, reads, from the ſea. And this ſeems the more probable reading. For, without it could be proved, that the ſee was uſed by way of eminence and distinction for the papal court, one may be ſatisfyed that Shakſpeare intended to repreſent the friar as having come from his Holyneſs to Vienna by ſea; and ſo, no doubt, Shakſpeare might imagine he did. If it were not from the mention, which occurs, of Poland and Ruſſia, one might ſuppoſe the Vienna of this play to be not the capital of Auſtria, but rather Vienna (now Vienne) in Dauphiné: which was anciently a city of great fame, governed by a duke.

p. 108.
Duke.
—volumes of report
Run with theſe falſe and moſt contrarious queſts.

That is, ſays dr. Johnſon, reports running counter to each other. But falſe and contrarious queſts, in this place, rather mean lying and contradictory meſſengers, with whom run volumes of report. An explanation which the line quoted by mr. Steevens will ſerve to confirm.

p. 111.
Abhor.

A bawd, Sir? fie upon him, he will discredit our mi [...]tery.

[23] "I think it juſt worth while to obſerve," ſays dr. Warburton, "that the word mystery, when uſed to ſignify a trade or manual profeſſion, ſhould be ſpelt [ſpelled] with an i, and not a y, becauſe it comes not from the Greek [...], but from the French mestier."

If it were worth the learned prelates while to make this obſervation, it may be worth the while of an inferior perſon to contradict it. For, ingenious as the distinction may ſeem, and implicitly as it has been adopted, there is not the ſmalleſt authority for it, unleſs the great critics dogmatical aſſertion may be termed ſo. He doubtleſs thought that the word mystery was too ſublime and ſacred to be mixed with the profane and vulgar ideas of baſe mechanicals; and that ſuch vile objects as trades and manual profeſſions ought not to participate in the uſe of a name ſet apart for the inexplicable ſolemnities of Christianity. But the truth is, that the word, in its higheſt or loweſt acceptation, means no more or leſs than the ſecret or arcana of any CRAFT, civil or religious; in faith or in works; and whether we are talking of the mystery of the Bleſsed Trinity, or the mystery of the Barber-Surgeons, we mean one and the ſame word, from mystere, Fr. (of which mestier is only a corruption) mysterium, Lat. [...], Gr. Mystery ſhould, therefor, be reſtored to the text; whence it was the more unwarrantably ejected, even according to the right reverend fathers hypotheſis, as it there ſignifies neither trade nor manual profeſſion.

p. 122.
Clown.

—Maſter Forthright the tilter.

The old copy, ſays dr. Johnſon, reads Forthlight, but this he conjectured ſhould be Forthright, alluding to the line in which the thruſt is made. And, as he had it in [24]his power to alter the text,—ſo the text was altered. Forthlight may, nevertheleſs, be the true reading; certainly, it ſhould not have been ſo haſtyly displaced. It, probably enough, contains an alluſion to the fencers threat of making the light ſhine through his antagoniſt.

p. 123.
Barnar.

—What are you?

Clown.

Your friends, fir; the hangman.

This ſhould be, either—your friend, ſir; the hangman; or —your friends, ſir; the hangmen.

p. 124.
Duke.
Unfit to live or die: oh, gravel heart!
After him fellows; bring him to the block.

The duke is wonderfully conſistent: not three lines below he calls the priſoner; ‘A creature unprepar'd, unmeet for death;’ and ſays, that

— to transport him in the mind he is
Were damnable.
p. 130.
Ang.
—But that her tender ſhame
Will not proclaim againſt her maiden loſs,
How might ſhe tongue me? Yet reaſon dares her? no:
For my authority bears a credent bulk,
That no particular ſcandal once can touch,
But it confounds the breather.

Though all the editors and commentators differ about the meaning of this paſſage, and even dr. Johnſon is not aſhamed to ſay that he has nothing to offer worth inſertion, yet, ſurely, there is no ſuch amazing difficulty in it. [25]mr. Upton, and mr. Upton onely, has given the true and apparent ſenſe. The following are his own words, which dr. Johnſon, as he did not underſtand the paſſage, and, conſequently, their value, has been pleaſed to mutilate: Were it not for her maiden modeſty, how might the lady proclaim my guilt? Yet (you'll ſay) ſhe has reaſon on her ſide, and that will make her dare to do it. I think not; for my authority is of ſuch weight, &c.

p. 170.
Duke.
—I'll limit thee this day,
To ſeek thy help by beneficial help.

Thus, indeed, the old editions; but we ſhould certainly read life.

p. 199.
Bal.
For ſlander lives upon ſucceſſion;
For ever hous'd where't gets poſſeſſion.

On conſulting the firſt folio, ſays mr. Steevens, I found the ſecond line had been lengthened out by the modern editors, who read: ‘For ever hous'd where it once gets poſſeſſion.’ I have therefore, adds he, referred it to its former meaſure.

If this ingenious gentleman had conſulted the ſecond folio he might have perceived that the line had not been lengthened, nor, indeed, touched, by the modern editors.

p. 203.
S. Ant.

Let love, being light be drowned if he ſink.

The old editions read ſhe. But "I know not," ſays mr. Steevens, "to whom the pronoun ſhe can be referred. I have made no ſcruple to remove a letter from it." It would not, however, have been amiſs, if the ingenious critic had been ſomewhat more ſcrupulous on the [26]occaſion: as there need be little doubt to whom the pronoun ſhe can be referred. i. e. to Love (Venus). Thus, in the old ballad of The Spaniſh Lady:

I will ſpend my days in prayer,
Love and all her laws defy.

COMEDY OF ERRORS.

p. 218.
Adr.
Tell me was he arreſted on a band
S. Dro.
Not on a band but on a ſtronger thing.
A chain, a chain.

Band is here rightly preſerved, but it is pleaſant enough to mark the conſistency of the editors, who make a merit of reſtoring it from bond, which, they obſerve, is in the old editions, and was formerly ſpelled band. The word porpentine appears throughout all the old copies, and in many contemporary writers; but this they have moderniſed to porcupine. The affirmative I, always uſed by Shakſpeare and others, has been likewiſe changed to ay, and frequently to the injury of both ſenſe and rime. A number of words in every play are in the ſame predicament. And even this identical word band is elſewhere turned into band. Happy Shakſpeare!

A band, Mr. Steevens obſerves, is likewiſe a neckcloth; and on this circumſtance, he believes, the humour of the paſſage turns. But the ingenious gentleman is under a double mistake. A band is not, nor ever was, a neckcloth, though, certainly, an appendage to the neck. Neither does the humour of the paſſage turn upon any ſuch alluſion; for there would be very little humour in it, if it [27]did. Adriana means a written band, and Dromio quibbles upon a hempen one.

p. 223.
Cour.

—Will you go with me? we'll mend our dinner here.

S. Dro.

Maſter, if you do expect ſpoon-meat, or beſpeak a longer ſpoon.

Or, ſays Mr. Steevens, which modern editors have thrown out of the text, ſignifies before. But the paſſage is wrong pointed. And the or is a mistake for and. We ſhould read thus:

Cour.

—We'll mend our dinner here

S. Dro.

Maſter, if you do, expect ſpoon-meat, and beſpeak a long ſpoon.

Mr. Steevenses remark does not ſeem much to the purpoſe.

p. 233.
Abb.
— What doth enſue,
But moody and dull melancholy,
Kinsman to grim and comfortleſs deſpair
And at her heels, a hunge infectious troop,
Of pale distemperature, and foes to life?

Shakſpeare, ſays dr. Warburton, could never make melancholy a male in one line, and a female in the next, he therefor boldly pronounces the line the fooliſh inſertion of the firſt editors; as if ſuch fools could write as well as Shakſpeare.

Mr. Heath, in his fancyful way, propoſes a different reading, while mr. Steevens is contented with ridiculing the preciſeneſs and affectation of master Capell.

But, after all, the text is very clear and intelligible, and certainly right. Kinsman means no more than near relation. Many words are uſed by Shakſpeare with much greater latitude.

p. 238.
[28]
Meſſ.
Mistreſs, —
He cries for you, and vows, if he can take you,
To ſcorch your face, and to disfigure you.

Dr. Warburton would read ſcotch. But mr. Steevens defends the preſent reading (which is certainly the true one), and ſays that Antipholis would have puniſhed her as he had puniſhed the conjurer before. He had ſinged the conjurers beard off: Mr. Steevens ſhould have informed us how he it was to puniſh his wife in the ſame manner.

p. 242.
Aegeon.
Oh! grief hath chang'd me, ſince you ſaw me laſt;
And careful hours, with times deformed hand,
Have written ſtrange defeatures in my face.

Defeature, ſays dr. Johnſon, is the privation of feature. The meaning, adds he, is, time hath cancelled my features. It is no uncommon thing to find the author and his commentator of different opinions; What ſays Aegeon? Why that Time had written defeatures in his face, i. e. given them to him. As to the commentators theirſelves, it is ſo very rarely we meet them agreeing, that it is no wonder to find mr. Steevens explaining defeatures by undoings, miscarriages, misfortunes, from defaire, Fr. So that the meaning, according to this ingenious gentleman, will be, Time hath written in my face ſtrange undoings. But defeatures are certainly neither more nor leſs than features; as demerits are neither more nor leſs than merits. Time, ſays Aegeon, hath placed new and ſtrange features in my face;—i. e. given it quite a different appearance; [...]no wonder therefor thou do'ſt not know me.

Ibi.
[29]
Aegeon.
I am ſure thou doſt.
E. Dro.
Ay, ſir?
But I am ſure I do not; and whatſoever
A man denies you are now bound to believe him.

In the two old folios the paſſage ſtands, and rightly, thus:

Aegeon. I am ſure thou doſt.
E. Dro. I, ſir?
But I am ſure I do not, &c.

I is here—not the adverb, but—the perſonal pronoun.

One great excellence of modern commentators conſiſts in the art of discovering neglected puns. It is ſome wonder therefor that this of Dromio ſhould eſcape them. The reader will remember that Aegeon is actually in bonds.

p. 244.
Duke.

Beſides her urging of her wreck at ſea.

This, mr. Steevens obſerves, is one of Shakſpeares overſights. The abbeſs has not ſo much as hinted at the ſhipwreck. Perhaps, indeed, adds he, this and the next ſpeech ſhould change places.

That however would ſcarcely remove the difficulty: the next ſpeech is Aegeons. Both it and the following one ſhould precede the dukes; or there is, poſſibly, a line loſt.

p. 266.
Bene.

—Let him him be clap'd on the ſhoulder, and call'd Adam.

"Adam Bell," ſays dr. Johnſon, "was a companion of Robin Hood, as may be ſeen in Robin Hoods garland; in which, if I do not mistake," adds he, "are theſe lines:

[30]
"For he brought Adam Bell, and Clim of the clough,
"And William of Cloudeſlee,
"To ſhoot with our foreſter for forty mark,
"And our foreſter beat them all three."

In anſwer to this it may be obſerved, 1. That Adam Bell was not a companion of Robin Hood; 2. That it cannot be ſeen in Robin Hoods garland; 3. That the lines quoted prove neither the one nor the other, as they do not relate to Robin Hood. It is peculiarly unfortunate that the leraned critic ſhould be moſt mistaken where he is moſt confident.

MUCH ADO ABOUT NOTHING.

p. 271.
John.

I had rather be a canker in a hedge; than a roſe in his grace.

A canker, dr. Johnſon tells, is the canker-roſe, dog-roſe, cyn [...]b [...]ſius, or hip. But the word canker ſhould rather ſeem to be uſed here, as it is in various other places, for the worm which preys upon flowers; a metamorphoſis ſuited to the ma [...]ignancy of the ſpeakers dispoſition.

Thus in the Two Gentlemen of Verona:

— as in the ſweeteſt bud
The eating-canker dwells

Again, in the ſame play:

— as the moſt forward bud
Is eaten by the canker, ere it blow.

"Mallet alias Malloch," in his beautyful ballad of William and Margaret, has made a fine uſe of this idea.

[31]
But love had, like the canker-worm,
Conſum'd her early prime;
The roſe grew pale, and left her cheek;—
She dy'd before her time.

It occurs likewiſe in the Midſummer Nights Dream: ‘Some to kill cankers in the muſk-roſe buds.’

Again, in the ſame play: ‘O me! you jugler! oh! you canker-bloſſom!

Upon which mr. Steevens obſerves, that canker bloſſom is not, in this place, the bloſſom of the canker or wild-roſe, which our author alludes to in Much ado about Nothing, act I. ſc. vi. [the preſent text] but a worm that preys on the leaves or buds of flowers, always beginning in the middle." And the ingenious critic is certainly right in his expoſition of the words canker-bloſſom; but it may be ſafely affirmed that if they mean not the wild-roſe, canker, neither in the text, nor any where elſe, does.

We meet with it again in the Firſt Part of Hen. IV.

O that this good bloſſom could be kept from cankers.
And plant this thorn, this canker, Bolingbroke.

In this laſt paſſage it undoubtedy means what mr. Steevens explains it to be; the wild-roſe; which it does not in the following:

Hath not thy roſe a canker, Somerſet? 1 Hen. 6.

p. 293.
Pedro.
See you where Benedick hath hid himſelf?
Claud.
O very well, my lord; the muſick ended,
We'll fit the kid-fox with a pennyworth.

i. e. ſays dr. Grey, we'll be even with the fox now discovered.

So, adds he, the word kid, or kidde, ſignifies in Chaucer. [32]To which mr. Steevens does not diſſent; except by hinting that if any future editor ſhould chooſe to read hid ſox, he may obſerve that Hamlet has ſaid—"Hide fox and all after."

A kid fox ſeems to be no more than a young fox, or cub.

p. 329.
Dogb.

Go, good partner, get you to Francis Seacoal, bid him bring his pen and inkhorn, &c.—here's that ſhall drive ſome of them to a non-com.

Master Seacoals name, in act III. ſc. iii. is George. By non-com Dogberry means to ſay non-plus.

p. 345.
Dogb.

Maſters, it is proved already that you are little better than falſe knaves, and it will go near to be thought ſo ſhortly; how anſwer you for yourſelves?

Cour.

Marry, ſir, we ſay, we are none.

Dogb.

A marvellous witty fellow, I aſſure you; but I will go about with him. Come hither, ſirrah; a word in your ear, ſir; I ſay to you, it is thought you are ſalſe knaves.

Bora.

Sir, I ſay to you, we are none.

Dogb.

Well, ſtand aſide.—'Fore God they are both in a tale; —have you writ down they are none?

"This is an admirable ſtroke of humour: Dogberry ſays of the priſoners that they are falſe knaves, and from that denial of the charge, which one in his wits could not but be ſuppoſed to make, he infers a communication of counſels, and records it in his examination as an evidence of their guilt." SIR J. HAWKINS.

It is with infinite reluctance that the writer finds hisſelf obliged to differ in opinion from the learned magistrate, who, from his having ſo long and ſo ably preſided upon [33]ſimilar occaſions, muſt, no doubt, be perfectly acquainted with the nature of a judicial proceſs.

That there is infinite humour in the paſſage is very true; and that the ingenious commentator has not discovered it is equally ſo; the ſentiments and conduct of master Dogberry being the direct reverſe of what he ſuppoſes them to be. We clearly perceive that in this examination Dogberry takes all the precaution poſſible to come at the truth; he charges them ſeverally with being falſe knaves; he takes the utmoſt care that they ſhall have no communication of counſels, in order to concert a joint defence, by onely whiſpering to one, what he had before aſked in the hearing of both; he is, therefore, aſtoniſhed to find them both in a tale, and directs it to be recorded, as a proof of their innocence,—that they are no knaves:—becauſe they had both told him ſo.

This is the more evident from the behaviour of the ſexton; who, in mr. Steevenses opinion, and he ſeems perfectly right, ſhews as much good ſenſe on the occaſion as any judge upon the bench could do, and who immediately tells Dogberry, that he goes not the way to examine, and that he muſt call the watch, &c.

If the learned annotator will amend his comment, by omitting the word guilt, and inſerting the word innocence, it will (except as to the ſuppoſed inference of a communication of counſels which ſhould be likewiſe omitted or corrected) be a juſt and pertinent remark.

p. 349.
Leon.
If ſuch a one will ſmile and ſtroke his beard;
And, ſorrow wag! cry; hem, when he ſhould groan.

By the two full pages of note-work upon this paſſage there ſhould ſeem to be ſome difficulty in it. Be it what it will, however, it is left juſt as it was found. Every [34]editor and commentator has offered his proper lection, and therefor here's a new one to increaſe the number. ‘And, ſorrow waggery, hem when he ſhould groan.’ i. e. ſorrow becoming waggery; or, converting ſorrow into waggery, hem, &c.

Surely this is at leaſt as good as—hallow wag, ſorrow wage, ſorrow gagge, ſorrowing, ſorry wag, &c. or even as the preſent text. The old editions uniſormly read, ‘And ſorrow, wagge, crie hem, &c. when he ſhould groan.’

p. 366.
Bene. Queſtion?

—why, an hour in clamour, &c.

i. e. ſays biſhop Warburton, "what a queſtion's there, or what a fooliſh queſtion you aſk." The learned prelate, one may eaſyly ſuppoſe, would not have heſitated to call a fine lady fool to her face: Benedick, it is to be hoped, had rather more politeneſs. The phraſe occurs frequently in Shakſpeare, and means no more than—you aſk a queſtion, or that is the queſtion.

p. 367.
Song. Pardon goddeſs of the night,
Thoſe that ſlew thy virgin knight,

Knight does not mean either follower or pupil, as dr. Johnſon ſays it does. The lady being a virgin, and her name Hero, ſhe is metonymically called one of Dianas knights; and what occaſion was there for a note upon this?

LOVES LABOUR LOST.

[35]
p. 387.
Coſt.

The manner of it is, he was taken with the manner.

Biron.

In what manner.

Coſt.

In manner and form following.

Dr. Warburtons note certainly proves the neceſſity of reading in the manner. With the manner, though undoubtedly the law phraſe and often made uſe of, is mere nonſenſe.

p. 391.
Arm.

Why, ſadneſs is one and the ſelf-ſame thing, dear imp.

This is ſpoken to his boy or page. Dr. Johnſon obſerves that Imp was anciently a term of dignity. Lord Cromwell, he ſays, in his laſt letter to Hen. VIII. prays for the imp his ſon. And what does that prove? The word literally means a graff, ſlip, ſcion or ſucker: and, by metonymy, comes to be uſed for a boy or child. The imp his ſon is no more than his infant ſon. It is now ſet apart to ſignify young fiends; as, "the devil and his imps."

p. 397.
Jaq.

Fair weather after you.

Dull.

Come, Jaquenetta away.

"Maid. Fair weather after you. Come Jaquenetta away.] Thus all the printed copies: but the editors have been guilty of much inadvertence. They make Jaquenetta and a maid enter; whereas Jaquenetta is the onely maid intended by the poet, and is committed to....Dull, to be conveyed....to the lodge in the park. This being the caſe, it is evident to demonſtration, that—Fair weather after you—muſt be ſpoken by Jaquenetta; and then that Dull ſays to her, [36] Come, Jaquenetta, away, as I have regulated the text. THEOBALD."

Mr. Theobald has endeavoured here to dignify his own industry by a very ſlight performance. The folios ALL read as he reads, except that inſtead of naming the perſons they give their characters, enter Clown, Conſtable, and Wench. JOHNSON."

There was no great occaſion for this evidence to prove the laſt learned commentator very little acquainted with the editions of which he ſpeaks with ſo much familiarity and confidence. The aſſertion in the note is untrue: NONE of the folios read as Theobald does: in the firſt of them the paſſage ſtands thus:

Maid.

Fair weather after you!

Clo.

[i. e Clown, Costard, not Conſtable.] Come Jaquee tta away.

In the ſecond and ſubſequent folios, thus:

Maid.
Fair weather after you.
Come Jaquenetta away.

Mr. Theobald does not appear to have inſpected the firſt folio: dr. Johnſon has, evidently, looked neither into that nor into any of the reſt.

p. 417.
Coſt.

My ſweet ounce of man's fleſh! my incony Jew!

Incony or kony, as dr. Warbarton ſays, in the North, ſignifies fine, delicate, as a kony thing, a fine thing. He would therefor read my incony jewel. But the truth is, that there is no ſuch expreſſion in the North as either kony. or incony. The word canny, which the people there uſe, and from which dr. Warburtons mistake may have ariſen, bears a variety of ſignifications, none of which is fine, delicate, [37]or applicable to a thing of value. Dr. Johnſons quotation by no means proves Jew to have been a word of endearment.

p. 444.
Hol.

Trip and go, my ſweet.

Theſe words are certainly part of an old popular ſong. There is an ancient muſical medley beginning Trip and go, hey!

p. 457.
King.
My love, her miſtreſs, is a gracious moon;
She an attending ſtar, ſcarce ſeen a light.

Something like this is a ſtanza of Sir Henry Wotton, of which the poetical reader will forgive the inſertion:

Ye ſtars, the train of night,
That poorly ſatisfy our eyes
More by your number than your light.
Ye common people of the ſkies,
What are ye when the ſun ſhall riſe?
JOHNSON.

The paſſage is certainly worth quoting, but one may venture to doubt whether the poetical reader will eaſyly pardon the inſertion of it in the inaccurate and corrupted ſtate in which the learned critic has been pleaſed to give it. For let us read what ſir Henry hisſelf ſays?

You meaner beauties of the night,
That poorly ſatisfy our eyes,
More by your number than your light:
You common people of the ſkies,
What are ye when the moon ſhall riſe?
p. 503.
[38]

Pageant of the Nine Worthies.] This ſort of proceſſion was the uſual recreation of our ancestors at Chriſtmas, and other festive ſeaſons. Such things, being chiefly plotted and compoſed by ignorant people, were ſeldom committed to writing, at leaſt with the view of preſervation, and are, of courſe, rarely discovered in the reſearches of even the moſt industrious antiquaries. And it is certain that nothing of the kind (except the ſpeeches in this ſcene, which were intended to burleſque them) ever appeared in print. The curious reader will not, therefor, be displeaſed to ſee a genuine ſpecimen of the poetry and manner of this rude and ancient drama from an original manuſcript of Edward the Fourths time. (MSS. Tanner. 407.)

IX. Wurthy.
Ector de troye.
Thow achylles in bataly me slow
Of my wurthynes men ſpeken J now.
Aliſander.
And in romaunce often am J leyt
As conquerour gret thow J ſeyt.
Julius Ceſar.
Thow my cenatoures me slow in collory
Fele londes by fore by conqueſt wan J.
Joſue.
In holy Chyrche ȝe mowen here & rede
Of my wurthynes and of my dede.
Dauit.
Aftyr yt slayn was golyas
By me the sawter than made was.
Judas macabeus.
Of my wurthyneſſe ȝyf ȝe wyll wete
Seche the byble for ther it is wrete.
Arthour.
The round tabyll J sette wt knyghtes ſtrong
Ȝyt shall J come aȝen thow it be long.
Charles.
With me dwellyd rouland olyvere
In all my Conqueſt fer and nere.
Godefrey de Boleyn.
[39]
And J was Kyng of Jheruſalem
The crowne of thorn J wan fro hem.

In another part of the ſame MS. are preſerved different ſpeeches, for three of theſe worthies, which have moſt probably, belonged to a distinct pageant.

Arto.r
Lo Kyng Artor ful manly and ful wyſe
Whan he ſlow gurnard & alle his cheff ches
ccc was ſlayne as J vnderſtonde
And yet is he levand in a nother londe.
Charlys.
Charlys the cheeff of Romannys and emꝑor
Kyng of paynemnys and conquerour
iij. relekys he browte into frauns
for ihūs love ſufferyd penanns
Davyd.
I am Kyng Davyd that in my lyff
LV maydenys & wyffyves J had at my wylle
And afterward whan golyas was ſtyntyd of ſtryff
I made the sawter my mercy to fullfyll.

Sometimes, it ſhould ſeem, that theſe things were in a more dramatic form (i. e. dialogue-wiſe); and, indeed, it is here that we muſt look for the true Origin of the Engliſh ſtage. Behold a champion, who gives a univerſal defiance: (MSS. Harl. 1197. very old.)

I ame a knight[t]e
And menes to fight
And armet well ame I
Lo here I ſtand
With ſwerd ine hand
My manhoud for to try.

[40]The challenge is inſtantly accepted:

Thow marciall wite
That menes to fight
And ſete vppon me ſo
Lo heare J ſtand
With ſwrd in hand
To dubbelle eurey bloue.

Here would neceſſaryly enſue a combat with the backſword or cudgel, to the great entertainment, as well as inſtruction of the applauding croud. Poſſibly it ſerved to conclude the pageant inſtead of an epilogue, and not improperly. Such exhibitions, however rude and ſimple they may appear to the more refined taſte of the preſent age, were admirably adapted to that warlike and manly ſpirit in our uncultivated ancestors, which procured them the glories of conqueſt abroad, and the bleſsings of ſieedom at home.

p. 480.
Boy.
They — are apparel'd thus,
Like Muscovites, or Ruſſians.

"The ſettling commerce in Ruſſia was, at that time, a matter that much ingroſsed the concern and converſation of the publick. There had been ſeveral embaſſies employed thither on that occaſion; and ſeveral tracts of the manners and ſtate of that nation written: ſo that a maſk of Muscovites was as good an entertainment to the audience of that time, as a coronation has been ſince. WARBURTON."

All this may be very true, but the learned commentator might have discovered that a maſk of Muscovites was no uncommon recreation at court long before our authors time. In the firſt year of king Henry the eighth, at a banquet made for the foreign ambaſſadors in the parliament chamber at Weſtminſter, "came the lorde Henry, Erle of W [...]ltſhire, [41]and the lorde Fitzwater, in twoo long gounes of yelowe ſatin, trauarſed with white ſatin, and in euery ben of white, was a bend of crimoſen ſatin after the ſaſhiō of Ruſſia or Ruſlande, with furred hattes of grey on their hedes, either of them hauyng an hatchet in their handes, and bootes with pykes turned vp." Hall. Hen. VIII. fo. 6, b. This extract may ſerve to convey an idea of the dreſs uſed, upon the preſent occaſion, by the king and his lords, at the performance of the play.

p. 523.

Dr. Warburtons note upon the old Romances.] The learned prelate has received ſuch a complete dreſsing, from the hand of a master, in the Supplement, that there is neither occaſion nor opportunity for any further remark. At the foot of this page, however, there is a note, by the celebrated dr. Percy, which ſeems to deſerve ſome little attention; and the more ſo, as it is countenanced by the very ingenious gentleman alluded to, who has either not been aware of its fallacy, or, from private motives, forborn to expoſe it.

Dr. Warburton," ſays this redoubted critic, "is quite mistaken in deriving Oliver from (Palmerin de) Oliva, which is utterly incompatible with the genius of the Spaniſh language." So that, from his thus recurring to etymology, he clearly appears to be not a whit better acquainted with the history than dr. Warburton was. "The old romance," continues he, "of which Oliver was the hero, is entitled in Spaniſh, "Historias de los nobles Cavalleros Oliveros de Caſtilla, y Artus de Algarbe, in fol. en Valladolid, 1501, in fol. en Sevilla, 1507;" and in French thus, "Hiſtoire d'Olivier de Castille, & Aitus d'Algarbe ſon loyal compagnon, & de Heleine, Fille au Roy d'Angleterre, [42]&c. tranſlatée du Latin, par Phil. Camus, in fol. Gothique."

From ſo much ſeeming knowlege, from the annotators great credit, and from his very confident aſſertions, who would be foreward to ſuſpect his ignorance, or doubt his veracity? But it is even ſo; he knows no more of the history which he quotes with ſo much parade, than biſhop Warburton knew of Amadis or Palmerin; with either of which the ſtory of Oliver the Paladin has juſt as much connection as it has with the history of Oliver of Castile and Arthur of Algarbe. With reſpect to the above French and Spaniſh titles, they are literally tranſcribed from Freſnoy. And ſo much for dr. Percys acquaintance with old romances.

VOLUME THE THIRD.

MIDSUMMER NIGHTS DREAM.

p. 26.
Puck.
A lovely boy, ſ [...]ol'n from an Indian king,
She never had ſo ſweet a changeling.

Change [...]ing, ſays dr. Johnſon, is commonly uſed for the child ſuppoſed to be left by the fairies, but here for the child taken away.

And it is here properly uſed, and in its common acceptation; that is, for the child got in exchange. Dr. Johnſon will recollect that a Fairy is now ſpeaking.

p. 30.
Puck.
The wiſeſt aunt telling the ſaddeſt tale,
Some time for three-foot ſtool mistaketh me.

[43] Aunt, mr. Steevens ſays, is a procureſs, and the wiſeſt aunt, adds he, may mean the moſt ſentimental bawd.

But this conjecture is much too wanton, and injurious to the word aunt, which, in this place at leaſt, certainly means no other than an innocent old woman.

p. 35.
Ob.

The human mortals want their winter here.

Shakſpeare, ſays mr. Steevens, might have employed this epithet (human mortals), which, at firſt, appears redundant, to mark the difference between men and ſairies. Fairies, adds he, were not human, but they were yet ſubject to mortality. This however does not by any means appear to have been the caſe. Oberon, Titania, and Puck never dye; the inferior agents muſt neceſſaryly be ſuppoſed to enjoy the ſame privilege; and the ingenious commentator may rely upon it, that the oldeſt woman in England never heard of the death of a Fairy. Human mortals is, notwithſtanding, evidently put in oppoſition to Fairies, who partook of a middle nature between men and ſpirits. Puck in a ſubſequent ſcene ſays, ‘Lord, what fools theſe mortals be.’

p. 68.
Puck.
The ſhalloweſt thick-ſkin of that barren ſort,
Who Pyramus preſented in their ſport,
Forſook his ſcene and enter'd in a brake:
When I did him at this advantage take,
An aſs's nowl I fixed on his head;
Anon his Thisby muſt be anſwered,
And forth my minnock comes.

Minnock, dr. Johnſon ſays, is the reading of the old quarto, and, he believes, right. Minnekin, adds he, now [44] minx, is a nice trifling girl! The folio, according to mr. Steevens, reads mimmick; perhaps for mimick, a word more familiar than that exhibited by one of the 4tos, for the other reads minnick. After all minnock, mimmick, and minnick, are onely, perhaps, misprints for mommock, which comes nearly to the ſame letters, and ſignifies a huge misſhapen thing; and is very properly applyed by a Fairy to a clumſy over-grown clown. Minnekin is evidently a corruption of mannekin or manikin, properly mankin 4, a little man. Dr. Johnſon is ſo very imperfectly acquainted with the nature and derivation of the Engliſh language (and, in that reſpect, his dictionary, how valuable ſoever it may be on account of the explanation and uſe of Engliſh words, is beneath contempt; there being ſcarcelyten words properly deduced in the whole work), that it is no wonder to find him making minnekin and minx the ſame word. But minnekin does not mean a nice trifling girl: and, though a ſubſtantive, is oftener uſed adjectively, than otherwiſe: ſo in Midas (not John Lylies): "My minikin miſs 5." The ſmalleſt ſized pins are likewiſe called minnekin or minikin pins. So Jerry Sneak, citizen and pin-maker, in the Mayor of Garrat:—"as if I had been ſeeking for one of my own minikins 6." As mankin got changed into minnekin, a little man, ſo they formed minnekineſs a little woman, a girl; which has ſince, by corruption, become minx. Thus Laddeſs (Ladeſs), from Lad, has, by a ſimilar progreſs, become Laſs.

p. 69.
Pack.

And at our ſtamp here o'er and o'er one falls.

Dr. Johnſon labours hard to prove this to be a vicious reading: "Fairies, ſays he, are never repreſented ſtamping, [45]or of a ſize that ſhould give force to a ſtamp, nor could they have distinguiſhed the ſtamps of ſuch from thoſe of their own companions." He, therefor, reads: ‘And at a ſtump here o'er and o'er one falls.’

To prove, however, that Fairies could ſtamp, mr. Steevens produces a paſſage from Olaus Wormius. He need not have gone ſo much out of his way: honeſt Reginald Scot could have informed him, that our "grandams maides were woont to ſet a boll of milke before 'Incubus' and his couſine Robin good-fellow, for grinding of malt or muſtard, and ſweeping the houſe at midnight: and....that he would chaſe exceedingly, if the maid or good-wife of the houſe, hauing compaſſion of his nakednes, laid anie clothes for him, beeſides his meſſe of white bread and milke, which was his ſtanding ſee. For in that caſe he faith; What haue we here? Hemton hamten, here will I neuer more tread nor ſtampen." Discouerie of witchcraſt. 1584. p. 85.

p. 70.
Her.
If thou haſt ſlain Lyſander in his ſleep,
Being o'er ſhoes in blood, plunge in the deep,
And kill me too.

"An alluſion to the proverb, over ſhoes, over boots. JOHNSON."

"Excellent i'faith! Why this is the beſt fooling after all!"

p. 78.
Hel.
We, Hermia, like two artificial gods,
Have with our neelds created both one flower.

All the old editions, it ſeems, read needles. But mr. Steevens has altered it to neelds, as, he ſays, "it was probably written by Shakſpeare."

[46] The learned critic has made the ſame innovation in another place, and quoted this very paſſage, as genuine, to justify the change: and yet, where the word candleſticks was a ſyllable too much, and the old editions read canſticks, which rendered the meaſure perfect, and was ſupported by the authority of many ancient authors, he has continued candleſticks in the text!

Puck.
Ho, ho, ho! coward, why comeſt thon not?

It may be remarked that this exclamation is peculiar to Puck. In the old ſong, printed by Peck, in which he relates all his gambols, he concludes every verſe with Ho, ho, ho! He here forgets his aſſumed character.

p. 100.
Hel.
So me thinks:
And I have found Demetrius like a jewel
Mine own, and not mine own.

Inſtead of jewel, dr. Warburton would read gemel, a twin; which dr. Johnſon calls an ingenious emendation that deſerves to be true. But dr. Warburton is in evident confuſion about the paſſage. He makes Helena compare her lover to ſomething which had the property of appearing one thing when it was another: not the property ſure, he cries, of a jewel! In reality, however, Helena makes no ſuch compariſon, and the learned critic wilfully misſtates her words to, found his ingenious emendation (as every fooliſh and impertinent propoſal is, by the courteſy of editors, intitled): She ſays that ſhe has found Demetrius, as a perſon finds a jewel, or thing of great value, in which his property is ſo precarious as to make it uncertain whether it belongs to him or not.

p. 101.
[47]
Bot.

—I will get Peter Quince to write a ballad of this dream: —and I will ſing it in the latter end of a play, before the duke: Peradventure, to make it the more gracious, I ſhall ſing it at her death.

Inſtead of a play, we ſhould certainly read the play (i. e. that which they were about to perform). At her death is very judiciously corrected by mr. Theobald to after death; and ſo ſhould have been here printed.

p. 105.
The.

— Call Philoſtrate.

In the folio, 1623, ſays mr. Steevens, it is—Call Egeus, and all the ſpeeches ſpoken by Philoſtrate, are there given to that character. If the ingenious commentator will take the trouble to look into either folio, at the ſpeech beginning,

No, my noble lord,
It is not for you,

he will find that all the ſpeeches here ſpoken by Philoſtrate are not there given to Egeus.

p. 107. n.

Mr. Steevens is, certainly, mistaken in aſſigning Spenſers death to Dublin. He dyed in King-ſtreet, Weſtminſter, and was buryed in Weſtminſter-abbey.

p. 110.

Enter Pyramus and Thisbe, &c. There is an old pamphlet, containing the history of this amourous pair, in lamentable verſe, by one Dunſtan Gale, which appears to have been printed in 1596; and may, not improbably, befound the but of Shakſpeares ridicule in ſome parts of this interlude.

p. 116.
[48]
Lion.
Then know, that I, as Snug the joiner, am
A lion fell, nor elſe no lions dam.

The folio reads:

Then know that I one Snug the joiner am
A lion fell nor elſe no lions dam.

This (i. e. A lion fell), ſays mr. Steevens, not agreeing with the remainder of the ſpeech, the modern editors have altered it into—no lion fell. Had they, continues he, conſulted the quarto, 1600, it would have ſet them right.

Then know that I, as Snug the joyner, am
A lion fell, nor elſe no lyons dam.

A reading which this ingenious gentleman has accordingly adopted. It is, nevertheleſs, certainly wrong, and that of the folio is certainly right.

At the rehearſal of the play, leſt "the ladies ſhould be afear'd of the lion," being, as Bottom obſerves, "the moſt fearful wild fowl living," it was ſettled, that there ſhould be a prologue to tell, that Snug, who was to perform this terrible part, was not a lion; his name was, likewiſe, to be named, and half his face ſeen through the lions neck; through which he was, moreover, to ſpeak, "ſaying thus, or to this defect,—Ladies, &c. If you think I come hither as a lion, it were pity of my life: no, I am no ſuch thing; I am a man as other men are:"—and there, indeed, he was "to name his name; and tell them plainly he 'was' Snug the joiner." This prologue he is now delivering; but the paſſage muſt be read and pointed thus; the ſenſe and meaning being ſtrangely misconceived and misrepreſented by the preſent editors:

Then know, that I one Snug the joiner am;
A lion fell nor elſe no lions dam:
For if I ſhould as lion come in ſtrife
Into this place, 'twere pity of my life.

