wv-c;. ma xZlMi CS THE MORALITY O F SHAKESPEARE'S DRAMA ILLUSTRATED. yji* THE sHtfUTTt MORALITY O F SHAKESPEARE'S DRAMA ILLUSTRATED. By Mrs. GRIFFITH. Ille per extentum funem mihi poiTe videtur Ire poeta, meum qui pe&us inaniter angit ; Irritat, mulcet, falfis terroribus implet, Ut magus j et modd me Thebis, modo ponit Athenis. Hor. DUBLIN: Printed for J. BEATTY, Skinner-Row m,dcc,lxxvii, 9 - T O THOMAS SHERIDAN, Efq: S IR, IERMIT me, in addreffing this Dublin Edition of the following work to you, to gratify the defire of many, and join in that tribute which has been long defervedly paid to that diftinguimed excellence which adorns your character as an Actor and a Man. With Shakespeare you juftly mare divided fame. It has been ob- ferved by a celebrated Writer, * that— " the poetry o/*Shakespeare was in- spiration indeed : he is not fo much an imitator, as an injirument of Nature, and it is not fo juji that he f peaks from her, as that fie fpeaks thro him" — ■.= thus the characters fo inimitably de- picted by that great Matter of Nature and the Drama, when fupported by the unerring judgment and animated graces of * Pope, iv DEDICATION. of your performance, impart to us the various emotions of paffion they fo for- cibly infpire •, we feel his fentiments, our hearts join in unifon with them, confefs their propriety, and are ennobled and refined by them : Whilfl thus, in the reprefentation of Shakespeare's fcenes, we behold you unite with the moil coniummate acquired talents all the excellence of native genius, the tenor of your life forms the nobleft commentary on his moral precepts. Though the enthufiafm of Shake- speare, which enflames in the fub- lime, melts in the pathetic, and glows in the beautiful ; though that juft imi- tation of Nature which pervades his writings, commands our admiration, however obfcured by time, and the inequalities of genius : yet much praife is due to him, who, endowed with the moft refined tafte and accurate dif- cernment, enables us to feel his fenfa- tions, traces every fentiment to its ori- ginal fource, and difplays, by the moil: judicious reprefentation, every latent excellency. In the diflimilar charac- ters of Othello, Lear, Macbeth, King 'John, DEDICATION. v 'John, and Brutus, whether in — the tendernefs of love, the rage of jealoufy,, or the agony of grief, — the pangs of fraternal affection, converted by filial ingratitude to the higheft degree of re- gret, hatred, defpair, and madnefs, — the terror and remorfe of guilty ambi- tion, — the perfidious, gloomy, and fuf- picious tyrant, — or the virtuous and inflexible patriot, — all the various paf- fions of the foul are called forth, all that are awful and amiable \ *' Still as we view, we find our bofoms beat, " And rife in raptures with another's heat. Parnel l." I am, SIR, (With great refpeft,) your obedient humble Servant, and Admirer, Skinner-Row, Jan.2o,i 7 77. JQHN BEATTY. > HENRY the FIFTH. Vol. II. B Dramatis Perfonse. MEN. rators. Henry the Fifth. King of France.' The Dauphin. Duke of York, 7tt i . u t\ v ? Uncles to Henry. Duke of Exeter, y J Duke of Bedford, 1 n .i . tj .... ■rx r* r Brothers to Henry. Duke of Olouce ster, ) f Archbishop of Canterbury. Bishop of Ely. Earl of Westmorland. Earl of Cambridge,} Lord Scroop, > Confpi Sir Thomas Grey, J Duke of Burgundy. Duke of Orleans. Fluellin, a Welch Captain. Rambures, 7 T? 1. T } ^ > French Lords. Orandpree, j The Conftable of France. Sir Thomas Erpingham. Mountjoy, a French Herald. Bates and Williams, Englifli Soldiers. \V O M E N. Isabel, Queen of France. Catharine, her Daughter. A Lad y of the French Court. ■umihiwii ii win wi i I hi mini i i THE M . O R A L I T Y O F SHAKESPEARE'S DRAMA ILLUSTRATED. HENRY the FIFTH. ACT I. SCENE I. T HE fudden reformation of Henry Prince of Wales, upon his fticceffion to the crown, is a fa<£t recorded in hiflory ; and there have been fufficient inftances of fuch an exertion of latent virtue in mankind, upon record, to evince its not being a thing unnatural ; though, fad to fay it, not enough to prevent its being reckoned in the clafs of uncom- mon events. Let us but lend our own affiftance, and grace will feldom he found wanting. This extraordinary character is mod: beautifully defcribed in the example now before us. Canterbury and Ely, dijcourfing about the King. Cant. The courfes of his youth promifed it not— The breath no fooner left his father's body, But that his ivildnefs, mortified n him, Seemed to die too ; yea, at that very moment, B z Confide- 4 HENRY THE FIFTH. Confederation like an angel came, And whipt the offending Adam out of him ; Leaving his body as a paradife, To invelop and contain eeleftial fpfrits *. Never came reformation in a flood, With fuch an heady current, fcovvering faults f; Nor ever hydra-headed wilfulnefs t So foon did lofe his feat, and all at once, As in this king. SCENE II. Here follows a line leflbn for ftatesand potentates to reflect ferioufly upon, when they ^re publifhing" maniteilos, or meditating a war. The King, and Canterbury, who was prefident of his council : Henry. My learned lord, we pray you to proceed j And juftly and reiigiouily unfold, Why the law Salic, that they have in France, Or jliould, or ihould not, bar us in our claim. And, God forbid, my dear -and faithful lord, That you ihould fafhion, wreft, or bow your reading, Or nicely charge your underftanding foul, With opening tides mifcreate, whofe right Swits not in native colour with the truth. Fc;- Gad doth know how many now in health, Shall drop their blood in approbation § Of what your reverence fhall incite us to. Therefore take heed how you impawn your perfon ||, * What a beautiful and poetical alluilon is here mad* to the circu.mftaDCe of ourrlrft parents being exiled from Eden! + Alluding to Hercules turning the courfe of a river through the Augean liable?. t Shakefpeare having hinted at one of the labours of Hercu'er, a fecond immediately occurred; and I fhould not have been fur- prized, in the exuberancy of his imagery, if he had gone through the whole dozen •, if it was only for an opportunity of making this reflection, that a reformation jrom vice, fJas an harder tafk than them all put together. & In approbation. In fupport of a caufe he had pronounced to bejuft. |j Pledge your charai^ej £ad confeience. How HENRY THE FIFTH. 5 How you awake the fleeping fword of war ; We charge you, in the name of God, take heed. For never two fuch kingdoms did contend, Without much fall of blood ; whofe guiltlefs drops At? every one a woe, a fere complaint, 'G.inft him whofe wrong gives edge unto the fwords, That make fuch wafte in brief mortality. Under tkis conjuration, fpeak, my lord ; For we will hear, note, and believe in heart, That what you fpeak is in your confeience waflied, As pure as fin ivitb baptijm. There is a juft defcription of the nature of government given a, good deal further in the fame Scene. Canterbury and Ely. Ely. While that the armed hand doth fight abroad, The advifed head defends itfelf at home; For government, though high, and low, and lower, Put into parts, doth keep in one confent, Congreeing in a full and natural clofe, Like mufic. Both the diftic&ion and the fimile here made ufe cf, are almofr, a literal tranflation of a parallel paf- fage in Cicero ; and there are fo many other allufioas of the fame kind, to be met with throughout our author's writings, as might lead one into an opinion of his being a tolerable clafficnl fcholar, notwiths- tanding Ben Johnfon's invidious line, " Altho' thou hadft final 1 Latin, and lefs Greek." But in denying him the accomplifhment of litera- ture, he paid an higher compliment to his genius, than perhaps he meant ; as this was to impute to him the greater merit of being pofTefTed of the fame fancy and judgment with the beft of the Antienrs, without the advantages of their example or inflruc- tion. B 3 The 6 HENRY THE FIFTH. The fubje£t of the above fpeech is considered more at large, and treated in detail, in the deduc- tion drawn from it in the reply. Cant. Therefore Heaven doth divide The ftate of man in divers functions, Setting endeavour in continual motion ; To which is fixed, -as an aim or butt, Obedience. For fo work the honey-bees ; Creatures, that by a rule in nature, teach The art of order to a peopled kingdom. They have a king, and officers of fort, Where tome, like magiftrates, correct at home ; Others, like merchants, venture trade abroad j Others, like foldiers, armed in their flings, Make boot upon the fummer's velvet buds ; Which pillage they with merry marth bring home To the tent- royal of their emperor ; Who bufied in his majefty, furveys The finging mafon building roofs of gold ; The civil citizen kneading up the honey ; The poor mechanic porters crowding in Their heavy burdens at his narrow gate ; The fad-eyed juftice with his furly hum, Delivering o'er to executors pale, The lazy yawning drone. 1 thus infer, That many things, having full reference To one content, may work contrarioufly. As many arrows loofed feveral ways, Come to one mark ; as many ways meet in one town ; As many frefh ftreams meet in one fait fea ; As many lines clofe in the dial's centre ; So may a thoufand aftions, once a-foot, End in one purpofe, and be all well borne, Without defeat. SCENE III. When the ambafJTadors of France come before Henry, they afk him whether they may fpeak their errand in exprefs words, or mufl be reftrained to deliver HENRY THE FIFTH. 7 deliver the fubftance of it only, in more covett terms. To which he replies .• Henry. We are no tyrant, but a Chriftian king, Unto whofe grace our paflion is as fubject, As are our wretches fettered in our prifons ; Therefore, with frank and with uncurbed plainneGv Tell us the Dauphin's mind. The above fpeech is worth noting, confidering the maxim generally. Refentment may be excuf- able in a man, but is unpardonable in a king. In this character he is to conlider himfelf but as one of the ftates of government only; and legiflatuie is difpaffionate. Shall a judge fuffer himfelf to be biaffed by private pique, when pronouncing a public fentence ? When, power is made ufe of to revenge perfonal affronts, royalty ceafes, and tyranny begins. ACT II. SCENE I. Chorus. O England ! model to thy inward greatnefs, Like little body with a mighty heart ! What might'it thou do, that honour would thee do, Were ail thy children kind and natural ! This is a reflection which cannot too frequently be made, and fhould be the preamble to every a£t or deed of Kings, Lords, and Commons. See the fpeech and 'reftecYion which concludes King John, in this Work. SCENE III. If I had attended to the order of the fubje&s, without regarding that of the Scenes, I fhould have added the following paffage to the laft obfervation on the former A£l ; and to whieh note I beg leave now to refer the Reader. The King, onfentencing theconfpirators, Cam- bridge, Scroop, and Grey, fays, God quit you in his mercy ! Hear your fentence.' You have confpired againft our royal perfon ; B 4 Joined 8 HENRY THE FIFTH. Joined with an enemy proclaimed, and from his coffers Received the golden earned of our death ; Wherein you would have fold your king to {laughter, His princes and his peers to fervitude, His fubje&s to opprefllon and contempt, And his whole kingdom into defolation. Touching our per/on, feek . My ia HENRY THE FIFTH. My people are with ficknefs much enfeebled, My numbers lefTened, and thofe few I have, Ahnojl no better than fo many French ; Who, when they were in health, I tell thee, Herald, I thought upon one pair of Englilh legs Did march three Frenchmen — Yet, forgive me, G6d, That I do brag thus ! this your air of France Hath blown that vice in me ; I muft repent. Go, therefore, tell thy matte*, here I am— My ranfom is this frail and worthlefs trunk, My army but a weak and fickly guard ; Yet, God before, tell him we will come on, Though France himfelf, and fuch another neighbour, Stand in our way. There's for thy labour, Mountjoy j Go, bid thy matter well advife himfelf — If we may pafs, we will ; if we be hindered, We fhall your tawny ground with your red blood Difcolour; and fo, Mountjoy, fare you well. The fum of all our anfwer is but this : We would not feck a battle, as we are, Yet, as we are, we fay, we will not fliun it— So tell your mailer — There is fomething extremely fine in Henry's reply to the French gafconading taunt above. It is uncommon to meet with fo much carelefsnefs and courage in the fame character — There is no fuch description in hiftory, nor have many people, pro- bably, ever been acquainted with it among the living manners of men ; and yet the representation of it appears to be lo perfectly natural, that we muft greatly admire the talents of a writer, who could thus realize, in effect, a mere idea, The bravery of Henry fcorned to deny the con- dition of his troops, either with regard to their health or numbers : thtfe circumftances the enemy pretended to have been acquainted with already ; or were determined to make an experiment of, at lead:; he therefore openly acknowledges the truth of his weak fnuation ; and this with the fame eafe and humour, HENRY THE FIFTH. 13 humour, as he would have delivered himfelf to Falftaff, had he been his aid-du-camp for the day. Upon his royal face there is no note, How dread an army have enrounded him * ; But. at the fame time, he moll: refolutely declares his purpofe of trying the event, at every hazard of life, claim, and liberty. The contemptuous farcafms he throws out, in this Ipeech, againft the French nation, befides fhewing an admirable temper and compofure of mind in fuch difficult circumftances, convey alfo an apt repartee to the fcornful infolence of the Dauphin ; who, in return of Henry's demanding his right of fucceflion to the crown of France, fent him a parcel of tennis-balls to play with, in ailufion to the flight repute of his former life and manners. Pertne fs is impertinence ; but repartee has the lex talicnis, or law of retaliation, on its fide. Shakefpeare has a great refemblance to .Arioflo, whofe ftyle had a mixture of humour, with iubli- mity in it. The late ingenious Mr. Hawkins lays of the latter, " His. heroes are full of merriment in " the midfr, of danger, and he feldom defer ibes a " battle without a jeft." SCENE II. The fame magnanimity of character in Henry, is difplayed throughout this Play. One of the infrances of it we may fee in this Scene, out of which alfo fome other things worthy of notice may be picked up. The Reader will mark them as he perufes. The Englijb camp at Agincourt. Henry and Gloucefter. Henry. Glo'fler, 'tis true, that we are in great danger; The greater, therefore, ihould our courage be. * Chorus te AQ IV. Enter i 4 HENRY THE FIFTH. Enter Bedford. Good-morrow, brothe* Bedford— God Almighty I There is fome foul of goodnefs in things evil, Would man obfervingly diftil it out ; For our bad neighbours make us early ftirrers, Which is both healthful, and good hufbandry. Befides, they are our outward confciences, And preachers to us all ; admonifhing, That we fliould drefs us fairly for our end. Thus may we gather honey from the weed. And make a moral of the Devil himfelf. Enter Erpingham Good morrow, old Sir Thomas Erpingham ; A good foft pillow for that good white head, Were better than a churlifh turf of France. Erp. Not fo, my liege ; this lodging likes me better j Since I may fay, now lie I like a king. Henry. Tis good for men to love their prefent pain, Upon example ; fo the fpirit is eafed; And when the mind is quickened, out of doubt, The organs, though defunct and dead before, Break up their drowfy grave, and newly move With catted flougb*, and frefh legerity. Lend me thy cloak, Sir Thomas. Brothers both, Commend me to the princes in our camp ; Do my good morrow to them, and anon, Defne them all to my pavilion. Glou. We fliall, my liege. Erp. Shall I attend your grace ? Henry. No, my good knight, Go with my brothers to my lords of England. I and my bofom muft debate awhile, And then I would no other company. Erp. The Lord in heaven blefs thee, noble Harry ! Henry. God a-mercy, old heart, thou fpeak'tt chear- fully. * Shugh. The (kin of a Tnake, the carting cf which was thought formerly to renew its vigour. SCENE HENRY THE FIFTH. 15 SCENE IV. And again; his excellent compofure of mind is manifefted further, in this Scene ; where he an- fwers the challenges of the guards going their rounds, but without revealing himfelf. I fhall here prefent the intire paffage to the Reader, referring, as in the former inftance, the feveral parts of it which deferve observation, to his own apprehenfion. Henry going out, enter Bates and Williams, two Soldiers. Williams. Who goes there ? Henry. A friend. Williams. Under what Captain ferve you? Henry. Under Sir Thomas Erpingham Williams. A good old commander, and a mod kind gentleman. I pray you, what thinks he of our eftate ? Henry. Even as men wrecked upon a fand, that look to be waflied off the next tide. Bates. He hath not told his thought to the king? Henry. No ; nor is it meet he fhould ; for, though I fpeak it to you, I think the king is but a man, as I am — The violet fmells to him, as it doth to me ; all his fenfes have but human conditions. His ceremonies laid by, in his nakednefs he appears but a man ; and though his affections are higher mounted than ours, yet when they ftoop, they ftoop with the like wing ; therefore, when he fees reafon of fears, as we do, his fears, out of doubt, be of the fame reliili as ours are ; yet in reafon no man fhould pofTefs him with any appearance of fear, left he, by ihewing ie, fhould diihearten his army;' Bates. He may ihew what outward courage he will ; but, I believe, as cold a night as 'tis, he could wifh himfelf in the Thames up to the neck ; and fo I would he were, and I by him, at all adventures, fo we were quit here. Henry. By my troth, I will fpeak my confcience of the king 5 I think he would not wifh himfelf any where, but where he is. Bates. Then would he were here alone ; lb fhould he be fure to be ranfomed, and many poor men's lives fiveJ. Henry. 