The fifth Novel of the eighth Decad of the Hecatomythi of Giraldi Cinthio.

THE Roman Empire was at the Heighth of it's Grandeur and Power, when Maximine, a great and virtuous Prince, reigned over it; this Emperor, who deſired no⯑thing more ardently, than the Welfare and Hap⯑pineſs of all his Subjects, was extremely nice in the Choice of thoſe Perſons whom he deputed to govern the Provinces dependant on the Em⯑pire, aſſigning thoſe Employments only to Men whoſe Integrity and Virtue were well known to him.

[2]It happened, that the Government of In⯑ſpruck, a rich and populous City, became va⯑cant, which the Emperor reſolved to beſtow upon one of his Officers, named Juriſte, a Man whoſe Fidelity he had often experienced, having been ſeveral Years near his Perſon, and, during that Time, had behaved with ſo much Wiſdom and Prudence, that he had conceived a great Eſteem for him.

Having taken this Reſolution in Favour of Juriſte, he ordered his Attendance one Day in his Cloſet, and ſpoke to him as follows.

"Juriſte, the good Opinion I have con⯑ceived of you, from the Manner in which you have behaved yourſelf, ſince you have been in my Service, has determined me to be⯑ſtow the Government of Inſpruck upon you. I might give you many Directions for your Conduct in this high Employment, but I ſhall confine them all to this one: Do Juſ⯑tice to all Perſons without any Diſtinction; let this be the Rule and Guide of all your Actions. Other Faults, which either through Negligence or Ignorance, you may hap⯑pen to commit, I poſſibly may excuſe; but any Act of Injuſtice I will never par⯑don. Since it is not given to every Man to be able to practiſe all the Virtues, if you are conſcious of any Defect in your Temper, which may incline you to act with leſs Im⯑partiality than I require, do not accept of this Government, but continue here in my Court, where your Services are very agree⯑able to me, and do not lay me under the Neceſſity of doing what will be very pain⯑ful [3] to me, which is the puniſhing you ſeve⯑rely for any Act againſt Juſtice, and there⯑by acquitting what I myſelf owe to it."

Juriſte, who was greatly pleaſed with the honourable Employment the Emperor had be⯑ſtowed upon him, thanked his Majeſty for it with much Submiſſion: "Doubt not, my gra⯑cious Lord, added he, but that I will moſt exactly perform what you require, and bend my whole Thoughts towards the Preſervation of Juſtice, and ſo much the more will I make it my continual Study, as your Words have kindled a glorious Emulation in my Soul, to deſerve, if poſſible, not your Approbation only, but your Praiſes."

"It is well, ſaid the Emperor, much pleaſed with this Reply; if your Actions are as good as your Words I ſhall indeed have great Cauſe to praiſe you;" then ordering the Letters Patent to be made out, he inveſted Juriſte with full Authority in his Government, and ſent him away immediately to take Poſſeſſion of it.

Juriſte, as ſoon as he arrived at Inſpruck, applied himſelf with great Diligence to the Ad⯑miniſtration of Juſtice, not only in rewarding Virtue and puniſhing Vice, but in filling all the inferior Poſts and Offices with Men of ap⯑proved Virtue and Wiſdom; ſo that by this Conduct he increaſed the Emperor's Eſteem of him, and acquired the Love of all the In⯑habitants of Inſpruck.

In the heighth of his Reputation for Wiſdom and Juſtice, it happened that a young Man, named Lodovico, a Citizen of Inſpruck, ra⯑viſhed [4] a young Maid of the ſame City; her Relations complaining to Juriſte of this Injury, he ordered Lodovico to be ſeized, and carried to Priſon, who confeſſing the Fact, was, ac⯑cording to a Law in force there, condemned to loſe his Head.

The unfortunate Youth had a Siſter, named Epitia, a Virgin of moſt exquiſite Beauty, and but juſt entered into her ſixteenth Year; Na⯑ture had not only been laviſh in the Graces ſhe had beſtowed on her Form, but endowed her alſo with a moſt excellent Underſtanding, which had been well improved by the Study of Philoſophy, her Father having ſpared no Expence in the Education of his Children.

This Sentence gave great Affliction to E⯑pitia, who loved her Brother with the moſt tender Affection; reflecting however, that her Sorrow was of no Uſe to her Brother, ſhe re⯑ſtrained her Tears, and took a Reſolution to attempt ſomething to deliver him.

For this Purpoſe ſhe ſent to intreat an Au⯑dience of the Governor, which being granted, ſhe appeared before him, and throwing herſelf at his Feet, thus ſpoke to him.

"I come, my Lord, to implore your Com⯑paſſion for my Brother, my only Brother, who, though he has indeed incurred the Sentence of the Law, yet, through your milder Juſtice, will, I hope, find it miti⯑gated: Reflect, my Lord, I beſeech you, on his early Youth, his Inexperience in Life, and the Force of that unhappy Paſ⯑ſion, which cauſed his Crime; reflect alſo that his Crime, though great, is not a com⯑plicated [5] one; the Honour of no Huſband has been injured by it; the violated Virgin is the only Perſon who has been wronged; and her Wrong my Brother is willing to repair, by making her his Wife. I know the Law ordains, that the Raviſher, although willing to marry the injured Maid, ſhall never⯑theleſs die for the Offence he has commit⯑ted; yet I cannot think, my Lord, that the Makers of this hard Law deſigned it to be fulfilled in the very Letter of it; Juſtice over⯑ſtrained is no longer Juſtice but Cruelty; the Boundaries of Right and Wrong are ſo near, that whoever reaches the Extremity of the one, is in Danger of invading the Borders of the other; if the Exceſs of Virtue be Vice, the Exceſs of Juſtice is Cruelty; Mercy is as much the Attribute of Hea⯑ven as Juſtice: Here then I beſeech you, let them be united; puniſh my Brother for his Offence, but let that Puniſhment fall ſhort of Death, and do not let looſe upon him all the Rigour of a Law, that was, perhaps, rather made to inſpire Terror, than to be exactly executed; let your Wiſdom cor⯑rect it's Severity; you whoſe delegated Power is our living Law; and puniſh not by Death a Crime, which may be better repaired by Life."

The beautiful Epitia ended here; and thoſe Tears which, while ſhe was ſpeaking, ſhe had with Difficulty reſtrained, now falling faſt down her fair Face, Sorrow gave ſo languiſh⯑ing a Sweetneſs to her Countenance, that Ju⯑riſte ſtood like one entranced, his Ears eagerly [6] taking in the Muſic of her Accents, while his Eyes wandered o'er all the enchanting Beauties of her Form; and that he might the longer in⯑dulge the Pleaſure he felt in hearing and ſeeing her, he obliged her to repeat her former Argu⯑ments in her Brother's Favour. Epitia drawing a good Omen from this Willingneſs in the Go⯑vernor to hear her Pleas, added many other Perſuaſions to thoſe ſhe had already uſed to pro⯑cure her Brother's Pardon, the Hope ſhe be⯑gan to entertain giving new Grace and Vigour to her Words.

Juriſte, wholly ſubdued by the Charms of her Perſon, and the uncommon Strength of her Underſtanding, in a Youth ſo blooming, reſolved, if poſſible, to win her to his Deſires, and commit the ſame Fault with her, for which he had condemned her Brother to die.

After pauſing a little, as if reflecting upon what ſhe had ſaid, Epitia, ſaid he, your Ar⯑guments have ſo far prevailed upon me, that, whereas your Brother, according to the Sen⯑tence of the Law, was to loſe his Head to⯑morrow, I will defer his Execution till I have well conſidered what you have urged on his Behalf; and if I find your Reaſons convincing, I will pardon him; and ſo much the more willingly will I do it, as I ſhould have been afflicted to have puniſhed him with that Rigour the Law requires. Epitia, full of the pleaſing Hope theſe Words inſpired, thanked him with much Submiſſion, telling him, ſhe hoped to find him no leſs merciful in, giving her Bro⯑ther Pardon, than he had been kind in poſt⯑poning the Execution of the Sentence; and [7] added, that ſhe was perſuaded, if he would conſider what ſhe had ſaid, he would find Rea⯑ſons ſufficient to induce him to ſet her Bro⯑ther at Liberty. Juriſte replied, he would fully conſider of it, and would not fail to comply with her Solicitations, provided he could do it without offending Juſtice.

Epitia, greatly pleaſed with her Succeſs, took Leave of the Governor, and went to the Priſon to viſit her Brother, to whom ſhe rela⯑ted all that had paſſed between Juriſte and her, and aſſured him ſhe did not doubt but ſhe ſhould obtain his Pardon.

The unhappy Youth received this News with Tranſport, and earneſtly begged his Siſ⯑ter to renew her Viſit to the Governor, as ſoon as poſſible, to know his Reſolution, which ſhe promiſing, they parted, each full of the moſt pleaſing Expectations.

At the End of three Days ſhe returned to Juriſte, and with a graceful Sweetneſs, de⯑manded to know what he had reſolved concern⯑ing her Brother. This ſecond Sight of the charming Maid added Fuel to the unlawful Flames of Juriſte, who, after gazing on her paſſionately for ſome Moments, took her Hand, and thus replied.

Lovely Epitia, I have not failed to conſider all the Arguments you uſed in your Brother's Favour, and have alſo diligently ſought for others, to enforce them, that I might be able to comply with your Requeſt, but I find all are inſufficient, and your Brother is con⯑demned, not only by a particular, but a uni⯑verſal Law, ſince he knowingly and wilfully [8] committed a Crime, the Puniſhment of which he knew to be Death; his Guilt therefore ad⯑mits of no Extenuation; and notwithſtanding the earneſt Deſire I have to pleaſe you, I muſt deliver him up to the Rigour of that Law he has offended: There is indeed one Way, and but one Way, by which you may ſave your Brother; I love you, charming Epitia, give me Poſſeſſion of your Perſon, and I will change your Brother's Sentence to a Puniſhment leſs than Death; if you love him you will not ſcruple to make this ſmall Sacrifice to ſave his Life, which I am reſolved not to ſpare on any other Terms.

The fair Face of Epitia, which, at the Be⯑ginning of this Speech, had been overſpread with a languid Paleneſs, glowed with a roſy Bluſh at the infamous Concluſion; her Eyes, which had been filled with Tears, now darted forth Rays of mingled Rage and Diſdain, and that ſweet Voice, that before only uttered the moſt perſuaſive Accents, was now changed to a ſevere and haughty Tone.

"My Brother's Life, ſaid ſhe, with a noble Fierceneſs, is indeed very dear to me, but my Honour is far dearer; my Life I would wil⯑lingly loſe to ſave his, but I will not preſerve him with the Loſs of my Honour; quit then theſe unworthy Thoughts, and if you can pardon my Brother, make that Benefit ſuch a Gift, as you without Diſhonour may beſtow, and I without Infamy receive."

"I have already told you, replied Juriſte, the Terms upon which I will conſent to re⯑leaſe your Brother, nor ought you to think [9] them hard or diſhonourable, ſince it is poſſible I may be ſo charmed with your generous Com⯑pliance, that I may afterwards make you my Wife."

"This improbable Hope, replied Epitia, ſhall not delude me, I will not even bring my Ho⯑nour into Danger." "Why ſhould you ſo in⯑juriouſly doubt the Efficacy of your own Charms? replied Juriſte; there is nothing more likely than that I ſhall marry you; go then, and conſider of my Propoſal, and to⯑morrow I will expect your Anſwer."

"There is no Neceſſity to conſider up⯑on what I have already reſolved, ſaid Epi⯑tia; I will never be your's on thoſe baſe Terms; but if you ſet the Liberty of my Bro⯑ther at the Price of taking you for a Huſband, I will marry you on Condition that you releaſe him immediately."

"I adviſe you, replied Juriſte, to reflect well on my firſt Propoſal; it is in my Power not only to give your Brother Pardon, but to be ſerviceable alſo to all your Friends and Re⯑lations in this Country; my Will here is the Law; and provided you conſent to my De⯑ſires, you ſhall command me in all Things."

Saying this, he left her; and Epitia finding there was nothing more to be expected from him, oppreſſed with inconceivable Anguiſh, went to the Priſon, and related to her Brother all that had paſt between her and the Governor; then melting into Tears, ſhe conjured him to ſubmit patiently to an Evil, which his own ill Fortune, or a ſad Neceſſity, had brought upon him.

[10]The unhappy Youth burſt into a violent Paſſion of Grief at this cruel and unexpected News, and not able to bear the Terrors of approaching Death, with the moſt ardent Sup⯑plications, he begged his Siſter not to leave him in that Extremity.

"Can you, my Epitia, ſaid he, the Tears faſt ſtreaming down his pale Cheeks as he ſpoke, can you endure to have your Brother mangled by the Hands of a baſe Executioner, dragged to a painful Death at theſe early Years, divided from you for ever; him who lay in the ſame Womb with you, whom the ſame Father begot, bred up in Infancy together, the Partaker of all your childiſh Sports, and in riper Years the Companion of your Studies? Oh my Siſter! are theſe ſoft Ties ſo looſened? Does Nature ſpeak ſo faintly in you, that you can abandon me to a ſhameful Death? I have erred I confeſs; you by your ſuperior Wiſdom may correct my Errors; but do not, Oh do not deny me your Aſſiſtance in this ſad Ex⯑tremity; has not Juriſte told you, that he may poſſibly make you his Wife; and why ſhould you doubt but he will do ſo? Have you not Charms ſufficient to engage his Heart to you for ever? Nature has made your Perſon conſummately beautiful, and bleſſed you with an Underſtanding ſuperior to all your Sex; every female Grace is yours, and every maſcu⯑line Virtue, tempered with a Sweetneſs which gives you irreſtible Attractions. Thus a⯑dorned, can you, ought you to fear Juriſte will not marry you? you, whom the Emperor of the World might be proud to call Wife.— [11] Oh, my dear Siſter, comply with his Propoſal; and ſince you have a reaſonable Hope of having your Honour repaired by Marriage, do not, I conjure you, caſt away the Life of your Bro⯑ther."

The miſerable Youth, ending with a new Guſh of Tears, caſt his Arms round the Neck of his weeping Siſter, and holding her faſt folded to his ſobbing Boſom, would not part from her, till, vanquiſhed by his Tears and her own Affection, which pleaded too ſtrong⯑ly for him, ſhe promiſed to conſent to what Juriſte required, on Condition, that he mar⯑ried her afterwards, and gave him a free Pardon.

This being concluded on, ſhe left her Bro⯑ther, taſting, by Anticipation, the Joy of re⯑covered Life; and returning the next Day to Juriſte, with downcaſt Looks and faultering Accents, ſhe told him, that the Deſire of de⯑livering her Brother, and the Hope which he had given her of making her his Wife, had induced her to conſent to his Deſires; but ſhe required a free Pardon for her Brother; that he ſhould not only have his Life, but an Ex⯑emption from any other Puniſhment which he had incurred by his Offence.

Juriſte, who now thought himſelf the hap⯑pieſt Man in the World, ſince he had gained the moſt lovely and amiable Woman in it to his Will, replied, "that he confirmed the Hope he had formerly given her to marry her, and that if ſhe would paſs that Night with him, her Brother ſhould be ſent home to her in the Morning."

[12] Epitia, reluctantly conſenting, as ſoon as the Morning dawned, impatient to ſee her Brother at Liberty, diſengaged herſelf from his Arms, and reminding him of his Promiſe to marry her, demanded the Liberty of her Brother.

Juriſte told her, ſhe had obliged him ſo much by her kind Compliance, and his Gra⯑titude for it was ſo great, that he would re⯑leaſe her Brother immediately, and ſent Or⯑ders for the Jailer to attend him, whom, in the Preſence of Epitia, he commanded to ſend the Brother of that Lady to her Houſe.

The Jailer departing, Epitia took Leave of the Governor, eager to embrace her beloved Brother, and congratulate him upon the Free⯑dom ſhe had obtained for him, and returning home, waited for his Arrival with a pleaſing Impatience.

At length the Jailer appeared, followed by two Men, who carried a Bier covered with black Cloth, which the Jailer taking off, diſ⯑covered the Corpſe of the unhappy Youth, who had been executed that Morning.

No Language can expreſs, nor Imagination conceive, the Aſtoniſhment, Grief and Hor⯑ror which filled the whole Soul of Epitia at that cruel Sight; motionleſs like a Statue ſhe ſtood at the Side of the Bier, her Eyes firmly fixed on the ſtill bleeding Trunk, and though her Heart was torn with the moſt agonizing Grief, yet not a Tear or Sigh eſcaped her.

After gazing thus for ſome Moments, ſhe raiſed her Head, and turning to the Jailer with dry Eyes and compoſed Voice, "Friend, [13] ſaid ſhe, tell thy Lord and mine, that ſuch as he has been pleaſed to ſend my Brother, I have received him; and that though he has not gratified my Will, yet I am contented, ſince he has ſatisfied his own; thus his Will is mine, and I acquieſce in the Juſtice of the Deed he has performed: Tell him alſo that for the fu⯑ture I ſhall be always ready to devote myſelf to his Pleaſure."

The Jailer returning to Juriſte, recounted all that Epitia had ſaid; adding, that ſhe diſ⯑covered no Sign of Diſcontent at the horrid Preſent he brought her.

Juriſte rejoiced extremely at this News, ſuppoſing Epitia would give him the peaceable Poſſeſſion of her Perſon without claiming the Performance of his Promiſe to marry her, ſince ſhe had not reſented the Death of her Brother.

But that unhappy Maid, whoſe Thoughts were wholly divided between Grief and the Deſire of Revenge, no ſooner found herſelf a⯑lone, than falling in an Extaſy of Sorrow on the dead Body of her beloved Brother, ſhe ſhed a River of Tears upon it, and cloſely em⯑bracing it in her Arms, a Thouſand Times ſhe curſed the Cruelty of Juriſte, and her own weak Simplicity, that e'er ſhe reſigned her Honour, ſhe did not oblige him to pay the Price of it by delivering her Brother.—Now ſkrieking aloud, and wildly beating her fair Boſom, that heaved with unutterable Anguiſh, ſhe contemplated the bleeding Coarſe again, and rouzed by that ſad Spectacle—"Wilt thou, then Epitia, ſaid ſhe, wilt thou ſuffer this [14] Traitor, this Barbarian, to triumph in the Spoils of thy ruined Honour, and the Murder of thy unhappy Brother.—Shall the complica⯑ted Villain live to boaſt of the Deceit he has practiſed on thee—Ah no, Epitia, ſince thy Simplicity opened the Way to this Deceiver to accompliſh his infamous Deſigns, let his guilty Paſſion afford thee the Means of Re⯑venge. It is true, my deareſt Brother, added ſhe, addreſſing herſelf with a new Flood of Tears to the pale Coarſe, the Death of thy inhuman Murderer will not reſtore thee to Life, but at leaſt it will be ſome Alleviation of my Grief, that I did not leave thy Death un⯑revenged.

Fixing then upon this Thought, and not doubting but Juriſte would ſhortly ſend to her, to paſs another Night with him, ſhe reſolved to comply, and with a Dagger, that ſhe would take ſecretly along with her, murder him when he was aſleep; and if, without Fear of being diſcovered, ſhe could do it, to cut off his Head, and carrying it to the Tomb of her Bro⯑ther, there offer it to his Ghoſt.

This being reſolved upon, ſhe expected a Meſſage from him with much Impatience; but during that Interval, reflecting more ma⯑turely upon her Scheme, ſhe thought it better to truſt the Revenge of her Wrongs to the known Juſtice of the Emperor, than ſuffer a ſecond Violation, and hazard likewiſe the Suc⯑ceſs of her Enterprize by undertaking it her⯑ſelf.

Being informed that the Emperor was at Villaco, ſhe went thither in a mourning Habit, [15] and having eaſily procured an Audience of him; ſhe threw herſelf at his Feet all in Tears. "Moſt ſacred Sir, ſaid ſhe, the baſe Ingratitude, and unequaled Cruelty the Go⯑vernor of Inſpruck has uſed towards me, has brought me hither to implore your Juſtice"—Then bending her Eyes to the Ground, her fair Face being dyed with Bluſhes, ſhe told the Emperor, "that her Brother having been condemned to die; to ſave his Life, ſhe had conſented to the looſe Deſires of Juriſte, who had made her Com⯑pliance the only Condition of his Pardon; but that after he had robbed her of her Honour, inſtead of repairing it, as he had promiſed by Marriage, or freeing her Brother, which he had ſworn to do, he ſent his dead Body to her the next Morning."

Epitia could not recal this mournful Image to her Mind, without relapſing into ſo vio⯑lent an Agony of Grief, that the Emperor, and the Lords who were about him, were at once ſtruck with Aſtoniſhment, Horror and Compaſſion.

Maximine, though he was greatly moved, having given one Ear to Epitia, reſerved the other for Juriſte, and raiſing the fair Mourn⯑er from the Ground; he diſmiſs'd her to re⯑poſe, and ſent immediate Orders to Juriſte, to appear before him, charging his Meſſenger, and all who had heard Epitia's Complaint, upon pain of his Diſpleaſure, not to give any intimation of it to Juriſte.

The cruel Governor, who had not the leaſt Suſpicion of what had happened, obeyed the [16] Emperor's Commands, with great Chearful⯑neſs, and preſenting himſelf before him, with all the Aſſurance of conſcious Innocence; de⯑ſired to know his ſacred Pleaſure.

You ſhall be informed of it immediately, ſaid the Emperor; then turning to ſome of his Attendants, he ordered them to bring Epitia into his Preſence.

Juriſte when he beheld the unhappy Lady, whom he had ſo cruelly injured, now ſubdued for the firſt Time by the Stings of Conſci⯑ence, his vital Spirits almoſt forſook him, an aſhy Paleneſs overſpread his Face, and an uni⯑verſal trembling ſeized his whole Body.

The Emperor, who beheld theſe Signs of Guilt, no longer doubted, but that all Epitia had ſaid was true, and beholding him with a furious Look; "Liſten, ſaid he, to the Com⯑plaint this Lady has to make againſt you;" and then commanded Epitia to relate her Story.

She accordingly obeyed, and recounted all the Particulars of Juriſte's Baſeneſs and Ingra⯑titude to her, and concluding with Tears, demanded Juſtice of the Emperor.

Juriſte hearing this Accuſation, approached Epitia, and thinking to ſooth her ſaid, "Could I ever have believed Epitia, that you whom I have ſo much loved, would come hither to accuſe me to the Emperor".

Maximine, who would not ſuffer him to uſe any of his Arts to ſoften the injur'd Maid, interrupted him ſternly. "This is no Time for you to play the paſſionate Lover, ſaid he, [17] Anſwer, to the Crimes ſhe charges you with."

Juriſte finding that his Blandiſhments would be of no Uſe to him, left Epitia, and replied, "'Tis true, my Lord, I condemned the Brother of this Lady to loſe his Head, for having forcibly violated the Chaſtity of a Virgin; this being the Puniſhment the Law had provided for his Crime; and in cauſing the Sentence to be executed upon him, I only obeyed your Majeſty's Commands, who above all Things recommended to me, the ſtrict Ad⯑miniſtration of Juſtice, which muſt have been injured, had I ſuffer'd him to remain alive."

"Since the Preſervation of Juſtice, was the Motive of your Actions, replied Epitia, why did you violate it, by promiſing to grant my Brother his Pardon, and by means of that Promiſe, which you did not perform, and the Hope you had given me of taking me for your Wife, which you have neglected to fulfil, rob me of my Honour; if my Brother for a ſmall Crime merited all the Severity of the Law, ſurely you deſerve it, whoſe Guilt is much greater than his was."

Juriſte having nothing to ſay, in excuſe of himſelf, continued ſilent—"And is it thus then, ſaid the Emperor to Juriſte, that thou doſt adminiſter Juſtice? but never more ſhall it be in thy Power to act ſuch Villanies, nor ſhalt thou eſcape unpuniſhed, depend upon it."

Juriſte now began to implore Mercy, while Epitia on the other Hand, loudly de⯑manded Juſtice—The Emperor, who had well conſidered the Simplicity of Epitia, and the [18] great Wickedneſs of Juriſte, caſt in his Mind, how he might repair her Honour, and yet do Juſtice on the Governor, and after ſome Pauſe, he declared his Intention of oblig⯑ing Juriſte to marry her.

The Lady however refuſed to conſent to it, ſaying, "ſhe could not think of becoming the Wife of a Man, who had murdered her Brother, and betrayed her;" but the Emperor would be obeyed, and they were immediately married.

Juriſte now thought he had no more to fear, when the Emperor, permitting Epitia to re⯑tire to her Lodgings, turned towards Juriſte, who ſtill remained in his Preſence, and ſaid. "Two Crimes haſt thou committed, each of which deſerves a moſt rigorous Puniſhment. Firſt, by a moſt deteſtable Artifice violating the Chaſtity of an unhappy Girl, and Second⯑ly, breaking the Faith, thou hadſt given her, by putting her Brother to death. For the firſt Injury I have provided ſome Recompence by making thee marry the deceived Lady, and for the Second, I condemn thee to loſe thy Head, as thou madeſt her Brother to loſe his."

The Horror of Juriſte at this unexpected Sentence may be eaſier imagined, than de⯑ſcribed; it was in vain for him to ſue for Mercy, the Emperor was determined, and he was led away to Priſon, in order to be executed the next Morning.

Juriſte, no longer hoping for Pardon, diſ⯑poſed himſelf to meet patiently the Death he had ſo well deſerved; when Epitia, being in⯑formed of the Sentence that had been paſt up⯑on [19] him, haſtened to Court, and intreating another Audience of the Emperor; as ſoon as ſhe was admitted to his Preſence, throwing herſelf at his Feet, ſhe ſaid, "Moſt ſacred Sir, the Cruelty and Injuſtice Juriſte uſed towards me, moved me to come to your Majeſty, and implore Juſtice for the double Wrong I receiv⯑ed from him, which you have moſt graciouſly granted; my violated Chaſtity you have re⯑paired by obliging him to marry me, and for my Broth [...]r's Death, contrary to his ſolemn Promiſe, you have condemned him to die. As a violated Maid, as an injured Siſter, I then demanded Juſtice on him, but as his Wife I now implore Mercy. Conſider, ſacred Sir, this new Obligation was impoſed on me, by you; his Death was before due to my Wrongs, his Life is now become my Care, through the Engagements you have made me enter into with him. To repair my Honour you gave him to me for a Huſband; if he dies by my Accuſation, your Majeſty's moſt generous Intentions will not avail me, ſince the World will brand my Name with Infamy and Cru⯑elty! Oh! let not the Sword of Juſtice, thus miſerably cut the Knot you have ſo lately tied; grant my Huſband's Life to my Prayers; let your Clemency equal your Juſtice, and in the Uſe of both be like the Immortals themſelves."

Epitia ended here, and the Emperor, ſeiz'd with Aſtoniſhment and Admiration at the Greatneſs of her Mind, thought he could do no leſs than grant the Demand ſhe ſo gene⯑rouſly made, and ſending immediately for [20] Juriſte, he ſaid, "Wickedly as thou haſt acted towards this Lady, yet ſuch is her Generoſity and unequalled Goodneſs, that ſhe has ſolicited no leſs ardently for thy Pardon than if thou hadſt never offended her; I give thee Life then; but know thou oweſt that Life to her Me⯑diation; and if ſhe is willing, ſince I have made thee her Huſband, to live with thee as ſuch, I conſent it ſhould be ſo; but take care to treat her with the utmoſt Tenderneſs; for if I ever hear that thou doſt otherwiſe, thou ſhalt feel the ſevereſt Effects of my Diſ⯑pleaſure."

The Emperor, in finiſhing theſe Words, took Epitia's Hand and gave it to Juriſte, who, with his Wife, falling at Maximine's Feet, gave him Thanks for the great Good⯑neſs he had ſhewn them; and Juriſte reflect⯑ing on the unmerited Kindneſs and Generoſi⯑ty of Epitia, ever loved her with the moſt ar⯑dent Affection, and lived happily with her to the End of his Days.

From the foregoing Story of Juriſte and Epitia, Shakeſpear took the Plot of Meaſure for Meaſure. The Incidents in the Novel are fewer, and leſs complex than in the Play, but the Subject in both is the ſame.
The Fable of MEASURE FOR MEASURE.

VINCENTIO, Duke of Vienna, being reſolved to have ſome ſevere Edicts re⯑vived, which had lain dormant during a great Number of Years, declares his Intention of leaving his Dominions for ſome Time; and makes Angelo, a Nobleman of ſevere Life, and auſtere Manners, his Deputy in his Abſence. —The Duke, inſtead of leaving Vienna, pri⯑vately repaires to a Convent; and there diſcloſe⯑ing his Deſign of ſpying into the Actions of the Deputy and People to a Friar, he engages him to procure a Habit of the Order for his Diſguiſe, and inſtruct him, as he phraſes it, How he may formally in Perſon bear like a true Friar.

Angelo begins his Adminiſtration by cauſing Claudio, a young Gentleman, who had de⯑luded a Virgin, to be arreſted on an old Act, by which it was provided, that the Man who committed ſuch a Crime ſhould die; and ac⯑cordingly he ſigns a Warrant for his Execu⯑tion.

[22] Eſcalus, an old Lord, very much beloved by the Duke, and who had been deputed by him to bear a ſubordinate Part in the Admi⯑niſtration, endeavours to prevail with Angelo to ſoften the Severity of this Sentence, but in vain.

The Siſter of Claudio, a beautiful young Virgin, and a Novice in the Convent of St. Clair, ſolicits Angelo for her Brother's Par⯑don; he denies her; but afterwards being enamoured of her Beauty, promiſes to grant her Requeſt, upon Condition, ſhe gives him Poſſeſſion of her Perſon.

Iſabella with great Diſdain, refuſes to pur⯑chaſe her Brother's Life upon theſe ſhameful Terms; goes to the Priſon and acquaints Claudio with her ill Succeſs; the Youth, fond of Life, intreats her to ſave him, and comply with the Deputy's Requeſt: She, after re⯑proaching him ſeverely for his Baſeneſs, quits him in great Rage.

The Duke, who, in the Diſguiſe of a Friar, was come to viſit and exhort the Priſoners, having overheard all that had paſſed between Iſabella and her Brother, intreats ſome private Diſcourſe with her; ſhe conſents; and he in⯑forms her, that Angelo, ſome Years before, had been contracted in Marriage to a young Lady, named Mariana, whom he forſook be⯑cauſe her Fortune was loſt at Sea; and to co⯑lour his Perfidy, gave out, that he left her on Account of her Unchaſtity; he then adviſes her, in order to ſave her Brother's Life, to go to the Deputy, and tell him that ſhe will con⯑ſent to the Conditions he had propoſed to her; [23] and in the mean Time he would prevail upon Mariana, who ſtill loved Angelo, ſecretly to ſupply her Place, by which Means her Bro⯑ther's Pardon would be obtained, without the Loſs of her Honour.

This Contrivance is put in Execution; but Angelo, notwithſtanding his Promiſe to the contrary, ſends a new Order to the Provoſt of the City for the Execution of Claudio, and commands him to bring him his Head.

The Duke, wholly taken up with the Af⯑fairs of the Priſon, is ſoon informed of this un⯑expected Event; he prevails with the Provoſt to delay the Execution of Claudio, and to de⯑ceive the Deputy, by cutting off the Head of a Pirate who died in the Priſon, and preſent⯑ing it to him for Claudio's.

Iſabella coming to the Priſon, to know if her Brother's Pardon had been ſent, is told by the diſguiſed Duke, that he was executed early that Morning, purſuant to a new Order from Angelo.

Iſabella raves and threatens; the counterfeit Friar adviſes her to complain of Angelo to the Duke, who was that Day expected to return to Vienna.

The Duke then, ſhifting his Dreſs, enters the City, attended by Angelo and Eſcalus, whom he had commanded to meet him; Iſabella fal⯑ling on her Knees, demands Juſtice on An⯑gelo, for having deluded her of her Honour, under Pretence of ſaving her Brother's Life, and afterwards cauſing him to be executed.

The Friar, who was in the Secret, de⯑clares, Iſabella ſpoke an Untruth, for that ſhe was abſolutely unviolated by Angelo.

[24] Mariana is then introduced, who, in an enigmatical Manner, declares herſelf to have been the Perſon who ſupplied Iſabella's Place with Angelo, and claims him for her Huſband. Angelo denies all.

The Duke then ſlipping away, reſumes the Habit of a Friar, and, after ſome Reflexions on the Government, he is ordered by the De⯑puty to be carried to Priſon, and being ſeized by a wild young Fellow, his Hood falls off, and he is diſcovered to be the Duke.

Angelo hereupon confeſſes his Crime; the Duke orders him to marry Mariana immediate⯑ly, which being done, he condemns him to Death. At the Interceſſion of Mariana and Iſabella he is pardoned; and the Duke, charmed with the Virtue and Beauty of Iſabella, offers himſelf to her for a Huſband.

The reſt is all Epiſode, made up of the ex⯑travagant Behaviour of a wild Rake, the Blun⯑ders of a drunken Clown, and the Abſurdi⯑ties of an ignorant Conſtable.

There are a greater Diverſity of Characters, and more Intrigues in the Fable of the Play, than the Novel of Cinthio; yet I think, where⯑ever Shakeſpear has invented, he is greatly be⯑low the Noveliſt; ſince the Incidents he has added, are neither neceſſary nor probable.

The Story of Juriſte and Epitia, of itſelf, afforded a very affecting Fable for a Play; it is only faulty in the Cataſtrophe. The Reader, who cannot but be extremely enraged at the Deceit and Cruelty of Juriſte, and very de⯑ſirous of his meeting with a Puniſhment due to his Crime, is greatly diſappointed, to find him [25] in the End, not only pardoned, but made hap⯑py in the Poſſeſſion of the beautiful Epitia.

Shakeſpear, though he has altered and ad⯑ded a good deal, yet has not mended the Mo⯑ral; for he alſo ſhews Vice not only pardoned, but left in Tranquility.

The cruel, the vicious and hypocritical An⯑gelo, marries a fair and virtuous Woman, who tenderly loved him, and is reſtored to the Fa⯑vour of his Prince.

I ſaid before, that the Story of Juriſte and Epitia afforded an affecting Subject for a Play; and it is to be wiſhed, ſince Shakeſpear thought proper to found one upon it, that he had left the Fable ſimple and entire as it was, without loading it with uſeleſs Incidents, unneceſſary Characters, and abſurd and improbable In⯑trigue.

Thus it would have ſtood by keeping cloſe to the Noveliſt: A young Gentleman, van⯑quiſhed by the Force of a too violent Paſſion, raviſhes a Virgin, whom he is afterwards willing to marry, but is ſeiz'd and condemn'd to die for his Crime; his Siſter a beautiful Maid, who tenderly loves the unfortunate Youth, ſolicits the rigid Governor for his Pardon, which he refuſes, unleſs ſhe ſacrifices her Honour to him. The Lady rejects his Pro⯑poſal with Diſdain, but ſubdued by the affect⯑ing Tears and Prayers of a Brother, whoſe Life is dearer to her than her own, ſhe reluct⯑antly conſents to the Governor's Propoſal, on Condition, that he ſhould give her Borther a free Pardon, and repair her Honour hereaf⯑ter by Marriage.

[26]The Governor binds himſelf by Oath, to perform both theſe Conditions; which Oath he breaks; after the unfortunate Lady had paid the Price of them, and ſends an immediate Order for her Brother's Execution.

The Lady in the violence of her Grief and Rage, reſolves to murder him with her own Hands, but reflecting that ſhe could not take this Revenge on him, without ſubjecting herſelf to a ſecond Violation, ſhe complains of her Wrongs to her Sovereign, and demands Ju⯑ſtice on the impious Perpetrator of them.

The Emperor in order to repair her Honour, obliges the perfidious Governor to marry her, and then commands him to be led to Exe⯑cution, which ſhe by an exalted Piece of Generoſity oppoſes, and as his Wife kneels and ſolicits ardently for his Pardon; which the Emperor at laſt grants.

Here the Noveliſt ſhould be dropt, and the Cataſtrophe, according to poetical Juſtice, might be thus wound up.

The Lady having performed her Duty, in ſaving the Life of a Man, who, however un⯑worthy, was ſtill her Huſband, ſhould de⯑vote herſelf to a Cloiſter, for the remainder of her Life; and the wretched Juriſte, de⯑prived of his Dignity, in Diſgrace with his Prince, and the Object of Univerſal Contempt and Hatred, to compleat his Miſeries, he ſhould feel all his former Violence of Paſſion for Epitia renewed, and falling into an Exceſs of Grief, for her Loſs, (ſince the Practice is allowed by Chriſtian Authors) ſtab himſelf in De pair.

[27]The Fable thus manag'd, takes in as great a Variety of Incidents, as with Propriety can be introduced in a Play, and thoſe Incidents naturally riſing out of one another, and all de⯑pendant on the principal Subject of the Dra⯑ma, forms that Unity of Action, which the Laws of Criticiſm require.

This Fable alſo, would not be deſtitute of a Moral, which as Shakeſpear has managed it, is wholly wanting. The fatal Conſequence of an irregular Paſſion in Claudio; the Danger of endeavouring to procure Good by indirect Means in Iſabella, and the Puniſhment of lawleſs Tyranny in the Governor, convey Inſtruction equally uſeful and juſt.

Since the Fable in Cinthio is ſo much bet⯑ter contrived than that of Meaſure for Mea⯑ſure, on which it is founded, the Poet ſure cannot be defended, for having altered it ſo much for the worſe; and it would be but a poor Excuſe, for his want of Judgment, to ſay, that had he followed the Noveliſt cloſer, his Play would have been a Tragedy, and to make a Comedy, he was under a Neceſſity of winding up the Cataſtrophe as he has done.

The comic Part of Meaſure for Meaſure is all Epiſode, and has no Dependance on the principal Subject, which even as Shakeſpear has managed it, has none of the Requiſites of Comedy, great and flagrant Crimes, ſuch as thoſe of Angelo, in Meaſure for Meaſure, are properly the Subject of Tragedy, the Deſign of which is to ſhew the fatal Conſequences of thoſe Crimes, and the Puniſhment that never fails to attend them. The light Fol⯑lies [28] of a Lucio, may be expoſed, ridiculed and corrected in Comedy.

That Shakeſpear made a wrong Choice of his Subject, ſince he was reſolved to torture it into a Comedy, appears by the low Con⯑trivance, abſurd Intrigue, and improbable In⯑cidents, he was obliged to introduce, in order to bring about three or four Weddings, in⯑ſtead of one good Beheading, which was the Conſequence naturally expected.

The Duke, who it muſt be confeſs'd, has an excellent plotting Brain, gives it out that he is going incog. to Poland, upon weighty Affairs of State, and ſubſtitutes Angelo to govern till his Return; to Friar Thomas his Confidant, however, he imparts his true Deſign, which is, in his Abſence, to have ſome ſevere Laws revived, that had been long diſuſed: Methinks this Conduct is very unworthy of a good Prince; if he thought it fit and neceſſary to revive thoſe Laws, why does he commit that to another, which it was his Duty to perform?

The Friar's Anſwer is very pertinent.

The Duke replies, ‘I do fear, too dreadful.’

[29]In ſhort, the poor Duke is afraid to exert his own Authority, by enforcing thoſe Laws, notwithſtanding he thinks them abſolutely ne⯑ceſſary, and therefore as he ſays,

However, in Fact, it is the Duke who ſtrikes in the Ambuſh of Angelo's Name; for it is he who cauſes Angelo to put thoſe ſevere Laws in Execution, while he ſkulks in Con⯑cealment to obſerve how they are received; if ill, Angelo muſt ſtand the Conſequence; if well he will enjoy the Merit of it. And in order to diſcover how Things are carried on in the Commonwealth, he makes the Friar procure him a Habit of the Order, and thus diſguiſed, where does he go? Why, to the common Jail, among the condemned Male⯑factors. His Speculations are wholly confined to this Scene.

Here, entirely taken up with the Affairs of the Priſoners, his Highneſs ambles backwards and forwards, from the Priſon to Maria⯑na's Houſe, fetching and carrying Meſſages, contriving how to elude thoſe very Laws he had been ſo deſirous of having executed; cor⯑rupting one of the principal of his Magiſtrates, and teaching him how to deceive his Delegate in Power.

How comes it to paſs, that the Duke is ſo well acquainted with the Story of Mariana, [30] to whom Angelo was betrothed, but abandoned by him on Account of the Loſs of her For⯑tune? She ſpeaks of the Duke as of a Perſon ſhe had been long acquainted with.

Yet this could only happen while he aſſumed the Character of a Friar, which [...]s but for two or three Days at moſt; he [...]d not poſ⯑ſibly have been acquainted with [...] Story be⯑fore; if he had, the Character of Angelo would have been alſo known to him; and conſe⯑quently it was unneceſſary to make him his Deputy, in order to try him further, which was one of his Reaſons, as he tells Friar Tho⯑mas, for concealing himſelf.

If it is granted, that the Duke could not know Mariana's Affair before his Diſguiſe; what Opportunities had he of learning it afterwards? For, notwithſtanding what Mariana ſays, which intimates a long Acquaintance, it is certain it could have been but a very ſhort one; ſome extraordinary Accident therefore muſt have brought her Story to his Knowledge, which we find was known to no one elſe; for Angelo's Reputation for Sanctity was very high, and that could not have been, if his Wrongs to Mariana were publickly known.

But why does not the Poet acquaint us with this extraordinary Accident, which happens ſo conveniently for his Purpoſe? If he is account⯑able [31] to our Eyes for what he makes us ſee, is he not alſo accountable to our Judgment for what he would have us believe? But, in ſhort, without all this Jumble of Inconſiſtencies, the Comedy would have been a downright Tra⯑gedy; for Claudio's Head muſt have been cut off, if Iſabella had not conſented to redeem him; and the Duke would have wanted a Wiſe, if ſuch a convenient Perſon as Mariana had not been introduced to ſupply her Place, and ſave her Honour.

As the Character of the Duke is abſurd and ridiculous▪ that of Angelo is inconſiſtent to the laſt Degree; his Baſeneſs to Mariana, his wicked Attempts on the Chaſtity of Iſabella, his villainous Breach of Promiſe, and Cruelty to Claudio, prove him to be a very bad Man, long practiſed in Wickedneſs; yet when he finds himſelf ſtruck with the Beauty of Iſa⯑bella, he ſtarts at the Temptation; reaſons on his Frailty; aſks Aſſiſtance from Heaven to overcome it; reſolves againſt it, and ſeems car⯑ried away by the Violence of his Paſſion, to commit what his better Judgment abhors.

Are theſe the Manners of a ſanctified Hy⯑pocrite, ſuch as Angelo is repreſented to be? Are they not rather thoſe of a good Man, overcome by a powerful Temptation? That Angelo was not a good Man, appears by his baſe Treatment of Mariana; for certainly no⯑thing can be viler than to break his Contract with a Woman of Merit, becauſe ſhe had ac⯑cidentally become poor; and, to excuſe his own Conduct, load the unfortunate Innocent with baſe Aſperſions, and add Infamy to her [32] other Miſeries: Yet this is the Man, who, when attacked by a Temptation, kneels, prays, expoſtulates with himſelf, and, while he ſcarce yields in Thought to do wrong, his Mind feels all the Remorſe which attends ac⯑tual Guilt.

It muſt be confeſſed indeed, that Angelo is a very extraordinary Hypocrite, and thinks in a Manner quite contrary from all others of his Order; for they, as it is natural, are more concerned for the Conſequences of their Crimes, than the Crimes themſelves, whereas he is only troubled about the Crime, and wholly regardleſs of the Conſequences.

The Character of Iſabella in the Play ſeems to be an Improvement upon that of Epitia in the Novel; for Iſabella abſolutely refuſes, and perſiſts in her Refuſal, to give up her Honour to ſave her Brother's Life; whereas Epitia, overcome by her own Tenderneſs of Nature, and the affecting Prayers of the unhappy Youth, yields to what her Soul abhors, to redeem him from a ſhameful Death. It is certain however, that Iſabella is a mere Vixen in her Virtue; how ſhe rates her wretched Brother, who gently urges her to ſave him!

Nay, hear me, Iſabella.

Is this the Language of a modeſt tender Maid; one who had devoted herſelf to a re⯑ligious Life, and was remarkable for an exalt⯑ed Underſtanding, and unaffected Piety in the earlieſt Bloom of Life?

From her Character, her Profeſſion, and Degree of Relation to the unhappy Youth, one might have expected mild Expoſtulations, wiſe Reaſonings, and gentle Rebukes; his De⯑ſire of Life, though purchaſed by Methods he could not approve, was a natural Frailty, which a Siſter might have pitied and excuſed, and have made uſe of her ſuperior Underſtand⯑ing to reaſon down his Fears, recal nobler Ideas to his Mind, teach him what was due to her Honour and his own, and reconcile him to his approaching Death, by Arguments drawn from that Religion and Virtue of which ſhe made ſo high a Profeſſion; but that Tor⯑rent [34] of abuſive Language, thoſe coarſe and un⯑womanly Reflexions on the Virtue of her Mother, her exulting Cruelty to the dying Youth, are the Manners of an affected Prude, outragious in her ſeeming Virtue; not of a pious, innocent and tender Maid.

I cannot ſee the Uſe of all that jug⯑gling and Ambiguity at the winding up of the Cataſtrophe; Iſabella comes and demands Juſtice of the Duke for the Wrongs ſhe had received from his Deputy, declaring ſhe had ſacrificed her Innocence to ſave her Brother's Life, whom Angelo had, notwithſtanding his Promiſe to the contrary, cauſed to be exe⯑cuted.

Upon the Duke's telling her, that he be⯑lieved her Accuſation to be falſe, ſhe goes away in Diſcontent, without ſaying a Word more: Is this natural? Is it probable, that Iſabella would thus publicly bring a falſe Impu⯑tation on her Honour, and, though innocent and unſtained, ſuffer the World to believe her violated?—She knows not that the honeſt Friar who adviſed her to this extraordinary Action, is the Duke to whom ſhe is ſpeaking; ſhe knows not how the Matter will be cleared up.

She who rather choſe to let her Brother die by the Hands of an Executioner, than ſacri⯑fice her Virtue to ſave his Life, takes unde⯑ſerved Shame to herſelf in public, without procuring the Revenge ſhe ſeeks after.

Mariana's evaſive Depoſition; Friar Pe⯑ter's enigmatical Accuſation of Iſabella; [35] the Duke's winding Behaviour; what does it all ſerve for? but to perplex and embroil plain Facts, and make up a Riddle without a Solution.

The Reader can eaſily diſcover how the Plot will be unravelled at laſt; but the unne⯑ceſſary Intricacies in unravelling it, ſtill remain to be accounted for.

The Play ſets out with the Moral in the Title, Meaſure for Meaſure; but how is this made out? the Duke ſpeaking of Angelo to Iſabella, ſays,

Thus it ſhould have been, according to the Duke's own Judgment to have made it Mea⯑ſure for Meaſure; but when Angelo was par⯑doned, and reſtored to Favour, how then was it Meaſure for Meaſure?