[49] That is, I am neither lion nor lioneſs, I am Snug the joiner. The text makes him declare that he is a lion, or comes as a lion, which is utterly inconſiſtent with the reſt of his ſpeech; defeats the very end and deſign of his prologue; and would have been enough ("God ſhield us!") to ſcare the ladies out of their wits. The uſe of the ſing [...]e negative with a double aſpect is common with our author and other ancient writers. Thus Fletcher, in his animated apoſtrophe to the memory of Spenſer:

O may that man that hath the Muſes ſcorn'd,
Alive nor dead be ever of a Muſe adorn'd 7.

The concluſion is, that "the modern editors," who read no, were perfectly right, in point of conſtruction, though the alteration was unneceſſary and improper.

Ibi.
Dem.

He dares not go there [i. e. into the lantern] for you ſee it is already in ſnuff.

Snuff, ſays dr. Johnſon, ſignifies both the cinder of a Gandle, and haſty anger.

So, in a Voyage to the Weſtern Islands:

"The hedges near Montroſe are of ſtone.

So, likewiſe, in a note upon the Firſt part of Hen. IV.

"The cuckows chickeu."

MERCHANT OF VENICE.

[50]
p. 149.
Shy.
Signior Anthonio, many a time and oft,
In the Rialto you have rated me
About my monies, and my uſances.

Uſe and uſance, mr. Steevens ſays, are both words anciently employed for uſury. And, to justify the explanation, he quotes the two following paſſages from an old play:

Give me my uſe, give me my principal.
A toy; the main about five hundred pounds,
And the uſe fifty.

But, after all, is he not mistaken? Uſe and uſance mean nothing more than intereſt. And the former word is ſtill uſed by country people in the ſame ſenſe. His own authorities prove this to be the ancient meaning. Give me my intereſt, give me my principal. The main (i. e. the principal) five hundred pounds, and the uſe fifty; i. e. intereſt at ten per cent, the legal rate in Shakſpeares time: when, perhaps, the word uſury itsſelf had a much more innocent meaning than has been ſince annexed to it. In the old ſong of Neptunes raging fury, or the gallant ſeamans ſufferings, it ſignifies onely a ſcrivener:

The lawyer and the uſurer,
That ſits in gowns of fur, &c.
p. 150.
Antho.
—For when did friendſhip take
A breed of barren metal of his friend.

[51] The quartos (mr. Steevens ſays) read—a breed of—the folio—a breed for,—The ingenious commentator has not, it ſeems, paid his uſual attention to the folios,—both which aſſuredly read of.

p. 159.
Laun.

I am Launcelot, your boy that was, your ſon that is, and your child that ſhall be.

The distinction between boy and ſon, dr. Johnſon ſagaciously remarks, is obvious, but child, adds he, ſeems to have had ſome meaning which is now loſt. Mr. Steevens ſuppoſes that, by your child that ſhall be, he means that his duty to his father ſhould in future ſhew him to be his child. There is not the leaſt difficulty in the paſſage. Launcelot is talking nonſenſe, or, as the vulgar have it, putting the cart before the horſe; but whether deſignedly or not is left to the contemplation of the critics. He means, however, to ſay, I was your child, I am your boy, and ſhall ever be your ſon.

p. 167.
Shy.
— thou ſhalt not gormandize
As thou haſt done with me.

"The word [gormandize] is very ancient, and took its riſe from a Daniſh king. The Danes, towards the latter end of the ninth century, were defeated by king Alfred at Edendon in Wiltſhire; and as an article of peace, Guthrum their king, commonly called Gurmond, ſubmitted to be baptized, king Alfred being his godfather, who gave him the name of Athelſtan, and took him for his adopted [52]ſon. During the ſtay of the Danes in Wiltſhire, "they conſumed their time in profuſeneſs, and belly-cheer, in idleneſs and ſloth. Inſomuch, that as from their lazineſs in general, we, e [...]en to this day, call them Lur-Danes; ſo from the licentiousneſs of Gurmond, and his army in particular, we brand all luxuricus and profuſe people, by the name of Gurmondizers." And this luxury, and this lazineſs, are the ſole monuments, the only memorials by which the Danes have made themſelves notorious to posterity, by being encamped in Wiltſhire. Vide, A Vindication of Stone-Heng reſtored, by John Webb, eſq. p. 227. [...]n Jonſon in his Sejanus, act. I.

"That great Gourmond, fat Apicius. G."

After ſuch a pompous display of learning, ſo ſtrangely introduced into the margin of Shakſpeare, how will this mr. G. (who has certainly ſhewed, if not judgement, at leaſt prudence, in concealing his name) be ſurpriſed to hear that there is not a ſingle j [...]t either of ſenſe or of truth from the beginning to the end of his laborious diſſertation! Gourmand, a glutton, and Gourmandiſe, glutro [...]y, whence Jon [...]ons Gourmond, and our gormandize are immediately taken, are common French words to be found in every dictionary; a [...]d Lurdane, properly l [...]urden, is derived from lourdin, or fal [...]urdin, a word of the ſame ſignification, in the ſame language, equally common. Either Gourmond or Lurdane, therefor, has no more (poſſibly, much leſs) connection with the ancient Danes, than it has with this ſame mr. G. the ſtructor of the above ingenious, but, alas! too eaſyly demoliſhed fabric,

p. 183.
[...]

Where is my lady?

P [...]r.

Here; what would my lord?

[53] "Would not this ſpeech to the ſervant be more proper in the mouth of Neriſſa? TYRWHITT."

No; very impertinent, in the preſence of her lady.

p. 293.
Sal.

I would it might prove the end of his loſſes!

Sala.

Let me ſay amen betimes, leſt the devil croſs thy prayer.

All the old copies read my prayer; but, ſays Warburton, the prayer was Salanios. The other onely, as clerk, ſays amen to it; he therefor changed it to thy prayer. The old reading, however, may be very right: Is not amen a prayer?

p. 207.
Por.

I could not do with all.

"For the ſenſe of the word do in this place, ſee a note on Meaſure for Meaſure, act I. COLLINS."

The converſation of even the higheſt ranks, was not, perhaps, in Shakſpeares time, over and above remarkable for its delicacy. But does the (real) commentator believe that a lady of Portias good ſenſe, high ſtation, and elegant manners, could ſpeak (or even think) ſo groſsly? It is impoſſible!

This obſervation, and others of the like nature, from the ſame hand, are, however, as the reader will perceive, ſtrictly within the canon.

"He (i. e. the profeſsed critic) may find out a bawdy, or immoral meaning in his author, where there does not appear to be any hint that way." Canon XII.

p. 214.
Shy.
And others, when the bagpipe ſings i'the noſe,
Cannot contain their urine; For affections,
[54] Masters of paſſion ſway it to the mood
Of what it likes or loath [...].

The reading of all the old editions is;

And others, when the bagpipe ſings i'th' noſe,
Cannot contain their urine for affection.
Masters of paſſion ſways it to the mood
Of what it likes or loaths.

Which is, ſurely, defenſible, though our candid editors have not been pleaſed to notice it. The meaning is that ſome men when they hear the ſound of a bagpipe are ſo affected therewith that they cannot retain their urine. For thoſe things which are masters over paſſion, make it like or loath whatever they will.

If ſways be objected to, it may be eaſyly altered to ſway. But there are above fifty inſtances in Shakſpeare, where a verb of the ſingular number is made to agree with a noun of the plural.

p. 216.
S [...]y.

Why he a woollen bagpipe.

It is not unuſual to ſee the large ſkin or bladder of a bagpipe covered with flannel; and, it is poſſible that Shakſpeare onely uſed the word as a deſcriptive epithet.

Dr. Johnſon ſuppoſes he wrote wooden;—ſir John Hawkins ſwelling or ſwollen. But any meaning is preferable to ſuch arbitrary violations of the text.

p. 228.
Por.

Shylock, there's thrice thy money offer'd thee.

Where, or by whom, is any ſuch offer made? Baſſanio, indeed, in anſwer to Portias question, if Anthonio were not able to discharge the money, ſays, [55]

Yes, here I tender it for him in the court;
Yea twice the ſum.

But nobody offers thrice the money. Either Portia mistook Baſſanios propoſal, or this is one of thoſe inaccuracies of the text which are now irremediable.

p. 228.
Duke.
For half thy wealth it is Anthonios;
The other half comes to the general ſtate,
Which humbleneſs may drive unto a fine.
Anth.
So pleaſe my lord the duke, and all the court,
To quit the fine for one half of his goods;
I am content; ſo be will let me have
The other half in uſe,—to render it,
Upon his death, unto the gentleman,
That lately ſtole his daughter.

The terms propoſed, ſays dr. Johnſon, have been misunderſtood. Anthonio declares, that as the duke quits one half of the forfeiture, he is likewiſe content to abate his claim, and deſires not the property but the uſe or produce only of the half, and that only for the Jews life, unleſs we read, as perhaps is right, upon my death.

How others have misunderſtood Anthonios terms, does not by this edition appear, and it might be policy in dr. Johnſon to ſuppreſs the account, for it is very clear that they are not underſtood by HIM. Anthonio tells the duke, that, if he will abate the fine for the ſtates half, he (Anthonio) will be contented to take the other, in truſt, after Shylocks death, to render it to his daughters husband. That is, it was, during Shylocks life, to remain at intereſt in Anthonios hands, and Shylock was to enjoy the produce of it. The preſent reading is perfectly right, clear, and intelligible. [56]And theſe trifling mistakes might teach even the greateſt critic ſome little diffidence upon ſimilar occaſions.

p. 234.
Laun.

Tell him there's a poſt come from my maſter, with his horn full of good news; my master will be here ere morning, ſweet ſoul.

Exit.
Ler.

Let's in, and there expect his coming.

Theſe two words, mr. Tyrwhitt obſerves, ſhould certainly be taken from the end of Launcelots ſpeech, and placed at the begining of the following ſpeech of Lorenzo. An excellent and happy remark. No alteration was ever more neceſſary, or more obvious. The two ſyllables thus misplaced, and which are utterly abſurd and inſenſible as they ſtand, are juſt wanting to make up the metre of the firſt line of Lorenzos ſpeech. The emendation is therefor unpardonably neglected.

p. 256.

P. 111. The Merchant of Venice.]—"A ballad is ſtill remaining on the ſubject of Romeo and Juliet, which by the date appears to be much older than Shakſpeares time. It is remarkable that all the particulars in which that play differs from the ſtory in Bandello, are found in this ballad."

Where is this ſame ballad to be found? Or who ever ſaw it? The information is—MR. WARTONS!

AS YOU LIKE IT.

p. 263.

Orlando. As I remember, Adam, it was on this faſhion bequeathed me: by will, but a poor thouſand ducats; and as thou fa [...]'ſt, charged my brother, on his bleſsing, to breed me well.

[57] Dr. Warburton would ſubſtitute my fath [...]r in the place of faſhion. Dr. Johnſon allows that the nominative my father is left out, but ſays it is ſo left out that the auditor inſerts it in ſpite of himſelf. An auditors underſtanding the intent of a ſpeech will not, however, ſupply the defects of its grammatical conſtruction. There is no neceſſity for omitting the word faſhion, but either my father, or (which is perhaps much better) the pronoun he ſhould be inſerted between faſhion and bequeathed. The paſſage ought, therefor, to be read and pointed thus: As I remember, Adam, it was on this faſhion he bequeathed me, by will, but a poor thouſand ducats, &c. The reader will perceive that it is onely the ſequel of a converſation which has commenced before the play.

p. 274.
Le Beau.

What colour, madam? how ſhall I anſwer you?

Roſ.

As wit and fortune will.

Clo.

Or as the destinies decree.

Cel.

Well ſaid, that was laid on with a trowel.

Laid on with a trowel, dr. Johnſon ſuppoſes to mean, "too heavy a maſs of big words, laid upon a ſlight ſubject." But mr. Steevens will have it to be a "proverbial expreſſion, generally uſed to ſignify a glaring falſhood." The doctor is not right, and the gentleman palpably wrong. It means a good round hit, thrown in without judgement or deſign. So, in Tony Lumpkin in Town, 1780.

"Tim, that was a daſh with the pound bruſh.
p. 270.
Oli.

Yet he's gentle;—of all ſorts enchantingly beloved.

Sorts, in this place, means ranks and degrees of men.

p. 336.
[58]
Aud.

Well, I am not fair; and therefore I pray the gods make me honeſt.

Clo.

Truly, and to caſt honesty away upon a foul ſlut, were to put meat into an unclean diſh.

Aud.

I am not a ſlut, though I thank the gods for my foulneſs.

Clo.

Well, praiſed be the gods for thy foulneſs, ſluttiſhneſs may come hereafter.

By foul, ſays Hanmer, is meant coy or frowning. Mr. Tyrwhitt rather believes it to be the rustic pronunciation of full, as if ſhe thanked the gods for a belly-full.

Audrey ſays ſhe is not fair (i. e. handſome), and therefor prays the gods to make her honeſt. The clown tells her that to caſt honesty away upon a foul ſlut (i. e. an ill favoured, dirty crecture) is to put meat in an unclean diſh. She replies, ſhe is no ſlut (no dirty drab), though, in her great ſimplicity, ſhe thanks the gods for her ſoulneſs (homelyneſs); i. e. for being as ſhe is. Well, adds he, praiſed be the gods for thy foulneſs, ſluttiſhneſs may come hereafter. Where can be the difficulty?

p. 361.
Roſ.

How ſay you now? Is it not paſt two o'clock, and here's much Orlando.

Thus, ſays mr. Steevens, the old copy. The modern editors, adds he, read, but without the leaſt authority: I wonder much, Orlando is not here.

This is ſenſe, however, which the old and preſent reading is not, though there was no neceſſity for ſo great an [...]teration to make it ſo. One might propoſe the following: ‘Is it not paſt two o'clock? and here's no Orlando.’

p. 378.
[59]
Clo.

We found our quarrel was upon the ſeventh cauſe.

So, ſays dr. Johnſon, all the copies; but it is apparent, adds he, from the ſequel, that we muſt read, the quarrel was not upon the ſeventh cauſe.

The propriety of this remark is very doubtfull. Jaques, a few ſpeeches after, aſks the clown, How he and his antagoniſt found the quarrel was upon the ſeventh cauſe. The clown ſays, upon a lye ſeven times remov'd; and thus explains it: 1. His dislike of the courtiers beard. 2. The courtiers retort courteous. 3. The quip modeſt. 4. The reply churliſh. 5. The reproof valiant. 6. The countercheek quarrelſome. 7. The lye circumſtantial. This may indeed be called the ſeventh cauſe, but it certainly is not a lye, ſeven times removed. Touchſtone is rather inaccurate in his calculations, but dr. Johnſons propoſal ſeems inadmiſſible. After all, it is not eaſy to conceive, how either the lye circumſtantial, or the lye direct could be a greater affront than the countercheck quarrelſome, which was ſimply thus:— YOU LYE!

TAMING OF THE SHREW.

p. 409.
Sly.

Am not I Christopher Sly, old Slys ſon of Burton-heath; Aſk Marian Hacket the fat ale-wife of Wincot, if ſhe know me not, &c.

Mr. Steevens ſuſpects that we ſhould read Barton-heath. Barton and Woodmancot, vulgarly Woncot, being both in Glousterſhire, near the reſidence of Justice Shallow. (The ingenious obſerver might have recollected William Viſor [60]of Wonc [...]t.) But the matter is fully cleared up by the celebrated mr. Warton, who poſitively aſſures us, that Wilnecotte is a village in Warwickſhire, with which Shakſpeare was well acquainted, near Stratford. That the houſe kept by our genial ho [...]ieſs, ſtill remains, but is at preſent a mill. A ſtranger to the chronology of mr. Wartons life would be apt to conclude, from this ſatisfactory information, that Shakſpeare and he had had many a merry meeting over a cup of our genial hoſteſses Warwickſhire ale; or how ſhould he ſuppoſe him to have come by ſuch a perfect knowlege of the houſe, our authors intimate acquaintance with it, and the character of its mistreſs? Burton Dorſet is a village in Warwickſhire.

p. 421.
Hor.

Sweet Bianca!—Happy man be his dole!

A proverbial expreſſion, mr. Steevens tells us, Dole being any thing dealt out or distributed. But what ſort of an explanation is this? The meaning is, let his portion or lot in life be that of a happy man.

p. 426.
Hor.
Alla noſtra caſa ben venuto,
Melto h [...]norato ſign [...]r mio Petruchio.

Surely the editors are ſufficiently acquainted with Italian to know that this name ſhould have been here printed Petru [...]is. Or do they intend it to be pronounced Petroukio?

p. 436.
Tra.
Tell me, I beſeech you, which is the readieſt way
To the houſe of ſignior Baptista Minola?
Gre.
He that has the two fair daughters.

"This [laſt] ſpeech, in the old copy, is given to Tranio. STEEVENS."

[61] A mistake: both folios give it to Biondello; and make Tranio anſwer him thus:—Even he Biondello. The text, however, ſeems properly corrected.

p. 438.
Gru.

O excellent motion! fellows let's be gone.

Gru. (Grumio) is here, perhaps by a misprint, put for Gre. (Gremio.)

p. 469.
Tra.
But, ſir, our love concerneth us to add
Her fathers liking.

The firſt folio, as mr. Tyrwhitt obſerves, reads; ‘But, ſir, love, &c.

Which he thinks ſhould be thus corrected: But, ſir, to her love, &c.’

This, however, is ſcarce grammar or even common ſenſe. The word her is alone ſufficient, and is, moſt likely, Shakſpeares own.

p. 483.

Pet. Where is the life that late I led —

A ſcrap of ſome old ballad. Ancient Pistol elſewhere quotes the ſame line. In an old black letter book intitled A gorgious Gallery of gallant Inuentions. Lon. 1578. 4to. is a ſong To the Tune of Where is the life that late I led.

p. 507.
Luc.

And what of all this?

Bion.

I cannot tell; expect they are buſied about a counterfeit aſſurance, &c.

[62] "I can make no ſenſe of expect. I rather believe this paſſage ſhould be read thus:—I cannot tell; except thus much; they are buſied, &c. TYRWHITT."

The ſecond folio confirms the propriety of this judicious emendation. The editors are perfectly inexcuſable for their negligence in not conſulting the old copies.

VOLUME THE FOURTH.

ALL'S WELL THAT ENDS WELL.

p. 50.
Clo.

As fit as Tibs ruſh for Toms forefinger.

It behoveth me here to remark that this abridged nominative, Tib, is, not as the great muſical knight opineth, a contraction of Tabitha, but is the diminutive of Iſabel. Moreover, the forefinger is not, as master Tollet conceiveth, the thumb, but that finger which is uſually placed next or neareſt thereunto. Meſeemeth, likewiſe, that our author hath here one of thoſe covert alluſions, divers of which my ſingular good friend M. Collins and myſelf have heretofore noted, and ſhall, Deo juvante, perſever to remark in our future lucubrations. AMNER.

p. 102.
Dia.

If I ſhould ſwear by Joves great attributes.

"In the print of the old folio, it is doubtful whether it be Jove's or Love's, the characters being not distinguiſhable. JOHNSON."

It is no wonder that the learned critic ſhould not have been able to distinguiſh between an 1 and an l, where he could not perceive the variation of whole words, and even [63]lines and ſpeeches. No one beſide hisſelf, however, could poſſibly have had a doubt about the matter, the two characters being as clearly different in the old editions as they are any where elſe.

But this is not the onely inſtance in which the ingenious commentator could not determine whether the word were love or Jove. He is at the ſame loſs in Troilus and Creſſida, (x. 87.) where the l is equally conſpicuous.

p. 127.
Clo.

O madam, yonder's my lord your ſon with a patch of velvet on's face; whether there be a ſcar under it, or no, the velvet knows, &c.

Count.

A fear nobly got,—is a good livery of honour.

The old editions give the latter ſpeech to Lafeu; from whom it has been taken without either acknowlegement or neceſſity.

TWELFTH NIGHT.

p. 160.
Mar.

My lady takes great exceptions to your ill hours.

Sir To.

Why, let her except before excepted.

This, ſays dr. Farmer, ſhould probably be, as before excepted: a ludicrous uſe of the formal law-phraſe. But the ingenious critic mìght have ſpared his remark, the formal law-phraſe being more uſually as in the text.

p. 185.
Vio.
She made good view of me; indeed ſo much,
That, ſure, methought her eyes had loſt her tongue.

[64] "Sure, ſays mr. Steevens, has been added to complete the verſe." It is very true: it was added by Shakſpeare.

p. 188.
Sir To.

— a ſtoop of wine.

i. e. a cup. So in Othello.

"Come lieutenant, I have a ſtoop of wine. STEEVENS.

Compare the following paſſage, and note (Hamlet, x. 4.)

King. Set me the ſtoups of wine upon the table.

"A ſtoup is a flaggon or bowl. STEEVENS."

This explanation may be right: Cup is certainly wrong.

p. 210.
Mar.

My purpoſe is, indeed, a horſe of that colour.

Sir And.

And your horſe now would make him an aſs.

Mar. Aſs

I doubt not.

Mr. Tyrwh [...]tt thinks that the conceit given to ſir Andrew, ſhews too quick an apprehenſion for him. He would therefor transfer it to ſir Toby. But does the ingenious critic imagine it probable that Maria would call ſir Toby an aſs?

p. 216.
Sir To.

Marry hang thee, brock.

A brock is certainly a badger; but Malvolio is not ſo called becauſe he is likely to be hunted and perſecuted like that animal (which, by the way, is never hunted). Neither is to badger a man, a phraſe for making a fool of him. Sir Toby uſes the word as a term of contempt, as if he had ſaid, hang thee, cur!—Out filth! to ſtink like a brock, being proverbial. To badger a man is to be perpetually plagueing him: the badger, from that ſpirit of humanity ſo prevalent in the Engliſh vulgar, being always baited to death.

p. 211.
[65]
Sir T [...]

—How now my nettle of India.

The old copy, mr. Steevens ſays, reads—mettle of India, which, he thinks, is probably the true reading. The change, he tells us, was made by mr. Rowe.

Nettle, however, as the learned commentator ought to have known, is the reading of the ſecond folio, and is indisputably right.

p. 231.
Sir To.

Challenge me the counts youth to fight with him.

This, mr. Tyrwhitt pronounces to be nonſenſe: he would have us read,—challenge me the counts youth; go, fight with him. But if any alteration be neceſſary, it ſhould be thus:—Challenge me the counts youth to fight with you. The text, however, is neither nonſenſical, nor difficult.

p. 247.
Sir To.

Why man he's a very devil; I have not ſeen ſuch a virago.

The word virago is certainly inapplicable to a man, a blustering hectoring fellow, as Sir Toby means to repreſent Viola; for he cannot poſſibly entertain any ſuſpicion of her ſex: but it is no otherwiſe ſo, than Rounceval is to a woman, meaning a terrible fighting blade; from Ronceval, or Roncesvalles, the famous ſcene of that fabulous combat with the Saracens,

When Charlemagne and all his Peerage fell,
By Fontarabia.
p. 249.
Sir To.

Nay if you be an undertaker, I am for you.

This, mr. Tyrwhitt believes a touch upon the times, in alluſion to certain perſons who in the reign of king James [66]the firſt, undertook to carry all the government meaſures ſmoothly through parliament. But what has Antonio ſaid or done that Sir Toby ſhould take him for a buſy member of the houſe of commons? He onely means to tell him that if he be an undertaker of, or intermeddler in other peoples quarrels, he (Sir Toby) is ready to take him up.

p. 261.
Clo.

What ſay you, ſir? I am ſhent for ſpeaking to you.

Shent, i. e. rated, ſcolded, abuſed. The two inſtances adduced by mr. Steevens give it a meaning quite foreign to the text.

p. 240.
Sir Toby.

Ay, biddy, come with me.

This ſeems to be a ſcrap of ſome old ſong, and ſhould be printed as ſuch. Did the editors underſtand it, that they have given us no annotation upon it? Biddy is the diminutive of Bridget.

p. 241.
Sir To.

— we will.....crown thee for a finder of madmen.

Dr. Johnſon thinks this phraſe an alluſion to witch-finders. But mr. Steevens pronounces it, a ſatire on thoſe coroners who ſo often bring in ſelf-murder, lunacy, to which title, he ſays, many other offences have to the full as juſt pretenſions. The obſervation is, however, ſcarcely pertinent, as it is not the officer, but the inqueſt that makes the return. And, perhaps, while ſuch inhuman, ſuch diabolical laws as the brutality of the moſt barbarous ages has annexed to the commiſſion of the above act, continue to disgrace the judicial ſystem of this country, even perjury itsſelf becomes a [67]virtue. Finders of madmen are thoſe who formerly acted under the writ De Lunatico inquirendo.

p. 246.
Sir To.

meddle you muſt, that's certain.

Meddle, mr. Steevens explains, mix; but it means to interfere, have to do with, concern ones ſelf, &c. as before explained.

p. 267.
Clo.

The bells of St. Bennet.

What neceſſity is there for accuſing Shakſpeare of any impropriety in this place. There muſt have been churches in Illyria, and how does dr. Johnſon know that none of them was dedicated to St. Bennet?

p. 278.
Oli.
A moſt extracting frenzy of mine own,
From my remembrance clearly baniſh'd his.

i. e. ſays dr. Warburton, a frenzy that drew me away from every thing but its own object. But mr. Malone, ever ſtudious to preſerve his authors text, till ſome example is produced of the word being uſed in the above ſenſe, ſhould wiſh to read distracting, which he very modeſtly conjectures to have been the original word. If dr. Warburton had conſidered his explanation a ſingle moment, he would undoubtedly have given it right, i. e. a frenzy that drew every object but one out of my memory.

Ibid.
Clo.

An your ladyſhip will have it [i. e. Malvolios letter] as it ought to be, you muſt allow vox.

[68] "I am by no means certain," ſays mr. Steevens, "that I underſtand this paſſage." The learned editors diffidence muſt, therefor, apologiſe for his having mistaken it: the meaning is, nevertheleſs, very ſimple.

If your ladyſhip, ſays the Clown, will have this letter read as it ſhould be, you muſt allow me the full and proper uſe of my voice. She had juſt checked him for bawling too loud, which he tells her is the right method of reading a madmans letter.

WINTERS TALE.

p. 305.
Leo.
lower meſses
Perchance are to this buſineſs purblind.

Meſs, ſays dr. Johnſon, is a contraction of master, as Meſs John, master John; an appellation uſed by the Scots, to thoſe who have taken their academical degree. Lower meſses, therefor, adds he, are graduates of a lower form. Mr. Steevens, however, believes that lower meſses is onely uſed to ſignify the loweſt [lower] degrees about the court. A conjecture in which he ſeems to be as right, as dr. Johnſon is certainly wrong: the word meſs, as Meſs John, neither being any contraction of master, nor having the remoteſt alluſion to academical degrees. It is merely the Scotiſh pronunciation of Maſs, and is only applyed, in vulgar language, to the prieſt or minister.

p. 311.
Cam.

I have lov'd thee

Leo.

Make that thy question, and go rot.

[69] Nothing can be more obvious than that the words here put into the mouth of Camillo really belong to Leontes, whom he neither does nor could addreſs with ſo much familiarity. But we are under no neceſſity to agree with mr. Tyrwhitt that they would come in more properly after rot. If the meaſure be thought to need emendation, it would be leſs violence to adopt that propoſed by mr. Theobald.

p. 326.
Ant.
I have three daughters; the eldeſt is eleven,
The ſecond, and the third, nine, and ſome five.

"This," ſays dr. Johnſon, "is mr. Theobalds correction; the former editions read ſans five."

If the critic mean to ſay onely that ſome editions prior to Theobalds read ſans, the aſſertion may probably be true; but if his note imply that Theobald firſt introduced the word ſome, nothing can be leſs ſo: it is the reading of the firſt folio, and the ſecond does not read ſans.

The ſpeaker tells us that one of his daughters was eleven, the ſecond nine, and the third about five.

p. 345.
Leo.
I ne'er heard yet,
That any of theſe bolder vices wanted
Leſs impudence to gain-ſay what they did,
Than to perform it firſt.

"It is apparent," dr. Johnſon ſays, "that according to the proper, at leaſt according to the preſent uſe of words, leſs ſhould be more, or wanted ſhould be had."

It is a pity that the learned critic ſhould not better underſtand the language upon which he profeſses to comment. There is not the ſlighteſt difficulty or impropriety in the paſſage. I never heard, ſays Leontes, that any of [70]theſe greater offenders wanted (i. e. were deficient in) leſs impudence to deny their crime than to commit it. You, therefor, he means to tell the queen, who have had ſufficient impudence to do what I charge you with, can be at no loſs for impudence to deny it.

p. 375.
Flo.
— the gods themſelves,
Humbling their deities to love, have taken
The ſhapes of beaſts upon them;—their transformations
Were never for a piece of beauty rarer;
Nor in a way ſo chaſte.

In what way? We ſhould certainly read (in the margin at leaſt): ‘Nor any way ſo chaſte.’

p. 381.
Flo.
Your hand my Perdita: ſo turtles pair,
That never mean to part.
Per.
I'll ſwear for 'em.

For whom or what? This is ſheer nonſenſe. And dr. Johnſon, by giving the line to Polixenes, rather increaſes the abſu [...]dity than leſsens it. We ſhould, doubtleſs, read thus: ‘I'll ſwear for one.

i. e. I will anſwer or engage for myſelf. Some alteration is abſolutely neceſſary. This ſeems the eaſyeſt; and the reply will then be perfectly becoming her character.

p. 394.
Shep.

Leave your prating, ſince theſe good men are pleaſ'd, let them come in.

Here a dance of twelve ſatyrs.
Pol.
[71]
[Aſide.]

O father, you'll know more of that hereafter.

This, ſays dr. Warburton, is replied by the king in anſwer to the ſhepherds ſaying ſince theſe good men are pleaſed.

This is very unlikely. The dance, which has intervened, would take up too much time to preſerve any connection between the two ſpeeches. The line ſpoken by the king ſeems to be in reply to ſome unexpreſsed question from the old ſhepherd, and ſhould not be uttered aſide.

MACBETH.

p. 473.
Mach.

The prince of Cumberland!

The crown of Scotland, mr. Steevens obſerves, was originally not hereditary. When a ſucceſſor was declared in the life time of a king, (as was often the caſe) the title of prince of Cumberland was immediately beſtowed on him as the mark of his deſignation.

The propriety of this note is not very apparent.

The crown of Scotland had been hereditary for ages before Duncan,—nay, from the very foundation of the Scotiſh monarchy. The apparent or preſumptive heir was always the known and declared ſucceſſor; as in England and every other hereditary government. The kings eldeſt ſon, or grandſon (i. e. the heir apparent for the time being) alone was prince of Cumberland, as the king of Englands is prince of [72]Wales; or the king of France's, the Dauphin. And it ſhould ſeem, from the play, that Malcolm was the firſt who had this title.

p. 505.
March.
— No; this my hand will rather
The multitudinous ſeas incarnadine,
Making the green—one red.

Whoever was the author of this emendation, as it is called) (for mr. Sheridan has likewiſe taken the credit of it, Lectures on Elocution. 4to. p. 65.); it ſeems to have been adopted with too much haſte, and without either neceſſity or advantage. The old reading is much more in the manner of Shakſpeare, and of courſe more likely to be the true one: eſpecially if we read ſea.

p. 523.
Mat.
—There is none, but he,
Whoſe genius I do fear: and, under him,
My genius is rebuk'd; as, it is ſaid,
Mark Antonys was by Caeſar. He chid the ſisters,
When, &c.

"Though I would not often aſſume the critics privilege of being confident where certainty cannot be obtained, nor indulge myſelf too far in departing from the eſtabliſhed reading; yet I cannot but propoſe the rejection of this paſſage, which I believe was an inſertion of ſome player, that having ſo much learning as to discover to what Shakſpeare alluded, was not willing that his audience ſhould be leſs knowing than himſelf, and has therefore weakened the [73]authours ſenſe, by the intruſion of a remote and uſeleſs image into a ſpeech burſting from a man wholly poſſeſsed with his own preſent condition, and therefore not at leiſure to explain his alluſions to himſelf. If theſe words are taken away, by which not only the thought but the numbers are injured, the lines of Shakeſpeare cloſe together without any traces of a break.

My genius is rebuk'd. He chid the ſiſters. JOHNSON."

This note, dr. Johnſon tells us, was written before he was fully acquainted with Shakſpeares manner, and he does not now think it of ſo much weight: why did he then reprint it? becauſe the words which he once thought interpolated by the players, he now thinks to have been interpolated by the author. But there never was ſurely ſuch a number of words waſted to ſuch an idle purpoſe. Whether Macbeth would have made uſe of the image is not the question: the words are as evidently Shakſpeares as any others in the play. And where was the neceſſity of ſo much learning to discover the alluſion? The idea was perſectly familiar to him. He got it from the old translation of Plutarch, and has particularly dwelled upon it in Ant [...]ny and Cleopatra, act II. ſcene iii.

p. 531.
Mach.
— Better be with the dead,
Whom we to gain our place have ſent to peace.

The old copy, according to mr. Steevens, reads: ‘Whom we to gain our peace have ſent to peace.’

The change, he ſays, was made by mr. Rowe. It is, however, the reading of the ſecond folio.

p. 532.
[74]
Mach.
Ere—
The ſhard-borne beetle, with his drowſy hum,
Hath rung nights yawning peal, &c.

The ſhard-born beetle is, perhaps, the beetle born among ſhards, i. e. (not cows-dung, for that is only a ſecondary or metonymical ſignification of the word, and not even ſo, generally, but) pieces of broken pots, tiles, and ſuch like things which are frequently thrown together in corners as rubbiſh, and under which theſe beetles may uſually breed, or (what is all the ſame) may have been ſuppoſed to do ſo.

Thus, in Hamlet, the prieſt ſays, of Ophelia, Shards, flints, and pebbles, ſhould be thrown on her.’

Would mr. Tollet ſay that cows-dung was to be thrown into the grave? The ſpelling of born can have no weight any way. It is true, however, that ſharded beetle ſeems ſcarcely reconcilable to the above explanation. Mr. Steevens may be right, but dr. Warburton and mr. Tollet, are certainly wrong.

p. 535.
Enter three murderers.
1 Mur.

But who bid thee join with us?

3 Mur.

Macbeth.

2 Mur.

He needs not our mistruſt; ſince he delivers

Our offices and what we have to do
To the direction juſt.

The meaning of this abrupt dialogue, dr. Johnſon obſerves, is this: the perfect ſpy, mentioned by Macbeth in the foregoing ſcene, has, before they enter upon the ſtage, given them the directions which were promiſed at the time of their agreement; yet one of the murderers ſuborned, [75]ſuſpects him of intending to betray them; the other obſerves, that, by his exact knowledge of what they were to do, he appears to be employed by Macbeth, and needs not be mistruſted. A comment which there are ſew beſides the learned author that would not have been aſhamed to repeat.

In the preceding ſcene, Macbeth ſays to the two firſt murderers.

I will adviſe you where to plant yourſelves;
Acquaint you with the perfect ſpy o'the time,
The moment on't.

i. e. the very time when you are to look out for him. But dr. Johnſon has changed it to A perfect ſpy o'the time,’ and ſeems too conſident or too careleſs to perceive the abſurdity he introduces. For, if Macbeth had made the two firſt murderers acquainted with this perfect ſpy of dr. Johnſon, and they had received their directions from him, how could the firſt murderer poſſibly aſk him who bid him join them?—O, but, ſays the learned critic, he ſuſpects him of an intention to betray them. Betray them! To whom? To Banquo? To be ſure they had wonderful cauſe to be afraid of one whom the king hisſelf had appointed them to kill!—The fact plainly is, that this additional or ſupernumerary villain is ſent from Macbeth, by way of reinforcement, after the others had taken their ſtand. He has told them that he was acquainted with the deſign, but one of them, being unwilling, it ſhould ſeem, to admit a third to participate in the reward, and therefor deſirous to ſhuffle him off, very naturally aſks, who bid him join them.

p. 575.
[76]
Macd.
Bleed, bleed, poor country!
Great tyranny, lay thou thy baſis ſure
For goodneſs dares not check thee! wear thou thy wrongs,
His title is affcard!

His (i. e. Macbeths) title is affeer'd, i. e. eſtabliſhed or affirmed, ſince he whoſe duty and intereſt it is to endeavour to dethrone him refuſes to join in the attempt. This kind of exclamation ſeems natural to Macduff; for, a little after, when Malcolm ſtriyes to comfort him on the ſlaughter of his wiſe and children, he breaks forth in the ſame manner: He 8 has no children!—all my pretty ones!’

p. 581.
Mal.
'Tis call'd the evil:
— ſtrangely viſited people,
All ſwoln and ulcerous, he curts,
Hanging a golden ſtamp about their necks,
Put on with holy prayers: and 'tis ſpoken,
To the ſucceeding royalty he leaves
The healing benediction. With this ſtrange virtue,
He hath a heavenly gift of prophery, &c.

"It muſt be owned," ſays dr. Warburton, "that Shakſpeare is often guilty of ſome ſtrange abſurdities in point of history and chronology: yet here he has artfully avoided one. He had a mind to hint, that the cure of the evil was to deſcend to the ſucceſſors in the royal line in compliment to James the firſt. But the Conſeſſor was the firſt who pretended to the gift: how then could it be at that time generally ſpoken of, that the gift was hereditary? this he has ſolved by telling us that Edward had the gift of prophecy along with it."

[77] "The ingenious editor of the Houſhold Book of the Fifth Earle of Northumberland, dr. Percy," adds mr. Steevens, "very acutely obſerves on the ſubject of cramp rings, "that the miraculous gift of curing the evil was left to be claimed by the Stuarts; our ancient Plantagenets were humbly content to cure the cramp."