16 HENRY THF FIFTH. Henry. I dare fay you love him not fo ill to wifli him here alone, however you fpeak this to feel other men's minds. Methinks, I could not die any where fo con- tented, as in the king's company ; his caufe being juft, and his quarrel honourable. Williams. That's more than we know. Bates. Ay, or more than we fliould feek after ; for we know enough, if we know we are the king's fub- jectsj if his caufe be wrong, our obedience to the king wipes the crime of it out ot us. Williams. But if the caufe be not good, the king himfelf hath a heavy reckoning to make $ when all thofe legs, and arms, and heads, chopped off in a battle, lhall join together at the latter day, and cry all, ive died at flic b a place ; fome fwearing, fome crying for a furgeon, fome upon their wives left poor behind them, fome upon the debts they owe, fome upon their children rawly left. I am afeared there are few die well, that fall in battle; for how can they charitably difpofe of any thing, when blood is their argument ? Now, if thefe men do not die well, it will be a black matter for the king, that led them to it, whom to difobey were againft all proportion of fubjection. Henry So, if a fon that is fent by his father after merchandize, do fall into fome lewd action, and mif- carry, the imputation of his wickednefs, by vour nils, fhould be impofed upon the father that ient him ; or, if a fervant under his matter's command, tranfporting a fum of money, be affailed by robbers, and die in many irreconciled iniquities, you may call the bufinefs of the mafter the author of the fei vant's damnation. But this is not fo — The king is not bound to anfwer the parti- cular endings of his foldiers, the father of his fon, nor the mafter of his fervant ; for they purpofe not their deaths, when they purpofe their fervices. Befides, there is no king, be his caufe never fo fpotlefs, if it come to the arbitrament of fwords, can try it with all un- fpotted foldiers. Some, peradventure, have on them the guilt of premeditated and contrived murder ; fome of beguiling virgins with the broken feals of perjury ; fome making the wars their bulwark, that have before gored the gentle bofom of peace with pillage and robbery. HENRY THE FIFTH. i 7 robbery. Now, if thefe men have defeated the law, and out-run native punifhment, though they- con out-flrip men, they have no ivings to. fly from God. War is his beadle, war is his vengeance ; fo that herein men are puniihed, for before-breach of the king's law, in the king's quarrel now — Where they feared death, they have boine life away ; and where they would be fafe, they perifh. Then, if they die unprovided, no more is the king guilty of their damnation, than he was before guiliy of thofe impieties for which they are now vifited. Every fubjecYs duty is the king's, but every fubjecYs foul is his own. Therefore fhould every foldier, in the wars, do as every lick man, in his bed, waih every moth out of his confcience ; and, dying fo, death is to him an advantage ; or, not dying, the time was bleffedly loft, wherein fuch preparation was gained ; and to him that efcapes, it were not fin to think that, making God fo free an offer, he let him out-live that day to fee his greatnefs, and to teach others how they ihould prepare. Williams. 'Tis certain that every man that dies ill, the ill is upon his own head ; the king is not to anfwer for it. In the continuation of this Scene, Williams quarrels with the king, ftill unknown, and they exchange gages with each other, to fight on their next interview, Henry does all this in fport; and I fhould not have brought it forward to the Reader's view, but that this particular is alluded to, jufr. now, in the Sixteenth Scene of this A<5h SCENE V. The following beautiful fpeech is replete with fine reflection, rich language, and poetical imagery, It immediately follows the above dialogue, when the foldiers quit the Scene, and is a meditation naturally arifing from the argument there difcuffed. Henry folus. Upon the king! let us our lives, our fouls, Our debts, our careful w; :s, our children, and Our fins, lay on the king ; he muft bear all. O hard condition, the twin-Lorn with greatnefs, Subjecl 18 HENRY THE FIFTH. Subject to breath of every fool, whofe fenfe No more can feel, but his own wringing ! What infinite heart-eafe muft kings neglect, That private men enjoy ! and what have kings, That private have not too, fave ceremony ? Save general ceremony ? And what art thou, thou idol ceremony ? What kind of God art thou, that fuffereft more Of mortal griefs, thin do thy worfhippers? What are thy rents ? What are thy comings in? ceremony, fliew vas but thy worth ; What is thy foul, O adoration ? Art thou aught die but place, degree, and form r Creating awe and fear in other men ? Wherein thou art lefs happy, being feared, Than they in fearing. What drink'ft thou ofr, inftead of homage fweet, But poifoned flattery ? O, be fick, great greatnefs, And bid thy ceremony give thee cure. Think'ft thou the fiery fever will go out, With titles blown from adulation ? Will it give place to flexture and low bending ? Can'ft thou, when thou command'!!: the beggar's knee, Command the health of it ? No, thou proud dream, That playeft fo fubtly with a king's repofe i 1 am a king that find thee ; and I know 'Tis not the balm, the fceptre, and the ball, The fword, the mace, the crown imperial, The entre-tifTiied robe of gold and pearl, The farfed * title running 'fore the king, The throne he fits on, nor the tide of pomp, That beats upon the high iliore of this world ; No, not all thefe thrice-gorgeous ceremonies, Not all thefe bid in bed majeftical, Can fleep fo foundly as the wretched Have, Who with a body filled, and vacant mind, Gets him to reft, crammed with diftrefsful bread. Never fees horrid night, the child of hell, But like a lacquay, from the rife to fet, Sweats in the eye of Phoebus, and all night Farfed fignifies puffed or tumid, Sleeps HENRY THE FIFTH. 19 Sleeps in Elyfium ; next day, after dawn, Doth rife and heip Hyperion f to his horfe ; And follows fo the ever-running year, With profitable labour, to his grave. And, but for ceremony, fuch a wretch, Winding up days with toil, and nights with fleep, Hath the fore-hand and vantage of a king. The flave, a member of the country's peace, Enjoys it ; but in grofs brain little wots, What watch the king keeps to maintain the peace, Whofe hours the peafant bed advantages. What is, indeed, the fuperior ft ate of kings, but greater pomp, anxiety, and danger! SCENE VI. Henry made a good prayer here, juft before the engagement ; in the firft. part of which is exprefled a proper theological fenfe, in the referring all events to the difpofition of Providence; but in the latter end of it, the Popifh do&rine of Commutation, the making atonement for mifdeeds by pious acts, without performing the juftice of Retribution, is fully fet forth. Henry. O God of battles ! fteel my foldiers hearts ; Poffefs them not with fear ; take from them now The fenfe of reckoning, left the oppofed numbers Pluck their hearts from them — Not to day, O Lord, not to day, think not upon the fault My father made in compaifing the crown. 1 Richard's body have interred new, And on it have beftowed more contrite tears, Than from it iffued forced drops of blood. Five hundred poor I have in yearly pay, Who twice a day their withered hands hold up Toward heaven, to pardon blood ; and I have built Two chauntries, where the fad and folemn priefts Sing ftill for Richard's foul. More will I do ; Though all that I can do is nothing worth, Since that my penitence comes after all, Imploring pardon. + The morning Iter. SCENE 2o HENRY THE FIFTH. SCENE VII. The brifk, prefumptuous, and gafconading fpirit of the French nation, is well expofed in the fol- lowing Scene, laid in their camp, juft before the acYior.. The Dauphin, Duke of Orleans, Rambures, &c. Orleans. The fun doth gild our armour ; up, my lords. Dauphin. Mbntez cbeval — My horfe, valet, lacquay, ha .' Orleans. O brave fpirit ! Enter Conltable. Now, my lord Conftable f; Conji.' Hark, haw our fteeds for prefent fervice neigh I Dauphin. Mount them, and make incifion in theic fides, That their hot blood may fpin in Engliib. eyes, And daunt them with fuperfluous courage. Ha f Rambures. What, will you have them weep our horfes' blood ? How ill-all we, then, behold their natural tears ? Enter a Meflenger. Mef. The Englifh are embattled, you French peers. Conji. To horfe ! ye gallant princes, ftrait to horfe! Do but behold yon poor and ftarved band, And your fair fhew fhall fuck away their fouls, Leaving them but the fhales* and hufks of men. There is not work enough for all our hands,. Scarce blood enough in all their fickly veins, To give each naked curtle-ax a ltain, That our French gallants fhall to-day draw out, And fheath for Jack of fport. Let's but blow on them, The vapour of our valour will o'erturn them ; 'Tis pofiiive 'gainft all exception, lords, That our fuperfluous lacqueys and our peafants, Who in unnectflary action (warm About our fquares of battle, were enow To purge this field of fuch a hilding f foe j * Shale, corrupt Englifh for Jhell, •%• Hilding, mean or contemptible. Though HENRY THE FIFTH. ai Though we upon this mountain's bafis by, Took ftand for idle contemplation ; But that our honours mull not. What's to fay ? A very little, little, let us do, And all is done. Then let the trumpet found The tucket-fonance, and the note to mount ; For our approach lhall fo much dare the field, That England ihali couch down in fear, and yield *. Enter Grandpree. Grand. Why do ye (lay fo long, my lords of France ? Yon ifland carrions, defperate of their bones, Ul-favouredly become the morning field ; Their ragged curtains poorly are let loofe, And our air fliakes them paffing fcornfully. Big Mars feems bankrupt in their beggared hofc, And faintly through a rufty bever peeps ; The horfemen fit like fixed candlefiicks, With torch-ilaves in their hands ; and their poor jades Lob down their heads, dropping the'hide and hips j The gum down-roping from their pale dead eyes ; And in their pale dull mouths the gimmaUbit-f Lies foul with chewed grafs, ftill and motionlefs; And their executors, the knavifh crows, Fly o'er them, all impatient for their hour. Defcription cannot fuit itfelf in words, To demonstrate the life of fuch a battle, In life fo livelefs as it fhews itfelf. Conji. They've faid their prayers, and they wait for death. Dauph. Shall we go fend them dinners and frefh furts, And give their failing horfes provender, And after fight them ? Grandpree's defcription, given here, of a fati- gued, difpirited, and weather-beaten hoft is moft maflerly drawn, in the true piclurefque ftile, in the above paflage; and if the French had fought, * The words marked in Italics, in thefe three laft line?, are borrowed from the fporting phrafe, particularly falconry, to ex- prefs a fcorn of the Englifh forces. .•f* A curb bridle. on 22 HENRY THE FIFTH. on that memorable day, but as well as Shakefpeare has made them fpeak upon the occafion, England might not, perhaps, have numbered France among the titles of its crown. SCENE VIII. The gallant fpirit of a foldier is nobly fet forth in this fcene, which were it founded merely in the imagination of the poet, would not be fo material to be remarked upon ; but being grounded on hif- toric fact, ought to be taken notice of for the ho- nour of our Englifh heroe. Henry and Weftmorland. WeJIm. O that we now had here But one ten thoufand of thofe men in England, That do no work to-dtiy * ! King. What's he that willies fo ? My coufin Weftmorland ? No, my fair coufin, If we are marked to die, we are enow To do our country lofs ; and if to live, The fewer men, the greater fhare of honour. God's will ! I pray thee wifh not one man more. By Jove, I am not covetous of gold, Nor care I who doth feed upon my coft ; It yerns me not if men my garments wear; Such outward things dwell not in my defires ; But if it be a fin to covet honour, I am the moft offending foui dive. No, 'faith, my lord, willi not a man from England—* God's peace ! I would not lofe fo great an honour, As one man more, methinks, would fhare from me, For the beft hopes I have. Don't wiih one more ; Rather proclaim it, Weftmorland, through my hoft, That he who hath no ftomach to this fight, Let him depart j his puflbort fhall be made, And crowns for convoy put into his purfe. We would not die in that m^n's company, That fears his fellowfhip to die with us. * The battle of Agincourt was fought on St. Crifpian's day, a great feftival then obferved ia Ecgland. This HENRY THE FIFTH. 23 This day is called the feaft of Crifpian — He that outlives this day, and conies fafe home, Will ftand a tip-toe when this day is named, And roufe him at the name of Crifpian. He that fhall live this day, and fee old age, Will yearly on the vigil feaft his neighbours, And fay, To-morrow is Saint Crifpian ; Then will he ftrip his fleeve, and mew his fears. Old men forget, yet fhall not all forget, But they'll remember with advantages*, What feats they did that day. Then fliall our names, Familiar in their mouths as houfliold words, Harry the. king, Bedford, and Exeter, Warwick and Talbot, Salifbury and Glo'fter f, Be in their flowing cups frefhly remembered. This ftory fliall the good man teach his fon, And Crifpin Crifpian fhall ne'er go by, From this day to the ending of the world, But we in it fliall be remembered ; We few, we happy few, we band of brothers ; For he, to-day, that flieds his blood with me, Shall be my brother ; be he ne'er fo vile, This day fhall gentle his condition. And gentlemen in England, now a-bed, Shall think themfelves accurfed they were not here, And hold their manhoods cheap while any fpeaks, That fought with us upon faint Crifpian's day. The latter part of this fpeecb, though fomewhat too declamatory, contains many of thole reflections and confiderations, which ufed, formerly, to inlpire our troops with courage, while that virtuous and noble fpirit was yet retained among our brave ancef- tors, which led them to refpecl: what their country or pofterity might think or fay of them. * With advantages. Magnifying their own prowefs. •f Shakefpeare feems to have made the king purpofely leave the name of Weftmorland out of this illuftrious toll, from a pique at his having wifhed for additional forces, or more probably to pre- ferve the chaftity of hifloric enumeration ; as he had not diftin- guifhed himfdf in the a&ion. SCENE 24 HENRY THE FIFTH. SCENE IX. The tenor of Henry's character is flill finely pre- ferved, in the following paffage ; which, as his caufe was juft, and that his magnanimity and refo- lution fo happily bore him through the infinite odds of oppofition, deferves well to be obferved upon. When the two armies are juft on the point of joining battle, the French Herald comes again to the Englifh camp, repeating the fame challenge as before from the Conftable, requiring to know what terms the king would propofe for his ranfom ; as fuppofing him already a captive. Henry. I pray thee, bear my former anfwer back. Bid them achieve me, and then fell my bones. Good God ! why fhould they mock poor fellows thus ? The man that once did fell the lion's (kin, While the beaft lived, was killed with hunting him. And many of our bodies fhall, no doubt, Find native graves ; upon the which I trull, Shall witnefs live, in brafs, of this day's work. '. . I Let me fpeak proudly ; tell the Conftable, We are but warriors for the working day * ; Our gaynefs, and our gilt, are all befmirched With rainy marching in the painful field. There's not a piece of feather f in our hoft— Good argument, I hope, we will not fly ; And time hath worn us into flovenry. But by the mafs, our hearts are in the trim ; And my poor foldiers tell me, yet ere night They'll be in frefher robes, or they will pluck The gay new coats o'er the French foldiers heads, And turn them out of fervice. If they do, As, ifGodpleafe, they ihall, my ranfom then Will foon be levied — Herald, fave thy labour ; Come thou no more for ranfom, gentle Herald: They fhall have none, I fwear, but thefe myjoints ; * We have no holiday change of apparel to put on. We are men about our buftneft. ■f A foidier's plume. Which HENRY THE FIFTH. t$ Which if they have as I will leave 'em them, Shall yield them little— Tell the Conftable. SCENE XII. Here follows a noble example of bravery, friend- fhip, loyalty, and compofure of mind — in fine, of every manly excellence and virtue, mod beautifully defcribed in the recital of one fhort