The Caſe is not altered, becauſe Claudio was not put to death, and Iſabella not violated; it was not through Angelo's Repentance, that both theſe Things did not happen; a Woman [36] he was engaged to, ſupplied the Place of Iſabella, and the Head of another Man, was preſented to him inſtead of Claudio's. Angelo therefore was intentionally guilty of pervert⯑ing Juſtice, debauching a Virgin, and break⯑ing his Promiſe, in putting her Brother to death, whoſe Life ſhe had bought by that Sa⯑crifice. Iſabella when pleading for him, ſays,

This is ſtrange Reaſoning of Iſabella; her Brother deſerved Death, ſhe ſays, becauſe he did the Thing for which he died; he intended to do it, and his doing it was the Conſequence of his Intention.

Angelo likewiſe intended to debauch her, and murder her Brother, and he did both in Imagination; that it was only Imagination, was not his Fault, for ſo he would have had it, and ſo he thought it was. It is the Intention which conſtitutes Guilt, and Angelo was guil⯑ty in Intention, and for what he knew, in fact, therefore, as far as lay in his Power, he was as guilty as Claudio.

This Play therefore being abſolutely de⯑fective in a due Diſtribution of Rewards and [37] Puniſhments; Meaſure for Meaſure ought not to be the Title, ſince Juſtice is not the Virtue it inculcates; nor can Shakeſpear's In⯑vention in the Fable be praiſed; for what he has altered from Cinthio, is altered greatly for the worſe.

The Ninth Novel of Bandello. Volume the Second.

WHEN the Scaligers were Lords of Verona, a fierce and bloody Enmity ſubſiſted between two noble Families of that City, of greater Dignity and Riches than the reſt; the Name of the one was Montecchio, the other Capellet: This vio⯑lent Hatred was the Cauſe of frequent bloody Engagements between the Relations and De⯑pendants of thoſe two Lords; and the Numbers that were killed of both Parties on theſe Occa⯑ſions, kept up and augmented the Fury of their ſeveral Deſcendants.

Bartholomew Scaliger, then at the Head of this Republic, laboured with the utmoſt Dili⯑gence to ſuppreſs theſe Diſorders; but all his Cares could never wholly prevent them, ſo deeply was their Hatred of each other rooted in their Boſoms.

[39]Finding it impoſſible to entirely reconcile them, in order to put an End to the Affronts, which each Party gave and received from the other, and which was always followed by the Deaths of ſome amongſt them, he commanded that the youngeſt of one Faction ſhould al⯑ways give Way to the eldeſt of the other, whenever they happened to meet, by which Means many Diſorders were avoided.

About this Time, Romeo, the young Heir of the Montecchio Family, was violently en⯑amoured of a Lady in Verona, who, not⯑withſtanding the extraordinary Beauty and Ac⯑compliſhments he was poſſeſt of, treated him with great Diſdain.

Romeo, during two Years, purſued the in⯑exorable Beauty, employing all the Rhetoric of Sighs, Tears, Preſents and Entertainments, to move her Heart; but all in vain; his Friends, who ſaw him languiſh out his Days in a hopeleſs Paſſion, were greatly alarmed; but neither their Remonſtrances or Intreaties were able to effect his Cure.

One of his Companions, who was dearer to him than the reſt, greatly afflicted to behold him loſing thus the Vigour of Youth in fol⯑lowing a Woman without Hopes of obtaining her, often took Occaſion to blame his Perſe⯑verance.

Romeo, ſaid he, one Day to him, I love you as my Brother; and it gives me great Pain to ſee you thus conſume away like Snow melting in the Sun; don't you ſee you waſte your Time and ſpend your Fortune, without obtaining either Honour or Advantage: Your [40] Endeavours to win this Woman are all ineffec⯑tual; the more you ſollicit her, the more rigid ſhe becomes; certainly it is a great Folly to at⯑tempt a Thing which is not only difficult to do, but impoſſible; you may be convinced ſhe nei⯑ther cares for you, or any Thing you can do to pleaſe her; perhaps ſhe has ſome other Lover, who is ſo dear to her, ſhe would not quit him for an Emperor: You are young, my dear Ro⯑meo, your Perſon is more lovely than any Youth's in this City; you are, (let me ſpeak it, ſince it is Truth, to your Face,) you are generous, virtuous and elegant; to theſe amiable Qualities are ad⯑ded the more ſolid Advantages of Learning and Wit: You are the only Son of one of the greateſt and richeſt of our Noblemen; does he reſtrain you in your Expences; does he con⯑troul you in your Pleaſures? Is he not your Factor only to take Care of your Affairs, while you ſpend your Time as you pleaſe? Awake, I conjure you, and begin to reflect at length upon the Error you have been guilty of; remove from your Eyes the Veil which blinds you, and hinders you from ſeeing the Path you are purſuing; reſolve to place your Affection on ſome Perſon more deſerving, and chuſe a Lady who will better reward your Love; a juſt Indignation is often more powerful in the Heart than Love itſelf: Now when Aſſemblies and Maſquerades are held all over this great City, mix with the Company every where, and when you meet the ungrateful Woman you have ſolicited ſo long, gaze not on her Face, but reflect on her Injuſtice, her Cruelty and her Pride; do not doubt but the many In⯑juries [41] you have ſuffered will excite an Indig⯑nation ſo juſt and reaſonable, that your Paſ⯑ſion will in Time yield to its Force, and you, by Degrees, regain your Liberty.

To theſe Reaſons, the faithful Friend of Romeo added many others, to engage him to quit his unſucceſsful Purſuit: Romeo liſtened to him with Attention, and took a Reſolution immediately to put his wiſe Councils in Prac⯑tice.

The Feaſt being now begun, he had fre⯑quent Opportunities of meeting the ſcornful Maid; but he always carefully avoided look⯑ing at her, gazing on the other Ladies, and anxiouſly examining the Beauties of every one, to chuſe her who was moſt agreeable to him.

About this Time, Antonio Capellet, the Head of that Family, made a magnificent, Feaſt, to which he invited a great many of the chief Nobility and Ladies, moſt of the Youth of Quality being there; Romeo, notwithſtanding the long continued Hatred between their Fa⯑milies, came thither alſo at Night, being maſqued like the reſt of the Company; but ſoon after throwing it off, as all the others did, he ſeated himſelf at one Corner of the Hall, which, by the great Number of Torches, being made as light as Day, he could conve⯑niently behold the whole Aſſembly.

Romeo ſoon drew the Eyes of the Company upon him, and of the Ladies particularly, who, ſtruck with his Boldneſs in coming to that Houſe, could not conceal their Admiration of it; his Enemies, however, on Account of his Youth, his extraordinary Beauty, the Sweet⯑neſs [42] of his Manners, and the almoſt univerſal Love he had acquired, forbore to give him any Diſturbance, which, perhaps, had he been elder, and leſs amiable, they might have done.

Romeo therefore, having leiſure to conſider the Beauty of the Ladies that were at the Feaſt, began to praiſe them more or leſs, ac⯑cording to his Taſte, and, without dancing himſelf, took a Pleaſure in looking upon thoſe that did: While he was thus employed, he ſaw a young Lady of moſt exquiſite Beauty, whoſe Name was unknown to him; his Heart immediately confeſſed this Object to be more charming than any he had ever ſeen; he gazed on her attentively, and the longer he gazed, the more Beauty and Graces he diſcovered in her. Finding an unuſual Pleaſure in contem⯑plating her, he was not able for a Moment to remove his Eyes from her Face, but darting a thouſand paſſionate Looks at the young Beau⯑ty, he ſecretly reſolved to exert his utmoſt En⯑deavours to gain her Affections.

Thus was his former Paſſion vanquiſhed by this new one, and gave Place to a Flame that was never extinguiſhed but by his Death: Not daring in that ſuſpected Houſe to enquire the Name of the young Beauty that had charmed him, he contented himſelf with feeding his Eyes with her Sight, and finding new Graces in every Look and Action drank in large Draughts of the ſweet Poiſon of Love.

Romeo being, as was ſaid before, ſeated in a Corner of the Hall, had a full View of all the Company, who, in returning to their [43] Places after Dancing, paſſed cloſe by him; Julietta, ſo was the young Lady called, who had charmed him, not having obſerved him before, was ſtruck with Admiration of his Perſon, as ſhe went by the Place where he ſat: This fair One was Daughter to Capellet, the Maſter of the Houſe, who had given the Feaſt, and ignorant of the Name and Quality of Romeo; yet he appearing to her the moſt beautiful Youth ſhe had ever ſeen, ſhe could not reſiſt the Pleaſure ſhe took in gazing on him; but ſecretly ſnatching ſtolen Glances at him every Moment, an unuſual Softneſs took Poſſeſſion of her Heart, and filled it with all the ſweet Inquietudes and tender Perplexities of a begining Paſſion: Not ſatisfied with gaz⯑ing on him at a Diſtance, ſhe ardently wiſhed he would mix among the Dancers, that ſhe might have an Opportunity of hearing him ſpeak, not doubting but her Ears would take in as much Pleaſure from the Agreeableneſs of his Diſcourſe, as her Eyes did Sweetneſs from his Sight, but Romeo wholly loſt in the Plea⯑ſure he took in looking upon her, ſhewed no Inclination to join the Company; and Julietta was equally incapable of any Delight, but looking at him.

Their Eyes being thus frequently directed to each other, their paſſionate Glances often met; the Sighs which accompanied thoſe Glances, betrayed the Emotions of their Hearts, and both were ſenſible that an Op⯑portunity of diſcovering their mutual Flame was equally deſired by each.

[44]While they were thus taken up in exchang⯑ing tender and paſſionate Looks, the Ball broke up, and the Company mixing promiſ⯑cuouſly together, began the concluding Dance, called the Dance of the Torch, otherwiſe the Dance of the Hat.

Romeo, in the midſt of the agreeable Con⯑fuſion of this Dance, was ſnatched up by a Lady, who forcing him into the Croud, he performed his Part, and giving the Torch, as was the Cuſtom, to another Lady, he drew near to Julietta, and took her by the Hand, to the inconceivable Tranſport of them both.

Julietta then ſeating herſelf between Romeo and Mercutio; the latter, who was a Courtier, gay, witty, and agreeably ſatirical, was as re⯑markable for the extraordinary Coldneſs of his Hand, as for the uncommon Sprightlineſs of his Diſpoſition; and he holding one of Juli⯑etta's Hands, as Romeo did the other; ſhe, who ardently deſired to hear him ſpeak, turn⯑ing towards him with an inchanting Smile, ſaid ſoftly and in a trembling Voice, gently preſſing his Hand at the ſame Moment— "Bleſſed be the Time, Sir, that you ſeated yourſelf near me."

Romeo, who well knew how to make uſe of Advantages, ſtraining her Hand paſſionately in return, with Eyes which ſeemed to implore her Pity; and an Accent as if his Life hung ſuſpended on her Anſwer, aſked her the Meaning of ſuch a Benediction.

"Gentle Youth, replied Julietta with a Smile, I bleſs the Time of your coming hi⯑ther, becauſe Signior Mercutio, whoſe Hand [45] is as cold as Ice, froze me all over by his Touch, and you, for which I am much obliged to you, by the kindly Warmth of yours, have reſtored me again."

"Madam, replied Romeo immediately, I ſhould think myſelf ſuperlatively happy in be⯑ing able to do you any Service, and bleſt be⯑yond Meaſure if you will deign to command me as the meaneſt of your Servants; permit me however to tell you, that if my Hand has warmed you, the Fire of your bright Eyes has kindled ſuch Flames in me, that unleſs you afford me ſome Aſſiſtance, I ſhall ſoon be con⯑ſumed to Aſhes."

Scarce had he finiſhed theſe laſt Words, when the Dance being ended, the Company began to diſperſe; and Julietta tranſported with the Exceſs of her new Paſſion; breathing an ardent Sigh and tenderly ſtraining his Hand, replied in haſte as ſhe parted from him, "Alaſs! what can I ſay, but that I am more yours than my own!"

Romeo, in Hopes of knowing who ſhe was, continued ſtill in the Hall; but he had not waited long, 'till he was informed by a Friend, that ſhe was the Daughter of the Lord Capellet, who had given the Feaſt.

This News threw him into great Affliction, foreſeeing the Difficulty and Danger there would be in purſuing his Paſſion; but the Wound was already given, and his whole Soul was now infected with the ſweet Venom of Love.

On the other Side, Julietta equally deſirous of knowing the Name of him who had con⯑quered [46] her Heart; calling an old Woman, who had nurſed her, to a Window, which looked into a Street, through which the Com⯑pany was paſſing, by the Light of a great Number of Torches, ſhe began to enquire the Names of ſeveral of the Maſquers as they went along; and at laſt directing her Eyes to Romeo, aſked her who that fine Youth was who carried his Maſque in his Hand. The good Woman who knew him very well, told her it was Romeo, Son of the Lord Montec⯑chio.

Julietta, ſtruck with the Sound of that Name, as with a Thunderbolt, began now to deſpair of ever gaining the Object of her Af⯑fections for a Huſband: Concealing however her Confuſion from the Obſervation of her Nurſe, ſhe retired to Bed; but her Mind was agitated with ſo many different Thoughts, that ſhe could take no Repoſe: Love and Deſpair bred a cruel Conflict in her Soul, yet Love had taken ſo full and abſolute Poſſeſſion of it, that her Deſire increaſed with the Impoſſibility of gratifying it. "Ah! cried ſhe to herſelf, how have I ſuffered my Affections to be thus tranſported! how do I know (credulous Fool as I am) whether Romeo really loves me? Perhaps the artful Youth means only to delude me, with a diſſembled Paſſion, that by rob⯑bing me of my Honour, he may revenge him⯑ſelf of my Family, and encreaſe the rooted Hatred between our Fathers; but can it be, that a Soul ſo generous as his, ſhould form a Deſign to ruin one who loves and adores him? Ah! if the Face be the Index of the Mind, [47] his is all Lovelineſs and Beauty, Cruelty and Deceit can never harbour in ſo ſweet a Dwel⯑ling; from a Form ſo inchanting nothing can be expected but Truth, Gentleneſs and Love: But ſuppoſe, added ſhe, that he loves me ho⯑nourably, have I not Reaſon to believe that my Father will never conſent to our Union; and yet, who knows but our mutual Paſſion may be the Means of procuring a firm and perpetual Peace between our Families; I have often heard that not only the Peace of private Families has been procured by Marriages, but that warring Nations have been made Friends by that Means; ought I not then to hope that our two Houſes may be reconciled by ſuch an Event." Reſting then upon this ſoothing Thought, whenever Romeo went through the Street where ſhe lived, ſhe al⯑ways ſhewed herſelf at a Balcony, giving him ſuch bewitching Smiles as he paſſed, as filled his whole Soul (which like hers, had been toſt between Hope and Fear) with in⯑expreſſible Delight.

It was not without great Danger to his his Perſon, that he thus haunted the Street, where ſhe dwelt, both Night and Day; but Julietta's Smiles inflaming his Deſires, he could not reſiſt the ſweet Violence that drew him continually thither; the Chamber of this fair Maid had a Window in it, which looked into a narrow Lane. Romeo when he had paſſed the great Street, and arrived to the Head of this Lane, often beheld her at this Window, to which ſhe would come very obligingly when ſhe ſaw him; and by her [48] Looks expreſs the Pleaſure ſhe took in ſeeing him. One Night when Romeo came, as he was wont, to this Place, Julietta ſeeing him, open⯑ed the Window; the Moon ſhone ſo bright, that though he retired, upon her looking out into an old ruinous Building which fronted the Window, yet ſhe diſtinguiſhed him plainly, and no Perſon being with her in the Chamber, ſhe ventured to call out to him. "Romeo, ſaid ſhe, what do you do here alone, at ſuch an Hour? ſhould you be diſcovered, I trem⯑ble for your Life; are you ignorant of the cruel Enmity there is between our Families, and how many Lives have been loſt by it on both Sides? certainly if you are taken, you will be barbarouſly murdered; why will you thus endanger your own Life and my Ho⯑nour?"

"The ardent Paſſion you have inſpired me with, anſwered he, is the Cauſe of my com⯑ing hither; I know if I am diſcovered by your Relations, they will endeavour to kill me, but I ſhall defend myſelf as well as I am able, and though I may be overpowered by ſuperior Force, yet I will not dye alone; to dye near you will take off the Bitterneſs of Death; yet be aſſured, Madam, I never will be the Occa⯑ſion of bringing any Stain upon your Honour; but will with Pleaſure ſacrifice my Life, to preſerve it inviolate."

"But what is it you re-quire of me, inter⯑rupted Julietta?"

"That you would permit me to enter your Chamber, Madam, replied Romeo, that I may with leſs Danger make known to you the [49] Greatneſs of my Paſſion, and the cruel Tor⯑ments I ſuffer for your Sake."

Julietta, a little offended at this Demand, replied in ſome Confuſion, "Romeo, you know the Extent of your own Paſſion, and I know that of mine; I know that I love you, as much as it is poſſible for a Perſon to love, and perhaps more than is conſiſtent with my Ho⯑nour; however, I muſt tell you, that if you hope to poſſeſs me by any other Means than Matrimony, you are much deceived; and be⯑cauſe I am ſenſible you expoſe yourſelf to great Danger by coming hither ſo frequently, I am willing to bring this Affair to a ſpeedy Con⯑cluſion; therefore, if you deſire to be mine, as I wiſh to be eternally yours, you will make me your Wife, and for that Purpoſe I will be ready to meet you at any convenient Place, whatever Time you ſhall appoint me; but, if you have any diſhonourable Intentions towards me, go away I conjure you, and ſuffer me to live in Peace."

Romeo, who only wiſhed to poſſeſs her with Honour, heard this Propoſition with Tranſ⯑port, and told her, "that he would marry her at any Time, and in any Manner ſhe pleaſed."

"'Tis well, replied Julietta, let our Nup⯑tials then be celebrated, by the Reverend Friar Lorenzo of Reggio, who is my ſpiri⯑tual Father." To this Romeo readily agreed, the good Friar being very intimate in his Fa⯑mily; and it was reſolved between them, that Romeo ſhould ſpeak to him the next Day upon that Affair.

[50]Friar Lorenzo, in whom the Lovers choſe to confide upon this. Occaſion, was of the Order of the Minors, a learned Theologician and Philoſopher; had great Knowledge of Herbs, and was well ſkilled in the Magic Art; and that he might maintain himſelf in the good Opinion of the Vulgar, and quietly enjoy thoſe Plea⯑ſures, for which he had a Taſte, he endea⯑voured to procure the Friendſhip of all Per⯑ſons of diſtinguiſhed Rank and Reputation: In this he ſucceeded ſo well, that he had many Friends among the Nobility of Verona, parti⯑cularly the Father of Romeo, a Nobleman in great Credit and Eſteem, who had a high Opinion of his Sanctity and Wiſdom.

Romeo alſo held him in great Eſteem, and the Friar, who knew him to be a prudent and generous Youth, had a tender Affection For him. The Reverend Father, who confeſſed almoſt all the Perſons of Quality of both Sexes in the City, was alſo very intimate in the Family of the Capelletti, and was therefore intruſted with the ſpiritual Direction of Ju⯑lietta.

Romeo, the next Day after his Conference with his Miſtreſs, went to the Church of St. Francis, and related to Friar Lorenzo the whole Story of his Paſſion for Julietta, and the happy Concluſion to which he had brought it, entreating at the ſame time his Aſſiſtance to unite them for ever.

The Friar hearing this Account, promiſed to do all he required, as well becauſe he was not able to deny Romeo any thing, as he hoped this Marriage would reconcile the two [51] Houſes of the Montecchi and Capelletti, and by that Means acquire to himſelf the Favour of Signor Bartholomew, who paſſionately wiſhed to compoſe the Diſorders their Enmity cre⯑ated in his City.

The two Lovers, now only waiting for ſome Occaſion of going to Confeſſion, in order to effect their Deſign, Julietta, for the greater Conveniency, reſolved to truſt her Nurſe, who ſlept with her, with her Love for Romeo; his extreme Affection for her, and their in⯑tended Marriage.

The good Woman greatly concerned at ſuch a precipitate Deſign, endeavoured to diſ⯑ſwade her from it, but to no Purpoſe; and moved with the affecting Arguments of Ju⯑lietta, was at laſt prevailed upon to carry a Letter to Romeo.

The Lover was tranſported with Joy at the Contents; which directed him to come, at five o'Clock that Night, to the Window in the Lane; bringing with him a Ladder of Ropes, by which he might aſcend to the Top.

Romeo, committing the Care of providing the Ladder to a faithful Servant of his, named Pietro, they both, at the appointed Hour, went to the Place where Julietta expected them.

As ſoon as ſhe ſaw Romeo, ſhe let down a Cord from the Window, which they faſten-to one End of the Ladder, ſhe drew it up, and with the Aſſiſtance of her Nurſe fixed it ſe⯑curely at the Top, while Romeo and his Ser⯑vant took Care to faſten it well below.

[52] Romeo then boldly aſcending the Ladder, Pietro retired into the old ruinous Houſe, till his Maſter had Occaſion for him: The iron Bars before the Window were ſet ſo cloſe, that it was with Difficulty the paſſionate Romeo could paſs his Hand through to claſp that of his adored Julietta.—"Oh! Romeo, cried the tranſ⯑ported Maid, dearer to me than the Light of my Eyes, I deſired to ſee you here, that I might inform you I have ordered Matters ſo as that I can go to Confeſſion with my Mo⯑ther on Friday next; we ſhall come to the Church about the Time that the Sermon be⯑gins; take Care to acquaint Father Lorenzo, that he may have every Thing in readineſs."

Romeo aſſuring her that the Friar was diſ⯑poſed to do whatever they deſired, they began to enter into a tender Converſation, which the Neceſſity of parting for Fear of a Diſcovery interrupting the Lover deſcending the Ladder, took Leave of his dear Julietta, who, though exceſſively pleaſed with the paſt Interview, thought every Moment an Age till ſhe could call Romeo her own; and Romeo, who was al⯑moſt tranſported out of himſelf, ſpent the Time in diſcourſing with his Confidant on his approaching Happineſs.

The deſtined Day being arrived, Lady Gio⯑vanni, the Mother of Julietta, taking with her her Daughter and ſome of her Women, went to the Church of St. Francis, which was then in the Citadel; the old Lady, as ſoon as ſhe entered, calling for Friar Lorenzo, told him, ſhe had come early with Julietta to Confeſſion, be⯑cauſe ſhe knew he would be much hurried that [53] Day, having ſo many ſpiritual Children to confeſs.

The Friar, who had been inſtructed before by Romeo, and had him then concealed in his Confeſſionary, giving the Ladies the Benedic⯑tion, went into the Convent, and entering the Confeſſionary where Romeo was, made Juli⯑etta, who firſt preſented herſelf, go into the other Cell, which was ſlightly partitioned off from that which he and Romeo were in, hav⯑ing alſo a Grate between; as ſoon as ſhe was entered, he gave the Sign that Romeo was within, and removing the Grate, after the firſt Salutation, ſaid to her,—"Daughter, Romeo has, informed me, that you are willing to take him for a Huſband, and he alſo is de⯑ſirous of having you for a Wife, do you both continue to be thus diſpoſed?"

The Lovers making Anſwer, that the wiſhed for nothing elſe; the Friar, after a ſhort Diſcourſe in Praiſe of holy Matrimony, pronounced the accuſtomed Form of Words ordained by the Church, and gave them the nuptial Benediction.

Romeo then preſenting his beloved Julietta with a Ring, which ſhe received with unſpeak⯑able Pleaſure, he conſulted with her on the Means he ſhould uſe to gain Acceſs to her at Night, and tenderly ſaluting her, went cau⯑tiouſly out of the Church.

The Friar, replacing the Grate, heard the Confeſſion of the happy Julietta, and diſmiſ⯑ſing her, heard alſo thoſe of her Mother, and the Women who attended them, and they returned again to their Houſe.

[54]Night being come, Romeo, with his Servant, went to the Garden belonging to the Lord Capellet's Houſe, and aſcending the Wall by the Help of his faithful Pietro, he got eaſily over to the other Side, where he found his Bride; who, together with her Nurſe, was expecting him.

Romeo, as ſoon as he ſaw her, ran to her with open Arms, and Julietta eagerly flying to him, threw herſelf on his Neck, and embraced him with inexpreſſible Tranſport; they paſſed the whole Night in the Garden without Fear of being diſcovered; and when the Morning approached, Romeo, after conſulting with his fair Spouſe on the Methods they ſhould uſe to reconcile their Parents, took Leave of her with a tender Embrace, and returned to his Houſe, looking upon himſelf to be the happieſt of all Men in the Poſſeſſion of ſo beautiful a Creature; and Julietta, who thought the whole World could not produce ſo lovely and accompliſhed a Youth as her Romeo, had no other Allay to her Happineſs but the ardent Deſire ſhe felt to have their two Families re⯑conciled, that her Marriage might no lon⯑ger be concealed.

While the new married Couple were obliged to content themſelves with ſhort and ſtolen In⯑terviews, Friar Lorenzo was ſecretly practiſing Means to reconcile their two Houſes, and had put Matters in ſuch a Train, that he had ſome Hopes of accompliſhing it.

When the Feaſt of Eaſter was celebrated, it happened that great Numbers of Coaches were aſſembled at the Gate of the Borſori, near [55] the Caſtle Vecchio, or Old Caſtle, and many of the Capelletti and Montecchi meeting in that Place, aſſaulted each other furiouſly with their Arms: Among the Capelletti was a noble Youth, named Tibbald, a firſt Couſin of Julietta's who being poſſeſſed of great perſonal Courage, animated his People againſt the Montecchi, and urging them to have no Conſideration for any Perſon whatever among their Enemies, the Fray grew very bloody, both Parties being continually encreaſed by other of their Parti⯑zans who joined them.

Romeo, who was going through the City on ſome Diverſion with ſeveral of his Compa⯑nions, and a few Attendants, happened to paſs by while the Combatants were engaged; this Sight gave him great Affliction, as he had Hopes from the Friar's Endeavours, that Peace would have been made between their Families; being deſirous therefore of putting an End to the Fight, he turned to his Companions and Servants, and ſpeaking ſo loud that he was heard by many in the Street; "Brothers, ſaid he, let us thruſt ourſelves between them, and try, if by any Means we can oblige them to lay down their Arms:" With theſe Words he preſſed in among the Combatants, followed by his Friends and Servants, labouring both with Words and Actions to prevail upon them to ceaſe their Contention; but his Entreaties and Endeavours were all ineffectual; their Fu⯑ry had riſen to ſuch Exceſs, that they minded nothing but how to be revenged on each other, many of each Party lying dead upon the Ground.

[56]While Romeo was thus generouſly employed in endeavouring to calm their Rage, the fu⯑rious Tibbald drew near him, and gave him a thruſt with his Sword in the Side, which, by Reaſon of a net-work of Steel he wore beneath his Cloaths, did him no Harm.

Romeo, notwithſtanding this Outrage, turn⯑ing towards him, ſaid, with a friendly Ac⯑cent, "Tibbald, if you believe I came hither with any Intention to fight with you, or any of your Party, you are much deceived: I paſſed this Way by Chance, and have no other Deſign in mixing among you, but to make thoſe who belong to me retire."

Tibbald, either not underſtanding theſe Words, or ſeeming not to underſtand them, cried out, "Ah Traitor, thou ſhalt die! and furiouſly throwing himſelf upon Romeo, ſtruck him with great Violence on the Head, but the Force of the Blow, though weakened by the ſteel Head-piece he wore, yet ſo enraged Ro⯑meo, that, wrapping his Cloak about his Arm by Way of Shield, he turned the point of his Sword towards his Enemy, which piercing his Throat, went quite through his Neck, and came out behind, ſo that the unhappy Tibbald fell dead immediately on the Earth.

The Guards approaching at the Report of this Battle, the Combatants diſperſed different Ways; and Romeo, full of Grief for having killed Tibbald, fled to the Church of St. Fran⯑cis, followed by a great many of his Friends and Servants.

Father Lorenzo was much affected at the News of Tibbald's Death, which put it out of [57] his Power to accompliſh the Peace he medita⯑ted between them; however, he received Ro⯑meo with great Kindneſs, and concealed him in his Chamber at the Convent.

The Capelletti aſſembling together, went to complain to Signor Bartholomew of the In⯑jury they had ſuffered from Romeo; and the Father of Romeo, together with all the Perſons of Quality among the Montecchi, went alſo to prove that Romeo had not engaged in the Fight, but ſought only to part the Combatants, and being baſely wounded by Tibbald, killed him in his own Defence.

Although it was made very clear, that the Capelletti aſſaulted the Montecchi firſt, and al⯑ſo proved by many Witneſſes, that Romeo en⯑deavoured to part them, and was wounded by Tibbald while he was thus employed, yet Sig⯑nor Bartholomew baniſhed him from Verona, and ordered the reſt to forbear ſuch Hoſtilities for the future.

The Death of Tibbald cauſed great Affliction in the Family of the Capelletti; but Jullietta wept not for her Couſin's Death, but for the Baniſhment of Romeo; having however that Excuſe for her Sorrow, ſhe gave free Vent to her Tears, and loſing all the Hopes ſhe had formerly entertained of being happy with her beloved Romeo, ſhe wholly abandoned herſelf to Grief.

Underſtanding that he was concealed in Father Lorenzo's Convent, ſhe wrote a Letter to him, filled with moving Complaints of their miſerable Fortune, intreating him with the moſt tender Inſtances of Affection, that he [58] would allow her to accompany him in his Ba⯑niſhment.

Romeo received this Letter by the Hands of the old Woman who was the Confidant of their Marriage; and in his Anſwer, he con⯑jured his dear Julietta not to afflict herſelf; that in a proper Time he would do all ſhe deſired; but at preſent he had not fixed upon the Place of his Exile, though he was reſolved it ſhould be as near her as poſſible; and concluded with earneſtly deſiring her to give him an Oppor⯑tunity of ſeeing her before he went away.

Julietta naming the Garden for the Place of this laſt ſad Interview, Romeo, at the ap⯑pointed Hour, came ſecretly out of the Convent by the Aſſiſtance of Father Lorenzo, and, at⯑tended by his faithful Pietro, came to the Place where he was expected.

Julietta received him with a Flood of Tears, and Grief ſo totally poſſeſſed their Souls, that they continued a long Time unable to ſpeak to each other; recovering a little from this ſi⯑lent Exceſs of Sorrow, they flew into each others Arms, mingling Tears with their Em⯑braces, and bitter Complaints againſt the Cruelty of their Fortune.

Great Part of the Night being waſted in this Manner, Julietta, with the moſt earneſt and affecting Intreaties, urged her beloved Romeo to permit her to go with him into Baniſhment.

"Do not, my Lord, cried ſhe, do not leave me behind you; I will cut off this long Hair, and dreſſed in the Habit of a Boy, follow you wherever you go; my tender Cares ſhall ſoften the Rigour of your Exile; can you have [59] a more faithful Servant than me? Oh, my deareſt Huſband, grant me this Favour, I con⯑jure you; let me ſhare your Fate whatever it be; I cannot be unhappy if I am with you."

Romeo, with the tendereſt Language that Love could dictate, endeavoured to comfort his afflicted Wife; he aſſured her that his Sen⯑tence of Baniſhment would be ſhortly revoked; the Prince had given his Father ſome Reaſon to expect it; "But happen what will, ſaid he, my lovely Julietta, not in the Habit of a Page can I conſent to ſee you; no, when you do come, it muſt be in a Manner ſuitable to the Dignity of your Birth, and the Quality of your Huſband: Depend upon it, continued he, my Baniſhment will not continue more than a Year; in that Time our Parents may be reconciled; the Prince himſelf will labour to make Peace between them; but if theſe Hopes fail me, I will then take another Courſe, for it is impoſſible I ſhould be able to live long without you."

Julietta, yielding to the Force of theſe Rea⯑ſons and Perſuaſions, they began to ſettle the Method of correſponding by Letters; and the Morn now breaking, amidſt thouſand Sighs, Tears, and tender Embraces, they took Leave of each other; Romeo returned to the Con⯑vent, and Julietta to her Chamber.

In two or three Days, every Thing being prepared for his Departure, Romeo left the Convent, and, diſguiſed like a foreign Mer⯑chant, went privately out of Verona: Several of his moſt faithful Friends conducted him ſafely to Mantua; where he hired a magnifi⯑cent [60] Houſe, and having large Appointments from his Father, lived with a Splendor befit⯑ting his Quality.

Julietta, in the mean Time, gave herſelf wholly up to Sorrow; ſhe loathed her Food; Sleep fled from her Eyes; ſhe paſſed the Days in Sighs and Tears, and the Nights in Com⯑plaints and Lamentations. Her Mother ob⯑ſerving her continual Grief, reproved her for it many Times; telling her, ſhe had wept enough for the Death of her Couſin, and that it was Time to put an End to her Affliction upon his Account.—Julietta replied, that ſhe knew no Cauſe for Affliction; nevertheleſs ſhe continued to fly from all Company and Diverſion, and gave herſelf up entirely a Prey to Sadneſs and Tears; her fixed Melancholy making ſo great an Alteration in her lovely Face, that ſhe no longer had any Reſemblance of the once gay and beautiful Julietta.

Romeo never failed to make Uſe of every Opportunity to write to her, always comfort⯑ing her in his Letters with Hopes of being ſoon together, and tenderly intreating her to moderate her Affliction, and become eaſy and chearful as ſhe was wont to be; but all was in vain; the Abſence of Romeo was the Cauſe of her Unhappineſs, and till that was removed ſhe was incapable of receiving any Comfort.

Her Mother at laſt, ſuppoſing the Sadneſs of her Daughter proceeded from her Diſcontent at ſeeing ſo many of her young Companions married, while ſhe had no Huſband propoſed to her, acquainted her Spouſe, the Lord Ca⯑pellet, with her Suſpicions:—"Our Daugh⯑ter, [61] ſaid ſhe, does nothing but ſigh and weep; I have frequently aſked her the Cauſe of this immoderate Affliction; ſhe anſwers me always in the ſame Tone, that ſhe knows of no Cauſe; yet every one in the Houſe perceives her continual Melancholy; certainly ſome vio⯑lent Uneaſineſs preys upon her Heart; and if ſhe is ſuffered to go on thus, ſhe will conſume away inſenſibly like Wax before the Fire: I have imagined a thouſand Reaſons for this her Sorrow; but what ſeems to me to be the moſt probable is, that having ſince laſt Carnival, ſeen all her Companions become Wives, ſhe is afflicted becauſe a Huſband has not yet been propoſed to her; ſhe will be eighteen Years of Age St. Euphemia's Day next, and in my O⯑pinion it is now Time we ſhould procure her a good and honourable Huſband, for a young Virgin is not Merchandize that will keep long in a Houſe."

"Since it is your Opinion, replied the Lord Antonio to his Wife, that this Melan⯑choly of our Daughter is cauſed by her not having a Huſband propoſed to her, I will en⯑deavour to procure one ſuitable to the Dignity of our Houſe; but let it be your Care to find out whether her Affections are yet engaged, that I may propoſe ſuch a Match to her as may be agreeable to her Inclinations."

Giovanni replied, that ſhe would do all in her Power to ſatisfy him in this Particular; and accordingly ſhe again queſtioned all Ju⯑lietta's Attendants, and every other Perſon in the Houſe, who ſhe thought was likely to give her any Information; but could diſcover nothing.

[62]Some Time after this, a Match was pro⯑poſed to Lord Antonio, between the young Paris, Count of Lodrona, and his Daughter.

Lord Antonio was extremely well pleaſed with the Propoſal, the Count being young, handſome and very rich; and deſired his Lady to acquaint her Daughter with the advanta⯑geous Offer that was made her.

Lady Giovanni did as ſhe was directed; but Julietta received this News with ſuch appa⯑rent Grief, that her Mother, after long en⯑deavouring in vain to find out the Cauſe, ſaid at laſt, "By what I can underſtand then, my Daughter, you are not willing to be married."

"It is true, Madam, replied Julietta, I never intend to marry any one; and if you love me, and have any Regard for my Peace, you will not think of giving me a Huſband."

"Will you be a Nun then, replied the Mother, in great Amazement; tell me what are your Intentions?"—"I will not be a Nun, ſaid Julietta; I know not what I would be; but I long to be in my Grave."

Lady Giovanni, equally ſurprized and of⯑fended at this Anſwer, was at a Loſs what to ſay or do.—She again enquired of her Daugh⯑ter's Attendants if they knew the Cauſe of her extreme Melancholy.—They replied, that ever ſince her Couſin Tibbald's Death, ſhe had wholly abandoned herſelf to Sorrow, was al⯑ways in Tears, and ſought all Occaſions of being alone.

Giovanni relating all this to her Huſband: He ordered Julietta to be called, and, after ſome little Diſcourſe with her, "Daughter, [63] ſaid he, you are now old enough to be married; I have found a Huſband for you, who is young, handſome, noble and rich; it is the Count of Lodrona; diſpoſe yourſelf therefore to comply with my Will in this Affair, ſuch Matches offer but ſeldom."

Julietta, with more Spirit than became one of her Years, replied boldly, that ſhe would not marry.

Her Father, greatly enraged, was ready to beat her; but checking his Fury a little, he contented himſelf with threatening her with the moſt cruel Effects of his Diſpleaſure, if ſhe continued diſobedient, and concluded with telling her, that whether ſhe was willing or not ſhe muſt prepare in a few Days to go with him, her Mother, and other Relations to Villa Franca, to meet the young Count, who would be there with a great Retinue on Pur⯑poſe to ſee her; adding, that if ſhe made any Reply, or Reſiſtance, he would break her Head, and make her the moſt miſerable Crea⯑ture that ever was born.

Julietta remained like one Thunder-ſtruck, at this cruel Language, and, not daring to re⯑ply, ſhe retired to her Chamber, and there wrote an Account of all that had paſſed to Romeo.

In a ſhort Time ſhe received an Anſwer from her beloved Huſband, who earneſtly con⯑jured her not to afflict herſelf, but to depend upon the Promiſe he made her, to come ſoon to Verona, and take her away privately to Mantua.

[64]While ſhe waited the Effect of this Pro⯑miſe, the Day approached on which ſhe was to go to Villa-Franca, where her Father had a fine Seat. Notwithſtanding her great Reluctance, ſhe was obliged to go, and the young Count of Lodrona, who firſt ſaw her at Church, was ſo ſtruck with her Charms, though now a little impaired by her continual Grief, that he immediately concluded the Marriage Treaty with her Father; who re⯑turned with Julietta to Verona. Here he in⯑formed her, that her Marriage with the Count was abſolutely reſolved upon, exhorting her to be chearful, and ſubmit to his Will with a good Grace.

Julietta made no Anſwer, but retired to her Chamber, in order to conceal her Af⯑fliction, being informed that her Nuptials with Count Paris were to be celebrated in a few Weeks. Not knowing what to do in this terrible Extremity, ſhe at laſt reſolved to go to Father Lorenzo, and conſult with him upon Means to avoid this deteſted Huſband.

Accordingly the next Saint's Day ſhe went to her Mother's Chamber. "My dear Mother, ſaid ſhe at her Entrance, I cannot imagine how this ſtrange Melancholy has grown upon me, but ever ſince the Death of my Couſin Tibbald I have been able to take no Pleaſure in any Thing, and my De⯑jection encreaſes every Day; I think I will go on this bleſſed Saint's Day to Confeſſi⯑on; perhaps I may receive ſome Conſola⯑tion by that Means. What ſay you, my [65] ſweet Mother, are you pleaſed with this Pro⯑poſition? Shall I go?"

Lady Giovanni, who was a very pious Woman, greatly approved of her Daughter's Intention, and went with her to the Church of St. Francis; where, ordering Father Lo⯑renzo to be called, ſhe permitted Julietta to go into the Confeſſionary, and being entered; "My Father, ſaid the afflicted Julietta, no one knows better than yourſelf, what has paſſed between Romeo and me, therefore it is needleſs to repeat it; you have no doubt read the Letter, which I put into your Hand to be ſent to him; in which I informed him, that my Father had promiſed me to Paris, Count of Lodrona. Romeo writes to me, that he will ſhortly come and take Meaſures to prevent this ever happening; but alas! Heaven knows when he will perform his Promiſe; the Day of my Nuptials is now fixed; I ſee no Way to avoid the hated Count, who appears to me as a Robber and Aſſaſſin. You know that I am the Wife of Romeo, and that I cannot be another's; no, I will be my dear Romeo's eternally, this is my fixed Reſo⯑ſolution; to you therefore I come for Ad⯑vice and Aſſiſtance; hear firſt, however, what I propoſe. You ſhall, my dear Father, pro⯑vide me a Suit of Boys Cloaths, in which I will leave my Father's Houſe very early in the Morning, and thus diſguiſed travel to Man⯑tua, and keep myſelf concealed in the Houſe of my dear Romeo."

The Friar, who was not at all pleaſed with this Propoſition, replied—"My dear Daugh⯑ter, [66] it is impoſſible to execute, with Safety, the Deſign you have formed, the Dangers are too great; you are very young, your Per⯑ſon and Conſttiution extremely delicate; you could not endure the Fatigue of ſuch a Journey; you have never been accuſtomed to walk, and not being acquainted with the Way, would wander here and there, without knowing whither to go: Your Father would no ſooner miſs you, than he would ſend People to the City Gates, and into all the Streets to find you, it would be impoſſible to eſcape the Search. When you are brought back, will not your Father, by Threats, and perhaps Blows, force you to declare the Reaſon of your Flight, diſguiſed like a Boy? and when he ſhall underſtand, that you was going to Romeo, will not he effectually prevent your ever ſeeing him more?

Julietta, acquieſcing in theſe Reaſons of the good Father, replied, "Since you do not approve of what I have propoſed, which I am now convinced is not practicable, give me your Advice what to do; teach me how to untye this cruel Knot, by which, miſera⯑ble that I am, I find myſelf bound; aſſiſt me if poſſible to get to my dear Romeo, for without him I can no longer live; but if you cannot do that, help me at leaſt to the Means of keeping myſelf entirely his; my Huſband has told me of your Knowledge of Herbs, and that you can diſtil a Water which in two Hours time will ſteal away Life, from the Perſon who takes it, without giving any Pain.—Give me ſuch a Quantity of this [67] Water, as will deliver me from this Count, and make me able to keep my Faith with Romeo: If he loves me as I love him, he will rather ſee me in the Arms of Death, than in thoſe of any other Perſon; by helping me to this quiet Death, you will deliver me and my Family from great Diſgrace, for if I am driven to Deſpair, and find no other Way to avoid the Miſeries that wait me, I will cut my Throat in the Night, for I am determined to dye, rather than violate my Faith to Ro⯑meo."

Father Lorenzo, who was one of the greateſt Chemiſts in his Time, and was well acquainted with the Virtues of Herbs and Stones, among other wonderful Secrets he was poſſeſt of, he had found out and compoſed with many ſomniferous Simples a certain Paſte, which being reduced to Powder, and a ſmall Quantity of it mixed with Water, would put the Perſon who drank it into a Sleep ſo like Death, that the moſt ſkilful Phyſician in the World might be deceived by it, holding them in this ſweet Trance forty Hours or more, according to the Quantity of the Pow⯑der, or the Conſtitution of the Patient. He underſtanding, therefore, the fixed Determi⯑nation of the unhappy Julietta, was ſo moved with Compaſſion, that it was with Difficulty he reſtrained his Tears.

"My Daughter, ſaid he, you muſt, not think of giving yourſelf Death, becauſe you may depend upon it there is no returning to Life, until the Day of univerſal Judgment, when together, with all the Dead, you ſhall [68] be raiſed again; be patient, and reſolve to live as long as God pleaſes, he gave you Life, he preſerves it, and in his own good Time he will reſume it. Baniſh theſe melancholy Thoughts from your Mind; you are young, and ought to be fond of Life, that you may enjoy your Romeo; do not doubt, but we ſhall find a Remedy for the Evils you are afraid of—You ſee in what great Credit and Re⯑putation I am in this magnificen City, ſhould it be known that I was privy to your Marriage with Romeo, what Diſgrace would it not bring upon me! I will my dear Daugh⯑ter ſo manage Matters, that, without draw⯑ing you into any Danger, you ſhall preſerve your Faith to Romeo; but you muſt be coura⯑gious and reſolved, and punctually obſerve all my Directions.'

He then related to her the extraordinary Virtues of the Powder before mentioned, aſ⯑ſuring her that it had been often tried, and always found perfect. "My Daughter, added he, this precious and valuable Powder, will, as I have ſaid, put you into ſo ſound and quiet a Sleep, that if Galen, Hippocrates, Meſue, Avicenna, and all the Colleges of the moſt ex⯑cellent Phyſicians that are, or ever were, were to ſee you, and feel your Pulſe, they would with one Voice declare you dead. When you have drank the Mixture you will in a few Moments fall aſleep; at your uſual Hour of riſing your Attendants will come to awake you, but not be able; and you being cold as Ice, without Pulſe, or any Signs of Life, your Parents, Relations, and all who ſee you, [69] will believe you to be dead, and you will be carried to the Monument of your Family, there you will quietly repoſe the Night and Day: I will take care to diſpatch a Meſſen⯑ger to Romeo, and he and I will come the Night following that which you are interred to the Monument; and when the Doſe is fully digeſted, you will awake from this artificial Death as freſh and lovely as when you riſe in a Morning from your Bed, after a quiet Reſt; we will then take you from the Monument, and you ſhall return with Romeo ſecretly to Mantua, and there remain concealed till the bleſſed Peace I am meditating reconciles your two Houſes; but I muſt again repeat to you that Secrecy and Courage is abſolutely neceſſary for our Deſign, otherwiſe you will ruin both yourſelf and me."

Julietta, who would have paſſed through a glowing Furnace to get to Romeo, gave abſo⯑lute Credit to the Friar's Words, and replied, "Father, I will put myſelf entirely into your Hands, and perform whatever you require with the greateſt Secrecy."

The Friar then going to the Chamber, re⯑turned in a few Moments with a ſufficient Quantity of the Powder; which he directed her to mix in a Glaſs of Water. Julietta, with many Thanks, received it, and put it into a Purſe, which ſhe carefully concealed in her Boſom.

The Friar, who could with Difficulty be⯑lieve ſo young a Creature had Fortitude enough to ſuffer herſelf to be interred living in a Sepul⯑chre with putrefied Carcaſſes, ſaid to her:

[70]"But my Daughter, tell me ſincerely, do you not tremble at the Thoughts of being in⯑tombed amongſt mouldering Bodies; where alſo the Corſe of your Couſin Tibbald, newly ſlain, is interred?"

"Father, replied the determined Julietta, do not trouble yourſelf about my Fears; if I thought I ſhould find my Romeo by paſſing through the Midſt of infernal Flames, I would without trembling dare the everlaſting Fires."

"In the Name of God then, ſaid the Friar, go on with your Enterprize." Then taking leave of her, he went back to his Chamber, and Julietta joined her Mother, who was waiting for her in the Church; and as ſoon as they were at home, "Certainly, my dear Mother, ſaid Julietta, Father Lorenzo is a moſt holy Man; he has comforted me ſo much by his pious Diſcourſe, that the terrible Melancholy I have ſo long laboured under, begins already to abate of its Force."