There may be a vaſt fund of acuteneſs, but there is not a tittle of truth or knowlege in this ingenious obſervation. It is ſo well known that not onely the Tudor family, but their predeceſſors, for many ages, exerciſed this real or imaginary power, that, in the reign of queen Elizabeth, who touched often, as any old history, and many other books, will inform us, one William Tooker, a learned divine, publiſhed a laborious Latin treatiſe upon the ſubject, in which he enumerates a number of cures performed by that princeſs, and others of our ancient Engliſh monarchs 9. With reſpect to dr. Warburton, one would be glad to know, how he became ſo certain that Edward the Confeſſor was the firſt who pretended to this gift. Shakſpeare may be ſometimes chargeable with great abſurdities, but he rarely, if ever, commits ſuch a one as his overlearned commentator would here force upon him. If Edward the Conſeſſor had been the firſt Engliſh monarch poſſeſsed of this hereditary faculty, it muſt neceſſaryly have dyed with him, for he not onely was a uſurper, but left no iſſue. So that king James neither did, nor poſſibly could either claim or get it from him. And his real titles were too [78]good, and he was too well acquainted with them, to permit him to accept ſuch a compliment; even if Shakſpeare intended it, which he, undoubtedly, did not.

p. 583.
Roſſe.
— But I have words,
That would be howl'd out in the deſert air
Where hearing ſhould not catch them.

The folio, it ſeems, read latch, which appears to be the proper word, and certainly ſignifies catch. Thus in Piers Plowman, ſo. 26.

As who ſo layeth lynes for to latche foules.

As mr. Steevens elſewhere tells us, that he made it his buſyneſs to reſtore ancient readings, one might naturally have expected to ſee latch in the text.

p. 592.
Mach.
— Then, fly, falſe thanes,
And mingle with the Engliſh epicures.

"It appears," ſays mr. Steevens, in a note upon this paſſage, "from dr. Johnſons Journey to the Weſtern Islands of Scotland, that the natives had neither kail nor brogues, till they were taught the arts of planting the one, and making the other, by the ſoldiers of Cromwell; and yet," adds he, ‘king James VI. thought it neceſſary to form an act againſt ſuperfluous banquetting.’

It is a pity that the ingenious commentator has omitted the very candid and liberal inference which the great traveler draws from the above circumſtance of the kail, i. e. that, "when they had not that, they had nothing."

But under the favour of this ingenious critic, it does not appear:—dr. Johnſon, indeed, is pleaſed to ſay ſo, and they who would have believed him if he had given a relation [79]of his voyage into the moon, may, if they chooſe, believe this. It is very ſeldom that we find people teaching to others arts of which they are ignorant theirſelves, and yet this muſt have been the caſe with Cromwells ſoldiers; who were accustomed neither to eat kail, nor to wear brogues. The truth is, that both articles have, in all probability, been known to the Scotiſh ever ſince the country was inhabited. So that they may ſafely admit the truth of the above very candid travelers good-natured poſition.

Mr. Steevens ſeems to think it altogether needleſs to reſtrain luxury in diet, where people could get neither kail nor brogues; which, to be ſure, are the very eſſence of a ſumptuous feaſt.

p. 596.
Mach.
And with ſome ſweet oblivious antidote,
Cleanſe the foul boſom of that perilous ſtuff
Which weighs upon the heart!

Stuff'd, mr. Steevens tell us, is the reading of the old copy; but, for the ſake of the ear, which muſt be ſhocked by the recurrence of ſo harſh a ſound, he is willing to read foul; foul is accordingly read. And ſuch is the method taken to preſerve the authors genuine text. Alas! poor Shakſpeare.

VOLUME THE FIFTH.

[80]

KING JOHN.

p. 5.
K. John.
Be thou as Eghtning in the eyes of France;
For ere thou canſt report, I will be there;
The thunder of my cannon ſhall be heard.

"This ſimile," dr. Johnſon obſerves, "does not ſuit well: the lightning indeed," adds he, "appears before the thunder is heard, but the lightning is deſtructive, and the thunder innocent." The alluſion may, notwithſtanding, be very proper ſo far as Shakſpeare has applyed it, i. e. merely to the ſwiftneſs of the lightening, and its preceding and foretelling the thunder. But there is ſome reaſon to believe that thunder was not thought to be innocent in our authors time, as we, elſewhere, learn from hisſelf. Thus in King Lear:

You ſulphurous and thought executing fires
Vaunt couriers to oak-rending thunder-bolts.

Again, in Antheny and Cleopatra: ‘Some innocents ſcape not the thunderbolt.

Again, in Julius Caeſar:

— I have walk'd about the ſtreets,
And, thus unbraced, Casea, as you ſee,
Have bar'd my boſom to the thunder-ſione.

And ſtill more deciſively in Meaſure for Meaſure:

Merciful heaven!
Thou rather with thy ſharp and ſulphurous bolt
Split'ſt the unwedgeable and guarled-oak,
Than the ſoft myrtle.

[81] This old ſuperſtition is ſtill prevalent in many parts of the country.

p. 30.
K. John.
Bedlam, have done.

Surely this ſhould be Beldam, a word frequently uſed in this play.

p. 56.
Conſt.
Thou wear a lions hide! doff it for ſhame,
And hang a calfs ſkin on thy recreant limbs.

It does not appear that Conſtance hereby means to call Auſtria fool, as ſir John Hawkins would have it; but ſhe certainly means to call him coward, and to tell him that a calfs ſkin would ſuit his recreant limbs better than a lions. They ſtill ſay of a dastardly perſon that he is a calf-hearted fellow, and a runaway ſchool-boy is uſually called a great calf.

p. 64.
Pand.
For that, which thou haſt ſworn to do amiſs,
Is't not amiſs when it is truly done?
And being not done, where doing tends to ill,
The truth is then moſt done not doing it.

For this nonſenſe the reader is indebted to dr. Johnſons emendation; the old copies have it thus: Is not amiſs when it is truly done.’ Which dr. Warburton calls the concluſion de travers: he therefor reads: ‘Is yet amiſs.’ Sir Thomas Hanmer:—moſt amiſs.

[82] But all theſe objections to, and propoſed alterations of the old reading, ariſe entirely from its not being underſtood. If the reader will conſider the paſſage a moment, he will perceive that it has ſenſe and meaning,—is quite in the ſpirit of the cardinals quibbling logic,—and infinitely ſuperior to any of theſe pretended emendations. Pandulf, having conjured the king to perform his firſt vow to heaven,—to be champion of the church,—tells him, that what he has ſince ſworn is ſworn againſt hisſelf, and therefor may not be performed by him: for that, ſays he, which you have ſworn to do amiſs, is not amiſs (i. e. becomes right) when it is done truely (that is, as he explains it, not done at all); and being not done, where it would be a ſin to do it, the truth is moſt done when you do it not.

So, in Loves Labour Loſt: ‘It is religion to be thus forſworn.

There is no difficulty in this, but what the over buſy critic chooſes to make.

"It is ſtrange that, when the ſenſe is ſo clear, any commentator ſhould thus laboriously obſcure it, to introduce a new reading; and yet ſtranger that he ſhould ſhew ſuch confidence in his emendation as to inſert it in the text. JOHNSON."

The learned critic ſeems to think hisſelf intitled to an excluſive privilege of corrupting the authors language 9

p. 70.
[83]
Faul [...]. Bell, book, and candle, ſhall not drive me back.

The curſe by bell, book, and candle, is the ſolemn anathema pronounced by the prieſt at the time of Maſs, the book being laid open before him, the candles lighted, and the ſacring bell rung.

p. 80.
Pand.
For he that ſteeps his ſafety in true blood
Shall find but bloody ſafety and untrue.

True blood, ſays dr. Johnſon, is the blood of him that has the juſt claim. But the expreſſion ſeems to mean no more than innocent blood in general.

p. 113.
Lewis.
—John hath made

His peace with Rome? What is that peace to me?

I, by the honour of my marriage bed,
After young Arthur, claim this land for mine.

In a preceding ſcene, Pandulph tells Lewis, that, in caſe of Arthurs death, he,

'— in the right of lady Blanch his wife,
Might then make all the claim that Arthur did.'

[84] This claim the dauphin now aſſerts, and it is poſſible that Shakſpeare imagined him to have the right he pretended. But the fact is, Arthur had left an infant ſister (Eleanor of Britain), who was then right heir to the crown, and de jure queen of England; and who, to the everlaſting disgrace of this country, languiſhed all her days in obſcurity and confinement; and, even ſuppoſing her out of the question, John, and his ſon Henry, had a better title than Blanch, who was onely that kings ſisters daughter; unleſs, indeed, he might be ſaid to have forfeited all right, by his unnatural cruelty to his nephew, whom he is believed to have murdered with his own hands: yet ſtill, even on that idea, would young Henrys title remain unimpeached; for neither then, nor in our authors time, was it underſtood, that the perſonal misconduct of the ancestor, could, in any caſe, bar the ſucceſſion of the innocent iſſue. A humane and righteous principle, reſerved for the discovery and practice of a more refined and liberal people, in a more enlightened and politic age!

p. 120.
Sal.
— New flight,
And happy newneſs, that intends old right.

"Happy innovation," quoth dr. Johnſon. "that purpoſed the reſtoration of the ancient rightful government." What rightful government? Does the good old conſtitutionaliſt ſuppoſe it to have been in John, a murderer, and a villain, one who had not the leaſt right to the poſſeſſion of the crown, and whom it would have been praiſe-worthy in any man or ſet of men to have put to death?

RICHARD THE SECOND.

[85]
p. 151.
Boling.
Norſolk,—ſo far as to mine enemy.

Dr. Johnſon does not (he ſays) clearly ſee the ſenſe of this abrupt line. It is not, therefor, much to be wondered that he has not given a meaning which he could not find. The old copies reading—ſo fare 10, mr. Tollet makes the ſpeaker wiſh Norſolk to fare like his enemy. A conſtruction than which nothing can be more irrational and abſurd. Bolingbroke onely uſes the phraſe by way of caution, leſt Mowbray ſhould think he was about to addreſs him as a friend: Norfolk, ſays he, ſo far as a man may ſpeak to his enemy, I, &c.

p. 188.
Boling.
Thanks gentle uncle.—Come, lords, away;
To fight with Glendower and his complices.

This laſt line mr. Theobald thought an interpolation, and therefor threw it out of his edition; and, in this, the editors have been weak enough to incloſe it in brackets. Theſe proceedings are the more remarkable, as, ſuppoſing it genuine, there does not appear any thing like a reaſon in mr. Theobalds note, for the charge he would make againſt Shakſpeare, of forgetfulneſs and inattention to history (and a very ſtrange charge it would be). For it is evident, from the preceding ſcene, that there was a force in [86]Wales, which Bolingbroke might think it neceſſary to ſuppreſs; and why, dr. Johnſon, (for you think the emendation juſt), might not Shakſpeare call it Glendowers? When we next ſee Bolingbroke, he is in Wales, and mentions his having received intelligence that the Welſhmen are diſperſed.

p. 211.
Queen.
Gardiner, for telling me theſe news of woe,
I would, the plants, thou graft'ſt may never grow.

An execration, dr. Johnſon obſerves, too ludicrous and unſuitable to the queens condition; and it certainly appears ſo. But, perhaps, (for Shakſpeares higheſt or loweſt characters are never without a quibble) ſhe means to wiſh him chidlleſs. It is to be remembered that the queen was very young, dr. Johnſon will, therefor, the more readyly pardon any puerilities of expreſſion he may find her guilty of.

p. 213.
Fitzw.
— my rapiers point.

Dr. Johnſon here takes an opportunity to cenſure Shakſpeare for deſerting the manners of the age in which his drama is placed:—this weapon, he ſays, not being ſeen in England till two centuries aftewards. It would be as well, however, though not quite ſo eaſy, for the learned critic to bring ſome proof in ſupport of this and ſuch like aſſertions. Without which the authority of Shakſpeare is at leaſt equal to that of dr. Johnſon. And, even if he could prove what he aſſerts (which, however, it is believed he cannot), the poets friends would ſtill have an argument which would render both his aſſertions and his proofs equally nugatory and ridiculous.

p. 242.
[87]
K. Rich.

My thoughts are minutes, and, with ſighs they jar Their watches to mine eyes —

The firſt folio, ſays dr. Johnſon, agrees with the third quarto, which reads:

My thoughts are minutes; and with ſighes they jarre
There watches to mine eyes—

This is not true. The firſt folio, which the learned critic was too indolent to conſult, reads Their watches on unto mine eyes—’

Which he has already given as the reading of the quarto of 1608.

p. 243.
R. Rich.

Now, ſir, the ſound, that tells what hour it is, Are clamorous groans —

Should we not read thus:

Now, ſir, the ſounds that tell what hour it is,
Are clamorous groans?

FIRST PART OF KING HENRY THE FOURTH.

p. 252.
K. Henry.
No more the thirſty entrance of this ſoil
Shall daub her lips with her own childrens blood.

Dr. Warburton calls theſe lines nonſenſe, and would read trempe inſtead of daub, or, as it ſtood then, damp. Dr. Johnſon allows them to be abſurd, but objects to trempe, and would change entrance to entrails, adding that the relative her is inaccurately uſed in both readings. He is likewiſe willing to ſuppoſe a verſe loſt. Mr. Steevens, [88]not being ſatisfyed with either alteration, propoſes entrants inſtead of entrance, and explains it by, "thoſe who ſet foot on this kingdom through the luſt of power or conqueſt (which was the kings own caſe)." Never ſure was there ſo much drumbleing, nor (except in this edition) were there ever ſo many wild and abſurd conjectures, as this ſimple paſſage has given riſe to. For ſo ſimple it certainly is, as that the little meaning it has may be eaſyly discovered by the moſt ignorant; however doctors may differ about it. The thirſty entrance of the ſoil is nothing more or leſs than the face of the earth, parched and cracked as it always appears in a dry ſummer; and mr. Steevens came nearer the mark than he was aware of when he mentioned the persus ſurface of the ground. As to its being perſonifyed, it is, certainly, no ſuch unuſual practice with Shakſpeare. Every one talks familarly of mother Earth; and they who live upon her face may, without much impropriety, be called her children. Our author onely confines the image to his own country. The alluſion is to the Barons wars.

p. 261.
P. Henry.
As the honey of Hybla, my old lad of the castle.

There is a very old and popular tradition that old lad of the castle alludes to the name of Sir John Oldcastle, Falſtaffs original ſurname, when this play was firſt performed. This mr. Steevens will by no means allow. But it is no matter; there is as much reaſon, argument, and authority, as can be well expected on one ſide of the question, and his bare opinion on the other. Fuller, beſide the words cited in the note, has, in his Worthies, p. 253, the following paſſage:

[89] "Sir John Oldcastle was firſt made a thraſonical puff, an emblem of mock valour, a make ſport in all plays for a coward."

Speed, likewiſe, in his Chronicle, edit. 2. p. 178, ſays:

"The author of the Three Converſions [i. e. Parſons, the Jeſuit] hath made Oldcastle a ruffian, a robber, and a rebel, and his authority, taken from the ſtage-playe [...]s, is more befitting the pen of his ſlandcrous report, than the credit of the judicious, being only grounded from the papiſt and the poet, of like conſcience for lies, the one ever ſeigning, and the other ever falſifying the truth." 11

It is ſomewhat extraordinary for mr. Steevens to aſſert that Shakſpeare was not the author of the old play of Hen. V. in which Oldcastle appears to have been firſt introduced upon the ſtage. No body ever ſaid or thought he was. But the very ingenious critic knows, and allows; that this ſame play afforded Shakſpeare ſeveral hints; among which were the name and character of Sir John Oldcastle, whom he, afterwards, upon better advice, called Sir John Falſt [...]ff.

p. 284.
Hot.
But, ſoft, I pray you; did king Richard then
Proclaim my brother Edmund Mortimer
Heir to the crown?
North.
He did; myſelf did hear it.

It was not, ſays mr. Steevens, Edmund Earl of March, the Mortimer of this play, whom K. Richard II. proclaimed heir to the crown; but his father Roger earl of March, who was killed ſoon after in Ireland.

The learned commentator would have done well to conſult the history before he ventured to be ſo deciſive. [90]Let us ſee when Northumberland heard this proclamation. Why,

—then it was when the unhappy king,
Set forth upon his Iriſh expedition.

That Roger Mortimer could not be then proclaimed heir to the crown is evident, from this plain and ſimple circumſtance:—He was not then alive. He had been treacherously killed by the wild Iriſh; and it was chiefly to revenge his death that the king ſet out on this very expedition. This proves it could not be Roger; and that it was Edmund, is proved by Hall, who expreſsly ſays, that HE, ("Edmond, ſonne to erle Roger") "at kyng Richardes goyng into Ireland was proclaimed heire apparant to the crowne and realme."

p. 292.
1 Car.

An't be not four by the day, I'll be hang'd: Charles' wain is over the new chimney.

Charleses wain is the vulgar name given to the conſtellation called the Bear. But why Charleses wain? What Charles? It is, in fact, a mere corruption of the Chorles, or Churls wain (Sax. ceo [...]l, a countryman). For this very ingenious and judicious etymology the writer is indebted to a earned friend.

p. 293.
2 Car.
Your chamber-lie breeds fleas like a loach.

Loach, ſays dr. Warburton, is a loch (Scotch) a lake. Mr. Steevens half-doubts the propriety of this explanation, and ſuppoſes the expreſſion may mean fleas reſembling a loach (i. e. the fiſh ſo called). They muſt have been elephantinelops, indeed, to do this, the loach being two or three [91]inches in length. Beſides, this conſtruction neceſſaryly requires the paſſage to have been:—ſ [...]eas like loaches. The alluſion is doubtleſs to the above fiſh; and mr. Steevens, in the courſe of his extenſive reſearches, may one day find that it either has, or was formerly ſuppoſed to have, when dead, the quality of producing fleas in abundance. Dr. Watburtons explanation, if it may be ſo miscalled, is almoſt too abſurd to deſerve contradiction. The Scotch or Iriſh word loch, a lake, is a hard guttural ſound, which we have ſoftened into lough: e. g. lough (vulgariter lop)-leeches, the phyſicians or phlebotomiſts of the lake.

p. 300.
Gads.

Give me thy hand: thou ſhalt have a ſhare in our purchaſe.

Purchaſe;—perquiſitio, acquiſition: Thus, in Hen. V. ‘They will ſteal any thing, and call it purchaſe.

p. 303.
Enter Gadshill.
Gads.

Stand.

Fal.

So I do, againſt my will.

Poins.

O, 'tis our Setter, I know his voice.

Bard.

What news.

Gads.

Caſe ye, caſe ye; &c.

In all the copies, ſays dr. Johnſon, that I have ſeen, Poins is made to ſpeak on the entrance of Gadshill thus: ‘O, 'tis our ſetter; I know his voice.—Bardelph, what news?’

This he pronounces to be abſurd; and therefor alters the paſſage as above; with very little reaſon, and againſt all authority. The modern editors, noticing an omiſſion, make Bardolph to enter with Gadshill. The learned critic calls this a countenancing of the impropriety, and, therefor, [92]does not bring Bardolph on at all. There is no abſurdity in the paſſage, except that of which the learned commentator is guilty. Falſtaffs calling out for Bardolph is no proof that he was within hearing. The latters entrance ſhould be marked, and the old reading reſtored.

p. 304.
Fal.

Hang ye, gor-bellied knaves; are ye undone? No, ye fat chuffs.

Mr. Steevens is under a ſmall mistake in ſuppoſing this word a corruption of choughs. The name of the Corniſh bird is pronounced, by the natives, chow. Chuff is the ſame word with cuff, both ſignifying a clown, and being, in all probability derived from a Saxon word of the latter ſound. So Cotton, Virgil [...] t [...]ave [...]tie:

The wealthieft carles thereabouts,
Rich cuffs and very ſturdy louts.
p. 321.
Fal.

You rogue, there's lime in this ſack.

Sack, the favourite beverage of Sir John Falſtaff, was, according to the information of a very old gentleman, a liquor compounded of Sherry, Syder, and Sugar. Sometimes it ſhould ſ [...]em to have been brewed with eggs, i. e. mulled. And that the vintners played tricks with it, appears from Falſtaffs charge in the text, &c. It does not ſeem to be, at preſent, known; the ſweet wine ſo called being, apparently, of a quite different nature.

p. 333.
Fal.

He of Wales that ſwore the devil his true liegeman upon the croſs of a Welſh book.

Mr. Steevens ſeems to be right in ſuppoſing a Welſh book to be a weapon of the ſame kind with our old Engliſh [93]bill, or the Lochaber axe (with which, by the way, mr. Steevens might have obſerved, colonel Gardiner was killed 12). The repreſentation, therefor, of the old ſword from Speed could have been ſpared. It is more like the ſeaxe or faulchion of our Saxon ancestors than any inſtrument of Henry the Fourths time. The ſhepherds hook, in the ſong, is no warlike implement, but merely a crook he uſed to catch his ſheep withall.

p. 336.
P. Henry.

Do thou ſtand for my father.

Fal.

Shall I? content:—this chair ſhall be my ſtate, this dagger my ſceptre, and this cuſhion my crown.

P. Henry.

Thy ſtate is taken for a joint-ſtool, thy golden ſceptre for a leaden dagger, and thy precious rich crown, for a pitiful bald crown.

This, ſays dr. Farmer, is an apoſtrophe of the prince to his abſent father; not an anſwer to Falſtaff.

The learned critics interpretation cannot be right. It is certainly nothing more than a ludicrous deſcription of Falſlaffs mock regalia.

p. 339.
Fal.

If the fruit may be known by the tree, as the tree by the fruit, then there is virtue in that Falſtaff.

Mr. Steevens is afraid that here is a profane alluſion to the 33d verſe of the 12th chapter of St. Matthew. Alas! [94]and if the alluſion were intentional, where is its profansneſs?

p. 343.
Fal.

Thou art eſſentially mad, without ſeeming ſo.

P. Henry.

And thou a natural coward, without inſtinct.

Fal.

I deny your major; if you will deny the ſheriff, ſo; if not let him enter: &c.

Falſtaff here intends a quibble, which the editors, industrious enough, it muſt be confeſsed, in pointing out ſuch like things 13, have ſuffered to eſcape their notice. Major, which ſheriff brought to his mind, ſignifies as well one of the parts of a logical propofit on, as the principal officer of a corporation, now called a Mayor.

p. 352.
Glend.
For I was train'd up in the Engliſh court;
Where, being but young, I framed to the harp
Many an Engliſh ditty, lovely well,
And gave the tongue a helpful ornament;
A virtue that was never ſeen in you.

The tongue, i. e. ſays dr. Johnſon, the Engliſh language, He is wrong. Glendower means that he graced his own tongue with the art of ſinging.

p. 355.
[95]
Glend,

She's deſperate here; a peeviſh ſelf-will'd harlotry.

Capulet, in Romeo and Juliet, ſpeaking of his daughter has the ſame expreſſion: ‘A peeviſh ſelf-will'd harlotry it is.’

p. 363.
K. Henry.
The ſkipping king he ambled up and down,
With ſhallow jeſters, and raſh bavin wits,
Soon kindled, and ſoon burnt; carded his ſtate;
Mingled his royalty with carping fools.

The metaphor carded his ſtate is ſuppoſed, by mr. Steevens (from a hint of mr. Tollet), and by dr. Farmer, to be taken from mingling coarſe wool with fine, and carding them together. But this explanation is by much too far fetched; and the learned critics may be juſtly ſaid to have ſent their wits a wool-gathering in ſearch of it. By carding his ſtate, the uſurper means that his predeceſſor ſet his conſequence to hazard, played it away (as a man loſes his fortune) at cards.

p. 366.
K. Hen.

The archbiſhops grace of York, Douglas, Mortimer, Capitulate againſt us and are up.

i. e. ſays mr. Steevens, make head againſt us. Rather combine, confederate, indent. To capitulate is To draw up any thing in heads or articles. Johnſons Dictionary.

Theſe things, 'tis true, you have articulated.
p. 396.
Hot.
He came but to be duke of Lancaster,
To ſue his livery, and beg his peace.

[96] To ſue his livery, mr. Steevens ſays, is a law phraſe, meaning to ſue out the poſſeſſion of his lands from the Court of Wards.

The Court of Wards did not exiſt till the 32d year of king Henry the Eighth; before which time Wardſhips were uſually granted, as court-favours, to thoſe who made ſuit for, and had intereſt enough to obtain them.

p. 403.
Wor.
And being fed by us, you uſ'd us ſo,
As that ungentle gull, the cuckows bird,
Uſeth the ſparrow.

That is, as dr. Johnſon very learnedly obſerves, the cuckows chicken, who, ſays he, being hatched and fed by the ſparrow [r. the hedge ſparrow], in whoſe neſt the cuckows egg was laid, grows in time able to devour his nurſe.

Such, indeed, is the old popular ſuperſtition. But the curious reader will find the honour and reputation of the cuckow and her ſaid chicken (ſo elegantly perſonifyed by the learned commentator) ably deſended by the ingenious mr. Daines Barrington, in his late uſeful and entertaining Miſcellany.

SECOND PART OF KING HENRY THE FOURTH.

p. 417.
K. Hen.
Stay and breathe awhile:—
Thou haſt redeem'd thy loſt opinion.

Should we not read—my loſt opinion?

p. 452.
[97]
Mort.

And more, and leſs, do flock to follow him.

More and leſs, mr. Steevens ſays, means greater and leſs. Not in this place. It is, ſimply, large and ſmall numbers.

p. 458.
Fal.

You hunt-counter, hence! avaunt!

Hunt-counter, ſays dr. Johnſon, that is, blunderer. Rather, you baſe tyke, you worthleſs dog. There can be no reaſon why Falſtaff ſhould call the ſervant a blunderer, but he ſeems very anxious to prove him a rascal. Mr. Steevenses quotations would have been more germane to the matter if they had exhibited hunt-counter as a ſubſtantive. For it is not impoſſible that, after all, the word may be found to ſignify a catchpole or bumbailif. He was, probably, the judge's tipſtaff.

p. 459.
Fal.
Very well, my lord, very well.

In the quarto edition, printed in 1600, this ſpeech, mr. Theobald informs us, ſtands thus: Old. Very well, my lord, very well.’

Mr. Steevens ſtill remains unconvin [...]ed, and adds that Old. MIGHT have been the beginning of ſome actors name. An objection which would have ſerved equally well, if the name of Oldcastle had, in that edition, ſtood at length, inſtead of Falſtaff, throughout the whole play. The learned critics heterodoxical obduracy increaſes in proportion to the blaze of goſpel evidence on the other ſide, which muſt enforce conviction upon every mind not predetermined to think otherwiſe.

p. 481.
[98]

Poins. — the worſt that they can ſay of me is, that I am a ſecond brother, and that I am a proper fellow of my hands; and theſe two things, I confeſs, I cannot help.

A tall or proper fellow of his hands, ſays dr. Johnſon, was a ſtout fighting man.

In this place, however, a proper fellow of his hands, means a good looking, well made, perſonable man. Poins might certainly have helped his being a fighting fellow.

p. 511.
Fal.
[On ſeeing the prince and Poins disguiſed as waiters.]

Ha! a baſtard ſon of the king's? and art not thou Poins, his brother?

His brother! whoſe brother? the kings, or his bastard ſons? Aſtoniſhing, that the editors did not perceive the abſurdity of printing, or, at leaſt, pointing the paſſage thus:

And art not thou Poins his brother (i. e. Poinses brother or brother to Poins)? a vulgar corruption of the genitive caſe!

p. 520.
K. Hen.

We would, dear lords, unto the Holy Land.

Dr. Johnſon is very fond of giving the reader continual information, that the play proceeds in one unbroken tenor through the firſt edition,—that there is, therefor, no evidence that the diviſion of the acts was made by the authour; and that, ſince, every editor has the ſame right to mark the intervals of action as the players who made the preſent distribution, he would propoſe, to change them ſo and ſo.

[99] When a diviſion has been made by mr. Rowe [...] any of his ſucceſſors, an editor has certainly a good right, to change it, if he can, for the better. But there is little room to doubt that the pauſes of action marked in the firſt folio have been intended, or, at leaſt, approved by the author. The player editors divided the different dramas juſt as they were broken in the repreſentation. And, moſt, if not all, of Shakſpeares plays having been performed at his own theatre, and under his own eye, it is very improbable that he ſhould not have given directions about the diviſion of the acts. If there had been no distinction of acts in the playhouſe copies, meſſieurs Hemings and Condell would never have troubled their heads about the matter. No editor has therefor any right to alter that diviſion which is eſtabliſhed by the two firſt folios: unleſs in two or three places where the misplacing of the actus is too glaringly abſurd to admit a doubt of its impropriety.

p. 521.
Shal.

— Will Squele a Cotswold man.

i. e. ſays mr. Steevens, one verſed in the gymnastic exerciſes, and conſequently of a daring ſpirit, and an athletic conſtitution. I ſuppoſe, continues he, the following paſſage contains an alluſion of the ſame kind:

By my faith ye are wont to be as bold
As yt were a lyon of Cottyſwold.

Again: ‘You old ſtale ruffin, you lyon of Cotſoll.

It is rather unlucky that the ingenious commentator did not comprehend the force of this expreſſion. A lyon of Cotswold is a ſheep.

p. 523.
Shal.

The ſame ſir John.....I ſaw him break Skogans head at the court gate.

[100] Who Scogan was, mr. Steevens ſays, may be underſtood from a paſſage in the Fortunate Iſles, a maſque by Ben Jonſon.

Scogan? what was he?
Oh, a fine gentleman, and a master of arts,
Of Henry the Fourths time that made disguiſes
For the kings ſons, and writ in ballad royal
Daintily well, &c.

And adds, that among the works of Chaucer is a poem called, "Scogan, unto the lordes and gentilmen of the king's houſe."

But this is not the Scogan alluded to by Shallow. He means the Scogan who was a jeſter, mime, mimic, or court-fool in Edward the Fourths reign. Mr. Steevens knows Scogans Jeſ [...]s. That is the man. As to the point of chronology, it is not worth conſideration.

p. 530.
Fal.

For you, Mouldy, ſtay at home till you are paſt ſervice.

Dr. Farmer ſeems right in his conjecture that this paſſage ſhould be read: ‘For you, Mouldy, you have ſtay'd at home 'till you are paſt ſervice.’

The ſame ingenious and learned critic (whom every lover of hakſpeare, literature, and truth muſt always regard with the utmoſt gratitude and reſpect) obſerves that there is ſome mistake in the number of recruits: Shallow ſays, that Falſtaff ſhould have four there, but he appears to get but three: Wart, Shadow, and Feeble.—It is very true.—Falſtaff, on his entrance, aſks the justices if they have provided him half a dozen ſufficient men. Shal [...]ow anſwers in the affirmative. But onely five are produced. And, when Falſtaff [101]ſays, Is here all? Shallow tells him, there is two more called than your number, you muſt have but four here. So that there is certainly a man miſsing. Is this now irretrieveable loſs to be charged upon Shakſpeare, or the players?

p. 581.
Shal.

— Yea, marry, William cook, bid him come hither.

It appears from this inſtance, mr. Steevens thinks, that anciently the lower orders of people had no ſurnames, but in their ſtead were content to adopt the titles of their ſeveral profeſſions. An inſerence and concluſion which may with equal justice and propriety be made by ſome critic, commenting, a couple of centuries hence, upon the dramatic pieces of the preſent period, on meeting with the titles of Robin coachman, and John hoſteler.

p. 588.
Ch. Juſt.

And ſtruck me in the very ſeat of judgment.

Sir John Hawkins ſubjoins an account of the inſult given to the ſpeaker by prince Henry, from Sir Thomas Elyot. But mr. Malone obſerves that there is no mention in it of the princes having ſtruck him. "Speed, however," adds he, "who quotes Elyot, ſays, on I know not what authority, that the prince gave the judge a blow on the face." That this moſt learned gentleman may, for the future, know on what authority Speed made the aſſertion, he has an opportunity to peruſe the following extract.

"For impriſonmente of one of his [prince Henrys] wanton mates and vnthriftie plaifaiers he ſtrake the chiefe Justice with his fiſte on the face. For which offence he was not onely committed to ſtreyght priſon, but alſo of his father put out of the preuy counſaill and baniſhed the courte." [102]Hall, Hen. IV. It is more than probable that Hollinshed has the ſame ſtory; and the commentator might have likewiſe found it,—where Shakſpeare did,—in the old anonymous play.

p. 597.
Sil.
[Singing.]

Do me right, and dub me knight; Saningo.—Is't not ſo?

He means, according to Hanmer, to ſay San Domingo. An obſervation highly applauded by the reverend mr. Thomas Warton, who is, to be ſure, from his extraordinary ſkill in the tongues, perfectly well qualifyed to judge of its propriety. But the truth is, that the Spaniards, though they uſe San Pedro, San Juan, never either write or ſay San Tomas, or San Domingo. Mr. Steevens has very happyly quoted an old catch, ending:

— do me right,
And dub me knight,
Domingo.

Which is the identical ſcrap that Silence is ſinging; he therefor certainly means to ſay Domingo; but, being fap (as Bardolph hath it), concluſions paſs the careires.

VOLUME THE SIXTH.

[103]

KING HENRY THE FIFTH.

p. 18.
Cant.
— the lady Lingare
Daughter to Charlemain, who was the ſon
To Lewis the emperor, and Lewis the ſon
Of Charles the great.

But Charlemain and Charles the Great were one and the ſame perſon. Charlechauve was indeed the ſon of Lewis the emperor: but who the lady Lingare was hath not been discovered. Shakſpeare, however, gives the information juſt as he found it in Hall and Hollinshed.

Ibid.
Cant.
— alſo king Lewis the ninth
Who was ſole heir to the uſurper Capet,
Could not keep quiet in his conſcience,
Wearing the crown of France, till ſatisfy'd
That fair queen Iſabel, his grandmother
Was lineal of the lady Ermengare
Daughter to Charles the foreſaid duke of Lorain.

The worth ninth has been inſerted by ſome of the modern editors. The old copies read tenth. No notice is, however, taken of any variation in the margin of the preſent edition. And yet, ninth is certainly wrong, and tenth certainly right. Iſabel was the wife of Philip the Second, father of Lewis the Ninth, and grandfather of Lewis the Tenth.

p. 20.
[104]
K. Hen.

May I, with right and conſcience, make this claim?

Cant.

The ſin upon my head, dread ſovereign!

Notwithſtanding the learned prelate is ſo confident in his opinion, and ſo zealous to engage the king in a war with France, and to cauſe ſuch a deluge of Christian blood, it will not be improper for the readers of this play to reflect, that he had no more right to the throne of that kingdom, than Charles VI. had to the crown of England. Henry propoſes the invaſion and conqueſt of France in proſecucution of the dying advice of the uſurping Machiavel his father:

— to buſy giddy minds
With foreign quartels; that action, thence borne out,
Might waſte the memory of the former days.

That his ſubjects might have ſufficient employment to mislead their attention from the nakedneſs of his own title. The archibiſhop and clergy, it appears, had a ſimilar reaſon for urging it.

p. 29.
K. Hen.
We never valu'd this poor ſeat of England;
And, therefore, living hence, did give ourſelf
To barbarous licence; as 'tis ever common;
That men are merrieſt when they are from home.
But tell the Dauphin,—I will keep my ſtate;
Be like a king, and ſhew my ſail of greatneſs,
When I do rouſe me in my throne of France.

It is evident that the word hence implies here: Sir Thomas Hanmer was, however, to blame for making it ſo. No one who reads Shakſpeare, or, indeed, any other old writer, can be ignorant in what ſtrangely lax and arbitrary ſenſes [105]many other words are uſed. The king ſays, that as he had lived from home (i. e. his throne of France), in a place he did not eſteem, he had been careleſs to obſerve the dignity and behaviour of a great king.

Dr. Warburton explains it to be, living as if he were abſent from England; mr. Steevens, with-drawing from court.

p. 35.
Nym.

Good morrow, lieutenant Bardolph.

It would be ſome ſatisfaction to learn how Bardolph acquired his commiſſion; he was no more than Falſtaffs corporal when we laſt parted with him: and in act II. ſcene ii. Nym addreſses him by the ſame title; which, mr. Steevens there ſays, is a mistake for lieutenant. That gentleman, therefor, is, perhaps, able to give the deſired information.

p. 36.
Nym.

— when time ſhall ſerve, there ſhall be ſmiles.

Dr. Warburton ſuſpects ſmiles to have been a ſtage direction. Mr. Steevens explains it thus:—he ſhould be merry even though he were to loſe Pistols friendſhip; or, that his face would be ready with a ſmile as often as occaſion ſhould call one out into ſervice, though Pistol, who had excited ſo many, was no longer near him. It is not always an eaſy matter to discover the humour of Nyms expreſſions, but, from the tenour of his discourſe, one would think he meant, that, when opportunity came, he would take a pleaſant revenge; that he would, when he caught Pistol ſleeping, cut his throat, and ſmile.

p. 38.
Bard.

Good lieutenant, good corporal, offer nothing here.

[106] Mr. Steevens obſerves, we ſhould read—Good ancient, for it is Pistol to whom he addreſses himſelf. It is very true; and what is Pistol? Falſtaff, whom one may ſuppoſe to have been at leaſt as well acquainted with his rank as the ingenious commenator can be, has already addreſsed him by the ſame title: ‘"Fear no colours; go with me to dinner. Come, lieutenant Pistol; come, Bardolph."’ And, in act III. of the preſent play, Fluellen calls him —an ancient lieutenant.

Ibid.
Piſt.