and fingle a&ion on the field of battle. Henry and Exeter. Henry. Well have we done, thrice valiant countrymen. But all's not done, the French yet keep the field. Ex. The Duke of York commends him to your majefty, Henry. Lives he, good uncle ? Thrice within this hour I faw him down, thrice up again, and fighting, From helmet to thefpur all bleeding o'er. Exeter. In which array, brave foldier, doth he lie, Larding the plain ; and by his bloody fide, Yoke-fellow to his honour-owing wounds, The noble earl of Suffolk alfo lies. Suffolk firft died, and York all haggled over, Comes to him where in gore he lay infteeped, And takes him by the beard, kiffes the gafhes That bloodily did yawn upon his face, And cries aloud, " Tarry, my coufin Suffolk, U My foul mall thine keep company to heaven — u Tarry, fweet foul, for mine, then fly a-breaft ; " As in this glorious and well-foughten field " We kept together in our chivalry." Upon thefe words I came, and cheared him up ; He fmiled me in the face, gave me his hand, And with a feeble gripe, fays, "Dear my lord, " Commend my fervice to my fovereign." So did he turn, and over Suffolk's neck He threw his wounded arm, and kilTed his lips, And fo efpoufed to death, with blood he fealed A teftament of noble ending love. The pretty and fweet manner of it, forced Thofe waters from me, which I would have flopped j But I had not fo much of man in me, Vol. II. C But 25 HENRY THE FIFTH. But all my mother came into my eyes, And gave me up to tears. Henry. I blame you not ; For hearing this, I muft perforce compound With niiftful eyes, or they will iflue too — « [//« Alarm. Eut hark, what new alarum is this fame ? The Poet has moir judicioufly interrupted Henry's fpeech, in this critical place. It would have been expe&ed from him to have faid fomething more, upon fo intereiVmg an cccafion ; and yet it would have been impoffible to have carried either fenti- ment orexpreflion higher than Exeter has juft done, en the fame fubjec"t. Shakefpeare has herein imi- tated the addrefs of Timanthes, who, in his pic- ture of the facrifice of Iphigenia, covers her fa- ther's head with a veil. SCENE XIV. Henry. I was not angry fince I came to France,' Until this inttant. Take a trumpet, Herald, Ride thou unto the horfemen on yon hill ; If they will fight with us, bid them come down, Or void the field ; they do offend our fight ; If they'll do neither, we will come to them, A.nd make them fker away, as fwift as (tones Enforced from the old Alfyrian flings. The firft fenience, in the above fpeech, is one among the many inftances in which Shakefpeare has manifefted his thorough knowledge in human na- ture. Henry ads with an heroic refolut : on during the whole of this perilous conflict, and replies with a daring and carelefs fpirit to all the infolence and contempt of a powerful enemy ; but he expreffes no rage, nor betrays the leaft manner of refent- rnent, throughout. The dangers and difficulties of his fituation required the utmoft command and prefervation of his temper. Diftrefs and affliction are HENRY THE FIFTH. 27 are fovereign fpecifics tor the pride and fiercenefs of man's nature. But thele reftratnts being now- removed, by his victory, he begins to yield the rein a little to paffion, upon feeing the obllinacy of the enemy ftill continuing atter their defeat. SCENE XVI. Here the pafTage hinted above, from the latter part of the Fourth Scene in this ACt, comes to be cleared up, wnen the foldier knows that the un- known perfon he had engaged to fight with was his king. Upon this occafion he makes an apology for himfelf, which may have its ufe in being extended to a general reflection, applicable to all the fuperi- or ranks of life; That thofe who demean them- felves below their character or dignity, can have no right to challenge that refpeCt from the world, which they might otherwife be intitled to. Henry and the Soldier. Henry. How canft thou make me fatisfaclion ? Soldier. All offences, my lord, come from the heart ; never came any from mine, that might offend your majefty. Henry. It was ourfelf thou didft abufe. Soldier. Your majelly came not like yourfelf ; you appeared to me but as a common man ; witnefs the ni^ht, yourgarments, your lowlinefs ; and whatyour high- nets fuffered under that ihape, I hefeech you take it for your fault, and not mine ; for had you been as I took you for, I mrayment,fauze ous par- lez eft meilleur que VAnglois lequel je parle. Henry. No, faith, it's not, Kate ; but thy fpeakiag of my tongue, and I thine, mofl truly falfely, mull needs be granted to be much at one. But, Kate, dofl: thou undei fland fo much Engliih ? Canft thou love me ? Cath. I cannot tell. Henry. Can any of your neighbours tell, Kate ? I'll afk them. Come, I know thou loved me ; and at night when you come into your clofet, you'll queftion this gentlewoman about me; and I know, Kate, you will to her difpraife thofe parts in me, that you like belt ; but, good Kate, mock me mercifully ; the rather, gen- tle Princefs, becaufe I love thee cruelly. If ever thou beell mine, Kate, as I have faving faith within me tells me * Le, for la. Henry is made to fpeak fglfe French, through- out, to humour Kate's falfe Englifli. C 5 thou 34 HENRY THE FIFTH. thou fhalt, I get thee with fcamhling f, and thou mull, therefore, needs prove a good foldier-breeder— Shall not thou and I, between St. Dennis and St. George, compound a hoy half French, half EngliJh, that ihall go to Confbntinople, and take the Turk by the beard ? Shall we not? What fay'ft thou, my fair Flo-wer-de- Luce P Coth. I do not know dat. Henry. No, 'tis hereafter to know, but now to pro- mife. Do but now promife, Kate, you will endeavour for your French part of fuch a boy ; and, for my Eng- UJh moiety, take the word of a king and a bachelor. How anfwer you, le plus belle Catharine du monde, mon /res chere & divine deeffe ? Cath. Your majeftee ave faufe French enough to de- ceive de moft fage damoifel \ dat is en France- Henry. Now, fy upon my falfe French ; by mine honour, in true Englifh, I love thee, Kate; by which honour I dare not fwear thou loveft me; yet my blood begins to flatter me that thou doit, notwtthftanJing the poor and unteirpting effect of my vifage. Now, be- ihrew my father's ambition, he was thinking of civil wars when he got me ; therefore was I created with a ftubborn outfide, wirh an afpedt of iron, that when I come to woo ladies, I fright them ; but in faith, Kate, the elder I wax, the better I flnll appear. My com- fort is, that old age, that ill layer-up of beauty, can do no more fpoil upon my face Thou haft me, if thou haft me, at the woift ; and thou ihalt wear me, if thou •wear me, better and better ; and therefore, tell me, fair Catharine, will you have me ? Put off your maiden blufhes, avouch the thoughts of your heart, with the looks of an emprefs ; take me by the hand, and fay, Harry of England, I am thine ; which word thou flialt no fooner blefs mine e^r withal, but I will tell thee aloud, England is thi e, Ireland is thine, France is thine, and Henry Plantagenet is thine; who, though ■f- Scamb'ittg, riotoudy — Alluding to the war which was the prelude to his courtO.ip. X I have fpelt the word as I found it ia the Text. I fpeak HENRY THE FIFTH. 35 I fpeak it before his face, if he be not fdlow with the bell king, thou {halt find the belt king of good fellows. Come, your anfwer in broken mufic ; for thy voice is mufic, and thy Engliih broken — Therefore, queen of all, Catharine, break thy mind to me in broken Englifh, wilt thou have me ? Cath. Dat is as it fliall pleafe le roy mon pere. Henry. Nay, it will pleafe him well, Kate— It mall pleafe him, Kate. Catb. Den it mail alfo content me. Henry. Upon that I kifs your hand, and call you my queen. Catb. Laijfez, mon Seigneur, laijfez, laijfez — Ma foy, je ne here imerpofes between them, and attributes his profperity folely to the mediation of the Church. SCENE V. There is a good defcription given of the com- mon Englifh, in the following fpeech : Alanfon. They want their porridge, and their fat bull- beeves ; Either they muft be dieted, like mules, And have their provender tied to their mouths, Or piteous they will look, like drowned mice. A true phyfical knowledge is here expreiTed. A great part of perfonal courage depends upon the animal fpirits ; and to keep men flout, you muft keep them rtrong. If philofophy mould be fo dif- ficult 42 HENRY THE SIXTH. PART I. ficult as to deny that good feeding can render a fol- diery more brave, it mud admit, however, that it will render it more ferviceable, at leaft j which is all that we mean to contend for here. A C T II. S C E N E V. The partiality which we are all apt to manifeil towards our own intereils, is well noted in this place. This principle is fo powerful in human na- ture, that it not only engages our affections, but warps our judgments alfo ; fo that it often impofes on our reafon, and frequently makes us continue obfrinate, mere from error than felfifhnefs. Our opinions differ, even in matters of no concernment to us ; and how much lefs is it to be expected, that we fhould be of accord, when we are become a pai'v 'it the queftion ourfelves ? Sornerftt and Plantagenet being engaged in a warm d iruie, appeal to the umpirage of a third indiffe ent perfon, with all the feeming candor imaginal I . Somerfet. Judge you, my lord of Warwick, then, be- tween us. Warnx). Between two hawks, which flies the higher pitch, Between two dogs, which hath the deeper mouth, Between two blades*, which bears the better temper, Between two horfes, which doth bear him heft, Between two girls, which hath the raemeft eye, I have, perhaps, forne ihillow fpirit ot judgment ; B t in thefe nice fharp quillets of the law, Good faith, I am no wifer than a daw. Plant Tut, tut, here is a minnerly forbearance. The truth appears fo naked-, on my fde, That any purblind eye may find it out. Somer. And on my fide ', it is fo tvell apparelled, So clear, fo (hiv.ing, andfo evident, That it will glimmer through a blind man's eye. SCENE HENRY THE SIXTH. PART I. 45 SCENE VI. There is fomething extremely moving, in the firff. part of this Scene, which (hews a prifon frc m whence old Earl Mortimer is brought forth in a chair, before the gates, attended by his gaolers. He had been unfortunately declared heir to the Crown, by Richard the Second, and was therefore hepr a prifoner of State, during the reigns of Hen- rys the Fourth and Fifth, and continued flill in confinement, under the prefent king alfo. We are naturally more affe£ted at the difirelTes of age, infancy, or women, than with what we fee fuffered by the adult or robuft unfortunate. Our companion rifes in proportion to the weak- nefs of the Vi£rim, as we become fenfible of the inability of refiftance, along with the weight of the oppreiTion. The earneff. defir* which *h? ^hsppy old mafi expreffes here, for the relief of death, is very natu- ral to a perfon in his circumflances ; and can by no means be deemed reprehenfible, in fuch a fifuation, "when the completion of the wifh is not forwarded by any a£t of violence or impatience in the fuf- ferer. Mort. Kind keepers of my weak decaying age, Let dying Mortimer here reft himfelf — Even like a wretch new hated from the rack, So fare my limbs with lon^ imprifonment ; And thefegrey locks, the purfuii K c include my remarks on this Piece, with a lint oi in old fong, in favour of our natural and chartered liberties, ^ If fo happy 's a tniUtr, then who'd be e king f\ HENRY the SIXTH. SECOND PART. Dramatis Perfonae. MEN. Henry the Sixth. Duke of Gloucester, Uncle to the King. Cardinal Beaufort, Bilhop of Winchefler, Great Uncle to the King. Duke of Buckingham. Duke of Somerset. Earl of Salisbury. Earl of Warwick. W OMEN. None appear in any of the Scenes here noted. [49 J HENRY the SIXTH. SECOND PART. A C T II. S C E N E I. 1 HE King and Gloucefler returned from hawk- ing : King. But what a point, my lord, your faulcon made. And what a pitch fhe flew above the reft— To lee how God in all his creatures works! Yea man and birds are fain of climbing high. Here the king has made a philofophical reflection on the afpiring but commendable nature of man ; which is improved with a religious fenfe in the reply : Glou. My lord, 'tis but a bafe ignoble mind, *That mounts no higher than a bird can foar*. SCENE III. When a charge has been exhibited againfl: the dnchefs of Gloucefler, for treafon and forcery, the Cardinal, a declared enemy to the duke her hufband, takes cccaflon to infult him upon this misfortune j to which he thus anfwers : * This paffage feems to be an imitation of a Latin fentence I have fomewhere met with, and venture to quote from memorj only — Spes aquilas fupervolat; Hope foars beyond an eagle's flight. I do not mean to adduce this inftance, in order to fupport an opinion of Shakefpeare's learning; but merely to fliew that good wits may fometimes fly, as well as jump together. The fevered critic may furelv pardon a play on words, in a comment upon fo fportive an author. It would be an invidious reflection on our poet's fame, to fuppofe him to have been a fcholar, A genius tends thoughts, a fcholar but borrcius them. Vol. II. - D Clou. So HENRY THE SIXTH, PART H. G/ou. Ambitious churchman! leave to afflict my heart! Soirow and grief have vanquifhed all my powers ; And, vanquifhed as I am, I yield to thee, Or to the meaneft groom. The above is one of Shakefpear's ju ft delineations of human nature. That fpirit which could not be fubdued by any perfonal difficulty or danger, be- comes fuddenly abated, on the mortification arifing from the fhame and vice of one fo nearly and dearly allied to him. I have been much obliged, throughout this Work, to the Commentators, for not having noted many fuch paffages as this. They have rarely touched upon our Author's anatomy of human nature, contenting themfelves, like fculptors, or painters, with only marking its outward form, its colours and proportions; the veins, arteries, and finer capillaries of the inward man, remaining oftea undiffeded. SCENE VII. Here the good duke, upon the occafion of his wife's ignominy and penance, makes a refleclion on the general nature of human life, which he illuf- trates with an apt allufion : Clou. Tims fometimes hath the brighteft day a cloud ; And after fummer evermore fucceeds The bairen winter, with his nipping cold j 80 cares and joys abound, as feafons fleet. Juft after this, he fpeaks of the unhappy woman with a moving tendernefs ; and concludes his fpeech with a defcription frequently given by Shakefpeare, of the bafe nature of the whiffling multitude : Unneath * may fhe endure the flinty ftreets, To tread them with her tender feeling feet — * Unneath, hardty, or fcarcel/-, ft Saxon or Norman adverb. Sweet HENRY THE SIXTH, PART II. $r Sweet Nell, ill can thy noble mind a-brook The abject people gazing on thy face, With envious looks (till laughing at thy fhame, That erft did follow thy proud chariot wheels, When thoujlidft ride in triumph through the ftreet-s. ACT III. SCENE VII. The following pafiage needs no comment. King. What ftronger breaft-plate than a heart un- tainted ? Thrice is he armed, that hath his quarrel juft ; And he but naked, though locked up in fteel, Whofe confcience with injuftice is corrupted. SCENE X. This whole fcene is fo juftly commended by all the critics, that I mail give it to the Reader intire. The King, Salifbury, and Warwick, Handing by the Cardinal, on his fick-bed. King. How fares my lord ? Speak, Beaufort, to thy fovereign. Cardinal, raving. If thou beeft Death, I'll give thee England's treafure, Enough to purchafe fuch another ifland, So thou wilt let me live, and feel no pain. King. Ah, what a fign it is of evil life, Where death's approach is feen fo terrible! Warwick. Beaufort, it is thy fovereign fpeaks to thee. Cardinal. Biing me unto my trial, when you will. Died he not in his bed * r Where fhould he die ? Can I make nun live, whether they will or no ? Oh, torture me no more, I will confefs — Alive again ? Then iliew me where he is ; I'll give a thoufand poinds to look upon him— He hath no eyes, the duil hath blinded them — Comb down his hair — look! look! it ftands upright, Like lime-twigs fet to catch my winged foul — • Give me fome drink, ?.nd bid the apothecary Bring the vlrong poifoi that I bought >f ' hi. * Raving of Humphrey, whom he had caufed to be murdered. D 2 King. 5 2 HENRY THE SIXTH, PART II. King. O thou Eternal Mover of the Heavens, Look with a- gentle eye upon this wretch ! O beat away the bufy meddling fiend, That lays ftrong fiege upon this wretch's foul, And from his bofom purge this black defpair! Warwick. See how the pangs of death do make him writhe ! Salijbury. Diiturb him not — let him pafs peaceably. King. Peace to his foul, if God's good pleafure be! — Lord Cardinal, if thou think'ft on Heaven's blifs, Hold up thy hand, make Ugnal of thy hope — He dies, and makes no figh !