Lady Giovanni, who already perceived an agreeable Change in the Countenance of her Daughter, was extremely pleaſed, and thanked God and the good Friar for it a thouſand Times; telling her Huſband they ought, in Gratitude for ſuch a Service from Friar Lo⯑renzo, to make a preſent to his Monaſtery.

Julietta's Chearfulneſs perſuading both her Father and Mother that there was no Cauſe for the Suſpicion they had entertained of her be⯑ing ſecretly in Love, they began to repent they had entered into ſuch ſtrict Engagements with the Count of Lodrona, becauſe the extreme Youth of their Daughter made them willing to [71] keep her unmarried two or three Years longer; but the Match having been concluded upon on both Sides, they could not break it off without great Scandal.

The Night before the Day on which the Nuptials were to be celebrated, Julietta, who thought every Moment a Year till ſhe drank the Potion, mixed it with ſome Water in a Phial, and placed it ſecretly at her Bed's Head; the Nurſe who lay with her, falling aſleep ſoon after ſhe was in Bed.

Julietta, who could not take any Repoſe, paſſed the Night in various and affecting Thoughts; the Dawn approaching, put her in Mind that it was Time to drink the Potion; when the Image of Tîbbald, dead as ſhe had lately ſeen him, with the Blood flowing from his Wound, roſe to her Imagination, and re⯑flecting that ſhe would ſoon be incloſed in a dark Monument amidſt ſo many dead Bodies and mouldering Bones, her Blood froze in her Veins, a cold Sweat hung upon all her Limbs, and ſhe began to tremble like a Leaf ſhaken by the Winds.—"Alas! ſaid ſhe, ſoftly ſigh⯑ing, what am I going to do? Where ſhall I ſuf⯑fer myſelf to be carried? If I ſhould awake be⯑fore the Friar and Romeo come to take me out of the Monument, what will become of me? How ſhall I be able to endure the Stench of the dead Body of Tibbald! I, who cannot ſuffer any diſagreeable Smell to approach me! who knows how many Serpents and horrid Worms there may be in that Sepulchre! Creatures I ſo much fear and abhor; and if I am terrified only at the Sight of them, how ſhall I endure to have [72] them ſtinging and crawling about me? how often have I heard horrid Stories related of dreadful Things which happen in the Night in Churches and Churchyards!"

Theſe, and many more Thoughts of the like Nature, ſo tormented her Imagination, that ſhe began to deliberate with herſelf whe⯑ther ſhe ſhould not throw away that terrible Potion.

Continuing thus irreſolute a long Time, her fervent Love for Romeo at laſt got the bet⯑ter of her Fears, and the Day now ſhining through her Window, ſhe took the Phial from her Pillow, and couragiouſly drank off the Li⯑quor, which, in a few Moments, produc⯑ing its uſual Effects, ſhe fell in a profound Sleep.

Her Nurſe, who had been ſenſible ſhe had ſlept but little in the Night, thinking ſhe was now repoſing, roſe ſoftly for Fear of di⯑ſturbing her, and went about her uſual Buſi⯑neſs; and when it was Time to awake her, ſhe returned to her Chamber, ſaying as ſhe entered, "Up, up you Slug-a-bed, its Time to riſe;" then opening the Window, and per⯑ceiving Julietta did not yet move, ſhe ap⯑proached the Bed, crying "Riſe, riſe you lazy ones;" but the good old Woman was calling to the Deaf;—then raiſing her Voice, ſhe called her aloud, ſhaking her to diſſipate her Sleep; but all her vital Faculties were ſo bound up, that the loudeſt and moſt horrible Thunders would not have been able to awake her.

The poor old Woman believing her now to be certainly dead, burſt into Tears and [73] Complaints, and went to acquaint the unhap⯑py Mother with the News, who, flying with diſtracted Pace to Julietta's Chamber, and be⯑holding her ſtretched breathleſs upon the Bed, ſhe filled the Air with dreadful Shrieks, utter⯑ing ſuch moving Expreſſions of Sorrow as might have ſoftened the Rage of Tygers them⯑ſelves. The Tears and Groans of the Nurſe, and piercing Cries of the wretched Mother, brought all the Family to the Chamber, and among the reſt the Lord Antonio, who ap⯑proaching the Bed, and finding his Daughter without Senſe or Motion, and cold as Ice, A⯑ſtoniſhment and Grief made him for ſome Mo⯑ments immoveable as a Statue.

The ſad News being ſpread through the Ci⯑ty, all the Relations and Friends of the Fami⯑ly haſtened to Lord Antonio's Houſe, and filled it with Tears and Lamentations; the moſt fa⯑mous Phyſicians were immediately ſent for; but all their Art proved ineffectual, and they declared ſhe was abſolutely dead.

At this cruel Confirmation of their Fears, their Weepings and Lamentations redoubled; the whole City took Part in the Grief of this Family, and every one bewailed the unexpect⯑ed Death of the young and beautiful Julietta.

But what Words can expreſs the deep Di⯑ſtreſs, the wild Affliction of the wretched Mo⯑ther! deaf to all the Conſolation that was of⯑fered to her, ſhe gave a Looſe to Deſpair: Now in the wild Agony of Grief ſhe tore her Hair, and ſhrieking, pierced the Skies with her Complaints; now ſinking under the Load of unutterable Sorrow, with Eyes ſtreaming [74] with Tears, and Sighs which ſeemed to ſhake her whole Frame, ſhe ſilently bewailed her Loſs; three Times ſhe threw herſelf upon the Bed, and claſping the cold Julietta to her ſob⯑bing Boſom, fell breathleſs on the Body, and was with Difficulty brought back to Life.

Lord Antonio, who had tenderly loved his Daughter, was no leſs afflicted for her Death, than his Wife; but ſtrove with manly Forti⯑tude to conceal his Anguiſh in his own Breaſt in order to quiet her's.

In the mean Time, Father Lorenzo wrote to Romeo all that had paſſed between him and Ju⯑lietta; he deſired him to come the next Night, diſguiſed, to Verona, and aſſiſt him in taking his Wife from the Tomb, and carry her with him to Mantua.

This Letter he gave to a faithful Brother of the Order, ſtrictly charging him to haſten with it to Mantua, and give it to Romeo Mon⯑tecchio, and no other Perſon whatever.

The Friar accordingly departed for Mantua; and arriving there in good Time, alighted at the Convent of St. Francis, with an Intention to deſire the Superior to let one of the Brothers accompany him into the City, where he had ſome Buſineſs to tranſact.

It happened, that a Friar of that Con⯑vent was juſt then dead; and becauſe it was ſuſpected, from ſome Marks on his Body, that he died of the Plague, the Deputies of Health, the ſame Moment that the Veroneſe Friar ar⯑rived, came to the Superior, with Orders from the Lord of the City, that he ſhould not ſuffer any one belonging to his Convent to ſtir [75] out upon any Occaſion whatever, for fear of ſpreading the Contagion.

The Veroneſe Friar, in vain repreſented to the Deputies, that he was but juſt arrived from Verona, and had not yet ſpoke with any Perſon in the Convent; they obliged him to remain ſhut up with the other Friars, by which Means he could not deliver the Letter to Romeo himſelf, and would not, according to his Orders, ſend it by any other Perſon.

While this paſſed at Mantua, in Verona they were making great Preparations for the Funeral Obſequies of Julietta, which, agreea⯑ble to the Cuſtom of the Place, were to be performed the Day on which ſhe died.

Pietro, the faithful Confident of Romeo, being then at Verona, and hearing that Julietta was dead, was almoſt out of his Wits for Grief; at firſt he was for going directly to Mantua, but upon Reflexion he reſolved to ſtay till ſhe was buried, that he might be able to ſay to his Maſter, he had really ſeen her dead. Julietta then was carried with great Pomp to the Mo⯑nument of the Capelletti, amidſt the Sighs and Tears of all the Inhabitants of Verona. Pietro at this Sight was ſo loſt in Affliction, re⯑flecting how ardently ſhe was beloved by his Maſter, that he never thought of going to Father Lorenzo to conſult with him, as he was accuſtomed; but, having ſeen Julietta en⯑tombed, he mounted his Horſe, and rode hard, till he got to Villa-Franca, where he ſtopt to refreſh himſelf, and after a ſhort Sleep, riſing two Hours before Day, he remounted his Horſe, and reached Mantua at Sun-riſe.

[76] Romeo was ſtill in Bed, when he entered his Chamber; and poor Pietro was ſo much affected with the ſad News he brought, that for ſome Moments he was unable to utter a Word; but his Sighs, and the Tears which ran down in great Abundance from his Eyes, perſuaded his Maſter, that ſome ill Accident had happened, though he was far from gueſ⯑ſing at the real one; yet with ſome Impati⯑ence, he aſked him, "If his Father, and all his Friends at Verona were well" "Speak," added he, beginning to be more alarmed; find⯑ing he ſtill continued ſilent and weeping, "Keep me no longer in Suſpence, but tell me what is the Cauſe of that Affliction I ſee you in."

Pietro with a faultering Voice, then told him, that Julietta was dead, that he had ſeen her laid in the Monument of the Capelletti, and that it was reported in Verona, that Grief was the Cauſe of her Death.

Romeo, ſtruck as with a Thunder-bolt at this dreadful News, remained for ſome Time in a ſpeechleſs Agony of Grief; then furiouſly ſpringing out of his Bed, "Ah Traitor! cried he aloud, cruel, perfidious and ingrateful Romeo, it was not Sorrow that killed thy Wife, Grief is not ſo quick a Murderer! Ah! no, it was thy Cruelty that killed her: Did ſhe not tell thee in her Letters, ſhe would dye rather than be the Wife of any other, and earneſtly entreat thee to come, and take her from her Father's Houſe, and thou, unworthy lingering Lover, amuſed her with vain Promiſes, but had not Reſolution enough to perform them, and doſt thou now [77] ſtand idly weeping, and Julietta dead!—Oh my Julietta! cried he, raiſing his Voice, art thou dead, and do I live!—Ah Wretch! how often have I told her, that I could not live without her, and yet I live, I breathe, and ſhe is dead!—Where is ſhe, added he, gaz⯑ing wildly round the Room, is ſhe not here, here hovering about me, expecting me to fol⯑low her!—Hark; ſhe calls me, behold, ſhe ſays, behold me here, deceitful Lover and un⯑faithful Huſband. Oh pardon me! my deareſt Wife; I own my Guilt, and ſince Grief is not powerful enough to deprive me of Life; my own Hand ſhall perform that Office, and do what Grief is not able to do."—This ſaid, he ſuddenly ſnatched his Sword from the Head of his Bed and turned the Point of it to his Boſom; but Pietro ſpringing haſtily to him puſhed the Sword out of his Hand, endeavour⯑ing by all the ſoft Perſuaſions he was Maſter of to prevail upon him to change his dread⯑ful Purpoſe.

Romeo, overwhelmed with unutterable An⯑guiſh, ſtood ſilent and motionleſs all the Time he was ſpeaking, reſembling more a Marble Statue than a living Man; at laſt the ſtubborn Sorrow found a vent, and his Eyes, at once unlocking all their Springs, poured out a River of Tears.

Though the Frenzy of his Sorrow was by this Means ſomewhat allayed, yet Deſpair had taken ſuch Poſſeſſion of his Soul, that he was fixed in his Reſolution not to live, but care⯑fully concealing his Deſign, leſt he ſhould be prevented from executing it, he charged [78] Pietro, with a diſſembled Calmneſs in his Looks and Voice, not to mention the Death of his Wife, and the fatal Error he had like to have been guilty of, to any Perſon whatever, but to mount a freſh Horſe, and ſet out immediately for Verona, whither he would follow him—"Let not my Father know, continued he, that I am coming, but provide me ſome Inſtruments for opening the Sepulchre, where my Julietta is interred, and wait for me at the Out-Houſe behind our Garden; I will meet you there, and we will go together to the Monument of the Capelleti, for I muſt once more have a Sight of my deareſt Wife, pale and cold as ſhe now lies in Death, then early in the Morning I will return to Mantua, and you may follow a little Time after." Pietro, not ſuſpecting his Intention, departed immediately to perform his Commiſſion, and Romeo, as ſoon as he was gone, wrote a Letter to his Father, in which he entreated his Pardon for having married without aſking his Conſent, and related at large his Love for Juli⯑etta, their Marriage, and the fatal Conſequen⯑ces; he conjured him alſo, ſince Julietta had been his Daughter to have perpetual Maſſes ſaid for her Soul, and in order to reward the Fidelity of his Servant Pietro, he deſired that a handſome Proviſion might be made for him out of the Eſtate which had been bequeathed him by an Aunt lately deceaſed, and ſince he had yet received no Part of it, he ordered the firſt Rents to be given to the Poor; having de⯑clared this to be his laſt Will, he earneſtly en⯑treated his Father, to fulfil it in every particu⯑lar; then cloſing the Letter, he ſealed it, and put [79] it in his Boſom. This done, he gave Orders to have a Horſe made ready, and, telling his Ser⯑vants he would return the next Day, he put on the Habit of a German Soldier, and, taking with him a Phial full of Mortal Poiſon, he mounted his Horſe, and took the Road to Verona. Having rode pretty faſt, he arrived there in the Evening, and went to the Houſe where he had appointed to meet Pietro, who having provided every Thing that he had been commanded, they went together at four o'Clock in the Morning to the Churchyard, which was in the Citadel, and got to the Monu⯑ment of the Capelletti without being diſcovered.

The Vault being opened, without much Dif⯑ficulty, with the Inſtruments they had brought with them, they propt up the Top with Poles, and Romeo taking a dark Lanthorn, which Pietro had alſo provided, he deſcended into the Vault: Here he beheld his Wife dead as ſhe appeared, and ſtretched out upon her Bier.

Romeo at this Sight fell fainting upon her Breaſt, and continued for ſome Moments in a Death more real than hers; recovering at laſt to a painful Senſe of agonizing Woe, he took his Wife in his Arms, and holding her cloſe preſt to his Boſom, bathed her cold Face with his Tears, which flowed in ſuch Abundance, that for a long Time he was not able to utter a Word; but when he recovered the Uſe of Speech, he broke into ſuch moving Com⯑plaints, as might have ſoftened the fierceſt and moſt impenetrable Souls to Compaſſion. Con⯑tinuing ſtill fixed in his Reſolution to dye, he took the Phial out of his Pocket, and drank off the fatal Draught in a Moment, then aſcend⯑ing [80] a few Steps, he called to Pietro, who was ſtanding in a Corner of the Church-yard.— "Pietro, ſaid he, when he approached, behold here my Wife, how much I did and do love her, thou partly knoweſt; thou knoweſt alſo, that it is as much impoſſible for me to live without her, as it is for a Body to live with⯑out a Soul; I therefore brought with me a Poiſon, which in leſs than half an Hour procures a certain Death; this I have glad⯑ly drank this Moment, that dying near her, whom in Life I ſo paſſionately adored, I may remain with her dead, ſince my cruel Deſtiny would not permit us to live together.— See, there is the Phial, which I have emptied, it was given me thou may'ſt remember by a Mountebank in Mantua, who came from Spoletta, and brought with him living Aſpicks and other Serpents, the Water it contained was diſtilled from thoſe Creatures and other Serpents. God of his infinite Mercy pardon me this Act, ſince I did not deſtroy myſelf to offend him, but becauſe it was not poſſible for me to live without my deareſt Wife.—Think not, Pietro, added he, wiping away the Tears that flowed from his Eyes, while he was ſpeaking, think not becauſe thou ſeeſt me weep, that I lament my Death at theſe early Years. No, my weeping proceeds from the Anguiſh I feel for the untimely Death of her, who was worthy of a much longer, and much more happy Life. Here, ſaid he, pulling out the Letter, give this to my Father, it contains ſome particular Requeſts, which I have deſired him to perform after my Death, as well con⯑cerning [81] my Interment in this Monument, as my Servants in Mantua, and you in particular: I am perſuaded my Father will faithfully execute all I have required in this Letter—Farewel—I can no more—I feel al⯑ready the Approach of Death—The powerful Poiſon wanders through all my Limbs, and will ſhortly enter the laſt Retreat of Life—I ſhall expire in half an Hour—Take away the Props from the Vault, and leave me to breathe my Laſt in the Boſom of my adored Wife."

Pietro, at theſe Words of his Maſter, ſeemed to feel his Heart tore from his Breaſt; ſuch was the Exceſs of his Sorrow: Fain he would have done ſomething to aſſiſt him, but it was now in vain; there was no Remedy for that fatal Poiſon.

Romeo, deſcending again, took Julietta in his Arms, and after calling Pietro to cloſe up the Vault, fixed his dying Lips on the Mouth of his Wife, and holding her faſt folded to his Breaſt, waited for Death in that Poſture.

Julietta, who had now digeſted the ſleeping Powder, began to awake, and, her Senſes, per⯑fectly returning, feeling herſelf faſt embraced, ſhe ſuſpected the Friar was going to carry her to his Cell with ſome impure Deſign. Poſſeſt with this Thought, "Ah! Father Lorenzo, ſaid ſhe, is this the Fidelity you owe to Ro⯑meo? Do you thus abuſe the Truſt he repoſed in you?" Endeavouring then to free herſelf from thoſe ſuſpected Embraces, and opening her Eyes at the ſame Time, ſhe ſaw and knew [82] her Romeo, though diſguiſed in the Habit of a German Soldier.

"And are you here my Love, ſaid ſhe? Where is Father Lorenzo? Why don't you take me out of this Monument? Haſte, let us go, I beſeech you."

Romeo, when he ſaw her open her Eyes, and heard her ſpeak, was ſenſible immediately that ſhe was really alive, and feeling in the ſame Moment an Exceſs of Joy and Sorrow, he ſtrained her eagerly to his Boſom, and weeping, cried, "Oh Life of my Life, and by far the deareſt Part of me, what Man ever felt the extatic Joy I feel this Inſtant, which brings me the full Confirmation that thou art not dead but alive, and well in my Arms: But Oh! was ever Anguiſh equal to mine? at the ſame Time, ſince this happy, this mi⯑ſerable Moment, I feel myſelf going to be tore from thee by Death; now when Life would be moſt welcome to me; a quarter of an Hour is all the Time I can poſſibly live: Was there ever, Oh cruel Heaven! an Object at one and the ſame Moment, ſo exquiſitely happy and ſo tranſcendantly miſerable: How can I do otherwiſe than rejoice, my ſweeteſt, my moſt lovely Wife, when I behold you living, whoſe ſudden and unexpected Death I have ſo bitter⯑ly wept; but Oh my Sorrow is alſo extreme, that now, when Life would be dear to me, ſince, in poſſeſſing you, I have all for which I wiſh to live, now to be torn from you! How ſevere, how beyond Meaſure cruel, is my Deſtiny!"

[83] Julietta hearing Romeo ſpeak in this Man⯑ner, being now quite awakened, replied— "What Words are theſe you ſpeak to me, my deareſt Lord; is this all the Comfort you intend to give me; and did you come from Mantua to bring me this fatal News?

Romeo then, in a few Words, telling her what he had done, and the Cauſe of it— "Alas! alas! cried the miſerable Julietta, what do I hear!—Oh what is it you tell me!— By what I underſtand then, Father Lorenzo did not write you an Account of the Meaſures he and I had taken, though he promiſed me faithfully to do ſo."

Here Julietta, weeping ſighing, and bit⯑terly complaining, amidſt interrupting burſts of Sorrow, recounted all that the Friar and ſhe had done to avoid being married to the young Nobleman her Father had provided for her.

Romeo, hearing this, felt his Grief and Ago⯑ny redoubled; and while Julietta with Heart-piercing Groans lamented their unhappy Fate, calling the Heavens, the Stars, and all the Elements moſt cruel and unmerciful, her dying Huſband, obſerving the Corpſe of Tibbald lying near him, turned towards it—

"Oh Tibbald, ſaid he, if in thy preſent State thou art capable of knowing any Thing, thou muſt know that I ſought not to offend thee; but that my Intention, by mixing in the Combat, was to perſuade thy Party to retire, and mine to lay down their Arms; but thou, poſſeſſed by long hereditary Hatred againſt me, aſſaulted me cruelly with moſt untameable Ma⯑lice; then loſing all Patience, I ſcorned to [84] move one Step to avoid thee, and thy ill Deſ⯑tiny made me kill thee: Now then I aſk thee Pardon for that Offence; ſo much the greater, as thou wert then become my Kinſman by my Marriage with thy Couſin: If thou deſireſt Vengeance on me, behold the fatal Conſe⯑quences of thy Death; could'ſt thou wiſh for a more compleat Revenge than that thy Mur⯑derer ſhould here in thy Preſence come to give himſelf a voluntary Death, and dying, ſeek a Corner of thy Sepulchre to remain interred be⯑ſide thee; ſo that, though in Life we were Ene⯑mies, yet in Death one Grave may hold us peaceably together."

Pietro, at this piteous Diſcourſe of the dy⯑ing Huſband, and the piercing Cries and bitter Complaints of the wretched Wife, ſtood mo⯑tionleſs with Horror and Grief, almoſt doubt⯑ing if the melancholy Scene he beheld was real; and not knowing what to ſay or do, re⯑mained fixed like a Statue on the Side of the Monument.

"Oh, Romeo, ſaid the exquiſitely diſtreſſed Julietta, ſince it is not the Will of God that we ſhould live together, I may at leaſt be per⯑mitted to remain with you here; for Oh! be aſſured I will never, never forſake you."

Romeo then taking her in his Arms, began with the gentleſt and moſt tender Soothings to calm her Sorrow, and perſuade her to live, telling her he could not die in Peace, unleſs he was aſſured ſhe would preſerve her Life; but while he was ſpeaking, he felt his Strength for⯑ſake him by Degrees, his Eyes grew dim, and all the Powers of his Body ſo weakened, that [85] he was no longer able to ſtand, but letting himſelf gently ſink on the Ground, and look⯑ing piteouſly in the Face of his afflicted Wife, "Alas! ſaid he, my Love,—I am dying."

Friar Lorenzo, who, for what Reaſon is unknown, was not willing to take Julietta out of the Monument, and carry her to his Cham⯑ber the Night ſhe was interred, the following Night finding Romeo did not appear, accom⯑panied by a faithful Brother of the Order, he came to the Monument with Inſtruments to break open the Vault, and arrived there the ſame Moment that Romeo ſunk down upon the Earth, and ſeeing it already opened, and Pietro ſtanding by it, he aſked him where Ro⯑meo was.

Julietta hearing the Voice, and knowing is to be the Friar's, raiſing her Head, and weep⯑ing, ſaid, "Heaven pardon you, how well you ſent the Letter to Romeo!"

"I ſent it, replied he, by Friar Anſelmo, with whom you are acquainted; wherefore then do you ſpeak to me in this Manner?"

"Deſcend, replied Julietta, (redoubling her Tears) and ſee."

The Friar going down, immediately per⯑ceived Romeo ſtretched out, having yet ſome ſmall Remainder of Life; "Oh, my Son! Oh, Romeo! cried he, what does this mean?"

Romeo, opening his languiſhing Eyes, and knowing the Friar, with Tears which ran faſt down his dying Cheeks, recommended Ju⯑lietta to his Care, and devoutly aſked Pardon of God and him for the Offence he had been guilty of in haſtening his own Death.

[86]It was with great Difficulty the unhappy Lo⯑ver pronounced theſe laſt Words, which, as ſoon as he had finiſhed, he expired—Julietta, ſhrieking aloud, and calling many Times on the Name of her loved Huſband, oppreſſed at laſt with agonizing Grief, fell fainting on his Body, and continued ſo long in that State of Inſenſibility, that the two Friars and Pietro, who were buſied in giving her all the Aſſiſtance they were able, thought ſhe was dead: Re⯑covering however to a painful Senſe of Woe, ſhe wildly wrung her Hands, tore off her Hair, and bathed the lifeleſs Body with her Tears; then claſping him to her throbbing Boſom— "Oh thou loved Center of all my Wiſhes, ſaid ſhe, my dear, my only Lord, once the ſole Bliſs of my Life, now, ah! now my on⯑ly Miſery!—How art thou cut off in the Spring of Youth, and early Bloom of Beau⯑ty!—Thou, at a Time when all are fondeſt of Life, haſt willingly ſhortened thy Courſe; and me, me, the unhappy Cauſe!—Yes, my deareſt Lord, thou didſt come to finiſh thy Days in the Arms of her, who, in Life, thou hadſt loved moſt, and who loved thee above all earthly Things—Hither thou didſt come to breathe thy laſt Sighs, and to be interred near me; not ſuſpecting theſe bitter Tears would have bewailed thee dead—Where art thou now, my Love?—Art thou not ſtill with me?—I know thou art—Thou can'ſt not ſtay in a Place where I am not—Thy dear Spirit ſtill wanders about me—I ſee—I hear thee—Thou wondereſt at my long Stay—Fear not, my deareſt Lord, but I will follow thee: The [87] moſt painful Death that could be inflicted on me would not equal the Torments of living without thee—I come then, I come, my only Love—Stay one Moment for me; that my freed Soul may mount with thine, and be with thee for ever."

The two Friars and Pietro, wholly ſubdued by Grief, wept exceſſively at this diſmal Scene; yet they uſed their utmoſt Endeavours to comfort her, but all in vain.

"My Daughter, ſaid Father Lorenzo, what is done cannot now be undone: If Tears could recal thy Romeo to Life, ours ſhould flow as faſt as thine; but there is no Remedy for what is paſt; comfort thyſelf then and re⯑ſolve to live; and if thou art not willing to return to thy Father's Houſe, I will place thee in a holy Monaſtery, where thou may'ſt ſpend the Remainder of thy Life in ſerving God, and praying for the Soul of Romeo."

Julietta, whoſe Thoughts were wholly ſwallowed up in the blackeſt Deſpair, heard with gloomy Silence all the Friar had been ſaying, and, obſtinately bent on Death, col⯑lecting her whole Force of Grief, and vio⯑lently reſtraining all the Powers of Life, ſhe expired, holding her Romeo faſt locked in her Arms.

While the two Friars and Pietro were endeavouring to recover her, ſome Soldiers paſſing that way by Chance, alarmed by the Light they ſaw in the Monument, ran haſtily thither; being informed of what had happened to the unfortunate Lovers, they left the Friars under a good Guard, and took Pietro [88] along with them to the Prince, to whom he minutely related their whole Hiſtory.

The Morn being now come, the whole Ci⯑ty was filled with Grief and Conſternation at this melancholy Adventure; the People ran in Crouds to the Monument of the Capelletti; and the Prince being reſolved that one Grave ſhould hold the faithful Lovers, their Funeral Obſequies were performed with great Pomp by the two diſtreſſed Families of the Montecchi and Capelletti, between whom there was after⯑wards a tranſient Peace. The Friar and Pie⯑tro were pardoned, and the Father of Romeo, in every Particular, fulfilled the dying Re⯑queſts of his beloved Son.

OBSERVATIONS on the Uſe Shakeſpear has made of the foregoing Novel in his Tragedy of Romeo and Juliet.

ON the Incidents in the foregoing Novel, Shakeſpear has formed the Fable of his Ro⯑meo and Juliet, one of the moſt regular of all his Tragedies. How cloſely he has followed the Story may be partly ſeen by this Tranſlation, which is literal from the Original Italian of Bandello; yet I think it will not be difficult to prove, or at leaſt to make it appear highly pro⯑bable, that he never ſaw, and did not underſtand the Original, but copied from a French Tran⯑ſlation extant in his Time; or, what is equally probable, from an Engliſh Tranſlation of that French one, both very bad, in ſome Places rather paraphraſed than tranſlated; in others, the Author's Senſe abſolutety miſtaken, many Circumſtances injudiciouſly added, and many more altered for the worſe, or wholly omitted. The Story of Romeo and Juliet may be found tranſlated in a Book, entituled, Hiſtoires Tra⯑giques extraictes des Oeuvres de Bandel, printed in Paris, in the Year 1571, ſeven Years after Shakeſpear was born. A literal Tranſlation of [90] this Story, from the French, is in the ſecond Tome of the Palace of Pleaſure, printed at London in the Year 1567, which is a Col⯑lection of Novels, tranſlated into Engliſh by William Painter, from ſeveral Greek, Latin, Spaniſh and Italian Authors (as the Title Page ſays) but ſome of them are taken from Tranſlations of thoſe Authors into French, of which Romeo and Juliet is one.

Had Shakeſpear ever ſeen the original Novel in Bandello, he would have been ſenſible that the Tranſlation of it is extremely bad: That he did not ſee it, muſt be owing to nothing elſe than his not underſtanding Italian; for can it be ſuppoſed, that having reſolved to write a Tragedy upon the Subject of an Itali⯑an Story, he would rather chuſe to copy from a bad Tranſlation of that Story, than follow the Original.

This Suppoſition would be as abſurd as to imagine a Man would ſlake his Thirſt with the muddy Waters of a polluted Stream, when the clear Spring, from whence it iſſues, is with⯑in his Reach. That Shakeſpear conſulted the Tranſlator, appears from his having followed him in all the Alterations he has made in the Original; ſome few of which I ſhall take no⯑tice of, and ſhew that in ſome Places he has not only taken Circumſtances from the Tranſ⯑lator, but alſo made Uſe of his Thoughts and Expreſſions.

In Bandello the Lovers paſs the Night af⯑ter their Nuptials in the Garden; the Tranſ⯑lator makes Romeo aſcend the Chamber of [91] Julietta, in which he is followed by Shake⯑ſpear.

The Tranſlation makes them both com⯑plain of the Tediouſneſs of the Day, wiſh the Sun to haſten his Courſe, or that they were able to add Wings to his Speed; Bandello is ſilent upon the Subject, but Shakeſpear puts al⯑moſt the ſame Words in the Mouth of Ju⯑liet.

The Tranſlator makes Juliet, upon hearing that her Couſin is ſlain by Romeo, break into Complaints and Reproaches againſt her Huſ⯑band, and after ſhe has for ſome Time given a Looſe to her Reſentment, her returning Ten⯑derneſs for Romeo forces her to repent of the injurious Words which, in the firſt Emotions of her Grief and Rage, ſhe had uttered againſt him; ſhe condemns herſelf for her too haſty Cenſure, and begs Pardon of the abſent Romeo for her unkind Reproaches.

There is not the leaſt Foundation for all this in the Original. Bandello every where ſhews Juliet ſo much engroſſed by her extreme Paſſion for Romeo, that all other Affections, all Tyes of Conſanguinity, all filial Duty and Obedience is ſwallowed up in the Immenſity of her Love; and therefore when the News of Tibbald's Death and Romeo's Baniſhment is brought to her at the ſame Time, ſhe does not weep for the Death of her Couſin, but for the Baniſhment of her Huſband. Shakeſpear has indeed the ſame Thought: Juliet being told by her Nurſe, that her Parents were weeping over the dead Body of Tibbald, replies,

Her ſuperior Affection for Romeo is alſo painted by Shakeſpear in that Speech wherein ſhe laments his Baniſhment, and acknowledges it is a greater Misfortune to her than the Death of all her Relations would be; but both theſe Circumſtances the Tranſlator has in common with Bandello: He differs from him in making Juliet complain of her Huſband's Cruelty in killing her Couſin, and Shakeſpear has exactly followed that Hint.

When the Father of Juliet is informed of his Daughter's Sorrow for having offended him in refuſing Count Paris for her Huſband, Shakeſpear makes him praiſe the good Friar, by whom he ſuppoſes all this Alteration was brought about, in almoſt the ſame Words of the Tranſlator.

This is not the firſt Benefit we have receiv⯑ed from this holy Man, to whom every Citi⯑zen in this Commonwealth is dearly bound."

But in Bandello the Mother of Juliet only ſays, "That in Gratitude for the Friar's ſucceſsful Admonitions they ought to make a [93] Preſent to his Monaſtery, which was very poor."

In Bandello, the Friar, who is ſent with the Letters to Romeo, is detained at a Monaſtery in Mantua: The Tranſlator makes him be ſtopped at his own Convent in Verona; which laſt is followed by Shakeſpear.

There is no Mention made in the Original of the Apothecary, of whom Romeo buys the Poiſon; there we are only told that he had mortal Drugs in his Poſſeſſion, which was given him by a Spoletto Mountebank in Mantua, long before.

The Tranſlator makes him walk through the Streets in Mantua in order to find a Perſon that would ſell him ſuch a Compoſition, and accordingly he goes into the Shop of an Apo⯑thecary, whoſe Poverty is obſervable from the miſerable Furniture of it; and he for a Bribe of fifty Ducats furniſhes him with a ſtrong Poiſon.

Shakeſpear has not only copied this Circum⯑ſtance from the Tranſlator, but alſo borrowed ſome Hints from him in his celebrated Deſcrip⯑tion of the miſerable Shop.

Theſe few Inſtances are ſufficient to prove that Shakeſpear took the Incidents on which he has founded his Tragedy of Romeo and Ju⯑liet from the Tranſlation; and conſequently that he did not peruſe, becauſe he did not un⯑derſtand, the original Italian.

His Management of the Tomb Scene, and the Death of the two Lovers, is entirely co⯑pied from the Tranſlator, who differs greatly from the Original in thoſe Circumſtances. [94] The plain and ſimple Narration of that melan⯑choly Event in Bandello is more natural, more pathetic, and fitter to excite the Paſſions of Pity and Terror, than the Cataſtrophe of the Tragedy, as managed by Shakeſpear, who has kept cloſe by the Tranſlator.

In Bandello, when Pietro informs his Maſter of Juliet's Death, Aſtoniſhment and Grief for ſome Moments deprive him of Speech; reco⯑vering a little, he breaks into Complaints and Self-Reproaches; then, wild with Deſpair, he flies to his Sword, and endeavours to kill him⯑ſelf, but being prevented by his Servant, he ſinks into an Exceſs of ſilent Sorrow, and, while he weeps, calmly deliberates on the Means, he ſhould uſe to die in the Monument with Juliet.

The Tranſlator makes Romeo, upon receive⯑ing the fatal News, reſolve immediately to poiſon himſelf; and for that Purpoſe Romeo diſſembles his Affliction, and tells his Servant he will go and walk about the Streets of Man⯑tua to divert himſelf; but his real Deſign is to procure ſome Poiſon, which having purchaſed of a poor Apothecary, he goes immediately to Verona.

Shakeſpear has here copied the Tranſlator exactly, and makes Romeo in the Midſt of his Affliction for the Death of his Wife, and while the horrible Deſign of killing himſelf was forming in his Mind, give a ludicrous Detail of the miſerable Furniture of a poor Apothecary's Shop; a Deſcription, however beautiful in itſelf, is here ſo ill timed, and ſo inconſiſtent with the Condition and Circum⯑ſtances [95] of the Speaker, that we cannot help being ſhocked at the Abſurdity, though we admire the Beauty of the Imagination.

There appears ſo much Contrivance and Method in Romeo's Deſign of buying Poiſon, and going to Verona to drink it in the Monu⯑ment of his Wife, that he might expire near her, that we can hardly ſuppoſe it to be the ſpontaneous Effect of a ſudden and furious Tranſport of Grief. In the Original therefore we ſee him not taking this Reſolution till the firſt violent Sallies of his Sorrow are abated; till after, in a ſudden Tranſport of Deſpair, he had ineffectually endeavoured to fall upon his Sword; but while he forms that fatally re⯑gulated Deſign, he is diſſolved in Tears, and plunged in a calm and ſilent Exceſs of Sor⯑row.

The French Tranſlator makes Romeo, when he breaks open the Monument where Juliet lies, command his Servant to be gone and leave him alone, fiercely menacing him with Death if he diſobeys.

Shakeſpoar does more than imitate him here; for in the Play Romeo injudiciouſly adds a Rea⯑ſon for that Command; which ſo far from forcing Obedience, ought rather to have pre⯑vented it.

Yet Romeo, a few Lines above in the ſame Speech, condeſcends to diſſemble with his [96] Servant as to the Cauſe of his going into the Monument.

To paſs by the Abſurdity of thoſe Contra⯑dictions, let us only compare this wild and in⯑conſiſtent Behaviour of Romeo in the Tranſla⯑tion and the Play, with the calm, ſedate, yet fixed Deſpair of Romeo in the Original.

As ſoon as he has determined upon the Manner of his Death, he writes an affecting Letter to his Father, in which he relates the Hiſtory of his Love and Marriage with Juliet⯑ta; entreats his Pardon for diſpoſing of him⯑ſelf without conſulting him; provides hand⯑ſomely for all his Servants, particularly his Confident, Pietro; and earneſtly entreats that he may be interred in the Monument with Juliet, where he goes to die.

This done, taking the Letter and Poiſon with him, he goes to Verona, opens the Mo⯑nument by the Help of Pietro, and deſiring him to watch in the Church-yard leſt any Perſon ſhould ſurprize him, he deſcends into the Vault; there, after tenderly gazing on his Wife, and giving ſome Moments to the Tears and Complaints which that ſad Object drew from him, he drinks off the Poiſon; then aſcending a few Steps, and leaning on the Side [97] of the Monument, he calls his Servant; tells him what he had done; gives him the Letter to his Father; aſſures him he will be well pro⯑vided for, at his dying Requeſt; then taking Leave of him, deſcends again into the Vault, and claſping the Body of his Wife in his Arms, calls out to Pietro to cloſe the Monu⯑ment upon him, and leave him to expire.

There is ſomething extremely affecting in this determined, yet calm, and (if the Ex⯑preſſion may be permitted) gentle Deſpair of Romeo, in the Original: His deſiring to have the Monument cloſed upon him, while he is yet alive, that he may expire in the Arms of his beloved Juliet, is alſo beautifully pathetic, and conſiſtent with that violent Paſſion he had for her when living.

Romeo, in the French and Engliſh Tranſla⯑ſlations, dies before Juliet awakes, and the Friar and Peter enters the Monument the ſame Moment that he expires; then Juliet awaking, they preſs her to leave the Monument, but ſhe refuſing, and they both being alarmed at the Approach of ſome Soldiers, cowardly run away, and Juliet, left alone, ſtabs herſelf with a Dag⯑ger.

Shakeſpear has copied all theſe Circumſtan⯑ces from the Tranſlator. Romeo dies in the Play before Juliet awakes; the Friar fearing to be diſcovered by the Watch, as he calls it, but there is no ſuch Eſtabliſhment in any of the Cities of Italy, preſſes her to leave the Monument; ſhe refuſes; he runs away; and ſhe ſtabs herſelf with Romeo's Dagger.

In Bandello, while the dying Huſband is holding her lifeleſs Body, as he ſuppoſes, in his [98] Arms, and ſhedding his laſt Tears for her Death, ſhe awakes; ſhe opens her Eyes, gazes on him, and entreats him to carry her out of the Monument.

Romeo is for ſome Moments loſt in a Tran⯑ſport of Surprize and Joy to ſee her alive, but reflecting that he is poiſoned, that he muſt ſhortly die and leave her, his Agonies return with double Force: How pathetically does he complain of his miſerable Deſtiny! With what tender Extaſy does he congratulate her Return to Life! With what affecting Sorrow lament his approaching Death, which muſt tear him from her! nor is the Aſtoniſhment, the Grief, and wild Deſpair of the wretched Juliet leſs beautifully imagined.

The Speech of Romeo to the dead Body of Tibbald is very moving, and expreſſive of the Gentleneſs and Candour of his Diſpoſition: His ſinking from the Arms of his Wife when the Poiſon begins to exert all its Force; his falling extended at her Feet; gazing on her with a Look that ſeemed at once to give and aſk Compaſſion; and gaſping out "Alas! my Love, I die," is pathetic to the laſt De⯑gree.

The Friar the ſame Moment arrives at the Monument; Juliet hearing his Voice, paſſion⯑ately upbraids him with not ſending to Romeo; he juſtifies himſelf; deſcends into the Vault, and beholding Romeo extended almoſt lifeleſs on the Earth, breaks into an Exclamation of Sur⯑prize and Grief. Romeo then opening his Eyes for the laſt Time, recommends Juliet to [99] his Care, and aſking Pardon of Heaven for his Offence, expires.

The tender Expoſtulations of the Friar with Juliet after Romeo dies; her gloomy Silence; her fixed Deſpair; and laſtly, her Death, oc⯑caſioned by the Violence of her ſtifled Grief, are Circumſtances truly tragical, and wrought up with all the Force of a poetic Imagi⯑nation.

Had Shakeſpear ever ſeen the Italian Author, theſe ſtriking Beauties would not have eſcaped him; and, if by copying the Tranſlation only, he has given us a very affecting Tragedy, what might we not have expected, had he drawn his Hints from the beautiful Original.

How little Shakeſpear owed to his own In⯑vention in his Tragedy of Romeo and Juliet, may be ſeen by comparing that Play with the foregoing Novel: What Variations he has made, he was led into by copying from the French Tranſlation, or perhaps from the En⯑gliſh one, in the Palace of Pleaſure, which is literal from the French; and ſince it is pretty clear he did not underſtand the Italian, it is probable he took many more of his Plots from that Book, in which a great Number of the Italian Novels are tranſlated; ſome from French Tranſlations; as Romeo and Juliet, and others from the original Authors.

There is not one Incident of Shakeſpear's Invention in his Play of Romeo and Juliet, ex⯑cept the Death of Paris by Romeo: This Character might have been very well ſpared in the Drama; his Appearance is of little Uſe, and his Death of ſtill leſs, except to divert [100] our Compaſſion from the two principal Perſons in the Play, whoſe Deaths make up the Ca⯑taſtrophe of the Tragedy.

Paris ſeems only introduced to fall by the Hands of Romeo; and why muſt our Com⯑paſſion of the unfortunate Romeo be ſuſpended by the undeſerved Fate of Paris? What Ne⯑ceſſity is there for making Romeo, who is all along repreſented as an amiable and virtuous Character, imbrue his Hands in the Blood of an innocent Youth, (whoſe Death is of no Conſequence) juſt before he expires?

This Incident, however, is the only one of the Poet's Invention throughout the Play: The Fable and all the Characters, except Mer⯑cutio were formed to his Hands.

Mr. Pope, in his Preface to his Edition of Shakeſpear's Plays, tells us, that "Shakeſpear's Characters are Nature herſelf; and that it is a Sort of Injury to call them by ſo diſtant a Name as Copies of her."

It is certain, that all the Characters in Ro⯑meo, excepting, as I ſaid before, Mercutio's, are exact Copies of thoſe in the Noveliſt; and ſince he copied them from the Tranſlator, and not the Original, in this Inſtance Mr. Pope's Obſervation of other Authors, may be applied to Shakeſpear, that "His Picture, like a mock Rainbow, is but a Reflexion of a Re⯑flexion."

The ſeventh Novel of the third De⯑cad of the Hecatomythi of Giraldi Cinthio.

IN Venice there was a Moor, who for his extraordinary. Valour, and the many Proofs he had given of his conſummate Pru⯑dence and ſuperior Genius for War, was extremely dear to that Republic, which, more than any other, delighted in rewarding great and virtuous Ac⯑tions.

A Venetian Lady of wonderful Beauty, named Diſdemona, not ſubdued by the irregu⯑lar Sallies of a female Appetite, but ſtruck with the great Qualities and noble Virtues of the Moor, became violently enamoured of him; and he, no leſs charmed with the Greatneſs of her Mind, than with the extreme Beauty of her Perſon, burnt in the moſt ardent Flames for her.

Fortune ſo far favoured their mutual Paſ⯑ſion, that, notwithſtanding the united Endea⯑vours [102] of all the Lady's Kindred to prevent it, they found Means to get their Marriage ſo⯑lemnized; and during their Abode in Venice they lived together in the greateſt Harmony and Tranquility imaginable.

It happened, that the Senate of Venice re⯑called their Forces which were at Cyprus, and gave the Command of thoſe which were to be ſent thither in their ſtead to the Moor.

This Dignity was never conferred upon any but Perſons of unqueſtionable Courage and Fidelity.

The Moor therefore, conſidering this Com⯑mand as a Reward for that Valour he had ſhewn in the Service of the Republic, received it with great Joy; but when he reflected on the Length and Danger of the Voyage, the Neceſſity there ſeemed of leaving Diſdemona behind him filled him with inconceivable Con⯑cern.

Diſdemona, whoſe Felicity wholly centered in the Moor, was tranſported to find the Se⯑nate, by the public Dignity they beſtowed on him, had given a Sanction to her Choice; and having reſolved to accompany her Huſband in ſo honourable an Expedition, waited for the Time of their Departure with the utmoſt Im⯑patience.

The ſecret Grief which prey'd on the Heart of the Moor, beginning, as the Time of parting approached nearer, to ſpread a Gloom on his Countenance, and give an Air of Reſtraint to his Behaviour; Diſdemona, ex⯑tremely alarmed, entreated him to tell her the Cauſe of that Change ſhe obſerved in him: [103] "What is the Reaſon, ſaid ſhe, that I ſee you melancholy and dejected at a Time when the Honours you have received from the Senate give you moſt Reaſon to rejoice?"

"The Exceſs of my Love for you, replied the Moor, ſighing, prevents me from enjoying thoſe Honours as I ought; ſince they force me to the ſad Neceſſity of ſuffering one or other of two Things, both equally inſupportable; for either I muſt expoſe you to the Dangers of the Sea, by taking you with me to Cyprus, or elſe leave you behind me at Venice: The firſt can⯑not but be a moſt heavy Misfortune to me, ſince every Fatigue you will ſuffer, every Danger you are expoſed to, will bring me the extremeſt Affliction; and as for the ſecond, parting with you is more terrible than parting with my Life."

"Ah! my deareſt Huſband, ſaid Diſdemona, what Thoughts are theſe which you have ſuf⯑fered to afflict you? Did you imagine I would conſent to a Separation from you? How could you wrong my Love ſo much? That Love, which, to be with you, would impel me to paſs even through Flames; well may I then reſolve to accompany you to Sea, in a ſecure and well mann'd Ship: If there are Dangers and Fatigues to be endured, you ſhall not en⯑dure them alone: I will ſhare your Fortune whatever it be, and nothing but Death ſhall di⯑vide me from you."

The Moor, in a Tranſport of grateful Tenderneſs, throwing his Arms round her Neck, and preſſing her to his Boſom, cried out, "Heaven long preſerve you, my moſt dear, [104] my lovely Wife, in theſe affectionate Senti⯑ments for me."

Some little Time after, the neceſſary Pre⯑parations for their Voyage being ready, the Moor, with Diſdemona and their Attendants, entered a Galley, and ſet ſail for Cyprus; whi⯑ther, after, a pleaſant and eaſy Voyage, they arrived, together with all the Forces under the Moor's Command.

Among the Officers in theſe Troops was a Lieutenant, very dear to the Moor: Nature had given him a moſt beautiful and graceful Perſon, but a Mind replete with all Manner of Wickedneſs; however, he knew ſo well how to conceal his vicious Inclinations under an ap⯑parent generous and noble Behaviour, that his Hypocriſy, aſſiſted by the Speciouſneſs of his Form, procured him the Eſteem and Friend-of all his Companions.