Piſh for thee, Iceland dog! thou prick-ear'd cur of Iceland!

The old reading was Island; and Island ſeems to be right. It is the proper name of the country. The difficulty aroſe from the commentators not underſtanding the right pronunciation. And it may be here obſerved, in paſsing, that the common Engliſh word ſhould be always written iland; the s being not only expletive and uſeleſs, but unnatural and abſurd. The ſame obſervation will apply to the word viscount, unleſs it ſhould be thought better to write and pronounce it vicecount.

p. 53.
Quick.

— his noſe was as ſharp as a pen, and 'a babbled of green fields.

Here is a number of profound annotations on this paſſage, of which the uſe is not very apparent. That note of Theobalds, which, dr. Johnſon affects to ſay, he omits in pity to his readers, is not onely a better but a more intereſting one than any in the page; and was peculiarly neceſſary, as it eſtabliſhed the adopted reading. A mr. Smith ſeems to write with a good deal of confidence; why do not [107]we meet him oftener? or, rather, why have we met him at all?

p. 58.
Piſt.

Let houſewif'ry appear; keep cloſe, I thee command.

Mr. Steevens (whoſe note on this paſſage it would not be proper to tranſcribe) has elſewhere obſerved, that, on ſome occaſions, ſilence is leſs reprehenſible than information; and it would, perhaps, have been as well, if he had ſtill continued of the ſame opinion, and omitted to acquaint us with the indecent reading of the old quartos, and ſpared his equally indecent quotations and comments; more eſpecially as every reader, ignorant of this precious piece of information, would take the text, to imply (as it does) no more than a charge to keep within doors: and, further, as it doth not appear, on looking into Philotus, that the word adduced by the learned commentator, either has, or can, by the utmoſt ſtretch of ingenuity, be made to bear, in that play, any ſuch meaning as he here ſeems ſo deſirous of forcing upon it.

p. 64.
Exe.
He'll call you to ſo hot an anſwer for it,
That caves and womby vaultages of France
Shall chide your treſpaſs.

"Shall hide your treſpaſs,—] Mr. Pope rightly corrected it, Shall chide—WARBURTON."

"I doubt whether it be rightly corrected. The meaning is that the authors of this inſult ſhall fly to caves for refuge. JOHNSON."

"Mr. Pope reſtored chide from the quarto. I have therefore inſerted it in the the text.....STEEVENS."

[108] All theſe gentlemen have boaſted of their fidelity and care in collating the old editions. The two firſt cannot at preſent be ſpoke with. But one may, ſurely, venture to aſk dr. Johnſon and mr. Steevens, what the folios read?

p. 70.
Flu.

— Up to the preaches, you rascals! will you not up to the preaches?

Piſt.

Be merciful, great duke, to men of mould!

Great duke! what duke? Fluellen? Indeed his grace is infinitely obliged to the generoſity of our editorial Brentford Sovereigns, for the honour they have been ſo graciously pleaſed to confer upon him. A Welſh captain created a duke! Good! It is not fit, however, that Shakſpeares dignities ſhould be thus proſtituted at the mere motion and ſpecial grace of every uſurper. Perhaps the next Phys or Uſh that obtrudes hisſelf upon the dramatic throne may take it into his head to create ancient Pistol a viscount. But the peerage of Shakſpeare muſt not be ſo degraded. We ſhall, therefor, forthwith inſtitute an enquiry into the dispoſal of the above dukedom.

Up to the preaches, &c.] Thus, ſays mr. Steevens, the 4to. The folio, adds he, reads up to the breach you dogges, avaunt you cullions. But neither does this variation leſsen the abſurdity of Pistols calling Fluel'en a duke.

The quart [...] reads Flucilens ſpeech as in the text, and Nym anſwers him thus: ‘Abate thy rage, ſweet knight, abate thy rage.’ No mention is made of any duke.

The fact is, that, in the folio, it is the duke of Exeter, and not Eluellen, who enters, and to whom Pistol addreſses hisſelf. Shakſpeare had made the alteration, and the [109]player editors inſerted it in the text, but, inadvertently, left Fluellen in poſſeſſion of the margin. This was an incongruity which might, one would think, have been eaſyly perceived and quickly remedyed, but the preſent editors, by taking Fluellens ſpeech from the quarto, and Pistols from the folio, have increaſed the confuſion and abſurdity of the text a thouſand fold; and thus it has come to paſs that the former is created a duke.

If ſuch like kings be fit to govern, ſpeak.
p. 85.
Flu.

— Fortune is painted plind, &c.

This picture of Fortune, dr. Farmer tells us, is taken from the old history of Fortunatus. But is dr. Farmer quite certain that this history had made its appearance in an Engliſh dreſs ſo early as Shakſpeares time? Surely Fortune is painted plind in many other books, much more ancient, and equally common.

p. 87.
Piſt.

Die and be damn'd: and figo for thy friendſhip!—The fig of Spain!

An alluſion, mr. Steevens obſerves, to the custom of giving poiſon'd figs to thoſe who were the objects of Spaniſh or Italian revenge. But the expreſſion both here and afterwards is evidently uſed by Pistol as a term of contempt; and cannot have any relation either to poiſoning or to revenge. Whether to the fico, indeed, explained in the Merry Wives of Windſor, may be doubtful.

p. 103.
Cho.
— The poor condemned Engliſh
Sit patiently, and inly ruminate
The morning danger; and their gesture ſad
Preſented them unto the gazing moon
So many horrid ghoſts.

We muſt certainly read Preſenteth.

p. 110.
[110]
Will.

— Some, crying for a ſurgeon, &c. ſome, upon their children rawly left.

That is, ſays dr. Johnſon, without preparation, haſtily ſuddenly. He is wrong. Rawly left is, left young and helpleſs.

p. 116.
K. Henry.
O God of battles! ſteel my ſoldiers hearts!
Poſſeſs them not with fear; take from them now
The ſenſe of reckoning, if the oppoſed numbers
Pluck their hearts from them!

The old copies read:

— take from them now
The ſenſe of reck'ning of th' oppoſed numbers;
Pluck their hearts from them!

The poet, ſays Theobald, might intend, "take from them the ſenſe of reckoning thoſe oppoſed numbers; which might pluck their courage from them." But the relative, adds he, not being expreſsed, the ſenſe is very obſcure.

This change, according to dr. Johnſon, is rightly admitted by biſhop Warburton. Sir Thomas Hanmer, it ſeems, reads:

— the oppoſed numbers
Which ſtand before them.

This reading, dr. Johnſon ſays, he borrowed from the old quarto, which gives the paſſage thus:

Take from them now the ſenſe of reckoning,
That the oppoſed multitudes that ſtand before them
May not appall their courage.

Mr. Tyrwhitt allows that Theobalds alteration makes a very good ſenſe; but he thinks that we might read, with [111]leſs deviation from the old edition, what is adopted in the preſent text.

After all, the old reading appears to be right; though none of the commentators has attempted to explain it. The king prays that his men may be unable to reckon the enemys force; that their hearts (i. e. their ſenſe and paſſions) may be taken from them: that they may be as brave as a total abſence of all feeling and reflection can make them 14. An explanation which ſeems to be countenanced by the old 4to.

A learned friend inclines to think that, by—their hearts, the king means the hearts of the oppoſed numbers.

p. 117.
K. Hen.
—More will I do;
Though all that I can do, is nothing worth;
Since that my penitence comes after all,
Imploring pardon.

This reading is certainly right, though not properly explained by dr. Johnſon. It is ſimply thus:—All that I can do is of no avail; ſince, when I have done every thing I can, I muſt ſtill rely on my own penitence for obtaining the pardon of my fathers misdeeds. The firſt part of dr. Warburtons note is ſingularly juſt. It is, indeed, a mockery of Heaven in Henry to expect pardon for a crime of which he continued to enjoy the benefit. And, certainly, if ever the divine judgement ought to have interfered, or did actually interfere in viſiting the ſins of the fathers upon the children, it was in this very caſe of the houſe of Lancaster.

p. 129.
[112]
Piſt.

Yield, cur.

Fr. Sol.

Je penſe, que vous efles le gentilhomme de bonne qualité.

Piſt.

Quality, call you me? Conſtrue me, art thou a gentleman?

The old and evidently true reading is, quality, (calmie) calmly, (cuſture) conſtrue me. The alteration was, it ſeems, propoſed by mr. Edwards; and has been too haſtyly adopted. For if it be not nonſenſe, it is very little better. Pistol, who does not underſtand French, imagines the priſoner to be ſpeaking of his own quality. The line ſhould, therefor, have been given thus: ‘Quality!—calmly; conſtrue me, art thou a gentleman?’

p. 133.
Boy.

neantmoins, pour les eſcus que vous l'avez promettez, &c.

It is ſtrange enough that the editors ſhould print this nonſenſe for French. The firſt folio reads, layt a promets. But the ſecond gives it correctly,—lui promettez.

p. 145.
Flu.

Stand away captain Gower; I will give treaſon his payment into plows, I warrant you.

The Reviſal, very plauſibly, according to dr. Johnſon, reads, in two plows. Mr. Steevens would rather prefer, in due plows. But what need of alteration? The Scotiſh, both in ſpeaking and in writing, frequently uſe into for in. However, if it ſhould ſtill be thought neceſſary to amend the text, the readyeſt way would be to omit a ſyllable, and read—in plows.

p. 146.
K. Henry.

Give me thy glove, ſoldier; look, here is the fellow of it.

[113] It muſt be, ſays dr. Johnſon, give me my glove; for of the ſoldiers glove the king had not the fellow. The paſſage is, notwithſtanding, like moſt of thoſe the doctor objects to, perfectly right. Give me thy glove, ſoidier, i. e. that which thou haſt in thy cap; and of that the king had certainly the fellow.

p. 161.
K. Henry.

— ſuch a plain king—

"I know not," ſays dr. Johnſon, "why Shakſpeare now gives the king nearly ſuch a character as he made him formerly ridicule in Percy." It would be much leſs difficult for the reader to remove the cauſe of the learned commentators ignorance, than it would be for him to point out the paſſage in which Percy is ridiculed.

FIRST PART OF KING HENRY THE SIXTH.

p. 210.
Bur.
Myſelf—
Am ſure, I ſcar'd the dauphin, and his trull.

Mr. Steevens believes that trull did not anciently bear ſo harſh an interpretation as it does at preſent. An opinion for which the learned commentator does not ſeem to have ſufficient authority. In Shakſpeares time, and long before, it ſignifyed a ſtrumpet, a harlot, as it evidently does in the text. Neither will the ſingle inſtance brought by mr. [114]Steevens prove the contrary. In the ancient morality of The iiij elements, a fellow ſays:

For to ſatisfy your wanton luſt
I ſhall apoynt you a trull of truſt,
Nor a fairer in this towne.

Again, in the old mayg [...]me of Robin Hode: ‘She is a trul of truſt, to ferve a fryer at his luſt.’

It is to be regretted that Shakſpeare ſhould have ſo far followed the abſurd and lying ſtories of his time, about this celebrated heroine, whom the French called the maid of God, as to repreſent her not onely a ſtrumpet, but a witch. If we may believe the moſt authentic historians ſhe was no leſs diſtinguiſhed for virtue than courage. She was burnt, indeed, by the barbarous Engliſh, whom ſhe had ſo frequently driven before her, and who, to excuſe their want of courage or policy, and to justify their inhumanity, pretended that ſhe had dealt with the devil! But her memory will, no doubt, be long held in deſerved veneration by her grateful countrymen, whom ſhe ſo largely contributed to reſcue from uſurpation and ſlavery. And it is not the leaſt praiſe of our elegant historian, mr. Hume, that he has endeavoured to do justice to the much injured character of this amiable, brave, wiſe, and patriotic female.

The dauphin, too, whom we are apt to look upon as a traitor, a coward, and a ſcoundrel, was, perhaps, the greateſt character of the age he lived in. He was one of the beſt kings France ever had, and England never had a better.

p. 218.
Pla [...]t.

He bears him on the place's privilege.

"The Temple," dr. Johnſon obſerves, "being a reli [...], was an aſvlum, a place of exemption, from [...], revenge, and bloodſhed."

[115] The learned commentator deals more in words than in knowlege. The Temple was then, as it is now, the reſidence of ſtudents in the law. And it is not unlikely that the orders of the ſociety prohibited quarreling and blows under certain penalties.

p. 220.
A room in the Tower. Enter Mortimer, brought in a chair, and jailors.

Mr. Edwards, in his MS. notes, ſays mr. Steevens, obſerves, that Shakſpeare has varyed from the truth of history, to introduce this ſcene between Mortimer and Richard Plantagenet. Edmund Mortimer ſerved under Henry V. in 1422, and dyed unconfined in Ireland in 1424.

The truth of this charge ſhould have been eſtabliſhed by ſome better authority than the dictum of mr. Edwards, adopted by mr. Steevens. In the third year of Henry the ſixth (1425), and during the time that Peter duke of Coimbra was entertained in London, "Edmonde Mortymer," ſays Hall, "the laſt erle of Marche of that name (which longe tyme had bene reſtrayned frō hys liberty, and fynally waxed lame) diſceaſed wythout yſſue, whoſe inheritance diſcended to lord Richard Plantagenet, &c."

This authority, even if the fact were otherwiſe, is ſufficient to protect Shakſpeare againſt the charge of having varyed from the truth of history to introduce the ſcene.

p. 243.
K. Hen.
When I was young, (as yet I am not old)
I do remember how my father ſaid
A ſtouter champion never handled ſword

[116] His majesty muſt have had a fine ſprag memory, as ſir Hugh Evans ſays, ſince he frequently, in the courſe of the play, mentions his having been crowned at nine months old.

p. 251.
War.
My lord of York, I promiſe you, the king
Prettily methought, did play the orator.
York.
And ſo he did; but yet I like it not,
In that he wears the badge of Somerſet.
War.
Tuſh, that was but his fancy, blame him not;
I dare preſume, ſweet prince, he thought no harm.
York
And, if I wiſt he did—But let it reſt;
Other affairs muſt now be managed.
Excunt.
Exe.
Well didſt thou, Richard, to ſuppreſs thy voice;
For had the paſſions of thy hearſt burſt out,
I fear we ſhould have ſeen decypher'd there
More ranccrous ſpight, more furious raging broils,
Than yet can be imagin'd or ſuppoſ'd.

Theobald, who thought that, by what he calls the pointing reform'd (i. e. corrupted), he had reſtored the text to its purity, reads,—And if I wis, he did—Nay, if I know any thing, he did think harm. Dr. Johnſon thought this plauſible enough, but would rather have the ſpeech (corrupted further) broken thus:—And if—I wiſh—he did, or, perhaps: And if he did, I wiſh. Such nonſenſe as no one but dr. Johnſon would have been confident enough to produce; and which not even dr. Johnſon could underſtand. To mr. Steevens we are certainly indebted for a very uſeful additional letter; the old copies, onely reading I wis. But it is really aſtoniſhing that men of ſo much learning, ſenſe, and ſagacity, for they certainly have in many places displayed a great deal of each, ſhould ſo groſsly misconceive the meaning of ſo plain and ſimple a paſſage. York ſays, he is not pleaſed that the king ſhould prefer [117]the red roſe, the badge of Somerſet, his enemy; Warwick deſires him not to be offended at it, as he dares ſay the king meant no harm. To which York, yet unſatisfyed, haſtyly adds, in a menacing tone,—If I thought he did —but he inſtantly checks his threat with—let it reſt. It is an example of a rhetorical figure which every one knows, and which our author has elſewhere uſed. Thus, in Coriolanus:

An 'twere to give again—But 'tis no matter.

Mr. Steevens is too familiar with Virgil not to recollect his Quos ego—Sed motos praeſ [...]at componere fluctus.

If the paſſage would not have explained itsſelf, one ſhould think that Exeters ſoliloquy, immediately following Yorks ſpeech, might have ſerved to do it.

It is but justice to ſay that the truely ingenious author of the Reviſal underſtood this paſſage in the ſame manner; and the neglect he has received at the hands of the late editors who have made little other uſe of his book than merely to pick out a few conjectures to cavil at, does no more credit to them, than it has done ſervice to their author.

p. 255.
York.

And I am lowted by a traytor villain.

A lout is a country fellow, a clown. He means that Somerſet treats him like a hind. Dr. Johnſon had better let ſuch words alone, as he does not underſtand. Lowted, in his dictionary, is overpowered.

SECOND PART OF KING HENRY THE SIXTH.

[118]
p. 318.
Spirit.
The duke yet lives that Henry ſhall depoſe,
But him out live and die a violent death.

The meaning of this perplexed and aenigmatical reply ſeems to be: The duke is living who ſhall depoſe the king; but the king ſhall outlive him, and dye by violence. The plain conſtruction is: the duke ſhall depoſe Henry, but ſhall outlive him, and dye a violent death;— which was not the caſe.

p. 326.
Simp.
— being call'd
A hundred times, and oftner, in my ſleep,
By good Saint Alban; who ſaid,—Saunder come.

Inſtead of Saunder the old copies have Simon: mr. Theobald made the change, as Saunder, elſewhere, appears to be the impostors Christian name. Correction is certainly neceſſary: but it would ſeem better to read Simpcox; for which Sim has, in all probability, been put by contraction in the players MS.

p. 331.
York.
— give me leave,
In this cloſe walk, to ſatisfy myſelf,
In craving your opinion of my title,
Which is infallible, to Englands crown.

[119] "I know not well," ſays dr. Johnſon, "whether he means the opinion or the title is infallible." Does the learned commentator, whoſe knowlege and want of knowlege ſeem equally ſerviceable to Shakſpeare, imagine that any other perſon could have conceived ſuch a doubt, or would have written ſuch a note?

p. 332.
Sal.
This Edmund, in the reign of Bolingbroke,
As I have read, laid claim unto the crown;
And, but for Owen Glendower, had been king,
Who kept him in captivity, till he dy'd.

This is very extraordinary. In act II. ſcene v. of the laſt play, York, to whom this is ſpoken, is preſent at the death of Edmund Mortimer in priſon; and the reader will recollect him to have been marryed to Owen Glendowers daughter in the Firſt part of king Henry IV. Is it poſſible that the authors memory ſhould have ſo much deceived him that he could not remember in one play what he had already written in another?

p. 335.
Q. Mar.
— two pulls at once,
His lady baniſh'd, and a limb lopp'd off.
This ſtaff of honour raught:—There let it ſtand.

The word raught ſeems to have ſome other meaning in this place, than reached; e. g. reft, or violently torn from him. The point at the end of the ſecond line ſhould be a comma. The limb lopp'd off certainly alludes to the loſs of his office. The full ſtop ſhould be after raught.

p. 348.
Suff.

My lord, theſe faults are eaſy, quickly anſwer'd.

[120] Eaſy, dr. Johnſon ſays, is ſlight, inconfiderable, as in other paſſages of this author. It would have been well to have produced one or two of thoſe other paſſages; but that, perhaps, might have been difficult. The word, no doubt, means eaſyly.

p. 353.
Suf.
— that is good deceit,
Which mates him firſt, that firſt intends deceit.

Mates him, ſays biſhop Percy, means—that firſt puts an end to his moving. To mate, adds he, is a term in cheſs, uſed when the king is ſtopped from moving, and an end put to the game. The learned prelate follows Dogberrys advice, and lets his writing and reading appear when there is no need of ſuch vanity. Mates him, in the text, means—confounds him; from amatir or mater, French. To mate is no term in chefs; with which one would have ſuppoſed the ingenious annotator more intimate. Check-mate, the term he alludes to, is a corruption of the Perſian Schah mat; the king is killed. There can be no better evidence that Shakſpeare was entirely unacquainted with the game of cheſs than his not having (at leaſt to the writers remembrance) the moſt distant alluſion to it. As he does not appear to have read a ſingle book, or known a ſingle art or ſcience, or, indeed, any thing elſe, from which he did not, ſome how or other, contrive to introduce into his plays all the information, images, or ideas they had ſupplyed him with. Cheſs would have been an inexhauſtible fund: and kings and warriors would have been check-mated in every play.

p. 359.
K. Henry.

I thank thee: Well, theſe words content me much.

The old copies read: ‘I thank thee, Nell, theſe words content me much.’

[121] This, ſays mr. Theobald, is king Henrys reply to his wife Margaret. There can be no reaſon, adds he, why the king ſhould forget his own wiſes name, and call her Nell inſtead of Margaret. As the change of a ſingle letter, he thought, ſet all right, he was willing to ſuppoſe it came from his pen thus: ‘I thank thee. Well, theſe words content me much.’ And this the editors have adopted without further enquiry. That the queens name was Margaret and not Eleanor is an allowed fact. But that the king ſhould forget it is not at all ſurpriſing, as, in the progreſs of the ſcene, we find, that ſhe forgets it herſelf, calling herſelf Eleanor no leſs than three times in one ſpeech. Of this, however, it ſhould ſeem that mr. Theobald has not taken any notice: at leaſt none is taken of it in this edition, which every where reads Margaret. The change in the three inſtances alluded to was certainly requiſite: and the ſame neceſſity and the ſame reaſoning which displaced Eleanor and inſerted Margaret, muſt, in the paſſage under conſideration, displace Nell and inſert Meg.

p. 376.
Suf.

Obſcure and lowly ſwain, king Henrys blood.

The quarto, mr. Steevens obſerves, reads lowſy ſwain. From which we are, doubtleſs, to infer that the preſent edition agrees with the folio. But, unfortunately for the inference, the folio does not differ from the quarto.

p. 382.
Suff.

Than Bargulus, the ſtrong Illyrian pirate.

Mr. Tollet is accurate in his reference to Co [...]grave; but Co [...]grave is mistaken. The name of the giant alluded to [122]was Fierabras. Cotgrave had ſomewhere found ce fierabras, which he ſuppoſed to have been three words, ce fier Abras. Don Quixotes miraculous elixir was the balſam of Fierabras.

p. 392.
Cade.

The Lent ſhall be as long again as it is, &c.

Lent ſhall be as long as it is—] Methinks, ſays dr. Johnſon, it might be read more humorously, Lent ſhall be as long again as it is.

"This emendation, thus impreſsed with all the power of his eloquence, 'dr. Johnſon' found in the" old quarto and two firſt folios, all "which he profeſses to have ſeen" 15

p. 412.
Cade.

Iden farewell; and be proud of thy victory: tell Kent from me, ſhe hath loſt her beſt man, and exhort all the world to be cowards; for I that never fear'd any, am vanquiſh'd by famine, not by valour.

Iden.

How much thou wrong'ſt me, heaven be my judge.

That is, ſays dr. Johnſon, in ſuppoſing that I am proud of my victory. Certainly not; becauſe Cade does not tell him he is proud of his victory, but onely bids him be ſo. He wrongs him in attributing his own death to famine, and not to Idens valour.

p. 413.
[123]

Fields near Saint Albans.] But why Saint Albans? Hall, who, it may be ſuppoſed, knew as much about the matter as the editors, and Hollinshed after him, expreſsly ſays, that the duke of York was encamped on "brēt-heath a mile from Dertford [in Kent] and .x. miles from Londō;" and that the kings army lay upon Blackheath. And there is no reaſon to believe that Shakſpeare meant, in this inſtance, at leaſt, to deviate from the history; though he has certainly ſo, either by inadvertency or deſign, in making Buckingham the meſſenger: he was, indeed, ſent to York, on a different occaſion (i. e. immediately before the battle of Saint Albans); but the biſhops of Winchester and Ely were the ambaſſadors on this.

p. 418.
York.
Call hither to the ſtake my two brave bears;
Bid Salisbury and Warwick come to me.

"The Nevils, earls of Warwick," ſays ſir John Hawkins, "had a bear and a ragged ſtaff for their cognizance, but the Talbots who were formerly earls of Shrewsbury, had a lion; and the preſent earl of Talbot, a deſcendant of that family, has the ſame."

All this, ſir John Hawkins, may be very true, but will you juſt give us leave to aſk—what it is to the purpoſe?

THIRD PART OF KING HENRY THE SIXTH.

[124]
p. 432.
York.
Lord Clifford, and lord Stafford all abreaſt,
Charg'd our main battles front, and, breaking in,
Were by the ſwords of common ſoldiers ſlain.

It is the more extraordinary that York ſhould be made to ſay this, as in the laſt ſcene but one of the immediately preceding play, he kills Clifford upon the ſtage, with his own hand.

p. 437.
K. Henry.
Richard, in the view of many lords,
Reſign'd the crown to Henry the Fourth.
York.
He roſe againſt him, being his ſovereign,
And made him to reſign the crown perforce.
War.
Suppoſe, my lords, he did it unconſtrain'd,
Think you, 'twere prejudicial to the crown?
Exe.
No, for he could not ſo reſign the crown,
But that the next heir ſhould ſucceed and reign.

Dr. Johnſon thought we ſhould rather read prejudicial to his ſon, to his next heir: which is ſtrangely abſurd. Mr. Steevens ſays prejudicial to the crown means to the prerogative of the crown; an expoſition in which he is certainly right, if, by prerogative of the crown, he mean, its indefeaſible hereditary deſcent. The reader will recollect that this was a Revolution parliament, though diametrically oppoſite in its principles and practice to one Shakſpeare never heard of; which, unhappyly for this country! contributed as much to deſtroy the conſtittuion, as that he here deſcribes did to preſerve it.

p. 445.
[125]
Gab.
The queen, with all the northern earls and lords,
Intend here to beſiege you in your castle.

This intelligence is given to York juſt after he has determined, from the arguments of his ſons Edward and Richard, to break his oath of peace to the king, and obtain immediate poſſeſſion of the crown by force.

"I know not," ſays dr. Johnſon, "whether the author intended any moral inſtruction, but he that reads this has a ſtriking admonition againſt that precipitancy by which men often uſe unlawful means to do that which a little delay would put honeſtly in their power. Had York ſtaid but a few moments, he had ſaved his cauſe from the ſtain of perjury."

It will be no more than justice to York if we recollect that this ſcene, ſo far as reſpects the oath, and his reſolution to break it, proceeds entirely from the authors imagination. Neither the earl of March nor Richard was then at Sandal: the latter being likewiſe a mere child, ſcarcely more than (if, indeed, ſo much as) nine years old. His appearance, therefor, and actions in this and the laſt acts of the preſent, and, at leaſt, the two firſt of the following play, are totally unſupported by history and truth.

p. 446.
Enter Rutland, and his tutor.]
"A prieſt called ſir R [...] bert Aſpall."
Hall, Hen. VI. fo. 99.
p. 448.
Rut.

I never did thee harm, why wilt thou ſlay me?

Clif.

Thy father hath.

Rut.

But 'twas ere I was born.

[126] Rutland is under a mistake. The battle of St. Albans, in which old Clifford was ſlain, happened in 1455; that of Wakefield in 1460. He appears to have been at this time above ſeventeen years old.

p. 453.
York.

Oh, tygres heart, wrapp'd in a womans hide.

This is a remarkable inſtance of the editors diffidence, The word appears in the ſame ſhape in the old editions; and the preſent editors, not knowing whether it was intended for tygers or tygreſs's, durſt not venture to change it, and have therefor left it as they found it. We ſhould, however, certainly read tygreſs.'

p. 462.
Edw.

— when came George from Burgundy to England?

War.
— he was lately ſent
From your kind aunt, ducheſs of Burgundy,
With aid of ſoldiers to this needful war.

This circumſtance is not warranted by history. Clarence and Gloucester (as they were afterwards created) were ſent into Flanders immediately after the battle of Wakefield, and did not return untill their brother Edward got poſſeſſion of the crown. Beſides, Clarence was not now more than twelve years old.

Iſabel dutcheſs of Burgundy, whom Shakſpeare calls the dukes aunt, was daughter of John I. king of Portugal, by Philippa of Lancaster, eldeſt daughter of John of Gaunt. They were, therefor, no more than third couſins.

p. 469. 470.
Rich.

Whoever got thee there thy mother ſtands.

......

Rich.

Iron of Naples, hid with Engliſh gilt.

[127] The firſt of theſe ſpeeches is, in the folios, by an evident blunder, given to Warwick. The latter, which is there given to Richard, ſeems more properly to belong to Warwick.

p. 473.

A field of battle, at Ferrybridge in Yorkſhire.] We ſhould read near Towton, Shakſpeare has here, perhaps intentionally, thrown three different actions into one. The lord Fitz-water, being ſtationed by king Edward to defend the paſs of Ferrybridge, was aſſaulted by the lord Clifford, and immediately ſlain, "and with hym," ſays Hall, "the hastard of Salisbury, brother to the earl of Warwycke, a valeaunt yong gen [...]elman, and of great audicitie. When the earl of Warwycke," adds he, "was informed of this ſeate, he lyke a man deſperated, mounted on his hackeney, and came blowing to kyng Edwarde ſaiyng: ſyr I praye God haue mercy of their ſoules, which in the beginning of your enterpriſe hath loſt their lyfes, and becauſe I ſe no ſuccors of the world I remit the vengeaunce and puniſhment to God our creator and redenier, and with that lighted doune, and ſlewe his horſe with his ſwourde, ſaiyng: let them flye that wyl, for ſurely I wil tary with him that wil tary with me, and kiſsed the croſſe of his ſwourde." Clifford in his retreat was beſet with a party of Yorkiſts, when, "eyther," ſays the historian, "for heat or payne putting off his gerget ſodainly with an arrowe (as ſome ſay) without an hedde [he] was ſtriken into the throte, and incontinent rendered his ſpirite, and the erle of Weſtmerlandes brother, and almoſt all his company were thare ſlayn, at a place called Dinting-dale, not farr frō Towton." In the afternoon of the next day (Palm Sunday eve, 1461), on a plain field between Towton and Saxton, joined the main battles, [128]which continued engaged that night and the greater part of the following day: upwards of 30,000 men, all Engliſh (including many of the nobility and the flower of the gentry, eſpecially of the northern parts) being ſlain, on both ſides. This battle, ſays Carte, "decided the fate of the houſe of Lancaster, overturning, in one day, an uſurpation ſtrengthened by ſixty-two years continuance: and eſtabliſhed Edward on the throne of England."

p. 489.
A wood in Lancaſhire.]
Why Lancaſhlre? The king ſays,
From Scotland am I ſtol'n, even of pure love,
To greet mine own land with my wiſhful ſight.

Which proves that he can neither have been long out of the former country, nor have got far into the latte. Indeed, that this was the fact appears from Hall, who tells us: "He was no ſooner entered, but he was knowen and taken of one Cantlow, and brought towarde the kyng." A future editor will, therefor, do well to read Northhumberland.

p. 499.
Glo.
And yet, between my ſouls deſire and me.
(The luſtful Edwards title buried)
Is Clarence, Henry, and his ſon young Edward,
And all th' unlook'd for iſſue of their bedies,
To take their fooms ere I can place myſelf.

Gloucester ſeems onely to enumerate the branches of the houſe of Lancaster from his natural deſire to have a ſpecious pretence for the murders he intended to commit. Henry and his ſon and their unlcok'd for iſſue could no more [129](of right) place theirſelves between Clarence and him than between Edward and Clarence.

p. 504.

Enter Warwick (at the French court).] This noblemans embaſſy and commiſſion, the inſult he receives by the kings haſty marriage, and his conſequent reſolution to avenge it, with the capture, impriſonment, and eſcape of the king, Shakſpeare, it is true, found in Hall and Hollinshed; but later, as well as earlyer writers, of better authority, incline us to discredit the whole; and to refer the rupture between the king and his political creator to cauſes which have not reached posterity, or to that jealouſy and ingratitude ſo natural, perhaps, to thoſe who are under obligations too great to be discharged. Beneficia, ſays Tacitus, eo usque loeta ſunt, dum videntur exſolvi poſſe; ubi multum antevenere, pro gratiâ odium redditur.

p. 541.
Som.
Somerſet, Somerſet, for Lancaster.!
Glo. Two of thy name, both dukes of Somerſet,
Have ſold their lives unto the houſe of York;
And thou ſhalt be the third, if this ſword hold.

The firſt of theſe noblemen was Edmund, ſlain at the battle of St. Albans, 1455 (Part l. act v. ſcene ii.) The ſecond was Henry his ſon, beheaded after the battle of Hexham, 1463. The preſent duke, Edmund, brother to Henry, was taken priſoner at Tewksbury, 1471, and there beheaded, (infra, ſcene v.) his brother John loſing his life in the ſame fight.

[130] A liſt of the ſeveral battles fought between the houſes of York and Lancaster may, poſſibly, be thought no incurious addition to the notes on this play.

  • 1. The battle of St. Albans, between Richard duke of York and K. Henry; in which the latter was defeated and made priſoner; 23d May 1455.
  • 2 The battle of Blore-heath (in Shropſhire), between Richard carl of Salisbury (for York) and James lord Audley (for Lancaster); in which the latter was defeated and ſlain: 23d Septem. 1459.
  • 3. The battle of Northhampton, between the earls of March and W [...]rwick and king Henry; in which the king was again defeated and made priſoner: 10th July 1460.
  • 4. The battle of Wakefield, between Richard duke of York and queen Margaret; in which the former was defeated and ſlain 30th Decem. 1460.
  • 5. The battle of Mortimers croſs, between Edward duke of York and Jasper earl of Pembroke; in which the latter was defeated: ..... 1460.
  • 6. The (ſecond) battle of St. Albans, between queen Margaret and the earl of Warwick; in which the latter was deſeated: (Shrove-Tuesday) 17th Feb. 1460.
  • 7. The [...] of Ferrybridge, between the lord Clifford (for Lancaster) and the lord Fitzwater (for York); in which the [...] was ſurpriſed and killed, Clifford and almoſt all his party being ſtain in their retreat: 28th March 1461.
  • 8. The battle of Towton, between king Edward and king Henry; in which the latter was deſeated, and 36,000 were ſlain: (Paint-Sunday eve) 29th March 1961.
  • [131] 9. The battle of Hedgeley-Moor (in Northhumberland), between the lord Montacute (for York) and the lords Hungerford and Roos, ſir Ralph Percy and others (for Lancaster); in which the Lancastrians were defeated, and Percy ſlain: 25th. April 1463.
  • 10. The battle of Hexham, between the lord Montacute and king Henry; in which the latter was defeated: 15th May 1463.
  • 11. The battle of Hedgecote (Banbury or Cotswold), between the earl of Pembroke (for king Edward) and the lords Fitzhugh and Latimer and ſir John Conyers (for the earl of Warwick, on the part of Lancaster); in which the former was defeated: 29th July 1469.
  • 13. The battle of Stamford (Leſecoatfield), between ſir Robert Wells (for Warwick) and king Edward; in which the former was defeated: ..... 1469.
  • 14. The battle of Barnet, between king Edward and the earl of Warwick; in which the latter was defeated and ſlain: (Eaſter-Sunday) 14th April 1471.
  • 15. The battle of Tewksbury, between king Edward and queen Margaret; in which the latter was defeated and made priſoner: 3d May 1471.

VOLUME THE SEVENTH.

KING RICHARD THE THIRD

p. 30.
Queen.

So juſt is God, to right the innocent.

"Q. Mar. So juſt is God, &c.] This line ſhould be given to Edward IVth's queen. WARBURTON."

[132] It is given to her in both folios. Where was the occaſion for a note?

p. 33.
Q. Mar.

Why ſtrew'ſt thou ſugar on that bottled ſpider.

"A ſpider," ſays dr. Johnſon, "is called bottled, becauſe, like other inſects, he has a middle ſlender, and a belly protuberant."

A moſt rational and ſatisfactory explanation, — very little worſe than none at all. A bottled ſpider is the large bloated ſpider with a deep black ſhining ſkin, generally eſteemed the moſt venemous.

p. 34.
Q. Mar.
And turns the ſun to ſhade;—alas! alas!
Witneſs my ſun, now in the ſhade of death;
Whoſe bright out-ſhining beams thy cloudy wrath
Hath in eternal darkneſs folded up.

The folios read: ‘Witneſs my Sonne —’ Her distreſs cannot prevent her quibbling.

It may be here remarked that the introduction of Margaret in this place is againſt all historical evidence. She was ranſomed and ſent to France ſoon after Tewksbury fight, and there paſsed the remainder of her wretched life.

p. 61.
2 Cit.

Hear you the news abroad?

1 Cit.

Yes, that the king is dead.

2 Cit.

Ill news by'r lady; ſeldom comes a better.

This is noted by Ray as a proverbial ſaying.

p. 63.
[133]
Arch.
Laſt night, I heard, they lay at Northampton;
At Stony-Stratford they do reſt to-night.

Thus the preſent editors. The folio reads:

Laſt night I heard they lay at Stony-Stratford,
And at Northampton they do reſt to-night.

Much to the metrical advantage, one would think, of the firſt line. But the gentlemen who took upon them to make the transpoſition (of which they have not, by the way, been pleaſed to give the ſlighteſt intimation) juſt knew that Stony-Stratford was a ſtage nearer London than Northhampton; and that was all. Had they condeſcended to conſult the history, they would have found that the prince and his company did, in their way to London, actually lye at Stony-Stratford one night, and were the next morning taken back, by the duke of Gloucester, to Northhampton, where they lay the following night. See Hall. Ed. V. fo. 6.

p. 64.
Queen.

A parlous boy:—Go to, you are too ſhrewd.

Dutch.

Good madam, be not angry with the child.

Parlous, mr. Steevens ſays, is ſhrewd. It is a corruption of perilous, dangerous; the ſenſe it has here. The queen evidently means to chide him.

p. 65.
Dut.

Who hath committed them?

Meſ.

The mighty dukes, Gloster and Buckingham.

Queen.

For what offence?