— O God, forgive him. Warwick* S^» bad a death argues a moniirous life. King. Forbear to judge, for we are finners all. up his eyes, and draw the curtain dole, And 1; . us all to meditation. The above fcene doles, very properly, with a 1 Chnftian fentiment, by the King, who is, all through, reprefentsd by Shakefpeare as a religious, mora], domefiic, eafy-tempered man ; Feme A (or mildnefs, peace, and prayer * : i prince, whofe very goodnefs, for want of \fn\i and fpirir, muff, ever render him the dupe of Ministers, and the fport of Faction. No document, no example, are fo effectual a -warning to the mind, as the view of a wicked pn in his laft moments. This fpeaks to the heart, as well as to the underftanding. We then fee things and aclions in their true light, which the falfe glare of gain or pleafure, or the involved and complicated nature of fin, are but too apt to hide from our notice. Vice would difgufl even thofe that praftife it, if they did not ufe arts to conceal the vilenefs ox it from their own view. We drink Jiaucra out of a cur, which are too foul to bear a giais. * Third Part. He HENRY THE SIXTH, PART II. 53 He who has betrayed a friend, deceived a miftrefc, wronged the orphan, or oppreffed the poor, muft. furely never have feen a penitent on his death-bed ! What de'perate madnefs, then, muft it be, ever to do a deed, for any advantage in life, which after fo Ihort — jo very Jbort — a fpace of time, we would give a galaxy of worlds to have undone again ! This is the only way of rendering dramatic deaths profitable to the Spectators. All the pantomime contortions, vvrithings, and flouncing?, of modern representations, cannot poffibly produce fuch an efFe£r, on the audience, as this ilngle expreffion, He dies, and makes nojign. ACT IV, SCENE VIII. King. Was ever king that joyed an earthly throne, And could command no more content than I ? No fooner was 1 crept out of my cradle, But I was made a king at nine months old. Yet never fubject longed to be a king, As I do long and wiih to be a fubjeft. Shakefpeare lays hold of every occafion that fairly prefents itfelf, to put his readers out of con- ceit with greatnefs. And, in truth, the ftate of kings in general, even the happieft of them, who are undoubtedly tbofe "jjhoje power is limited, is not much to be envied. Their public care, if they rule only, or their private hazard, if they depute the helm, muft deny them eafe, the only founda- tion for earthly happinefs or enjoyment to reft upon. Kings may, in fome fort, be compared to Popifh idols, which are worfhipped and led about in pageant proceffion, for the purpofe of procuring fome partial wiih. of the people ; which if not obtained, however unreafonable the petition, they are then fcourged, and laid by in difgrace. D 3 HENRY THE SIXTH. THIRD PAR T. D 4 Dramatis Perfonae. MEN. Henry the Sixth. Earl of Richmond, a Youth, afterwards Kenry tfie Seventh. Lord Rivers, Brother to the Lady Gray, Wife to Edward Duke of York, afterwards Edward the Fourth. Lord Clifford. Lord Hastings. WOMEN. Margaret of Akjou, Queen to Fen ry VI. Lady Gray, Wife to Edward Duke of York, afterwards Queen. ( 57) HENRY the SIXTH. THIRD PART. IVL ,R. Theobald fufpe&s the three parts of this Drama to be fpurious, on account of fome obfolete expreffions in them, alder- lievejl, unneatb, mailed, me-feemetb, darraign, exigent, a-brook, &c. *; and Dr. Warburton is of the fame opinion, from the want of fpirit and effe£t in the compofition. If 1 was to offer an objection to the authenticity of thefe Piece?, it mould be rather from their barren- nefs of fentiment, or reflection ; though I think there is enough of the ftyle and manner of Shake- fpeare, in them all, to evince them to be his. ACT II. SCENE III. There is a natural infHn£f, even ftronger than that of felf-prefervation, implanted in all the brute creation for the fafety of their young — The fimplefl animals manifefr an art, and the mod pufiilanimous fhew a courage, in the defence of their progeny ; but this, only till they become capable of taking care of themfelves. Account for this Providence> * Mr. Theobald does not enumerate the words, but I have taken this talk upon me, in order to give the fulleft force to his criticifm. The Antients have left us an humane maxim, that wejhould never fpeak ill of the dead. I think we fhould carry this moral even further, ky dting them every jnjlice in our piiuer. What has par- ticularly induced me to make this remark, is, that Dr. Johnfon fays he can obferve but two expreffions of the old phrafeology, throughout thefe three Plays. I do not mean to make any com- panion between the fenfe, knowledge, or literature of thefe two critics •, but Dr. Johnfon is alive, to anfwer for himfelf, and po»r Theobald muft now fpeak by another's tongue. D 5 upon 5 8 HENRY THE SIXTH, PART III. upon the principle of uninfpired mecbanifm, if ye can, ye unpbilofopbic Sophifters ! Clifford. Unreafonable * creatures feed their young ; And though man's face be fearful to their eyes, Yet, in protection of their tender ones, Who hath not feen them, even with thofe wings Which fometimes they have ufed with fearful flight, Make war with him that climbs unto their neft, Offering their own lives in, their young's defence ? SCENE VI. The eafe and fecurity of the fubjecl is finely con- trafted with the anxiety and danger of the Prince, in one of our Author's oft-repeated reflections upon this fubjeft, in a foliloquy made by the King re- clining on a hillock, during the warfare between the houfes of York and Lancafter. Would I were dead, if God's good will were fo ! For what is in this world, but grief and woe ? O God ! methinks it were a happier life, To be no better than a homely fwain j To fit upon a hill, as I do now, To carve out dials quaintly, point by point j Thereby to mark the minutes as they run, How many make the hour -J* full compleat, How many hours bring about the day, How many days will finifh up the year, How many years a mortal man may live. When this is known, then to divide the time ; So many hours muft I tend my flock, So many hours muft I- take my reft, So many hours muft I contemplate, So many hours muft I fport myfelf ; So many days my ewes have been with young, So many we; ks ere the poor fools will yean, So many months ere I fliall fheer the fleece ; * Irratitnail. •f" Throughout this fpeech, and many other places, ottr Author ifes htur as a word of two lyllables. s$ HENRY THE SIXTH, PART III. 59 So minutes, hours, days, iveeks, months, and years, Paji over, to the end they ivere created^ Would bring ivhite hairs unto a quiet grave. Ah! what a life were this ! how fweet, how lovely! Gives not the hawthorn buih, a fweeter fhade To fhepherds looking on their filly fheep, Than doth a rich-embroidered canopy To kings that fear their fubjocts' treachery ? O yes, it doth — a thoufand-fold it doth. And to conclude, the fhepherd's homely curds, His cold thin drink out of his leather bottle, His wonted fleep under a frefh tree's fhade, All which fecure and fweetly he enjoys, Is far beyond a prince's delicates, His viands Iparkling in a golden cup, His body couched on a curious bed, When care, miftruft, and treafons wait on him. ACT III. SCENE 1. Upon the occafion of Queen Margaret and War* wick's going to France, one to folicit the aid of Lewis for Lancafler, and the other for York, poor Henry makes a very natural reflection, foreboding how the balance will probably incline, where interest holds the fcales between two fupplicants, whereof one has only fomething to aft, and the other fome- thing to proffer. King. My queen and fon are gone to France for aids And, as I hear, the great commanding Warwick Is thither gone to crave the French king's filter To wife for Edward. If this news be true, Poor queen and fon ! your labour is but loft ; For Warwick is a fubtle orator, And Lewis a prince foon won with moving words, By this account, then, Margaret may win him j For fhe's a woman to be pitied much ; Her fighs will make a battery in his breaft, Her tears will pierce in'o a marble heart, The ti^er will be mild, while fhe doth mourn, And Nero would be tainted with remorfe, To hear and fee her pjaints, her brinifli tears, 60 HENRY THE SIXTH, PART III. Ay, but pes come to beg—lVartuick to give ; She, on his left fide, craving aid for Henry ; He, on his right, afking a wife for Edward. She weeps, and fays, her Henry is depofed ; He fmiles, and fays, his Edward is initalled ; That ihe, poor wretch, for grief can fpeak no more, While Warwick tells his title, fmooths the wrong, Inferreth arguments of mighty ftrength, And, in conclufion, wins the king from her, With proraife of his fifter, and what elfe, To ftrengthen and fupport king Edward's place. O Margaret, thus 'twill be, and thou, poor foul, Art then forfaken, as thou went'li forlorn. In the fame Scene, this unhappy Prince, who appears, throughout, to be more fit for a fubje£t, than a king, and yet not the lefs fit to be the latter, for this very reajon, replies with philofophy and virtue to the perfon who is going to take him pri- foner, and who afks him, But if thou be a king, where is thy crown ? King. My crown is in my heart, not on my head ; Not decked with diamonds and with Indian fiones ; Not to be feen ; my crown is called Content— A cro-ivn it is that feldom kh:gs enjoy. In the la ft line we may fee that Shakefpeare takes one of his many occafions to humble ambition, and depreciate greatnefs. He is eternally acting the part of the flave placed behind the triumphal car; not, indeed, to fhew his own envy, but to abate another's pride. ACT IV. SCENE I. The true policy of England, with regard to all foreign ftates, is given here, in a very few words ; with a particular hint of minillerial prudence, re- fpe&ing all leagues or treaties with France. Haftings. 'Tis better iifr-ig France, xWnn trujiingh.tr. Let us be backed with God, and with the leas, Which HENRY THE SIXTH, PART III. 01 Which he hath given for fence impregnable, And with their hJps alone defend ourfelves— In theniy and in ourfthes, our fafety lies. SCENE V. After the obfervation above made, in the Third Scene, A£r. II. upon the fond inftinci of all irra- tional animals for the preservation of their brood, it would be unjuft, as well as unphilofophic too, not to pay a like compliment to our own fpecies, by quoting a pafiage in this Scene, where the wife of Edward the Fourth marks the fame kind of tender- nefs and attention, in a becoming manner, upon hearing that her hufband has been made prifoner by Warwick. Rivers. Thefe news, I mufl confeis, are full of grief, Yet, gracious madam, bear it as you may j Warwick may lofe, that now hath won the day. Queen. 'Till then fair hope mull: hinder life's decay. And I the rather wean me from defpair, For love of Edward's offspring in my womb. This is't that makes me bridle in my pafTion, And bear with mildnefs my misfortune's crofs. Ay, ay, for this I draw in many a tear, And ftop the riling of blood-fucking figjis, Left with my fighs or tears I blaft or drown King Edward's fruit, true heir to England's crown. SCENE VII. Here Shakefpeare takes an occafion, by the means of an ex pofl jaflo prophecy, to pay a com- pliment to Queen Elizabeth, refembling the Tu Marcellus eris of Virgil to Livia. The King, ^Richmond, laying bis band on bis head. Come hither, England's hope — If fecret powers Suggeft but truth to my divining thoughts, This pretty lad will prove our country's blifs. His looks are full of majefty, His head by nature formed to wear a crown, H?s 6t HENRY THE SIXTH, PART III. His hand to wield a fceptre, and himfelf Likely in time to blefs a regal throne. Make much of him, my lords f for this is he Muft help you more, than you are hurt by me. This Earl of Richmond was afterwards Henry the Seventh, and united the two houfes of York and Lancafter in his own perfon. He was grand- father to Queen Elizabeth. ACT IV. SCENE VII. I fhall here conclude my remarks on this Play, with a truth which is not the lefs worth attending to for being fpoken by a villain ; as this character might have but the better enabled him to afcertain the fa£r. Glou. Sufpicion always haunts the guilty tnind-^ The thief doth fear each bujh an officer. RICHARD THE THIRD. Dramatis Perfonae. M E N. Richard, Duke of Gloucefter, afterwards Richard the Third. Earl of Richmond, afterwards Henry the Seventh. Edward, Prince of Wales, 7 Sons to Edward the Richard, Duke of York, 3 Fourth. Marquis of Dorset, Son to the Queen of Ed- ward the Fourth, by her former Hufband, Lord Stanley. Lord Hastings. Bishop of Ely. Brackenbury, Lieutenant of the Tower. Sir James Tyrrel. Sir Richard Ratcliff. W O M E N. Queen of Edward the Fourth. Lady Anne, Widow of the Prince of Wales, Son to Henry the Sixth. Duchess of York, Mother to Richard the Third. Countess of Richmond, Mother to the Earl Richmond, and Wife to Lord Stanley. C 65 J RICHARD the THIRD. ACT! S C E N E I. E VERY reprefentation, either of a fcere or feafon of peace, is peculiarly foothing to the hi: mm mind. 'Tis its own mod natural and pleafing ftate-. But when it is contrafted with the oppofite con- dition of tumult and war, the delight rifes infinitely higher. There are many fuch defcriptions as this in Shakefpeare ; and as the imbuing the mind with fuch contemplations mufl certainly have a moral tendency in it, I am glad to tranfcribe every paflage of the kind I meet with in him. Richard alone. Now is the winter of our difcontent Made glorious fummer by this fun of York *, And all the clouds that lowered upon our houfe, In the deep bofora of the ocean buried. Now are our brows bound with victorious wreaths, Our bruifed arms hung up for monuments, Gur ftern alarums changed to merry meetings, Our dreadful marches to delightful meafures. Grim-vifaged war hath fmoothed his wrinkled front; And, now, inftead of mounting barbed fteeds, To fright the fouls of fearful adverfaries, Me capers nimbly in a lady's chamber, To the lafcivious pleafing of a lute. In the following part of the fame fpeech, our poet, zealous for the honour of ;he human cha- racter, mod artfully contrives to make Richard's Edward the Fourth. wickednefs 68 RICHARD THE THIRD. wickednefs appear to arife from a refentment agatnft the partiality of Nature, in having ftigmatized him v/ith fo deformed a perfon, joined to an envious jealoufy towards the reft of mankind, for being en- dowed with fairer forms, and more attractive graces. By this admirable addrefs, he moves us to a fort of companion for the misfortune, even while he is raifing an abhorrence for the vice, of the criminal. Rich. But I that am not fhaped for fportive tricks, Nor made to court an amorous looking-glafs — I that am rudely ftampt, and want love's majefty To ftrut before a wanton, ambling nymph— I that am curtailed of this fair proportion, Cheated of feature by ciiTembling Nature*, Deformed, unfinifhed, fent before my time Into this breathing world, fcarce half made up ; And that fo lamely and unfailiionably, That dogs bark at me as I halt by them— Why I, in this weak piping time of peace, Have no delight to p :l fs away the time, Unlefs to fpy my fhadow in the fun, And defcant on my own deformity. And, therefore, fince I cannot prove a lover, To entertain thefe fair well-fpoken days, I am determined to prove a villain, And bate f the idle pleafures of thefe days. SCENE II. This long fcene, in which Richard courts Lady Anne, relief of the firft Prince of Wales, fon to Henry the Sixth, whom he had murdered, is fo well known to every one who has ever read or feen this Play, that I need not be at the trouble of * The word dijjembling is here drained to exprefs partial, or malicious. -f- Bate, refign, or fcorn, inftead of bate, which was the word ia the Text. Joknfar.. tranfcribing RICHARD THE THIRD. 67 tranfcribing it, though I fhall take the liberty of remarking on the very improbable conclufion of it. Women arecertainy mod: extremely ill uled in the unnatural reprefentation of female frailty here given. But it may, perhaps, be feme palliation of his of- fence, to obferve, that this flrange fable was not any invention of the poet ; though it mud indeed be confefTed that he yielded too eafy credence to a fictitious piece of hiftory, which reffed upon no better authority than the fame that affirmed ihe deformity of Richard ; which fa<5t has lately, ft\m a concurrence of cotemporary teftimonies, been rendered problematical at leaf!, by a learned and ingenious author*. The conclufion of the Fifth Scene of A£t the Fourth, in this Play, where the Qneen, widow of Edward the Fourth, after the death of Lady Anne, promifes her daughter to this tyrant and ufurper, who had killed her fons, is founded like- wife upon the fame difingenuous authority with the two former p.iffages. SCENE III. Lord Stanley, upon the Queer ?: pxprefmg a fufpicion that his wife, the countet of Richmond, bears her fome ill will, makes her dt r nce, in a fpeech that would conduce greatly to the neace of our minds, and the preferving many of our moft friendly conne&ions unbroken, if proper'y attended to, and made the rule of our conduQ; through life. Stanley. I do befeech you, either not believe The envious (landers of her fa If; accufers ; Or if flie be accufed on true report, Bear with her weaknefs, which, I think, proceeds From wayward ficknefs, and no grounded malice. * See a Tra& upon this fubjett, by the Honourable Horatio Walpole. The 68 RICHARD THE THIRD. The evil report of things faid to be fpoken to the difadvantage of others, behind their backs, has fa frequently been found to proceed either from the malice or miftake of eaves-droppers, lifteners, or incendiaries, that it fhould warn us, upon fuch oc- cafions, to fufpend our refentment againft the perfons charged, till we find the indictment to be grounded on better evidence than thofe pefts of fociety, the informers, intermeddlers or tale-bearers. Befides which, as is above obferved, every reafo- rable allowance ought to be made for the natural frowardnefs and peevifhnefs of diforder, or other uneafinefs of body or mind, which often fets us firft at variance with ourfelves, before it inclines us to quarrel with others. " Infirmity doth ftill negleft all office, " Whereto our health is bound." Lear. SCENE V. Shakefpeare is here again at his frequent reflecYi- cns on the vanity of ambition and the cares of greatnefs. Brack. Sorrow breaks feafons and repofing hours, Makes the night morning, and the noontide night- Princes have but their titles for their troubles*, An outward honour for an inward toil ; And for unfelt imaginations, They often feel a world of reftlefs cares— So that between their titles, and low name, There's nothing diners but the outward fame. AC T II. SCENE II: When the Queen is lamenting the death of Ed- ward the Fourth, the marquis of Dorfet, her fon by a former hufband, fays to her, * Troubles, for glories, well exchanged by DoiStor Johnfon. Dor/. RICHARD THE THIRD. 