The Moor, who had conceived a particular Friendſhip for him, took great Pleaſure in his Converſation, and invited him frequently to his Houſe, and Diſdemona, fond of every Oc⯑caſion of gratifying the Humour of her Huſ⯑band, treated him with equal Civility.

The Lieutenant had married a young Wo⯑man at Venice, whom he brought with him to Cyprus; Diſdemona, fond of this Woman, becauſe ſhe was an Italian, and alſo an agree⯑able Companion, went often to her Houſe, and paſſed great Part of the Day with her.

The villainous Lieutenant having, by theſe Means, frequent Opportunities of ſeeing Diſ⯑demona, became violently enamoured of her; and neither reſtrained by the Fidelity he owed [105] his Wife, or the Reſpect and Gratitude due to his Friend and Commander, reſolved to uſe his utmoſt Endeavours to gratify his infamous Paſſion.

Well knowing that Death would be the Conſequence of his preſumptuous Attempt if it came to the Knowledge of the Moor, he durſt not diſcover his Flame to Diſdemona any other Way than by Sighs and paſſionate Glances, hoping in Time to inſpire her with Deſires like his own.

But the Lady, whoſe Thoughts were wholly engroſſed by the Moor, took ſo little Notice of thoſe ſilent Addreſſes, that her Indifference perſuading him ſome other Lover poſſeſſed her Heart, Rage, Jealouſy and Deſpair produced the Effects of the moſt violent Hatred, and he reſolved to be revenged both on her and the Lover ſhe favoured.

A young Gentleman, who was Captain of a Troop at Cyprus, and greatly beloved by the Moor, was ſuſpected by the Lieutenant to be the happy Rival who enjoyed the Affections of Diſdemona; his Death therefore he deter⯑mined to procure; and by accuſing the Lady to the Moor of Adultery, prevent any other from poſſeſſing her, ſince he could not.

His Deſign thus laid, he waited only for ſome favourable Opportunity to put it in Exe⯑cution; the Moor's paſſionate Affection for his Wife, and the great Affection which ſubſiſted between him and the young Captain, making the Villain apprehend his Enterprize would be very hazardous and doubtful.

[106]Fortune however aſſiſted his wicked Inten⯑tions, and when he leaſt expected it afforded him the Means of effecting them.

The Captain happening indiſcreetly to draw his Sword upon a Soldier and wounding him, the Moor was ſo much offended that he de⯑prived him of his Command.

Deſdemona, who only regarded this young Gentleman becauſe he was beloved of her Huſband, was greatly concerned that he had fallen under his Diſpleaſure, and often ſolici⯑ted for his Pardon.

"I am ſo preſſed, ſaid the Moor one Day to the Lieutenant, with my Wife's Entreaties in Favour of the Captain, that I believe I muſt comply with her Deſire, and pardon him."

"She has Reaſon, ſaid the Villain, ſeizing this Occaſion to execute his Scheme, that ſhe may ſee him as uſual."

"What is it you ſay?" replied the Moor haſtily.

"Do not inſiſt upon my ſpeaking plainer, reſumed the Lieutenant: Far be it from me to ſow the Seeds of Diſcord between Man and Wife; yet methinks if you would open your Eyes, ſome Things would not eſcape your Obſervation."

The Moor, rouzed to Attention by theſe Words, and greatly diſturbed at the latent Meaning of them, earneſtly entreated the Lieutenant to explain himſelf more clearly; but the artful Villain abſolutely refuſed; and though the Moor uſed his utmoſt Endeavours to perſuade him to give him the Satisfaction he deſired, yet he perſiſted in an obſtinate De⯑nial: [107] Nevertheleſs, the Hints he had thrown out fixed a thouſand Stings in the Breaſt of the wretched Huſband; he ruminated Night and Day on the Purport of thoſe fatal Words, and the more he reflected on them, the more his Diſquiet encreaſed.

Diſdemona, ignorant of the Cauſe of his Melancholy, did not neglect to ſolicit ſtill for the Captain;—"Why, ſaid ſhe to him one Day, will you ſuffer a ſmall Fault to cancel the Friendſhip which has ſubſiſted ſo many Years between the Captain and you? Muſt all his Services and long-experienced Fidelity be wholly forgot for the Sake of one inconſide⯑rate Action? The Soldier he wounded is no longer at Enmity with him; they are recon⯑ciled; and why ſhould you continue inexo⯑rable?"

The Moor, no longer able to ſuppreſs the Emotions with which his Heart had been long agitated, replied in a Rage.

"It is ſtrange, Diſdemona, it is very ſtrange, that you ſhould be ſo extremely concerned about this Man; if he was your Brother, or ſome other Relation, his Intereſts could not be dearer to you."

The Lady anſwered in a ſoft and humble Accent: "Heaven forbid, my Lord, that I ſhould incur your Diſpleaſure by ſoliciting for the Captain's Pardon, to which nothing has in⯑duced me but the Concern I am under to ſee you deprived of ſo good a Friend; a Friend whoſe Fidelity you have ſo often praiſed to me; the Fault he has committed is not great enough to merit your Hatred; but you Moors are by [108] Nature ſo furious, that every little Thing moves you to Anger, and a Deſire of Revenge."

"And that, anſwered the Moor (exceſſively enraged at her Words) ome Perſons, who little think of it, ſhall prove; yes, they ſhall ſee me take a ſevere Vengeance for the Injuries I have ſuffered; and then, and not till then, ſhall I be ſatisfied."

Diſdemona, full of Fear and Wonder at theſe ungentle Words, and unaccuſtomed Rage of her Huſband, trembling and pale, re⯑plied, "Although my only Inducement to plead for the Captain was the Conſideration of your Eaſe and Satisfaction, yet ſince my Solicitations are diſpleaſing to you, I will ne⯑ver more ſpeak to you on this Subject."

To this humble and ſubmiſſive Anſwer the Moor made no Reply; but comparing his Wife's earneſt Entreaties for the Captain with the Lieutenant's Inſinuations, a thouſand black Suſpicions roſe in his Mind, tortured with Doubts of her Fidelity, and wiſhing, yet dreading, to be freed from his diſtracting Suſ⯑pence.

He quitted her with a gloomy Silence, and ſending for the Lieutenant, renewed his En⯑treaties, that he would ſpeak more openly con⯑cerning his Wife and the Captain.

The Villain, who had reſolved to effect the Ruin of theſe two Innocents, after long reſiſt⯑ing the Moor's Solicitations, as if unwilling to give him Pain, feigning at laſt to be overcome by his repeated Prayers, ſaid, "I cannot deny, my Lord, but that my extreme Reluctance to give you Uneaſineſs has prevented me thus [109] long from telling you what muſt afflict you more than any other; but ſince you command me to ſpeak plain, the Regard I have for your Honour as my Friend, and the Duty I owe you as my General, will not permit me to diſobey you: Know then, that your black Colour is become diſtaſteful to your Wife; ſhe is paſſionately in love with the Captain, and her Impatience at finding herſelf deprived of the Pleaſure ſhe took in his Company, is the Cauſe of her continual Solicitations for his Pardon, that ſhe may converſe with him as uſual."

Theſe Words gave mortal Agonies to the Soul of the wretched Moor; and though he was but too well convinced of the Truth of them, yet, diſſembling his Conviction in or⯑der to try him further, "I know not, ſaid he, with a furious Countenance, why thou haſt dared to load my Wife with theſe infamous Aſperſions?"

"This Rage, replied the Lieutenant, is the Reward I expected for my friendly Infor⯑mation; but ſince my Duty, and the Deſire of preſerving your Honour, has carried me this Length, I will not now go back: What I have told you is but too certain; and if your Wife, with a counterfeited Tenderneſs, has ſo blinded your Eyes, that you will not ſee your Diſhonour, there is no Reaſon why I ſhould not declare the Truth to you: The Captain himſelf has owned to me the Favours he has received from her; not ſatisfied with poſſeſſing her in Secret, he muſt have a Con⯑fident in his Happineſs; but had I not been [110] afraid of your Reſentment, I would that Mo⯑ment have rewarded his preſumptuous Confeſ⯑ſion with the Death he merited."

The Moor, racked with unutterable Pangs, cried out, "Give me the Means of ſeeing with my own Eyes the Truth of what you have ſaid, or elſe be ſure I will make thee wiſh thou hadſt been dumb."

"It would have been eaſy to do this, re⯑plied the Villain, while the Captain and you continued in Friendſhip, and he had free Ac⯑ceſs to Diſdemona; but now that you have puniſhed him for a ſlight Fault, inſtead of taking Vengeance for an irreparable Injury, it will be difficult to ſatisfy you; but though I am perſuaded that he enjoys Diſdemona, whenever you give him an Opportunity, yet, it is cer⯑tain, ſince he is in Diſgrace with you, he is obliged to act more cautiouſly than before, when, through your Friendſhip for him, he came to your Houſe every Day; however, added he, taking Leave of him, I do not deſ⯑pair of being able ſoon to give you an Oppor⯑tunity of ſeeing what you will not believe without it."

The unhappy Moor then returned to his Houſe, carrying a poiſoned Arrow in his Breaſt, and impatiently waited for the Day in which the Lieutenant was to prove the Truth of what he had told him, and confirm him in eternal Miſery.

Nor was the Villain himſelf wholly at eaſe, when reflecting on the known Chaſtity of Diſdemona, he was ſenſible he could not give [111] the Moor ſuch a convincing Proof of her Diſ⯑loyalty as he demanded.

After long deliberating with himſelf on the Methods by which he might beſt execute the horrid Scheme he had begun, he at laſt thought upon a Stratagem which ſeemed to promiſe Succeſs.

Deſdemona, as has been already ſaid, went often to viſit the Lieutenant's Wife; the Vil⯑lain, when ſhe was one Day at his Houſe, obſerved a Handkerchief at her Girdle, finely wrought in Moreſco Work, which, becauſe it was preſented her by the Moor when he mar⯑ried her, ſhe had a particular Value for it; it being alſo highly prized by the Moor himſelf: This Handkerchief the Lieutenant determined to ſteal, and with it accompliſh her abſolute Ruin.

Diſdemona being extremely fond of a little Child of his, about three Years of Age, he took her in his Arms and carried her to the Lady, who receiving her from him, kiſſed her ſeveral Times, and preſſed her cloſe to her Breaſt.

The Villain, in the mean while, drew her Handkerchief gently from her Girdle, and concealing it in his Pocket, went away tranſ⯑ported with Joy at his good Succeſs.

Diſdemona, wholly ignorant of her Loſs, returned to her Houſe, and did not miſs her Handkerchief till ſome Time after, when hap⯑pening to have Occaſion for it, and not being able, after diligent Search, to find it, ſhe con⯑cluded it loſt; and remained extremely terri⯑fied [112] leſt the Moor ſhould aſk for it, as he often did.

The Lieutenant, who had all this while been watching for an Opportunity to diſpoſe of it where it might produce the Miſchief he had projected, found Means at laſt to leave it on the Captain's Bed, whom he viſited one Morning before he was up for that Purpoſe.

The Captain riſing ſoon after he went away, the Handkerchief fell upon the Floor, and he finding ſomething under his Feet, ſtooped to take it up, and ſeeing the Handkerchief, knew it to be Diſdemona's, but was not able to ima⯑gine how it came there; reſolving however to return it to her, he put it in his Pocket, and going out, was informed that the Moor was not at home; taking this Opportunity therefore to deliver it, he went to a back Door, and knocked ſoftly; Fortune, as it ſhould ſeem, conſpiring with the cruel Lieutenant to ruin the innocent Diſdemona, brought the Moor back juſt in that Moment, who, hearing ſome⯑body knock in that cautious Manner, full of tormenting Diſtruſt, he ran to a Window, and opening it, enquired in a ſurly Accent, who was there?

The Captain, hearing the Moor's Voice, and fearing that he intended to do him a Miſ⯑chief, ran away without ſpeaking a Word.

The Moor ran eagerly down Stairs, and ruſhed into the Street to ſeek him, but he was already out of Sight; then returning full of Rage and Grief, he went to his Wife's Apart⯑ment, and aſked her if ſhe knew who it was that had knocked below?

[113]The Lady replied, "that ſhe could not tell who it was;" which indeed was true.

"I think, ſaid the Moor, it ſeemed to be the Captain."

"I know not, replied Diſdemona, whether it was him or any other."

The Moor ſuppoſing ſhe did not anſwer him truly, with Difficulty reſtrained his Rage from breaking into Reproaches and Menaces; but reſolving to act nothing againſt her till he had conſulted his wicked Confidant; and to prevent her diſcovering his Diſorder, left her ſuddenly, and went to the Lieutenant, to whom he related what had happened, en⯑treating him to go to the Captain and endea⯑vour to make ſome more Diſcoveries.

The Villain, ſecretly exulting at this Acci⯑dent, promiſed him to do as he required; and placing the Moor, where unſeen himſelf, he might ſee them together, though not hear their Diſcourſe, he artfully contrived to bring the Captain near the Place, and began to talk with him on indifferent Things, uſing at the ſame Time ſuch Geſtures with his Head and Hands, as perſuaded the Moor they were talk⯑ing about Diſdemona, and making a Jeſt of his Diſhonour and her Incontinence.

When they parted, the Moor eagerly quitted his Concealment, and came to the Lieutenant to know what they had been ſaying.

The ſubtle Villain, ſuffering himſelf to be long entreated before he would diſcover what he had heard, at length confeſſed, that the Captain told him, "he had often enjoyed Diſ⯑demona, when, by his being abroad, they had [114] an Opportunity to meet; and added, that the Captain had told him alſo, that the laſt Time he was with Diſdemona, ſhe gave him that Handkerchief which he had preſented her the Day of their Marriage."

The Moor thanked the Lieutenant for this Intelligence, and told him, "that he would aſk Diſdemona for that Handkerchief, and if ſhe could not produce it, he ſhould be con⯑vinced all that he had told him concerning her Infidelity was true."

Accordingly, one Day after Dinner, diſ⯑courſing freely with Diſdemona on indifferent Things, he took Occaſion to ſpeak of the Handkerchief, and aſked to ſee it.

The Lady, who had long dreaded this De⯑mand, bluſhed exceſſively, and thinking to conceal her Confuſion, which was well ob⯑ſerved by the Moor, roſe and pretended to ſeek for it; and after ſhe had employed herſelf in this Manner ſome time, "I cannot find it, ſaid ſhe (returning to her Huſband) perhaps you have it yourſelf."

"Is it probable, replied he, that I would deſire you to give it me if I had it in my Poſ⯑ſeſſion; however, look for it no more at pre⯑ſent; you will find it perhaps ſome other Time."

Then leaving the Room, he began to con⯑ſider in what Manner he ſhould murder his Wife and the Captain without bringing on himſelf the Suſpicion of being the Author of their Deaths.

Theſe gloomy Thoughts employing him Night and Day, Diſdemona, who perceived [115] his Behaviour to her much altered, often en⯑deavoured to diſcover the Cauſe.

"What ails you, my Lord, ſaid ſhe to him many Times? Why do I behold you always diſturbed and uneaſy? You who uſed to be the gayeſt Man in the World, are now become the moſt peeviſh and melancholy."

The Moor, continuing to diſſemble his Re⯑ſentment, returned her evaſive Anſwers, with which ſhe was but ill ſatisfied; conſcious ſhe had given him no Cauſe for treating her un⯑kindly, ſhe concluded Poſſeſſion had abated his Flame, and Diſguſt had ſucceeded to his once violent Paſſion for her; full of theſe me⯑lancholy Apprehenſions, ſhe went to the Lieu⯑tenant's Houſe, in order to unburthen her Heart to his Wife, with whom ſhe lived in great Familiarity.

"Alas! ſaid ſhe, weeping, as ſoon as ſhe ſaw her, I know not what to think of my Lord; he, who was once all Love and Ten⯑derneſs towards me, is become ſo altered with⯑in theſe few Days, that I am perſuaded he no longer loves me; and I fear I ſhall prove a ſad Example to all young Ladies who preſume to marry againſt the Conſents of their Parents; and a Warning to the Italian Women never to join themſelves to Men, between whom and them Nature and Heaven have placed ſuch wide Diſtinctions.—I know, added ſhe, ſigh⯑ing, that my Lord is fond of your Huſband, and communicates to him all his Affairs; if through him then you are acquainted with the Cauſe of the Moor's unaccuſtomed Cold⯑neſs [116] to me, I entreat you to let me know it, and do not refuſe me your Aſſiſtance in this Di⯑ſtreſs?"

The Lieutenant's Wife was indeed well ac⯑quainted with the whole Affair; her Huſband having often preſſed her to join with him in his cruel Schemes againſt the innocent Diſde⯑mona; but though ſhe never would conſent to the being acceſſary to her Ruin, yet, dreading her Huſband's Reſentment if ſhe betrayed his Secret, ſhe only replied, "I adviſe you, Madam, to beware of giving the General any Suſpicions of your Fidelity, and let it be your continual Study to perſuade him of your Truth and Affection."

"All this I do, replied the weeping Diſ⯑demona, but all is in vain."

In the mean time the Moor, reſtleſs, unre⯑ſolved, and ſeeking Occaſion to be convinced of what he wiſhed not to know, entreated the Lieutenant to contrive it ſo, that he might ſee Diſdemona's Handkerchief in the Captain's Hands.

This, although the Villain thought very dif⯑ficult, yet he promiſed to perform, and watched all Opportunities of keeping his Word.

The Captain had a Woman in the Houſe who was very ſkilful in Works of Embroi⯑dery; ſhe having ſeen Diſdemona's Handker⯑chief, and underſtanding that it was to be re⯑turned to her, reſolved to work one like it.

The Lieutenant being informed of this, and one Day knowing that Woman was ſeated at a Window working, with the fatal Hand⯑kerchief before her for a Pattern, he carried the [117] Moor through the Street, who perceiving his Wife's Handkerchief in that Woman's Poſ⯑ſeſſion, had no longer any Doubt of her Infi⯑delity, and took a firm Reſolution to murder her and the no leſs injured Captain.

Conferring therefore with the Lieutenant upon the Means of executing his horrid Pur⯑poſe, he earneſtly entreated him to undertake to murder the Captain, aſſuring him that he would never forget the Obligation.

The Lieutenant excuſing himſelf from complying, as well for the Wickedneſs of the Deed, as for the great Danger in attempting it, the Captain being a very brave and coura⯑gious Man; the Moor added to his Entreaties the Preſent of a large Sum of Money, which at laſt fixed him in a Reſolution to obey him.

The Lieutenant had not waited long for an Opportunity of executing his impious Deſign, before Fortune preſented him with a very fa⯑vourable one.

The Captain coming late one Night out of the Houſe of a Courtezan, whom he kept, the Lieutenant, who was watching for him, ruſhed ſuddenly, and with one Stroke of a Scymetar cut off his Leg.

The unhappy Captain fell to the Ground, and the Lieutenant upon him, who ſought to finiſh the Murder; wounded as he was, however, he drew his Sword, and endeavoured to defend himſelf, crying out aloud for Help.

Some Soldiers who were quartered near the Place, came running to his Aſſiſtance; ſo that the Lieutenant, fearing to be diſcovered, left him and ran away; yet he did not go far, but [118] taking a little Compaſs, joined ſome other Perſons, who, drawn by the Captain's Cries, were haſtening to him, and mixing among the Crowd who were about him, he ſaw that his Leg was cut off, and did not doubt but he would die of the Wound; nevertheleſs, con⯑cealing his inward Joy at his Succeſs, under an Appearance of great Concern for the Cap⯑tain's Misfortune, he lamented it as if it had happened to his Brother.

In the Morning the News of this Accident was ſpread all over the City, and coming to the Knowledge of Diſdemona, ſhe, who was naturally tender and compaſſionate, expreſſed great Sorrow for it.

The Moor, diſtracted with Rage at this Confirmation (as he thought it) of her Af⯑fection for the Captain, went haſtily to his wicked Confidant:—"Doſt thou know, ſaid he, trembling with Fury, that my Wife is in ſuch Grief for the Captain's Misfortune, that ſhe is almoſt diſtracted?"

"How can it be otherwiſe, replied the Lieu⯑tenant, when he is her Soul."

"Her Soul, repeated the furious Moor, Ah I will tear her Soul from her Body!—I ſhould be unworthy the Name of a Man if I ſuffered ſuch a Wretch to live."

Then conſulting together how they ſhould diſpatch her, whether by Poiſon, or a Dag⯑ger, the Lieutenant pauſing, ſaid, "I have thought of a Method by which you may kill her, without giving Suſpicion to any one that you had any Hand in her Death, and this it is: The Houſe in which you live is very old, [119] and the Cieling of your Chamber has many Cracks in it; 'tis my Advice that we ſhould beat Diſdemona with a Bag of Sand till ſhe dies, that no Mark of Violence may appear on her Body; when ſhe is dead we will throw down Part of a rotten Beam from the Cieling, and having broke her Scull, pretend ſhe was killed by the Fall of the Beam as ſhe lay in Bed.

This cruel Contrivance pleaſed the Moor extremely, and having agreed to execute it the following Night, he found Means ſe⯑cretly to convey the Lieutenant into a Cloſet within the Bed-Chamber.

The unhappy Diſdemona retired at her uſual Hour to Bed, and the Moor with her; they had not lain long before the Lieutenant mak⯑ing ſome little ruſtling in the Cloſet, the Moor aſked his Wife if ſhe heard any Noiſe?

She anſwering in the affirmative, riſe then, ſaid the Moor, and ſee what it is?

The Lady got up immediately, and the Lieu⯑tenant that Moment ruſhing out of the Cloſet, gave her a furious Blow with a Bag of Sand on her Back; the wretched Diſdemona fell on the Floor almoſt breathleſs, yet faintly calling her Huſ⯑band to help her, he throwing himſelf out of the Bed, replied, infamous Woman, thou now receiveſt the Reward of thy Unchaſtity, thus ought all Adultereſſes to be treated, who deluding their Huſbands with a feigned Affec⯑tion, load them with Shame and Grief.

The wretched Lady hearing theſe Words, and feeling herſelf near her End, by another Blow which the cruel Lieutenant had given [120] her, ſighed out with a broken and interrupted Voice—Since Juſtice has been denied me in this World, Oh, let the Divine Juſtice bear Witneſs to my Innocence, and receive my Soul to Mercy.

The remorſeleſs Villain, unmoved with this pathetic Exclamation, ſtriking her a third Time with all his Force, ſhe expired immediately.

When they were convinced ſhe was dead, the Lieutenant took her off the Floor, and craſhing her Scull laid her in the Bed, then with the Moor's Aſſiſtance, broke down Part of a Beam, and placed it ſo as to give it an Ap⯑pearance of having fallen upon her Head.

The Lieutenant then went cautiouſly out of the Houſe; and the Moor with loud Cries, began to call for Help, ſaying the Houſe was tum⯑bling down; the Servants and Neighbours ran in to his Aſſiſtance, and ſome of them ap⯑proaching the Bed, found Diſdemona within it dead, and, as they ſuppoſed, murdered by the Fall of the Beam.

This piteous Spectacle drew Tears and Complaints from all who beheld it, and the next Day the Corpſe of the injured Lady was buried, amidſt the univerſal Grief of all the Inhabitants of Cyprus, to whom her Virtues had rendered her extremely dear.

The Manner of her Death not being ſuſpect⯑ed by any one, the villainous Perpetrators of it thought themſelves abſolutely ſecure, but the Almighty Juſtice would not long permit ſuch a Crime to remain unpuniſhed.

[121]The Moor, who had loved the unhappy Lady with the utmoſt Exceſs of Paſſion, find⯑ing himſelf deprived of her for ever, and not able to endure the Loſs, his whole Soul was filled with the moſt torturing Anguiſh, and in the Frenzy of his Grief, he would ſearch for her in every Apartment of the Houſe, and call inceſſantly on her Name; then reflecting, that by the Lieutenant's Accuſations he had loſt this beloved Wife for ever, and with her all the Comfort and Happineſs of his Life, he conceived ſo violent a Hatred of him, that he could not endure to have him in his Sight, and had he not feared the inviolable Juſtice of the Venetian Senate, he would have put him to Death; but not being able to do this, without hazarding his own Life, that he might in ſome Meaſure gratify his Revenge, he deprived him of his Poſt.

The Lieutenant enraged as this Treat⯑ment, reſolved to effect his Ruin; and for that Purpoſe went to the Captain, who was now recovered, but with the Loſs of his Leg, having been obliged to have a wooden one in its ſtead "The Time is now come, ſaid the diabolical Villain, in which you may take Vengeance on the Man who was the Occaſi⯑on of the Loſs of your Leg; if you will go with me to Venice, I will there diſcover him to you and the Senate, and prove the Truth of what I now ſay; but here, for many Rea⯑ſons, I dare not ſpeak plainer."

The Captain, who wiſhed for nothing ſo much as to be revenged on this ſecret Enemy, thanked the Lieutenant for his Information, [122] and a few Days after they both embarked for Venice.

When they arrived, the Lieutenant told him that it was the Moor who had cut off his Leg, through an Opinion that he had diſ⯑honoured his Wife, and that for the ſame Cauſe he had alſo murdered her, and made it be reported that ſhe was killed by the Fall of a Beam.

The Captain hereupon accuſed the Moor to the Venetian Senate, of having deprived him of his Leg, and murdering his Lady, producing the Lieutenant for a Witneſs to both theſe Facts.

The Lieutenant then related the Manner in which it had been executed, adding, that the Moor had communicated this whole Scheme to him, and offered him great Rewards to aſſiſt him in it, which becauſe of the Wickedneſs of the Deeds, he had abſolutely refuſed.

The Senate, enraged at the Cruelty which had been practiſed by a Barbarian upon two of their Citizens, ſent Orders to have the Moor arreſted at Cyprus, and brought with a ſtrong Guard to Venice.

Soon after his Arrival he was publicly tried, but perſiſting in a Denial of the Crimes with which he was accuſed, he was put to the Tor⯑ture, but ſuch was his extream Obſtinacy and Contempt of Pain, that all the different Torments which were inflicted on him, were not able to force a Confeſſion from his Lips.

He was therefore ſent back to Priſon, and ſome Time after baniſhed from Venice for ever, but though he had eſcaped Death by the [123] Law, yet the Relations of Diſdemona procured him to be murdered in the Place to which he had retired.

The Lieutenant returned to his own Coun⯑try, and continuing ſtill in his wicked Practi⯑ces, he accuſed one of his Companions of having offered him a Reward to kill his Ene⯑my; the Gentleman was ſeized and racked, but he denied the Fact ſo reſolutely, and ſpoke ſo much againſt his wicked Accuſer, that he alſo was put to the ſame Torture, ſo that being miſerably mangled, he died as they were taking him down from the Rack, to carry him to his own Houſe.

The Lieutenant's Wife, after her Huſband's Death, returning to Venice, related all the foregoing Particulars to the Senate. And thus by the eſpecial Providence of God was the Death of the innocent Diſdemona revenged.

OBSERVATIONS on the Uſe Shakeſpear has made of the foregoing Novel in his Tragedy of Othello, or the Moor of Venice.

OTHELLO, or the Moor of Venice, the Plot of which is drawn from the foregoing Novel of Giraldi Cinthio, has always been eſteemed one of the beſt of Shakeſpear's Tra⯑gedies.

'Tis confeſſed the Fable is more regular, the Incidents leſs numerous and cloſer connect⯑ed, and the Subject more of a Piece than any other of his Plays, except Romeo and Juliet.

The Fable Shakeſpear found already form⯑ed to his Hands, ſome few Alterations he has made in it, and generally for the better.

Thus it ſtands in the Poet.

Othello, a Moor deſcended of Royal Blood, eminent for his great Valour, and the Services he had done the Venetians in their Wars, is preferred by the Senate to the Government of the Iſland of Cyprus, which was threatned with an Invaſion by the Turks.

Othello, being commanded to go immediate⯑ly to his Government, takes with him, at her earneſt Requeſt, his Bride Deſdemona, a young Lady of great Beauty, Daughter to a Senator [126] of Venice, who had married him unknown to her Father.

Iago, Ancient to Othello, being jealous that the Moor had had an Intrigue with his Wife, and deſirous of procuring the Poſt of Lieutenant for himſelf, which was poſſeſſed by Caſſio, a young Officer very dear to the Moor, to gratify his Revenge and Ambition at once, he entertains a Deſign of making Othello jealous of Deſdemona and Caſſio, ſo to bring a⯑bout her Death, and the Removal of Caſſio.

To effect this, by various Arts he raiſes Suſpicions in the Mind of Othello, and to con⯑firm them prevails on his Wife, who attend⯑ed Deſdemona, to ſteal a Handerchief which the Moor had given her.

This Handkerchief he drops in Caſſio's Apartment, and Othello accidentally ſeeing it in his Hand, is convinced of his Wife's In⯑fidelity, orders Iago to kill his Rival, promiſing to make him his Lieutenant in his ſtead, and himſelf ſmothers Deſdemona in her Bed.

Caſſio eſcapes only with a ſlight Wound.

Emilia, the Wife of Iago, finding her Miſ⯑treſs murdered, and hearing Othello declare he had killed her through her Huſband's In⯑formations that ſhe had wronged him with Caſſio, in whoſe Poſſeſſion he had ſeen the Handkerchief he had given her; ſhe con⯑feſſes ſhe had ſtolen the Handkerchief at her Huſband's Requeſt.

Iago, finding himſelf diſcovered, ſtabs his Wife, and in Part confeſſes his Villany.

Othello, in Deſpair, falls upon his Sword and dies, and the Puniſhment of Iago is left to [127] Caſſio, who before Othello's Death was or⯑dered by the Senate to take upon him the Go⯑vernment of Cyprus.

In Cinthio the Moor is mentioned without any Mark of Diſtinction; Shakeſpear makes him deſcended from a Race of Kings, his Perſon is therefore made more conſiderable in the Play than in the Novel, and the Dignity which the Venetian Senate beſtows upon him is leſs to be wondered at.

In the Play, Caſſio, the Perſon of whom Othello is jealous, is repreſented to be a young amiable Officer, remarkable for the Agreeable⯑neſs of his Perſon, and the Sweetneſs of his Manners, and therefore likely enough to in⯑ſpire Deſdemona with a Paſſion for him.

In the Novel, theſe Qualities are all aſcrib⯑ed to the Villain who betrays the Moor to the Murder of his Wife; and the ſuſpected Rival is no more than an ordinary Perſon.

Cinthio might perhaps think it neceſſary to give his Villain a pleaſing Perſon and inſinuat⯑ing Addreſs, in order to make his Artifices leſs ſuſpected; but to give Probability to the Jea⯑louſy of the Moor, was it not alſo as neceſ⯑ſary to make the ſuſpected Rival poſſeſs ſome of thoſe Qualities with which the Minds of young Ladies are ſooneſt captivated.

Shakeſpear therefore paints Caſſio young, handſome, and brave; and Othello, who feeds his Jealouſy, by reflecting that he himſelf is neither young nor handſome, by the ſame Train of Thought falls naturally into a Suſ⯑picion, that what he loſes, for want of thoſe [128] Qualities, will be gained by another who poſ⯑ſeſſes them.

But on the other Hand Shakeſpear has made a very ill Uſe of the Lieutenant's Wife.

Cinthio ſhews this Woman privy, much a⯑againſt her Will, to the Deſign on Diſ⯑demona; and though ſhe dares not diſcover it to her, for fear of her Huſband's Reſentment, yet ſhe endeavours to put her upon her Guard, and gives her ſuch Advice, as ſhe thinks will render all his Schemes ineffectual.

Shakeſpear calls this Woman Emilia, and makes her the Attendant and Friend of Deſdemona, yet ſhews her ſtealing a Hand⯑kerchief from her, which ſhe gives to her Huſband, telling him at the ſame Time that the Lady will run mad when ſhe miſſes it; therefore, if it is not for ſome Purpoſe of Im⯑portance that he wants it, deſires him to re⯑turn it to her again.

If her Huſband wants it for any Purpoſe of Importance, that Purpoſe cannot be very good; this Suſpicion however never enters her Mind, but ſhe gives it him only upon that very Condition, which ought to have made her refuſe it.

Yet this Woman is the firſt who perceives Othello to be jealous, and repeats this Obſer⯑vation to her Miſtreſs, upon hearing him ſo often demand the Handkerchief ſhe had ſtolen, and fly into a Rage when he finds his Wife cannot produce it.

Emilia pronounces him jealous, perceives the Loſs of that fatal Handkerchief, confirms ſome Suſpicions he had entertained, and though [129] ſhe loves her Miſtreſs to Exceſs, chuſes rather to let her ſuffer all the bad Conſequences of his Jealouſy, than confeſs ſhe had taken the Handkerchief, which might have ſet all right again; and yet this ſame Woman, who could act ſo baſe and cruel a Part againſt her Miſ⯑treſs, has no greater Care in dying, than to be laid by her Side.

Mr. Rymer, in his Criticiſims on this Play, ſeverely cenſures the Characters as well as the Fable, and Conduct of the Incidents.

That of Emilia though more inconſiſtent than any, he has taken no Notice of; and moſt of the Charges he brings againſt the others have little or no Foundation.

The Character of Iago, ſays this Critic, is againſt common Senſe and Nature. ‘Shake⯑ſpear would paſs upon us a cloſe, diſſem⯑bling, falſe, inſinuating Raſcal, inſtead of an open-hearted, frank plain dealing Sol⯑dier; a Character conſtantly worn by them for ſome Thouſands of Years in the World.’

The Soldiers are indeed greatly obliged to Mr. Rymer for this Aſſertion, but though it may in general be true, yet ſurely it is not abſurd to ſuppoſe that ſome few Individuals amongſt them may be cloſe diſſembling Villains.

Iago was a Soldier, it is true, but he was alſo an Italian; he was born in a Country remark⯑able for the deep Art, Cruelty, and revengeful Temper of its Inhabitants. To have painted an Italian injured, or under a Suſpicion of be⯑ing injured, and not to have ſhewn him re⯑vengeful, [130] would have been miſtaking his Cha⯑racter.

It is with Juſtice indeed that Mr. Rymer condemns Shakeſpear for that unneceſſary and diabolical Cruelty he makes Iago guilty of in urging Othello to the Murder of the innocent Lady who had never offended him; his Point was gained by making Othello jealous, and procuring his Conſent to the Death of Caſſio, who ſtood in his Way to Preferment: But the Murder of Deſdemona was ſuch an Exceſs of wanton Cruelty, that one can hardly con⯑ceive it poſſible a Man could be ſo tranſcend⯑ently wicked.

Cinthio indeed makes Iago not only urge Othello to the Murder of his Wife, but is him⯑ſelf the Perpetrator of it; this ſeems ſtill more abſurd; but he tells us, that he had been vio⯑lently in love with Diſdemona, and the Indif⯑ference ſhe had diſcovered towards him con⯑verted his Love into a ſettled Hatred.

Shakeſpear injudiciouſly copies Cinthio in making Iago confeſs a Paſſion for Deſdemona, as it rendered his urging on her Murder leſs probable; ſince in the Play Iago had no Op⯑portunity of declaring that Love to her, and conſequently could not be ſtimulated by her Contempt of him to act ſo cruel a Part againſt her.

But he has greatly improved on the Novel⯑iſt by making him jealous of the Moor with his own Wife; this Circumſtance being ſuf⯑ficient, in an Italian eſpecially, to account for the Revenge he takes on Othello, though his Barbarity to Deſdemona is ſtill unnatural.

[131]Upon the whole, there is very little Difference between the Character of the Lieutenant as it is drawn in the Novel, and Iago as managed in the Play; his ambiguous Queſtions, dark Hints, and villainous Arts to raiſe Suſpicions in the Mind of Othello are the ſame in the No⯑vel as in the Play; and the Scene where Othello is made to obſerve the Geſtures of Caſſio while he is talking to Iago, is exactly copied from Cinthio; as is likewiſe a preceding one, where Othello, tormented with Doubts about his Wife, threatens Iago with Deſtruction, unleſs he gives him ocular Proof of her Diſ⯑honeſty.

This Demand, with Iago's Expoſtulations, Arguments, and ſatisfactory Replies, are alſo the ſame with thoſe in the Novel.

The Character of Deſdemona fares no bet⯑ter in Mr. Rymer's Hands, than that of Iago; her Love for the Moor, he ſays, is out of Na⯑ture.

Such Affections are not very common in⯑deed; but a very few Inſtances of them prove that they are not impoſſible; and even in Eng⯑land we ſee ſome very handſome Women married to Blacks, where their Colour is le [...]s familiar than at Venice; beſides the Italian La⯑dies are remarkable for ſuch Sallies of irre⯑gular Paſſions.

Cinthio, it is true, ſays, that Diſdemona was not overcome by a womaniſh Appetite, but repreſents her, as Shakeſpear does likewiſe, ſubdued by the great Qualities of the Moor.

Courage in Men has always had an invin⯑cible Charm for the Ladies; Deſdemona ad⯑mired [132] the Moor for his Valour, and the Tran⯑ſition from extreme Admiration to Love is very eaſy in a female Mind.

Mr. Rymer alledges, that Shakeſpear makes Deſdemona a Senator's Daughter inſtead of a ſimple Citizen; and this he imputes to him as a Fault, which is perhaps a great Inſtance of his Judgment.

There is leſs Improbability in ſuppoſing a noble Lady, educated in Sentiments ſuperior to the Vulgar, ſhould fall in love with a Man merely for the Qualities of his Mind, than that a mean Citizen ſhould be poſſeſſed of ſuch exalted Ideas, as to overlook the Diſparity of Years and Complexion, and be enamoured of Virtue in the Perſon of a Moor.

However, it is not true, that Shakeſpear has changed a ſimple Citizen into a Lady of Qua⯑lity, ſince Deſdemona in the Novel is men⯑tioned as a Woman of high Birth.

Cinthio calls her Cittadina, which Mr. Ry⯑mer tranſlates a ſimple Citizen; but the Ita⯑lians by that Phraſe mean a Woman of Quality.

If they were, for Example, to ſpeak of a Woman of the middle Rank in Rome, they would ſay, Una Romana; if of a noble Lady, Una Cittadina Romana: So in Venice they call a ſimple Citizen Una Venitiana; but a Woman of Quality, Una Cittadina Veritiana.

That Simplicity in the Manners of Deſde⯑mona, which Mr. Rymer calls Folly and Mean⯑neſs of Spirit, is the Characteriſtic of Virtue and Innocence.

[133] Deſdemona was conſcious of no Guilt, and therefore ſuſpected no Blame: She had ſo late⯑ly given the Moor an inconteſtable Proof of her Affection, that it was not unnatural for her to impute his ſudden Starts of Paſſion to ſome other Cauſe than Jealouſy.

The whole Streſs of the Proof againſt Deſ⯑demona is laid upon the Handkerchief, as well in the Novel as the Play; though I think in the Novel it is more artfully managed; there the Moor inſiſts upon ſeeing it in the Captain's Poſſeſſion e'er he will reſolve any Thing againſt his Wife, and the Lieutenant contrives to give him this Satisfaction.

Othello, in the Play, has not the leaſt Ap⯑pearance of Proof againſt his Wife, but ſee⯑ing the Handkerchief in the Lieutenant's Poſ⯑ſeſſion; yet this is brought about by mere Ac⯑cident.

Bianca, to whom Caſſio had given it to have the Work copied, (which, by the way, was an odd Whim for a Soldier) comes to him while he is engaged in a private Diſcourſe with Iago; and Othello obſerving them concealed, and in a Fit of Jealouſy, throws the Handker⯑chief at his Head.

This happens well for Iago's Plot; but as he did not, and indeed could not foreſee, this lucky Accident, methinks it would have been more natural, ſince every Thing depended upon that, to have made it the Effect of ſome Contrivance of his.

The Outlines Iago, Deſdemona, and Caſſio's Characters are taken from the Novel; but that of Othello is entirely the Poet's own.

[134]In Cinthio we have a Moor, valiant indeed, as we are told, but ſuſpicious, ſullen, cunning, obſtinate and cruel.

Such a Character married to the fair Deſde⯑mona muſt have given Diſguſt on the Stage; the Audience would have been his Enemies, and Deſdemona herſelf would have ſunk into Contempt for chuſing him.

With what Judgment then has Shakeſpear changed the horrid Moor of Cinthio into the amiable Othello, and made the ſame Actions which we deteſt in one, excite our Compaſ⯑ſion in the other!

The Virtues of Shakeſpear's Moor are no leſs characteriſtic than the Vices of Cinthio's; they are the wild Growth of an uncultivated Mind, barbarous and rude as the Clime he is born in; thus, his Love is almoſt Phrenſy; his Friendſhip Simplicity; his Juſtice cruel; and his Remorſe Self-Murder.

The ninth Novel of the ſecond Day of the Decamerone of Boccaccio.

SOME Italian Merchants meet⯑ing at Paris, whither their dif⯑ferent Affairs had brought them, they went, as was their Cuſtom, to ſup together at a Tavern; and, towards the Cloſe of the Entertainment, their Spirits being raiſed by the Wine, of which they drank pretty freely, they began, after having diſcuſſed ſeveral other Subjects, to ſpeak of their Wives, whom they had left behind them in their Houſes; and one of them, laughing, ſaid:

"I know not how my Wife employs herſelf in my Abſence, but this I am certain of; that when I am at a Diſtance from her, I freely in⯑dulge myſelf in the Purſuit of any young Girl that pleaſes me, and never fail to make myſelf Maſter of her Perſon, if I poſſibly can."

Another replied, "that he did the ſame; becauſe, added he, whether I believe my Wife unfaithful, or not, ſhe will be ſo if ſhe pleaſes."

[136]A Third aſſured his Companions "that he was of the ſame Opinion;" and, in fine, they all agreed in declaring, "that they believed their Wives would not loſe Time in their Abſence;" except a Genoeſe Merchant, named Bernabo Lomillin.

This young Man, who was paſſionately fond of his Wife, affirmed, "that by the eſpecial Providence of God he had married a Woman ſo accompliſhed in all Virtues, that Italy could ſcarce produce her Equal."

"Her Perſon, ſaid he, is perfectly beauti⯑ful; ſhe is in the Prime of her Youth; and is not only ſkilled in all domeſtic Employments fit for a Perſon of her Rank, but ſhe reads, writes, and diſcourſes upon Buſineſs, as well as if ſhe was a Merchant; ſhe is alſo wiſe, prudent and amiable; and ſo abſolutely chaſte, that I am perſuaded, if I was to be abſent from her ten Years, ſhe would preſerve her Fidelity to me inviolable."

This laſt Praiſe extremely diverted a young Merchant of Piacenza, named Ambrogiuolo, who, laughing, aſked Bernabo "if he poſſeſſed this Privilege above other Men by a Patent from the Emperor.

"This Happineſs, replied Bernabo, a little offended, is not granted by the Emperor, but by God, whom I look upon to be little more powerful than the Emperor."

"I do not in the leaſt doubt, replied Ambro⯑giuolo, but that you believe what you ſay; but you have too little conſidered the Nature of [137] Things, otherwiſe you would not be ſo groſsly deceived, but would ſpeak leſs aſſuredly upon this Matter; do you imagine that we, who have delivered our Sentiments thus freely of our Wives, believe we have married Women, whoſe Diſpoſitions are different from yours? no, we hold all Women to be alike; and the Judgment we have formed of them ariſes from our having well reflected on their Na⯑tures; let us then examine this Matter a lit⯑tle."

I have always underſtood Man to be the nobleſt Animal of God's Creation; and that the Woman holds the next Place; if Man therefore, as he is generally believed, and proves by his Faculties, is the neareſt to Per⯑fection, he muſt certainly be endowed with more Firmneſs and Conſtancy than the Wo⯑man, who is univerſally allowed to be a fickle and variable Creature; yet ſince Man, with all his Firmneſs and Conſtancy cannot reſiſt thoſe Deſires which make him ſeek the Poſ⯑ſeſſion of any one that pleaſes him, how canſt thou hope that a Woman, changeable and un⯑fixed by Nature, ſhould be able to reſiſt the Force of Intreaties, Praiſes, Gifts, and a Thouſand other Temptations, with which Men who know the Sex, endeavour to enſnare them?"

"Can you then, reflecting upon this Truth, believe your Wife faithful?"

"I confeſs, though you ſhould tell me you do, I could not believe you."

"Is not your Wife a Woman, has ſhe not Fleſh and Blood as other Women have? [138] are not the ſame Deſires given to her as to others, and the ſame Ability to reſiſt them? 'tis therefore poſſible, although ſhe be very virtuous, that ſhe may do as others do; and you ought not ſo poſitively to affirm the con⯑trary."

To this long Speech Barnabo replied:

"I am a Merchant, and not a Philoſopher, therefore will not pretend to reaſon with you; but this I muſt ſay, that thoſe Women who are unchaſte, are ſo, becauſe they have no Senſe of Shame, and are indifferent about the World's Opinion; but Women who are wiſe and virtuous, are ſo ſollicitous to preſerve their Honour, that they become ſtronger than Men, who take no Care to reſtrain their irre⯑gular Appetites; and my Wife is of the Num⯑ber of thoſe Women who are watchful over their Appetites, and ſollicitous to preſerve their Honour."

"Truly, replied Ambrogiuolo, if every Time a Woman was unfaithful to her Huſband, a Horn ſhould grow out of her Forehead, and bear Witneſs to the Fact, I believe few Wo⯑men would be guilty of Infidelity; but the Horn neither grows, nor in Women who manage their Intrigues wiſely, does there re⯑main the leaſt Trace of their Crime; for their Shame does not conſiſt in their Infidelity, but in that Infidelity being diſcovered; there⯑fore when they can be unchaſte ſecurely, they are ſo, and when they are not unchaſte, 'tis becauſe they are ſtupid; and be aſſured there⯑fore, [139] that ſhe only is chaſte who was never ſollicited, or being ſollicited never yielded."

"And although I am convinced of this Truth, by conſidering in general the Frailty of Human Nature, yet I would not ſpeak ſo poſitively as I do, if I had not many Times, and with many different Women, proved it beyond Contradiction; and I am alſo perſuad⯑ed, that if I was near thy ſupremely virtuous Wife, I ſhould in a very ſhort Space of Time bring her to that, to which I have brought many others."

"It Signifies nothing diſputing, replied Barnabo, (greatly diſturbed) Words prove nothing at all; but ſince you ſay that no Wo⯑man is able to reſiſt Sollicitations, and are ſo confident of your own Power with the Sex, that you are abſolutely certain you can corrupt my Wife, I am willing to loſe my Head if you ſucceed in your Attempts upon her Chaſtity, and if you do not, you ſhall loſe a Thouſand Florins of Gold to me."

"I know not, returned Ambrogiuolo, al⯑ready fired at his Propoſition, what I ſhould do with your Head if you loſt it to me, but if you are willing to have a Proof of what I have maintained, do you lay five Thouſand Florins of Gold (which ought to be leſs dear to you than your Head) againſt a Thouſand of mine, and I will oblige myſelf to go to Genoa, and in three Months from the Day I depart from hence, will prevail upon thy Wife to yield to my Deſires, and, in Token of my [140] Succeſs, will bring with me ſome of her moſt precious Things, and give you ſuch certain Marks, that you yourſelf ſhall confeſs I have accompliſhed my Deſign."