Meſ.
[134]
The ſum of all I can, I have disclos'd;
Why, or for what, the nobles were committed,
Is all unknown to me, my gracious lady.

"For what offence?] The question is given to the archbiſhop in former copies, but the meſſenger plainly ſpeaks to the queen or dutcheſs. JOHNSON."

The learned critic has therefor made the change. And thus are the words and meaning of Shakſpeare altered, corrupted, and injured, through the indolence and preſumption of his editors and commentators. The old editions not onely give the question to the archbiſhop, but make it plain that the meſſenger ſpeaks to no other perſon. They read: ‘Is all unknown to me, my gracious lord.

p. 94.

Gle. Touch'd you the bastardy of Edwards children?

Buck. I did; with his contract with lady Lucy.

The king had been familiar with this lady before his marriage, to obſtruct which his mother alledged a precontract between them; "whervpon," ſays the historian, "dame Elizabeth Lucye was ſente for and albeit ſhe was by the kyng hys mother and many other put in good comfort to affirme yt ſhe was aſſured to the kynge, yet when ſhe was ſolempny ſworne to ſay yt truth ſhe confeſsed ſhe was ne [...]er enſured. Howbeit ſhe ſayd, his grace ſpake ſuche l [...]uing wordes to her, that ſhe verely hoped that he would have maried her, and that yf ſuch kynde woordes had not bone, ſhe woulde neuer haue ſhewed ſuch kindneſſe to him, to lette hym ſo kyndely gette her wyth chylde." Hall. Ed. V. fo. 19.

p. 97.
[135]

Enter Gloster above, between two Biſhops.] It ſhould ſeem, mr. Steevens ſays, from a former paſſage that theſe two clergymen, here called biſhops, were Dr. Shaw, and Friar Penker.

Gloucester tells Buckingham:

— you ſhall find me well accompanied,
With reverend fathers, and well learned biſhops.

And Catesby has juſt informed him, that the duke is ‘— within, with two right reverend fathers:

i. e. the two biſhops between whom he appears above, Dr. Shaw and friar Penker were the reverend fathers.

p. 115.

K. Rich. The ſon of Clarence have I pen'd up cloſe.

In Sheriffhutton caſtle: where he remained till the coming of Henry VII. who, immediately after the battle of Bosworth, ſent him to the Tower, and, ſome few years after, moſt treacherously and barbarously put him to death; being, from a total want of education and commerce with mankind, ſo ignorant that he could not, according to Hall, discern a gooſe from a [...]apon. With this unfortunate young nobleman ended the male line of the illust [...]ious houſe of Plantagenet.

— his daughter meanly have I match'd in marriage.

To ſir Richard Pole knight. This lady, at ſeventy years of age, without any legal proceſs, and for no crime but her relation to the crown, was beheaded in the Tewer by that ſanguinary tyrant Henry VIII. Her ſon lord Montag [...] had been put to death a few [...] cars [...], in the ſame manner, and for the ſame crime. And the famous cardinal [136]Pole, another of her children, onely eſcaped the fate of his mother and brother by keeping out of the butchers reach.

p. 132.
Queen.
Heaven's wrong is moſt of all.—
If thou hadſt fear'd to break an oath by him.

"Thus all the old copies. The modern ones read: ‘— with Heaven.

I have reſtored the old reading, becauſe him (the oblique caſe of he) was anciently uſed for it, in a neutral ſenſe. STEEVENS."

The reſtoration was certainly juſt, though it is very doubtful that the reaſon here given in ſupport of it is ſo. The truth is that Shakſpeare makes Heaven a perſon.

p. 136.
K. Rich.
What heir of York is there alive, but we?

What heir of York; i. e. What ſon of Richard duke of York?

p. 149.
Richm.
O Thou! whoſe captain I account myſelf, &c.

They who read Halls account of this adventurer will be apt to attribute the fervency of his prayers rather to cowardice than to piety.

p. 161.
K. Rich.
— a paltty fellow,
Long kept in Brittaine at our brother's coſt?

The old reading is—our mothers coſt, which mr. Theobald would alter to—his mothers coſt. Dr. Farmer ſays, that Holli [...]shed, whom Shakſpeare cloſely followed, has— [137]"brought up by my mothers means and mine." That Hollinshed copies verbatim from Hall, but by an error of the preſs, gives moother inſtead of brother as it is in Hall, and ought to be in Shakſpeare. The learned commentators ingenuity is unquestionable, though it has involved him in ſome little inconſistency. For, if mother, which Shakſpeare certainly wrote, ſhould be changed to brother, becauſe he was misled by the blunder of Hollinsheds printer, why is the word praeclariſſimus to be justifyed by the identical principle on which mother is condemned? (Hen. V. volume v. p. 169.)

p. 166.
Rich.
O, now, let Richmond and Elizabeth,
The true ſucceeders of each royal houſe,
By God's fair ordinance conjoin together!

Shakſpeare is not ſingular in ſuppoſing Henry to be the true repreſentative of the line of Lancaster. The tyrannous and bloody dispoſition of this monarch, and his immediate ſucceſſor (neither of whom was at all inferior in cruelty, and the firſt of them far ſuperior in craft and cunning to the monſter he dethroned), joined to the goodneſs of their title under the houſe of York, made it unſafe, and perhaps unneceſſary to canvas his deſcent. So that fear, flattery, neglect, and ignorance, ſeem to have eſtabliſhed the opinion which moſt of our historians, and people in general hold of Richmonds being what he here pretends to be. But he is an impostor: his great grandfather, John duke of Somerſet, from whom he derived the little title he had, was bastard ſon to John of Gaunt, and, though legitimated by act of parliament as to other purpoſes, utterly incapable of inheriting the crown. The right heir of the houſe of Lancaster, which, indeed, as oppoſed to the line of York, had not the ſmalleſt legal pretenſions to the throne, was [138]then, and ſtill is, in the royal family of Portugal, in virtue of its deſcent from the lady Philippa, eldeſt daughter to John of Gaunt.

KING HENRY THE EIGHTH.

p. 186.
Buck.
— his own letter,
The honourable board of council out,
Muſt fetch in him he papers.

"Council not then ſitting. JOHNSON."

"All mention of the board of council being left out of his letters. STEEVENS."

Neither, neither. Without adviſing with or conſulting the council: not ſuffering them to have any concern in the buſyneſs.

p. 212.
Anne.
You are a merry gameſter,
My lord Sands.
Sands.

Yes, if I make my play.

That is, ſays mr. Steevens, if I make my party.—Rather, if I may chooſe my game.

p. 231.
Old L.
Our content
Is our beſt having.

"That is, our beſt poſſeſſion......In Spaniſh, hazienda. JOHNSON."

[139] People generally introduce ſcraps of a foreign language to ſhew their knowlege: the learned commentator brings this merely to display his want of it. For, let the word hazienda ſignify what it may, what has it to do here? Indeed, "the profeſsed critic, in order to furniſh his quota to the bookſeller, may write notes of nothing, that is notes which either explane things which do not want explanation, or ſuch as do not explane matters at all, but merely fill up ſo much paper:" a canon, of which dr. Johnſon has availed hisſelf pretty much in the manner of his predeceſſor dr. Warburton, who ſagaciously obſerves, that friends of my ſoul is a Spaniſh phraſe: Amigo de mi alma. Query, which of theſe two profeſsed critics has displayed the moſt learning and acuteneſs?

p. 240.
Queen.
— I do believe,
Induc'd by potent circumſtances; that
You are mine enemy; and make my challenge,
You ſhall not be my judge.

One would think it impoſſible to find a ſentiment expreſsed with greater accuracy. But hear dr. Johnſon:

"Challenge is here a verb [...] juris, a law term. The criminal, when he refuſes a juryman, ſays, I challenge him. I think there is a ſlight errour which deſtroys the connection, and would read:

Induc'd by potent circumſtances, that
You are mine enemy, I make my challenge.
— You ſhall not be my judge."

Alas; how very eaſy it is for a great ſcholar to convert a fine expreſſion into downright nonſenſe!

p. 287.
[140]
Grif.
Noble madam,
Mens evil manners live in braſs; their virtues
We write in water.

Sir John Harrington, in his translation of Ariosto, has a ſimilar ſentiment:

Men ſay it, and we ſee it come to paſs,
Good turns in ſand, ſhrewd turns are writ in braſs.

The Latin proverb, he ſays, is, Scribit in marmore laeſus.

CORIOLANUS.

p. 352.
Mar.
All the contagion of the ſouth light on you,
You ſhames of Rome, you! Herds of boils and plagues
Plaster you o'er.

Herds of boils and plagues, to ſay the beſt of it, is a very ſtrange ſort of expreſſion. The old editions read: ‘You ſhames of Rome: you heard of byles and plagues.’ Which, thus regulated, is certainly right:

You ſhames of Rome! you herd of—Boils and plagues
Plaister you o'er.
p. 374.
M [...]r.

A letter for me? It gives me an eſtate of ſeven years health; .... the moſt ſovereign preſcription in Galen is but empiric, and, to this preſervative, of no better effect than a horſedrench.

The old copy, mr. Steevens tells us, reads—is but empirick qutique—of which, he ſays, the reader muſt make [...]. can.

[141] This, to be ſure, is one way for an editor to get rid of difficulties—by transferring them to his readers. The preſent inſtance, however, fortunately happens to be none. The moſt ſovereign preſcription in Galen, ſays Menenius, is, to this news, but empiricutic:—an adjective evidently formed by the author from empiric (empirique, F.) a quack.

p. 378.
Com.

Ever right.

Cor.

Menenius, ever, ever.

Mr. Tyrwhitt would rather read:

Com.

Ever right, Menenius.

Gor.

Ever, ever.

But will not the change of a ſingle point have a more natural and ſpirited effect?

Com.

Ever right.

Cor.

Menenius? ever, ever.

p. 379.
Bru.
— The kitchen malkin pins
Her richeſt lockram 'bout her reechy neck.

"A maukin or malkin," ſays one P. "is a kind of mop made of clouts for the uſe of ſweeping ovens: thence a frightful figure of clouts dreſsed up: thence a dirty wench."

Malkin is properly the diminutive of Mal, (Mary); as Wilkin, Tomkin, &c. In Scotland, pronounced Maukin, it ſignifies a hare. Grey malkin (corruptly, Grimalkin) is a cat. The kitchen malkin is juſt the ſame as the kitchen Madge or Beſs: the ſcullion. Master P. has exhibited her pedigree reverſed, and mistaken the effect for the cauſe.

p. 395.
[142]
Cor.

You know the cauſe, ſirs, of my ſtanding here.

2 Cit.

— tell us what hath brought you to't.

Cor.

Mine own deſert.

2 Cit.

Your own deſert?

Cor.

Ay, not mine own deſire.

"The old copy—but mine own deſire. If but be the true reading, it muſt ſignify, as in the North—without. STEEVENS."

But is onely the reading of the firſt folio: Not is the true reading.

p. 479.
Men.

— I have been blown out of your gates with fighs; and conjure thee to pardon Rome, and thy petitionary countrymen.

Your cannot be right. If the ſpeaker mean to call the gates Coriolanuses, which would ſeem very abſurd, he ought to ſay thy gates. It muſt be either our or their.

VOLUME THE EIGHTH.

JULIUS CAESAR.

p. 5.
Flov.

What trade, thou knave?

Cob.

Nay, I beſeech you, ſir, be not out with me: yet if you be out, ſir, I can mend you.

Mar.

What meaneſt thou by that? Mend me, thou ſaucy fellow?

[143] Mr. Theobald thinks it plain that this laſt ſpeech muſt be given to Flavius. But dr. Johnſon replaces Marullus, who, he ſays, might properly enough reply to a ſaucy ſentence directed to his colleague. The cobler tells Flavius that, if he be out, he can mend him. Can any thing, therefor, be more abſurd than for Marullus to abuſe the cobler for ſaying what he had not ſaid; that he could mend HIM? And yet does the critic pronounce his reply to be made properly enough! The hint, however, in the latter part of the note may incline one to give the firſt ſpeech to Marullus inſtead of transferring the laſt to Flavius.

p. 6.
Mar.

That Tyber trembled underneath his banks.

"The old copies read—her banks. As Tyber is always repreſented by the figure of a man, the feminine gender is improper. STEEVENS."

This may be true, but it is the duty of an editor to give what his author actually wrote, and not what he ſhould have written.

p. 25.
Caſ.
And the complexion of the element,
It favours like the work we have in hand,
Moſt bloody, fiery, and moſt terrible.

The old editions read—Is Favors—of which ſome preceding editor made—Is fev'rous;—a much more ingenious and probable emendation ſurely than that adopted in the text.

p. 46.
Cal.

And graves have yawn'd, and yielded up their dead.

I am afraid here is a profane alluſion to the following text of holy ſcripture (Goſpel according to St. Matthew, xxvii. 52.)

[144] "And the graves were opened, and many bodies of the ſaints which ſlept, aroſe, and came out of the graves, .... and went into the holy city, and appeared unto many."

It is ſomewhat remarkable that neither St. Luke nor St. John ſhould take the leaſt notice of this prodigious event. Even St. Mark, who onely copies or abridges St. Matthew, ſeems to have been fearful of truſting, in this particular, to his readers faith. COLLINS.

p. 48.
Caeſ.
— Danger knows full well,
That Caeſar is more dangerous than he.
We were two lions litter'd in one day,
And I the elder and more terrible.

The old copies read heare, which Theobald changed into were. Upton, ſays mr. Steevens, would read we are: an emendation, which common ſenſe, as well as grammatical conſtruction, requires us to adopt. The pointing, likewiſe, demands a ſlight improvement.

We are two lions, litter'd in one day,
And I the elder and more terrible.
p. 82.

On a ſmall island near Mutina.] In whatever place the triumvirs actually met, it is evident that Shakſpeare intended to place the ſcene in Rome.

p. 90.
Caſ.

You wrong me every way, you wrong me, Brutus.

The ſpirit of Caſſiuses expostulation would be, perhaps, better preſerved, if we were to point it thus: ‘You wrong me; every way you wrong me, Brutus.’

p. 95.
[145]
Bru.
— With this ſhe fell diſtract,
And, her attendants abſent, ſwallow'd fire.

Mr. Steevens, after obſerving that this circumſtance is taken from Plutarch, and that it is alſo mentioned by Valerius Maximus, ſays: "It may not be amiſs to remark, that the death of Portia wants that foundation which has hitherto intitled her to a place in poetry, as a pattern of Roman fortitude. She is reported by Pliny, I think, to have died in Rome of a lingering illneſs while Brutus was abroad."

This, indeed, though a rather extraordinary, is a tolerably eaſy method of overturning the credit of historians, and the exiſtence of an historical fact. But, ſurely, with all the ſubmiſſion to the learned and ingenious commentator, due authority of Plutarch and Valerius Maximus is ſomewhat better than a vague idea of its being contradicted by Pliny.

p. 103.
Octa.

Upon the right hand I, keep thou the left.

The tenour of the converſation evidently requires us to read—you.

p. 119.

"Of this tragedy," dr. Johnſon ſays, "many particular paſſages deſerve regard ..... but I have never been ſtrongly agitated in peruſing it, and think it ſomewhat cold and unaffecting, &c."

This is a ſtrange charge. If nature have denyed to this great critic the ordinary feelings of humanity, is he therefor to accuſe the poet? Surely, dr. Johnſon is the onely perſon living who would not be aſhamed to declare hisſelf [146]inſenſible to the intereſting and pathetic ſcenes of this admirable drama. So far from Shakſpeares adherence "to the real ſtory and to Roman manners" having "impeded the natural vigour of his genius," he ſeems to have riſen with the grandeur and importance of his ſubject; and, if there be any one play in theſe volumes which affects the heart more than the reſt it may be ſafely averred to be this of Julius Caeſar. And he who is not "agitated in peruſing it" may defy the powers of poetry to move him.

The characters or dogmatical criticiſms ſubjoined by the above learned philoſopher at the end of each play are generally (as in the preſent inſtance) as unjuſt in theirſelves, as injurious to the immortal author; and, in many caſes, could onely proceed from one who either had not read the drama reviewed, or, from ſome natural defect, was inſenſible of its beauty and merit.

ANTONY AND CLEOPATRA.

p. 130.
Char.
Pr'ythee, how many boys and wenches muſt I have?
Soeth.
If every of your wiſhes had a womb,
And foretel every wiſh, a million.

That is, ſays dr. Johnſon, if you had as many wombs as you will have w [...]ſhes, and I ſhould foretel all thoſe wiſhes, I ſhould foret [...]l a million of children. The text, as dr. Warburton justly obſerves, is nonſenſe, and this explanation is as bad. She aſks the foothſayer how many children ſhe is to have: why, ſays he, if all your wiſhes had wombs, and [I [147]ſhould] foretel every wiſh, you would have a million. Ridiculous! Is that any anſwer to her queſtion? He does foretel how many ſhe will have. Dr. Warburton reads fertil, which reſtores ſenſe and ſpirit to the whole paſſage.

p. 142.
Cleo.
— Can Fulvia die?

Notwithſtanding the ingenious comment upon this paſſage by mr. Steevens, one may be ſtill inclined to think that Cleopatra means no more than—Is it poſſible that Fulvia ſhould dye? I will not believe it.

p. 153.
Ale [...].
— So he nodded,
And ſoberly did mount an arm-gaunt ſteed,
Who neigh'd ſo high, that what I would have ſpoke,
Was beaſtly dumb'd by him.

Mr. Seyward, ſays dr. Johnſon, in his preface to Beaumont, has very elaborately endeavoured to prove that an arm-gaunt ſteed is a ſteed with lean-ſhoulders. Arm, adds he, is the Teutonic word for want, or poverty. "Arm gaunt may be therefore an old word, ſignifying lean for want, ill-fed. Edwards's obſervation, that a worn out horſe is not proper for Atlas to mount in battle, is impertinent: the horſe here mentioned ſeems to be a poſt-horſe, rather than a warhorſe."

It is ſomewhat remarkable that when this great critic is deſirous to introduce his own note on a paſſage whereon a much better has been already written, he generally begins his obſervation by ridiculing that of his predeceſſor. Mr. Seward, (not Seyward as dr. Johnſon, mr. Steevens, and mr. Malone, have every where [148]throughout this edition corrupted his name) explains the word arm-gaunt by thin ſhoulders, which, he ſays, is known to be one of the principal beauties of a horſe. And he adds that the epithet has, from the uncommon uſe of either part of the compound word in this [...]enſe, an antique dignity and grandeur in ſound that poets much delight in. (The reader will obſerve the difference between thin ſhoulders and lean ſhoulders; the former being a beauty, the latter a defect.) And this dr. Johnſon calls an elaborate endeavour to prove. Not recollecting that his own attempt is more elaborate, and much [...]ſs ingenious and ſucceſsful. Arm may be the Teutoni [...] word for want; and yet one would like to have ſome better proof of its exiſtence than the bare dictum of one ſo little acquainted with ancient languages as dr. Johnſon is. And even when that is given we ſhould ſtill be glad to know how Shakſpeare came by it. Dr. Johnſons obſervation that this ſteed was a poſt horſe is "impertinent;" as a poſthorſe would ſcareely have made any distinction between Antony and his groom: and yet the author repreſents it ſo proud of its burthen that its neigh ſilenced the by-ſtanders.

p. 190.
Pomp.

I have fair meaning, ſir.

Ant.

And fair words to them.

The laſt word makes it evident that we ſhould read meanings.

p. 197.
Eno.
There's a ſtrong fellow, Menas.
[Pointing to the attendant who carries off Lepidus.
He bears
The third part of the world ...
Menas.
[149]
The third part then he is drunk: would it were all,
That it might go on wheels.

This ſhould have been corrected to ‘The third part then is drunk: would it were all.’

p. 216.

Mec. And gives his potent regiment to a trull.

Trull, dr. Johnſon ſays, was not, in our authors time, a term of mere infamy, but a word of ſlight contempt, as wench is now. It may be difficult to know what the learned commentator conceives to be a term of mere infamy. But thus much is certain, that trull, in the age of Shakſpeare, ſignifyed a ſtrumpet, and ſo he uſes it.

p. 227.
Ant.
Yes, my lord, yes;—He, at Philippi, kept
His ſword even like a dancer.

Sword-dances at Chriſtmas are not peculiar to Northhumberland; they are common to the adjoining counties; and are, not without the greateſt probability, ſuppoſed to have deſcended from the Romans 17. In theſe dances the ſword-points are generally over the ſhoulders of the performers. Antony means that Caeſar ſtood inactive with his ſword on his ſhoulder.

p. 266.
Ant.

Let me lodge Lichas on the horns o'the moon.

Shakſpeare, mr. Steevens thinks, might have taken part of this imagery from Heywood's Silver age, 1613. If the Silver [150]age, however, were not printed before that year it is more likely that Shakſpeare furniſhed Heywood.

p. 277.
Cleo.
— not the imperious ſhew
Of the full-fortun'd Caefar ever ſhall
Be brooch'd with me.

Brooch, ſays dr. Percy, is properly a bodkin or ſome ſuch inſtrument, originally a ſpit; and ladies bodkins, adds he, being headed with gems, it ſometimes ſtands for an ornamental trinket or jewel in general; in which ſenſe, he ſays, it is, perhaps, uſed at preſent, or as probably in its original one for pinned up, &c.

A brooch is always an ornament; whether a buckle or pin for the breaſt, hat, or hair, or whatever other ſhape it may may aſſume. A broach is a ſpit: the ſpires of churches are likewiſe ſo called in the Northern couuties; as Darnton-broach. Brooch'd, in the text, certainly means adorn'd, as it has been properly explained by mr. Steevens.

TIMON OF ATHENS.

p. 323.
Pain.

How this lord is follow'd!

Poet.

The ſenators of Athens;—Happy men!

Mr. Steevens would read—Happy man! thinking it the happineſs of Timon, and not that of the ſenators, upon which the poet means to exclaim. But the text is right. The poet envies or admires the felicity of the ſenators in [151]being Timons friends, and familiarly admitted to his table to partake of his good chear, and experience the effects of his bounty.

p. 324.
Poet.
Apemantus ..... even he drops down
The knee before him, and returns in peace
Moſt rich in Timons nod.

Either Shakſpeare, mr. Steevens ſays, meant to put a falſehood into the mouth of his poet, or had not yet thoroughly planned the character of Apemantus; for in the enſuing ſcenes his behaviour is cynical to Timon as to his followers.

The behaviour of Apemantus is juſtly repreſented, and yet the note might have been ſpared; the authors conſistency being liable to no charge. The poet, ſeeing that Apemantus paid frequent viſits to Timon, naturally concluded that he was equally courteous with his other gueſts. The critic, indeed, knows the contrary, but the ſpeaker did not.

p. 326.
Timon.
I am not of that feather to ſhake off
My friend when he muſt need me.

The ſenſe would be certainly improved by reading thus:

I am not of that feather to ſhake off
My friend when he moſt needs me.
p. 361.
Tim.
Purchance, ſome ſingle vantages you took.
When my indispoſition put you back;
And that unaptneſs made your minister,
Thus to excuſe yourſelf.

[152] This is perfectly unintelligible. "So, however," ſays dr. Johnſon, "the original." The later editions, he tells us, have all: ‘— made you miniſter. Which is right. It is the reading of the ſecond folio.

p. 362.
Flav.
— My dear lov'd lord,
Though you hear now, yet now's too late a time.

The old editions read ‘Though you hear now (too late) yet now's a time.

That is, according to dr. Warburton, "Though it be now too late to retrieve your former fortunes, yet it is not too late to prevent, by the aſſiſtance of your friends, your future miſeries." Sir T. Hanmer, it ſeems, made the alteration, which, though undoubtedly wrong, dr. Johnſon thought right, and admitted into his text. The old reading, however, is not properly explained by dr. Warburton. Though I tell you this, ſays Flavius, at too late a period, perhaps, for the information to be of ſervice to you, yet late as it is, it is neceſſary that you ſhould be acquainted with it. It is evident that the ſteward had very little hope of aſſistance from his masters friends.

p. 380.
Var.

Yes, mine's three thouſand crowns: what's yours?

Lu [...].

Five thouſand mine.

Var.
'Tis much deep: and it ſhould ſeem by the ſum,
Your masters confidence was above mine;
Elſe, ſurely, his bad equall'd.

Dr. Johnſon, whoſe underſtanding frequently ſtarts at the plaineſt paſſage, and makes thoſe who have little of [153]their own, imagine difficulties where there are none, aſks if this ſhould not be, elſe, ſurely, mine had equall'd. The anſwer is eaſy: it ſhould not. Mr. Malone has, indeed, undertaken to justify the text; and given a long note upon it, which HE may poſſibly underſtand. Without taking further notice, however, of his ſee-ſaw conjectures, the meaning of the paſſage is evidently and ſimply this: Your master, it ſeems, had more confidence in lord Timon than mine, otherwiſe, his (i. e. my masters) debt (i. e. the money due to him from Timon) would, certainly, have been as great as your masters (i. e. as the money which Timen owes to your master);—that is, my master, being as rich as yours, could and would have advanced Timon as large a ſum as your master has advanced him, if he (i. e. my master) had thought it prudent to do ſo.

p. 397.
Tim.
— maid, to thy masters bed;
Thy mistreſs is o'the brothel!

The ſenſe, according to mr. Steevens, is Go, maid with ſecurity to thy masters bed, for thy miſtreſs is a bawd to thy amours. This is not altogether ſo clear. One would father ſuppoſe it to mean that the mistreſs frequented the brothel; and ſo ſir T. Hanmer underſtood it.

p. 411.
Tim.
— thoſe milk-paps,
That through the window-bars bore at mens eyes.

The folios read barne, and not improperly. En is a common termination of a Saxon plural; which we, in numberleſs inſtances, retain to this day. The word is to be [154]explained by bars, but ſhould not (though dr. Warburton calls it ſtrange nonſenſe) have been removed from the text.

p. 429.
Apemantus retreats backward.

Would not this ingenious remark be much improved by reading,—Apemantus advances backward? Like the exerciſe of the city militia:—"Advance three paces backwards!"

The editors have, here and there, indulged us with a few of theſe little marginal pleaſantries, which would not make a bad figure together. The reader may take a ſpecimen:

  • Exit Com. and Men. (vii. 465.)
  • Exit Worcester and Vernon. (v. 405.)
  • Enter Mortimer, brought in a chair. (v. 220.)
  • Exit Clown, Autolycus, Dorcas, and Mopſa. (iv. 392.)
  • Exit the queen, and Hamlet dragging in Polonius. (x. 332.)
  • Exit &c. (x. 509.)
p. 440.

Scene II.Enter Poet and Painter.] "The Poet and the Painter were within view when Apemantus parted from Timon, and might then have ſeen Timon, ſince Apemantus, ſtanding by him could ſee them: But the ſcenes of the thieves and ſteward have paſsed before their arrival, and yet paſsed, as the drama is now conducted, within their view. It might be ſuſpected, that ſome ſcenes are transpoſed, for all theſe difficulties would be removed by introducing the Poet and Painter firſt, and the thieves in this place. Yet I am afraid the ſcenes muſt keep their preſent order; for the Painter alludes to [155]the thieves when he ſays, he likewiſe enriched poor ſtraggling ſoldiers with great quantity. This impropriety is now heightened by placing the thieves in one act, and the Poet and Painter in another: but it muſt be remembered, that in the original edition this play is not divided into ſeparate acts, ſo that the preſent distribution is arbitrary, and may be changed if any convenience can be gained, or impropriety obviated by alteration. JOHNSON."

Had the learned critic peruſed the ſmall remainder of the Painters ſpeech, he would have perceived another incongruity, of which he does not ſeem to be aware. In the immediately preceding ſcene (the firſt of the fifth act) Flavius, Timons ſteward, has a conference with his master, and receives gold from him. Between this and the preſent ſcene, a ſingle minute cannot be ſuppoſed to paſs; and yet the Painter tells his companion:—'tis ſaid, he gave his ſteward a mighty ſum. Where was it ſaid? Why in Athens, whence, it muſt therefor ſeem, they are but newly come. Here then ſhould be fixed the commencement of the fifth act, in order to allow time for Flavius to return to the city, and for rumour to publiſh his adventure with Timon. But how are we, in this caſe, to account for Apemantuses announcing the approach of the Poet and Painter in the laſt ſcene of the preceding act, and before the thieves appear? It is poſſible that, when this play was abridged for repreſentation, all between this paſſage and the entrance of the Poet and Painter, may have been omitted by the players, and theſe words put into the mouth of Apemantus to introduce them: and that when it was publiſhed at large, the interpolation was unnoticed. Or, if we allow the Poet and the Painter to ſee Apemantus, it may be conjectured that they did not think his preſence neceſſary at their interview with Timon, and had therefor returned back into the city.

p. 452.
[156]
Sol.
By all deſcription this ſhould be the place.
Who's here? ſpeak, ho!—No anſwer?—What is this?
Timon is dead, who hath out-firetch'd his ſpan:
Some beaſt read this; there does not live a man.
Dead ſure; and this his grave. What's on this tomb?
I cannot read; the character I'll take with wax.

Dr. Warburton propoſes rear'd for read, and ſays, that the ſoldier had onely ſeen the rude heap of earth. But dr. Johnſon, who ſeems to have thought, that the chief part of his buſyneſs conſiſted in a totis viribus oppoſition to the moſt judicious improvements of preceding commentators, and that there is as much honour to be got by the demolition, as by the erection, of an elegant ſtructure, obſerves that the ſoldier "had evidently ſeen ſomething that told him Timon was dead; and what could tell that but his tomb? The tomb he ſees, and the inſcription upon it, which not being able to read, and finding none to read it for him, he exclaims peeviſhly, ſome beaſt read this, for it muſt be read, and in this place it cannot be read by man."

Now with all proper deſerence to the misunderſtanding and confuſion under which the learned critic labours in the above note, it is evident that the ſoldier, when he firſt ſees the heap of earth does not know it to be a tomb. He concludes that Timon muſt be dead, becauſe he receives no anſwer. It is likewiſe evident that when he utters the words ſome beaſt, &c. he has not ſeen the inſcription. And dr. Warburtons emendation is therefor not onely juſt and happy, but abſolutely neceſſary. What can this heap of earth be? ſays the ſoldier. — Timon is certainly dead, ſome beaſt muſt have erected this for here does not [...]ive a man to do it,—Yes, he is dead, ſure enough, and this muſt be his grave. What is this writing upon it?

[159] Dr. Johnſon is not content with repreſenting the ſoldier as peeviſh; he makes him a perfect fool. For thus, according to the ſagacious commentators expoſition, will his ſoliloquy ſtand:—I cannot read theſe letters; I muſt get ſome beaſt to read them for me; for, read they muſt be; and read, in this place, they cannot be, by man! But, firſt, where was the ſo urgent neceſſity of the inſcription being read at all? and, ſecondly, why could no man read it where it was?

TITUS ANDRONICUS.

p. 477.
Mar.
The Greeks upon advice did bury Ajax
That ſlew himſelf, &c.

This paſſage convinces mr. Steevens, that this play was the work of one converſant with the Greek tragedies in their original language; and, therefor, not of Shakſpeare. "We have here," ſays he, "a plain alluſion to the Ajax of Sophocles, of which no translation was extant in the time of Shakſpeare." If the fact were true, of which, however, neither mr. Steevens, nor any man now living can be certain 18, numbers of printed tracts, and even large volumes, having periſhed ſince that period, as accidents and [158]the reſearches of antiquarians dayly prove, ſtill Shakſpeare might have been indebted for the circumſtance to ſome manuſcript verſion, or the information of a more learned friend. Or (as is very probable) the ſame alluſion may be contained in other old books. There are many expreſſions in the courſe of the play which do not prove the author to have been very familiar with the ancients. Among other inſtances which might be adduced, Marcus praiſes Lavinia for her excellent performance on the lute. And it will not be very eaſy to decide whether the characters, or, at leaſt, the times are Christian or Heathen.

p. 483.
Chi.

Not I; till I have ſheath'd &c.

The editors have here adopted a transpoſition made by dr. Warburton, for which there is not the leaſt reaſon. Onely the matter is not of ſufficient conſequence to dwell upon.

p. 484.
D [...]m.
She is a woman, therefore may be woo'd;
She is a woman, therefore may be won.

Suffolk, in the Firſt part of king Henry VI. makes uſe of almoſt the ſame words:

She's beautiful; and therefore to be woo'd;
She is a woman, therefore to be won.

How much or how little ſoever this may ſerve to prove, if facts and evidence be to determine our judgement, there cannot remain a doubt that this play of Titus Andronicus is as much Shakſpeares as any other in this collection. It is not onely given to him by Mer [...]s, but is printed as his by the [159]editors of the firſt folio, his fellow comedians and intimate friends, who neither could have been deceived theirſelves, nor could or would have deceived the public.

VOLUME THE NINTH.

TROILUS AND CRESSIDA.

p. 26.
Cre.
— Women are angels, wooing;
Things won are done, joy's ſoul lies in the doing.

So, ſays dr. Johnſon, read both the old editions, for which, adds he, the later editors have [...]orly given: ‘— the ſoul's joy lies in doing.

Whatever may be the poverty of the expreſſion, it did not originate with the later editors. It is the reading of the ſecond folio.

p. 51.
Patr.

No more words, Therſites; peace.

Ther.

I will hold my peace when Achilles' brach bids me, ſhall I?

The folio and quarto editions, it ſeems, read brooch, which leads dr. Johnſon to think the meaning equivalent to one of Achilles' hangers-on. Mr. Malone, who, it muſt be confeſsed, generally comes foreward to a very good or uſeful purpoſe, obſerves that Brooch had ſome meaning at preſent unknown. For, ſays he, in the following paſſage [160]in Lodges Roſalynde, 1592, it ſeems to ſignify ſomething very different from a pin or a bodkin: "His bonnet was green, whereon ſtood a copper brooch with the picture of St. Dennis." A brooch is an ornament; likewiſe a buckle of uncommon workmanſhip, for the hat or breaſt. Such a one as had an image or figure of St. Dennis upon it, would probably conceal the pin or prong, which kept it faſt to the hat or girdle. K. Lewis the eleventh of France generally wore a leaden figure of St. Andrew in his hat, which, perhaps, anſwered the purpoſe of a brooch or buckle.

Thus, in Loves Labour Loſt (ii. 509):

Biron.

St. George's half cheek in a brooch.

Dum.

Ay, and in a brooch of lead.

Biron.

Ay, and worn in the cap of a tooth-drawer.

Brach is certainly the true reading.

p. 55.
Trei.
— the remainder viands
We do not throw in unreſpective ſieve.

Sieve, it ſeems, is in the quarto. The folio, according to dr. Johnſon, reads ‘— unreſpective ſame [ſame];’ for which, he ſays, the modern editors have ſilently printed, ‘— unreſpective place.

The learned commentator is ſo perfectly acquainted with the old copies that it is wonderful to find an ancient reading eſcape him! Place, however, cannot well be the ſilent interpolation of a modern editor, as it is to be found in the ſecond folio.

p. 62.
[161]
Patr.

Why am I a fool?

Ther.

Make that demand of the prover.

So, ſays dr. Johnſon, the quarto. The folio, adds mr. Steevens, profanely reads—of thy [to the] Creator. This would be intelligible, however, which the adopted reading is not. And as to any profaneneſs there may be in the words rejected, which every perſon may not ſo readyly discover, the author is anſwerable for it, not the editor.

p. 73.
Pan.

What exploit's in hand? where ſups he to night?

Helen.

Nay, but my lord,—

Pan.

What ſays my ſweet queen? My couſin will fall out with you.

Helen.

You muſt not know where he ſups.

Par.

I'll lay my life, with my dispoſer Creſſida.

Pan.

No, no, no ſuch matter, you are wide; come, your dispoſer is fick.

Dispoſer dr. Warburton thinks ſhould in both places be dispouſer; ſhe that would ſeparate Helen from Paris. Dr. Johnſon does not underſtand the word, nor know what to ſubſtitute in its place. He ſays, there is no variation in the copies. Mr. Steevens ſuſpects that you muſt not know when he ſups, ſhould be added to the ſpeech of Pandarus; and that the following one of Paris ſhould be given to Helen. He thinks that dispoſer ſhould be changed into depoſer; and ſuppoſes that ſhe addreſses herſelf to Pandarus, and, by depoſer, means—ſhe who thinks her beauty (or, whoſe beauty you ſuppoſe) to be ſuperior to mine.

Mr. Steevenses conjecture is very ingenious and happy, but the propriety of his explanation is very doubtful. The dialogue ſhould, perhaps, be regulated thus:

Par.
[162]

— where ſups he to night?

Helen.

Nay, but my lord —

Pan.

What ſays my ſweet queen?

Par.

My couſin will fall out with you.

[To Helen.]
Pan.

You muſt not know where he ſups.

[To Paris.]
Helen.

I'll lay my life with my depoſer Creſſida.

She calls Creſſida her depoſer, not for either of the reaſons aſſigned by mr. Steevens, but becauſe ſhe had depoſed her in the affections of Troilus, whom Fandarus, in a preceding ſcene, is ready to ſwear ſhe lov'd more than Paris.

Dr. Johnſon mistakes in aſſerting the uniformity of the the copies. The ſecond folio reads the fifth ſpeech thus: Pan. With my dispoſer Creſſida.’

p. 75.
Pan.

Oh! oh! groans out for ha! ha! ha! Hey ho!

Hey ho.] This exclamation is thus added in the folio to the preceding line: O ho grones out for ha ha ha—hey ho. But the interjection is certainly no part of the ſong: and conſequently ſhould not appear in the ſame character: it is uttered by Pandarus after he has done ſinging. This is evident from Helens obſervation: ‘In love, i'faith, to the very tip of the noſe.’

p. 106.
Aeue.