69 Dor/. Comfort, dear mother ! God is much difpleafed, That with unthankfulnefsyou take his doing. In common worldly things 'tis called ungrateful, With dull unwillingnefs to pay a debt, Which with a bounteous hand was kindly lent ; Much more to be thus oppofite with Heaven; For f it requires the royal debt it lent you. Shakefpeare is extremely rich in fuch fentiments of piety and refignation. It is a vail eafe to the difrrefled mind, to communicate its griefs to the ear of a friend, though he can only condole, but not relieve them. How infinitely higher, then, mud the comfort rife, to repofe them on the bofom of our God, who can not only confole, but compen- fate them ! Chriir. has not taken ihtjlns alone, but the farrows alfo of mankind upon himfelf, for thofe who place their hope and put their truft in him. He /iot only fays, *' Thy fins are forgiven thee ;" but adds this comfort in affliction, " Come (t unto me all ye that labour, and are heavy laden, f * and I will give ye rejl." SCENE IV. There is a natural reprefentation of a diftem- pered ftate, juft preceding a revolution, given in this Scene. Three citizens, conferring together on the cir- cumftances of the times, hold the following dia- logue together. Fir/lCit. Come, come, we fear the wor'ft, all may be iv ell. Second Cit. When clouds are feen, wife men put on their cloaks; When great leaves fall, then winter is at hand ; When the fun fets, who doth not look for night? Untimely ftorms make men expect a dearth. •j* For, to be underftood here in the fenfe of becaufe. AU 7 o RICHARD THE THIRD. All may he well. But if God fort it fo, 'Tis more than we deferve, or I expert Third Cit. Truly, the hearts of men are full of fear ; You cannot reafon almoil with a man, That looks not heavily, and full of dread. Second Cit. Before the days of change, ftill is it fo— By a divine inftinct men's minds miftruft Enfuing danger ; as by proof we fee The waters (well, before a boifterous ftorm— But leave it all to God. Now nothing can demonftrate the inveftigating faculties of Shakefpeare, more than this paffage does. He never lived in any times of commotion himfelf, therefore the particular knowledge he here fhews, in the general nature of fuch a crifis, muft be owing more to philofophy than experience ; ra- ther to his own reflection, than any knowledge of hiftory. I fpeak with regard to the Englifh wri- ters only, on fuch fubjecls ; who were all, be- fore his time, mod barren of obfervation and maxim. And as to the Greek and Roman hifio- riographers, who were rich in both, the invidious Commentators of our Poet have denied him any manner of acquaintance with fuch outlandijlj litera- ti ; and I alfo, though from a very different prin- ciple, have joined iffue with them before, in this particular *. For learning gives no talents, but only fupplies the faculty of fhewing them ; and this he could do, without any foreign affidance. ACT III. SCENE I. The- poor unhappy Prince of Wales, fucceflbr to Edward the Fourth, makes a reflection here, fo becoming the natural fpirit of a noble mind, that it muft raife a regret in the Reader, that he was not permitted to live and reign over a brave and free people. * In a note on Ely's fpee*b, Hen. V. Acl I. Scene II \ RICHARD THE THIRD. 71 When his wicked uncle Richard appoints the Prince's refidence at the Tower 9 till his coronation, he afks who built that fortiefs? and being told it was Julius Caefar, he fays, That Julius Caefar was a famous man : With what his valour did enrich his wit, His wit fet down to make his valour live. Death makes no conqueft of this conqueror ; Por ftill he lives in fame, though not in life. SCENE V. Rich. My lord of Ely, when I was laft in Holhorn, I faw good ftrawberries in your garden there ; I do befeech you fend for fome of them. Ely. Marry, and will, my lord, with all my heart. [Exit Ely. Could any writer but Shakefpeare have ever thought of fuch a circumftance, in the midft of a deep tragedy, as the fending an old grave Bifhop on an errand for a leaf of Jlrawberries ? and this, in the moft formal icene of the Play too, where the lords are met in council, to fettje about the day for the coronation ? But could any writer but himfelf have attempt- ed fuch a whim, without fetting the audience a- laughing at the ridiculoufnefs and abfurdity of fuch an incident ? And yet he contrives, fome-how or other, to hold us in awe, all the while; though he mud be a very ingenious critic, indeed, who can fupply any fort of re?ifon for the introduction of fuch a familiar and co nic ftroke, upon fo ferious an occafton. And rihat renders the folution of this paflage ftill more difficult, is, that the requefr. is made by a perfon, too, u hofe mind was deeply in- tent on murder and ufurpaiion, at the veiy time. None of the editors h-ive taken the lead notice of this anicle j and the firft notion that occurred to 72 RICHARD THE THIRD, to me upon it, was, that perhaps Richard wanted to get rid of old Ely, after any manner, however indecent or abrupt, in order to be at liberty to plot with Buckingham in private ; for the moment the Bifhop goes out on his errand, he fays, Coufin of Buckingham, a word with you. But as he did not fend the reft of the Council- Board a-packing after him, and adjourn them from the bed of jujiice to the Jl raw berry bed, but retires immediately himfelf with his complotter Bucking- ham, we cannot fuppofe this idea to have been the purpofe intended by fo extraordinary a motion. There is, then, no other way left us to refolve this text, than to impute it folely to the peculiar character that Shakefpeare has given us all along of this extraordinary perfonage ; whom he has re- prefented throughout, as preferving a facetious hu- mour, and exerting a fort of carelefs eafe, in the midft of all his crimes. I am forry not to be able to give a better account of this particular, than what I have here offered ; becaufe, if it is to reft upon fuch a comment, our author muft, in this inftance, be thought to have betrayed a manifeft ignorance in human nature, or the nature of guilt at leaft ; as no vicious perfon, I do not mean thofe of profligate manners merely, but no designing or determined villain was ever chearful, yet, or could poflibly be able to a flume even the femblance of careleffnefs or eafe, upon any occafion whatfoever. In the latter part of this Scene, poor Haftings, juft before he mounts the fcaffold, makes a re- flection, which too frequently occurs to thofe -who put their trujl in princes ; or, indeed, in general, to all who reft their hope on any other flay but their own uprightnefs and virtue. Hajlings. RICHARD THE THIRD. 73 Hajlings. O momentary grace of mortal men, Which we more hunt for than the grace of God ! Who builds his hope in air of your fair looks, Lives like a drunken failor on a maft, Ready with every nod to tumble down Into the fatal bowels of the deep. ACT IV. SCENE III. Among the various crimes of man, murder {lands in a diftin£t clafs above them all ; except, perhaps, fuicide, as being of the fame fpecies, may be allowed to rank with, or even to exceed, it. The latter part of this pofition, though, has been difputcd by fome moral cafuifts; but I mall enter no further into the argument here, than juft to obferve, that one of thefe a&s does not fhock the human mind fo much as the other. We are fen- fible of a tendernefs and compaffion for the un- happy felf- devoted victim, but are impreffed both with an horror and deteitation againfl: the ho- micide. But the circumftance which mofl eminently dif- tinguifhes both of thefe crimes trom every other fpecies of guilt, is their being fo wholly repugnant to nature. In other vices, we may fuffer a temp- tation, and have only a moral ftruggle to conquer ; but one mull be trained, be educated to thefe, mud ftifle fympathy, and overcome our firjl, by a fecGnd nature. And of all murders, from the days of Herod to thefe, the killing a child muft furely raife a ftronger war in the mod hardened villain's bread:, than the daughter of an adult. Its innocence, its engaging manners, even its very helpleiluefs, muft plead fo movingly in its defence, as to render the deed, one mould think, impoflibie ! Might not the idea of a child's coming fo recently out of the hands of its Creator, ferve alfo to imprefs an additional awe on Vol. II. E the 74 RICHARD THE THIRD. the mind of the malefa&or, at fuch a time? If fuperftition can ever be excufed fcr its weaknefs, it muft furely be in fuch an inftance as this. Shakefpeare has wrought up an hcrrid and af- fecting picture, in this fcene, upon the latter part of this fubje£r, where he makes one of the mur- derers give an account of the maffacre of Edward's two children. Tyrrel. The tyrannous and bloody act is done ! The moif. arch deed of piteous marTacre, That ever yet this land was guilty of! Dighton and Furreji, whom I did fuborn To do this piece of ruthlefs butchery, (Albeit they were fleilit villains, bloody dogs), Melting with tendernefs and mild companion, Wept like two children in their death's lad ftory. thus, quoth Dighton, lay the gentle babes-—— Thus, thus, quoth Forreft, girdling one another Within their innocent alabafter arms; 1 heir lips were four red rofes on a ftalk, And in their funimer beauty kiffed each other. A book of prayers on their pillow lay, Which once, quoth Forrejl, almofl changed my mind — ■ But, oh ! the devil 1 here the villain ftopt, W hen Dighton thus told on— -We fmothered The moft repleniihed fweet work of nature, That from the prime creation e'er the framed— Hence both are gone. With confcience and remorfe They could not ipeak. Tn the latter part of the fame Scene is expreffcd a jufl and fpirited maxim, which, I believe, will be fufficien.tly vouched by experience, That in dif- ficult matters, quick refolves and brifk a&ions ge- nerally fucceed better than flow counfels and cir- etimfpe£r. conduce. '', on heating of the defection of his forces : Come, RICHARD THE THIRD. 75 Come, I have learned that fearful commenting Js leaden fervitor to dull delay. Delay leads impotent and fnail-paced beggary- Then fiery expedition be my wing, Jove's Mercury, and herald for a king. Go, mutter men, my council is my (hield, We mult be brief, when traitors brave the field. SCENE IV. The temporary relief, which an opportunity of expreffing its forrows affords to the mind of a per- fon in affliction, is poetically dticribed in a paf- fage here. The Queen and Duchefs of York. Ducb. Why fhould calamity be full of words ? Queen. Windy attornies to their client-woes, Airy fucceeders of inteftate joys *, Poor breathing orators of miferies ! Let them have fcope, though what they do impart, Help nothing elfe, yet they do eafe the heart. A C T V. S C & N E V. In this Scene, the adverfe camps are fuppofed to be pitched near each other at night, ready to join battle in the morning ; and in the fpace between, the fpirits of all the perfons murdered by Richard arife, threatening deflruction to him, and promising fuccefs to Richmond. But the ghofts here are not to be taken literally ; they are to be underflood only as an allegorical reprefeniation of thofe images or itleas which naturally occur to the minds of men during their deep, referring to the actions of their lives, whether good or bad. * Inteftate jcyt. This orpreffion is difficult. The only editor who has taken notice of it, is Theobald-, but his comment is as obfeure as the text. I fhall not attempt it. E z « Sweet 76 RICHARD THE THIRD. " Sweet are the (lumbers of the virtuous man," fays Addifon, in his Cato ; and a modern writer, in a poem on the fubjeft of dreams, molt empha- tically exprelTes himfelf thus : " Nor are the opprertbr's crimes in deep forgot ; " He ftarts appalled, for confcience flu??ibers not f ." That this is the fenfe in which our poet meant this Scene to be accepted, is fully'evident from his reprefenting both Richard and Richmond to have been afleep during the apparition, and therefore capable of receiving thofe notices in the mind's eye only, as Hamlet fays ; which intirely removes the feeming abfurdity of fuch an exhibition. The foliloquy of felf-accufation, which Richard enters upon alone, immediately after the fpeftral vifion is clofed, though fo ftrongly marked, is no- thing more than might be fuppofed natural, in the circumftances and fituation of the fpeaker, as there dcfcribed. Richard, farting from his couch. Give me another horfe — bind up my wounds- Have mercy, Jefu Soft, I did but dream. coward confcience, how doft thou afflict me ? The lights burn blue — is it not dead midnight ? Cold fi-arful drops (band on my trembling flefh— What! do I fear myfelf? there's none elfe by. . . . My confcience hath a thoufand feveral rongues, And every tongue brings in a feveral tale, And every tale condemns me for a villain. . . All feveral fins, all ufed in each degree, Throng to the bar, all crying, Guilty ! guilty ! 1 fhal! defpair — There is no creature loves me j And if I die, no foul (hall pity me. ?<"}.y, wherefore mould they? Since even I myfelf Find in myfelf no pity for myfelf. f Smithing NiWj Chap. XLIX. Enter RICHARD THE THIRD. 77 Enter Ratcliff. Rich. Who's there ? Rat. My lord, the early village cock Hath twice done falutation to the morn ; Your friends are up, and buckle on their armour. Rich. Ratcliff, I fear, I fear. Rat Nay, good my lord, be not afraid of fhadows. Rich. By the apoltle Paid, fhadows, to-night, Have ftruck more terror to the foul of Richard, Than can the fubftance of ten thoufand foldiers, Armed in proof, and led by {hallow Richmond. * # * I fhall here clofe my cbfervations" on this Play, with a reflection on the laft paragraph above. Such is the nature of man, that the flighted alarm, arifing from within, difcomfits him more than the greateft dangers prefenting themielves from without. Body may be overcome by body, but the mind only can conquer itfelf. Notions of religion are natural to all men, in fome fort or other. The good are lr.fpired by devotion, the bad terrified by fuperflition. The admonitions of con- fcience are taken for fupernatural emotions, and this awes us more than any difficulty in the com- mon courfe of things. Man has been feverally de- fined a riftble, a rational, a religious, and a baJJj- ful animal. May I take the liberty of adding the farther criterion of his being a confcientious one ? And this diftinclion, I fhall venture to fay, is lefs equivocal than any of the others. HENRY the EIGHTH. E 4 Dramatis Perfonse. MEN. Henry the Eighth. ' Duke of Norfolk. Duke of Buckingham. Cardinal Wolsey. Cardinal Campeius, Legate from the Pope. Capucius, Ambaffador from the Emperor Charles the Fifth. Lord Chamberlain. Lord Sands. Sir Thomas Lovell. Cromwell, Secretary to Wolfey. Griffith, Gentleman Ufher to Queen Catharine. Groom of the Chambers to the Queen. A Messenger. W O M E N. Queen Catharine. Anne Bullen. Patience, Lady cf the Bed-chamber to the Queen. f Si ] HENRY the EIGHTH. ACT I. SCENE I. A S Cardinal Wolfey ftands a diflinguifhed cha- racter in hiftory, having raifed himfelf from the rneanefr. origin * to the higheit pitch of power, consideration, and rtation, that a fubjefr, could well arrive at, by the fole advantages of learning and natural endowments; and whole end was unfortu- nate, through vanity, infolence, and the unliable favour of princes ; there may be an ufeful leffon de- duced from every circumflance of his life, refpect- ing either his rife, grandeur, or decline, In a dialogue between Buckingham and Norfolk^ in this Scene, the former fpeaking of his vanity and preiumption, with that contempt which perlons ot noble families and hereditary fortunes are fometimes too apt to exprefs towards men wbofe whole tvortb is centered in them/elves, the latter engages in his defence, upon a very jufl: and liberal argument. Norfolk. Yet, furely, Sir, There's in him Huff that puts him to thefe ends; For not being propt by anceftry, whofe grace Chalks fiicceflbrs their way ; nor called upon For high feats done to the crown ; neither allied To eminent affiftants; but fpider-like Gut of his felf-drawing web— This gives us note, The force of his own merit makes his way ; A gift that Heaven gives to him, which buys A place next to "the king. * He was the fon of a butcher. E 5 -Do 82 HENRY THE EIGHTH. Doctor Young treats the fame fubject in as proper a manner, but with the addition of fatire, and ridicule. " Let high birth triumph ! What can be more great ? *' Nothing — but merit in a loiv eflate. Univer.Pas. SCENE II. The angry Duke repeats his fpleen againfl him in this Scene alio, upon the fame proud prejudice, or miftaken eftimate of things. Bucking. A beggar's-book out-worths a noble's blood. This mo ft noble and puiffant prince * was unlucky in having lived in fuch an ignoble age— Nobles meet with no fuch mortifications, tiozv-a-days. In the continuation of this dialogue, the im- patient fpirit of Buckingham is finely contrafted with the calm temper of Norfolk, who illuftrates his documents of prudence to him, with equal phi- lofophy and poefy. The Cardinal had jufl crofTed the Scene, in all his ftate, calling a look of dildain on Buckingham, which the more raifed his choler. Norfolk. What, are you chafed ? Afk God for temperance ; that's the appliance only, Which your difeafe requires. Bucking. I read in's look, Matter againft me, and his eye reviled Me, as his abject object ; at this inftant, He bores f me with iome trick. He's gone to th' king— I'll follow, and outftare him. Norfolk. Stay, my lord, And let your reafon with your choler queition, What 'tis you go about. To climb fteep hills, Requires (low pace at firft. Anger is like A full-hot borfe, ivho being allowed bis ivay, * The Mile and title of a Duke. •f- I do not comprehend the meaning of this expreffion, and the Commentators have given me no afliltance. Self- HENRY THE EIGHTH. 