"But you muſt promiſe me faithfully that you will not come to Genoa during my Stay there, nor write any Account of this Matter to your Wife."

Bernabo was extremely pleaſed with this Propoſal, but the other Merchants, who were preſent, fearing ſome bad Conſequence would ariſe from ſuch a ſtrange Scheme, were very much troubled, and endeavoured to prevent its being put into Execution.

However, the two Perſons concerned were ſo reſolutely bent on their Purpoſe, that all Diſſuaſions were ineffectual; and an Obliga⯑tion in Writing being drawn up, they both ſigned and ſealed it in the Preſence of their Companions; and a few Days after Ambrogiuolo went to Genoa; Bernabo, according to his Promiſe, ſtaying at Paris to expect his Re⯑turn.

As ſoon as Ambrogiuolo arrived at Genoa, he began ſecretly to enquire after the Behaviour and Manner of Life of Bernabo's Wife, and comparing the Reports of others, with what Bernabo had told him concerning her, he found the Merchant had not been too laviſh in her Praiſes; and his Enterprize now ap⯑pearing even to himſelf raſh and impractica⯑ble, he was beginning to loſe all Hopes of being able to accompliſh it, when Chance [141] threw in his Way a poor Woman, who was often employed in the Houſe of Madonna Zinevra, ſo was the Wife of Bernabo called.

Ambrogiuolo corrupting this Woman with a Sum of Money, engaged her to aſſiſt him in his Deſign on the Lady.

Giving Orders therefore for a Cheſt to be made after a particular Manner, he laid him⯑ſelf into it, and the old Woman pretending ſhe had ſome Buſineſs to tranſact a few Miles out of the Town, which would oblige her to ſtay a Day or two away, intreated Madonna Zinevra, who had a great Kindneſs for her, to let this Cheſt ſtand in her Bed-Chamber till ſhe returned, the Lady conſented, and the Cheſt, with Ambrogiuolo within it, was placed where ſhe deſired.

Zinevra retiring to Reſt at her uſual Hour, Ambrogiuolo, when he was aſſured that ſhe was aſleep, came ſoftly out of the Cheſt into the Chamber, and, by the Light of a Taper which was burning, took particular Notice of the Pictures and Furniture of the Room.

Then advancing to the Bed, where the Lady and a little Girl that was with her ſlept very ſoundly, he gently uncovered her, and ſaw that ſhe was no leſs beautiful naked than dreſt, and as he was thus contemplating her, and wiſhing to diſcover ſome particular Mark about her Perſon, which might help him to deceive her Huſband, he at laſt ſpied a large Mole under her left Breaſt, with ſeveral Hairs round it of the Colour of Gold.

[142]Satisfied with this Diſcovery, he replaced the Cloaths, but her Beauty inflaming his De⯑ſires, he was ſome Moments in Suſpence whether he ſhould not wake her, and declare the Cauſe of his coming thither, to be his Love of her.

Reflecting however upon the Severity of her Virtue; he reſolved not to hazard his Life by diſcovering himſelf, but paſſed the reſt of the Night at his Eaſe in the Chamber.

Day approaching he retired into the Cheſt, taking with him a Purſe, a Ring, and ſome other Trifles.

In this Confinement he paſſed another Night, and the Day following the Woman coming for her Cheſt, he was releaſed; and hav⯑ing thus traiterouſly accompliſhed his Intenti⯑ons, he left Genoa, and arrived at Paris before the Time prefixed for his Return.

Bernabo and the Merchants who were pre⯑ſent at the Wager, were ſummoned by Am⯑brogiuolo, and when they were all met, he de⯑clared he had won the Wager, for that the Wife of Bernabo had yielded to his Deſires, producing as a Proof of what he ſaid, the Things which he had taken away, ſaying they were given him by the Lady; the Furni⯑ture of whoſe Bed-Chamber he alſo deſcribed.

Bernabo confeſſed that his Deſcription of the Bed-Chamber was right, and alſo that the Things he produced were certainly his Wife's, but added, that neither of theſe Circumſtances were any Proof of his Wife's Infidelity, ſince [143] he might by ſome Stratagem have procured the Knowledge of the one, and the Poſſeſſion of the other, and therefore if he had no other Proofs, theſe were inſufficient to make him give up the Wager.

"Theſe Prooofs, replied Ambrogiuolo, ought to be ſufficient, but ſince you will oblige me to produce more, I will."

"Madonna Zinevra, your Wife, has a large Mole under her left Breaſt, round which there are two or three Hairs of the Colour of Gold."

Bernabo ſtruck to the Heart by theſe Words, made known by the Change of his Colour, and the Rage and Grief which took Poſſeſſion of his Features, that what Ambrogiuolo had ſaid was true, but a few Minutes after, con⯑firming it by his Words,

"Gentlemen, ſaid he, Ambrogiuolo has van⯑quiſhed, I confeſs it, and am ready to pay him the Money he has won, whenever he comes to demand it."

Accordingly the next Day Ambrogiuolo went to the Lodgings of Bernabo, who paid him the five Thouſand Florins; and departing from Paris, went to Genoa, with a fell Soul againſt the betrayed Zinevra.

As ſoon as he arrived, he retired to one of his Country Houſes, at a ſmall Diſtance from the Town, and there calling a faithful Ser⯑vant, he ordered him to get two Horſes ready, [144] and carry a Letter from him to his Wife, im⯑porting his Deſires, that ſhe ſhould return with the Bearer to him; and then gave a ſtrict Com⯑mand to the Servant to murder her as ſoon as they came into a convenient Place.

The Servant aſſured him of his Obedience, and rode immediately to Town with the Let⯑ter; which Zinevra receiving with great Joy, prepared herſelf for her Journey the next Morning; and accompanied only by the Per⯑ſon who came to fetch her, ſhe took the Road to her Huſband's Villa, diſcourſing as they went upon indifferent Things: when coming into a large and ſolitary Valley, ſur⯑rounded with high Trees, the Servant, think⯑ing this a fit Place to execute his Maſter's Or⯑ders, ſuddenly ſtopt, and drawing out a large Knife ſeized the Lady by the Arm.

"Madam, ſaid he, recommend your Soul to God, for you muſt die in a few Moments."

The Lady hearing theſe dreadful Words, and beholding the fatal Knife, all trembling with Fear and Surprize, cried out,

"Oh! Mercy gracious Heaven! why will you murder me? Tell me in what I have of⯑fended you, that you reſolve to kill me?"

"Madam, replied the Servant, you have not offended me in any Thing, how you have offended your Huſband I know not, but he has commanded me to murder you without [145] Mercy in this Place, and if I do not obey him, threatens to hang me.

"You know by what Tyes I am bound to him, and that I have it not in my Power to re⯑fuſe Compliance with any of his Orders; God knows I pity you; but I muſt execute his Will."

"Oh grant me Mercy, for the Sake of Hea⯑ven! replied the Lady, all diſſolved in Tears; do not become a Murderer of one who never injured you to pleaſe another.

"God, from whom nothing is concealed, knows I never was guilty of any Action for which I merit this Uſage from my Huſband; but of that no more.

"Suffer me only to repreſent to you how you may at once avoid offending God, pleaſe your Maſter, and ſerve me, and that in this Manner:

"You may give me your upper Coat and Hat, and take my Cloaths, and returning with them to your Maſter, tell him you have mur⯑dered me; and I ſwear to you by that Preſer⯑vation for which I ſhall be obliged to you, that I will keep myſelf concealed, and wander into ſome diſtant Place, and neither you or he ſhall ever hear of me again in this Country."

The Servant, who was very unwilling to murder her, eaſily yielded to his Compaſſion and her Entreaties, and gave her his Coat and Hat, together with what Money he found a⯑bout her; and after earneſtly deſiring her to quit Genoa as ſoon as poſſible, took her Cloaths, and leaving her alone and on foot in the Val⯑ley, [146] returned to his Maſter, to whom he de⯑clared, "that he had murdered her, and that her dead Body was devoured by the Wolves."

The unhappy Lady being alone and diſcon⯑ſolate in the dreary Valley which had been deſtined for the Scene of her Murder, knew not whither to direct her Steps; but Night drawing on, and her Apprehenſions of that dreadful Place encreaſing with the approaching Darkneſs, ſhe ſtruck into a foot Path, which led at laſt to a little Village; and there going into the Cottage of an old Woman, procured ſome Neceſſaries fit for her Appearance as a Sailor, and thus clad, took her Way towards the Shore.

There happening to meet with a Catalonian Gentleman, whoſe Ship lying near the Place, had landed to refreſh himſelf at a Fountain; he entering into Diſcourſe with the poor Wan⯑derer, ſuppoſing her to be a Man, at her Re⯑queſt, received her as a Servant to wait upon his own Perſon.

Madonna Zinevra, who had taken the Name of Sicuranno, followed Signor Encarach, her new Maſter, to his Veſſel; and, having better Cloaths given her, began to ſerve him ſo dili⯑gently, and with ſuch Fidelity, that he ſoon conceived a great Eſteem for her.

Some time after, the Catalonian ſailing with a Cargo to Alexandria, he took with him ſome very fine Falcons, which he preſented to the [147] Sultan, who being pleaſed with the Gift, fre⯑quently invited the Merchant to his Table.

Sicuranno always attending his Maſter upon theſe Occaſions, the Sultan was ſo well pleaſed with his Carriage and Behaviour, that he aſked him of the Catalonian; who, though very un⯑willing to part with him, could not refuſe the Sultan's Requeſt, and therefore left him be⯑hind at Alexandria.

Sicuranno had not been long in the Sultan's Palace, before he acquired as great a Share of that Monarch's Confidence and Eſteem, as of the Catalonian's, his former Maſter.

It being a Cuſtom, at a certain Time of the Year, to hold a Fair at Aeri, a City in the Dominions of the Sultan, to which a great ma⯑ny Chriſtians and Saracen Merchants reſort⯑ed, the Sultan, in whoſe Favour Sicuranno encreaſed daily, appointed him to command the Soldiers that were ſent there, to guard the Merchants and their Goods while the Fair continued.

Sicuranno being now Captain of the Guard at Aeri, acquitted himſelf of this Charge with his accuſtomed Diligence and Exactneſs.

Among the foreign Merchants which re⯑ſorted to this Fair, there were ſeveral Venetian, Placentian, Genoeſe, and other Italians, with whom Sicuranno, who ſtill had a great Fond⯑neſs for his Country, frequently converſed.

[148]If happened one Day, when he was at the Warehouſe of the Venetian Merchants, that, among other Trinkets, he ſaw a Purſe and a Girdle, which he knew to have once belonged to himſelf; he was greatly ſurprized at the Sight of thoſe Things, but concealing it from Obſervation, enquired whoſe they were? and if they were to be ſold?

Ambrogiuolo, who had come to Alexandria with ſome other Merchants in a Venetian Veſſel, being told that the Captain of the Guard was enquiring about theſe Things, came forward, and ſaid, with a Smile "Sir, the Things are mine, and not to be ſold; but if you have any Inclination for them, I will preſent you with them freely."

Sicuranno ſeeing him ſmile, ſuſpected, that by ſome Means or other, he had diſcovered who he was; nevertheleſs, keeping a firm Countenance, he replied;

"You ſmile, I ſuppoſe, becauſe you ſee me, who am a military Man, enquiring about theſe female Trifles."

"No, Sir, ſaid Ambroguiolo, I do not ſmile at that, but at reflecting on the Manner in which I gained thoſe Things."

"Ah! I beſeech you, ſaid Sicuranno, haſtily, let us know how you gained them then?"

"Sir, replied Ambrogiuolo, theſe Things were given me by a Lady of Genoa, called Ma⯑donna Zinevra, the Wife of Bernabo Lomillin, with whom I had the Honour to paſs a Night, [149] in her Huſband's Abſence; and ſhe enteated me to keep them faithfully for her Sake: I ſmile, therefore, at reflecting on the ſtupid Fol⯑ly of her Huſband, who was ſilly enough to lay five thouſand Florins of Gold againſt a thouſand of mine, that it was not in my Power to prevail over the Chaſtity of his Wife; this, however, I accompliſhed; he loſt the Wager; and he who ought rather to have puniſhed himſelf for his Stupidity, than his Wife for doing that which all Women will do, went to Genoa, and, as I have ſince heard, cauſed her to be mur⯑dered."

Sicuranno hearing this, knew this Man im⯑mediately to be the Cauſe of all his Miſery, and reſolved within himſelf to be ſeverely re⯑venged on him; and in order to acompliſh his Deſign, he feigned himſelf to be extremely well pleaſed with this Story, and began to en⯑ter into a ſtrict Intimacy with Ambrogiuolo, whom he managed ſo artfully, that at laſt he confeſſed the whole Truth to him concerning the Stratagem by which he had deceived Ber⯑nabo, and gained the Wager.

When the Fair was ended, Sicuranno, by large Promiſes, engaged Ambrogiuolo to go with him into Alexandria, where he procured him a Warehouſe, and lodged Money in his Hands; ſo that Ambrogiuolo thinking he might be able to encreaſe his Fortune there, willing⯑ly ſtayed at Alexandria.

Sicuranno, who ardently deſired to have his Innocence made known to Bernabo, practiſed [150] ſo well with ſome Genoeſe Merchants who were in that Country, that they prevailed up⯑on Bernabo, who was now reduced to very low Circumſtances, to come to Alexandria; and Sicuranno cauſed him to be privately re⯑ceived there by ſome of his Friends.

Sicuranno, who had already made Ambro⯑giuolo recount to the Sultan the Story he had firſt told him, and which had pleaſed him great⯑ly, finding it now a proper Time to execute his Intention, ſince Bernabo was arrived, took an Opportunity to entreat the Sultan to give Orders, that Ambrogiuolo and Bernabo ſhould be brought before him; and to make Ambro⯑giuolo, by Menaces (if he would not by gentle Methods) declare, if what he had boaſted con⯑cerning the Wife of Bernabo was true.

The Sultan conſented; and the two Mer⯑chants being brought before him, he command⯑ed Ambrogiuolo, with a threatening Counte⯑nance, to confeſs truly, how he had won the five thouſand Florins of Bernabo.

Ambrogiuolo ſeeing his Friend Sicuranno (who was preſent) look upon him with rageful Eyes, and threatening him with the moſt horrid Tor⯑ments if he did not reveal the Truth; preſſed on every Side, and ſuppoſing the worſt Conſe⯑quence of his Confeſſion would be the Reſtitu⯑tion of the Money and the Things, he re⯑lated the whole Affair juſt as it happened; and having finiſhed his Narration, Sicuranno, as inveſted with Authority by the Sultan, turned to Bernabo, and aſked him "what [151] Puniſhment he had inflicted upon his Wife on Account of that Lye?"

"Sir, replied Bernabo, being inflamed with Rage for the Loſs of my Money, and the Diſ⯑grace my Wife's Infamy had brought upon me, I ordered a Servant to murder her, and, ac⯑cording to his Report, he did ſo, and her Body was ſoon after devoured by Wolves."

Theſe Facts thus laid open before the Sultan, and all that were preſent, who could not ima⯑gine what was to be the End of ſuch an Exami⯑dation, Sicuranno, addreſſing himſelf to the Sultan, ſaid:

"My Lord, you may plainly perceive by their Confeſſions, what Reaſon this good Wo⯑man had to glory in a Lover and a Huſband.

"The Lover by an infamous Falſhood robs her of her Honour, deſtroys her Fame, and deprives her of her Huſband; and the Huſband giving more Credit to the Falſhoods of others than to the often experienced Truth of his Wife, commands her to be murdered, and her dead Body to be devoured by Wolves; and ſo great is the Affection which this Lover and Huſband bore her, that they both continued with her a long Time, and neither of them diſ⯑covered her.

"That you may be able therefore to know this clearly, and give to each the Reward they have merited, grant me the Favour I am going to implore of you, which is to pardon the De⯑ceived and puniſh the Deceiver, and I will then make the injured Lady herſelf come into your Preſence?"

[152]The Sultan, always diſpoſed to comply with any Requeſt of Sicuranno's, granted this im⯑mediately, and deſired him to make the Lady come.

Bernabo, who firmly believed his Wife to be dead, was greatly aſtoniſhed at this Propo⯑ſition; and Ambrogiuolo began now to appre⯑hend he ſhould ſuffer ſomething worſe than paying back the Money.

Sicuranno being thus aſſured of having her Requeſt granted by the Sultan, caſt herſelf at the Feet of that Monarch; the Tears faſt ſtreaming down her Cheeks, and loſing with her aſſumed maſculine Voice, the Deſire of appearing maſculine, ſpoke in this Manner.

"My Lord, in me behold the injured, the unhappy Zinevra, who, through the wicked Falſhoods of that Traitor Ambrogiuolo, have been obliged to wander miſerably through the World in the Form of a Man, and by this cruel Huſband doomed to be murdered and de⯑voured by Wolves.

Then opening her Waiſtcoat, ſhe diſcovered her Boſom, by which the Sultan, and all who were preſent, knowing her to be a Woman, were filled with Aſtoniſhment and Compaſ⯑ſion.

Zinevra then turning to Ambrogiuolo, fierce⯑ly demanded of him. "when it was he had ſeduced her Virtue, as he had once openly boaſted?"

Ambrogiuolo, who now knew her, and was ſtruck dumb with Shame and Fear, anſwered nothing.

[153]The Sultan, who always believed her to be a Man, was ſo aſtoniſhed at what he now ſaw and heard, that, for ſome Moments, he knew not whether all was not a Dream; but his Wonder ceaſing, he began to praiſe, with the higheſt Expreſſions of Eſteem, the Virtue, Conſtancy, and unblameable Manners of Zi⯑nevra, and gave Orders to have her magnifi⯑cently dreſt in a female Habit, appointed Wo⯑men to attend her, and, as he had promiſed, pardoned the deceived Huſband Bernabo, who falling at the Feet of his Wife, entreated her alſo with Tears to forgive him.

Zinevra raiſed him up, and kindly aſſuring him that ſhe would forget all that was paſt, threw herſelf into his Arms, and as her Huſ⯑band embraced him tenderly.

The Sultan then commanded Ambrogiuolo to be carried immediately to one of the higheſt Places in the City, and faſtened to a Stake, his Body to be anointed with Honey, and expoſed naked to the Sun, and there left to die; which was accordingly executed; after which he ordered all his Effects to be given to Zinevra, which amounted to ten thouſand Piſtoles; and make⯑ing a magnificent Feaſt, he publicly beſtowed the higheſt Honours and Applauſes on Zinevra for her Courage and Virtue, and preſented her Huſband and her with ten thouſand Piſtoles more, giving them Leave to depart, and a Ship to carry them back to Genoa; where they ſoon after arrived, extremely rich, and were received with great Honours by their Citizens; [154] eſpecially Madonna Zinevra, who had been thought dead by every one, and who, from that Time till her Death, lived in the higheſt Reputation for Courage, Conſtancy and Vir⯑tue.

OBSERVATIONS on the Uſe Shakeſpear has made of the foregoing Novel in his Tragedy of Cymbeline.

THE Plot of the foregoing Novel forms one of the Actions of Shakeſpear's Tragedy, called Cymbeline; I ſay one of the Actions, becauſe this Play, with his uſual Ir⯑regularity, is compoſed of three or four dif⯑ferent ones.

He has copied all thoſe Circumſtances from Boccacio, that were neceſſary to ſerve his De⯑ſign; but he has entirely changed the Scene, the Characters, and the Manners; and that he has done ſo greatly for the worſe, is I think eaſy to prove.

Boccaccio introduces ſome young Merchants in a Tavern, where two of them, being heated by Wine, lay a fantaſtical Wager; one that his Wife was abſolutely chaſte, and not to be corrupted by any Methods whatever.

The other, that ſhe was frail like the reſt of the Sex; and that to prove it, he would prevail upon her in a very ſhort Time to violate her Faith to her Huſband.

[156] Shakeſpear makes the Lady in Queſtion, not the Wife of a Merchant, but the Heireſs of a great Kingdom.

The Huſband, who lays ſo indiſcreet a Wager, not a ſimple Trader intoxicated with Liquor, but a young, noble, though unfor⯑tunate Hero, whom, for the extraordinary Qua⯑lities of his Mind and Perſon, the Princeſs had ſecretly married.

And the Scenes, inſtead of a Tavern in Paris, and the Houſe of a private Family in the Court of Britain, and the Chamber of the Princeſs.

To this injudicious Change of the Charac⯑ters is owing all the Abſurdities of this Part of Shakeſpear's Plot; he has given the Man⯑ners of a Tradeſman's Wife, and two Mer⯑chants intoxicated with Liquor, to a great Princeſs, an Engliſh Hero, and a noble Roman.

The King, enraged at Poſthumus for dar⯑ing to marry his Daughter, contents himſelf with only ſending him into Baniſhment, and preſſes the Princeſs to take for another Huſ⯑band a Man whom ſhe deteſts, while her firſt is only divided from her by a very incon⯑ſiderable Diſtance, and while there is a Proba⯑bility of meeting him again.

Since he was ſo reſolutely bent upon mak⯑ing her marry the ſtupid Son of his ſecond Wife, ſurely it would have more facilitated his Deſign, to have either taken away the Life of Poſthumus, or kept him in a ſtrict and ſecret Confinement, and by that Means [157] have deprived the Princeſs of all Hope of ever ſeeing him; but Poſthumus muſt only be ba⯑niſhed to make Way for the ſcandalous Wager.

This adoring and obliged Huſband of a beautiful and virtuous Princeſs, no ſooner ar⯑rives at Rome, but he engages in a ridiculous Diſpute concerning the Beauty, Wit, and Chaſtity of his Lady; and tamely ſuffers one of his Roman Friends, to maintain that ſhe was as liable to be corrupted as any other of her Sex.

The Diſpute growing warm, the Roman engages to take a Journey to Britain, and corrupt the Chaſtity of the Princeſs, which, if he accompliſhes, Poſthumus is to reward him with the Ring that ſhe had given him at parting; and to facilitate his Deſign, writes a Letter to the Princeſs, recommending Jachimo to her as one of his moſt valued Friends.

Jachimo accordingly arrives in Britain, de⯑livers his Letter to the Princeſs, and is very kindly received.

It muſt be obſerved that the Princeſs is ſtrictly guarded by the King's Orders, and this is very natural, ſince he intended to force her to marry her ſtupid Step-brother.

But how comes it that this confined Princeſs, guarded by her Father's Guards, and watched by her Mother-in-law's Spies, ſhould be able to give an Audience to a foreign Stranger, who comes from the very Place where her ba⯑niſhed Huſband reſides?

[158]We ſee no Stratagem made uſe of to elude the Vigilance of her Guards; no Bribes given to buy the Secreſy of Spies.

The Friend of her baniſhed Huſband is introduced by his Confident, who though known to be ſo, both by the King, Queen, and Rival of Poſthumus, is ſtill permitted to attend her.

This is not indeed very probable, but it is abſolutely neceſſary for the Plot, becauſe this faithful Confident is to carry the Princeſs af⯑terwards into a dark Wood, in order to kill her, by his Maſter's Orders.

So the Story goes in Boccaccio, ſo alſo goes the Plot in the Tragedy.

There is only this ſmall Difference, that in Boccacio it is a private Gentlewoman, who, attended with one Servant, rides a ſmall Jour⯑ney to meet her Huſband at his Country Houſe.

But in Shakeſpear, it is the Heireſs of a great Kingdom, who notwithſtanding her Guards, the Dignity of her Station, and Weakneſs of her Sex, rides Poſt with one Man Servant to a Sea-port Town, for a ſhort. View of her Huſband. But of this hereafter.

Let us ſee how Jachimo begins his Court⯑ſhip to this great Princeſs: After having inſi⯑nuated into her Boſom ſome jealous Suſpici⯑ons of her Huſband's Conſtancy, he goes on to praiſe her Beauty familiarly enough, conſi⯑dering he had but a few Minutes Acquaint⯑ance with her Highneſs.

[159]Then begs Leave to "dedicate himſelf to her ſweet Pleaſure," and ſuppoſing the Bar⯑gain concluded, offers to kiſs her.

The Princeſs calls Piſanio, her Huſband's Confident; he happens not to be within hear⯑ing; and this is very convenient, for there is a Neceſſity for a long Converſation to make all right again, for the ſecond Part of Jachimo's Stratagem.

Her Highneſs then turns to her impudent Gallant, tells him, "if he had been honour⯑able he would not have ſought ſuch a baſe End of her," and that ſhe "diſdains him and the Devil alike."

The Gallant upon this Lucretia-like De⯑nial, changes his Note, praiſes the Virtue and Conſtancy of her Huſband, and aſſures her, he only made this Attempt on her Chaſtity, in order to try if ſhe was really as pure as ſhe was believed to be.

Her Highneſs is pacified, profeſſes herſelf his faithful Friend, and offers him all her In⯑tereſt in the Court.

Jachimo waves this princely Offer; but de⯑ſires her to allow him to put a Cheſt of Goods under her Care for one Night, to which the Princeſs conſenting, aſſures him his Cheſt ſhall be placed in her own Bed-Chamber.

Upon this Expedient the whole Plot turns.

Jachimo, concealed in the Cheſt, furniſhes himſelf like Ambrogiuolo, with Proofs of his hav⯑ing diſhonoured the Lady, and, returning to Poſthumus, declares he has won the Wager.

[160] Poſthumus, ſatisfied with his Proof, though the Honour of a Princeſs, and of a Princeſs who loved him to Diſtraction, was in Queſ⯑tion, diſpatches Orders to his Servant to kill her; and to give him an Opportunity to exe⯑cute his Commands, writes to the Princeſs that he is at Milford-Haven, ſuppoſing that this Intelligence will bring her immediately to meet him.

To paſs by the Abſurdity of ſuppoſing a great Princeſs, guarded by an incenſed Fa⯑ther, and the jealous Vigilance of a deſigning Step-Mother, ſhould be able to leave the Court, and ride like a Market-Woman with a ſingle Attendant to meet him; what Reaſon had he to expect ſuch a dange⯑rous Proof of Affection from a Woman, who had ſo eaſily been prevailed upon to violate the Faith ſhe had lately given him?

The Wife of Bernabo the Merchant might indeed find it neceſſary to keep herſelf unſuſpected by her Huſband, ſince her Hap⯑pineſs depended upon his believing her vir⯑tuous.

But the Princeſs's Conſtancy to Poſthumus was the Cauſe of her Diſgrace; by marrying Cloten ſhe might regain her Liberty, and con⯑ſequently have better Opportunities of follow⯑ing her private Intrigues.

But what Inducement could ſhe have for incurring the Reſentment of the King her Father, only to ſeem conſtant to a baniſhed Man, whom ſhe was diſhonouring in pri⯑vate?

[161]Her Conſtancy to Poſthumus in Defiance of her Father's Anger, could only be the Effect of a violent Paſſion for him; but her aban⯑doning herſelf to a looſe Intrigue with his Friend, was abſolutely inconſiſtent with her Love for him.

If Poſthumus then believed her unchaſte, he could not poſſibly expect ſhe would endea⯑vour to preſerve the leaſt Appearance of Fi⯑delity, ſince it was her Intereſt to abandon him publicly, much leſs endanger her Per⯑ſon by ſo extraordinary an Effect of Love and Obedience as that he required of her.

The injured Princeſs however is impatient to be on Horſeback, ſhe whips out of the Palace in a Minute, and paſſes inviſibly, we cannot help ſuppoſing, though there is no In⯑chantment in the Caſe, through the midſt of her Attendants and Guards, and gallops away to meet her Huſband.

When ſhe arrives in the deſtined Wood, Piſanio acquaints her with the Orders he had received to kill her, and his fixed Reſolution not to obey them.

The Princeſs indeed puts a very pertinent Queſtion to him.

Shakeſpear no doubt foreſaw his Readers would aſk this Queſtion if the Princeſs did not, but though he found it an eaſy Matter to make Piſanio ſatisfy her as to that Particular, the Reader is not ſo eaſily anſwered.

For why indeed did he bring her into ſo ſhocking a Situation, if he reſolved not to murder her? Why did he not acquaint her with the cruel Orders of her Huſband while ſhe was in her Father's Palace?

If it was a bold and hazardous Action to quit the Court in ſuch a ſtrange Equipage, to have a ſhort Conference with a faithful Huſ⯑band, why muſt ſhe expoſe herſelf to ſo emi⯑nent a Danger, only to be told of the Cruelty and Injuſtice of that Husband?

But the Truth is, ſhe has a great many ſtrange Adventures to come yet, and theſe muſt be brought about at the Expence of Pro⯑bability.

But what Reſolution does the Heireſs of Britain take after being told that her Husband, believing her to be an Adultereſs, had ordered her to be killed.

One would imagine, that full of a juſt Diſ⯑dain for ſo vile and ſcandalous a Suſpicion, the Pride of injured Virtue, affronted Dignity, and Rage of ill requited Love, would have carried her back to the Court, there by diſ⯑claiming all future Faith and Tenderneſs for [163] the unworthy Poſthumus, reſtore herſelf to the Affection of her Father, and all the Rights of her royal Birth.

No, ſhe only weeps, complains, reproaches a little, and then reſolves to dreſs herſelf in the Habit of a Boy, and wander a-foot to procure a Service.

Here Shakeſpear drops Boccacio, after having ſervilely copied from him all the Incidents which compoſe this Part of the Plot of Cymbeline; but by changing the Scene and Characters has made theſe Incidents abſurd, unnatural, and improbable.

The reſt of the Play is equally inconſiſtent, and if Shakeſpear invented here for himſelf, his Imagination is in this one Inſtance full as bad as his Judgment.

His Princeſs forgetting that ſhe had put on Boy's Cloaths to be a Spy upon the Actions of her Husband, commences Cook to two young Forreſters and their Father, who live in a Cave; and we are told how nicely ſhe ſauced the Broths.

"But his neat Cookery!

Certainly this Princeſs had a moſt oecono⯑mical Education; however ſhe is to change her Situation, ſeem dead, be buried, and come to Life again, and hire herſelf to a new Maſter."

[164]To bring all this about, Shakeſpear makes her drink a Potion, reſembling that of Juliet's in its Effects; this Potion is tempered by the Queen's Phyſician, whom ſhe had deſired to prepare her a Poiſon.

Piſanio being in the Queen's Apartment when the Drug was brought in, looked ear⯑neſtly at it, which the Queen obſerving, deſir⯑ed him to accept of it, telling him it was a fine Cordial.

The Phyſician, who is by, whiſpers Piſanio, that the Queen having deſired him to prepare her ſome mortal Poiſon, he had given her a Drug, which would only make the Perſon that drank of it fall into a Sleep, reſembling Death.

One would think Piſanio was ſufficiently warned, yet we find him giving this Drug to the Princeſs when he left her in the Wood, aſ⯑ſuring her it was a rich Cordial given him by the Queen, and intreating her to drink ſome of it when ſhe was ſick.

This Blunder however produces a great many other Events; Imogen thought to be dead, is buried by the young Foreſters (who are her Brothers, though unknown) in the Wood.

Cloten follows the Princeſs with an Intention, as he declares, "to raviſh her, and then kick her back to Court," and is diſguiſed in the Cloaths of Poſthumus, though there is no other Reaſon for his being thus diſguiſed, but only that the Princeſs may afterwards ſuppoſe him Poſthumus when ſhe finds him dead. Being af⯑terwards killed by the Brothers of Imogen, one of them cuts off his Head, and buries him beſide the ſuppoſed Youth.

[165]It may ſeem a little ſhocking for a generous young Man, a Prince, though he did not know aſ himſelf, to cut off the Head of his Enemy, it ter having killed him; but his Head muſt be cut off, or elſe how could Imogen miſtake him for her Lord?

The Princeſs awaking from her Trance, ſuppoſes ſhe is travelling to Milford-Haven, and cries, "Ods pittikens, is it ſix Miles yet?" recovering her Senſes perfectly, and ſeeing a headleſs Man lying near, dreſt in the Cloaths of Poſthumus, ſhe laments over him, believing him to be her Huſband.

This is indeed a very pathetic Diſtreſs; but what does the unhappy Heireſs of Britain do, now ſhe thinks her Huſband is killed? Why ſhe accepts the Poſt of Page to the Enemy of her Father and Country; who, with a hoſtile Army, is waſting the Kingdom, over which, by Right of Birth, ſhe is to reign.

But why does the Princeſs diſgrace her Sex and Dignity by accepting ſo ſcandalous an Employment? Is it the Fear of Death from the Romans? No, certainly there is no ſuch Thing threatened.

Beſides, a Lady, fond to Diſtraction of a Huſband whom ſhe finds lying murdered by her, can hardly be ſuppoſed ſo attentive to her own Danger in thoſe diſtreſsful Moments as to provide ſo cunnningly for her Safety.

However, the Princeſs, full of Deſpair as ſhe is, dreſſes up a clever Tale in a Trice; invents a Name for her murdered Huſband; calls herſelf his Page; ſays he was ſlain by [166] Mountaineers; and expreſſes her Fears that ſhe ſhould never get ſo good a Maſter.

Hereupon Lucius takes her to be his Page; and her Highneſs goes off very well contented with her Situation.

It would be an endleſs Taſk to take Notice of all the Abſurdities in the Plot, and unnatu⯑ral Manners in the Characters of this Play.

Such as the ridiculous Story of the King's two Sons being ſtolen in their Infancy from the Court, and bred up in the Mountains of Wales till they were twenty Years of Age.

Then, at their firſt Eſſay in Arms, theſe Striplings ſtop the King's Army, which is flying from the victorious Romans, oblige them to face their Enemies, and gain a compleat Victory.

With Inconſiſtencies like theſe it every where abounds; the whole Conduct of the Play is abſurd and ridiculous to the laſt De⯑gree, and with all the Liberties Shakeſpear has taken with Time, place and Action, the Sto⯑ry, as he has managed it, is more improbable than a Fairy Tale.

As Mr. Pope obſerves, little more than the Names in this Play is hiſtorical.

Hollingſhead ſays in his Chronicle, "that Cymbeline was in ſuch Favour with Auguſtus Caeſar, whom he had ſerved in the Wars, that he left him at Liberty either to pay or not to pay his Tribute, as he pleaſed;" which Cir⯑cumſtance is thus uſed by Shakeſpear.

[167] Auguſtus ſends to demand the Payment of the Tr [...]bute which had been, by the wicked Counſels of the King's ſecond Wife, neglected: Cymbeline, according to the Queen's Directions, refuſes to pay it: Hereupon War is declared; an Army of Romans comes into Britain; the King's Forces are put to Flight; but being rallied, and led on again by two Boys in a nar⯑row Lane, they give the Romans a total De⯑feat, and take their General Priſoner; and after this Victory the King pays the Tribute which he had before ſo peremptorily refuſed.

The ninth Novel of the third Day of the Decamerone of Boccaccio.

A Nobleman of the Kingdom of France, named Eſnard, Count of Rouſſillon, being of a weak and ſickly Conſtitution, always kept a Phyſician, named Ge⯑rard de Narbonne, in his Houſe. This Count had one only Son, called Ber⯑trand; he was extremely handſome and of a ſweet and gentle Diſpoſition; the Count cauſed ſeveral young Boys of his Age to be educated with him; among whom there was alſo a little Girl, named Giletta, Daughter to the Phy⯑ſician.

This Girl loved Bertrand with a Tender⯑neſs and Ardor very uncommon to one of her Age.

The Count dying, left his Son under the Guardianſhip of the King; and his Majeſty ſending Orders for him to come to Paris, Gi⯑letta, whoſe Affection encreaſed with her [170] Years, remained in the utmoſt Affliction at Rouſſillon.

The Phyſician dying ſoon after the young Count's Departure, Giletta would have ſet out for Paris to ſee her beloved Bertrand; but being a great Fortune, her Conduct was care⯑fully watched; and not being able to find a reaſonable Excuſe for ſuch a Journey, ſhe was obliged for the preſent to quit her Deſign.

Growing now of Years fit to be married, her Relations propoſed ſeveral Matches to her, which ſhe, without explaining the true Cauſe, refuſed, the ſecret Paſſion ſhe had long felt for Bertrand gaining Strength by the Reports ſhe had continually heard of his extraordinary Beauty and Accompliſhments, ſhe reſolved never to give her Hand to any other Man.

But while ſhe was languiſhing with a hope⯑leſs Deſire of ſeeing the Count, News came that the King of France was extremely ill; a Swelling in his Stomach having been badly treated, had turned to a Fiſtula; and the An⯑guiſh he felt from his Diſtemper was encreaſed by his Deſpair of ever getting it cured; no Phyſician being found that was able to remove it, notwithſtanding great Numbers had been tried, who had all left it worſe than before.

The King, therefore, in the utmoſt Deſ⯑pair at their bad Succeſs, would no longer ad⯑mit of Advice or Aſſiſtance.

Giletta, overjoyed at this News, thought ſhe had now not only a good Excuſe for go⯑ing to Paris, but if the King's Diſtemper was [171] what ſhe believed it to be, there was alſo a Poſſibility of gaining Bertrand for a Huſband.

Her Father having diſcovered to her many valuable Secrets of his Art, ſhe made a Pow⯑der of a certain Herb, which ſhe had been taught by him was a Remedy for the Diſ⯑eaſe ſhe imagined the King was afflicted with; and privately getting a Horſe prepared for her, went immediately to Paris.

Her firſt Care after her Arrival was to gain a Sight of her dear Bertrand; and then pro⯑curing an Audience of the King, ſhe earneſt⯑ly entreated him to let her look at the Swel⯑ling.

The King ſeeing her ſo young and hand⯑ſome, could not refuſe her Requeſt; as ſoon as ſhe ſaw it, ſhe immediately entertained Hopes of curing him, and ſaid, "Sire, if you are willing, I truſt in God I ſhall be able, without giving you much Pain or Fatigue, to cure you of this Diſtemper in eight Days."

The King laughing at theſe ſolemn Aſ⯑ſurances, replied, "Since the greateſt Phy⯑ſicians in the World have not been able to cure me, how is it poſſible a young Woman ſhould perform what was too difficult for them; I give you thanks for your good Will, but I am determined never more to follow any Pre⯑ſcription whatever."

"Sire, replied Giletta, you deſpiſe my Art becauſe I am young, and a Woman; I am not indeed a Phyſician; nor is it by my own Know⯑ledge that I pretend to cure you; but by the Help of God, and the Knowledge of Gerard [172] de Narbonne, who was my Father, and when he was alive, a celebrated Phyſician."

The King, being moved with theſe Words, began to reaſon with himſelf in this Manner:

"This Woman, perhaps, is ſent by Provi⯑dence for my Relief; ought I not, at leaſt, to try what ſhe can do? eſpecially ſince ſhe ſays ſhe will cure me in a little Time, and that too without much Pain:" Then having taken his Reſolution, he ſaid, "But, Damſel, if after having made me break through my Reſolves, you do dot cure me, what Puniſhment are you willing to ſubmit to?"

"Sire, anſwered Giletta, make me be care⯑fully guarded, and, if after the Expiration of eight Days, I do not cure you, ſentence me to be burnt; but if I do cure you, what ſhall be my Recompence?"

"You ſeem to me, ſaid the King to be ſtill unmarried; if you perform what you have pro⯑miſed, I will give you a rich and honourable Huſband."

"Truly, Sire, ſaid Giletta, I am very well pleaſed with your Deſign of marrying me; but I muſt be at Liberty to name my Huſband, and no Perſon whatever, except thoſe of the Royal Blood, muſt be refuſed me."

The King agreed to her Requeſt imme⯑diately, and promiſed her it ſhould be punctu⯑ally complied with.

Giletta, thereupon, began to adminiſter her Medicine, which ſhe purſued ſo happily, that before the Time prefixed, ſhe reſtored him to Health.

[173]The King feeling himſelf perfectly cured, ſaid to her, "Damſel, you have well gained your Huſband." "Then, Sire, ſhe replied, I have gained Bertrand, Count of Rouſſillon, whom I began to love in my Infancy, and have ever ſince loved with the moſt ardent Af⯑fection.

The King thought her Demand very high, but as he had given his Promiſe he was reſolved not to break it, and ordered Bertrand to be called; to whom he ſaid; "Count, you are now grown a Man, and perfected in all the Accompliſhments of a Nobleman; it is my Will, therefore, that you ſhould take upon you the Government of your Country, and carry with you the Damſel I have given you for a Wife." "And who is that Damſel, Sire, replied the Count?" "That is ſhe, ſaid the King, who with her Medicines has reſtored me to Health."

Bertrand, as ſoon as he looked upon her, immediately remembered her; and though her Perſon appeared to him extremely handſome, yet, ſenſible of the Diſproportion of her Birth to his, he anſwered, with great Diſdain, "What! Sire, would you give me a female Quack for a Wife?' God forbid I ſhould ever be the Huſband of ſuch a Woman."

"Will you then, replied the King, make me break my Word with this young Maid, who demanded you for a Huſband in Reward for reſtoring me to Health?

"Sire, replied Bertrand, you may take away all I poſſeſs; and, by the Power you have over me, give me to whom you pleaſe; [174] but, it is certain, I never ſhall be contented with ſuch a Marriage."

"You will be happy, no doubt, replied the King; the Damſel is fair and wiſe; ſhe loves you ardently; and I hope you will enjoy a more agreeable Life with her, than with a Lady of noble Birth."

Bertrand being ſilent, the King gave Or⯑ders to make great Preparations for the Nup⯑tials; and when the determined Day came, Bertrand, though unwillingly, married Gi⯑letta in the Preſence of the King.

The Ceremony over, the Count, having taken his Reſolution, deſired the King's Per⯑miſſion to return to his Country, there to conſummate the Marriage: The King grant⯑ing his Requeſt, he mounted his Horſe, but inſtead of going to Rouſſillon went into Tuſ⯑cany, and knowing that the Florentines were at War with the Republic of Sienna, he offered his Service to the firſt, who received him gladly, paid him great Honours, and gave him the Command of a Regiment, with large Appointments, which prevailed upon him to continue in their Service.

In the mean time, the new-married Lady, little pleaſed with ſuch a Diſappointment, flattered herſelf, that by her prudent Behaviour, ſhe ſhould be able to recall him; and being re⯑ceived at Rouſſillon with all the Honours due to the Wife of Count Bertrand, ſhe applied her⯑ſelf in the Abſence of her Lord to the Ma⯑nagement of his Affairs, which ſhe performed with ſo much Solicitude and Diſcretion, that [175] all the People at Rouſſillon were extremely pleaſed with her wiſe Government, held her in the utmoſt Eſteem and Affection, and greatly blamed their Lord for his unkind Be⯑haviour to her.

Having put every Thing at Rouſſillon into exact Order, ſhe ſent two Gentlemen to her Lord, whom ſhe ordered to acquaint him, that if her Preſence was the Cauſe of his Ab⯑ſence from his Country, to make him eaſy, and to engage him to return, ſhe would quit Rouſſillon for ever. To this Meſſuage the Count replied with great Harſhneſs;

"Tell her ſhe may do what ſhe pleaſes, and aſſure her that I am determined never to live with her as my Wife, till ſhe gets this Ring which I wear on my Finger into her Poſſeſſion, and has a Son begot by me in her Arms; both which cannot poſſibly happen, as I never intend to ſee her more."

The two Gentlemen thought theſe hard Conditions, and after long ſolliciting him in vain to change his Purpoſe, returned to the Lady, and related to her his Anſwer.

The unhappy Giletta, greatly afflicted at this Account, deliberated with herſelf a long Time on the Means ſhe ſhould uſe to accom⯑pliſh thoſe two Things, and retrieve her Huſ⯑band.

After much Thought, ſhe at laſt aſſembled all the beſt and wiſeſt of the Count's Sub⯑jects, and in very moving Language relat⯑ed all ſhe had done through her Affection for the Count, his Diſdain of her, his Unkind⯑neſs and obſtinate Reſolution never to live [176] with her, and laſtly, declared that ſhe was determined not to keep her Lord in perpetual Baniſhment by her Stay at Rouſſillan, but to retire and paſs the remainder of her Life in Pilgrimage and devout Works for the Salva⯑tion of her Soul; intreating them to take great Care of the Affairs of the Country, and to ſigni⯑fy to their Lord that ſhe had quitted Rouſſillon, with a fixed Reſolution never to return thither any more.

While ſhe was ſpeaking many Tears were ſhed by the good People to whom ſhe addreſ⯑ſed herſelf, who all humbly intreated her to change her Reſolution, and continue among them; but ſhe was immoveable, and recom⯑mending them to God, took Leave of them.

Then furniſhing herſelf with Money and rich Jewels, ſhe ſet out in the Habit of a Pil⯑grim, attended by a Chambermaid and one of her Couſins, and took the Road to Florence, never ſtopping till ſhe reached that City.

Arriving there, ſhe hired a Lodging in a Inn which was kept by a good Widow, and paſſing for a poor Pilgrim, remained there in Hopes of hearing ſomething about her Lord.

She had not been long in the Inn when Bertrand happened to paſs by the Door on Horſeback, with a great Retinue.

Giletta knew him immediately, but endea⯑vouring to ſuppreſs the Emotions his unex⯑pected Sight gave her; ſhe took Occaſion as he paſſed, to enquire of her Landlady his Name and Condition.

[177]Who replied that he was a Foreigner, cal⯑led Count Bertrand, remarkable for his Po⯑liteneſs and Affability, and added, that he was very much in love with a Neighbour of hers, a young Woman well born, and very virtuous, but ſo poor that no one was willing to marry her; and that her Mother being a diſcreet, ſenſible Woman, perceiving the Count's Paſſion for her Daughter, took great Care to preſerve her from his diſhonourable Attempts.

The Counteſs after enquiring and getting all the Information ſhe was able from her Landlady, concerning this Woman and her Daughter, retired to reflect upon what ſhe had heard, and weighing well every Parti⯑cular Circumſtance in her Mind, ſhe con⯑ceived a Deſign of turning the Count's Infi⯑delity to her own Advantage.

But concealing her Intentions from her two Attendants, ſhe went privately one Day in her Pilgrim's Habit to the Houſe of her Rival, and eaſily getting Admittance, found her Landlady had not miſrepreſented the Condi⯑tion of theſe good People, whoſe extream Poverty was very diſcernible from every Thing about them.

The Counteſs on her Entrance ſaluted the Mother with great Civility, and deſired the Favour of ſome private Diſcourſe with her.

The Gentlewoman riſing, told her ſhe was ready to hear her, and led her into another [178] Chamber, where as ſoon as they were ſeated, the Counteſs began in this Manner.

"My good Lady, I perceive that Fortune is as much your Enemy as mine, but if you are willing, 'tis in your Power to give your⯑ſelf as well as me Conſolation."

The good Woman replied, "that ſhe de⯑ſired nothing ſo much as to procure herſelf Relief, provided ſhe could do it honeſtly."

"'Tis neceſſary then, ſaid the Counteſs, that I ſhould rely on your Fidelity, but if you deceive me, you will ruin my Deſign and hurt your own Intereſt."