Good, good, my lord; the ſecrets of neighbour Pandar.

This reading was firſt introduced by mr. Pope from the old quarto. The folio reads, ‘— the ſecrets of nature: which is, ſurely, preferable; neither the ſenſe nor the meaſure ſeeming to be much improved by the words adopted.

p. 114.
[163]
Aene.
The prince muſt think me tardy and remiſs,
That ſwore to ride before him to the field.
Par.
'Tis Troilus' fault: Come, come, to field with him.
Dio. Let us make ready ſtraight.
Aene.
Yea, with a bridegrooms freſh alacrity,
Let us addreſs to tend on Hector's heels.

But why ſhould Diomed ſay, Let us make ready ſtraight? Was HE to tend with them on Hectors heels? Certainly not. Dio. has, therefor, crept in by mistake; the line either is part of Parises ſpeech, or belongs to Deiphobus, who is in company. As to Diomed, he neither goes along with them, nor has any thing to get ready:—he is now walking, with Troilus and Creſſida, toward the gate, on his way to the Grecian camp.

p. 115.
Achil.

'Tis but early days?

Should not this be—early day?

p. 117.
Ulyſſ.

May I, ſweet lady, beg a kiſs of you?

Cre.

You may.

Ulyſſ.

I do deſire it.

Cre.

Why, beg then.

Ulyſſ.
Why then for Venus' ſake give me a kiſs,
When Helen is a maid again, and his.
Cre.

I am your debtor, claim it when 'tis due.

Ulyſſ.

Never's my day and then a kiſs of you.

For the ſake of rime, dr. Johnſon ſays, we ſhould read: Why beg two.’ "If you think kiſses worth begging beg more than one."

[164] Neither rime nor reaſon requires the alteration. Ulyſſes aſks her if he may beg a kiſs; ſhe ſays, he may; he then deſires it: ſhe bids him beg, which he does. The conſtruction is plain enough; and if the rime be thought worth preſerving by a violence to the text we may read: ‘Why beg toe.

The remainder, upon which the ſame learned commentator has given an unintelligible note, might be regulated thus:

Ulyſſ.

Why then for Venus' ſake give me a kiſs.

Creſ.
When Helen is a maid again, and his,
I am your debtor; claim it when 'tis due.
Ulyſſ.

Never's my day, and then a kiſs of you.

p. 124.
Hect.

Whom muſt we anſwer?

Men.

The noble Menelaus.

This is rather a blunt way for a man to announce hisſelf. Menelaus, indeed, does not appear to have been over and above well off in the article of friends, but, ſtill, he was not reduced to the neceſſity of being his own puffer. The ſpeech belongs to Aeneas.

p. 126.
Achil.

I ſhall foreſtall thee, lord Ulyſſes, thou!

"Should we not read—though?—TYRWHITT."

"The repetition of thou! was anciently uſed by one who meant to inſult another. STEEVENS."

Yes;—but what has Ulyſſes ſaid or done, that Achilles ſhould mean to inſult him. Beſides, the ingenious critic ne [...]er [...]w the word thou! thus uſed after a proper name. Mr. Tyrwhitts propoſal ſhould certainly have been adopted.

Troi.
[165]
Hence, brother lacquey! [...]ominy and ſhame
Purſue thy life, and live aye with thy name!

" [...]ence brothel, lacquey!—] For brothel, the folio reads brother, err [...]neously for broker, as it ſtands at the end of the play, where the lines are repeated. JOHNSON."

Let us turn to the end of the play, and ſee what the critic ſays there.

"Hence, broker lacquey!—] So the quarto. The folio has brother. JOHNSON."

The concordance of the two comments is ſurpriſing.

After all, however, brothel lacquey ſeems the beſt reading; though broker is certainly (in this place) the reading of the folio.

p. 155.
Neſt.
— like ſcaled ſculls
Before the belching whale.

Sculls and ſhoals have not only one and the ſame meaning, but are, actually, or at leaſt originally, one and the ſame word. A ſcull of herrings (and it is to theſe fiſh that the ſpeaker alludes), ſo termed on the coaſt of Norfolk and Suffolk, is elſewhere called a ſhoal.

p. 162.
Achil.
The dragon-wing of night o'erſpreads the earth,
And, ſ [...]ickler-like, the armies ſeparates.

A ſtickler, mr. Steevens tells us, was one who ſtood by to part the combatants, &c. They are called ſticklers, he ſays, from carrying ſticks or ſtaves in their hands. It is not here meant to question the propriety of mr. Steevenses explanation of the word: but the nature of the Engliſh language cannot poſſibly allow the derivation of ſlickler from ſtick, with which, as a word, it has not the remoteſt connection. [166]Beſides, the giving ſticks or ſtaves to the ſeconds or ſideſmen ſeems a mere gratis-dictum, for which the ingenious critic can have no authority, but ſuch as he may be able to produce from the practice of Paris-garden. Stickler is, ſimply, from the verb ſtickle, to interfere, to take part with, to buſy ones ſelf on either ſide.

CYMBELINE.

p. 175.
2 Gent.

You ſpeak him far.

1 Gent.

I do extend him, ſir, within himſelf.

Surely we ſhould read fair. It is the ſound which the other takes occaſion to play upon.

p. 176.
1 Gent.

A glaſs that ſeated them.

Dr. Johnſon, in his note upon this paſſage, is certainly wrong in ſaying that Mirrour of Knighthood does not give the idea of a glaſs, but of an example. Miroir de Chevalerie, Sp [...]cc [...]io di cavalleria, Eſpejo de cavallerias, are all a lookingglaſs for chi [...]alry. And ſo is the word properly rendered in our Engliſh verſions of the history of Don Quixote, who is called "a looking-glaſs, in which all the valiant knights of the world may behold themſelves." But one might be glad to know who ever ſtiled Don Bellianis the Morrour of Knighthood before dr. Johnſon.

p. 306.
[167]
Jack.
— could this carle,
A very drudge of nature's, have ſubdu'd me.

"Carle is uſed by our old writers in oppoſition to a gentleman. See the poem of John the Reeve. PERCY."

It is a very common, but, at the ſame time, a very unreaſonable practice in commentators and others, to bid their readers ſee this or that ſcarce book, of which it is, as they well know, frequently impoſſible for them to procure a ſight. But never was this abſurdity carryed to ſuch an extent of mockery as it is in the preſent inſtance; where the learned prelate very coolly orders us to inſpect a poem, onely extant, as he is well aſſured, and has elſewhere told us, in a certain FOLIO MS in his own poſſeſſion, which, perhaps, no one ever ſaw, and which (if it really exiſt) he will, for his own ſake, take effectual care that no one ſhall ſee.

Carl or churl (Ceopl, Sax.) is a clown, or husbandman.

KING LEAR.

p. 365.
France.

Is it no more but this? a tardineſs in nature.

Theſe two words (no more) ſeem to be introduced or preſerved merely to ſpoil the meaſure. They are not in either folio.

p. 372.
Glo.
— All this done
Upon the gad.

[168] To do upon the gad, ſays dr. Johnſon, is, to act by the ſudden ſtimulation of caprice, as cattle run madding when they are ſtung by the gad-fly.

This indeed is a mode of explanation which requires very little knowlege of ones author. It ſhould not ſe [...]m that cattle, ſtung by the gad-fly, are actuated by caprice, but whether or not is a circumſtance foreign to the purpoſe. A thing done upon the gad is—done ſuddenly, or (as before) while the iron is hot. A gad is an iron ba [...]. So in I'll never leave th [...]e, a Scotiſh ſong, by Allan Ramſay: ‘Bid iceſhogles hammer red gads on the ſtuddy.’

p. 415.
Kent.

You .... take vanity the puppets part againſt the royalty of her father.

"Alluding," ſays dr. Johnſon, "to the mysteries or allegorical ſhews, in which vanity, iniquity, and other vices were perſonified."

The deſcription is applicable onely to the old Moralities, between which and the mysteries there was an eſſential difference, of which the learned commentator does not ſeem to have been aware.

p. 427.
Edg.
— Poor Turlygood! poor Tom!
That's ſomething yet;—Edgar I nothing am.

This dr. Johnſon explains: "As Edgar I am outlawed, dead in law; I have no longer any political existence." And, ſurely, nothing can be more completely ridiculous. Outlawry is the effect of many legal proceedings in the ordinary courſe of juſtice, and neither the ſpeaker, nor the author can have the leaſt alluſion to it. [169]The critics idea is both too complex and too puerile for one in Edgars ſituation. He is purſued, it ſeems, and proclaimed, i. e. a reward has been offered for taking or killing him. In aſſuming this character, ſays he, I may preſerve myſelf; as Edgar I am inevitably gone.

p. 479.
Edg.

Come o'er the bourn, Beſsy, to me.

We ſhould certainly read burn. The fools reply does not ſeem to have been any part of the original ſong; which is here given from an ancient MS. in the writers poſſeſſion, where it is attended with the muſical notes for three voices.

Come ou þe burn beſſe
[...] u lytyll pty beſſe
Come ou the burne beſſe to me.
The burne ys þis world blȳde
& beſſe ys mākynd
So ꝓpyr J can none fynd as ſhe
She daunc & lepys
& criſt ſtōd [...] & clepys
Cū ou the burne beſſe to me.
p. 480.
Fool.
Sleepeſt, or wakeſt thou, jolly ſhepherd?
Thy ſheep be in the corn;
And for one blaſt of thy minikin mouth,
Thy ſheep ſhall take no harm.

Mr. Steevens thinks that minikin has been a term of endearment. But it onely means ſmall, little, ſlender, as has been already obſerved (p. 44). Thy minikin mouth implies, thy little (and, therefor, perhaps, pretty) mouth.

p. 482.
[170]
Edg.

Hound or ſpaniel, brache, or lym.

A lym ſeems to have been a large dog of the ſpaniel kind.

His cofin had a Lyme bound argent bright.

Harrington, Or. Fu. xli. 30.

Again: ‘His Ly [...] laid on his back, he couching down.’

See the portrait of ſir Johns faithful and favourite ſervant Bungay at the bottom of the engraved title. The word differently ſpelled, occurs again, p. 349.

Oliuero whoſe deuiſe is the Spaniell, or lyam hound.
p. 483.
Edg.
Seſſy; come, march to wakes and fairs,
And market towns:—poor Tom, thy born is dry.

Mr. Strevens ſeems rather to ſtrain this laſt expreſſion in explaining it to be a private addreſs from Edgar to hisſelf: "I can no more: all my materials for ſustaining the character of poor Tom are now exhauſted." His horn was what he carryed his liquor in. And there is no neceſſity either for making him ſpeak the words aſide, or for giving them an allegorical ſignification. And even ſuppoſing the latter probable, they need onely mean I can no more, or I have nothing left to ſay; the company, if they attended to him, would take the phraſe in its moſt obvious and ſimple ſenſe, i. e. that he had nothing to drink.

Dr. Johnſon is, ſurely, right in ſuppoſing that ſeſsy is a co [...]ption of ceſſez, be quiet, ſtop, hold, let alone. It is ſo uſed by Christofero Sly, the drunken tinker, in the Tan [...]ing of a Shrew: and by Edgar hisſelf, in a preceding ſcene.—Dolphin, my boy, Seſſy; let him trot by. But it [171]does not ſeem equally clear that it has been corrupted into ſo, ſo. Mr. Steevens would have it to mean Siſſy (Cecilia) which is certainly wrong.

p. 506.
Gon.

[Aſide.] One way I like this well.

"Goneril," dr. Johnſon obſerves, "is well pleaſed that Cornwall is deſtroyed who was preparing war againſt her and her husband, but is afraid of loſing Edmund to the widow."

It does not appear that Cornwall was making any hostile preparations againſt Albany. On the contrary, in act III. ſcene viii. Goneril is on a viſit to Cornwall, who diſpatches her with amicable letters to her husband. She is glad to hear of Cornwalls death, becauſe, by her ſisters, now rendered leſs difficult to compaſs, ſhe could poſſeſs the whole kingdom.

p. 513.
Reg.

Lord Edmund ſpake not with your lady at home?

Stew.

No, madam.

The folio reads your lord; but, ſays dr. Johnſon, lady is the firſt and better reading. If the learned critic had not been too indolent to look back, a few pages, to the ſecond ſcene of this act, he would have found that, though lady may be the firſt and better reading, lord is the true and right one. For Goneril not onely converſes with lord Edmund, in the ſtewards preſence, but prevents him from ſpeaking to, or even ſeeing her husband.

p. 535.
Gent.
Ay, madam; in the heavineſs of his ſleep,
We put freſh garments on him.
Phyſ.
[172]
Be by, good madam, when we do awake him;
I doubt not of his temperance.

The folio, mr. Steevens obſerves, gives theſe four lines to a gentleman. The quartos, it ſeems, distribute them very differently. But the ingenious critic will recollect that in the folio, the gentleman and (as he is here called) the phyſician is one and the ſame perſon: a circumſtance he does not appear to have at all attended to.

p. 547.
The goujeres ſhall devour them, &c.

"The reſolute John Florio," dr. Farmer ſays, "has ſadly mistaken theſe goujeers. He writes with a good yeare to thee!" and gives it in Italian, "Il mal' anno che dio ti dia."

But does the ingenious commentator really ſuppoſe that John meant a bleſsing inſtead of a curſe? In fact, the pedant is guilty of no mistake:—that he intended theſe very goujeers is evident from the folio of Shakſpeare, where it is ſaid, ‘The good yeares ſhall devour them.’ And this was the uſual ſpelling of that age.

p. 550.
Gon.

Mean you to enjoy him?

Alb.

The let alone lies not in your good will.

"Whether he [who?] ſhall not or ſhall [what?] depends not on your choice. JOHNSON."

This ingenious and occult annotation is grounded on and ſupported by CANON XV. which allows the profeſsed critic to "explane a difficult paſſage by words abſolutely unintelligible."

[173] There is not, it may be here obſerved, one of the Canons which could not be properly illuſtrated and ſupported by numerous examples from the margin of the laſt edition.

Albany means to tell his wife, that, however ſhe might want the power, ſhe evidently did not want the inclination, to prevent the match.

p. 555.
Edg,

Let us exchange charity.

"Our author," ſays dr. Johnſon, "by negligence gives his heathens the ſentiments and practices of christianity."

Does the learned critic mean to inſinuate that benevolence, or a forgiveneſs of injuries could not ſubſiſt without a belief in christianity? That heathens could not act like men? The contrary, it is believed, is ſo much a fact, that it would be no paradox to aſſirm, becauſe it might be very eaſyly proved, that all the moral virtues were better underſtood, and more regarded by Heathen Greece, and Pagan Rome, thathey have been by any Christian ſtate ſince the invention or introduction of that ſystem. And what would the great philoſopher think, if it were to be made appear that the firſt Christians borrowed (or, rather, ſtole, for they took without acknowlegement) all their morality from the profeſſors of Paganiſm? Indeed it muſt be abſurd to ſuppoſe for a ſingle moment, that they who had more ſenſe than their ſucceſſors, had not, at leaſt, as much virtue.

p. 564.
Kent.
I have a journey, ſir, ſhortly to go;
My master calls, and I muſt not ſay no.

The modern editors, mr. Steevens ſays, have ſuppoſed that Kent expires after he has repeated theſe two lines: [174]but the ſpeech, he thinks, rather appears to be meant for a deſpairing than a dying man; and, adds that, as the old editions give no marginal direction for his death, he has forborn to inſert any.

The conſtruction mr. Steevens puts upon Kents ſpeech is not meant to be disputed. But, it might have been as well, if, before he had charged his death upon the modern editors, and aſſerted that the old editions give no direction about it, he had conſulted thoſe editions. For nothing can be more certain than that the ſecond folio, at the end of this ſpeech, has the word Dyes in the margin:

The folios give the couplet thus:

I have a journey, ſir, ſhortly to go:
My master calls me, I ſhuſt not ſay no.

VOLUME THE TENTH.

ROMEO AND JULIET.

p. 14.
Ben.

— What ſadneſs lengthens Romeo's hours?

Rom.

Nor having that, which, having makes them ſhort.

Ben.

In love?

Rom.

Out —

Ben.

Of love?

Rom.

Out of her favour, where I am in love.

"I," ſays dr. Percy, "take out not to be an imperfect part of a ſentence cut off by apoſiopeſis; but rather the interjection [175]ſtill uſed in the north, where they ſay Out! much in the ſame ſenſe as we now ſay fye!"

Mr. Steevens very pertinently aſks the doctor why Romeo ſhould ſay fye! on being aſked if he were in love. But mr. Steevens gives no opinion.

It is evident that this word out (which is neither an interjection, nor cut off by apoſiopeſis) would, in caſe Romeo had not been interrupted, have been, as it is, the firſt of his following ſpeech: Out of her favour, &c.

p. 18.
Rom.

Theſe happy maſks that kiſs fair ladies brows.

i. e. ſays mr. Steevens, the maſks worn by female ſpectators of the play. But this is by no means ſo certain. And there is little reaſon for thus forcing improprieties upon the author, of which he may not be guilty. Theſe or thoſe merely reſers to the maſks worn by ladies: Shakſpeare knew it to be a custom in London, and ſuppoſed it to be one in Verona.

p. 21.
Cap.
Such comfort, as do luſty young men feel
When well-apparel'd April on the heel
Of limping winter treads —

Dr. Johnſon reads yeomen: which, though mr. Steevens does not agree with him, ſeems, at leaſt, to be the interpretation of young men: as theſe words are, perpetually, uſed for yeomen, in old writings. See particularly the legends of Robin Hood and Adam Bell. So, in a ſubſequent ſcene of this very play, yew trees are, in the old editions called, yong trees.

p. 34.
[176]
Rom.
I'll be a candle-holder, and look on.—
The game was ne'er ſo fair, and I am done.

An alluſion to an old proverbial ſaying which adviſes to "give over, when the game is at the faireſt."

p. 40.
Merc.
This is that very Mab
That .... cakes the elf-locks in foul ſluttiſh hairs.

If all the old copies read bakes, which mr. Steevens ſays they do, what authority had mr. Pope to make the alteration? and why is it followed?

p. 44.
Cap.

Nay, ſit, nay, ſit, good couſin Capulet.

This couſin Capulet, dr. Johnſon obſerves, is unkle in the paper of invitation; but as Capulet is deſcribed as old, conſin is probably, he ſays, the right word in both places.

Each reading is right in its place. Couſin was a common expreſſion from one kinsman to another, out of the degrees of parent and child, brother and ſister. Thus, in Hamlet, the king, his uncle and ſtep-father, addreſses him with, ‘But now my couſin Hamlet, and my ſon. And in this very play, act III. lady Capulet ſays, ‘Tybalt my couſin!—O my brothers child. So, in As you like it:

Reſ. Me, uncle?
Duke. You, couſin!

And Olivia, in the Twelfth Night, conſtantly calls her uncle Toby couſin.

p. 50.
[177]

Enter Chorus.] The uſe of this chorus, dr. Johnſon thinks, is not eaſyly discovered as it relates nothing but what is already known or what the next ſcene will ſhew. Indeed it ſeems to have been brought out merely to fill up part of the vacancy of time between the acts, inſtead of a piece of muſic. The groundlings of that age, like the rooflings of the preſent, would, doubleſs, be ever impatient to know what was to come next.

p. 52.
Ben.
Come, he hath hid himſelf among thoſe trees,
To be conſorted with the humorous night.

Mr. Steevens brings ſome inſtances from other authors to prove that Shakſpeare means humid: and mr. Malone, who is remarkable for the pertinence, propriety, and real importance of his learned and ingenious remarks, adds the following note:

"Again, in Meaſure for Meaſure: ‘"The vaporous night approaches."’

To prove, no doubt, that Shakſpeare, as he has here uſed humorous for humid, there uſes vaporous for vapid.

p. 53.
Mer.
And wiſh his mistreſs were that kind of fruit,
As maids call medlars, when they laugh alone.

As maids, &c.] "After this line," ſays mr. Steevens, "in the quarto 1597, I find two other verſes, containing ſuch ribaldry, that I cannot venture to inſert them in the text, though I exhibit them here as a proof that either the poor or his friends knew ſometimes how to blot." Surely the [178]poet and his friends are under very little obligation to the ingenious commentator for producing an indecent paſſage which he ſuppoſes one or other of them to have already ſuppreſsed. But, after all, the learned editor is mistaken: for, deſpicable as the lines are, they were NOT blotted either by the poet or by his friends:—and if he will take the trouble of turning to either of the folios he will THERE find them.

p. 54.
Rom.

He jeſts at ſcars, that never felt a wound.

That is, ſays dr. Johnſon, Mercutio jeſts (who has juſt left the ſcene and) whom he overheard. But, with all due ſubmiſſion, it does not appear that Romeo either did, or could, nor is there any occaſion that he ſhould, hear Mercutio. He (that perſon) jeſts, &c. is merely in alluſion to his having conceived hisſelf ſo armed with the love of Roſaline, that no other beauty could make any impreſſion on him. This is clear from the converſation he has with Mercutio juſt before they go to Capulets.

p. 56.
Jul.
'Tis but thy name, that is my enemy;
Thou art thyſelf, though not a Montague.
What's Montague? &c.

There is, certainly, ſome obſcurity in this paſſage; which might, poſſibly be remov'd by reading: ‘Thou art thyſelf, though yet a Montague.’ Or, thus: ‘Thou art thyſelf, although a Montague.’

At leaſt, Juliets meaning ſeems to be, that though he was a Montague by name, and, therefor, her enemy, yet for his perſon and mind, i. e. as a man, ſhe might ſtill be [179]allowed to love him. Either of the above propoſed readings (which yet are only for the margin) ſeem as good as this, which dr. Johnſon thinks the true one: ‘Thou art thyſelf, then not a Montague.’

And certainly much better than this of Hanmer: ‘Thou 'rt not thyſelf ſo, though a Montague.’

The ſubſequent lines, which in the preſent edition ſtand thus:

What's Montague? it is nor hand, nor foot,
Nor arm, nor face, nor any other part:
What's in a name, &c.

and in the folio thus:

What's Montague? it is nor hand, nor foot,
Nor arm, nor face, O be ſome other name
Belonging to a man.
What's in a name, &c.

ſhould, perhaps, be thus regulated:

What's Montague? it is nor hand, nor foot,
Nor arm, nor face [nor any other part]
Belonging to a man. O be ſome other name.
What's in a name? &c.

The words, nor any other part, which are in the quarto editions, ſeem to have been omitted in the folio by inadvertency.

p. 57.
Rom.
My life were better ended by their hate,
Than death prorogued, wanting of thy love.

To prorogue, mr. Steevens obſerves, has not, in this place, its common ſignification, but means to delay. And what is its common ſignification, but to delay? When [180]the king prorogues the parliament, he only defers or puts off its meeting to a future day.

p. 65.
Fri.

Holy St. Francis! &c.

"Old copy, Jeſu Maria! STEEVENS."

And why not this?

p. 68.
Mer.

A pox of ſuch antick, liſping, affecting fantasticoes.

Thus the old copies, ſays mr. Steevens, and rightly. The modern editors, adds he, read phantaſies.

The folio, however, which is generally looked upon as an old copy, does NOT read fantasticoes; and Heminge and Condell, who are not uſually ranked among modern editors, read phantacies.

p. 78.
Nurſe.

Doth not roſemary and Romeo begin with a letter?

Rom.

Ay, nurſe; what of that? both with an R.

Nurſe.
Ah, mocker! that's the dog's name. R is for the dog. No;
I know it begins with ſome other letter.

The old reading appears to be — R is for the no, I know it begins with ſome other letter. The alteration adopted was propoſed by mr. Tyrwhitt, and is certainly ſuperior to either dr. Warburtons (Thee? no) or dr. Johnſons (the nonce) not but the old reading is as good, if not better, when properly regulated, e. g.

Ah, mocker! that's the dog's name. R is for the—no;
I know it begins with ſome other letter.

In any caſe the long notes preceding mr. Tyrwhitts might be well ſpared, being now wholely impertinent to the text.

p. 83.
[181]
Friar.
Therefore, love moderately; long love doth ſo;
Too ſwift arrives as tardy as too ſlow.

Alluding to the vulgar proverb: The more haſte the worſe ſpeed.

p. 84.
Jul.
But my true love is grown to ſuch exceſs,
I cannot ſum up half my ſum of wealth.

The old copies, according to mr. Steevens, read: ‘I cannot ſum up ſum of half my wealth:’ And: ‘I cannot ſum up ſome of half my wealth.’ The following would, therefor, be nearer the original reading, than the preſent text: ‘I cannot ſum up th' ſum of half my wealth.’

p. 99.
Juliet.
Back, fooliſh tears, back to your native ſpring;
Your tributary drops belong to woe,
Which you, mistaking, offer up to joy.

Mr. Steevens thinks the words woe and joy ſhould change places; otherwiſe, ſays he, her reaſoning is inconcluſive. The learned critic does not ſeem to have paid his uſual attention to the paſſage. The text is certainly right. Juliet ſays that ſhe has more reaſon to rejoice than to be ſorry at Tibalts death, and that therefor her tears are egregiously mistimed.

p. 100.
Jul.
That—baniſhed, that one word—baniſhed,
Hath ſtain ten thouſand Tybalts.

[182] "Hath put Tybalt out of my mind, as if out of being JOHNSON."

Out of being? why, where was he before? The true meaning is: I am more affected by Romeos baniſhment than I ſhould be by the death of ten thouſand ſuch relations as Tybalt.

p. 109.
Jul.
It was the nightingale, and not the lark,
That pierc'd the fearful hollow of thine ear:
Nightly ſhe ſits on you pomegranate tree.

"This is not," mr. Steevens ſays, "merely a poetical ſuppoſition. It is obſerved of the nightingale that, if undisturbed, ſhe ſits and ſings upon the ſame tree for many weeks together."

It may be very true; but the learned critic will recollect that it can only be ſo of the he, and not of the ſhe nightingale: as the latter never ſings. The discovery is not, indeed, of the age of Shakſpeare—but what of that?

p. 111.
Jul.

Hunting thee hence with hunts up to the day.

The hunts up, mr. Steevens ſays, was the name of the tune anciently played to wake the hunters, and collect them together. And, in proof of it, he quotes a number of paſſages; to which, if the pleaſe, he may add the following from Charles Cottons Virgil Travestie (which, indeed, it is ſomewhat extraordinary he ſhould omit): ‘I'll play the rakehells ſuch a hunts up.

There was likewiſe a little rude ſong, which, it is ſuppoſed was formerly in uſe on this occaſion, as we learn [183]from Puttenham, Art of Engliſh Poeſie, 1589. "One Gray," ſays he, "what good estimation did he grow into with king Henry [the eighth], and afterward with the duke of Somerſet protectour, for making certain merry ballades, whereof one chiefly was, The hunte is up, the hunte is up." Whether the following be the identical merry ballade, doth not clearly appear; it is, however, very old:

The hunt is up, the hunt is up,
And now it is almoſt day;
And he that's a bed with another mans wife,
It's time to get him away.

Master Gray was, probably, author of both words and muſic; and the tune may have remained in uſe, after the words were forgot.

p. 128.
Jul.
— gentle nurſe,
I pray thee, leave me to myſelf to-night;
For I have need of many oriſons
To move the heavens to ſmile upon my ſtate.

Dr. Johnſon, with that candour and politeneſs for which he is ſo remarkable, obſerves, that Juliet plays moſt of her pranks under the appearance of religion. Perhaps, ſays he, Shakſpeare meant to puniſh her hypocriſy. If he had, we ſhould, without doubt, have been, ſome how or other, informed of it. But Shakſpeare would never have given the little innocent excuſes her virtue and conjugal fidelity prompt her to make uſe of ſo harſh a name.—Sweet Juliet! little did'ſt thou dream, that, in addition to thy misfortunes, the unſullyed purity of thy angelic mind ſhould, at this distance of time, be ſubject to the rude breath of criticiſm!—But reſt in peace, ſweet ſaint! thy [184]fair untained name ſhall live—live in thy Shakſpeares page—when even the critics memory is no more.

p. 136.
Cap.
O ſon, the night before thy wedding day
Hath death lain with thy bride.

Mr. Steevens is willing to ſuppoſe that this paſsage may have been coarſely ridiculed in Deckers Satiromastix: ‘"Dead: ſhe's Death's bride; he hath her maidenhead."’

The ingenious commentator, who purſues ſuch objects with, perhaps, too much avidity, might have caught a much more likely hint in another place, from Juliets own mouth. The judicious reader, however, will find many opportunities to remark, that numerous expreſſions which are now degraded by vulgar currency, were perfectly innocent and polite in the age of Shakſpeare.

Ibi.
Cap.
Death is my ſon-in-law, death is my heir;
My daughter he hath wedded! I will die,
And leave him all; life leaving, all is death's.

"Death is my ſon-in-law, &c.] The remaining part of the ſpeech I have reſtored from the quarto, 1609. STEEVENS."

It is unfortunate that the industrious editor did not know that the lines reſtored are in both the folios.

p. 139.
Muſs.

What will you give us?

Pet.

No money, on my faith; but the gleek:

The uſe of this cant term is no where explained; and, in all probability, cannot at this distance of time be recovered. [185]To gleek, however, ſignifyed to put a joke or trick upon a perſon, perhaps, to jeſt, according to the coarſe humour of that age. So Bottom, Midſummor Nights Dream, act III. ſcene i.

— Nay I can gleek upon occaſion.
Queen. Thou art as wiſe as thou art beautiful.

Dumps were heavy mournful tunes; poſſibly, indeed, any ſort of movements were once ſo called, as we ſometimes meet with—a merry dump. Hence doleful dumps, deep ſorrow, or grievous affliction, as in the next page, and in the leſs ancient ballad of Chevy Chaſe. It is ſtill ſaid of a perſon uncommonly ſad, that he is in the dumps.

p. 141.
Pet.

It is—muſick with her ſilver ſound, becauſe ſuch fellows as you have no gold for founding.

Inſtead of fellows, which is the reading of the old quarto in 1597, later editions, mr. Steevens obſerves, have muſicians. "I ſhould ſuſpect," adds he, "that a fidler made the alteration."—But does the ingenious commentator really imagine that ſuch fellows were the editors of ſubſequent impreſſions, or had even power to alter the language of Shakſpeare whenever they were displeaſed at it? The change was, leſs doubtfully, made by the author, out of compliment to, or upon a remonſtrance from, the Gentlemen of the orchestra.

p. 145.
Rom.
— famine is in thy cheeks,
Need and oppreſſion ſtarveth in thine eyes.

The firſt quarto, mr. Steevens informs us, reads: ‘"And ſtarved ſamine dwelleth in thy cheeks."’

[186] The quartos, 1599, 1609, and the folio, as in the text.

The modern editors, without authority: ‘"Need and oppreſſion ſtare within their eyes.’

The paſſage might, perhaps, be better regulated thus: ‘Need and oppreſſion ſtareth in thy eyes.’

For they cannot, properly, be ſaid to ſtarve in his eyes; though ſtarved famine may be allowed to dwell in his cheeks. Thy not thine is the reading of the folio. And thoſe who are converſant in our author, and eſpecially in the old copies, will ſcarcely notice the grammatical impropriety of the propoſed emendation.

p. 147.
Lau.
Unhappy fortune! by my brotherhood,
The letter was not nice, but full of charge
Of dear import.

That is, it was not a mere letter of compliment or ceremony.

p. 150.
Rom.

Thou detestable maw, thou womb of death.

Détestable is right. So Spenſer (Faerie Queen. I. i. 26): ‘That detestable ſight him much amaz'd.’

Which mr. Church has not been aſhamed to declare read better, "in his ear," detèſtable. Such an ear totally disqualifyed him for an editor of Spenſer.

The modern pronunciation has ariſen from vulgarity and ignorance: the word being not formed of the verb deteſt but derived from detestable, F. detestabilis, L. Thus, admirable, comparable, &c.

[187] The words perſevere [perſever] and perſeverance are in the ſame predicament: always right in Shakſpeare; and always wrong at preſent.

p. 151.
Rom.
— I beſeech thee, youth,
Pull not another ſin upon my head,
By urging me to fury.

The quarto, 1597, it ſeems, has: heap not. The quartos, 1599 and 1609, and all the folios:—Put not.— Mr. Rowe firſt made the change, which mr. Steevens (and we are much indebted both to his ſagacity and friendſhip) informs us, "may be discontinued at the readers pleaſure." The editors duty, however, and not the readers pleaſure ought to have determined the matter. The reader has it not in his power to discontinue any thing, but the peruſal of the book. Either of the other words would anſwer as well.

p. 152.
Rom.
How oft, when men are at the point of death
Have they been merry? which their keepers call
A lightning before death: O, how may I
Call this a lightning.

Dr. Johnſon thinks we ſhould read:

—O, now may I
Call this a lighting?

But how is certainly right and proper. Romeo had, juſt before, been in high ſpirits, a ſymptom, which he obſerves, was ſometimes called a lightning before death: but how, ſays he, (for no ſituation can exempt Shakſpeares characters from the vice of punning) can I term this ſal and gloomy proſpect a lightning.

p. 155.
[188]
Rom.
— O here
Will I ſet up my everlaſting reſt.

This, again, is a quibble between the implement formerly uſed by foot ſoldiers, and the certain quiet of a future ſtate.

The writer of theſe notes will here take occaſion to obſerve, as one of the many great excellencies of this immortal bard, that no author, ancient or modern, ever ſacrificed leſs to the reigning ſuperſtition of the time than hisſelf. Whatever may be the temporary religion, Popiſh or Protestant, Paganiſm or Christianity, if its profeſſors have the ſlighteſt regard for genius or virtue, Shakſpeare, the poet of nature, addicted to no ſystem of bigotry, will always be a favourite. There never was but one ſet of men who profeſsed open enmity to his name and writings, and they were, at the ſame time, the declared and moſt virulent enemies of literature and morality, in every ſhape: It is ſcarcely neceſſary to add the mention of the barbarous enthuſiaſts of the laſt century; one, and perhaps the beſt founded of whoſe charges againſt that great and good monarch whom they ſo ſavagely murdered was—his intimacy with the writings of WILLIAM SHAKSPEARE!!!—The circumſtance would, at this time, at leaſt, paſs unnoticed in ſuch a miscreant as Cocke, to whom a hatred of letters was as natural as it was to his more illustrious predeceſſor Jack Cade:—but when we ſee Milton—the ſublime Milton—inſiſting upon the enormity of this amiable trait in the character of his murdered and libeled ſovereign—our contempt for and detestation of the act is equaled by our ſurprize to find him the aſſaſſin!

p. 163.
[189]

Lau. I will be brief, &c.] Dr. Johnſon thinks it "much to be lamented that the poet did not conclude the dialogue with the action, and avoid a narrative of events which the audience already knew." It was neceſſary, however, that the ſurviving characters ſhould be made acquainted with the circumſtances which produce the catastrophe, and we ſhould have had more reaſon to condemn the poet for being brief than tedious. That our judicious author knew when to tell his ſtory behind the curtain, and when upon the ſtage, is evident from the next play; and it was, perhaps, to avoid a ſameneſs between the concluſion of that and preſent, that he has made the friar reveal the transaction to the audience; which naturally introduces the reconciliation of the two families and the moral reflections at the end of the ſcene, which, whatever the critic may think, are too valuable to be ſacrificed to his mere rule and compaſs abridgement of it.

p. 165.
Prince.
And I, for winking at your discords too,
Have loſt a brace of kinsmen.

What kinsmen? Mercutio, doubtleſs, is one, and Benvolio, we may preſume is the other. The line, therefor, which communicated the tidings of the latters death to the audience, p. 162. ‘And young Benvolio is deceaſed too,’ and which mr. Steevens rejects, as he ſuppoſes Shakſpeare to have done, "as unneceſſary ſlaughter," ſhould be reſtored to the text. His death ſhould ſeem to have been occaſioned by grief for the death of one friend, and the baniſhment [190]of the other: and we no where find that the prince was any way related to either the Capulets, or the Montagues.

HAMLET(19) 19.

p. 170.
Ber.
If you do meet Horatio and Marcellus,
The rivals of my watch, bid them make haſt.

By rivals the ſpeaker certainly means partners (according to dr. Warburtons explanation), or thoſe whom he expected to watch with him. Marcellus had watched with him before; whether as a centinel, a volunteer, or from mere curioſity we do not learn: but whichever it was, it ſeems evident that his ſtation was on the ſame ſpot with Bernardo, and that there is no other centinel by them relieved. Poſſibly Marcellus was an officer, whoſe duty it was to viſit each watch, and perhaps continue with it ſome time. Horatio, as it appears, watches out of curioſity. But in act II. ſcene i. to Hamlets queſtion, Hold you the watch tonight? Horatio, Marcellus, and Bernardo, all anſwer, we do, my honour'd lord. The folio, indeed, reads both, which one may, with greater propriety, refer to Marcellus and Bernardo. If we did not find the latter gentleman in ſuch good company, we might have taken him to have been like [191]Francisco, whom he relieves, an honeſt, but common, ſoldier. The ſtrange indiscriminate uſe of Italian and Roman names in this and other plays makes it obvious that the author was very little converſant in even the rudiments of either language.

p. 185.
King.

But now, my couſin Hamlet and my ſon.

Ham.

A little more than KIN and leſs than KIND.

i. e. we are, indeed, ſomewhat too nearly related, but our relationſhip ſavours very little either of nature or affection.