83 Self -mettle tires him. Not a man in England Can advife me, like you — Be to yourfelf, As you would to your friend. Bucking. I'll to the king, And from a mouth of honour quite cry down This Ipfzvich * fellow's infolence ; or proclaim There's difference in no perfons. Norfolk. Be advifed ; Heat not a furnace for your foe fo hot, That it Jhall finge yourfelf . We may out- run, By over-fwiftnefs, that which we run at, And lofe by over-running — Know you not, The fire that mounts the liquor 'till 't run o'er, Seeming to augment, but ivafles it? Be advifed > I fay again, there is no Engiifh foul More ftronger to direcl you than yourfelf, If with the fap of reafon you would quench, Or but allay, the fire of paflion. The character which Norfolk here gives to Buckingham cf himfelf, is too common in life: Perfcns whofe fenfe and judgment ate fufHciently qualified to direcl: otheis, but who, from the force of paffion and indifcretion, are rendered incapable of guid'mg themfelves. To advife, and to be ad- vifed, are by no means the active and paffive cf the fame verb, as they differ fo widely in their moods and tenfes. I have made my apology before f, for fuch jeux de mots, which our Author's fiile is apt to lead one info. SCENE IV. There is an excellent lefTon for kings, given in this place, as welt as in many other pafiages of Shakefpeare. The honour and fafety of princes are fo much confided to the fenfe and conduct of their Minifters, that fuch truftees for the State mould be ever felected with the niceft judgment * The place of Wolfey's nativity. II. '.d II. :>.m.i II. Tic note. and 84 HENRY THE EIGHTH. and ftri&eft impartiality ; in which choice, virtue fhould be at leaft equally regarded with talents. Were the crown teftsmentary, a fovereign mould be circumfpecl: to whofe hands he intrufled the government of his people, even after his death ; and how much more folicitous ought he to be, with refpt£l to thofe appointed to rule, while his own glory and intereft lie fo immediately at flake ! The great Conde complimented Corneille's Play of China, by ftilirg it 'The Breviary cf Kings — I think that many of Shakefpeare's pieces much better deferve that name. But, indeed, his writings may well challenge a more general and comprehen- five title, and be called the Manual of Mankind \ as containing rules and reflections for every flate and condit.on of life, throughout the intire compafs of human nature, from the peafant to the prince. The Council Chamber. The King, the Cardinal, and the Nobles feated. The Queen enters, ivalks up to the foot of the throne, and kneels before the King, in the quality of a Juitor. Catb. I am folicited, not by a few, And thofe of true condition, thai your fubjedls Are in great grievance. There have been commiffions Sent down among them, which have flawed the heart Of all their loyalties ; wherein, although, My good lord Cardinal, they vent reproaches Moft bitterly on you, as putter on Of thefe exaclions, yet the king, our maf.er, Whofe honour Heaven fhield from foil, even he fcapes not Language unmannerly ; yea, fuch >LaIi!y for concept tut, to 86 HENRY THE EIGHTH. to fiigmatize themfelves by a diftin£tion which ac- cidentally took its rife from the very foible here ridiculed j namely, perfons of Fa/hion. An Apartment in the Palace. Enter Lord Chamberlain, and Lord Sands. Lord Cham. Is't poflible the fpells of France fhould. j u gg le Men into fuch ftrange myfteries ? Sands. New cuftoms, Though they be never fo ridiculous, Nay, let them be unmanly, yet are followed. Cham. As far as 1 fee, all the good our Englifh Have got by the laft voyage *, is but merely A fit or two o' th' face f, but they are fhrewd ones } For when they hold 'em, you would fwear directly Their very nofes had been counfellors To Pepin, or Clotharius, they keep ftate fo. Sands. They've all new legs, and lame ones ; one would take it, That never faw them pace, before, the fpavin And fpring-halt reigned among 'em. Cham. Death, my lord, Their cloaths are after fuch a Pagan cut, too, That fare they've worn out Chriflendom. Enter Sir Thomas Lovell. How now ? What news, Sir Thomas Lovell ? Lot-ell. Faith, my lord, I hear of none, but the new proclamation, That's clapped upon the court-gate. Cham What is't for ? Lovell. The reformation of our travelled gallants, That fill the court with quarrels, talk, and tailors. * When Henry the Eighth went to the congrefs or interview with Francis the Firft, between Guifnes and Ardres, with a fumptuous retinue. ■f- Grimace. Cham HENRY THE EIGHTH. 87 Cham. I'm glad 'tis there — Now I would pray our Monfteurs To think an Englijh courtier may be wife, And never fee the Louvre. Lovell. They muft either, For fo run the conditions, leave thofe remnants Of fool and feather, that they got in France, With all their honourable points of ignorance, Pertaining thereunto, as fights and fire-works, Abufing better men than they can be, Out of a foreign wifdom, clean renouncing The faith they have in Tennis, and tall ftockingsj Short bolftered breeches, and fuch types of travel, And underftand again like honeif. men, Or pack to their old play-fellows — There, I take it, They may, cum pri And HENRY THE EIGHTH. c,r And that without delay their argument Be now produced and heard. Cath. Lord Cardinal, To you I fpeak. Woljey. Your pleafure, madam ? Catb. Sir, I am about to weep ; but thinking that We are a Queen, or long have dreamed fo ; certain, The daughter of a king ; my drops of tears I'll turn to fpaiks of fire. IVolfey. Be patient yet— Cath. I will, when you are humble—Nay, before- Induced by potent circumftances that You are mine enemy, I make my challenge* You mail not be my judge. For it is you Have blown this coal betwixt my lord and me, "Which God's dew quench ! Therefore, I fay again, I utterly abhor, yea, from my foul, Refufe you for my judge, whom yet once more I hold my moft malicious foe, and think not At all a friend to truth. HereWolfey enters into a juftification of himfelf, in a long fpeecb, which relates not to the prefent purpofe, in which he demeans himfelf with great refpe£t toward the Queen, and fpeaks in his own defence with all feeming moderation and temper- To which flie replies : Cath. My lord, my lord, I am a fimple woman, much too weak To oppofe your cunning. You are meek, and humble- mouthed ; You fign f your place and calling, in full feeming, "With meeknefs and humility ; but your heart Is crammed with arrogancy, fpleen and pride. Ycu have, by foi tune, and his highnefs' favours, * Challenge is a law term, for perfons on their trial obje&ing to a Juryman, T Sign— That is, you make an outward Jbeio of your holy fundlion. Gone 92 HENRY THE EIGHTH. Gone (lightly o'er low fteps ; and now are mounted, Where powers are your retainers ; and your words, Domefticks to you, ferve your will as't pleafe Yourfe'f pronounce their office*. I mult tell you, You tender more your perfon's honour, than^ Your high profeffion fpiritual j that again, I do refufe you for my judge ; and here, Before ye all, appeal unto the Pope, To bring my whole caufe 'fore his holinefs ; And to be judged by him. Here fhe makes an obeiffance to the king, and offers to depart the cour.t. Camp. The queen is obflinate, Stubborn to juftice, apt to accufe it, and Difdainful to be tried by's — 'Tis not well- She's going away. Henry. Call her again. Crier. Catharine, Queen of England, come into the court. Griffith. Madam you are called back. Cath. What need you note it ? Pray you, keep your way— When you are called, return — Now the lord help ! They vex me pad: my patience ! Pray you, pafs on. I will not tarry — No, nor ever more Upon this bufiiufs my appearance make In any of their courts. [Exeunt Queen and her Train. ACT III. SCENE I. I mall not prevent the Reader's own feelings and reflections upon this fine and affecting Scene, irr which the Queen's character is further difplayed, by any remarks of my own upon the feveral parts of it. * Tcu have arrived at Juch an hdghth cf power, thatycu may do and unds y or fay and unfay, whatever ysu pleofe, tvithcut ontrsul. The HENRY THE EIGHTH. 95 The Queen's Apartment. The Queen and her Women, as at Work *. Cath. Take thy lute, wench, my foul grows fad with troubles ; Sing and difperfe them, if thou can'ft: ; leave working. [Song. Enter Groom of the Chambers. Cath. How now ? Groom. An't pleafe your grace, the two great Cardinals Wait in the prefence. Cath. Would they fpeak with me ? Groom. They willed me fay fo, madam. Cath. Pray their graces To come near. What can be their bufinefs With me, a poor weak woman, fallen from favour ? [Exit Groom. I do not like their coming. Now I think on't, They.ihould be good men, their affairs f are righteous ; But all hoods make not monks J. Enter the Cardinals Wolfey and Campeius. Wolfey. Peace to your highnefs ! Cath. Your graces find me here part of a houfe-wife ; I would be all, againft the worft may happen. What are your pleafures with me, reverend lords ? Wolfey. May't pleafe you, noble madam, to withdraw Into your private chamber ; we fhall give you The full caufe of our coming. Cath. Speak it here. There's nothing I have done yet, o' my confcience, Deferves a corner — 'Would all other women Could fpeak this with as free a foul as I do ! * This is an antiquated Englifh Scene, but has been revived •gain, I hear, by Her Majefty, in the prefent reign ; " Who fhines Penelope, among " Her chofen female band, who ply " The needle's art, and fix the flower's perennial dye." Bellamy. Ethic Amufements. -f- Affairs. Office, profefllon, or calling. % A literal translation of the latin proverb, Cucullus nun facii tn'.nacbum, Uy 46 HENRY THE SIXTH. PART I. Henry is able to enrich his queen, And need not feek a queen to make him rich. So worthlefs peafants bargain for their wives, As market-men for oxen, fhe p, or horfe. But marriage is a matter of more ivortb, 'than to be dealt in by attorney-Jhip Not whom we will, but whom his grace affec"ts, Mult be companion of his nuptial bed. And therefore, lords, fince he affects her molt, It .molt, of all thefe reafons bindeth us, In our opinions (Tie fhould be preferred; For what is ixiedhck forced, but a hell. An age of difcord and continual ftrife ? M^bereas the contrary bringetb forth blifs, And is a pattern of celejlial peace. Thefe iirguments are certainly conclusive, in private life ; and it reafons offlate may be allowed to (ra-'d agVinft them, in the fupremefl rank, I {hali 01 \\ c include my remarks on this Piece, with a lme oi *n old fong, in favour of our natural and chartered liberties, ^ If fo happy 's a miUtr, then who'd be a king f[ HENRY the SIXTH. SECOND PART. 96 HENRY THE EIGHTH. Catb. Ye tell me what ye wifli for, both, my ruin- Is this your chrittian counfel ? Out upon ye ! Heaven is above all yet ; there fits a Judge, That no king can corrupt. Camp, Your rage miftakes us. Catb. The more ihame for you — Holy men 1 thought ye, Upon my foul, two reverend cardinal virtues ; But cardinal fins and hollow hearts, I fear you. Mend them, for fhame, my lords. Is this your comfort? The cordial that you bring a wretched lady ? A woman loft among ye, laughed at, fcorned ? I will not wilh you half my miferies— I have more charity. But fay I warned ye ; Take heed, take heed, for Heaven's fake, left at once The burden of my forrows fall upon you, Wolfey. Madam, this is a mere diftradlion — You turn the good we offer into envy *. Cath. Ye turn me into nothing. Woe upon you, And all fuch falfe profeffors ! Would ye have me, If ye have any juftice, any pity, If ye be any thing but Churchmen's habits, Put my fick caufe into his hands that hates me? Alas ! h' as banifhed me his bed already ; His love too, long ago. I'm old, my lords ; And all the fellowihip I hold now with him, Is only my obedience. What can happen To me above this wretchednefs ! All your ftudies Make me a curfe like this ! Camp. Your fears are worfe Cath. Have I lived thus long — (let me fpeak, myfelf, Since virtue finds no friends) a wife, a true one ? A woman, I dare fay without vain-glory, Never yet branded with fiifpicion? Have I, with all my full iiffe&ions, Still met the king? loved him next Heaven? obeyed him? Almoft forgot my prayers to content him ? And am I thus rewarded ? 'Tis not well, lords, Bring me a conftant woman to her huiband, One that ne'er dreamed a joy beyond his pleafure ; * Envy, put for malice, or wijchief^ And HENRY THE EIGHTH. 97 And to that woman, when fhe has done raoft, Yet will I add an honour— A great patience. Wolfey. Madam, you wander from the good we aim at. Cath. My lord, 1 dare not make myfelf Co guilty, To give up willingly that noble title Your matter wed me to ; nothing but death Shall e'er divorce my dignities. Wolfey. Pray, hear me ; Catb. 'Would I had never trod this Englifli earth, Or felt the flatteries that grow upon it ! Ye've angels' faces, but Heaven knows your hearts— What mall become of me, now ! wretched lady! I am the moil unhappy woman living. Alas ! poor wenches, where are now your fortunes ? To her c womeit, Ship-wreck'd upon a kingdom where no pity, No friends, no hope, no kindred weep for me ; Almoft no grave allowed me. Like the lily, That once was miilrefs of the field, and flourifhed, I'll hang my head, and perilh. Wolfey. If your grace Could but be brought to know our ends are honeft, You'd feel more comfort. Why mould we, good lady, Upon what caufe, wrong you ? Alas ! our places, The way of our profeflion, is againfl it ; We are to cure fuch forrows, not to fow them. For goodnefs' fake, confider what you do ; How you may hurt youifelf ; nay, utterly Grow from the king's acquaintince, by this carriage. The hearts of princes kils obedience, So much they love it ; but to rtubborn fpirits, They fwell and grow as terrible as ftorms. I know you have a gentle, noble temper, A foul as even as a calm ; pray, think, think us Thofe we profefs, peace-makers, friends, and fervants. Camp. Madam, you'll find it fo. You wrong your virtues, With thefe weak woman's fears. A noble fpirit, As yours was put into you, ever caffs Such doubts, asfalfecoin, from it. T'ie king loves you j Beware you lofe it not ; for us, if you plcale To truft us in your bufinefs, we are ready Vol. II. F To 5 8 HENRY THE EIGHTH. To ufe our utmoft ftudies in your fervice. Catb. Do what you will, my lords ; and pray, for- give me, If I have ufed myfelf unmannerly. You know I am a woman, lacking wit To make a feenily anfwer to fuch perfons. Pray, do my fervice to his majefty ; He has my heart, yet, and ihall have my prayers, While I ihall have my life. Come, reverend fathers, Btftow your counfels on me. She now begs, That little thought, when Ihe fet footing here, She ihould have bought her dignities fo-dear. [Exeunt. SCENE IV. The prefent Scene prefents us with a fecond ob- ject of compaffion, which though it interefts us after a different manner from the former, as neither being fo innocent, nor fuffering fo urjuflly ; yet, fhail I hazard the ex predion ? affefts us almoft as much. We do not, indeed, feel our minds im- preffed with fuch a tender fenfibility towards the |atter } as the firft; but, for the honour and dignity of human nature, let me fay, that our commifera- tion, in the fecond cafe, arifes from principles of a nobler kind ; from our forgivenefs of the penitent, and our compafTion for his misfortunes, foftened ltill more by cur forrow for his guilt : fo that, upon the whole, the generofity of our fentiment, in one jnftance, nearly equals the fympathy of it, in the other. The true fupputation of the precarioufnefs and in liability of all worldly happinefs and greatnefs, with the fit temper and refignation to bear their lofs, are mod pathetically and poetically fet forth, in the following beautiful and affedting icene. Wolfey, in his difgrace. Farewel, a long farewel, to all my greatnefs! This is the ftate of man— To-day he puts forth The tender leaves of hopes, to-morrow bloifoms, And HENRY THE EIGHTH. 