"You may tell me whatever you pleaſe with great Secreſy, replied the Gentlewoman, you ſhall never find me deceitful."

"The Counteſs then beginning her Story with her Love of Count Bertrand while ſhe was yet a Child; purſued it through all its Circumſtances till ſhe brought it down to the preſent Time; relating every Thing in ſo af⯑fecting and artleſs a Manner, that the good Woman could not doubt the Truth of what ſhe ſaid, and began to have great Compaſſion for her.

"'Tis only by your Means, added the Counteſs, that I can accompliſh thoſe two Conditions, upon which my Happineſs de⯑pends, if what I hear be true, that my Huſ⯑band loves your Daughter."

"I know not, Madam, replied the Gen⯑tlewoman, whether the Count really loves my Daughter, but I know that he makes great [179] Profeſſions of it; but what is it you would deſire of me? how is it in my Power to ſerve you?"

"I will tell you, replied the Counteſs, but firſt you muſt let me know how I ſhall return the Obligation you are able to confer upon me?"

"I ſee your Daughter is handſome, and old enough to be married, and by what I have heard, and now obſerve, you keep her at Home for want of a Portion to marry her, I intend therefore to reward the Service you may do me, by giving her immediately as much Money as you ſhall think neceſſary to marry her honourably."

The good Woman, who was in great Ne⯑ceſſity, was pleaſed with the Offer, but being cautious and diſcreet, replied,

"Madam, tell me what it is you require of me, and if I can do it honeſtly I will, and you ſhall afterwards make what Acknowledg⯑ments you pleaſe."

"You muſt then, ſaid the Counteſs, ſend ſome Perſon in whom you can confide to Count Bertrand, to let him know that your Daughter will conſent to his Deſires, but that in order to be convinced of the Truth of that Paſſion he pretends for her, he muſt ſend by her Meſſenger that Ring which he wears on his Finger, and that done, ſhe will be ready to grant all he requires.

"This Meſſage will certainly bring him to your Houſe, I will be concealed in your Daughter's Chamber, and ſupply her Place; [180] perhaps I may be ſo fortunate as to prove with Child by him, and thus by your Aſſiſtance, having the Ring on my Finger, and a Child in my Arms begat by him, I may at laſt ac⯑quire his Affection, and prevail with him to live with me for the future as his Wife."

The good Woman was at firſt ſtartled at this Requeſt of the Counteſs's, fearing her Daughter's Reputation might ſuffer if ſhe complied with it.

But reflecting that it would be a good Ac⯑tion to procure the Love of a Huſband to a Wife that deſerved it; ſhe not only promiſed the Counteſs to perform all ſhe deſired, but in a few Days ſent a Meſſenger with great Se⯑creſy to the Count, who hearing the Meſſage, notwithſtanding he thought it hard to give away his Ring, complied with his Miſtreſs's Command, and came to her Appointment.

Giletta being dextrouſly conveyed into the Chamber inſtead of the young Woman, the Count paſſed the Night with her, retiring very early the next Morning for fear of giving any Occaſion for Slander; but he renewed his Viſits every Night, always believing it was his beloved Miſtreſs who received him.

The Counteſs finding herſelf with Child, would no longer admit the nightly Viſits of her Huſband, and calling for her Benefactreſs, ſaid,

"Madam, I have (Thanks to God and your Aſſiſtance) accompliſhed what I deſired, [181] and it is now Time to know what I can do for you in Return."

The good Woman told her ſhe might do what ſhe pleaſed, but that for her Part ſhe de⯑ſired no Reward for the Service ſhe had done her, having only in her Opinion done what ſhe ought.

The Counteſs expreſſed herſelf pleaſed with her modeſt Reply, but inſiſted upon her naming a Portion for her Daughter.

The Gentlewoman thus conſtrained with great Heſitation and much Shame, aſked a hundred Pounds.

The Counteſs ſeeing her Confuſion, and admiring the Moderation of her Demand, gave her five Hundred Pounds in Money, and Jewels to the Value of five Hundred more, and taking Leave of the Mother and Daughter returned to her Inn.

The good Woman, who was enriched greatly beyond her Expectations, ſent Word to the Count to forbear his Viſits, and retired with her Daughter into the Country to ſome of her Relations.

Bertrand being informed that his Wiſe had left Rouſſillon, yielded to the Deſires of his Peo⯑ple, and went thither, which the Counteſs hearing, was extremely pleaſed, and reſolved to ſtay at Florence till ſhe was brought to Bed.

When the Time was expired ſhe was de⯑livered of two Sons, both very like their Fa⯑ther, and as ſoon as ſhe was able to bear the Fatigue of Travelling ſhe left Florence, and [182] came without being known by any one to Montpellier; there ſhe reſted two or three Days, and then with her Children took the Road to Rouſſillon.

On her Arrival ſhe enquired after the Health of her Lord, and hearing that he was well, and was that Day giving a great Feaſt to ſome Noblemen and Ladies in his Palace, ſhe preſented herſelf in the Hall where they were all aſſembled, wearing the Habit of a Pilgrim, in which ſhe had left Rouſſillon, and holding her two Sons in her Arms: Then throw⯑ing herſelf at the Feet of her Husband with Tears ſtreaming from her Eyes, ſhe ſaid.

"My Lord, I am your unhappy Wife, who, abandoned by you, did notwithſtanding apply myſelf diligently to the Management of your Affairs; I have long wandered miſerably about the World, and now come to demand you in the Name of God, ſince I have been able to accompliſh thoſe two Conditions you propoſed by the Gentleman I ſent to you; look on me, my Lord, and behold in my Arms not only one Son by you but two, behold likewiſe your Ring, and according to your Promiſe receive and acknowledge me for your Wife.

The Count, who had liſtened attentively to her, was ſtruck motionleſs with Aſtoniſh⯑ment. He knew the Ring, and obſerved the Children to be very like him, and wholly loſt in the Perplexity into which thoſe Accidents had thrown him, he aſked her how it could be?

[183]The Counteſs then, to the great Amaze⯑ment of her Lord and all who were preſent, related every Circumſtance that had happen⯑ed to her ſince her Departure from Rouſſillon.

Bertrand being convinced of the Truth of what ſhe ſaid, was ſtruck with her Per⯑ſeverance and Wiſdom, and gazing on the Children, which he knew by their Reſem⯑blance to him to be his own, mindful of the Promiſe he had made her, and moved with the Remonſtrances of the Ladies and Gentle⯑men that were with him, and the Intreaties of his People, who all conjured him to re⯑ceive and acknowledge her, his Obſtinacy at laſt gave Way.

He raiſed the Counteſs from her Knees, embraced her tenderly, acknowledged her to be his lawful Wife, and the Children ſhe brought with her his Sons. And then giving Orders for her being dreſt according to her Rank and Fortune, paſſed the reſt of that Day and many others following, in Feaſting and rejoycing, to the great Satisfaction of all the People in Rouſſillon.

From this Time he always lived with her as his Wife, eſteemed and honoured her for her Virtues, and loved her with the greateſt De⯑gree of Tenderneſs.

OBSERVATIONS on the Uſe Shakeſpear has made of the foregoing Novel in his Comedy of All's Well that ends Well.
The Fable of All's Well that ends Well.

BERTRAM, the young Count of Rouſſillon, having loſt his Father, is left un⯑der the Guardianſhip of the King of France, who ſends Orders for him to come to Court.

Helena, the Daughter of a famous Phyſi⯑cian, lately deceaſed, being violently in Love with the Count, reſolves to follow him to Paris.

The old Counteſs of Rouſſillon, Mother to Bertram, who is very fond of Helena, being informed that ſhe was in Love with her Son, queſtions her about it, which after ſome eva⯑ſive Anſwers, ſhe at laſt confeſſes, and alſo acknowledges her Intention to go to Paris, to offer her Service to cure the King, who was ſick of a Fiſtula, which by his Phyſicians was pronounced incurable.

The Counteſs permits her to go, and the King, after many Intreaties, ſubmits to make Uſe of her Medicine; which effects his Cure.

Helena before the Trial obliges the King to promiſe, that if he was reſtored to Health by [186] her Applications, he would give her her Choice of a Huſband among thoſe Perſons he had a Right to diſpoſe of.

Accordingly when the Cure is compleated, ſhe demands Count Bertram.

The King orders him to marry her; he re⯑fuſes on account of the meanneſs of her Birth; the King inſiſting upon his Obedience, Bertram at laſt complies, and ſeemingly with great Wil⯑lingneſs, but when the Ceremony is performed, declares to a Confident that he hates his new Wife, and is determined never to live with her, but will go to the Wars in Tuſcany to avoid it.

He then ſends a flattering Meſſage to Helena, and deſires that ſhe will take Leave of the King immediately, and give him to underſtand that this ſudden Parting proceeds from her own earneſt Inclinations to be gone.

Helena complies with this Injunction, and meeting her Lord, he excuſes his Abſence for two Days to her, gives her a Letter to carry to his Mother, and bids her haſten to Rouſſillon.

She departs, and he having thus got rid of her, ſteals immediately to Florence.

The old Counteſs of Rouſſillon is extremely enraged at the Contents of her Son's Letter, which informs her that he is determined never to live with his new Wife, and a Billet is delivered to Helena alſo, upon her Ar⯑rival at Rouſſillon, containing theſe Words. "When thou canſt get the Ring upon my Finger, which never ſhall come off, and [187] ſhew me a Child begotten of thy Body that I am Father to, then call me Huſband, but in ſuch a then I write never."

Helena in Deſpair at this cruel Epiſtle, and deſirous that her Preſence might not baniſh her Lord from Rouſſillon, ſteals away at Night, leaving a Letter for her Mother-in-law, in which ſhe informs her that ſhe is gone a bare⯑foot Pilgrimage to St. Jaques, entreats her to recall her Son from the Wars, and declares, "that ſhe is going to embrace Death to give him Freedom;" however, ſhe ſtops at Flo⯑rence, meets with a Widow, whoſe Daughter, Diana, the Count was in Love with, and prevailing upon theſe two Women, by large Sums of Money, to aſſiſt her in her Deſign upon her Huſband, ſhe ſupplies Diana's Place in the Aſſignation ſhe had made by her Advice with the Count, and gets the Ring which he had preſented her in her own Poſſeſſion, giving him in Return another which ſhe had received from the King.

A feigned Account of her Death, confirmed by the Rector of the Place where ſhe died, being carried to Rouſſillon, the old Counteſs ſends the News to her Son, entreating him to return, which he does immediately; and the King, being then at Rouſſillon, pardons the Count for his unkind Uſage of Helena, whoſe Loſs he ſeems greatly to regret, and the Daughter of an old Lord, named Lafeu, is propoſed to him for a ſecond Wife.

Bertram eagerly embraces the Propoſal, de⯑claring "he had been violently in Love with [188] the young Lady, which was the Cauſe of his Contempt for Helena."

The Match being concluded on, Lafeu de⯑ſires his intended Son-in-law to give him ſome Token to ſend his Daughter; upon which the Count preſents him with the Ring he had re⯑ceived from the ſuppoſed Diana.

Lafeu immediately recollects that he had ſeen that Ring upon Helena's Finger, and the King looking at it, immediately declares that it was the ſame he had given her at parting.

Bertram aſſures them they were miſtaken; that the Ring never was Helena's, but thrown to him from a Window in Florence by a Lady who was in Love with him.

The King, alarmed by theſe Falſhoods, entertains a Suſpicion that Bertram had mur⯑dered his Wife, and ſends him to Priſon.

In the mean Time Helena, finding herſelf with Child, rides poſt with the Widow and her Daughter to Marſeilles, where ſhe had been informed the King was.

On her Arrival ſhe is told the King is at Rouſſillon; and meeting with a Gentleman belonging to the Court, who was going there, ſhe delivers a Petition to him, entreating him to preſent it to the King; the Gentleman pro⯑miſes to do ſo, and Helena and her Aſſociates follow him to Rouſſillon.

The Gentleman arrives with the Petition juſt as the Count is carried off guarded, and the King receiving it reads it aloud; it is ſigned Diana Capulet; who accuſes the Count of having debauched her at Florence under a Promiſe of Marriage when his Wife died, the [189] Performance of which ſhe now claims, Helena being dead; and entreats the King would oblige him to do her Juſtice; the Count is brought again into the King's Prefence, and Diana and her Mother appear to make good the Charge againſt him; which he denies, and calls his deified Diana a common Strumpet.

Diana then produces the Ring which he had given Helena, when ſhe met him in her ſtead; and claims the other which the Count had declared was thrown to him from a Win⯑dow, and ſays that ſhe gave it him in Bed; the Count, then acknowledges the Ring was her's; the King, who knew it was the ſame he had given to Helena, aſks her if it was her's; ſhe provokes him by her evaſive and contra⯑dictory Anſwers, and he orders her to be car⯑ried to Priſon.

Diana deſires her Mother to get Bail for her, and immediately Helena appears, and tells her Lord ſhe had accompliſhed both the Conditions he had impoſed on her; gives him back his Ring, and declares ſhe is with Child; upon which Bertram promiſes to love her for the future dearly; and the King takes upon himſelf the Care of providing Diana with a Huſband, and paying her Portion.

Shakeſpear, in his Comedy of All's Well that Ends Well, has followed pretty exactly the Thread of the Story in the foregoing Novel.

He has made Uſe of all the Incidents he found there, and added ſome of his own, which poſſibly may not be thought any Proofs [190] either of his Invention or Judgment, ſince, at the ſame Time that they grow out of thoſe he found formed to his Hand, yet they grow like Excreſcences, and are equally uſeleſs and diſ⯑agreeable.

The ſuppoſed Death of Giletta, as ſhe is called in the Novel, or Helena, as ſhe is named in the Play, is wholly an Invention of Shakeſpear; yet it produces nothing but a few Ambiguities in the Dialogue, which are far from entertaining, and a baſe Suſpicion of the Count's having murdered her, which he bears with a Tameneſs unbecoming the Cha⯑racter of a brave Soldier and a haughty No⯑bleman.

The Cataſtrophe of the Story, though the ſame in the Play as the Novel, yet is very differently conducted in each: There is more Probability in the Incidents which lead to it in the Novel, and more Contrivance in thoſe of the Play.

The Reconciliation between the Count and his Lady is very natural and affecting in Boc⯑cace; in Shakeſpear it is loſt amidſt a Croud of perplexing and, in my Opinion, uninte⯑reſting Circumſtances.

The Character of the Heroine is more exalt⯑ed in the Original than the Copy.

In Boccace we ſee her, after her Marriage and the cruel Flight of her Huſband, taking the Government of the Province in her own Hands, and behaving with ſo much Wiſdom, Prudence and Magnanimity, as acquired her the Love and Eſteem of the People, who all [191] murmured againſt the Injuſtice of their Lord in not being ſenſible to ſo much Merit; nor does ſhe endeavour to procure his Affection by a Stratagem, till ſhe has given Proofs that ſhe deſerved it.

Shakeſpear ſhews her oppreſſed with Deſ⯑pair at the Abſence of the Count, incapable of either Advice or Conſolation; giving unne⯑ceſſary Pain to the good Counteſs her Mother-in-law (a Character entirely of his own In⯑vention) by alarming her with a pretended Deſign of killing herſelf, and by ſome Means or other, which we are not acquainted with, gets the Rector of the Place, to whom ſhe had vowed a Pilgrimage, (which by the Way ſhe does not perform) to confirm the Report of her Death.

After having accompliſhed her Deſign of bedding with her Huſband and procuring the Ring, ſhe rides Poſt to Marſeilles with the Widow and her Daughter, on Purpoſe to ex⯑poſe her beloved Huſband to the King's Re⯑ſentment, and the Contempt of all the Courtiers who were preſent; by making Diana complain to the King of the Count's having debauched her under a Promiſe of Marriage when his Wife was dead.

After ſhe has thus expoſed the Frailties of her Huſband, ſhe has the Cruelty to ſuffer him to be accuſed of having murdered her, and in Conſequence of that Accuſation, ſeized and impriſoned by the King's Order.

[192]The Diſcovery of her Plot is attended with none of thoſe affecting Circumſtances we find in the Original.

After having made him endure ſo much Shame and Affliction, ſhe haughtily demands his Affection as a Prize ſhe had lawfully won.

In Boccace ſhe knéels, ſhe weeps, ſhe per⯑ſuades; and if ſhe demands, ſhe demands with Humility.

In Shakeſpear ſhe is cruel, artful, and inſo⯑lent, and ready to make Uſe of the King's Authority to force her Huſband to do her Juſ⯑tice.

The Character of Helena being thus ma⯑naged in the Play, Shakeſpear has with Art, made the old Counteſs (who is an amiable Character) bear Witneſs to the Vir⯑tues of Helena; for otherwiſe we ſhould not have diſcovered them; we muſt therefore take her Word for it, that her Daughter-in-law is wiſe, gentle, prudent and virtuous; for, ex⯑cept her extreme Cunning, ſhe has nothing ſtriking in her Character; and, except her Perſeverance, nothing amiable.

It is indeed ſurprizing, that Shakeſpear, as he has followed ſo exactly the Copy of Boccace, ſhould deviate from him ſo much in the Cha⯑racter of the two principal Perſons in his Play, whom, at the ſame Time, he intends as well as the Noveliſt to make happy.

The Count ſuffers rather more in his Hands than the Lady; in the Novel his greateſt Fault is flying from a Woman he had married, and [193] taking a Reſolution never to live with her, but upon Conditions he himſelf was determined to render impoſſible.

Yet this Behaviour admits of much Ex⯑tenuation: The Woman he had married was forced upon him by the abſolute Authority of the King; her Birth was greatly inferior to his; her Perſon had not attracted his Atten⯑tion; he had no Inducement to love her; on the contrary, he had great Reaſon to be of⯑fended with her for forcing herſelf, ungenerouſ⯑ly as he thought, upon him.

Her Behaviour indeed after his leaving her merited his Affection; but he was then in love with another Woman, and incapable of liſten⯑ing to the Dictates of his Reaſon; and when he does yield to acknowledge her For his Wife, he yields to the Force of Conviction; he loves her becauſe he is perſuaded ſhe merits it, and accordingly that Love is pure and laſting.

In Shakeſpear, when the King offers her to him for a Wife, he refuſes her with great Coarſeneſs and many contemptuous Expreſ⯑ſions; yet upon the King's exerting his Au⯑thority, meanly ſubmits, and contradicts his former avowed Sentiments.

After his Marriage, he declares his con⯑tinued Hatred for her to his Friends, yet con⯑deſcends to diſſemble unworthily with her to get rid of her.

In Florence he attempts to corrupt a young Woman of good Family and Reputation, and ſucceeding as he imagined, openly boaſts of it.

[194]Upon the News of his Wife's Death, of which he thinks himſelf the Cauſe, he expreſ⯑ſes great Joy; and without taking Leave of the young Woman he ſuppoſes he has de⯑bauched, haſtens back to Rouſſillon. There a Marriage being propoſed to him with the Daughter of an old Courtier, he accepts it im⯑mediately; declaring his Paſſion for that young Lady, which he durſt never reveal, was the Cauſe of his Hatred to Helena. A very im⯑probable Tale; becauſe his Quality ſet him above a Refuſal from any Lady; and he is re⯑preſented to be paſſionately in Love at Flo⯑rence.

But to go on; when Diana, his Florentine Flame, preſents, by the Contrivance of his Wife, a Petition to the King, informing him, that the Count had debauched her by a Promiſe of Marriage, and then cruelly ſtole away from her, the Count denies the Charge, and is baſe enough to defame the Woman he had ruined, calling her a common Creature and infamous Proſtitute; and, in the Courſe of his Exami⯑nation, invents ſeveral ridiculous Lies.

Upon the Appearance of his Wife, he ac⯑knowledges all; meanly begs Pardon of both; and promiſes to love his Wife for the fu⯑ture dearly.

It is not eaſy to conceive a Reaſon why Shakeſpear has thus mangled the Characters of Boccace; when, except in a few trifling Cir⯑cumſtances, he has ſo faithfully followed the Story.

[195]It was not neceſſary to make Helena leſs amiable, or the Count more wicked in the Play than the Novel, ſince the Intrigue in both is exactly the ſame; and certainly he has vio⯑lated all the Rules of poetical Juſtice in con⯑ducting, by a Variety of Incidents, the two principal Perſons of the Play to Happineſs; when they both (though with ſome Inequali⯑ty) merited nothing but Puniſhment.

The Thirty-ſixth Novel of Bandello. Volume the Second.

WHEN the Imperial City of Rome was taken and ſacked by the united Arms of Spain and Germany, a rich Merchant of Eſi, named Ambrogio, was taken Priſoner among the reſt of the Inhabitants, This Merchant, by a Wife who was lately dead, had two Children, a Boy and a Girl, both, beyond all Imagination beau⯑tiful, and ſo like each other, that when they were both dreſſed in Boy's or Girl's Cloaths, it was difficult to know the one from the other; ſo that the Father himſelf, who for his Diverſion often tried the Experiment, was ex⯑tremely puzzled to diſtinguiſh them.

Ambrogio, who loved them with great Af⯑fection, ſpared no Expence in their Educa⯑tion, but cauſed them to be taught every Thing that was fit for their Birth and Fortune.

[198]At the Time that Rome was ſacked, they were about fifteen Years of Age.

Paolo, ſo was the Boy called, was taken Priſoner by a certain German, who for his great perſonal Valour was held in high Eſteem by his Nation.

This Man having taken ſeveral other Pri⯑ſoners of conſiderable Rank, drew large Sums for their Ranſom; his Share of the Plunder had alſo been very great, having got a large Quantity of Gold and Silver Plate, many rich Jewels and Cloaths; ſo that being very well ſatisfied with his Gain he leſt Rome, and went to Naples, taking with him his little Captive Paolo, whom he loved and treated like his own Son.

The twin Siſter of Paolo, who was called Nicuola, fell into the Hands of two Spaniſh Soldiers, and Fortune was ſo favourable to her, that upon her telling them ſhe was Daughter to a very rich Man, they treated her with great Reſpect, in Expectation of receiving a conſiderable Sum for her Ranſom.

Ambrogio, through the Favour of ſome Neapolitan Friends who were in the Spaniſh Troops, avoided Captivity, and had alſo an Opportunity given him of concealing the great⯑eſt Part of his Treaſure in a ſubterraneous Vault, but what remained in his Houſe was pillaged.

This Loſs he bore with great Indifference, Grief for his Children's Captivity, and his Endeavours to find them, taking up all his Thoughts.

[199]After a diligent Search he at length found Nicuola, whom he redeemed for five Hundred Ducats, but all the Methods he could uſe to diſcover where Paolo, was proving ineffectual, he began to fear he was killed.

This Apprehenſion filled him with exceſſive Affliction, and no longer able to ſtay in Rome, which continually renewed in his Mind the Remembrance of his loſt Son, he returned to Eſi, the Place of his Birth, and ſatisfied with the Riches he poſſeſſed, quitted Merchandiz⯑ing entirely.

In this City there dwelt a rich Merchant, named Gerard Lanzetti, whoſe Wife being lately dead, and he through his Intimacy with Ambrogio, having frequent Opportunities of ſeeing the charming Nicuola, fell violently in Love with her; his own advanced Age, and the extream Youth of Nicuola, did not prevent him from demanding her in Marriage of her Fa⯑ther, aſſuring him at the ſame Time that he would take her without any Portion.

Ambrogio had too much, Underſtanding, not to be ſenſible that ſo unequal a Match could be productive of no good Conſequences; yet to avoid offending the old Lover, he would not give him an abſolute Denial, but put him off, by ſaying he had ſtill Hopes of recover⯑ing his Son, and could not think of parting with Nicuola till he heard ſome News of her Brother.

In the mean Time the Fame of Nicuola's extraordinary Beauty ſpread through the whole [200] City of Eſi, her Charms was the Subject of ge⯑neral Converſation. When ſhe went abroad the People gathered in Crouds to gaze on her, and the nobleſt Youths in the City were continu⯑ally paſſing before her Windows, in Hopes of gaining a momentary Sight of her.

But he who was moſt aſſiduous in watch⯑ing for Opportunities to ſee her, was a young Gentleman, named Lattantio Puccini, lately come to the Poſſeſſion of an immenſe For⯑tune, by the Death of his Father and Mo⯑ther.

The diligent Attendance of this Youth be⯑fore her Windows, at laſt attracted the Ob⯑ſervation of Nicuola, who being charmed with the Gracefulneſs of his Perſon, and flat⯑tered by his conſtant Aſſiduities, ſhewed her⯑ſelf frequently at her Window, and with be⯑witching Smiles and encouraging Glances, endeavoured to aſſure him that ſhe was pleaſed with his Paſſion, which Lattantio perceiving, thought himſelf the happieſt Lover in the World.

Nicuola, who found an irreſiſtible Sweetneſs in thoſe new Deſires that had taken Poſſeſſion of her young Boſom, opened her whole Soul to the inſinuating Paſſion, which grew at laſt to ſuch a Height, that Life was inſupportable to her unleſs ſhe ſaw him every Day.

Lattantio, no longer able to content himſelf with beholding his beautiful Miſtreſs at a Diſ⯑tance only, was endeavouring to procure the Means of ſpeaking to her in private, when ſome urgent Affairs calling Ambrogio to Rome, where he propoſed to ſtay ſeveral Months, he [201] was unwilling to leave Nicuola to the Care of Servants, and therefore took her to Fabriano, and left her with a Brother of his who had a Wife and Family.

Nicuola's Departure from Eſi was ſo ſud⯑den and unexpected, that ſhe had no Time to inform her Lover of it, ſo that he hearing her Father was gone to Rome, ſuppoſed he had taken her with him, and remained for ſome Time extremely diſconſolate.

Abſence however producing its uſual Ef⯑fects, ſo weakened the Idea of Nicuola in his Mind, that an accidental Sight of the fair Catella, Daughter to Gerard Lanzetti, entirely erazed the Remembrance of Nicuola, and he reſigned himſelf wholly up to the Influence of this new Charmer.

Nicuola on the contrary grieved beyond Meaſure, at not having been able to inform her Lover of the Place to which ſhe was hurried, paſſed her Time in Sighs, Tears, and Com⯑plaints.

The rigid Auſterity of her Uncle, who kept her always in his Sight, made it impoſ⯑ſible for her to fend a Letter or Meſſage to Lattantio; ſo that this Reſtraint adding a fret⯑ful Impatience to her Grief, ſhe thought every Hour of Abſence a thouſand Years, and wearied out by continual Anxiety and reſtleſs Wiſhes, ſhe fell into a deep and ſettled Melan⯑cholly, which not all the tender Conſolations of her Couſins, who thought it was occaſion⯑ed by the Abſence of her Father, could re⯑move.

[202]In this Manner ſhe languiſhed ſeveral Months, at the End of which her Father left Rome, and paſſing by Fabriano called for his Daughter, and returned to Eſi.

Nicuola left Fabriano with as much Joy as a Soul long tortured in Purgatory feels at quit⯑ting it for Paradiſe, feeding her Imagination with the Tranſports her Return would give her raviſhed Lover, and enjoying by Antici⯑pation the exquiſite Pleaſure of an Interview after ſo tedious an Abſence.

But on her Arrival at Eſi, theſe pleaſing Expectations were all changed to the moſt racking Jealouſy. Report informed her that Lattantio was fallen in Love with Catella, and this cruel News was confirmed by his ſhocking Indifference towards herſelf, for he took no more Notice of her than if he had never ſeen her before.

Nicuola now abandoned herſelf entirely to Deſpair, the Infidelity of Lattantio was ten Times more inſupportable than his Abſence had been, and ſo low was the unhappy Beauty reduced, as to endeavour by repeated Letters and Meſſages to recall herſelf to his Re⯑membrance, but thoſe proving all ineffectual, ſhe reſolved to die, unleſs by ſome Means yet untried, ſhe could recover the Heart of her ungrateful Lattantio.

While Nicuola was thus conſuming with an almoſt hopeleſs Paſſion, Ambrogio found it neceſſary to take another Journey to Rome, and as his Daughter was unwilling to go a ſecond Time to her Uncle's at Fabriano, he [203] placed her till his Return in a Monaſtery, where one of her Couſins, named Siſter Cam⯑milla Biſſa, was profeſſed.

This Convent was formely in great Repu⯑tation for Sanctity, but Nicuola had been there but a ſhort Time before the diſorderly Be⯑haviour of the Nuns gave her great Diſguſt. Their Converſation, inſtead of turning upon the holy Lives of the Fathers, their Piety, their Abſtinence, and good Works, were in⯑temperate, looſe, and profane: Love was the Buſineſs of their Lives; they were not aſham⯑ed to diſcover their Intrigues to each other, but would even boaſt of their ſcandalous Ap⯑pointments. Inſtead of Faſting and Prayer, they indulged themſelves in the moſt delicate Repaſts and ſlothful Eaſe. Inſtead of wearing Shifts made of Hare-ſkin next their Bodies, they wore Linen of the higheſt Prices, adorn⯑ing themſelves with the richeſt Silks and moſt expenſive Ornaments, heightening their na⯑tive Beauty with all the Embelliſhments of Art, and not ſcrupling even to make Uſe of Paints, Waſhes, and Eſſences, to ſupply the Defects of Nature.

Thus adorned, and practiſing all the allur⯑ing Artifices of looſe Curtezans, they waſted whole Days in Diſcourſes with the young Rakes of the City, who ſpent the greateſt Part of their Time at the Grate of their Con⯑vent.

Nicuola, extremely ſcandalized at the inde⯑cent Behaviour of the Nuns, often regretted her being placed in their Monaſtery, and finding no Alleviation of her Griefs amongſt [204] ſuch diſagreeable Companions, ſhe gave her⯑ſelf up to her ſecret Diſcontent.

It happened one Day when Siſter Camilla was with her, that ſome body told that Nun, Lattantio, who often came there on account of Linens and fine Works which he em⯑ployed thoſe Nuns to make, wanted her at the Grate.

Camilla went immediately, without taking Notice of Nicoula's Diſorder, who no ſooner heard the Sound of that Name than her fair Face and Boſom was all overſpread with a glowing Red, which in a Moment changed to an aſhy Paleneſs, and though her trembling Limbs were ſcarce able to ſupport her, yet im⯑pelled by an eager Deſire to ſee again that much loved Face, and hear the dear Sound of his Voice, ſhe crept to a little Place, where unſeen herſelf, ſhe might both hear and ſee her faithleſs Lover.

This Practice ſhe continued as often as ſhe had any Opportunity, and one Time when ſhe was thus employed, ſhe heard Lattantio complain to Camilla of his ill Fortune in loſ⯑ing a Page, who had ſerved him three Years with the utmoſt Exactneſs and Fidelity. The Youth he told her was juſt then dead of a Fever in his Houſe, which gave him great Concern, becauſe he deſpaired of ever get⯑ting another as faithful and affectionate as he had been.

When he was gone, Nicoula reflecting up⯑on this Incident, it came into her Head to diſ⯑guiſe herſelf like a Boy, and ſerve her Lover [205] in the quality of a Page, but not knowing how to procure a Habit neceſſary for her De⯑ſign, ſhe remained for ſome Time in more Diſcontent than ever.

At length ſhe took a Reſolution to acquaint her Nurſe with this new Scheme which Love had inſpired, and if poſſible engage her Aſſiſt⯑ance in executing it.

Phillippa, for that was the Name of her Nurſe, loved Nicuola with as much Tender⯑neſs as if ſhe had been her own Child, and being deſired by Ambrogio when he left Eſi, to ſee his Daughter very often, and to take her when ſhe had an Inclination to her own Houſe; ſhe never failed to viſit her at the Con⯑vent every Day, and the Nuns, with whom Ambrogio had left Directions for that Purpoſe, permitted Nicuola to go out with her when⯑ever ſhe deſired it.

To this good Woman Nicuola had entruſted the Secret of her Paſſion for Lattantio, and flattering herſelf that her Tenderneſs for her would make it eaſy to engage her Aſſiſtance in a Scheme that her whole Soul was now bent upon accompliſhing, ſhe ſent for her one Day, and diſcloſing her Deſign, earneſtly con⯑jured her to afford her the Means of exe⯑cuting it.

Phillippa, after having for a long Time in vain endeavoured to diſſuade her from an Attempt ſo dangerous to her Reputation, at laſt conſented to her Deſire, and taking her to her own Houſe, furniſhed her with a Suit of [206] Cloaths, which had belonged to her own Son, a Boy about Nicuola's Age, who died a few Months before, and thus equipt ſhe went to the Street where her Lover lived.

Chance aſſiſting her Deſign, brought Lat⯑tantio to the Door of his Houſe, juſt as Nicuolo entered the Street, which ſhe obſerving, aſ⯑ſumed the Air and Manner of a poor Stran⯑ger juſt arrived, gazing at every Thing ſhe ſaw, and wandering backwards and forwards, as if at a Loſs what Place to go to.

Lattantio ſtruck with the Appearance of ſo genteel and pretty a Youth, ſtood ſtill for ſome Moments obſerving him, and ſuppoſing the poor Boy might poſſibly want a Service, he made a Sign to him as he paſſed by to ap⯑proach.

Nicuola accordingly came forward, and Lattantio being ſtill more pleaſed with him on a nearer View, aſked him his Name, and whether he was born in Eſi.

"My Lord, replied Nicuola, my Name is Romulo, I was born in Rome, and loſt my Fa⯑ther when the City was taken, my Mother died many Years before; I attended a Noble⯑man as his Page, who was mortally wounded when the City was ſacked, and becauſe I wept and lamented his Misfortune, two Spaniſh Soldiers beat me cruelly, and left me in a miſerable Condition."

"If thou art willing to ſerve me, ſaid Lattantio, I will take thee to be my Page, and treat thee in ſuch a Manner that thou ſhalt have no Cauſe to complain of thy Condi⯑tion."

[207]"My Lord, replied Romulo, I accept your Offer with great Willingneſs, and deſire no other Recompence for my Services than what you ſhall judge they deſerve.

Romulo accordingly entered that Day into his new Employment, in which he acquitted himſelf with ſo much Diligence and Polite⯑neſs, that in a few Days he entirely gained the Favour of his Maſter, who no longer re⯑gretted the Loſs of his former Page, but thought himſelf the happieſt Man in the World, in the Attendance of ſo genteel and ſo faithful a Servant.

Romulo was now clad in an elegant Livery, and finding his Services agreeable to his Maſter, and bleſt with his Sight and Converſation every Day, he would not have changed his Condition for a Place in Paradiſe.

It has been ſaid before, that Lattantio was enamoured of Catella, the Daughter of Gerard Lanzetti, Nievola's old Lover.

This young Lady obſerving Lattantio paſ⯑ſing every Day before her Windows, and by his Looks and Actions endeavouring to ſhew the Violence of his Paſſion for her, always looked upon him with great Complacency, though her Heart was as yet wholly inſenſible of the ſoft Power of Love, ſo that Lattantio endeavoured in vain by repeated Letters and Meſſages to prevail upon her to take ſome Re⯑ſolution in his Favour.

The artful Fair-one, though ſhe was not diſpoſed to return his Love, yet being pleaſed [208] with his Aſſiduities, would not entirely de⯑prive him of Hope, but while ſhe carefully avoided coming to any Explanation with him, by her encouraging Looks and Smiles ſhe kept his Hopes alive, and encreaſed his Deſire.

The extream Avarice of her Father, notwith⯑ſtanding his great Riches, was the Cauſe that Catella had all the Opportunities ſhe could wiſh to indulge her coquet Diſpoſition, for Gerard kept only three Domeſtics in his Houſe.

One of theſe was an old Woman, who hardly ever ſtirred from the Fire-ſide, another a Lackey, who always went abroad with him; the third a young Maid-ſervant, who being bribed by Lattantio, left the young Lady the Liberty of ſhowing herſelf at the Window as much as ſhe pleaſed, and every Day brought her a Letter or Meſſage from Lattantio.

The unhappy Lover finding all his Sollici⯑tations hitherto fruitleſs, conceived a Deſign of ſending Romulo to intercede for him, hop⯑ing from a Form and Youth, ſo engaging, and an Addreſs ſo inſinuating, to induce her to make ſome Return to his ardent Paſſion.

Accordingly giving his Page the neceſſary Inſtructions, he ordered him immediately to go to the Houſe of Catella.

Poor Romulo received this Commiſſion with a breaking Heart, and haſtily quitting his Maſter's Preſence, ran to his good old Nurſe to acquaint her with this new Misfor⯑tune.

[209]Oh! Mother, cried he, throwing himſelf on her Neck all drowned in Tears, I am re⯑duced to the laſt Diſtreſs, Fortune not con⯑tented with the Miſery I indure in being Wit⯑neſs to the continual Sighs of my perjured Lattantio for Catella, has ordered it ſo, that I, tortured as I am with Love and Jealouſy, muſt ſollicit this happy Rival to yield to the Addreſſes of my Lover; was there ever, my dear Mother, a Deſtiny ſo cruel as mine? If this hated Embaſſy ſhould be curſt with Succeſs, if I ſhould indeed be ſo wretched to gain my Rival for Lattantio, there will be no other Remedy for my Woes but Death, for it is impoſſible I ſhould endure Life and behold my Lattantio in the Arms of another.

Adviſe me, aſſiſt me, my dear Mother, in this deplorable Extremity. Alas! I hoped by my Fidelity and Services, to have made my⯑ſelf ſo dear to Lattantio, that when I diſco⯑vered myſelf to him, the Greatneſs of my Love would induce him to take Compaſſion on me, and reſtore me to the Poſſeſſion of that Heart that was mine before it was Catella's, but how have I deceived myſelf! he thinks, he talks of nothing elſe but Catella; perjured Man, ſhe only is the Object of his Wiſhes, and I am utterly abandoned. Unhappy me, what ſhall I do when my Father comes home, if he ſhould diſcover what I have done, will he not kill me with his own Hands? certainly he will, for what can I ſay in Excuſe for my⯑ſelf? Help me! oh help me! my dear Mother, tell me what I ſhall do to avoid the Miſery with which I am threatened?

[210] Phillippa was ſo moved with the Tears and Complaints of this her dear foſter Child, that for ſome Time ſhe could do nothing but weep. Recovering herſelf at laſt, you aſk my Advice, my dear Daughter, ſaid ſhe, alas! how often have I given it you in vain, when in diſcourſing to me of your unhappy Love, I foreſaw, and would have prevented the fatal Conſequence of it?

Now then I beſeech you pay more regard to my Council; reſume your own Dreſs, and either remain with me or go back to the Monaſtery, and I will take care your Adven⯑ture ſhall never be known to your Father; 'tis poſſible he may return ſoon to Eſi, and I would not for all the Wealth in the World he ſhould diſcover you in this Dreſs, the Conſe⯑quence would be fatal to both you and me.

Quit then this dangerous Scheme, my dear Nicuola, you ſee Lattantio is every Day more enamoured of Catella, and you labour in vain to recal his Affection. Why will you hazard your Life and Honour in ſo hopeleſs an Enterprize? All the Reward you can ex⯑pect for this unworthy Servitude is eternal In⯑famy both to yourſelf and Family. Nor is this all; your Father may perhaps ſacrifice your Life to the Honour of your Houſe, which he will think you have diſgraced; how mean, how unworthy is it for one of your Sex, your Birth and Education, to perſiſt in loving one who deſpiſes you? to follow one who flies from you? Ah, when I was of your Age I was never guilty of ſuch Weakneſs, I [211] was purſued, I did not purſue, I ſcorned others, but was not ſcorned myſelf: Collect your ſcat⯑tered Reaſon, my dear Daughter, quit all Thoughts of this ungrateful Man, and place them on one more worthy your Affection.

There are many noble Youths in this City who would eſteem it a Happineſs to gain you for a Wife; but if your Adventure ſhould be diſcovered, depend upon it, you would find it very difficult to get a Huſband; how are you ſure Lattantio has not already diſcovered you, and in Contempt of your Weakneſs means to take ſome Opportunity of making you ſub⯑ſervient to his looſer Pleaſures? Oh! my Ni⯑cuola, beware in Time, ſtay here with me, and ſhun all the Dangers which threaten your Innocence, your Reputation and your Life."

Nicuola liſtened attentively to her Nurſe's Diſcourſe; and when ſhe had ended it, ſtood for ſome Moments fixed in Thought, then ſighing deeply "My dear Mother, ſaid ſhe, I acknowledge that your Advice is juſt and rea⯑ſonable; but, alas! I am incapable of follow⯑ing it; ſince I have done ſo much, I will ſee the End happen what will.

I will go to Catella, and perform my Com⯑miſſion, and ſee whether I am able to prevail with her: Lattantio has yet had only general Anſwers from her, perhaps ſhe may refuſe him: God, who knows my Heart, knows that I only deſire to poſſeſs Lattantio with Ho⯑nour: Providence, perhaps, will at length favour my blameleſs Paſſion: In the mean time, I will call here every Day, and acquaint [212] you with every thing that happens to me; and if my Father ſhould come home ſuddenly, we muſt provide in the beſt Manner we can for the Honour of our Houſe; it is, perhaps, as great a Degree of Folly to anticipate Evil by Apprehenſions, as to indulge one's Self in a blind Security."

Romulo then embracing the good old Wo⯑man, who, ſilently grieved at the Obſtinacy ſhe could not cure, went away, and arrived at Catella's Houſe juſt as her Father, attended by his Lackey, went out.

Catella's Maid being at the Door, he in⯑formed her that he was ſent by Lattantio with a Meſſage to her Lady, and deſired her to procure him Admittance to her.

The Girl, ſhewing him into a ground Par⯑lour, ran up ſtairs to her Miſtreſs, and, out of Breath with Joy, cried, "Oh! Madam! Lattantio has ſent his beautiful Page, whom you have ſo often admired, to ſpeak to you."

Where is he? interrupted Catella impa⯑tiently; and being told by the Maid that ſhe had ventured to bring him into the Houſe, and that he was waiting for her in the Par⯑lour; Catella with eager Haſte flew to him, and entering the Room, was ſo aſtoniſhed with a nearer View of that miraculous Beauty which had charmed her at a Diſtance, that for ſome Moments ſhe doubted if ſhe was not in the Preſence of an Angel.

Romulo, making her a low Reverence, de⯑livered the Meſſage his Maſter had ſent.

[213] Catella heard him with an inconceivable De⯑light, not becauſe the Purport of his Words pleaſed her, but the Sound of that enchanting Voice conveyed an unuſual Tranſport to her Heart; loſt in ſilent Admiration, ſhe ſtood contemplating the lovely Form before her, while her ſoft Boſom heaved with, till then, unknown Deſires; then breathing an ardent Sigh, and darting a Glance at him, which bet⯑ter than the moſt expreſſive Words ex⯑plained the tender Paſſion which had taken a full and abſolute Poſſeſſion of her Soul: "Why, Oh lovely and too dangerous Youth, ſaid ſhe, why do you hazard thus your Life by coming to me on ſuch a Buſineſs? Alas! if my Father ſhould return and find you here, the Conſe⯑quence would be fatal both to you and me."

Romulo, who had well obſerved her paſſion⯑ate Looks, the Changes of her Colour, and the interrupting Sighs that made her Words al⯑moſt unintelligible, was perſuaded ſhe had entertained a Paſſion for him, and pleaſed be⯑yond Meaſure at this happy Accident, he aſ⯑ſumed more Earneſtneſs in his Looks and Voice.

"It is fit, Madam, ſaid he, that a Servant ſhould in all Things obey the Will of his Maſter; and dangerous as this Embaſſy is, yet I undertook it willingly at his Command, who has a Right to all my Obedience; ſend me not away then I conjure you, Madam, without a favourable Anſwer; but have [214] Compaſſion on my Maſter, who loves you with the moſt ardent Paſſion imaginable."

Catella ſuffered him a long Time to ſolicit her in this Manner, without making him any Anſwer; when at laſt, ſeeing him about to leave her, and vanquiſhed by the irreſiſtible Force of her Paſſion: "Oh! Heavens! cried ſhe, in a languiſhing Voice, what you deſire of me, charming Youth, I cannot grant; you your⯑ſelf make it impoſſible: Alas! by what En⯑chantment have you thus robbed me of myſelf?"

You divert yourſelf, Madam, at my Ex⯑pence, replied Romulo; I am no Enchanter, and have practiſed no Arts upon you; all I want is to prevail upon you to let me carry my Maſter ſome agreeable News, who cannot live if you continue thus inexorable; ſpeak, Madam, will you allow me to give him Hopes that you will relent?"

Catella continuing ſilent, Romulo, bowing with a diſcontented Air, moved towards the Door; when ſhe, rouzed by that Action, and no longer able to reſtrain herſelf, haſtily ſnatched his Hand, and lifting up her fine Eyes to Heaven, "Oh! cried ſhe, in a faultering Voice, to what am I reduced!" then fixing them with a paſſionate Look on his Face, "No Man in the World but you, ſaid ſhe, could have made me thus forget what I owe to myſelf; I love you, charming Youth; I can⯑not live unleſs you return my Paſſion; leave a Servitude ſo unworthy of you, and be the Lord of me and all I have: I aſk not to know your Birth or Fortune; mine can ſupply the Diſadvantages of both; all I require of you is [215] to quit the Service of Lattantio, whom I can never love, and from this Moment will never give a favourable Glance to, and devote your⯑ſelf entirely to me."

Romulo, finding the Buſineſs would go on as he wiſhed, after ſome further Diſcourſe with Catella, promiſed her to be wholly guided by her Will; aſſuring her he would always moſt gratefully acknowledge the Honour and Hap⯑pineſs to which ſhe raiſed him; but at the ſame Time earneſtly entreated her to act with all imaginable Caution in the Affair between them, to prevent its coming to the Know⯑ledge of Lattantio, who, if he diſcovers my good Fortune, added he, will not fail to ſa⯑crifice me to his Revenge.

Catella promiſing to follow his Advice im⯑plicitly, Romulo kiſſed her Hand with a re⯑ſpectful Tenderneſs, aſſuring her he would ſee her very ſoon again, and then went home, where he found his Maſter waiting for him with an anxious Impatience.

Romulo then told him, "that he was obliged to wait a long Time before he could procure Admittance to Catella, whom he found highly incenſed againſt him, as well on Account of the ſevere chiding ſhe had juſt then ſuffered from her Father for encouraging his Love, as becauſe ſhe had been informed that he had formerly loved a young Lady of that City very paſſionately: I uſed my utmoſt Endevaours, added Romulo, to remove this Suſ⯑picion from her Mind, but all in vain; and ſhe [216] diſmiſſed me with an Aſſurance that ſhe would never ſee you more."

Lattantio was extremely afflicted at this ſad News; he made his Page repeat ſeveral times all the Arguments he had uſed to Catella in his Favour, and afterwards entreated him to take another Opportunity of ſpeaking to her on the ſame Subject.

Romulo promiſed to do all that lay in his Power for him: The next Day the diſcon⯑tented Lattantio paſſing through the Street where his Miſtreſs lived, in hopes of ſeeing her, Catella, who was at her Window, no ſooner eſpied him ſtanding oppoſite to it, than darting a dreadful Frown at him, ſhe haſtily withdrew, leaving him overwhelmed with Grief at this Confirmation of his Misfortune.