Why the page of Shakſpeare ſhould be loaded and disgraced with ſuch a quantity of ill-founded and injudicious notes, is a question that every reader will find frequent occaſion to aſk. To any one acquainted with the language of Shakſpeare and of nature, the ſenſe of this paſſage was ſufficiently clear. Biſhop Warburton and dr. Johnſon, out of the abundance of their misunderſtanding, have done every thing in their power to confound it; and thoſe who look upon them to be the moſt intelligent and ſagacious of all poſſible critics, are naturally led to conceive difficulties which do not exiſt. Mr. Steevens has eſtabliſhed the true reading, and, if there be any neceſſity for a note, his, with a little alteration, ſhould alone remain, and all the others be conſigned to the oblivion they ſo well merit.

p. 188.
King.
— Let the world take note,
You are the moſt immediate to our throne;
And with no leſs nobility of love,
Than that which deareſt father bears his ſon,
Do I impart toward you.

[192] "The crown of Denmark was elective. STEEVENS."

Whereever the learned commentator acquired this piece of knowlege, certain it is, that his quotation from Sir Clyomon proves no ſuch thing:

And me poſſeſs for ſpouſed wife, who in election am
To have the crown of Denmark here, as heir unto the ſame.

For it clearly appears, from this, that ſhe was to take the crown by hereditary right. The words in election implying no more than that ſhe had ſuch right by the election, the choſenneſs, the elevation of her rank and family. The king tells Hamlet that he is the moſt immediate to the throne, i. e. heir apparent, or, at leaſt, preſumptive heir, which would be abſurd, on an idea that the crown was elective. (See alſo the converſation of Laertes with his ſister, in ſcene iii.)

Impart moſt aſſuredly means profeſs myſelf, bear me towards you; and not what dr. Johnſon ſays, (i. e. communicate whatever I can beſtow) whoſe note, as well as mr. Steevenses, ſhould be entirely expunged.

p. 190.
Ham.
Or that the everlaſting had not fix'd,
His canon 'againſt ſelf-ſlaughter.

A quibble between ordnance and eccleſiastical decrees. Mr. Steevens is an advocate for the former ſenſe; mr. Theobald for the latter. What happyneſs, what immortal glory, to be the conciliator of ſuch contending chieftains in criticiſm!

p. 210.
Pol.
For the apparel oft proclaims the man;
And they in France, of the beſt rank and ſtation,
Are moſt ſelect, and generous chief, in that.

This pointing, which comes recommended by mr. Steevens, makes the moſt ingenious and abſolute nonſenſe of the whole paſſage. The folios read:

[193] Are of a moſt ſelect and generous cheff in that, without any punctuation. The genuine meaning of the paſſage requires us to point the line thus: ‘Are moſt ſelect and generous, chief in that.’

i. e. the nobility of France are ſelect and generous above all other nations, and chiefly in the point of apparel; the richneſs and elegance of their dreſs.

p. 208.
Ham.
— That theſe men, —
Carrying, I ſay, the ſtamp of one defect;
Being nature's livery or fortune's ſtar

One of the quarto editions (and the editors have not condeſcended to inform us that the paſſage is, in conſequence no doubt of the authors own alteration, omitted in the folios) reads ſcar, which dr. Johnſon thinks more proper. But dr. Johnſon did not, perhaps, know, neither does it appear that mr. Steevens could acquaint him, that the word ſtar, in the text, ſignifies a ſcar of that appearance. It is a term of farriery: the white ſtar or mark ſo common on the forehead of a dark coloured horſe is, according to another humane practice, peculiar, it is believed, to this generous country, uſually produced by making a ſcar on the place.

Ibi.
— The dram of baſe
Doth all the noble ſubſtance of worth out,
To his own ſcandal.

This muſt be allowed a very difficult, and perplexed paſſage. But as mr. Steevenses propoſed reading (doth all the noble ſubſtance oft do out), or rather, indeed, mr. Holts (Doth all the noble ſubſtance oft adopt), comes neareſt to the traces of the original

[194]
(— The dram of eaſe
Doth all the noble ſubſtance of a doubt),

it ought to have been inſerted in preference to Theobalds. And the whole ſpeech, from the fourth line, ſhould have been thrown to the bottom of the page, or, perhaps, totally omitted, as apparently rejected, by the author, upon a reviſion of his play.

p. 214.
Hor.

— To what iſſue will this come?

Mar.

Something is rotten in the ſtate of Denmark.

Hor.

Heaven will direct it.

"Perhaps," ſays dr. Farmer, "it may be more appoſite to read, heaven will detect it."

Horatio aſks to what iſſue this ſtrange buſyneſs will come, and not receiving any anſwer from Marcellus, at leaſt one to his purpoſe, very naturally adds, Heaven will direct or lead it. Dr. Farmer and Horatio ſeem to be thinking of two distinct ſubjects: the latter is reflecting upon the appearance of the ghoſt; the former upon the rottenneſs of the ſtate.

p. 217.
Ghoſt.
I find thee apt,
And duller ſhould'ſt thou be than the fat weed
That rots itſelf in eaſe on Lethe's wharf,
Would'ſt thou not ſtir in this.

Rots itſelf, is the reading of the two firſt folios; that of the quarto, mr. Steevens informs us (but as there are more quartos than one, we ſhould have been more obliged to him if he had told us to which he alludes, and what the others read), is roots: and mr. Pope followed it: though mr. Steevens thinks the ſuperiority of the preſent reading apparent. [195]"To be in a quiescent ſtate" he ſays, "(i. e. to root itſelf) affords an idea of activity." Very little activity, one would imagine, is neceſſary for the purpoſe of a weed rooting itsſelf; and that little is made almoſt none, when it roots itsſelf in eaſe. To rot, he thinks, better ſuits with the dullneſs and inaction to which the ghoſt refers." "And yet," adds he, "the accuſative caſe itſelf may ſeem to demand the verb roots." And with that reading the text would certainly be better. For, ſetting aſide the impropriety of giving an octive ſignification to a neuter verb, it is far from being either neceſſary or even proper that the ghoſt ſhould have any alluſion to rottenneſs and decay: fatneſs and ſtupidity being generally attended, at leaſt in this world, with a tolerable ſhare both of good health and of good fortune.

p. 231.
Pol.

Good ſir, or ſo; or friend or gentleman.

This is the reading of all the old copies; and there is not a more plain, ſimple, certain 20, and intelligible line in theſe ten volumes; nor one that has more exerciſed the attention and ingenuity of the learned and ſagacious commentators. Such readers as are better acquainted with Shakſpeare than with the modern improvements upon him, [196]will not be displeaſed to ſee a liſt of their ſeveral emendations.

Dr. WARBURTON: Good ſir, or ſire, i. e. father.

Dr. JOHNSON: Good, ſir, forſooth, or friend or gentleman.

Mr. STEEVENS: Good ſir, or ſo forth, friend or gentleman.

Mr. TYRWHITT: Good ſir, or ſir, &c.

Each of theſe propoſals is recommended by a long note; and there is, beſides, a memoir by the reverend and learned dr. Percy, upon the word forſooth. Illustrious critics! how much is the ſpir [...]t of Shakſpeare indeb [...]ed to your unparalleled generoſity, and unexampled friendſhip!

p. 236.
Guil.
But, we both obey,
And here give up ourſelves in the full bent
To lay our ſervice freely at your feet —

Bent dr. Warburton would have to be endeavour, application. He is wrong: it means, inclination, will, reſolution, deſire.

p. 238
Volt.
Whereon old Norway, overcome with joy,
Gives him threeſcore thouſand crowns in annual-ſie.

Fee in this place, ſays mr. Steevens, ſignifies reward, recompence. The word annual, however, might have inclined him to find ſome other meaning for it. The king gave his nephew a feud or ſee (in land) of that yearly value. The folio reads the line thus: ‘Gives him three thouſand crowns in annual fee.’ [197]But mr. Theobald, and the preſent editors after him, thinking that too little for a prince, have very liberally (upon the credit of ſome of the old quarto editions) enlarged his income to 60,000. To be ſure the interpolation ſpoiled the meaſure: but as the critic has for this licence the authority of one of the CANONS, nothing is to be objected on that head.

p. 247.
Ham.

Conception is a bleſsing; but not as your daughter may conceive.

This reading is not explained. Conception (underſtanding), ſays Hamlet, is a bleſsing, but the conception (pregnancy) of your daughter would not be one.

p. 255.
Roſ.

— An aiery of little eyaſes

Mr. Theobald had no ſuch mighty reaſon to plume hisſelf on having done what is juſt equal to nothing at all: for Yaſes (the old reading), had he known how to pronounce it, would not have been round to differ, in any very extraordinary degree, from his moſt ſagacious emendation.

p. 258.
Ham.

Then came each actor on his aſs.

This, ſays dr. Johnſon, ſeems to be a line of an old ballad. He has, therefor, cauſed it to be printed in the Italic character. But there appears no other ground for the ſuppoſition, than the good doctors opinion, which is not ſufficient in theſe matters to authoriſe an alteration in the type.

Ibi.
[198]

Pol. The beſt actors in the world, either for tragedy, comedy, history, pastoral, pastoral-comical, historical-pastoral, [tragicalhistorical, tragical-comical, historical-pastoral] ſcene undividable, &c.

"The words within the crotchets," ſays mr. Steevens, "I have recovered from the folio, and ſee no reaſon why they were hitherto omitted." But though the learned commentator could ſee no reaſon why the words were omitted before, his readers can ſee one why they ſhould be omitted now; viz. that the words historical-pastoral may not be abſurdly repeated. The truth is, that the industrious editor has entirely loſt the merit of his recovery, by the negligence of his printer: the folio properly reads: ‘— pastoral-comical, historical-pastoral, tragical-historical, tragical-comical- historical-pastoral, &c.’

p. 259.

Ham. Why, as By lot, God-wot, &c.] The original ballad, in black-letter, is among Anthony à Woods collections in the Aſhmolean Muſeum.

p. 260.
Ham.

O old friend! Why, thy face is valanc'd ſince I ſaw thee laſt; com'ſt thou to beard me in Denmark.

Valanc'd ſhould have been explained. It means overhung with a canopy or teſier like a bed. The folios read valiant, which ſeems right. The comedian was, probably, "bearded like the pard."

p. 262.

Ham. — the play, I remember, pleaſ'd not the million; 'twas caviare to the general.

The discordant accounts given in this page will fully justify the following quotation from a writer of ſenſe and veracity.

[199] "Caviare is made at Aſtracan of the rows of Sturgeon and Belluga, a large fiſh, about twelve or fifteen feet long, without ſcales, not unlike a ſturgeon, but more luſcious and large; his fleſh is whiter than veal, and more delicious than marrow. Of theſe two fiſhes they take great numbers only for their rows ſake, which they ſalt and preſs and put up into caſks; ſome they ſend unpreſs'd, and a little corn'd with ſalt, being accounted a great dainty." Preſent ſtate of Ruſſia, by dr. Collins, 1671, 12mo.

Hamlet ſeems to mean, that the play, like the pickled ſturgeon, was a delicacy for which the multitude had no reliſh; and, hereby, pays the ſaid multitude a compliment he did not intend; ſince it is hard to ſay, whether his tragedy or his caviare were the more ſtrange and unnatural food.

p. 268.
Ham.
What's Hecuba to him, or he to Hecuba,
That he ſhould weep for her?

Mr. Upton and ſir John Hawkins think this expreſſion a plain alluſion to a paſſage in Plutarchs life of Pelopidas, which the latter has here quoted at length. This ſtory Shakſpeare had undoubtedly read in ſir Thomas Norths translation: but that he here alludes to it is not equally apparent. Hamlets obſervation merely relates, as the players grief did, to the bombaſt ſtuff about Hecuba which the latter had juſt done ſpouting.

p. 273.
King.

Her father, and myſelf (lawful eſpials).

"The words—lawful eſpials, are WANTING in the FOLIO. STEEVENS"

[200] This is not altogether ſo certain. At leaſt both the firſt and ſecond folios appear to read: ‘Her father, and my ſelfe (LAWFULL ESPIALS).’

p. 278.
Ham.
— Who would fardels bear,
To groan and ſweat under a weary life;
But that the dread of ſomething after death, —
The undiscover'd country, from whoſe bourn
No traveller returns—puzzles the will,
And makes us rather bear thoſe ills we have,
Than fly to others that we know not of?
Thus conſcience does make cowards of us all;
And thus the native hue of reſolution
Is ſickly'd o'er with the pale caſt of thought;
And enterpriſes of great pith and moment,
With this regard, their currents turn awry,
And loſe the name of action.

Groan.] Dr. Johnſon is for or againſt Shakſpeares own words juſt as it ſuits his purpoſe or inclination: if grunt (the reading of all the old copie [...]) be to be changed to groan merely becauſe (as he ſays) it can ſcarcely be borne by modern ears, Shakſpeare may be ſo transmografyed (how do your ears bear that, dr. Johnſon?) and frittered away, by his friendly editors, in the courſe of a few years, that, if he were to riſe from the dead, he could not poſſibly know his own work.

The undiscover'd country from whoſe bourn
No traveller returns.

It may ſtill be a question how far dr. Farmers note removes the force or ground of lord Orrcrys objection.

A very ſimple perſon once obſerved, that it is rather extraordinary for Hamlet to ſay that no Traveler had ever returned [201]from this undiscovered country, when he has, a few moments before, had a long converſation with the ſpirit of his father, which had returned from it, for the ſole purpoſe of ſpeaking to him.

Pith.] The quartos, it ſeems, have pitch, which is certainly the better reading. The alluſion is to the pitching or throwing the bar;—a manly exerciſe, uſual in country villages.

p. 280.
Ham.

You ſhould not have believ'd me: for virtue cannot ſo inoculate our old ſtock, but we ſhall reliſh of it.

Innocculate is the reading of the folios. The firſt quarto, according to mr. Steevens, reads euocutat; the ſecond, euacuat; and the third euacuate. So that evacuate appears to be the true reading. The word adopted renders the paſſage abſolute nonſenſe.

p. 282.
Oph.

Like ſweet bells jangled out of tune and harſh

Would it not be better to read time, with the quarto?

p. 285.
Ham.

I would have ſuch a fellow whipp'd for o'er-doing Termagant; it out-herods Herod.

Dr. Percy (who has been long ſuſpected to deal a little too much in creatures of his own imagination) ſhould, at leaſt, have pointed out ſome one of the old Moralities in which this Saracen Deity of his is ſo clamorous and violent. "Grennyng upon her lyke Termagauntes in a play" (Bales Acts of Engliſh Votaries. Reliques, I. 77.), which is, [202]very probably, all the authority the learned dignitary had for his aſſertion, ſeems to mean no more than the behaviour of thoſe fiends or imps, ſo frequently to be met with in the ancient Mysteries.

p. 289.
Ham.
Doſt thou hear?
Since my dear ſoul was mistreſs of her choice,
And could of men distinguiſh, her election
Hath ſeal'd thee for herſelf.

Though this be the reading of the two firſt folios, it is certainly much inferiour to the following, which mr. Steevens gives us from an old quarto:

And could of men distinguiſh her election,
Sh' hath ſeal'd thee, &c.

Distinguiſh her election, is no more than make her election; Distinguiſh of men is exceeding harſh, to ſay the beſt of it.

p. 292.
Ham.

O, your only jigmaker.

Mr. Steevens has clearly proved that jig in the authors time ſignifyed a ludicrous dialogue in metre, or a common [...]ulgar ballad; but he is as clearly wrong in aſſerting that it did not, at that time, ſignify a dance. He may be ſatisfyed of the fact, by onely turning over the next leaf, from his own note: ‘— tumbling dauncing of gigges.

p. 292. b.
Ham.

— let the devil wear black, for I'll have a ſuit of ſables.

[203] That a ſuit of ſables was a very rich dreſs, and that an equivoque is hardly intended, will appear from the following paſſage:

"I had rather," ſays honeſt Sancho, when he is taking leave of his government, "cover my ſelfe with a double ſheepe skinne, ..... then be clothed in Sables." Shelton, P. 2. p. 359. e. 1620. 4to.

p. 300.
Ham.

Gonzago is the duke's name; his wife, Baptista.

Mr. — thinks that Baptista is, in Italian, the name always of a man. He is certainly right: Baptista, Battista, or Giam-battista, means no more or leſs than John the Baptiſt.

p. 302.
Hamlet.

Would not this, ſir, and a foreſt of feathers and two provencial roſes on my rayed ſhoes.

After ſuch a concluſive note in ſupport of the old reading (raz'd or rac'd), why is mr. Popes capricious alteration ſtill ſuffered to uſurp a place in the text?

p. 304.
Ham.
For thou doſt know, O Damon dear,
This realm dismantled was
Of Jove himſelf; and now reigns here
A very, very—peacock.

The firſt folio has paiocke, one of the quartos, it ſeems, and the ſecond folio pajecke, and another quarto paicocke. Mr. Theobald, in a very long note, contends that we ſhould read paddock, which he interprets a Toad. As this is a moſt groundleſs and abſurd conjecture, mr. Malone—believes it to be the true reading! Alas, poor Shakſpeare!— [204] Peacock, however, is ſo certainly right, that the very corruption of the old editions ſerves to confirm it:—the ſurname Peacock, and, moſt probably, the bird itsſelf, is ſtill, in many parts of the country, called Paike. A paddock is a frog. Hamlets uſing that word afterwards is nothing to the purpoſe here. A peacock means a creature of no value but for its gawdy trappings: but Theobald is evidently right inſ [...]uppoſing that it is onely ſubſtituted for the word aſs.

p. 316.
Ham.
Now might I do it, pat, now he is praying;
And now I'll do't;—And ſo he goes to heaven:
And ſo am I reveng'd?—That would be ſcann'd:
A villain kills my father; and, for that
I, his ſole ſon, do this ſame villain ſend
To heaven.
Why, this is hire and ſalary, not revenge.
He took my father groſsly, full of bread;
With all his crimes broad blown, as fluſh as May;
And, how his audit ſtands, who knows, ſave heaven?
But, in our circumſtance and courſe of thought,
'Tis heavy with him: and am I then reveng'd,
To take him in the purging of his ſoul,
When he is fit and ſeaſon'd for his paſſage?
No.
Up ſword and know thou a more horrid hent:
When he is drunk, aſleep, or in his rage;
Or in the incestuous pleaſures of his bed;
At gaming, ſwearing; or about ſome act
That has no reliſh of ſalvation in't:
Then trip him, that his heels may kick at heaven;
And that his ſoul may be as damn'd, and black,
As hell whereto it goes.

[205] "This ſpeech," ſays dr. Johnſon, "in which Hamlet, repreſented as a virtuous character, is not content with taking blood for blood, but contrives damnation for the man that he would puniſh, is too horrible to be read or to be uttered."

How far it detracts from the virtue of Hamlet to be repreſented as lying in wait for an opportunity to take an adequate and complete revenge upon the murderer of his father, is a question not, with ſubmiſſion to the great moraliſt, quite ſo eaſyly decided. The late king has reported hisſelf to have been deſtroyed in the moſt deliberate, horrid, and diabolical manner;

Cut off ev'n in the bloſſom of his ſin,
Unhouſel'd, disappointed, unaneal'd,
No reckoning made, but ſent to his account,
With all his imperfections on his head:
O horrible! O horrible! moſt horrible!

Under ſuch aggravated circumſtances, for Hamlet to be content with having what dr. Johnſon calls blood for blood, would have been taking an inadequate and imperfect revenge, and, conſequently, doing an act of injuſtice and impiety to the manes of his murdered parent. But, indeed, the reaſons Hamlet here gives for his conduct, as they are better than any other perſon can make for him, will fully justify both him and it, againſt all ſuch hypercritical oppoſition to the end of time.

p. 318.
Ham.
A bloody deed;—almoſt as bad, good mother,
As kill a king, and marry with his brother.
Queen.
As kill a king?

This exclamation, which mr. Steevens thinks may be conſidered as ſome hint, that the queen had no hand in her [206]husbands murder, is as likely to proceed from ſurpriſed guilt, as conſcious innocence. There is, indeed, no direct proof before us, of her being acceſſory to the late kings death: but his referring her puniſhment

— to Heaven,
And to thoſe thorns that in her boſom-lodge,
To goad and ſting her;

and her own confeſſion of the black and grained ſpots ſhe ſees in her very ſoul, which will not leave their tinct, do, ſurely, render her ſhare in that ſhocking transaction very ſuſpicious.

p. 321.
Ham.
— Senſe, ſure you have,
Elſe, could you not have motion: but ſure that ſenſe
Is apoplex'd.

This is, certainly, the true reading. Hamlet means that the queen muſt have ſome kind of ſenſe, otherwiſe ſhe could not walk about, uſe her eyes, hands, &c. as ſhe was every day ſeen to do. Mr. Malones note (in which he explains motion by libidinous inclination), inſtead of throwing light upon the paſſage, does eſſential injury to it.

p. 325.
Ham.

— A vice of kings,

The vice, ſays dr. Johnſon, is a low mimick, the foo of a farce, from whom the modern punch is deſcended. But, with a [...]l proper deference to ſo good a judge in theſe ma [...]ters, it is a much more probable conjecture that the facetious master Punch and his wife Joan are the trure re [...]entarives of thoſe distinguiſhed characters, in the old m [...]steries, Pontius Pilate and his dreaming lady. The [...], as we elſewhere read, had a dagger of lath (i. e. [207]a ſword of thin wood), and is very likely the genuine ancestor of our more modern Harlequin. The fool of the Chriſtmas gambols, in the North of Yorkſhire, is yet called the Vice.

p. 328.
Ham.
For this ſame lord
I do repent; but heaven hath pleas'd it ſo,
To puniſh him with me, and me with him.

This, dr. Johnſon tells us, is Hanmers reading; the other editions have it, ‘To puniſh me with this, and this with me.

What thanks are due from every lover of Shakſpeare to theſe worthy editors for their conſtant and ſucceſsful edeavours to preſerve his genuine text!

p. 329.
Ham.

— a pair of reechy kiſſes.

Reechy is, here, not ſmoky, as mr. Steevens interprets it, but dirty and greaſy, like the appearance of a cook-wenches face, or chimney-bacon. This is, likewiſe, its meaning in Coriolanus:

— The kitchen Malkin pins
Her richeſt lockram 'bout her reechy neck.
p. 338.
King.

The bark is ready, and the wind at help.

i. e. at hand, ready, ready to help or aſſiſt you. Dr. Johnſon ſuppoſes it ſhould be—the wind at helm.

p. 240.
King.
And thou muſt cure me: till I know 'tis done,
Howe' [...]r my haps, my joys were ne'er begun.

[208] "Howe'er my haps, my joys will ne'er begin.] This being the termination of a ſcene, ſhould, according to our authors custom, be rhymed. Perhaps he wrote, Howe'er my hopes, my joys are not begun. JOHNSON."’

"The folio reads, in confirmation of dr. Johnſons remark, — ‘Howe'er my haps, my joys were ne'er begun. STEEVENS."’

This is true: but is it not, at the ſame time, a concluſive proof either that dr. Johnſon never looked into the folio, or that he has aſcribed what he there found to his own ſagacity?

Something of this nature has been before obſerved. Dr. Johnſons captious readyneſs to question mr. Theobalds integrity on ſimilar, though much more dubious, occaſions is a ſufficient justification of truth and candour to dwell on circumſtances which might, perhaps, otherwiſe have been left unnoticed.

p. 346.
Oph.
To-morrow is St. Valentines day,
All in the morning betime,
And I a maid at your window,
To be your Valentine.

Without doubt, ſays dr. Farmer, Good morrow 'tis Saint Valentines day.

The young lady comes to her ſweethearts window the day before: the chooſing of Valentines is always the buſyneſs of the vigil or eve.

p. 347.
Oph.

By Gis, and by Saint Charity.

[209] Gis is, likely enough, a corruption of Jeſus. But ſurely it cannot be imagined that the letters l. H. S. on book backs, &c. could any way contribute to it.

p. 361.
King.
— The other motive,
Is the great love the general gender bear him:
Who dipping all his faults in their affection,
Work, like the ſpring that turneth wood to ſtone,
Convert his gyves to graces.

The folio, mr. Steevens obſerves, inſtead of work reads would. And ſhould not the preſent edition have done ſo? Dr. Johnſon ſeems not to underſtand the paſſage: the king ſays that the common people would turn Hamlets faults into virtues, as ſtrange a perverſion, adds he, as that produced by the ſpring which changes wood to ſtone. The learned and ſagacious editor has a ſimilar property; but his alchemy only ſerves to convert gold to lead: he has a very ready knack at changing the moſt perfect ſenſe to the moſt abſolute nonſenſe.

p. 367.
King.
— good Laertes,
Will you do this, keep cloſe within your chamber;
Hamlet, return'd, ſhall know you are come home:
We'll put on thoſe ſhall praiſe your excellence,
And ſet a double varniſh on the fame
The Frenchman gave you; bring you, in fine, together,
And wager o'er your heads: he, being remiſs,
Moſt generous and free from all contriving,
Will not peruſe the foils; ſo that, with eaſe,
Or with a little ſhuffling, you may chooſe
A ſword unbated, and, in a paſs of practice,
Requite him for your father.
Laer.
[210]
I will do't:
And, for the purpoſe, I'll anoint my ſword,
I bought an unction of a mountebank,
So mortal that but dip a knife in it,
Where it draws blood, no cataplaſm ſo rare,
Collected from all ſimples tliat have virtue
Under the moon, can ſave the thing from death
That is but ſcratch'd withal: I'll touch my point
With this contagion, that, if I gall him ſlightly,
It may be death.

It is a matter of ſurpriſe that neither dr. Johnſon, nor any other of Shakſpeares numerous and able commentators has remarked, with proper warmth and detestation, the villainous aſſaſſin-like treachery of Laertes in this horrid plot. There is the more occaſion that he ſhould be here pointed out an object of abhorrence as he is a character we are, in ſome preceding parts of the play, led to reſpect and admire.

p. 379.
Ham.

We muſt ſpeak by the card, or equivocation will undo us.

To do any thing by the card, ſays dr. Johnſon, is to do if with nice obſervation; the card, being, according to him, the paper on which the different points of the compaſs were deſcribed: that is, the compaſs-paper itsſelf. But it is not. The card is a ſea-chart, ſtill ſo termed by mariners: and the word is afterwards uſed by Osrick in the ſame ſenſe. Hamlets meaning will therefor be, we muſt ſpeak directly foreward, in a ſiraight line, plainly to the point.

p. 397.
Oſr.

The king, ſir, hath wager'd with him ſix Barbary horſes: againſt the which he has impon'd ſix French rapiers, &c.

[211] To impone is certainly right, and means to put down, to ſtake, from the verb impono. To depone, which dr. Johnſon perhapses it ſhould be, is the ſame as to depoſe, to ſwear, or give evidence upon oath, as he might have concluded from the very paſſage he has quoted from Hudibras.

p. 398.
Oſr.

The king, ſir, hath lay'd, that in a dozen paſſes between yourſelf and him, he ſhall not exceed you three hits: he hath lay'd on twelve for nine.

This wager dr. Johnſon candidly profeſses hisſelf unable to underſtand. In a dozen paſses, he ſays, one muſt exceed the other more or leſs than three hits: nor can be comprehend how, in a dozen, there can be twelve to nine. Mr. Malone, however, with the aſſistance of a "ſlight correction already made by ſir T. Hanmer," thinks he has reconciled all difficulties. By a dozen paſses between yourſelf and him, he underſtands a dozen paſses for each. The meaning then, ſays he, is—"The king hath laid, that in a dozen paſses a-piece between you and Laertes, he ſhall not have the advantage of you by three hits. He (viz. the king) hath laid on the terms of Laertes making twelve hits for nine which you ſhall make."—Or perhaps, he adds, the laſt he means Laertes, and then it will run—"He (viz. Laertes) hath laid on terms of making twelve hits for nine which you ſhall make." This, continues the ingenious critic, juſt exceeds Hamlets number by three. If therefor, ſays he, Laertes in his 12 paſses ſhould make 12 hits, and Hamlet in his 12 but 9, the king would loſe.—If on the other hand, Laertes ſhould make but 11 hits, and Hamlet 9, or Laertes 12 and Hamlet 10, his majesty would win.

[212] Mr. Ma [...]one has evidently beſtowed great pains in the above nice and accurate calculation. And great is his praiſe as an ingenious commentator, and a dexterous arithmetician. It muſt, therefor, be with no ſmall diffidence after ſo laborious and mathematical a discuſſion of this intricate ſubject, which he has, doubtleſs, moſt ſatisfactoryly expounded, and, in the ſtile of his good old ſchool-master, the venerable mr. Cocker, made plain to the meaneſt capacity, that any anonymous ſcribbler ſhould venture to question the radix of his figurative ſystem: and if that ſhould unfortunately cauſe a demolition of the whole fabric, alas the day!

That a dozen paſses a-piece were NOT intended, does evidentry appear from the enſuing ſcene, in which the king, previously to the encounter, declares, that,

If Hamlet give the firſt or ſecond hit,
Or quit in anſwer of the third exchange,

he will then drink his health. It is clear from this, that Laertes might get theſe three hits. But, in caſe either party (no matter which) were to be the ſole aſſailant for the firſt twelve paſses, and the other ſtand altogether on the defenſive, as the ingenious commentators own idea allows one to ſuppoſe, the kings propoſal would be ridiculous and abſurd; for, if Hamlet played his bouts firſt, Laertes could not have a ſingle chance out of 12 paſses, or, at leaſt, 9: and, on the contrary, if Laertes took the lead, there would be no poſſibility of Hamlets getting a ſingle hit. The ingenious c [...]itic takes it for granted that paſses might be made without a bit on either ſide; a conjecture for which there is not the ſlighteſt ground in the play: each paſs (or number of paſses) ſeems to have been made for the purpoſe of getting the hit, and did not end till the hit was given. But let us [213]ſee how the parties behave in the trial ſcene. "Here they play," each endeavouring, we find, to hit the other. Hamlet gets the firſt and ſecond hits, and calls on his antagoniſt for the third bout; praying him to paſs with his beſt violence: they play again: La [...]rtes wounds Hamlet: they become incenſed, change rapiers, and Hamlet wounds Laertes. There does not ſeem the leaſt foundation for the ingenious hypotheſis and calculation in the note; the whole ſtructure muſt, therefor, inevitably [...]a [...]l to the ground. Had they played with coolneſs, and ſuppoſing their ſkill equal, the odds were (and ſo we are to underſtand Osrick) 12 to 9 in favour of Hamlet; for Laertes, to win, muſt have got 8 hits at the leaſt; whereas Hamlet would have won if he had onely got 5; ſo that he had clearly the advantage of Laertes, in point of number, three whole paſses or hits, and the odds were 8 to 5, which is in the ſame arithmetical proportion as 12 to 9, in Hamlets favour, before they begun to play. This is Shakſpeares meaning, and renders the text clear and conſistent throughout. And it onely remains to be conſidered whether dr. Johnſon or mr. Malone has underſtood the paſſage beſt?

p. 405.
Laert.
I am ſatisfy'd in nature,
Whoſe motion, in this caſe, ſhould ſtir me moſt
To my revenge: but in my terms of honour
I ſtand aloof; and will no reconcilement,
Till by ſome elder masters, of known honour,
I have a view and precedent of peace,
To keep my name ungor'd: But, till that time,
I do receive your offer'd love like love,
And will not wrong it.

This, mr. Steevens ſays, was a piece of ſatire on fantastical honour. Though nature, adds he, is ſatisfyed, yet [214]he will aſk advice of older men of the ſword, whether artificial honour ought to be contented with Hamlets ſubmiſſion. But, in fact, the paſſage is as little intended for a ſatire, as the honour Laertes alludes to, is artificial or fantastical. The ingenious commentator does not, ſurely, mean to contend that nature and honour are one and the ſame thing? The ſentiments of Laertes, and almoſt his very words, would, one may venture to ſay, be adopted by men of real honour, in ſimilar circumſtances, in any country or in any age. He is, notwithſtanding, a treacherous and diabolical villain.

p. 406.
Ham.

Your grace hath laid the adds o'the weaker ſide.

Mr. Malone (for, unluckyly, as he did not underſtand the paſſage, he found it would not, in its preſent ſhape, ſuit his ingenious hypotheſis and curious calculations in a preceding page) would have us read: ‘Your grace hath laid upon the weaker ſide.’ But the text is perfectly right, and neither requires nor admits of alteration. The king had wagered, on Hamlets part, ſix Barbary horſes againſt a few rapiers, poniards, &c. i. e. about twenty to one. ODDS enough, in all conſcience! And yet is this ſame mr. Malone, in another place, ſo hardy as to aſſert that no unequal ſtakes were laid.

p. 408.
Ham.

I am afraid you make a wanton of me.

i. e. you trifle with me, as if you were playing with a child. Dr. Johnſon onely obſerves that a wanton was a man feeble and effeminate. He might as well have ſaid it was a horſe or an elephant.

[215]
— I would have thee gone,
And yet no further than a wantons bird,
That lets it hop a little from his hand,
And with a ſilk thread pulls it back again.
Romeo and Juliet.
p. 411.
Hor.
Now cracks a noble heart: Good night, ſweet prince;
And flights of angels ſing thee to thy reſt.

Mr. Steevenses note on this paſſage is ſo intereſting and extraordinary that it becomes neceſſary to inſert it here at large, leſt it might be thought to be partially or unfairly repreſented in the remarks which it has occaſioned.

"Let us review for a moment the behaviour of Hamlet, on the ſtrength of which Horatio founds this eulogy, and recommends him to the patronage of angels.

"Hamlet, at the command of his father's ghoſt, undertakes with ſeeming alacrity to revenge the murder; and declares he will baniſh all other thoughts from his mind. He makes, however, but one effort to keep his word, and that is, when he mistakes Polonius for the king. On another occaſion, he defers his purpoſe till he can find an opportunity of taking his uncle when he is leaſt prepared for death, that he may inſure damnation to his ſoul. Though he aſſaſſinated Polonius by accident, yet he deliberately procures the execution of his ſchool-fellows, Roſencrantz and Guildenſtern, who appear to have been unacquainted with the treacherous purpoſes of the mandate they were employed to carry. Their death (as he declares in a ſubſequent converſation with Horatio) gives him no concern, for they obtruded themſelves into the ſervice, and he thought he had a right to deſtroy them. He is not leſs accountable for the distraction and death of Ophelia. He [216]comes to interrupt the funeral deſigned in honour of this lady, at which both the king and queen were preſent; and, by ſuch an outrage to decency, renders it ſtill more neceſſary for the uſurp [...]r to lay a ſecond ſtratagem for his life, though the firſt had proved abortive. He comes to inſult the brother of the dead, and to boaſt of an affection for his ſister, which, before, he had denied to her face; and yet at this very time muſt be conſidered as deſirous of ſupporting the character of a madman, ſo that the openneſs of his confeſſion is not to be imputed to him as a virtue. He apologizes to Horatio afterwards for the abſurdity of this behaviour, to which, he ſays, he was provoked by that nobleneſs of fraternal grief, which, indeed, he ought rather to have applauded than condemned. Dr. Johnſon has obſerved, that to bring about a reconciliation with Laertes, he has availed himſelf of a dishoneſt fallacy; and to conclude, it is obvious to the moſt careleſs ſpectator or reader, that he kills the king at laſt to revenge himſelf, and not his father.

"Hamlet cannot be ſaid to have purſued his ends by very warrantable means; and if the poet, when he ſacrificed him at laſt, meant to have enforced ſuch a moral, it is not the worſt that can be deduced from the play; for as Maximus, in Beaumont and Fletchers Valentinian, ſays,

"Although his justice were as white as truth,
"His way was crooked to it; that condemns him."

"The late dr. Akinſide once obſerved to me, that the conduct of Hamlet was every way unnatural and indefenſible, unleſs he were to be regarded as a young man whoſe intellects were in ſome degree impaired by his own misfortunes; by the death of his father, the loſs of expected ſovereignty, and a ſenſe of ſhame reſulting from the haſty and inceſtuons marriage of his mother.

[217] "I have dwelt the longer on this ſubject, becauſe Hamlet ſeems to have been hitherto regared as a hero not undeſerving the pity of the audience; and becauſe no writer on Shakeſpeare has taken the pains to point out the immoral tendency of his character."

There are very few, it is believed, at all acquainted with this inimitable author, who would not be ſurpriſed, nay aſtoniſhed, at ſuch a ſevere and unexpected attack upon his principal and moſt favourite character: a character every one has been hitherto led to admire and eſteem, not more by univerſal and long eſtabliſhed opinion, than by the ſentiments and feelings of his own mind. To find the amiable, the injured, the distracted, and unfortunate Hamlet repreſented as a worthleſs and immoral being, totally undeſerving of the leaſt pity from thoſe almoſt numberleſs audiences whom the united force of Nature, Shakſpeare, and Garrick has compelled to weep for his misfortunes; and whoſe compaſſion would not be leſs in the cloſet than in the theatre, ſeems the moſt extraordinary and irreconcilable proceeding in a writer of genius and learning that can be well imagined. However, as the heavy charges which are here brought againſt him will, upon the ſlighteſt examination, appear to be groundleſs, unwarrantable, and unjuſt, there is little reaſon to fear that the confidence and ingenuity with which they are advanced and ſupported will anſwer the purpoſe of the learned objector.