99 And bears his bluihing honours thick upon him ; The third day comes a frofr, a killing frolt, And when he thinks, good eafy man, full furely His greatnefs is a ripening, nips his root, And then he falls, as I do. I have ventured, Like iittle wanton boys that fwim on bladders, " Thefe many fummers in a fea of glory, But far beyond my depth ; my high-blown pride At length broke under me, and now has left me, Weary and old with fervice, to the mercy Of a rude ftream, that muft for ever hide me. Vain pomp and glory of this world, I hate ye— I feel my heart new opened — Oh, how wretched Is that poor man, that hangs on Princes' favours ! There is, between that fmile we would afpire to, That fweet afpett of princes, and our ruin, More pangs and fears than war or women have; And when he falls, he falls like Lucifer, Never to hope again. Enter Cromwell, Jlanding amazed. Why, how now, Cromwell ? Crom. I have no power to fpeak, Sir. Wolfey. What, amazed At my misfortunes? Can thy fpirit wonder A great man should decline ? Nay, if yon tveef>, I'm fallen indeed. Crom. How does your grace ? Wolfey. Why, well- Never fo truly happy, my good Cromwell. I know mylelf, now ; and I feel within me A peace above all earthly dignities ; A ftiil and quiet conference-— The king has cured me ; I humbly thank his grace— -and from thefe {boulders, Thefe ruined pillars, out of pity taken A load would fink a navy ; too much honour. O, 'tis a burden, Cromwell, 'tis a burden, Too heavy for a man that hopes for heaven ! Crom. I'm glad yourgrace has made that right life of it, Wolfey. I hope I have. I'm able, now, methinks, Out of a fortitude of foul I feel, T' endure more miferies, and greater, far, F 1 Than loo HENRY THE EIGHTH. Than my weak-hearted enemies dare offer. What news abroad ? Cram. The heavieft and the word, Is your difpleafure with the king. Wolfey. God blefs him ! Crom. The next is, that Sir Thomas More is chofen Lord Chancellor in your place. Wolfey. That's fo mew hat fudden— But he's a learned man. May he continue Long in his highnefs' favour, and dojuftice, For truth's fake, and his confcience ; that his bones, When he has run his courfe, and fleeps in bleflings, May have a tomb of orphans' tears wept on them I What more ? Crom. That Cranmer is returned with welcome : Inftalled Lord Archbifhop of Canterbury. Wolfey- That's news, indeed. Crom. Laft, that the lady Anne, Whom the king hath in fecrecy long married, This day was viewed in open, as his queen, Going to chapel ; and the voice is now, Only about her coronation. Wolfey. There was the weight that pulled me down. O Cromwell ! The king has gone beyond me j all my glories In that one woman I have loft for ever. No fun (hall ever ulTier forth my honours, Or gild again the noble troops that waited Upon my fmiles. Go, get thee from me, Cromwell, I am a poor fallen man, unworthy now To be thy lord and mafter. Seek the king ; That fun, ,1 pray, may never fet ; I've told him W T hat and how true thou art ; he will advance thee ; Some little memory of me will ftir him, I know his noble nature, not to let Thy hopeful fervice periili too. Good Cromwell, Neglect him nor, make ufe now, and provide For thine own future fafcty. Crom. O, my lord, Muft I then leave you ? muft I needs forego So good, lb noble, and fo true a mafter ? Bear witnefs, all that have not hearts of iron, With HENRY THE EIGHTH. 101 With what a forrow Cromwell leaves his lord ! The king fhall have my i'ervice ; but my prayers, For ever, and for ever, ihall be yours. Wolfey. Cromwell, I did not think to fhed a tear, In all my miferies ; but thou haft forced me, Out of thy honeft truth, to pLy the woman. Let's dry our eyes, and thus far hear me, Cromwell ; And when 1 am forgotten, as I {hall be, And fleep in dull cold marble, where no mention Of me muft more be heard, fay then I taught thee, Say, Wolfey, that once rode the waves * of glory, And founded all the depths and fhoals of honour, Found tnee a way out of his wreck, to rife in ; A fare and fafe one, though thy mafter miffed it. Mark, but my fall, and that which ruined me— Cromwell, I charge thee, fling away ambition ; By that fin fell the angels ; how can man, then, The image of his Maker, hope to win by't ? Love thyfelf laft, cheriih thofe hearts that wait f thee; Corruption wins not more than honefty. Still in thy right hand carry gentle peace, To filence envious tongues. Be juft, and fear not. Let all the ends thou aim'ft at be thy country's, Thy God's, and truth's — — Then if thou falleft, O Cromwell, Thou falleft a bleffed martyr. Serve the king ; And, prithee, lead me in — There take an inventory of all I have. To the laft penny. 'Tis the king's. My robe, And my integrity to Heaven, is all I dare now call my own. O Cromwell, Cromwefi, " Had I but ferved my God, with half the zeal 1 " I ferved my king, he would not in mine age " Have left me naked to mine enemies t." * Ride the Esriofttjy for fcrut'my. The LEAR. 113 The oft-difputed jree will of man may be dif- fidently proved from this innate felf-determination, which his mind poffeffes. We mufr. make a choice, even without our being able to make a diftin&ion. It muff, be an afs, indeed, that can remain in fuf- pence, even betvoeen two bundles of bay. But this involuntary election we are not anfwerable for in ethics ; we are accountable only for our manner of acting towards our children : in which their mo- ral merits" alone can juftify fuperior marks of pre- ference or favour. SCENE II. Lear. And 'tis our fail intent To make all cares and bufmefs from our age, Conferring them on younger ftrengths ; while we Unburdened crawl toward death. This is a rational, a manly, and a virtuous pur- pofe. But how few are poffeffed of fouls great enough to relinquifh greatnefs ! Indeed, the rare examples of thofe who have done fo, as Charles the Fifth, and fome others, would not encourage one to make the experiment. But then it ought to be enquired into, whether the inftances of abdi- cation had been prompted by any of the principles above-mentioned, or no ; for mere fits of devotion, or difgufl, are feldom long or ftrong enough, to fuppcrt the mind under fuch a dereliction. Befides, habit is a molt powerful thing ; and per- sons ufed to occupation of any kind, are apt to feel an irkfome vacuity and weannefs in themfelves, with an oppreffive tedioufnefs of time lying on their hands, whenever they ceafe from employment. This has been the confeffion of all the merchants, lawyers, farmers, and phyficians, I have ever known or heard of, who had retired from their profeffions, or quitted their ordinary fcenes of action, late in life. Whenever, therefore, fuch an experiment is ii4 LEAR. is attempted, it mould arife from a principle, not from a preference ; becaufe the choice muit be ven- tured upon, before the comparifon can be tried. In the fame Scene, when Lear requires his three daughters to declare the leveral portions of their love and refpe£t towards him, the eldeft addreffes herfelf to him thus : Goneril. Sir, I love you more than words can wield the matter, Dearer than eye- fight, ipace, and liberty j Beyond what can be valued, rich or rare ; No Lis than life, with grace, health, beauty, honour ; As much as child e'er loved, or father found ; A love that makes breath poor, and fpeech unable, Beyond all manner of fo much I love you. Upon this fpeech, the youngeft daughter fays to herfelf, afide, What fhall Cordelia do ? Love, and be filent. After Goneril has had her portion marked out, the fecond fteps forward, in order to earn her's. Regan. I'm made of that felf-metal as my lifter, And prize me at her worth. In my true heart, I find Ihe names my very deed of love, Only {lie comes too fhort ; that I profefs Myfelf an enemy to all other joys, Which the mod precious fquare of fenfe pofTefTes, And find I am alone felicitate, In your dear highnefs love. Here the fincere and unprofeffing Cordelia whif- pers to herfelf again : Then poor Cordelia ! And yet not fo, fince I am fure my love's More ponderous than my tongue. When Lear has endowed Regan alfo, he next proceeds to challenge Cordelia upon the fame quef- tion ; LEAR. 115 tion ; afking her what fhe has to fay, to fhew her love equal to her fitters ; her only anfwer is, Nothing, my lord. But, indeed, what was there left for her to fay, after fuch hyperbolical profeffions as had been juffc made before her ? However, I dare pronounce, that any reader, who is at all acquainted with hu- man nature, without looking any further into the ftorv, beyond the prefent Scene, muft have already determined the point in his own mind, which of the daughters' duties or affections were mod to be relied upon. No paffion can either bear or juflify exaggera- tion, but love alone. There the extravagance of tranfport, and the enthufiafm of devotement, prove the luxuriance of the foil ; but, in every other in- flance, betray the Jlerility of it. There is, in reality, no other paffion in the human breaft, but love. All other affections, fuch as avarice, duty, envy, revenge, or ambition, arife from fome foreign fentiment, are founded on principle, or inftigated by vice or pride. Thefe we may be educated, tempted, or provoked to ; but the former is a fpon- taneous and involuntary impulfe of the foul, a cer- tain attractive force, that can neither be dictated to us by moral, nor retrained by document. ** Firft: bid phyficians preach our veins to temper, " And with an argument new fet a pulfe, " Then think of reafoning into love." The Reve nge. SCENE VI. Edmund Joins. Thou, Nature, art my goddels ; to thy law My fervices are bound ; wherefore fliould I Stand n6 LEA R. Stand in the plague * of cuftom, and permit The courtefy f of nations to deprive me? Thus do all profligates, who deferve to be the outcafts of fociety, betake themfelves to the afylum of Nature. Whenever the laws of God or man oppofe their vices, they immediately adopt her for their deity and their legiflator •, whom they cannot fail to find a moft indulgent patronefs, as they are fure to interpret all their own wills and paffions to be her unerring dictates. Lucretius, the expofitor of Epicurus, in his un- philofophic Poem on the Nature of Things, ad- dreffes himfelf to the fame goddefs, under the ap- pellation of Venus, whom he makes to precede and fuperfede the gods, reprefenting them as a fet of lethargic beings of her creation, and leaving them to doze away their immortalities, wrapt up in their empyreal Pantheon. The pride of man is amazing ! Rather than acknowledge any Intelligence fuperior to them- felves, they chufe to refer the manifeft wifdom and power of the Deity to blind chance, and inert mat- ter alone \ " And call God's providence a lucky hit." Pope. And yet this can hardly be deemed impious, be- caufe 'tis fo miferably ftupid. SCENE VII. Shakefpeare, as I have had opportunities of ob- ferving before, takes frequent occafions of repre- fenting the horrid condition of a nation under the * The Commentators are not agreed upon the fenfe of this word, in the place where it is here ufed ; but I think that the meaning of it would be fuftkiently clear, if it was exchanged for tyranny. f By courtefy is meant certain ufages fo filled in the common law of England. infliction LEAR. 117 infliction of a civil war. His defcriptions deferve to be collected together in one chapter, as a docu- ment both to prince and people ; tor the warning is equally necefiary to each ; as, whatever may be the final event, they muft be alike fufferers, under fuch a calamity. For, in fuch a conflict, thofe are likely to gain mod, who have the leaft to lofe, Thefe reflections refer to the following paflage in this Scene. Glofter. Love cools, friendlliip falls off, brothers di- vide. In cities, mutinies ; in countries, difcord ; in pa- laces, treafon ; and the bond crack'd 'twixt fon and fa- ther. We have feen the beft of our time. Machina- tions, hollownefs, treachery, and all ruinous diforders, follow us difquietly to our graves. SCENE VIII. The impious and unphilofophic method that people are too generally apt to apply toward the lightening of their confidences, and relieving their miferies, by imputing their vices and misfortunes to fate, neceflity, or the harmlefs ftars prefiding at their births, inflead of their own wickednefs or indifcretions, is well fatirized and expofed in the following fpeech, though it has not, I think, been put into a proper mouth to fpeak. Edmund. This is the excellent foppery of the world, that when we are fick in fortune, often the furfeits of our own behaviour, we make guilty of our own difafters the fun, the moon, and ftars ; as if we were villains on neceflity ; fools, by heavenly compulfion ; knaves, thieves, and treacherous, by fpherical predominance ; drunkards, lyars, and adulterers, by an enforced obe- dience of planetary influence ; and all that we are evil in, by a divine thrufting on. An admirable evafion of whore-mailer man, to lay his goatifli difpofition on the change of a ftar ! SCENE u8 LEAR. SCENE XII. •Kent here gives a character of a man, in re- commending his own Cervices to Lear : I do profefs to be no lefs than I feem ; to ferve him truly that will put me in truft ; to love him that is ho- neft ; to converfe with him that is wife, and fays little ; to fear judgment *j and to fight when I cannot chufe f. SCENE XIII. The following paffage comes in here very pro- perly, after the foregoing one : as it gives good and prudent advice for our conduct in life. Fool. Have more than thou fheweft, Speak lefs than thou knowell ; Lend lefs than thou oweft %, Ride more than thou goeft : Learn more than thou troweft § ; Set lefs than thou throweft || ; Leave thy drink and thy whore, And keep within door ; And thou malt have more Than two tens to a fcorefl. Thefe maxims fhould not lofe their credit or effect, on account of the character which utters thtm^ for Shakefpeare's fools are not thofe of mo- dern times, but fpeak a great deal of good fenfe throughout all his Plays. Befides, thefe fort of privileged perfons, filled formerly king's jejiers, were ufually men of wit and parts, a fort of free fpeakers, who were indulged in a liberty of telling * To refpett the laws. ■f- Neither forward to begin, nor backward to end a fray. X 'To oiue y in old Englifh, is to own or poflefs. § To trcno is to believe. The line means, not to embrace all opinions, becaufe delivered under the fan&ion of philofophy or learning. || That is, never fet equal to the (lake you throw for. ^J A phrafe for improving one's capital. truths, LEAR. 119 truths, or making reflexions on their matter's con- duct, without being reprehended or reftrained. And as they were the only courtiers who were permitted iuch a licence, they deferved more pro- perly to be deemed the kingh friends, than to have been ftigmatrzed by either of the other denomi- nations. SCENE XV. The curfes which the juftly provoked father de- nounces here, againft his unnatural daughters, are fo very horrid and (hocking to humanity, that I fhall not offend my Reader by quoting them ; tho* Shakefpeare, I am convinced, fupplied them merely in order to raife an abhorrence in his audience, againft two of the greateft crimes in the black lift of deadly fins, namely, ingratitude and undutiful- nefs ; and to fhew, as the injured parent mod em- phatically expreffes it, in the fame paffage, How fharper than a ferpent's tooth it is, To have a thanklefs child ! A C T II. S C E N E VI. In this fame Scene, and upon account of Kent's warmth and impatience of fpeech and temper, though ftill under the difguife of an hireling atten- dant on Lear, there is a very good defcription given of fuch a perfon as he appears to be ; a cha- racter frequently to be met with in life, though i the fpeaker is miftaken in the application of it to the honeft Duke, who might very properly be faid, I in the fenfe of the expreflion above given, to have i been the King's jriend. Cornzval. This is fome fellow, [ "Who having been praifed for bluntneis, doth afFoSl A fawcy roughntfs ; ana conftrains the garb, J Quite irom his nature. c.m't flatter, he! An honeft mil d and plav null fpeak truth ; i And they will take it fo — If not, he's 'plain— Thefe 120 LEA R. Thefe kind of knaves I know, which in this plainnefs Harbour more craft, and more corrupter ends, Than twenty filly ducking obfervants, That ftretch their duties nicely. SCENE X, When Glofter makes an apology to Lear, here, for not preffing his fon, the duke of Cornwal, a fecond time, to an interview with him, o*n account of the fiery quality of the Duke, as alfo having brought an anlwer from him that he was not well, the injured Monarch refents it thus : Lear. The king would fpeak with Cornwal — The dear father Would with his daughter fpeak— commands her fer- vice — Are they informed of this? My breath and bloodf Fiery ? The fiery duke ? Tell the hot duke, that — [Glofter offers to go. No, but not yet — he is not well — Infirmity doth ftill neglect all office, Whereto our health