The unhappy Lover returned to his Houſe, and ſhutting himſelf up in his Chamber with Romulo, began to lament his unfortunate Deſ⯑tiny; and being greatly mortified at the con⯑temptuous Treatment he received from Catel⯑la, he broke into Invectives and Reproaches againſt her.

Romulo ſeeing his Maſter moved as he de⯑ſired, began to reaſon on the fantaſtic Effects of Love, and purſuing his Diſcourſe, "How often does it happen, ſaid he, that a Man be⯑comes violently enamoured with a Lady who repays his Paſſion with Indifference and Diſ⯑dain; and, while he conſumes away in hope⯑leſs Wiſhes for her, ſome unhappy Fair-one languiſhes in Secret for him."

[217]"Your Obſervation is very juſt, returned Lattantio, and the ſame Thing has happened to myſelf: Some Months ago I was beloved by one of the moſt beautiful Virgins in this City, who was lately come from Rome; I per⯑ceived her Paſſion, and I returned it with the moſt ardent Affection; but ſhe left the City, and I could not diſcover to what Place ſhe was gone.

"In the mean time I happened to ſee this haughty Beauty, whoſe Charms took ſo abſo⯑lute Poſſeſſion of my Heart, that all Remem⯑brance of the other was totally eraſed.

"The Fair-one I had abandoned returned to Eſi, and by Letters expoſtulated with me on my Infidelity, and tenderly endeavoured to recal my Affection; but I was ſo wholly en⯑groſſed by my Paſſion for the ungrateful Ca⯑tella, that I never took any Notice of her re⯑peated Complaints."

"Ah! my Lord, replied Romulo, Love has well revenged your Injuries to Love; Ca⯑tella by her Diſdain of you repays without de⯑ſigning it your Infidelity to one who gave you her Heart without Reſerve; and it is poſſible the unhappy Maid you have abandoned waſtes her Days in fruitleſs Wiſhes, and loves you ſtill though hopeleſs of ever being beloved again."

"I know not that, ſaid Lattantio, but it is certain I did once love her with a moſt ardent Affection, for ſhe was beautiful as an Angel; and Catella, (ah! how Cruelty has altered her) Catella compared to her is all Deformity; to ſay the Truth, added Lattantio, looking fixed⯑ly [218] on Romulo, thy Face has ſo ſtrong a Re⯑ſemblance of the charming Nicuola's, that if thou wert dreſſed like a Woman I ſhould ſwear thou wert ſhe herſelf; thy Age and her's I be⯑lieve are little different; but I think ſhe is ſomething taller than thee: But why do I thus trifle? Let us ſpeak again of that fair Devil, whom in ſpite of myſelf I cannot baniſh from my Thoughts: Tell me, Romulo, haſt thou Courage enough to ſolicit her once more on my Account?"

"I will do all I can for you, replied Ro⯑mulo; and though I was ſure of periſhing in the Attempt, I would return to her again and plead for you."

But here we muſt quit for a while the un⯑faithful Lover and his diſguiſed Miſtreſs, to relate what happened to Paolo the loſt Bro⯑ther of Nicuola.

His Maſter, the German, having turned all the rich Moveables he had got at the ſacking of Rome into Money, prepared to leave Na⯑ples, and return to his own Country; when he was ſuddenly ſeized with a violent Fever, of which he died in a few Days; having by his Will left Paolo Heir of all his Wealth.

The fortunate Paolo, now free, and in Poſ⯑ſeſſion of a large Fortune, having cauſed his Patron to be honourably interred, took Poſt for Rome; and there enquiring for his Father, was told, he was gone to Eſi, whither he alſo went.

But inſtead of going directly to his Father's Houſe, he alighted at an Inn, and leaving his [219] Baggage to the Care of his Servants and his Hoſt, he went out alone, and took his Way to the Street where his Father lived; happen⯑ing to paſs by the Houſe of Gerardo Lanzetti, Catella being as uſual at her Window, ſpied him, and ſuppoſing him to be Romulo, was greatly ſurprized at his walking on without taking any Notice of her.

Her Father not being at home, ſhe ordered her Maid to run after him and tell him ſhe de⯑ſired to ſpeak with him: The Girl did as ſhe was directed; and overtaking Paolo, "Sir, ſaid ſhe, come back immediately; my Lady ex⯑pects you."

Paolo, by his Requeſt, and the Girl's fa⯑miliar Manner of accoſting him, ſuppoſed he was miſtaken for another Perſon, and reſolved within himſelf to ſee who this Lady was; and beginning to ſuſpect that ſhe was ſome Curte⯑zan; "I will ſee the End of this Adventure, thought he, and try my Fortune; but the La⯑dy will be deceived if ſhe thinks to get much Money from me; I will give her but half a Crown at the moſt."

At the ſame Moment that Paolo, conducted by the Maid, arrived at the Door of the Houſe, Gerardo appeared at the Head of the Street: The Girl ſeeing him, turned haſtily to Paolo, "Oh, Sir, ſaid ſhe, there is my Maſter yonder; walk hereabout, he will not ſtay long, when he goes out again I will come and let you know."

Paolo accordingly went away, having firſt taken good Notice of the Houſe that he might know it again.

[220]The Girl, as ſoon as he was gone, ran in and ſhut the Door, without being perceived by Gerardo, who, walking leiſurely, as old Men do, gave her Time enough; and ar⯑riving at his Houſe, knocked at the Door, and was let in by the Girl, highly pleaſed that he had not diſcovered her.

Paolo, who ſtaid at a little Diſtance to ob⯑ſerve the old Man, had a Glimpſe of Catella, who was ſtanding at a Window, and was charmed to a Degree of Rapture with her Beauty.

His Thoughts being now wholly engroſſed by this fair Unknown, he walked penſively on to his Father's Houſe, end ſeeing the Windows ſhut, he enquired of a Shopkeeper where Am⯑brogio Nanni lived, who told him he had not been ſeen Eſi for ſeveral Months paſt.

Paolo then returned to his Inn, languiſhing with an eager Deſire to ſee again the Fair-one that had charmed him: But doubting leſt there might be ſome Danger in the Adventure, he reſolved to take one of his Servants with him when he went to ſee her again.

In the mean time Ambrogio returned, as has been related, and Gerardo going out of his Houſe met him; and after he had welcomed him to Eſi, added, "Ambrogio, you are come in good Time, for I am weary of Delays, and am determined to know at once whether you will give me your Daughter or no?"

You ſee, anſwered Ambrogio, that I am but juſt arrived; we ſhall have Leiſure enough [221] to talk of this Affair when I have a little re⯑covered the Fatigue of my Journey."

While the two old Men were talking in this Manner, Ambrogio on Horſeback, Gerardo on foot, Romulo, who was going to Catella, en⯑tered the Street, and ſeeing her Father returned, ran away terrified almoſt out of her Senſes, and went to her Nurſe's Houſe.

"Oh, my dear Mamma, ſaid ſhe, out of Breath with Fear and Haſte, my Father is come back; what ſhall I do?"

"I will go to him, repied Philippa, and in the mean Time do you put on your own Cloaths, and do not ſtir from hence till my Return."

Nicuola, now no longer Romulo, having reſumed her own Dreſs, Philippa went to Ambrogio, who had juſt diſmounted and was entering his Houſe.

The old Woman ſaluted him with a chear⯑ful Countenance, expreſſing great Joy at his ſafe Return: Ambrogio having thanked her, enquired for his Daughter.

"I ſaw her this very Morning, ſaid the good Nurſe, and ſtaid a great while with her in the Convent: How the dear Child will be tranſported to hear of your Arrival! I had Her frequently at my Houſe during your Abſence, ſometimes ſhe has ſtaid with me four or five Days together: Truly ſhe is a fine Girl, and works admirably well with her Needle: With your leave, Sir, added ſhe, I will go to the Convent and inform her of your Return, and carry her to my Houſe, where ſhe may ſtay a [222] few Days till your's is put in order to receive her."

Ambrogio conſenting, the old Woman took her Leave; but before▪ ſhe went home, ſhe called at the Convent to ſettle Matters with ſiſter Camilla, who being a perfect Miſtreſs of Intrigue, ſhe aſſured Philippa that Nicuola's Abſence from the Convent ſhould do her no Hurt, for ſhe would punctually follow all her Directions.

Philippa, very well ſatisfied with her Suc⯑ceſs, returned home, where Nicuola impatient⯑ly expected her; ſhe deſired her to compoſe herſelf for all was now ſafe; and then related diſtinctly all that had paſſed, and told her ſhe was at Liberty to go home the next Day to her Father, or to ſtay with her for ſome Days; Nicuola choſe the latter; and being now freed from her tormenting Apprehen⯑ſions of being diſcovered to her Father, ſhe gave a Looſe to her Grief on Lattantio's Ac⯑count; her Paſſion ſeemed to gather new Fire from the Difficulties which oppoſed it, and ſhe reſolved to accompliſh her Deſires or die.

Philippa combated theſe Thoughts with all the Reaſon ſhe was Miſtreſs of; drawing Ar⯑guments from her deſpair to induce her to forget Lattantio: "You may be now con⯑vinced, ſaid ſhe, that Lattantio loves Catella with inexpreſſible Ardour, and will never think of any other Woman, and in a ſhort Time no Doubt will aſk her of her Father in Mar⯑riage."

[223]"Ah! this is what I dread, replied Nicuo⯑la, weeping; Oh! ſpiteful Fortune! my Fa⯑ther's ſudden Return has broke all my De⯑ſign; I had conceived Hopes, and with Rea⯑ſon too, of putting Lattantio into ſuch Diſ⯑grace with Catella that ſhe would ſooner con⯑ſent to marry a Moor than him; but my Fa⯑ther's unlucky Return has ruined me."

"Ruined you! interrupted Philippa, ſay rather that his Return has preſerved you from Ruin; if it be true what you have told me concerning Catella's Fondneſs for you, I fore⯑ſee nothing but Shame and Miſery can attend the Proſecution of your Deſigns: Had you gone back to her again, the ſhameleſs Wan⯑ton would by ſome Means or other have cer⯑tainly diſcovered your Sex; and the Conſe⯑quence would be eternal Infamy to you; ſince being perſuaded herſelf you was the Strumpet of Lattantio, ſhe would perſuade the World to believe you ſo too."

"That ſhe ſhould believe me the Miſtreſs of Lattantio, replied Nicuola, is what my Wiſhes aimed at; yet this could not have hurt my Character; for though ſhe diſcovered my Sex, ſhe had no Opportunity of knowing my Name and Family, and Lattantio would have appeared ſo treacherous and ungrateful to her, that ſhe would never again have endured him in her Sight."

Philippa could not be convinced by his falſe Reaſoning of Nicuola's: "Set your Heart at Reſt, my Child, ſaid ſhe; for no human Arts can change the Decrees of Providence: [224] If it be the Will of God that Catella ſhould be the Wife of Lattantio, all your Artifices to prevent this Union will be fruitleſs: Quit this hopeleſs Enterprize then, and attend to your real Happineſs; you are young, beautiful and rich; your Brother Paolo, poor Youth! is certainly dead, or elſe, in all this Time, we ſhould have had ſome Accounts of him; by his Death (God reſt his Soul) if you behave well, you will inherit your Father's whole Eſtate; with this blooming Youth, this beau⯑tiful Perſon, and theſe great Riches, do you imagine you can want the Addreſſes of many noble Youths, among whom you may fix upon one more lovely than Lattantio?"

While Philippa and Nicuola waſted the Time in theſe Kinds of Diſcourſes, Paolo em⯑ployed his in walking before the Windows of Catella in Hopes of ſeeing her again; and Lat⯑tantio, who ſtaid at home impatiently, ex⯑pecting the Return of his Page, ſaw the Night approaching with great Surprize, not know⯑ing to what Cauſe he ſhould attribute his long Stay.

He paſſed the whole Night in the moſt tor⯑menting Suſpence, fearing ſome Misfortune had happened to the Youth whom he tenderly loved on Account of his Fidelity, the Sweet⯑neſs of his Manners, and the exact Attention with which he waited on him: Nor was Ca⯑tella free from a reſtleſs Inquietude; ſhe loved Romulo with extreme Ardour, and wiſhed for nothing ſo much as to be united to him for ever.

[225] Nicuola, whoſe ardent Paſſion rendered her incapable of taſting the ſoft Bleſſings of Sleep, ſpent the Night in ſighing and talking of Lat⯑tantio to her Nurſe, whom ſhe would not ſuffer to take any more Repoſe than herſelf.

The Morning now approached, and Lat⯑tantio not ſeeing Romulo appear, roſe in great Agitation of Mind, and went about the Town ſeeking him, and enquiring of every one whom he thought could give him any Intelli⯑gence of him.

While he was thus employed, a Shopkeeper who had liſtened to the Deſcription he gave of the Perſon and Dreſs of his loſt Page, in⯑formed him that he ſaw ſuch a Youth go into the Houſe of an old Woman, named Philip⯑pa, who lived near the great Church.

Lattantio, thanking the Man for his In⯑formation, accepted his Offer of ſhewing him the Houſe; and knocking at the Door, Phi⯑lippa opened a Window, and aſked him what he wanted? "Good Woman, ſaid Lattantio, with your Leave, I ſhould be glad to ſpeak ten Words to you." "Oh! a hundred, replied Philippa, who knew him, and was almoſt out of her Wits with Surprize and Joy; then cloſing the Window, ſhe told Nicuola who was below, and ran down haſtily to let him in.

Lattantio entering the Houſe, was ſeated by the good Woman in a Place where Nicuola could hear and ſee all that paſſed; Lattantio then obliging Philippa to ſit near him, thus be⯑gan: "My good Woman, it may appear [226] ſtrange to you that I, who have never don you any Favour or Kindneſs, ſhould come to demand both of you; however, I depend ſo much upon your good Senſe and Benevolence, for which you are in very high Eſteem, that I will freely require a Favour of you, and doubt not but to be obliged by your Compliance: Without more Ceremony then, tell me, I be⯑ſeech you, for what Cauſe a young Boy, of a moſt beautiful Perſon, dreſt in white, with a gold Taſſel on his Cap, came and ſecreted himſelf yeſterday in your Houſe? as I am in⯑formed. You muſt know, my good Philippa, that this Boy is my Page, for whom I have a great Affection, which he deſerves on Account of the Readineſs and Fidelity with which he has always obeyed my Commands: I ſent him abroad yeſterday on ſome particular Buſineſs, and I have never ſeen him ſince; and being told, as I ſaid before, that he came here, I am come to deſire you will reſtore him to me again, or tell me at leaſt for what Cauſe he has left me?"

"My Son, replied the old Woman, I thank you for your good Opinion of me, and for having deigned to honour my poor Habita⯑tion with your Preſence, an Honour, which indeed I have for ſome time ardently wiſhed for, having ſome particular Buſineſs to diſ⯑courſe with you upon; and ſince you have been pleaſed to give me this Opportunity, I will make Uſe of it: But firſt as to the Queſ⯑tion you aſked me concerning your Page; I do aſſure you I can give you no Account of him; [227] there is no Boy in my Houſe, nor have I ſeen ſuch an one as you deſcribe any where here⯑abouts."

"You ſuſpect perhaps, interrupted Lattan⯑tio, that I intend to chaſtiſe my Page for not returning home laſt Night; but upon my Ho⯑nour I have no ſuch Deſign; therefore do not conceal the Truth, but tell me for what Rea⯑ſon he ſtaid away?"

"Upon the Faith of a Chriſtian, ſaid Phi⯑lippa, neither Man or Boy was in this Houſe yeſterday; and I am ſorry I cannot anſwer your Demand; I would do it very willingly if I was able."

Lattantio here breathing a deep Sigh, Phi⯑lippa looked earneſtly on him; "Theſe ar⯑dent Sighs, ſaid ſhe, and this reſtleſs Anxiety on Account of your Page, might perſuade any other Perſon that you loved him too well; but I have often heard that you loved a very beautiful young Lady, ſo that I cannot eaſily believe you to be an Enemy to Women."

"Would to Heaven, replied Lattantio, paſſionately, that I did not love, I ſhould be the happieſt Man in the World: Yes, my good Philippa, you have been truly informed; there is a young Lady in this City whom I love more than my own Soul:" Theſe Words he accompanied with a profound Sigh; Tears at the ſame Time falling faſt from his Eyes, notwithſtanding all his Endeavours to reſtrain them.

[228] Philippa ſeeing him ſo ſoftened, thought ſhe had now an Opportunity to ſpeak more fully to him: "I know well, my Son, ſaid ſhe, in a ſoothing Accent, that an unfortunate Lover is the moſt unhappy Being in the World; no Grief is equal to that of loving without being beloved again; this is your Caſe, and my Soul melts with Compaſſion for you."

"How do you know this ſo certainly? in⯑terrupted Lattantio," rouzed to Attention by her Words.

"Enquire not how I came to know it, re⯑plied ſhe, it is ſufficient that I do know you love and are not beloved; and ſome Months ago you loved a Lady more beautiful than your preſent Miſtreſs, who returned your Paſ⯑ſion with equal Warmth; now at this very Moment I am convinced ſhe languiſhes and dies for you, ungrateful as you are, and you no longer preſerve the leaſt Remembrance of her."

"I know not that, anſwered Lattantio, though you may perhaps, for methinks you are perfectly well acquainted with my Affairs; tell me then, I beſeech you, by what Means you know the Lady I love at preſent beſtows her Affection on another?"

"I do not think it neceſſary to anſwer that Queſtion, replied Philippa, and you muſt pardon me if I tell you that you are juſtly puniſhed by the Diſdain of one Lady for your Infidelity and Ingratitude to the other; and happy will it be for you if your Puniſhment ſtops here."

[229]"Ah! poor Nicuola, added ſhe, raiſing her Voice, lovely and unfortunate Maid! what haſt thou not done to recall the Affection of this unfaithful Man? but all in vain; while he, inſenſible of thy Charms, and unmoved by thoſe Proofs of unalterable Affection which thou haſt given him; follows the haughty Ca⯑tella with a rejected Love, and meanly ſues to one who hates and deſpiſes him."

The Youth, loſt in Amazement at hearing all theſe Particulars from one whom he thought had been an abſolute Stranger to him, gazed on her in Silence, not knowing what to anſwer. While Nicuola ſtood trembling in her Con⯑cealment, her Heart beating with anxious Ex⯑pectation, Fear and Hope taking Poſſeſſion of her Soul by Turns. Philippa expecting Lat⯑tantio's Reply, continued ſilent; and he re⯑covering a little from his Surprize and Con⯑fuſion, beholding her with an earneſt Look thus ſpoke:

"Since you are ſo well acquainted with my Affairs, Philippa, I will ſpeak freely and at large to you."

"'Tis true, I was once enamoured of Nicuola Nanni, and I have ſome Reaſon to think ſhe had alſo an Affection for me. She left this City with her Father, and I could ne⯑ver diſcover to what Place ſhe went, and in the mean Time I ſaw this fair Devil Catella, the Daughter of Gerardo Lanzetti, whom I have loved paſſionately ever ſince; for ſome Time ſhe received my Addreſſes favourably, but within theſe few Days her Behaviour has been [230] wholly changed; I ſent my Page to her with a Meſſage Yeſterday, but he never re⯑turned to bring me an Anſwer, ſo I have at once loſt all Hopes of gaining the Object of my Affections, and am abandoned by a Ser⯑vant for whom I had a great Eſteem."

"Had he returned, and informed me that ſhe was reſolved to perſevere in her unjuſt Diſ⯑dain, I would have endeavoured to conquer my Paſſion, and diſpoſe myſelf to love one to whom my Services would be more accepta⯑ble; for indeed I am convinced it is a great Degree of Madneſs to follow one who flies from me, and to love a Woman who is re⯑ſolved never to return my Paſſion."

"I am glad you are grown ſo reaſonable, my Son, ſaid the good Woman, but pray anſwer me truly to one Queſtion: If Nicuola, whom you once loved, ſhould continue ſtill to love you in ſpite of your Infidelity, with a moſt ardent Affection, what would ſhe deſerve from you?"

"Truly Philippa, replied Lattantio, in that Caſe ſhe deſerves that I ſhould love her more than myſelf; however it is impoſſible that ſhe ſhould continue to love me, ſeeing that I have injured her ſo baſely; not only in abandon⯑ing her for a Perſon far leſs amiable than her⯑ſelf, but in never returning any Anſwer to many Letters which ſhe ſent me; ſo that I muſt appear to her the moſt ungrateful of Mankind."

"Notwithſtanding all this, replied Philippa, ſhe loves you ſtill, loves you with an unſhaken [231] Conſtancy; and often in Confidence has ſhe declared to me, that ſhe not only did love you with as much Violence as ever, but would continue to do ſo while ſhe lived."

"Oh! it cannot be, interrupted Lattantio, it is impoſſible, why ſhould you endeavour to deceive me?"

"I do not deceive you, replied Philippa, I can give you convincing Proofs of what I ſay, Nicuola loves you more than ever; for you ſhe forſook her Father's Houſe, for you ſhe forgot the Delicacy of her Sex, the Riches ſhe was born to, and the Rank ſhe held in Life, and ſubmitted to do you all the Offices of a menial Servant. Nay, be not aſtoniſhed, purſued ſhe, for all this the lovely and too loving Nicuola did for you; tell me then, if I make it appear plainly that ſhe has done this, what does ſhe deſerve?"

"You tell me Wonders, replied Lattantio, Things which ſurpaſs Belief, yet if they are true, without doubt Nicuola merits all my Love, which I can ſhew no other Way than by being hers for ever."

Philippa having brought him to the Point ſhe deſired, roſe up haſtily, and bid the trem⯑bling Maid, who had heard all that paſſed, dreſs herſelf immediately in her Boy's Cloaths; which being done, ſhe led her into the Room where Lattantio was; her Face all covered with Bluſhes, and her fine Eyes bent on the Ground in a ſweet Confuſion.

"Behold, ſaid Philippa, preſenting her to Lattantio, behold your Nicuola, behold your [232] Romulo, your ſo much deſired Page, this is ſhe who deſpiſed the whole World for your Sake, and with the utmoſt Hazard of her Life and Honour waited on you Night and Day."

Lattantio, loſt in Aſtoniſhment at what he heard and ſaw, continued ſilent and immovable in his Chair, his Eyes fixed on the bluſhing Maid, who not being able to meet his Looks, hid her averted Face with one of her Hands, while Philippa related her whole Story.

"Is it poſſible! cried Lattantio, recovering from his Amazement, can Nicuola have done ſo much for me? Oh! I ſhould be the moſt ungrateful, the moſt deteſtable of all human Beings, if I could be inſenſible to ſuch match⯑leſs Tenderneſs and Truth: I will not waſte Time in needleſs Excuſes for my paſt Faults, ſaid he, riſing, and approaching Nicuola; but if it be true, that you love and pardon me, from this Moment I vow to be only your's, and will make you my Wife whenever you pleaſe."

Nicuola, who now ſaw herſelf arrived to the Summit of all her Wiſhes, could hardly contain the ſwelling Tranſport; and turning her fine Eyes on Lattantio, big with unuttera⯑ble Joy and Love, ſhe held out her Hand to him, which he received and kiſſed paſſionate⯑ly.

"My Lord, ſaid ſhe, receive my Faith, which I now give you, with an Aſſurance that your Will from henceforward ſhall be always mine; and that the Name and Quality of [233] Wife ſhall not hinder me from continuing ſtill to be the moſt obedient of your Servants."

Lattantio then taking a Diamond from his own Finger put it on her's, and in the Preſence of Philippa ſolemnly contracted himſelf to her. That done, he deſired her to change her Dreſs immediately and go home with Philippa to her Father's, whither he intended ſhortly to fol⯑low them and demand her of Ambrogio for his Wife.

In the mean Time Paolo, full of a reſtleſs In⯑quietude, left his Inn as ſoon as he had dined, and returned to the Street where Catella lived, and ſtanding before her Windows, he anxiouſly waited for another View of that ſprightly Fair⯑one, whoſe Charms had already taken an ab⯑ſolute Poſſeſſion of his Heart.

Catella, who longed as impatiently to ſee again the lovely Page, no ſooner ſpied Paolo ſtanding in the Street and gazing up at the Window, than ſuppoſing him to be Romulo, ſhe haſtily called her Maid, "Yonder is Ro⯑mulo, ſaid ſhe, waiting for Admittance, go and let him in; my Father is now abroad, I can ſee him with Safety."

The Girl obeyed her Orders; and Catella running down Stairs with eager Haſte met Paolo as he entered, and taking him with her into a Room, "Oh Romulo! Oh my Love! ſaid ſhe, how tedious has the Time appeared ſince I ſaw you laſt! and Oh! how long are you in taking Reſolutions! but I will not part with you now, continued ſhe, throwing her Arms about his Neck, and reclining her Face on his Shoulder, with a languiſhing Sweetneſs, [234] No, my lovely Youth, I will not part with you till you have told me whether I am to live or die; for if you will not be mine, certainly Life will be inſupportable to me."

Live, charming Maid, ſaid the tranſported Paolo, preſſing her to his Breaſt with incon⯑ceivable Ardour, live and diſpoſe of the Deſti⯑ny of your Romulo."

At this Moment Gerardo, finding his Door open, walked in ſoftly, and hearing a ſtrange Voice in the Parlour, he entered precipitately. At the Sight of a Man with his Daughter, he was going to give Vent to a Rage which might have had fatal Effects, had it not been ſuddenly allayed by a Sight of Paolo's Face, which was ſo like Nicuola's that he immediate⯑ly concluded it was that fair Maid dreſt in the Habit of a Boy: Poſſeſt with this Belief he approched the Lovers, and taking Paolo by the Hand, "Nicuola, ſaid he, it is well thou art not what thou ſeem'ſt to be, otherwiſe I ſhould make both thee and Catella repent this Familiarity:" then turning to his Daughter, he bid her go up to her Chamber and leave Nicuola with him, "for I, added the old Man, ſmiling, am fitter Company for her than you."

Catella obeyed and left the Room, much wondering at her Father's Moderation, and at his calling the Youth Nicuola; but being well pleaſed that ſhe had eſcaped ſo eaſily, ſhe re⯑ſolved patiently to wait the Event.

Paolo, on the other Hand, was full of un⯑eaſy Confuſion, not knowing how the old [235] Man would behave to him, ſeeing that he took him for his Siſter.

"My dear Nicuola, ſaid Gerardo, why are you thus diſguiſed? How comes it that Am⯑brogio, your Father, ſuffers you to go about alone in this Manner? Tell me the Truth; what was the Cauſe of your coming hither? Did you want to ſee what Sort of a Houſe I keep, and in what State I live? I ſpoke to your Father two Days ago about giving you to me for a Wife, and I have inſiſted upon knowing his Reſolution ſoon; I aſſure you, you will be very happy in having me for a Huſband; you ſhall govern my Houſe, and command me in all Things: Why art thou ſilent, my Nicuola? Speak, and tell me thy Mind."

The old Man, at the finiſhing theſe Words, made an Offer of kiſſing the ſuppoſed Ni⯑cuola, who puſhing him away roughly, ſaid, "Forbear this Freedom, ſpeak to my Father, and ſuffer me to depart; I came here by mere Accident, and without any Deſign."

"I will let you go ſince you will have it ſo, ſaid Gerardo, and will ſee your Father pre⯑ſently, and finiſh this Affair."

Paolo accordingly left him, and went to his Father, who had juſt given his Conſent that Lattantio ſhould marry his Daughter, he having come there to demand her.

Ambrogio, at the unexpected Sight of his long-loſt Son, was ready to expire with Joy; who, after the firſt Careſſes were over, ac⯑quainted him with his good Fortune, and the great Riches that had been bequeathed to [236] him. The joyful Father, ſeeing his Daughter ſo happily married, and his Son return with ſo much Wealth, thought himſelf the happieſt Man in the World.

In the midſt of the mutual Congratulations of this happy Family, Gerardo arrived, and was ſo aſtoniſhed at the Sight of Paolo and his Siſter together, that he doubted whether he was awake or aſleep.

Ambrogio relieved him from his Perplexity, by telling him of the unlooked-for Return of his Son; informing him alſo that he had mar⯑ried Nicuola to Lattantio, and then, at Paolo's earneſt Entreaty, he deſired him to give him his Daughter for a Wife.

The old Man was at firſt much affected at the Loſs of his intended Bride; but ſeeing there was no Remedy, he reſolved to bear it patiently, and conſented that Catella ſhould marry Paolo.

Both theſe Marriages were performed the ſame Day, to the great Satisfaction of the four Lovers, who lived ever after with the greateſt Harmony imaginable.

OBSERVATIONS on the Uſe Shakeſpear has made of the foregoing Novel in his Comedy called Twelfth-Night, or What You Will.
The Fable of TWELFTH-NIGHT, or WHAT YOU WILL.

SEBASTIAN and Viola his Siſter, Twins, and ſo like each other in Perſon, that in the ſame Cloaths they could not be diſtin⯑guiſhed, embark in a Veſſel, (upon what Ac⯑count, or with what Deſign we are not in⯑formed) which is caſt away upon the Coaſt of Illyria.

Viola eſcapes drowning by the Aſſiſtance of the Captain and ſome of the Mariners, and gets ſafe to Land; but Sebaſtian her Brother is ſuſpected to have periſhed.

Viola being informed that the Country where ſhe now is, is Illyria, and that it is governed by a Duke, named Orſino, who is in Love, but not beloved again by a noble Lady; ſhe expreſſes a Wiſh to be received into her Service.

[238]The Captain tells her, the Lady is ſo af⯑flicted for the Death of her Brother that ſhe will admit of no Solicitations whatever, not even the Duke's; whereupon, Viola, without further Reflexion, entreats the Captain to provide her with a Diſguiſe, and recommend her as an Eunuch to the Duke, in whoſe Ser⯑vice ſhe is very deſirous to be placed.

The Captain conſents, and Viola, under the Name of Caeſario, ſoon gains the Duke's Favour and Confidence, who ſends him to the Counteſs Olivia, the Lady he loves, to ſo⯑licit her Favour for him.

Viola is by this Time violently in love with the Duke, yet ſhe executes her Commiſſion very faithfully, and pleads ſtrongly for her Maſter to the Lady; the diſconſolate and rigid Olivia is preſently ſtruck with the Beauty of the young Page, and falls downright in Love with him.

Viola very honeſtly reſiſts all her Offers; but the Lady will not be repulſed; ſhe ſends to entreat he will come to her again; and her Meſſenger meeting Sebaſtian, who had alſo eſcaped drowning, but was ignorant of his Siſter's Fate, deceived by the Reſemblance, takes him for Caeſario, and entreats him to come to his Lady.

Sebaſtian, though much ſurprized at the Ad⯑venture, reſolves to follow his Fortune; he is introduced to Olivia, who ſuppoſing him to be Caeſario, urges him to marry her; to which Sebaſtian, who is immediately charmed with her Beauty, gladly conſents.

[239]The Duke, ſome Time after, impatient to ſee Olivia, comes to her Houſe, attended by Caeſario.

Olivia comes out to meet him, and ſeeing Caeſario, ſuppoſing him to be the Perſon ſhe had married, reproaches him with Breach of Promiſe; what that Promiſe is we are not told.

The Duke complains of her Cruelty; ſhe takes little Notice of him, directing her Looks and Words to Caeſario; laſt the Duke being provoked by her Declaration that ſhe could not love him, tells her he will re⯑venge the Diſdain ſhe treats him with upon her Minion his Page, whom he knows ſhe loves.

Caeſario profeſſes his Willingneſs to die by his Commands, and is following the Duke, but ſtopped by Olivia, who bids him remem⯑ber their late Engagements, and declares he is her Huſband; the Duke ſtorms; Caeſario de⯑nies the Charge; ahd the Prieſt is called in by Olivia to witneſs that he had married them, which he does.

Caeſario perſiſting in his Denial, many Al⯑tercations enſue; at laſt Sebaſtian, who had been engaged in a Quarrel with Olivia's Uncle, appears; the Company are all aſtoniſhed at the Reſemblance between him and Caeſario, who is diſcovered to be Viola his Siſter:

Olivia acknowledges Sebaſtian for her Huſ⯑band, and the Duke marries Viola. The reſt [240] is all Epiſode, and makes up the greateſt as well as the beſt Part of the Play.

It has hitherto been uncertain whether the Story of Twelfth-Night, or What You Will, was borrowed from any Novel, or an Inven⯑tion of Shakeſpear.

Mr. Langbaine, in his Account of the Dra⯑matic Poets and their Writing, ſays, that he knows not from whence that Play was taken, but the Reſemblance of Sebaſtian to his Siſter Viola was doubtleſs firſt borrowed, not only by Shakeſpear, but all our ſucceeding Poets, from Plautus, who has made Uſe of it in ſeveral Plays, as Amphitrio, Maenechmi, &c.

It is really ſurpriſing to ſee the Admirers of Shakeſpear ſo ſolicitous to prove he was very converſant with the Antients; they take all Opportunities to find in his Writings Illuſions to them; Imitations of their Thoughts and Expreſſions! and will not ſcruple to allow their Favourite to have been guilty of ſome little Thefts from their Works, provided it will make out his Claim to an Acquaintance with them.

It is very much to be doubted whether or not he underſtood the Italian and French Lan⯑guages, ſince we find he made Uſe of Tran⯑ſlations from both when he borrowed of their Authors; and ſtill leſs probable is it that he underſtood and ſtudied the Greek and Latin Poets, when he, who was ſo cloſe a Copyer has never imitated them in their chief Beauties, [241] and ſeems wholly a Stranger to the Laws of dramatic Poetry, well does the Poet ſay of him,

His true Praiſe ſeems to be ſumm'd up in thoſe two Lines; for wild, though harmo⯑nious, his Strains certainly are; and his mo⯑dern Admirers injure him greatly, by ſup⯑poſing any of thoſe Wood-Notes copied from the Antients; Milton, by calling them native, allows them to have been untaught, and all his own; and in that does Juſtice to his vaſt Imagination, which is robbed of great Part of its Merit by ſuppoſing it to have received any Aſſiſtance from the Antients, whom if he un⯑derſtood, it muſt be confeſſed he has profited very little by, ſince we ſee not the leaſt Shadow of their Exactneſs and Regularity in his Works.

Though it ſhould be granted that Shakeſpear took the Hint of Sebaſtian and Viola's Re⯑ſemblance from the Maenechmi and Amphitrio of Plautus, yet he might have done that with⯑out underſtanding Latin, ſince there were Tranſlations of both thoſe Plays in his Time; and to his own Invention, had that been the Caſe, might be attributed almoſt all the perplex⯑ing Adventures which the Reſemblance of the Brother and Siſter gave riſe to in the Twelfth-Night, and which are very different from thoſe in the Latin Author.

[242]But Shakeſpear had a much more ample Sup⯑ply for the Fable of this Comedy in the fore⯑going Novel, from whence he undoubtedly drew it, and which not only furniſhed him with the Hint of the Reſemblance between Sebaſtian and Viola, but alſo with the greateſt Part of the Intrigue of the Play.

Sebaſtian and Viola in the Play are the ſame with Paolo and Nicuola in the Novel; both are Twins, and both remarkably like each other.

Viola is parted from her Brother by a Ship⯑wreck, and ſuppoſes him to be drowned; Nicuola loſes her Brother at the ſacking of Rome, and for a long Time is ignorant whe⯑ther he is alive or dead.

Viola ſerves the Duke, with whom ſhe is in love, in the Habit of a Page; Nicuola, in the ſame Diſguiſe, attends Lattantio, who had forſaken her for Catella.

The Duke ſends Viola to ſolicit his Miſtreſs in his Favour; Lattantio commiſſions Nicuola to plead for him with Catella.

The Duke's Miſtreſs falls in love with Viola, ſuppoſing her to be a Man; and Catella, by the like Miſtake, is enamoured of Nicuola; and laſtly, the two Ladies in the Play, as well as in the Novel, marry their Lovers whom they had waited on in Diſguiſe, and their Bro⯑thers [243] wed the Ladies who had been enamour⯑ed of them.

Though Shakſpear has copied the Noveliſt in all theſe Particulars, yet he differs from him in others, which very much leſſens the Proba⯑bility of the Story.

Sebaſtian and Viola in the Play are parted by a Shipwreck, and Viola is caſt upon the Coaſt of Illyria; but we are not told with what In⯑tention this Brother and Siſter embarked, or whither their Voyage was bound.

The Poet had Occaſion for them in Illyria, and there they are at the Service of the Au⯑dience; no Matter if introduced with Propriety or not; we muſt be contented to take them as we find them: Well; Viola, after giving ſome Tears to the Memory of her Brother, whom ſhe fears is drowned, is deſirous of being re⯑commended as an Attendant to a Lady with whom the Sovereign of the Country is in love; but being told it would be difficult to procure Admiſſion to her, ſhe all of a ſudden takes up an unaccountable Reſolution to ſerve the young Batchelor-Duke in the Habit of a Man; take it in her own Words addreſſed to the Captain of the wreck'd Veſſel:

[244]A very natural Scheme this for a beautiful and virtuous young Lady to throw off all at once the Modeſty and Reſervedneſs of her Sex, mix among Men, herſelf diſguiſed like one; and, preſt by no Neceſſity, influenced by no Paſſion, expoſe herſelf to all the dangerous Conſequences of ſo unworthy and ſhameful a Situation.

We find this Incident managed with much more Decency in the Novel.

Nicuola is violently in love with and beloved by Lattantio; and finding that, during a ſhort Abſence from him, he became enamoured of Catella, upon hearing he had loſt his Page and wanted another, ſhe diſguiſes herſelf like a Boy, and offers her Service to wait upon him with a View of recalling his Affections by this extraordinary Inſtance of her Tenderneſs and Fidelity, and of ſeizing every Opportunity of traverſing his new Paſſion for Catella.

This Project, though not altogether pru⯑dent and wiſe, was far from being inconſiſtent with the Temper and Circumſtances of Ni⯑cuola, ſtimulated as ſhe was by Love, Jealouſy and Deſpair, to attempt ſomething extraordi⯑nary for the Recovery of her Lover.

But what are Viola's Motives for ſo raſh an Enterprize? She is neither in love with or abandoned by the Duke, and cannot reaſonably propoſe to herſelf any Advantage by thus hazarding her Virtue and Fame: His Perſon ſhe had never ſeen; his Affections ſhe was in⯑formed [245] were engaged; what then were her Views and Deſigns by ſubmitting to be his Attendant?

Bandello does not even make Nicuola reſolve upon ſuch an Expedient till the Deſign was ſuggeſted to her by over-hearing Lattantio la⯑ment the Loſs of his Page and wiſh for ano⯑ther.

But the Novelliſt is much more careful to preſerve Probability in his Narration than the Poet in his Action: The Wonder is that Shakeſpear ſhould borrow ſo many Incidents from him, and yet taſk his Invention to make thoſe Incidents unnatural and abſurd.

The Paſſion of Olivia, the Duke's Miſtreſs, for the diſguiſed Lady, is attended with Cir⯑cumſtances that make it appear highly impro⯑bable and ridiculous: She is repreſented as a noble and virtuous Lady, overwhelmed with Grief for the Death of a beloved Brother; her Grief indeed is of a very extraordinary Na⯑ture, and inſpired her with ſtrange Reſolu⯑tions according to the Report of Valentine, the Duke's Servant, who had been ſent by him with a Meſſage to her:

How now! what News from her?

This ſorrowful Lady, however, makes her firſt Appearance in the Company of a Jeſter, with whom ſhe is extremely diverted; and not⯑withſtanding her Vow which we are told of in another Place, hot to admit the Sight or Company of Men, ſhe permits the Duke's Page to approach her, ſhews him her Face, and bandies Jeſts and ſmart Sentences with all the lively Wit of an airy Coquet.

Then follows her ſudden Paſſion for the ſup⯑poſed Youth, which is as ſuddenly declared, without any of thoſe Emotions that Baſhful⯑neſs, Delicacy, and a Deſire of preſerving the Decorum her Sex and Birth oblige her to ob⯑ſerve, muſt raiſe in the Mind of a Woman of Honour.

Had Shakeſpear, by mixing ſo much Levity in the Character of Olivia, deſigned a Satire on the Sex, he would have certainly led us by ſome Reflexions on the Inconſiſtency of her Behaviour to have made that Inference; but this is not the Caſe; for Olivia is every where highly extolled for her Virtues.

It is his injudicious Conduct of the Fable that gives ſo much Impropriety to the Man⯑ners of his Perſons, at leaſt in this Inſtance, [247] which is the more ſurprizing, as the Novel furniſhed him with one much better contrived, and Characters more ſuitable to the Action.

Catella acts the ſame Part in the Novel that Olivia does in the Play; but Catella is a young gay libertine Girl, whoſe Birth was but mean, and Education neglected; it was not there⯑fore ſurprizing that ſhe ſhould ſo eaſily fall in Love with a Page, indecently court him, and reſolve to marry him, ſuch an inconſiderate Conduct was agreeable to her Character; but in the noble and virtuous Olivia, 'tis unnatu⯑ral and abſurd, and what makes it ſtill more ſo is, that as Shakeſpear has ordered the Mat⯑ter, Olivia is diſgracefully repulſed by this Youth, and yet continues her Suit, whereas Cattella meets with a ready Compliance from the ſuppoſed Romulo, who ſees his Deſigns on Lattantio likely to ſucceed by his Miſtreſs's fortunate Paſſion for him.

Olivia's taking Sebaſtian, the Brother of the diſguiſed Viola, for the beautiful Page, and marrying him, is with very little Variation borrowed from Bandello: but Paolo in the Novel is much more naturally introduced than Sebaſtian in the Play.

Paolo comes to Eſi to ſeek for his Father and Siſter, but we are not acquainted with Sebaſtian's Motives for going to Illyria; the Poet indeed had Buſineſs for him there, and there he lugs him without the leaſt Shadow of [248] a Reaſon for it, which is left to the Imaginati⯑on of the Reader to ſupply.

The Behaviour of Lattantio in the Novel is more natural and conſiſtent, than the Duke's in the Play: They both marry the Women that had attended on them diſguiſed, but the Difference of their Stations, Circumſtances, and Characters, makes the ſame Action na⯑tural in one, which in the other is abſurd and ridiculous.

Lattantio had been in Love with Nicuola, but her Abſence, joined to the natural Incon⯑ſtancy of Youth, ſo wild and inconſiderate as his, transferred his Affections from her to Catella; ſhe ſlights him, and he being inform⯑ed that his abandoned Nicuola, impelled by the Violence of her Paſſion for him, had diſ⯑guiſed herſelf in Boy's Cloaths, and waited on him as his Page; he repents of his Falſe⯑hood, and charmed with her Tenderneſs and Fidelity makes her his Wife.

This Conduct in Lattantio is very natural, but why ſhould the Duke, a ſovereign Prince who ſo paſſionately adored Olivia, all at once take a Reſolution to marry Viola, a Stranger whom he had never ſeen in her proper Garb, becauſe ſhe had ſerved him in Diſguiſe; 'tis abſurd to ſuppoſe he could in a Moment paſs from the moſt extravagant Paſſion imaginable for Olivia, to one no leſs extravagant, for a Perſon, whom till then he had always believed to be a Boy; and 'tis alſo highly improbable that a great Prince would ſo ſuddenly reſolve [249] to marry a Girl, who had no other Title to his Favour than an imprudent Paſſion, which had carried her greatly beyond the Bounds of Decency.

The Duke's Reaſons for this extraordinary Action are far from being convincing.

And as Viola at firſt had not even Love to plead as an Excuſe for her indecent Diſguiſe, ſhe is ſtill leſs worthy of the Fortune ſhe was raiſed to.

There is a great deal of true Comic Hu⯑mour in the inferior Characters of this Play, which are entirely of the Poet's Invention; the Miſtakes Antonio is led into by the Reſem⯑blance of Sebaſtian and Viola, are no doubt Hints borrowed from the Amphitrio and the Maenechmi of Plautus, for which it is proba⯑ble he conſulted the French, or rather the Engliſh Tranſlations of thoſe Comedies extant in his Time; but theſe Miſtakes, however [250] diverting, take their Riſe from a very impro⯑bable Circumſtance.

Antonio, a Sea Captain, delivers Sebaſtian from the Fury of the Waves; the Youth be⯑ing obſtinately determined to go to the Court, Antonio, who in a Sea-fight had done great Miſchief to the Duke's Galleys, reſolves, out of the Violence of his Friendſhip, to follow him thither, notwithſtanding he knew his Life would be in manifeſt Danger if he was ſeen in Illyria.

How unaccountably extravagant is this Kind⯑neſs in a Stranger? what more could a long continued Friendſhip, confirmed by mutual Obligations have produced? But this Play is full of ſuch Abſurdities, which might have been avoided, had the Characters as well as the Action been the ſame with the Novel.

The Hiſtory of MACBETH, collected from Holingſhed's Chronicles of England, Scotland, and Ireland.

IN the Reign of Duncan King of Scotland, who, as the Hiſtorians ſay, was a gentle, quiet, and puſillanimous Prince, a Mutiny aroſe amongſt the People of Lochaber; and one Macdowald, a Man greatly eſteemed in that Country for his raſh Valour, drawing many of his Relations and Friends into a Conſpiracy with him, took upon himſelf to be the chief Captain of the Rebels.

The great Promiſes he made to all thoſe that would join him, brought every Day great Numbers from the Weſtern Iſles to his Party, which being augmented by the Kernes and Gulloglaſſes, who voluntarily came out of Ireland to ſerve him, he in a ſhort Time ſaw himſelf at the Head of a formidable Army, with which engaging ſome of the King's Forces that were ſent againſt him, he gave [252] them a total Defeat, and took their Com⯑mander Malcolm Priſoner, whoſe Head, when the Battle was over, he cut off.

When the News of this Defeat was brought to the King, he aſſembled a Council to debate upon what Means they ſhould uſe to quell the Rebellion.

Macbeth, who was firſt Couſin to the King, and of a Diſpoſition as haughty, cruel, and revengful, as Duncan's was mild and peace⯑able, after ſecretly accuſing the King's Sloth and Effeminacy as the Cauſe of their Troubles, declared if Banquo and himſelf were put at the Head of ſome Forces, and ſent againſt the Rebels, he would engage to give them a compleat Overthrow, and ſo effectually ex⯑tirpate them out of that Country, that there ſhould not from henceforth be a ſingle Rebel found in it.

This Promiſe he exactly performed, for the Rebels being terrified at his Approach, many of them ſtole ſecretly away from their Captain, who with the Remainder being con⯑ſtrained to fight, were totally routed by Macbeth.

Macdowald in Deſpair at the ill Succeſs of this laſt Battle, and finding himſelf quite abandoned by all the Companions of his Re⯑volt, fled to a Caſtle, in which his Wife and Children were incloſed, and knowing that he was not able to defend it long againſt his Enemies, and that if he ſurrendered he ſhould [253] not eſcape with Life; in a Tranſport of Grief and Deſpair, he firſt killed his Wife and Chil⯑dren, and then himſelf.