Hamlet, the onely child of the late king, upon whoſe death he became lawfully intitled to the crown, had, it ſeems, ever ſince that event, been in a ſtate of melancholy, owing to exceſſive grief for the ſuddenneſs with which it had taken place, and an indignant horror at his mothers ſpeedy and incestuous marriage. The ſpirit of the king his father appears, and makes him acquainted with the circumſtances of his untimely [218]fate, which he excites him to revenge: this Hamlet engages to do: an engagement it does not appear he ever forgot. It behoved him, however, to conduct hisſelf with the greateſt prudence. The uſurper was powerful, and had Hamlet carryed his deſign into immediate execution, it could not but have been attended with the worſt conſequences to his own life and fame. No one knew what the ghoſt had imparted to him; till he afterwards made Horatio acquainted with it: and though his interview with the ſpirit gave him certain proof and ſatisfactory reaſon to know and deteſt the uſurper, it would ſcarcely, in the eye of the people, have justifyed his killing their king. To conceal, and, at a convenient time, to effect, his purpoſe, he counterfeits madneſs, and, for his greater aſſurance, puts the ſpirits evidence and the uſurpers guilt to the teſt of a play, by which the truth of each is manifeſted. He ſoon after eſpies the uſurper at prayers, but reſolves, and with great justice reſolves, not to kill him in the very moment when he might be making his peace with heaven: inasmuch as a death ſo timed would have been rather a happyneſs than a puniſhment, and, by no means, a proper revenge for his fathers murder. We next find him in the queens apartment, endeavouring to make her ſenſible of the ſtate of vice and horror into which her unnatural connection with the uſurper had plunged her. At the beginning of this conference he mistakes Polonius, who was behind the arras, and about to alarm the houſehold, for the uſurper, and, under that apprehenſion, ſtabs him. The ſpirit appears (not very neceſſaryly, perhaps) "to whe [...] his almoſt blunted purpoſe." He is, immediately, ſent off to England: and, in his paſſage, discovers the treacherous and fatal purpoſe of the commiſſion with which his companion and pretended friends were charged. Theſe men, he [219]knew, had eagerly ſolicited and even thruſt theirſelves upon this employment; and he had, of courſe, ſufficient reaſon to conclude that they were well acquainted with the nature and purport of their fatal packet. That Shakſpeare meant to charge them with this knowlege, and to repreſent them as participes criminis, is evident from the old black letter Hystorie which furniſhed him with the ſubject, where they are not only made privy to, but actually deviſe the ſcheme to take Hamlets life. His own ſafety depended on their removal; and, at ſuch a time, and under ſuch circumſtances, he would have been fully justifyed in uſing any means to procure it.

That he is "accountable for the distraction and death of Ophelia" is a moſt ſtrange charge indeed. He had, to be ſure, accidentally killed her father, whom he took for his betters. This cauſes her distraction; and her distraction cauſes her death. A moſt lamentable train of circumſtances! and with which the moral character of Hamlet is as little concerned at that of the ingenious, though uncandid, commentator.

That "he comes to interrupt the funeral deſigned in honour of this lady," is an aſſertion which has nothing but the credit of the aſſerter to ſupport it. Walking with his friend Horatio through a churchyard, he enters into converſation with a grave-digger; but, preſently, obſerving the approach of a funeral proceſſion, he ſays to Horatio, to whom he was then ſpeaking:

Soft, ſoft, aſide. Here comes the king,
The queen, the courtiers: Who is this they follow?
And with ſuch maimed rites? This doth betoken
The corſe they follow, did with deſperate hand
[220]Fordo its own life. 'Twas of ſome eſtate,
Couch we a while, and mark.

Does it appear from hence that he knew, or had the leaſt reaſon to ſuſpect this to be the funeral of Ophelia; or even that he was appriſed of her distraction or unfortunate death? The contrary is moſt certain. He left the [...]ingdom before her inſanity broke out, and does not return till after ſhe is dead: he has ſeen no one, except Horatio, who was certainly unacquainted with the latter circumſtance, ſo that it is next to an impoſſibility that he could have known what had happened to her. But to proceed: Laertes aſking what ceremony elſe? Hamlet obſerves to Horatio, That is Laertes; a very noble youth. Laertes concluding his expostulation about the further honours with the following beautyful lines:

— lay her i'the earth;
And from her fair and unpolluted fleſh
May violets ſpring!—I tell thee, churliſh prieſt,
A miniſtring angel ſhall my ſister be,
When thou lieſt howling;

Hamlet exclaims: What! the fair Ophelia? His ſurpriſe and aſtoniſhment on hearing Laertes name his ſister are manifeſtly apparent, and may ſerve to convince the learned critic, and every one who has been misled by his ill-founded accuſations, that Hamlet does NOT come to interrupt the funeral, and is guilty of NO outrage whatever. He as little "comes to inſult the brother of the dead," or "to boaſt of an affection for his ſister, which before he had [in a wild and careleſs manner when he was under the neceſſity of counterfeiting madneſs] denied to her face." Laertes bids

— Treble woe
Fall ten times treble on that curſed head,
[221]Whoſe wicked deed thy moſt ingenious ſenſe
Depriv'd thee of;

an execration Hamlet cannot but perceive to be pointed at hisſelf. Having uttered this curſe, Laertes, haſtyly, and in direct violation of all decorum, jumps into the grave, where he "rants and mouths it" like a player. This outrageous proceeding ſeems to infect Hamlet; who, forgetting hisſelf, as he afterward, with ſorrow, owns to Horatio, and, by the "bravery" of the others grief being worked up "into a towering paſſion," leaps in after him: and he who thinks Hamlets madneſs or ſincerity counterfeit here does not appear to know ſo much of Shakſpeare or of human nature as every one who reads this play ought to do.

The affection Hamlet now boaſts for Ophelia was genuine and violent; we find him with the very ſame ſentiments in the beginning of the play, and he has never once disowned it, except on a ſingle occaſion, when the ſacrifice was required by his aſſumed character; a circumſtance which cannot, at leaſt ought not to, be imputed to him as a crime.

The behaviour and language of Laertes is more ranting and unnatural, than noble and pathetic, and, with his execration upon Hamlet previously to his leaping into the grave, and the violent ſhock which Hamlet might feel on learning the corſe to be Ophelias, might eaſyly work up to, and apologiſe for, a higher pitch of extravagance, a ſtronger and more compoſed mind than that of which Hamlet appears to have been then master.

Hamlets converſation with Laertes, immediately before the fencing ſcene, was at the queens earneſt intreaty, and though dr. Johnſon be pleaſed to give it the harſh name of "a dishoneſt fallacy," there are better, becauſe more natural, judges who conſider it as a moſt gentle and pathetic [222]addreſs; and cannot perceive it to be either dishoneſt or fallacious: for, certainly, Hamlet did not intend the death of Polonius; of conſequence, unwittingly, and by mere accident, injured Laertes, who, after declaring that he was "ſatisfyed in nature," and that he onely delayed his perfect reconcilement till his honour were ſatisfyed by elder masters, whom, at the ſame time, (for he has the inſtrument of death in his hand) he never meant to conſult, ſays,

— Till that time,
I do receive your offer'd LOVE LIKE LOVE,
And WILL NOT WRONG IT.

On which the truely virtuous, innocent, and unſuſpecting Hamlet replies,

— I embrace it freely
And will this BROTHERS wager frankly play.

Let the conduct and ſentiments of Laertes, in this interview, and in his converſation with the uſurper, together with his villainous deſign againſt the life of Hamlet, be examined and tryed by any rules of gentility, honour, or humanity, natural or artificial, he muſt be conſidered as a treacherous, cowardly, diabolical wretch. Is ſuch a character to riſe on the fall of the generous Hamlet?

Things are ſometimes obvious to very careleſs ſpectators or readers, which are not discerned by thoſe who play cloſer attention to the ſcene. Hamlet, in a trial of ſkill with Laertes, receives an unexpected, a treacherous, and mortal wound. Immediately before the company enter, he appears to be much troubled in mind; his ſpirits foreboding what was to happen: "If it be now," ſays he, "'tis not to come; if it be not to come, it will be now; if it be not now, yet it will come; the readyneſs is all." [223]He does not appear to have ſuſpected Laertes of any unfair practice (he did not know ſo much of him as we do), but he had every reaſon to expect treachery and murder from the uſurper; he might too have heared ſomething of his ſecret juggling with Laertes; and, doubtleſs, intended to revenge the death of his father. Being thus wounded, and on the threſhold of futurity, if he had not killed the uſurper immediately, the villain would have eſcaped unpuniſhed. But he does not ſtab him for his treachery toward hisſelf,—he upbraids him with his crimes of INCEST and MURDER,— and conſigns him to the infernal regions, ‘With all his 'rank offences' thick upon him.’

So that he ſufficiently revenges his father, his mother (who, by the way, dyes, if not deſervedly, at leaſt unpityed), and hisſelf. As to his own fall, every reader or ſpectator muſt ſympathiſe with Horatio, for the untimely loſs of a youthful prince poſſeſsed of ſuch great and amiable qualities, rendered miſerable by ſuch unparalleled misfortunes;

—For he was likely, had he been put on,
To have prov'd moſt royally;

and who falls a ſacrifice to the moſt baſe and infernal machinations. His death, however, is not to be looked upon as a puniſhment; the moſt innocent, as Shakſpeare well knew, are frequently confounded with the moſt guilty; and the virtues of Hamlet were to be rewarded among thoſe angels which his friend Horatio invokes to eſcort him to everlaſting reſt.

Dr. Akenſide was a very ingenious, ſenſible, and worthy man: but enough has been ſaid to ſatisfy thoſe who doubt, that the conduct of Hamlet is neither unnatural nor indefenſible. That his intellects were really impaired by the circumſtances enumerated by the above learned phyſician, [224]is very probable; and, indeed, Hamlet hisſelf, more than once, plainly inſinuates it. See, in particular, the latter part of his ſoliloquy at the end of the ſecond act.

The oppoſing and refuting of general charges by proof and circumſtance commonly requires much more time and ſpace than the making of them. The writer is ſenſible that the arguments here adduced are neither arranged ſo judiciously, nor expreſsed ſo well, as the objections of the learned commentator; but from what has been ſaid, and as it is ſaid, it will appear, that it has not been without ſtrong and ſufficient reaſons that Hamlet has "been hitherto regarded as a hero not undeſerving the pity of the audience;" and the ingenious critic will not, perhaps, have much cauſe to congratulate hisſelf, on being the onely perſon who has taken pains to point out the immoral tendency of as noble, as virtuous, and as intereſting a character, ‘As e'er 'imagination' cop'd withall.’

p. 414.
Hor.
— So ſhall you hear
Of cruel, bloody, and unnatural acts.

Thus, ſays mr. Collins, the more modern editors. The firſt quarto, and the folio, adds he, read—Of carnal, &c. referring, he ſuppoſes, to the uſurpers criminal intercourſe with the mother of Hamlet.

Carnal, is without doubt, the true reading: but nothing can be more indecent, ridiculous, and abſurd than the conſtruction here put upon it. Was the relationſhip between the uſurper and the deceaſed king a ſecret confined to Horatio? All the world muſt have been appriſed of it. The word is uſed by Shakſpeare as an adjective to carnage.

OTHELLO.

[225]
p. 427.
Iago.
— Three great ones of the city,
In perſonal ſuit to make me his lieutenant,
Oft capp'd to him.

Off-capp'd, in the folio, is certainly the true reading, That of the text is nonſenſe.

p. 428.
Iago.
One Michael Caſſio, a Florentine,
A fellow almoſt damn'd in a fair wife.

This paſſage is too ſtubborn for any but a master critic to attack; and thoſe who have hitherto attempted it have little reaſon to boaſt of their ſucceſs. Sir Thomas Hanmer reads fair phyz; which dr. Warburton calls a "Whitefriers phraſe," and thinks Iago is repeating Othellos own words, alluding to him. Mr. Steevens ſeems gently to incline to Theobalds notion, that the fair wife was Iagos. Dr. Johnſon, according to his uſual custom when there is real difficulty in a paſſage, has nothing to propoſe. Mr. Tollet thinks one might read ſalſe wife. Mr. Tyrwhitt believes the true reading is fair life. Mr. Steevens, in a ſubſequent note, obſerves, that almoſt damn'd in a wife can onely be ſaid of a man who is near being marryed; thinking, it ſeems, that a man actually marryed is not almoſt, but altogether damn'd. It is, however, ſettled that Caſſio is the Florentine, and evident that wiſe can never be the true word; ſince he neither is marryed, nor, till ſome time after, has any connection with a woman, at leaſt to our knowlege. [226]Mr. Tyrwhitt ſeems to have come the neareſt to what we may conceive to be Iagos meaning; and as his emendation does ſo little violence to the text, the editors would certainly have been justifiable in adopting it.

p. 436.
Bra.
What tell'ſt thou me of robbing? this is Vonice;
My houſe is not a grange.

That is, ſays mr. Warton, you are in a populous city, not in a lone houſe, where a robbery might eaſily be committed.

One is always glad to read the notes of this very ingenious and fancyful writer; ſince, if one does not meet with information, one may be ſure of entertainment. "You," he makes Brabantio ſay to Iago and Rodorigo, "are in a populous City, not in a lone houſe."—They are ſtanding in the STREET. See, as to Grange, before, p. 21.

p. 440.
Bra.
With the Moor, ſay'ſt thou?—Who would be a father?
How did'ſt thou know 'twas ſhe?—O, thou deceiv'ſt me
Paſt thought!—what ſaid ſhe to you?—

Thus, ſays mr. Steevens, the quarto 1622. The folio 1623, and the quartos 1630 and 1655, he adds, read,

— O ſhe deceives me
Paſt thought.

"I," continues he, "have choſen the apoſtrophe to his abſent daughter, as the moſt ſpirited of the two readings."

It may be the moſt ſpirited, but it is ſurely the leaſt natural. It is not at all in Brabantios manner, and is with as much probability an errour of the preſs as an apoſtrophe to his daughter. Be that, however, as it may; the majority [227]and weight of evidence is in favour of the other reading, which is more likely to be Shakſpeares own, and ſhould therefor be reſtored.

p. 446.
Iago.

He's married.

Caſ.

To who?

Iago.

Marry, to—Come, captain, will you go?

Mr. Steevens thinks it ſingular that Caſſio ſhould aſk the question, as it appears he knew of Othellos courtſhip from firſt to laſt. But it is very eaſy to imagine that Caſſio might wiſh to know if Iago were acquainted with the lady, to prevent the latters ſuſpecting that he was.

p. 448.
Bra.
That thou haſt practiſ'd on her with foul charms;
Abuſ'd her delicate youth with drugs, or minerals,
That weaken motion.

Mr. Theobald reads—That weaken notion. HANMER— That waken motion: a notion to which mr. Steevens inclines. Mr. Malone knows not which to prefer; he is for both and neither.

To weaken motion is—to impair the faculties. It was, till very lately, and may, with ſome, be ſtill, an opinion that philtres or love-potions have the power of perverting, and, of courſe, weakening or impairing, both the ſight and judgement, and of procuring fondneſs or dotage toward any unworthy object who administers them. And by motion Shakſpeare means the ſenſes which are depraved and weakened by theſe fascinating mixtures.

p. 454.
[228]
Bra.
She is abuſ'd, ſtol'n from me, and corrupted
By ſpells and medicines bought of mountebanks.

Dr. Warburton cites a Venetian ſtatute againſt thoſe who ſold love potions, of which mr. Steevens believes Shakſpeare knew no more than he does; he, however, ſuppoſes him to have been "well acquainted with the edicts of that ſapient prince king James the firſt, againſt

—practiſers
Of arts inhibited and out of warrant."

But there is no doubt that Shakſpeare had the ſubſtance of Brabantios ſpeech from Cinthios novel, however he might come by it, and Cinthio, it may be ſuppoſed, knew ſomething of the Veneti [...]n ſtatute. As to the edict againſt theſe practices by James I. it may be fairly preſumed, that his ſapiency had juſt about as much concern in its fabrication as (if wisdom and learning be as criminal as it is rare in a great king) a ſomewhat leſs ſapient ſucceſſor of his had in its repeal.

p. 460.
Oth.
That I would all my pilgrimage dilate,
Whereof by parcels ſhe had ſomething heard,
But not intentively.

Thus, ſays mr. Steevens, the eldeſt quarto. The folio, he adds, reads inſtinctively. Perhaps, continues he, it ſhould be distinctively: a word which, if he had looked into the ſecond, third, or fourth folio, or into any ſubſequent edition prior to dr. Johnſons, he would there have found.

p. 475.
[229]
Iago.

— If fanctimony and a frail vow, betwixt an erring barbarian and a ſuper-ſubtle Venetian, be not too hard for my wits, &c.

Here is a collection of quibbles. By an erring Barbarian he means not onely a roving moor, but a ſhallow, blundering brute; and this character he ſets in oppoſition to that of a ſuperſubtle Venetian woman. The vow, he concluded, muſt needs be frail that was made between two ſuch unnatural extremes as brutal folly and the moſt refined female cunning.

p. 485.
Des.

O, fie upon thee, ſlanderer!

This ſhort ſpeech, mr. Steevens ſays, is in the quarto unappropriated; and may as well belong to AEmilia, as to Desdemona. It is given to Desdemona in both the folios; and to her it moſt certainly belongs.

p. 499.
Iago.

What an eye ſhe has! methinks, it founds a parley of provocation.

Cas.

An inviting eye; and yet, methinks, right modeſt.

Iago.

And when ſhe ſpeaks, is it not an alarum to love?

The voice, ſays dr. Johnſon, may ſound an alarum more properly than the eye can ſound a parley.

The eye is often ſaid to ſpeak. Thus we frequently hear of the language of the eye. Surely that which can talk may, without any violent ſtretch of the figure, be allowed to ſound a parley.

The folio reads—parley to provocation.

[230] Pheere or fere is as entirely different from peer as one word can be from another: the former implying a partner, companion, mate, ſweetheart, husband, or wife. Peers and compeers may ſignify equals, and, in that ſenſe, fellows; but this is not the language of a ballad-maker. The term worthy fellow would be poorly explained by honeſt equal. But why ſhould we thus endeavour to make difficulties where we find none? Every perſon, one may venture to ſay, who has hitherto read the line will underſtand it to mean, by a very common inverſion of language, ‘King Stephen was a worthy lord, The term is not confined to this paſſage: we have it in the Tempeſt: ‘O king Stephano! O peer! O worthy Stephano.’ Spenſer uſes peer continually for lord, and one might quote a multitude of ſimilar inſtances from old books: but to what purpoſe?

Ibi.
With that he called the taylor—lown.

"Sorry fellow, paltry wretch. JOHNSON." Rather knave, rascol.

p. 506.
Iage.
I do not know;—friends all but now, even now,
In quarter and in terms like bride and groom.

In quarter, that is, according to dr. Johnſon, "in their quarters, at their lodging." But it ſhould rather mean at peace, quiet, or, as the learned critic elſewhere explains it, "in friendſhip, amity, concord." They had been on that very ſpot (the court or platform, it is preſumed, before the [231]castle), ever ſince Othello left them, which can ſcarcely be called being in their quarters, or at their lodging. And, indeed, they could not have left it without being guilty of another offence, as they were directed by Othello to keep the watch.

p. 515.
Clown.

Then put up your pipes in your bag, for I'll away; go; vaniſh into air; away.

This muſt be wrong;—poſſibly Shakſpeare wrote—fly away.

p. 520.
Des.
— What! Michael Caſſio,
That came a wooing with you.

And yet in the firſt act, ſays mr. Steevens, Caſſio appears perfectly ignorant of the amour, and is indebted to Iago for the information of Othellos marriage, and of the perſon to whom he is marryed.

The ingenious critic will, perhaps, find his obſervation a little too haſty. Caſſios appearing or pretending to be ignorant of the above circumſtances is, in the firſt place, no concluſive proof that he actually was ſo: and, ſecondly, if the learned writer will take the trouble of referring to the paſſage he alludes to, he will perceive that Caſſio is not indebted to Iago for the information "of the perſon to whom Othello is married."

p. 523.
Oth.

They are cloſe delations, working from the heart.

Dr. Warburton reading, and defending cold dilations, "I know not," ſays dr. Johnſon, "why the modern editors are [232]ſatisfied with this reading. They might eaſily have found that it is introduced without authority. The old copies UNIFORMLY give, cloſe dilations, except that the earlier quarto has cloſe denotements; which was the authors firſt expreſſion, afterwards changed by him, not to cold dilations, for cold is read in NO ANCIENT COPY, but to cloſe delations, &c."

Now would any one ſuppoſe that, after this confidence, cold dilations ſhould be the reading of the ſecond, third, and fourth folios? But it is actually the caſe. How naturally does indolence produce errour!

p. 525.
Iago.
I do beſeech you,
Though I—perchance, am vicious in my gueſs,
— that your wisdom yet,
From one that ſo imperfectly conceits,
Would take no notice, &c.

This paſſage is printed and explained as if what ſhould have followed after the words though I were broken off by the ſpeaker deſignedly. But it is not. His words and meaning are altogether plain and ſimple. I beeſeech you, ſays he to Ot [...]ello, though I may be too ſhrewd and vicious in my gueſs (i. e. as mr. Steevens well explains it, apt to put the worſt conſtruction on this matter), that you would not, from my imperfect ſurmiſes, take further notice of it.

p. 527.
Iago.
O, beware, my lord, of jealouſy,
It is the green-ey'd monſter, which doth mock
The meat it feeds on.

The term green-ey'd monſter ſeems to refer onely to Jealouſy, and meek, doubtleſs, in this inſtance, ſignifies to loath. Suſpicion is the food which may be ſaid to ſupport jealouſy; and [235]this very food the jealous perſon loaths and deteſts, though he is not able to withſtand the anxiety with which his mind purſues, and devours it. Dr. Smollet had, perhaps, this very paſſage in his eye, when he made one of the characters in his Regicide ſay

— let me rot
A loathſome banquet to the fowls of heaven.
p. 529.
Oth.
— 'Tis not to make me jealous,
To ſay—my wife is fair, feeds well, loves company,
Is free of ſpeech, ſings, plays, and dances well;
Where virtue is, theſe are more virtuous.

"I know not," ſays mr. Steevens, "why the modern editors, in oppoſition to the firſt quarto and folio, read moſt inſtead of more."

They had two reaſons:

  • 1.The ſenſe requires moſt. And,
  • 2.It is the reading of the ſecond folio.
p. 532.
Iago.

Foh! one may ſmell, in ſuch, a will moſt rank.

Will, ſays dr. Johnſon, is for wilfulneſs. A rank will, adds he, is ſelf-will overgrown and exuberant. To SMELL wilfulneſs, and an overgrown ſelf-will, is a faculty peculiar to the learned critic. But with all imaginable deference to him, the expreſſion means,—inclinations or deſires moſt foul, groſs, and ſtrong-ſcented.

p. 553.
Oth.
A liberal hand: the hearts, of old, gave hands;
But our new heraldry is—hands, not hearts.

[236] Without it can be proved that this play exiſted in its preſent ſhape prior to the inſtitution of the order of baronets, one may, pretty ſafely, admit that this paſſage contains an alluſion to the arms allotted them. But that Shakſpeare intended to ſneer at the eſtabliſhment, or had ſuch a refined and complex meaning as dr. Warburton would contend, is not quite ſo obvious. As to the inconſistency of Othellos acquaintance with an Engliſh honour of the writers own time, every play abounds with ſimilar inſtances.

SUPPLEMENT.
VOLUME THE FIRST.

p. 81.

Widow Dido.

Perhaps, ſays the industrious editor, there is here an alluſion to ſome old ballad. In the Pepyſian collection, adds he, is one to the tune of Queen Dido. If the learned commentator had conſulted that collection, he might have found the ballad of Queen Dido itsſelf. But it is rather extraordinary that he ſhould not know that it was printed in Percys Reliques.

This ballad appears to have been, at one time, a great favourite with the common people. "Oh you ale-knights," exclaims an ancient writer, "you that deuoure the marrow of the Mault, and drinke whole Aletubs into conſumptions; that ſing QUEENE DIDO ouer a Cupp, and tell ſtrange newes ouer an Ale pot, &c." Jacke of Douer, his Queſt of Inquirie, or his priuy ſearch for the verieſt Foole in England. Lon. 1604. 4to. (fig. 2.)

p. 82.

[237]

Nor ſcrape trencher, nor waſh diſh.] "It ſhould be remembered," ſays one of mr. Malones muſhroom aſſistants in this notable piece of editorial cookry, "that trenchers, which, in the time of our author, were generally uſed, were cleanſed by ſcraping ONLY, and were never waſhed. They were ſcraped daily," continues he, "till they were entirely worn away." An aſſertion as ridiculous as untrue. The ſcraping of a trencher is merely preparatory and conducive to its being thoroughly waſhed and ſcoured. If ſcraping had been the ſole and dayly proceſs, theſe laſting and ſerviceable utenſils would not onely have been ſoon entirely ſcraped away, but have ſcarcely been fit to eat off a ſecond time. And if mr. White (the trencher-ſcraper in the note) have been uſed onely to ſcrape, and never to waſh his trenchers, one cannot well envy his gueſts the luxury of fouling a plate with him.

p. 87.

Val.

Not mine, my gloves are on.

Speed.

Why then, this may be yours; for this is but one.

From this quibble mr. Malone conjectures that the word one was anciently pronounced as if it were written on. That this was the ancient and original pronunciation is very probable, as appears from the word only (onely), and the vulgar uſage in many counties at this day. But that it was not the general practice in our authors time is evident from the following paſſages:

Much ado about 'lothing, act V. ſcene i.

Nor let no comforter delight mine ear,
But ſuch A ONE whoſe wrongs do ſuit with mine.

Macbeth, act IV. ſcene iv.

[238]
There's not A ONE of them, but in his houſe
I keep a ſervant ſee'd.

A love letter of Henry the eighth to Anna Bullen, printed by Hearne at the end of Robert de Avesbury, will clearly ſhew the pronunciation of that period.

"As touching a lodging for you, we have gotten WON by my lord Cardinals means, &c." 20

p. 88.

Thou common friend that's without faith or love.

That's, ſays mr. Malone, is here uſed for id eſt, that is to ſay. Seriously? And does not the ingenious critic think there is almoſt as much reaſon for ſuppoſing it to be uſed inſtead of—that art?

p. 360.

that young Hamlet was born.] By this ſcene, judge Blackſtone obſerves, it appears that Hamlet was then thirty years old. And yet, ſays he, in the beginning of the play he is ſpoken of as a very young man, one that deſigned to go back to ſchool, i. e. to the univerſity of Wittenberg. The poet in the fifth act, he thinks, had forgot what he wrote in the firſt.

In fact, however, the poet has forgot nothing; neither is there any reaſon to ſuppoſe the leaſt inconſiſtency in the matter: men may ſtudy, or reſide at the univerſity to any age.

ADDITIONAL NOTES.
VOLUME THE SIXTH.

[]

KING HENRY THE FIFTH.

p. 15.
K. Henry.

Send for him good uncle.

"John Holland, duke of Exeter, was married to Elizabeth the kings aunt. STEEVENS."

It is very true; but the learned commentator ſhould have added, that he had been deprived of the title, and beheaded by Henry IV. The nobleman to whom the king now addreſses hisſelf is Thomas Beaufort, earl of Dorſet, who was, indeed, created duke of Exeter, but not till ſome years after the time of this conference.

THIRD PART OF KING HENRY THE SIXTH.

p. 452.
Queen.
A crown for York;—and, lords, bow low to him.—
Hold you his hands, whilſt I do ſet it on.—
Putting a paper crown on his head.

Shakſpeare, mr. Steevens obſerves, has on this occaſion deviated from history. The paper crown, he ſays, was not placed on the duke of Yorks head till after it had been cut off.

The ingenious commentator is moſt certainly mistaken. Shakſpeare, ſo far from having deviated from history, has [240]followed it with the utmoſt preciſion. Whethamſtede expreſsly tells us that the Lancastrians, in direct breach of a mutual agreement, and before the day appointed for the battle, fell ſuddenly upon the dukes army, and took him and the earl of Salisbury priſoners; treating both, but eſpecially the duke, in the moſt ſhameful manner. Nam, ſays he, ſtatuentes eum ſuper unum parvum formicarium colliculum, & quoddam ſertum vile, ex palustri gramine confectum, imponentes, per modum coronae, ſuper capud ſuum, non aliter quam Ju [...]aei coram Domino incurvaverunt genua ſua coram ipſo, dicentes illuſerie: Ave rex ſine regimine; Ave rex abſque hereditate; Ave dux & p [...]inceps abſque omni populo penitus & poſſeſſione. Et hiis una cum aliis variis, in eum probroſe opprobri [...]ſeque dictis, coegerunt ipſum demum per capitis abſciſionem clameum relinquere ſuae justiciae vendicacionis. (p. 489.) Not a ſingle circumſtance is omitted or varyed in the ſcene. It is not, however, imagined that Shakſpeare had ever conſulted Whethamſtede: he found the ſame ſtory, no doubt, in ſome old black letter chronicle, which it has not been the writers fortune to meet with, or he might poſſibly have it from popular tradition.

THE END.

Appendix A THE GENUINE TEXT OF SHAKSPEARE.
Preparing for the Preſs, AN EDITION OF THE PLAYS OF WILLIAM SHAKSPEARE, WITH NOTES.

[]

THIS edition will be compriſed in eight duodecimo volumes; and will be carefully and accurately printed from the onely copies of real authority, the two firſt folios. But although theſe editions will be the ſtandard of the intended work, ſuch paſſages in the old quartos as may appear to have been omitted by accident, or with a view to ſhorten the repreſentation, and every various reading, will be maturely conſidered, and, if worthy of inſertion, be adopted, either in the text or margin, as their importance or merit may ſeem to require. No variation, however, will be made from the ſtandard editions []without appriſing the reader of it, unleſs the difference ſhould conſiſt merely in a ſlight typographical error. Nor is any difference between the various editions in other reſpects intended to be otherwiſe than occaſionally regarded. The orthography will be reduced with the utmoſt care to a modern and uniform ſystem, except where a change would be injurious to the authors ſenſe and meaning. Various or doubtful readings will be ſettled from an attentive examination of the ſentiments of every commentator. The notes, which will be very ſparingly introduced, and never but where they ſeem abſolutely neceſſary, or peculiarly proper, will be chiefly extracted, under the names of their reſpective authors, from the editions of Theobald, Warburton, Johnſon, and Steevens; but not to the excluſion of better, though, perhaps, anonymous, intelligence, if it can be given. It is, however, no part of the editors deſign to fill his margin with a view of the corruptions, or a refutation of the errors of preceding commentators.

The authors life, with the uſual documents (particularly a more exact copy of his will than has been yet publiſhed), and the prefaces of his various editors will be prefixed to to the work: which will, likewiſe, be attended with a new, copious, and accurate gloſſary. And, in an additional volume, it is propoſed to give a complete verbal index, adapted to the intended edition.

This edition will, with regard to the correctneſs of the text, be infinitely ſuperior to any that has yet appeared. It will poſſeſs all the advantages of every former edition, and be as little liable, it is hoped, as poſſible to the defects of any.

Notes
1.
(1) Preface, p. 59.
2.
(2) Ibidem, p. 49.
3.
(3) Advertiſement, p. 69.
4.
(4) Ibidem, p. 68.
5.
(5) Malones preface to his Supplement.
6.
(6) From a republication of the laſt edition nothing is to be expected. The work will continue, like the editions of Warburton and Hanmer, to dishonour crit [...]c [...]ſ [...], and to inſult Shakſpeare.
1.
(1) This pronunciation is right. Twice in the body of his will, and once in the margin,—that is, except the ſignatures, whereever his name occurs,— it is written SHACKSPEARE: and the inſtrument itſelf is, by two different indorſements, called MR. SHACKSPERES will.
2.
(2) Johnſon, Prieſtley, &c.
3.
(3) See dr. Johnſons Prefaces. Life of Broome. ſmall edition, p. 5.
4.
(4) MANNIK [...]N. ſ [man and klein, German.] JOHNSONS DICTIONARY!!!
5.
(5) M [...]N KIN. [...] ſmall; diminutive. Shakeſpeare. IBI.
6.
(6) MINIKIN. [...] a ſmall ſort of pins. IBI.
7.
(7) Inſtead of ever, a late editor of Spenſer, not ſo intimate, perhaps, with the language of his author, and his contemporaties, as he ought to have been, propoſes to read never.
8.
(8) i. e. Maleolm, and not Macheth, as mr. Steevens ſuppoſes.
9.
(9) See much curious information on this ſubject in the reverend dr. Douglases Criterion, or Miracles examined. London, 1757. p. 191, 2, 3, &c. Henry VII. and Edward I. are proved to have touched for the evil, by contemporary writers; and the notion of ſuch an inherent power in our kings appears, by indisputable authority, to have been as thoroughly eſtabliſhed in the reign of Henry II. as it was in that of Charles II. or Queen Ann.
9.

(9) It is not with this writer alone that ſuch injudicious freedoms have been taken. Beaumont and Fletcher are equally indebted to the ſenſe and judgement of their friendly editors. One inſtance, out of ſome hundreds, may ſerve as a ſpecimen. In the Faithful Shepherdeſs, Perigor, deſcribing a delightful bank, ſays, ‘Here never durſt the babbling euckow ſpit; Which laſt word the ingenious critic who unſettled the text in the late edition, to ſpit not being as he believed a property of the cuckow, very readyly changed to ſit. A variation, which, ſlight as it is, entirely deſtroys the harmony of the paſſage, and could onely have proceeded from a perſon equally ignorant of the authors language, and inattentive to his ideas. The whole deſcription is confined to the purity of the turf, and its freedom from every thing foul and venemous. And leſt the next editor of theſe poetical brothers ſhould know no more of his duty than his immediate predeceſſor has done, he is here told that, in the North of England, the white froth, frequently obſerved on buſhes, plants, and graſs, is believed by the vulgar to have a poiſonous or venemous quality, and is univerſally called the Cuckows [...].

10.
(10) "All the old copies read: ſo fare. STEEVENS." A mistake: The ſecond folio reads—ſo farre.
11.
(11) Both theſe quotations are immediately taken from an old number of the Gentlemans Magazine.
12.
(12) This gentlemans conduct at the battle of Preston-Pans, does not ſeem to have proceeded ſo much from the generous bravery of a noble and heroic mind, as from a ſpirit of religious enthuſiaſm, and a bigoted reliance on the P [...]esbyterian doctrine of Predestination, which made it a matter of total indifference to him whether he left the field, or remained in it. The Highlander who ſlew him was, not many years ago, ſaid to be living in the town of Perth.
13.

(13) Dr. Johnſon has unfortunately been too much ſo: what imagination but his own would have discovered ſuch a pun as either of the following?

K. Henry. Indeed the French may lay twenty French crowns to one, they will beat us; for they bear them on their ſhoulders.

"This conceit, rather too low for a king, has been already explained as alluding to the venereal diseaſe."

And many ſuch like as's of great charge.

"i. e. eſſes heavily loaded. A quibble is intended between as the conditional particle, and aſs the beaſt of burthen."

But, to be ſure, the learned critic hath, as Falſtaff ſays, a ſtrange alacrity in ſ [...]king.

14.
(14) Junius.
15.

(15) This is far from being a ſingular inſtance of the learned critics producing the reading of the old copies as his own conjectures. So in Henry V. act V. ſcene ii.

"— like a married wife about her husbands neck, —] Every wife is a married wife. I ſuppoſe we ſhould read new-married; an epithet more expreſſive of fondneſs. JOHNSON."

"The ſolio reads a new-married wiſe. STEEVENS."

17.
(17). Pyrrby (Pyrrhic) dancers is a name ſtill given in the North to the ſtreamers or Northern lights: doubtleſs, from the imaginary reſemblance between their figure and motion, and thoſe of the Sword-dancers or Ploughſtors, who always exhibit in their ſhirts.
18.
(18) Theobald has ſuppoſed a paſſage in this play to have been gleaned from the Hecuba of Euripides. But, ſays mr. Steevens, upon that occaſion, "mr. Theobald ſhould firſt have proved to us that our author underſtood Greek, or elſe that this play of Euripides had been translated. In the mean time becauſe neither of theſe particulars are verified, we may as well ſuppoſe he took it from the old ſtory book of the Trojan war, or the old translation of Ovid." Why ſhould mr. Steevens require a proof from Theobald of a circumſtance which he hisſelf here aſſumes as a matter of fact?
19.
(19) Dr. Johnſons aſſertion, that "this play is printed in the folio of 1623 more correctly, than almoſt any other of the works of Shakeſpeare," could onely proceed from his never having looked into it. If any one play is in that edition more incorrect than all the reſt, it is Hamlet. Even the accuracy of mr. Steevens has ſuffered ſome hundreds of its various readings to eſcape him.
20.
(20) That it is the true reading is ſufficiently proved by what Reynoldo, a few lines lower, ſays to Polonius, who aſks,
Where did I leave?
Rey. At cloſes in the conſequence,
At friend, or ſo, or gentleman.
But this laſt line, though certainly uſeful,—though printed in the [...]olios,—is not taken the leaſt notice of in this editorial ſpecimen of accuracy and perfection.
20.
(20) Mr. Malone, on another occaſion (v. 72.), obſerved to mr. Steevens, "that ere and o [...] are perpetually confounded in the old copies of our author." The learned gentleman, probably, made this obſervation before he had ever looked into an old copy: or he has discovered a perpetual confuſion of which it would be difficult for any other perſon to find a ſingle inſtance.
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Zitationsvorschlag für dieses Objekt
TextGrid Repository (2020). TEI. 4156 Remarks critical and illustrative on the text and notes of the last edition of Shakspeare. University of Oxford Text Archive. . https://hdl.handle.net/21.T11991/0000-001A-5DA2-5