Macbeth entering the Caſtle, in one of the Apartments found the dead Body of Macdowald lying on the Floor, with his Wife and Chil⯑dren ſlaughtered beſide him, but remitting no Part of his native Cruelty at this diſmal Sight, he cut off the Head of Macdowald, and ſent it to the King, who then lay at Bertha, com⯑manding the Body to be hung upon a high Gallows.

The Inhabitants of the weſtern Iſles, who had aſſiſted Macdowald, ſoliciting for a Par⯑don, he fined in large Sums, and thoſe he found in Lochaber, who had come thither to bear Arms againſt the King, he put all to the Sword.

Theſe Troubles were ſcarcely appeaſed, when Advice was brought that Sueno King of Norway was landed in Fife, with a power⯑ful Army to invade all Scotland.

This News rouſing the King from that State of Indolence and Inactivity in which he was buried, he raiſed Forces with all poſſible Speed, ſharing the Command of them with Banquo and Macbeth.

The Battle, which ſoon after followed, proved fatal to the Scots, the Norweigens were victorious, and Duncan fled to Bertha; here after ſpending ſome Time in feigned Treaties [254] with his Enemies, he ſent Orders to Macbeth, who ſtill kept Part of the routed Army about him, to fall upon the Danes, who he was in⯑formed were all diſſolved in Luxury and Eaſe.

Macbeth marched haſtily to the Place where the Danes were encamped, and firſt killing the Watch, made a ſavage Slaughter of the wretched Danes, whom he found faſt aſleep in full Security after a drunken Riot. Sueno, with only ten other Perſons eſcaped and fled back to Norway.

In the midſt of the Rejoicings the Scots made for this Victory, they were alarmed with an Account that a new Fleet of Danes was ar⯑rived at Kinghorne, ſent thither by Canute, King of England, to revenge the Defeat his Brother Sueno had received.

To reſiſt theſe Enemies, which were already landed, and buſy in ſpoiling the Country, Macbeth and Banquo were ſent with a ſufficient Power, who encountering the Danes, ſlew Part of them, and drove the reſt back to their Ships; thoſe who eſcaped and got ſafe aboard their Veſſels, with large Sums of Money ob⯑tained Leave from Macbeth, that ſuch of their Friends as were ſlain in the laſt Fight might be buried at St. Colmes Inch.

A ſhort Time after, as Macbeth and Banquo were riding towards Foreſs, where the King then lay, paſſing through a Field without any Company, they were met ſuddenly by three [255] Women in ſtrange Apparel, reſembling Crea⯑tures of another World, and while they be⯑held them attentively, much wondering at their uncommon. Appearance, they approached Macbeth, and the firſt ſaid:

"All hail Macbeth, Thane of Glammis;" the ſecond "Hail Macbeth Thane of Cawder," and the third, "All hail Macbeth, who here⯑after ſhall be King of Scotland."

"What Manner of Women are ye, ſaid Banquo, extremely ſurprized, who ſeem ſo little favourable to me? to my Companion here you not only predict high Honours, but the Kingdom alſo, whereas to me you pro⯑miſe nothing at all."

"Yes, ſaid ſhe, who had firſt ſpoke, we promiſe ſtill greater Advantages to thee than him; he ſhall reign indeed in his own Perſon, but his End ſhall be unhappy; nor ſhall he leave any Iſſue behind him to ſucceed to his Crown: As for thee, though thou ſhalt not be a King, yet thy Deſcendants for long ſuc⯑ceſſive Ages, ſhall rule the Kingdom of Scot⯑land."

No ſooner were theſe Words ſpoke than they all vaniſhed out of Sight.

This Accident was thought at firſt by Macbeth and Banquo, to be ſome Illuſion of the Imagination, ſo that Banquo would often jeſt⯑ingly call Macbeth King of Scotland, and Macbeth in the ſame Manner call Banquo Fa⯑ther of many Kings; but afterwards it was the common Opinion, that theſe Women were either the Weird Siſters, that is, [256] Goddeſſes of Deſtiny, or elſe Nymphs or Fairies, who by Necromancy had obtained a Knowledge of future Events, becauſe every Thing they predicted came to paſs.

The Thane of Cawder being ſhortly after condemned at Foriſs for high Treaſon, his Honours, Eſtates, and Offices, were by the King beſtowed on Macbeth.

The firſt Part of the Propheſy being thus fulfilled, Macbeth revolving the reſt in his Mind, began to conſider of the Means he ſhould uſe to gain the Kingdom, but his firſt Preferment coming unexpected and unſought for, he determined to wait for the Interven⯑tion of Providence, to raiſe him to the Dig⯑nity his Wiſhes graſped at.

While he was thus expecting the Comple⯑tion of the Propheſy, Duncan having two Sons by his Wife, who was Daughter to Seward Earl of Northumberland, declared Malcolm, the eldeſt, Prince of Cumberland, thereby appointing him his Succeſſor in the Kingdom immediately after his Deceaſe.

It was provided by the ancient Laws of the Kingdom, that if the ſucceeding Prince was not of Age to take the Government up⯑on himſelf at his Predeceſſor's Death, his next Kinſman ſhould be raiſed to the Throne.

Macbeth therefore ſeeing his Hopes fruſtrat⯑ed by this Diſpoſition of the King's, began to form Schemes for uſurping the Kingdom by Force, conceiving himſelf greatly injured [257] by Duncan, who by thus raiſing his Son, though in his Minority, to the Kingdom, took away all his future Claim to it.

The Words of the Weird Siſters contri⯑buted alſo towards confirming him in his De⯑ſign of ſeizing upon the Crown; and his Wife a haughty ambitious Woman, ardently deſirous of being a Queen, never ceaſed tor⯑menting him till ſhe had fixed him in his Pur⯑poſe.

At length, therefore, communicating his In⯑tentions to his moſt truſty Friends, among whom Banquo was the Chief, in Confidence of their promiſed Aid, he murdered the King at Inverneſs, in the ſixth Year of his Reign.

Then being ſurrounded with thoſe Perſons on whom he moſt depended, he cauſed him⯑ſelf to be proclaimed King, and went imme⯑diately to Scone, where by general Conſent he received the Inveſtiture of the Kingdom ac⯑cording to the accuſtomed Manner.

Malcolm Canmore, and Donald Bane, the two Sons of King Duncan, being apprehen⯑ſive that Macbeth would take away their Lives to ſecure to himſelf the Poſſeſſion of the Kingdom, conveyed themſelves ſecretly out of Scotland.

Malcolm fled into Cumberland, where he remained till Saint Edward, Son of King Etheldred, recovered the Kingdom of England from the Power of the Danes, who received [258] him into his Protection, and gave him an ho⯑nourable Entertainment.

Donald Bane, his Brother, took Refuge in Ireland, and was treated there with great Kindneſs by the King of that Land.

Macbeth, after the Departure of theſe two Princes, endeavoured by great Liberalities to engage the Affection of the Nobility and Gentry of Scotland to his Perſon, and when he found himſelf in peaceable Poſſeſſion of the Kingdom, he ſet about reforming the Laws, rooting out all the Enormities and Abuſes which had crept into the Adminiſtration, through the weak and ſlothful Diſpoſition of Duncan.

He alſo made many good Laws, and during the Space of ten Years governed the Realm with the utmoſt Prudence and Juſtice.

But this Appearance of Equity and Zeal for the public Good was all counterfeited, and only aſſumed to gain the Favour of the Peo⯑ple: Tyrants are always miſtruſtful, they are in continual Fears that ſome other Perſon will rob them of their Power, by the ſame unjuſt Means with which they acquired it.

Macbeth, jealous of ſome Attempts againſt him, no longer diſſembled his Inclinations, but practiſed and permitted all Sorts of Cruel⯑ties, the Words of the three Weird Siſters were continually in his Thoughts.

They promiſed him the Kingdom, and he was poſſeſſed of it, but they promiſed it alſo [259] to the Poſterity of Banquo, and this Prediction might in like Manner be fulfilled.

To prevent it therefore, he determined to murder Banquo and his Son, and for this Pur⯑poſe he invited them to a Supper at the Palace; as they were returning home, ſome Murderers whom he had ordered to plant themſelves in the Road, ſeized Banquo and killed him, but Fleance, favoured by the Darkneſs of the Night, eſcaped and fled into Wales.

After the Murder of Banquo, Fortune ſeemed to have forſaken Macbeth, none of his Undertakings proſpered; every Man began to tremble for his own Life, and durſt not ven⯑ture to appear before him; all Men were afraid of him, and he was afraid of all Men, ſo that he continually ſought Occaſion to put all thoſe Perſons to Death of whom he had any Suſpicion.

His Diſtruſt and Cruelty encreaſing every Day, his Thirſt of Blood was never to be ſa⯑tisfied; the forfeited Eſtates of the Nobility whom he thus maſſacred, enabled him to fill his Coffers, and maintain Forces to defend him againſt the Attempts of his Enemies.

For the greater Security of his Perſon, while he was thus exerciſing the moſt tyrannic Cruelty againſt his Subjects, he built a ſtrong Caſtle upon the Top of a high Hill, called Dunſinnane, ſituated in Gowry, ten Miles from Perth.

[260]This Hill was of ſuch a prodigious Height, that any Perſon ſtanding upon the Top might almoſt behold all the Countries of Angus, Fife, Stermond, and Tweedale, lying as it were be⯑neath him.

The Caſtle then being founded on the Top of this Hill, the Building of it put the King⯑dom to great Expence, becauſe the Materials could not be brought up without much Time and Labour.

But Macbeth being determined to compleat the Work ſoon, commanded all the Thanes of every Shire throughout the Realm to come and do their Part towards the Building, every Man in his Turn.

At laſt it falling to the Turn of Macduffe, Thane of Fife, to build his Part, he ſent Workmen with all the neceſſary Materials, and commanded them to do their Buſineſs with the utmoſt Diligence and Care, that no Occaſion of Offence might be given to the King, which might make him reſent his not coming in Perſon as the other Thanes did, for he well knew that Macbeth both feared and ſuſpected him, for which Reaſon he reſolved to keep out of his Way.

Macbeth coming ſoon after to ſee how the Work went on, was greatly enraged to find Macduffe was not there, and from that Time conceived an invincible Hatred againſt him.

The Wizards, in whom he greatly confid⯑ed becauſe of the Completion of the two firſt Propheſies, had warned him to take heed of [261] Macduffe, who they told him was waiting for ſome Opportunity to deſtroy him.

This Prediction would have determined him to put Macduffe immediately to Death, had not a Witch, whoſe Predictions had alſo great Weight with him, aſſured him he ſhould never be ſlain by any Man who was born of Woman, nor overcome till Birnam Wood came to the Caſtle of Dunſinnane.

Theſe ſoothing Propheſies baniſhed all Fear out of his Mind; he freely indulged the na⯑tural Cruelty of his Diſpoſition, miſerably oppreſſing his Subjects, and committing all Sorts of Outrages.

At length Macduffe, being in Fear for his own Life, took a Reſolution to fly into Eng⯑land, hoping to prevail with Malcolm Canmore to claim the Crown of Scotland.

Macbeth, who in every Nobleman's Houſe kept a domeſtic Spy in his Pay, was ſoon in⯑formed of Macduffe's Intention; he therefore came ſuddenly with an Army into Fife, and beſieged the Caſtle where Macduffe dwelt, ex⯑pecting to find him therein. The Gates were immediately ſet open by the Servants, who miſtruſted no Danger; but Macbeth, enraged that Macduffe had eſcaped him (he being al⯑ready fled to England) commanded his Wife and Children, together with all that were found in the Caſtle, to be ſlain.

Macduffe was ſafe in the Engliſh Court when the News of this ſhocking Cruelty was [262] brought him; and adding to the Deſire of re⯑lieving his wretched Country the Hope of his own particular Revenge, he earneſtly entreat⯑ed Prince Malcolm to undertake the Recovery of his Right; he repreſented to him in the moſt moving Terms the deplorable Condition into which Scotland was brought, through the in⯑human Cruelties of Macbeth, and that the People, deteſting him for the Slaughters he had committed, as well on the Commons as Nobility, deſired nothing more ardently than an Opportunity of ſhaking off their Yoke.

Malcolm, whoſe Soul was filled with Com⯑paſſion for the Miſeries of his Countrymen, ſighed deeply while Macduffe was ſpeaking; which he perceiving, again renewed his In⯑treaties that he would attempt the Delivery of Scotland, aſſuring him he would find it no dif⯑ficult Enterprize, conſidering the Legality of his Title to the Crown, and the earneſt Deſire of the People to have ſome Occaſion given them to revenge themſelves on their hated Tyrant.

Malcolm, though he was greatly affected with Macduffe's Diſcourſe, yet doubting whether he was not ſent by Macbeth to betray him, he determined to make Tryal of his Sin⯑cerity before he conſented to his Propoſal, for which Purpoſe he ſpoke to him in this Man⯑ner.

"I am truly ſorry, Macduffe, for the Miſeries under which my unhappy Country has long [263] groaned, but though my Inclination to relieve it were equal to your Wiſhes, yet on account of ſome incurable Vices which are rooted in my Diſpoſition, I am not fit to undertake ſo great an Enterprize; for firſt I am ſo ſwallow⯑ed up in immoderate Luſt and Senſuality, the abominable Springs of all other Vices, that if I was poſſeſſed of the regal Power, the Chaſtity of none of your Maids and Wives would be ſafe; and ſuch exceſſive Intempe⯑rance would be more inſupportable to you than the bloody Tyranny of Macbeth."

"Intemperance, replied Macduffe, is cer⯑tainly a very great Fault, many noble Kings and Princes have loſt both their Kingdoms and Lives by indulging themſelves in this Vice; nevertheleſs there are Women enough in Scotland to ſerve your Pleaſures; follow my Council therefore, and make yourſelf King; I'll take upon myſelf the Care of gra⯑tifying this Paſſion for Women, in ſo ſecret a Manner that your Reputation ſhall not be hurt by it."

"But, replied Malcolm, I am alſo the moſt avaritious Man in the World, and if I was King of Scotland I ſhould put the greateſt Part of the Nobility to Death, that I might poſ⯑ſeſs myſelf of their Eſtates."

"This Fault, ſaid Macduffe, is much worſe than the other, for Avarice is the Source of all Evil, a Crime for which moſt of our Kings have been murdered, yet ſtill I muſt [264] continue to adviſe you to claim the Crown, there are Riches enough in Scotland to ſatisfy your greedy Deſire."

"I am alſo, ſaid Malcolm, ſtrongly inclined to Diſſimulation and every other Kind of De⯑ceit, and rejoice in nothing ſo much as be⯑traying thoſe who put any Confidence in me; ſince there is not any Thing then more agreeable to the Character of a Prince, than Conſtancy, Truth and Juſtice, and I am wholly abandoned to the contrary Vices, you ſee how unfit I am to reign; and therefore, ſince you have found the Means of extenuating all my other Faults, I pray you endeavour to cover them among the reſt."

"Diſſimulation, replied Macduffe, is indeed the worſt of all, here then I leave thee:" "And oh! unhappy and miſerable Scotchmen, added he, that are ſcourged with ſo many un⯑avoidable Calamities! The wicked Tyrant who now without any Right or Title reigns over ye, oppreſſes ye with the moſt bloody Cruelty; and this other, who has a lawful Claim to the Crown, is ſo replete with all the ſhameful Vices of the Engliſh, that he is un⯑worthy to enjoy it; for, by his own Confeſ⯑ſion, he is not only avaritious to the laſt De⯑gree, but wholly abandoned to the moſt inſa⯑tiable Luſt, and is withal ſo falſe a Traitor that no Credit can be given to any Thing he ſays: Farewell then Scotland for ever; I now look upon myſelf as a baniſhed Man, without any Hope of Comfort or Relief." Saying this he wept bitterly.

[265] Malcolm obſerving he was about to depart, took him by the Hand, and ſaid, "Be comforted Macduff, for I have none of theſe Vices you la⯑ment: I have jeſted with you in this Manner only to try your Sincerity; for many Times hath Macbeth ſought by theſe Means to get me into his Hands, but the more backward I have ſhewn myſelf to agree to your Requeſt, the more Diligence ſhall I uſe in accompliſhing it: Hereupon they embraced, promiſing to be faithful to each other's Intereſt, and then con⯑ſulted together how they might beſt put their Enterprize in Execution.

Macduff ſoon after repairing to the Borders or Scotland, ſecretly diſpatched Letters to the Nobles of the Realm, in which he declared, that Malcolm intended to come ſuddenly into Scotland and claim the Crown; and therefore required them, ſince that Prince was the true and lawful Heir of the Kingdom, to aſſiſt them with all their Power to recover it out of the Hands of the Uſurper.

In the mean time Malcolm ſo far engaged the Favour of King Edward, that old Seyward, Earl of Northumberland, with ten thouſand Men, was appointed to go with him into Scot⯑land to ſupport him in his Pretenſions on that Crown.

When the News of this intended Invaſion was ſpread abroad in Scotland the Nobles formed themſelves into two different Parties, [266] the one taking Part with Macbeth, the other with Malcolm.

Between theſe two Factions there frequent⯑ly happened light Skirmiſhes; but thoſe that were of Malcolm's Side would not riſk the Danger of engaging in a pitched Battle till they were joined by Malcolm, and the Engliſh Forces under the Command of Northumberland.

Macbeth, therefore, not thinking himſelf able to engage the Engliſh, retired into Fife, and fortifying a Camp near the Caſtle of Dun⯑ſinane, determined not to hazard a Battle un⯑leſs his Enemies purſued him thither.

However, ſome of his Friends adviſed him either to make a Treaty with Malcolm, or elſe to fly immediately into the Iſles, and take his Treaſure with him, to the End that he might be able to engage ſeveral of the great Princes of the Realm in his Intereſt, and re⯑tain Strangers in his Pay, in whom he might better confide than in his own Subjects, who were every Day abandoning him.

But he had ſo firm a Reliance on his Pro⯑phecies, that he believed he ſhould never be vanquiſhed till Birnam Wood came to Dunſi⯑nane, nor be ſlain by any Man that was born of a Woman.

Malcolm, who had haſtily purſued Macbeth, came the Night before the Battle to Birnam Wood, and when his Army had reſted there awhile, he commanded every Man to cut down a Branch of a Tree and march with it in his Hand, that thus ſhaded, they might come [267] cloſely, without diſcovering their Numbers, within View of their Enemies.

The next Day, when Macbeth beheld them he was greatly aſtoniſhed, and the Prophecy that had been delivered to him long before coming into his Mind, he doubted not but that it was now fulfilled, ſince he ſaw Birnam Wood coming to Dunſinane; nevertheleſs he drew up his Men in Order of Battle, exhorting them to fight valiantly.

His Enemies, however, had ſcarcely caſt away their Boughs, when Macbeth, perceiving their Numbers, betook himſelf to Flight.

Macduff, ſtimulated with Hatred and an eager Thirſt of Revenge, never ceaſed pur⯑ſuing him till he came up with him at Lunfan⯑nain, and Macbeth ſeeing him cloſe at his Heels leaped off his Horſe, crying aloud, "Thou Traitor, why doſt thou thus follow me in vain; ſince I am not appointed to be ſlain by any Man that is born of a Woman? But come on then, and receive the Reward thou haſt merited for thy Folly." Hereupon he aimed a Blow at him with his Sword, thinking to have killed him; but Macduff ſuddenly leaping off his Horſe, avoided the Stroke, and holding his naked Sword in his Hand thus anſwered:

"It is true, Macbeth; and now ſhalt thy inſatiable Cruelty have an End; for I, I am he whom thy Wizards have told thee of, not born of my Mother, but ripped out of her Womb;" then ſuddenly cloſing with him, he [268] ſlew him on the Place, and cutting off his Head from his Shoulders, fixed it upon a Poll, and brought it to Malcolm.

This was the End of Macbeth, after he had reigned over Scotland ſeventeen Years: In the Beginning of his Reign he performed many worthy Actions, and made many Laws very uſeful to the Commonwealth; but afterwards, thro' the Illuſion of the Devil, he obliterated the Glory of his good Deeds by the moſt deteſtable Cruelty.

OBSERVATIONS on the Uſe Shakeſpear has made of the foregoing Hiſtory of Macbeth.
The Plan of MACBETH.

MACBETH, a near Kinſman of Dun⯑can, King of Scotland, having in one Day quelled a Rebellion, and given a total De⯑feat to the Army of the King of Norway, who invaded Scotland, as he was returning to Court with his Friend Banquo meets three Witches on a barren Heath, the firſt of whom hails him Thane of Glamis, the ſecond Thane of Cawdor, and the Third with the Title of King hereafter.

Banquo, offended at their addreſſing them⯑ſelves only to his Friend, deſires them to ſpeak likewiſe to him, upon which they propheſy that he ſhall be happier than Macbeth, and though he ſhall not ſway a Scepter himſelf, yet his Deſcendants ſhall be Kings; this ſaid they vaniſhed immediately.

While Macbeth and Banquo are expreſ⯑ſing their Surprize to each other at this Pro⯑digy, [270] ſome Noblemen ſent by the King ſalute Macbeth with the Title of Thane of Cawdor.

Macbeth, aſtoniſhed at the Completion of this firſt Prophecy, entertains a Deſign of mur⯑dering the King to make Way for the fulfilling of the ſecond, and artfully ſounds the Inclina⯑tions of Banquo, but finding him fixed in his Loyalty to the King, he forbears to tamper with him.

The King declaring his Intentions to beſtow the Title of Prince of Cumberland on his eldeſt Son Malcolm, Macbeth alarmed at this, reſolves to be ſudden in the Execution of his Deſigns, and by a Letter acquaints his Wife with the Prophecies of the Witches, one of which he tells her had been already accompliſhed.

Lady Macbeth, a proud, ambitious, and cruel Woman, urges on her Huſband to the Murder of the King, and accordingly Duncan coming to lodge one Night at Macbeth's Caſtle in Inverneſs, he is ſtabbed in his Bed by Mac⯑beth. The two Sons of Duncan fearing the ſame Fate fly from Scotland, and Macbeth uſurps the Crown.

Some time after being jealous of the promiſed Sovereignty to Banquo's Children, he cauſes Banquo to be murdered, but his Son Fleance, whom he ordered likewiſe to be diſpatched, eſcapes out of the Hands of the Murderers and ſaves himſelf by Flight.

[271] Macbeth, preſſed by uneaſy Doubts about his own Security, goes to the three Witches who had predicted his Greatneſs, to have them reſolved; they raiſe Apparitions who bid him beware of Macduff, the Thane of Fife; but at the ſame Time aſſure him that none of Woman born ſhould have Power to hurt him, and that he ſhould never be vanquiſhed till Birnam Wood came to the Hill of Dunſi⯑nane.

Macbeth, elated with theſe Promiſes, ſets no Bound is to his Cruelty, and reſolves to murder Macduff; but being told he is fled to England, he ſeizes upon his Caſtle at Fife, and puts his Wife, his Children, and all that were found within it to the Sword.

In the mean time Malcolm, the eldeſt Son of King Duncan, having prevailed upon the King of England, with whom he had taken Refuge, to furniſh him with an Army, marches into Scotland accompanied by Macduff who breathes nothing but Revenge againſt the Ty⯑rant that had deprived him of his Wife and Children.

Macbeth hearing of their Approach, and being daily informed of the Deſertion of his Officers and Soldiers, fortifies the Caſtle of Dunſinane, and confiding in the Promiſes of the Spirits prepares to fight.

Malcolm, when he comes into Birnam Wood with his Army, commands every Man to cut him down a Bough and carry it before him in [272] order to conceal their Numbers from the Ene⯑my; a Centinel of Macbeth's ſurprized at this ſtrange Appearance, informs him that as he was looking towards Birnam, on a ſudden he perceived the Wood to move.

Macbeth grows furious at this Account, but ſtill relying on the Promiſe of the laſt Spirit, "that he ſhould not be hurt by one of Woman born," he goes into the Field, and being met by Macduff, who in Anſwer to his Boaſts of bearing a charmed Life, tells him "he was not born of his Mother, but ripped from her Womb;" he deſpairs, curſes, and being forced to fight, is killed by Macduff: The Conqueror cuts off his Head and carries it to Malcolm, whoſe Troops having gained a compleat Vic⯑tory, he is proclaimed King of Scotland.

Lady Macbeth, tormented with horrible Imaginations, deprives herſelf of Life before the deciſive Battle is fought, in which Mac⯑beth is ſlain.

Shakeſpear has pretty exactly followed the Thread of the Hiſtory in this Play, which takes in Part of the Life of Duncan and the whole Reign of Macbeth: Some few Varia⯑tions he has made for the Sake of diverſifying his Characters and contracting the Action; as when he ſhews Banquo unſhaken in his Loyalty to his King; though the Hiſtorians ſay he joined with Macbeth in his Conſpiracy, and aſſiſted in the murder of Duncan, and making Macbeth defeat the Rebels and ſubdue the King of Norway in one Day; when, accord⯑ing to the Hiſtorian there was a long Interval [273] of Time between theſe two Actions, in which ſeveral other Battles were fought.

It is not to be doubted but Shakeſpear fol⯑lowed Hollingſhed in the Facts which compoſe this Play, as well as in many of his other hiſtorical Plays. In the Hiſtory of Macbeth, where he found Hollingſhed's Chronicle defi⯑cient, he probably conſulted Bellendon, who tranſlated Boetius in 1541.

"The Incongruity of all the Paſſages in which the Thane of Cawdor is mentioned (ſays the celebrated Author of the Rambler in a Pam⯑phlet intitled, Miſcellaneous Obſervations on the Tragedy of Macbeth) is very remarkable; in the ſecond Scene the Thanes of Roſſe and An⯑gus bring the King an Account of the Battle, and inform him that Norway

"It appears that Cawdor was taken Priſoner, for the King ſays in the ſame Scene,

"Yet, though Cawdor was thus taken by Macbeth in Arms againſt the King, when Macbeth is ſaluted in the fourth Scene Thane of Cawdor by the Weird Siſters, he aſks,

"And in the next Line conſiders the Promiſes that he ſhould be Cawdor and King as equal⯑ly unlikely to be accompliſhed.

"How can Macbeth be ignorant of the State of the Thane of Cawdor whom he has juſt defeated and taken Priſoner, or call him a proſperous Gentleman, who has forfeited his Title and Life by open Rebellion? Or why ſhould he wonder that the Title of the Rebel whom he has overthrown ſhould be conferred upon him?

"He cannot be ſuppoſed to diſſemble his Knowledge of the Condition of Cawdor, be⯑cauſe he enquires with all the Ardour of Cu⯑rioſity and the Vehemence of ſudden Aſtoniſh⯑ment, and becauſe nobody is preſent but Ban⯑quo, who had an equal Part of the Battle and was equally acquainted with Cawdor's Trea⯑ſon.

"However, in the next Scene his Ignorance ſtill continues, and, when Roſſe and Angus preſent him from the King with his new Title, he cries out,

[275]"Roſſe and Angus who were the Meſſen⯑gers that in the ſecond Scene informed the King of the Aſſiſtance given by Cawdor to the Invader, having loſt, as well as Mac⯑beth, all Memory of what they had ſo lately ſeen and related, make this Anſwer;

"Neither Roſſe knew what he had juſt reported, nor Macbeth what he had juſt done.

"This ſeems not to be one of the Faults that are to be imputed to the Tranſcribers; ſince, though the Inconſiſtency of Roſſe and Angus might be removed by ſuppoſing that their Names are erroneouſly inſerted, and that only Roſſe brought the Account of the Battle, and only Angus was ſent to compliment Mac⯑beth, yet the Forgetfulneſs of Macbeth cannot be palliated, ſince what he ſays could not be ſpoken by any other.

"Shakeſpear, by deviating from Hiſtory in making Banquo loyal and virtuous, had not on⯑ly in View the contraſting his Character with Macbeth's, but alſo a Compliment to King James the Firſt, in whoſe Reign this Play was written, and was lineally deſcended from Banquo.

[276]"The Prophecy of the Witches in the firſt Act abſolutely promiſes the Crown of Scotland to the Poſterity of Banquo: Upon this Prophecy it is that Macbeth cauſes Banquo to be mur⯑dered; yet ſtill the Eſcape of Fleance the Son of Banquo leaves Macbeth Room to ſuſpect that the Kingdom would after his Death de⯑volve to that Family; his Fears on this Occa⯑ſion are ſo frequently and ſtrongly inculcated in the Play, that though we have reaſon to con⯑clude it is accomppliſhed from the Words of Macbeth at the Sight of the Royal Apparitions with two-fold Balls and treble Scepters.

"Yet it is to be wiſhed that Shakeſpear had made Uſe of the propheſying Witches to hint at the Means by which this Change in the Suc⯑ceſſion was to be made. Thus it is related in Boetius."

"Fleance, after the Murder of his Father, being protected by the Darkneſs of the Night, and having for ſome Time concealed himſelf in Scotland, eſcaped into Wales, where the Strength of his Judgment and Affability of his Temper recommended him very ſoon after his Arrival to the Protection and Favour of the Prince of that Country.

[277]"Proſperity raiſed his Ambition to an unpar⯑donable Height: he abuſed the Confidence re⯑poſed in him by ſecretly paying unlawful Ad⯑dreſſes to the young Princeſs, the Daughter of his Benefactor: Thoſe: Addreſſes proved ſucceſs⯑ful; her Father diſcovered her Pregnancy, and that Fleance was her Paramour; Fleance was put to Death; and the Lady as ſoon as ſhe was delivered of her Child, which proved to be a Son, and was named Walter, was condemned to paſs the reſt of her Life in the Character of a mean Domeſtic. Young Walter, by Order of his enraged Grandfather, was ſent to a re⯑mote Part of Wales to be educated as a Ruſ⯑tic.

"When he had attained his twentieth Year, the Blood which flowed in his Veins inſpired him with Sentiments far nobler and more re⯑fined than thoſe of his uſual Companions; he left the Country and threw himſelf boldly into the Protection of his Grandfather at Court. This noble Reſolution was not entirely unſuc⯑ceſsful; he was admitted to ſtay in the Palace, but in a mean and ſervile Station.

"One of the Courtiers with whom he had quarrelled, reproached him with the Illegiti⯑macy of his Birth; Walter was tranſported with Fury at the Affront, and ſlew the Perſon who offered it to him.

"He was too ſenſible of his Grandfather's Severity to venture the Effects of it on this Occaſion, he fled immediately to Scotland, and implored Protection from his Relations there.

[278]"He met with a favourable Reception from them, and was particularly honoured and eſteemed by ſome Engliſh Noblemen who were at that Time in the Court of Scotland upon an Embaſſy to Margaret, who was then Queen of that Nation.

"He became afterwards General for that Princeſs in Galloway and the Weſtern Iſlands; and having gained a compleat Victory over the Rebels of thoſe Parts was made High Se⯑neſchall of the Kingdom, and Lord of ſeveral noble Manors, among which was that of Stuart's-Iſlands.

"He left at his Death a Son, named Allan Stuart, who ſignalized his Valour on many Occaſions againſt the Saracens in the Holy Land. Alexander his Son ſucceeded him, and was Founder of Paiſley-Abbey. Alexander was followed by his Son Walter, ſurnamed of Dundonald, a famous General under Alexander the Third. Walter had two Sons, Alexander and Robert who married the Daughter of Ro⯑bert of Cruxtoun, from which Marriage the Families of Darnley and Lennox are deſcended.

"Alexander, the eldeſt Son of Walter of Dundonald, left two Sons, James and John; James died in his Infancy, and John having eſpouſed the Heireſs of Boutell had Iſſue by her Walter Stuart, who married Margaret, Daughter of King Robert Bruce, after the ci⯑vil Diſſentions of Scotland were entirely ap⯑peaſed. By this Princeſs he had Robert Stuart, afterwards King of Scotland; and from him the Royal Family of Stuart is lineally deſcend⯑ed."

[279]This long Account of the Poſterity of Banquo will I hope not ſeem unentertaining to the Admirers of Shakeſpear, who will thereby ſee with what Judgment that great Poet has deviated from Hiſtory in giving Loyalty and Virtue to the Character of this Father of many Kings.

The Character of Macbeth is drawn after the Hiſtorians, yet Shakeſpear has ſoften⯑ed a little ſome of the moſt rugged Features; he ſhews him doubtful and irreſolute about the Murder of the King, ſpurred on by Ambition to commit it, but reſtrained by his Abhorrence of the Action, and when by the Inſtigations of his Wife he is prevailed upon to do it, his Mind is afterwards filled with Remorſe, and all the uneaſy Senſations that attend repentant Guilt.

The Character Macbeth gives of Duncan in the Play is not inconſiſtent with that in the Hiſtory, yet it is not the ſame; Macbeth ſpeaks only of his Virtues, and his Faults were thoſe Virtues carried to Exceſs.

The Inſtigation uſed by Lady Macbeth, and the Fire of his Temper are touched upon by Boetius, but improved by Shakeſpear with all the Force of Words and Propriety of Charac⯑ter.

The Wife of Macbeth, ſays Boetius, in⯑ſpired him with Ambition to the utmoſt of her Power; ſhe was ardently deſirous of the royal Title, and was wicked and bold enough to [280] undertake any Enterprize, and was impetuous in the Proſecution of it.

She prompted Macbeth to the Murder of the King by the moſt provoking Expreſſions, re⯑proaching him with Cowardice and Sloth, as negligent to receive what Fate had directed to obtain.

That the Glory of Reigning had inſpired many Men to purſue the empty Name of King without the actual Power, even at the Expence of their Lives.

The machinary Part of this Play is ſo beau⯑tifully defended and illuſtrated by the ingenious Mr. Johnſon, in the above-mentioned Pamph⯑let, that I think I cannot confer a greater Ob⯑ligation on the Reader than by tranſcribing thoſe Paſſages here.

"In order to make a true Eſtimate of the Abilities and Merit of a Writer, it is always neceſſary to examine the Genius of his Age, and the Opinions of his Contemporaries."

"A Poet who ſhould now make the whole Action of his Tragedy depend upon Enchant⯑ment, and produce the chief Events by the Aſſiſtance of ſupernatural Agents, would be cenſured as tranſgreſſing the Bounds of Pro⯑bability; he would be baniſhed from the Theatre to the Nurſery, and condemned to write Fairy Tales inſtead of Tragedies."

"But a Survey of the Notions that pre⯑vailed at the Time when this Play was written, [281] will prove that Shakeſpear was in no Danger of ſuch Cenſures, ſince he only turned the Syſtem that was then univerſally admitted, to his Advantage, and was far from overburthen⯑ing the Credulity of his Audience."

"The Reality of Witchcraft or Enchant⯑ment, which though not ſtrictly the ſame, are confounded in this Play, has in all Ages and Countries been credited by the common Peo⯑ple, and in moſt by the Learned themſelves."

"Theſe Phantoms have indeed appeared more frequently in Proportion, as the Dark⯑neſs of Ignorance has been more groſs; but it cannot be ſhewn, that the brighteſt Gleams of Knowledge have at any Time been ſuffici⯑ent to drive them out of the World."

"The Time in which this Kind of Cre⯑dulity was at its Height, ſeems to have been that of the Holy War, in which the Chriſ⯑tians imputed all their Defeats to Enchant⯑ments or diabolical Oppoſition, as they aſ⯑cribed their Succeſs to the Aſſiſtance of their Military Saints. And the learned Mr. W — appears to believe (Supplement to the Introduction to Don Quixote) that the firſt Accounts of Enchantments were brought into this Part of the World by thoſe who re⯑turned from their Eaſtern Expeditions."

"But there is always ſome Diſtance be⯑tween the Birth and Maturity of Folly as of Wickedneſs: This Opinion had long exiſt⯑ed, though perhaps the Application of it had [282] in no foregoing Age been ſo frequent, nor the Reception ſo general.

Olympiodorus, in Photius's Extracts, tells us of one Libanius, who practiſed this Kind of military Magic, and having promiſed to per⯑form great Things againſt the Barbarians without Soldiers, was at the Inſtances of the Empreſs Placidia put to Death, when he was about to have given Proofs of his Abilities. The Empreſs ſhewed ſome Kindneſs in her Anger, by cutting him off at a Time ſo con⯑venient to his Reputation.

"But a more remarkable Proof of the An⯑tiquity of this Notion may be found in St. Chryſoſtom's Book de Sacerdotis, which exhi⯑bits a Scene of Enchantments not exceeded by any Romance of the middle Age; he ſup⯑poſes a Spectator overlooking a Field of Bat⯑tle, attended by one that points out all the va⯑rious Objects of Horror, the Engines of Deſ⯑truction, and the Arts of Slaughter. Let him then proceed to ſhew him in the oppoſite Ar⯑mies, Horſes flying by Enchantment, armed Men tranſported through the Air, and every Power and Form of Magic.

"Whether St. Chryſoſtom believed that ſuch Performances were really to be ſeen in a Day of Battle, or only endeavoured to inliven his Deſcription, by adopting the Notions of the Vulgar, it is equally certain that ſuch No⯑tions were in his Time received, and that therefore they were not imported from the Saracens in a later Age; the Wars with the [283] Saracens however gave Occaſion to their Pro⯑pagation, not only as Bigotry naturally diſ⯑covers Prodigies, but as the Scene of Action was removed to a great Diſtance, and Diſ⯑tance either of Time or Place is ſufficient to reconcile weak Minds to wonderful Rela⯑tions.

"The Reformation did not immediately arrive at its Meridian, and though the Day gradually encreaſed upon us, the Goblins of Witchcraft ſtill continued to hover in the Twilight. In the Time of Queen Elizabeth was the remarkable Trial of the Witches of Warbois, whoſe Conviction is ſtill commemo⯑rated in an annual Sermon at Huntingdon. But in the Reign of King James, in which this Tragedy was written, many Circumſtan⯑ces concurred to propagate and confirm this Opinion.

"The King, who was much celebrated for his Knowledge, had before his Arrival in England not only examined in Perſon a Woman accuſed of Witchcraft, but had given a very formal Account of the Practices and Illuſions of evil Spirits, the Compacts of Witches, the Ceremonies uſed by them, the Manner of detecting them, and the Juſtice of puniſhing them, in his Dialogues of Daemonologie, written in the Scottiſh Dialect, and publiſhed at Edinburgh.

"This Book was ſoon after his Acceſſion, reprinted at London, and as the ready Way to [284] gain King James's Favour was to flatter his Speculations, the Syſtem of Daemonologie was immediately adopted by all who deſired either to gain Preferment or not to loſe it."

"Thus the Doctrine of Witchcraft was very powerfully inculcated, and as the greateſt Part of Mankind have no other Reaſon for their Opinions than that they are in Faſhion, it cannot be doubted but this Perſuaſion made a rapid Progreſs, ſince Vanity and Credulity co-operated in it's Favour, and it had a Ten⯑dency to free Cowardice from Reproach."

"The Infection ſoon reached the Parlia⯑ment, who, in the firſt Year of King James, made a Law, by which it was enacted, Ch. 12. That if any Perſon ſhall uſe any Invocati⯑on or Conjuration of any evil or wicked Spirit. 2. Or ſhall conſult, covenant with, entertain, employ, feed, or reward any evil or curſed Spirit to or for any Intent or Pur⯑poſe. 3. Or take up any dead Man, Woman, or Child out of the Grave, or the Skin, Bone, or any Part of the dead Perſon, to be employ⯑ed or uſed in any Manner of Witchcraft, Sor⯑cery, Charm, or Enchantment. 4. Or ſhall uſe, practiſe, or exerciſe any Sort of Witch⯑craft, Sorcery, Charm, or Enchantment. 5. Whereby any Perſon ſhall be deſtroyed, killed, waſted, conſumed, pined, or lamed in any Part of the Body. 6. That every ſuch Perſon being convicted ſhall ſuffer Death."

[285]"Thus in the Time of Shakeſpear was the Doctrine of Witchcraft at once eſtabliſh⯑ed by Law and by the Faſhion, and it became not only unpolite, but criminal to doubt it, and as Prodigies are always ſeen in Proportion as they are expected, Witches were every Day diſcovered, and multiplied ſo faſt in ſome Places, that Biſhop Hall mentions a Village in Lancaſhire, where their Number was greater than that of the Houſes."

"The Jeſuits and Sectaries took Advantage of this univerſal Error, and endeavoured to promote the Intereſt of their Parties by pre⯑tended Cures of Perſons afflicted by evil Spi⯑rits, but they were detected and expoſed by the Clergy of the eſtabliſhed Church."

"Upon this general Infatuation Shakeſpear might be eaſily allowed to found a Play, eſpe⯑cially ſince he has followed with great Exact⯑neſs ſuch Hiſtories as were then thought true; nor can it be doubted that the Scenes of En⯑chantment, however they may now be re⯑diculed, were both by himſelf and his Audi⯑ence thought awful and affecting."

The Note on the firſt Scene of the fourth Act explains the Nature of the Incantations and diabolical Ceremonies made Uſe of by the Witches, I ſhall therefore give the Reader the Pleaſure of ſeeing it here."

"As this is the chief Scene of Enchant⯑ment in the Play, it is proper in this Place to obſerve with how much Judgment Shakeſpear [286] has ſelected all the Circumſtances of his in⯑fernal Ceremonies, and how exactly he has conformed to common Opinions and Tradi⯑tions."

"The uſual Form in which familiar Spirits are reported to converſe with Witches is that of a Cat. A Witch, who was tried about half a Century before the Time of Shakeſpear, had a Cat, named Rutterkin, as the Spirit of one of thoſe Witches was Grimalkin, and when any Miſchief was to be done ſhe uſed to bid Rotterkin go and fly; but once when ſhe would have ſent Rutterkin to torment a Daughter of the Counteſs of Rutland, in⯑ſtead of going or flying ſhe only cried Mew, from which ſhe diſcovered that the Lady was out of his Power, the Power of Witches be⯑ing not univerſal, but limited as Shakeſpear has taken Care to inculcate."

"The common Afflictions which the Malice of Witches produced was Melancholy, Fits, and Loſs of Fleſh, which are threatened by one of Shakeſpear's Witches."

[287]"It was likewiſe their Practice to deſtroy the Cattle of their Neighbours, and the Far⯑mers have to this Day many Ceremonies to ſecure their Cows and other Cattle from Witchcraft; but they ſeem to have been moſt ſuſpected of Malice againſt Swine."

"Shakeſpear has accordingly made one of his Witches declare that ſhe has been killing Swine, and Doctor Harſenet obſerves, that about that Time a Sow could not be ill of the Meaſles, nor a Girl of the Sullens, but ſome old Woman was charged with Witchcraft."

"Toads have likewiſe long lain under the Reproach of being by ſome Means acceſſary to Witchcraft, for which Reaſon Shakeſpear in the firſt Scene of this Play calls one of the Spirits Padocke, or Toad, and now takes Care to put a Toad firſt into the Pot."

"When Varinus was ſeized at Tholouſe, there was found at his Lodgings ingens Bufo Vitro incluſus, a great Toad ſhut in a Phial, upon which thoſe who proſecuted him, Viné⯑ficium exprobabant, charged him I ſuppoſe with Witchcraft."

[288]"The Propriety of theſe Ingredients may be known by conſulting the Books de Veribus Animalium and de Mirabilibus Mundi, aſcrib⯑ed to Albertus Magnus, in which the Reader, who has Time and Credulity, may diſcover very wonderful Secrets."

"It has been already mentioned in the Law againſt Witches, that they are ſuppoſed to take up dead Bodies to uſe in Enchantments, which was confeſſed by the Woman whom King James examined, and who had of a dead Body that was divided in one of their Aſſem⯑blies, two Fingers for her Share."

"It is obſervable that Shakeſpear on this great Occaſion, which involves the Fate of a King, multiplies all the Circumſtances of Horror."

"The Babe, whoſe Finger is uſed, muſt be ſtrangled in its Birth; the Greaſe muſt not be human, but muſt have dropped from a Gibbet, the Gibbet of a Murderer, and even the Sow whoſe Blood is uſed, muſt have of⯑fended Nature by devouring her own Farrow. Theſe are Touches of Judgment and Genius."

"Theſe two Paſſages I have brought to⯑gether, becauſe they both ſeem ſubject to the Objection of too much Levity for the Solem⯑nity of Enchantment, and may both be ſhewn by one Quotation from Camden's Account of Ireland, to be founded upon a Practice really obſerved by the uncivilized Natives of that Country.

"When any one gets a Fall, ſays the In⯑former of Camden, he ſtarts up, and turning three Times to the Right, digs a Hole in the Earth; for they imagine that there is a Spirit in the Ground; and if he falls ſick in two or three Days, they ſend one of their Women that is ſkilled in that Way to the Place, where he ſays, I call thee from the Eaſt, Weſt, North, and South, from the Groves, the Woods, the Rivers and the Fens, from the Fairies, Red, Black, and White.

"There was likewiſe a Book written before the Time of Shakeſpear, deſcribing among other Properties the Colours of Spirits."

The learned and ingenious Mr. Upton, in his critical Obſervations on Shakeſpear has diſ⯑covered a Beauty that has eſcaped all his other Commentators: "The Apparitions, he ſays, who are introduced paltering with Macbeth in [290] a double Senſe, and leading him on according to the common Notions of diabolical Oracles to his Confuſion, are themſelves ſymbolical Repreſentations of what ſhall happen to him.

"The armed Head who bids him beware of Macduff, repreſents ſymbolically Macbeth's Head cut off, and brought to Malcolm by Macduff. The bloody Child, who aſſures him that none of Woman born ſhould have Power to hurt him, is Macduff untimely rip⯑ped from his Mother's Womb. And the Child with a Crown on his Head and a Bough in his Hand, who tells him he ſhall never be vanquiſhed till Bernam Wood comes to Dun⯑ſinane, is the royal Malcolm, who ordered his Soldiers to hew them down a Bough, and bear it before them till they come to Dunſi⯑nane."

Shakeſpear ſeems to have committed a great Overſight, in making Macbeth, after he found himſelf deceived in the Prophecy relating to Birnam Wood, ſo abſolutely rely upon the other, which he had good Reaſon to fear might be equally fallacious. When the Meſ⯑ſenger tells him he ſaw Birnam Wood begin to move, and that it was coming towards Dun⯑ſinane, he falls into a Tranſport of Grief and Deſpair, and owns he doubts the Equivocation of the Fiend, yet carries his Reflexions no farther than the preſent Ciſcumſtance. Though it might naturally be expected from the Con⯑viction of the Falſehood of one Prophecy, upon which he had built ſuch ſolid Hopes, that the [291] Truth of another, which promiſed him Se⯑curity from all Men of Women born, might be juſtly ſuſpected by him; yet in the Field of Battle, a little after that, we find him as full of Confidence on that Prediction as if his Spirits had never deceived him.

And again.

And when challenged to Fight by Macduff, he ſays:

How inconſiſtent is this vain-glorious Boaſt⯑ing and extravagant Confidence in a Man, who having been juſt before told that the Wood was moving, makes the following Speech?

But this Play has fewer Faults of this Kind than any other of Shakeſpear's, and is deſerved⯑ly allowed to be a moſt beautiful Piece.