is bound ; we're not oufelves, When nature, being oppreft, commands the mind To fuffer with the body I'll forbear ; And am fall'n out with my more headier will, To take the indifpofed and fickly fit, For the found man. The furprize and refentment exprefTed in the firfl: part of the above fpeech, is jufr and natural ; but the paufe of recollection which afterwards abates his anger, is extremely fine, both in the reafonablenefs of the reflexion, and the humanity of the fentiment. This beautiful paffage, with many others of the fame tender kind, which follow in the courfe of developing Lear's character, and which I fliall occafionally refer back from to this note, render this unhappy man a real object both of commifera- tion LEAR. 121 tton and efteem, notwithstanding the weaknefs, paiTion, and injuftice he has fo fully expoied in the beginning of this Play. No writer that ever lived was capable of drawing a mixed character, equal to Shakelpeare ; for no one has ever feemed to have dived fo deep into Nature, as himfelf. — Frequent inflances of this admirable talent in him may be felefttd from his Works. Mod other authors, in their defcriptions of men, prefent us either with a flowery mead t or a favage defart ; but the demefne of human nature, "which includes both the fruitful field and the bar- ren wafte, within one inclofure, is rarely delineat- ed by common writers. SCENE XII. Lear to Goneril, upon her abridging bis train. I prithee, daughter, do not make me mad ; I will not trouble thee— My child, farewel ; We'll no more meet, no more fee one another. But yet thou art my flefh, my blood, my daughter; Or rather a difeafe that's in my flefh, Which I muft needs call mine ; thou art a bile, A plague-fore, or imboffed carbuncle, In my corrupted blood. But I'll not chide thee ; Let fhame come when it will, I do not call it ; I do not bid the thunder-bearer fhoot, Nor tell tales of thee to high-judging Jove: Mend when thou canft — Be better, at thy leifure. I can be patient. Here poor Lear feems to make fome kind of amends for his former violence ; for though the provocation continues flill the fame, nay rather, indeed, is increafed by the repetition of it, yet he contents himfelf, in this place, with barely up- braiding and reviling the offender, but refrains from adding curfes to his reproaches. Vol. II. G Human 122 LEA R. Human nature is equally difcernible in both thefe instances. The iuddernefs of his rage, on the firft injury, might have wrefted thofe anathemas from him, involuntarily; but before the fecond occafion prelected itfelf, his fury had had time to abate, and he then reftrains his fpeech within the bounds of a jufufiable refentment. ACT III. SCENE II. 'The Fool. Here's a night, that pities neither wife men, nor fools. He mud be very ignorant of human life, who coes not know, that as the fun jbines equally on the juft and on the unjujl, fo ficknefs, perils, and afflictions are alike the cafual portion of the good and bad, the wife and foolifh. But then all this happens without the leaft manner of imputation upon Providence — For this world is not a ftate of rtiribution — And, in reality, it would be a moll uncomfortable reflection, if it was ; for then we could have no reafon to prefume a fond and flatter- ing hope upon a better. SCENE III. Lear, in the midjl of thunder and lightning. "Let the great gods, That keep this dreadful pother o'er our heads, Find out their enemy now — Tremble, thou wretch, That haft within thee undivulged crimes, Unwhipt of juftice. Hide thee, thou bloody hand, Thou perjure, and thou f.mular of virtue, That art inceftuous. Caitiff, ihake to pieces, That under covert and convenient feeming, Hath prattifed on man's life ! Clofe pent-up guilts, Rive your concealing continents, and alk fe dreadful fummoners grace. Can LEAR. 123 Can there be a finer pafiage, or a more admo- nitory one, than this ? If, upon all our dangers or calamities, we mould enter thus into a The lamentable change is from the bed ; The word returns to laughter. Shakefpeare give? us, here, a poetical paraphrase en the flattering c !d Fmglifh proverb, that when things are at the r.vor/1, they'' 11 rner.d. He has com- menced the fpeech with a noble and l.beral fenti- ment, and concludes it with a reflection drawn from the adage, in thefe lines : World, worid, O world ! But that thy ftrange mutations make us wait * thee, Life would not yield to age. f States of life free from diftrefs, and likely to continue fo. * Wait, inilead of hate. Theobald. That LEAR. 127 That is, If the viciffitudes of life did not furTer us to amufe oilr fufferings ftill with hope, few- would have patience enough to wait till old age fhould bring its flow relief to all our cares. * * * Enter Glofter blind, and led by an old Man. Old Man. You cannot fee your way. Gloper. I have no way, and therefore want no eyes— «■ I ftumbled when I faw. Full oft 'tis feen Our maims "J- fecure us ; and our mere defects Prove our commodities. This is a truth often verified in life, but the mod general inftances are, that women and children 3re fafer from harms, than men are — They hazard lefs, from being lefs able to achieve. Glofter. As flies to wanton boys, are we to the Gods j They kill us, for their fport. This is a moft impious and unphilofophic re- flection. Poor Glofter feems, by this r -prefiion, to have been rather foured, than foftenc ;, by his misfortunes; which his attempted fuiciae after- wards proves (till further. Such a ftntiment rnuft, certainly furprize us, in Shakefpeare, when uttered by a perfon of fo good a character as Glofler — It could not fo offend, in the mouth of Edmund, tho' better not fpoken at all. * • * Glofter, 'when he has given his purfe to the guide. Heavens deal fo ftill ! Let the fuperfluous \ and luft-dieted man, That braves [| your ordinance, that will not fee, Becaufe he does not feel, feel your power quickly : \ Maims, inflead of mean. Johnfon. \ Superfluous, for juper abundant. || Braves, inftead of Jlaves. Warburton. G 4 So 128 LEAR. So distribution fhould undo excefs, And each man have enough. Lear had before given us the fame moral, as taken notice of in my remark on the Fifth Scene of the former A£t ; but I have quoted this paffage, notwithstanding, as containing a fentiment which cannot be too often inculcated. Offer it as a pro- lo/ition, and all the world will agree with you in the precept ; but make it a propofal, and how few will join iffue in the praflice ! SCENE II. Albany and Goneril. When this good Duke is reproaching his wife, here, for the barbaious treatment (lie had given her father, (he interrupts him with, No more— 'Tis foolifh. To which he replies, very juftly, Wifdom and goodnefs to the vile feem vile; Filths favour but themfelves It is, indeed, too much the horrid nature of vice andfolly, not only to rejoice in its own wickednefs and weaknefs, but, as Albany fays, to depreciate all wifdom and goodnefs in others. The Moor would have all faces black. He fays, further on in the fame fpeech, If that the Heavens do not their vifible fpirits Send quickly down to tame thefe vile offences, Humanity mull: perforce prey on itfelf, Like monfters of the deep. This fentiment was as emphatically expreiTed, before, on the clofe of the lafl: Scene of the former Act, by two mean attendants who were witneffes to the cruelties exercifed by Cornvval and Regan, on LEAR. 129 on dorter's eyes ; but I forbore to quote it, till I came to this paffage. Manent tivo Servants. \Jl Serv. I'll never care what wickednefs I do, If this man come to good. 2d Ser.m of a people, that rebels never think they can fufficiently fecure themfelves againlt it. From whence the common faying, thai princes feldotn remove from a prifon, but to a grave. This thought is well expreffed in the following fpeech : Edmund to Albany, ixiho commands bim to deliver • up his prif oners. Sir, I thought it fit To fend the old and miferable king To fome retention, and appointed guard ; Whofe age has charms in it, whofe title more, To pluck the common bofoms on his fide, And turn our impreft: lances in our eyes, Which do command them. SCENE VIII. After Edgar has wounded and vanquifhed Ed- mund, he makes the following reflection : The gods. are juft T and of out federal* vices Make.inftruments to fcourge us. There have been fuch frequent inftances in life, of the above observation, that thofe vices which we have mod indulged ourfelves in, have become the peculiar means of our chafUfement, that it might naturally lead us into a belief, that this may, poffibiy, be one, among the many fecret ways of Providence, with its creatures. * I have ventured to make a flight alteration here; becaufe the word pie af ant, in the Text, had no relation to the fpeech, as tar as 1 have quoted it; befides, that the exprefiion I have fubfti- tuted, renders the maxim more general. At LEAR. 137 At leaft, the adaptions have often been fo very extraordinary and remarkable, that it might tempt one to fuppofe there muff, have been fomething more than the common cafualty or contingency of events, in fuch cafes. I could wifh, however, for the fake of morals, to encourage the perfuafion, and render it univerlal. * * * Albany, Edgar and Edmund. Edgar, giving an account of his lafi interview ivith his father. Never, O fault, revealed myfelf to him, Until fome half hour paft ; when I was armed, Not fure, though hoping of this good fuccefs, I afked his blefling, and from fii ft to laft, Told him my pilgrimage. But his flawed heart, Alack, too weak the conflict to fupport. 'Twixt two extremes of paffion, joy and grief> Burft fmilingly. Edmund. Speak you on, You look as you had fomething more to fay. Albany. If there be more, more woeful, hold it in ; For I am almoft ready to diffdve, Hearing of this. Edgar. This would have feemed a period. But fuch As love to amplify another's forrow, To much would add much more, And top extremity * I The difference of natures, between Albany, a man of virtue, and, confequently, of a compaf- fionate difpofition, and Edmund, a vicious per- fon, and, of courfe, of blunted feelings, is well * The Text has been altered here by Doctor Warburton, much to the advantage of its lenfe and perfpieuity. marked *3 8 LEA R. marked in the above dialogue. The latter would have the fad ftory continued, but the former in- treated to hear no more of it. And Edgar has wtll obferved upon thefe oppofed characters, in the preface he makes to the fecond part of his tale. This would have feemed a period, &c. SCENE IX. The fame Albany, however, immediately after, upon feeing the dead bodies of Goneril and Regan brought in, fays, This judgment of the Heavens that makes us tremble, Touches us not with pity. Here a hafty Reader might be apt to think, that the good Duke had forfeited his character for humanity, a little, in this inftance ; but there is fomething inimitably juft and fine in the paffage. We certainly feel ourfelves differently affe&ed to- wards the wretched in the common lot of life, and thofe who feem to be diftinguifhed as the more im- mediate objects of divine chaftifement. Our minds, in the latter cafe, become impreffed with a fort of pious awe, which restrains our compaflion, left the too free indulgence of it might feem to arraign the juftice of Providence. This is a trait of human nature, fo very little obvious to common capacities, that though all muffc have been fenfible of the feeling, fo few have had penetration enough to investigate the caufe, that I dare fay many have been afhamed to confefs it, as imputing it to a deficiency of tendernefs in their own hearts. SCENE R. *39 SCENE X. This P!ay concludes with the following mod excellent moral : Albany. All friends fhall tafte The wages of their virtue, and all foes The cup of their defervings. // tvere a confummation devoutly to be iviflied, that the examples of this precept were more nu- merous in the world, than they are. — 'Tis a pe- culiar reproach to the character which utters it, when ihey are not. Albany was a king. See my lair, reflection upon Henry the Fifth. T I M O N. * Dramatis Perfonae. MEN. TlMON. Alcibiades. Apemantus. Ventidius. lucullus. Lucius. Slmpronius. Senators. Poet. Painter. Flaviu*. Old Athenian. Stranger. Servants. WOMEN. None. [ .43] T I M O N. ACT I. SCENE I. Poet. W H E N we for recompence have praifed the vile, It ftains the glory in that happy verfe, Which amply fings the good. This remark is extremely juft ; that the flattery which parafites or needy clients are apt indifcrimi- nately to fquander upon their patrons, leffens the value of praife to the deferving few. We will admit a lover to compliment a miflrefs beyond her merits, becaufe he may be fnppofed, from the blindnefs of his paffion, not to intend any exagge- ration ; as has been already taken notice of, on a paflage in the preceding Play *. But, in every other fuch cafe, we fin with our eyes open ; and thereby offend againft that great and univerfal moral, which ought to be the principal rule both of our word?, our thoughts, and our actions — namely, Truth. In the continuance of the fame Scene, in a dia- logue between the Poet and a Painter, the former {ketches out the plan of a moral or dida&ic Poem he was then compofing, for the warning and in- flxucYion of his great patron, the Lord Timon ; in which there is much merit, both in the defign and * See Lear, A<3 I. Scene II. The lad remark on Cordelia's anfwer. con- i 4 4 TIMOR contrivance of the piece, as well as in the defcrip- tion of it. Poet. I have, in this rough work, fliaped out a man, Whom this beneath world doth embrace and hug With ampler!: entertainment. My free drift Halts not particularly *, but moves itfelf In a wide lea of wax f ; no levelled malice % Infects one comma in the courfe I hold, But darts § an eagle-flight, bold and forth on, Leaving no tract || behind. .... You fee how all conditions, how all minds, As well of glib and flippery natures f , as Of grave and auftere quality, tender down Their fervice to lord Timon ; his large fortune, Upon his good and gracious nature hanging, Subdues and properties to his love and tendance All forts of hearts j yea, from the glafs-faced flatterer ** To Apemantus, that few things loves better, Than to abhor himfelf ; even he drops down The knee before him, and returns in peace, More rich in Timon's nod I have, then, on a high and pleafant hill, Feigned Fortune to be throned. The bafe o' th' mount Is ranked ft with all deferts, all kind of natures, That labour on the bofom of this fphere, To propagate their ftates £J>~ Amongft them all, Whofe eyes are on thisfovereign lady fixed, * Halts net particularly, defigns no particular character. Johnf. •J" This alludes to the antient manner of writing, with an iron ftile on waxen tablets. Hanmer. % The fenfe of this expreffion has been already explained, in Note *, above. § I have changed the word flies, to darts, to avoid the tauto- logy between the verb and the noun flight ; befides that I think the expreffion is more emphatic of the image. || Trad, Shakefpeare takes the liberty ef ufing this word for track. ^J Natures, inftead of creatures. Hanmer. ** Glafs faced flatterer ; who receive their impreffions from their patron. •f-f Ranked, for ranged, or more properly arranged. %X To mend their conditions, or improve their fortunes. One T I M O N. 145 One do I perfoliate of Timon's frame, Whom Fortune with her ivory hand wafts to her, Whofe prefent grace to prefent flaves and fervants Tranflates his rivals All thofe which were his fellows but of late, Some better than his value, on the moment, Follow his ttrides ; his lobbies fill with 'tendance J Rain facrificial whifperings * in his ear j Make facred even his ftirrup ; and through him Drink the free air -f. When Fortune, in her fhift and change of mood, Spurns down her late beloved ; ail his dependants, Which laboured after to the mountain's top, Even on their knees and hands, let him flip down, Not one accompanying his declining foot. Painter. 'Tis common. A thoufand moral paintings I can fliew, That fliall demonftrate thefe quick blows of Fortune, More pregnantly than words — Yet you do well To fhew lord Timon that mean eyes have ktn The foot above the head. The firft fpeech in the above dialogue, well defcribes the general and truly moral fattre, and properly diftingui fh.es it from the b?ftard, or in- vidious kind of perfonal invective, It) led the libel or lampoon .* My free drift Halts not particularly, &c. SCENE II. Timon, upon hearing of his friend Ventidius being thrown into a gaol, fays to the meffenger, Commend me to him, I will fend his ranfom ; And being enfranchifed bid him come to me. * Sacr'ficial tuhif/^rwgs, offer up their pnayers, and vow gifts to his altar, as if he was a God. Shakefpeare fays, in Antony and Cleopatra, of the Queen's women, They make their bends adortngs. f Seem only to live upon his breath. Vol. II. H 'Tis U6 T I M O N. lis not enough to help the feeble up, But tofupport him after. The laft lines contain a noble fentiment of friendfhip, charity, and generofity — It has merit enough in itfelf, to fland alone ; but would have double the effect on an hearer, if pronounced by a perfon of a more prudent and provident character. This thought is beautifully expreffed, in an old Elegy written on the good bifhop Boulter, who died Primate of Ireland, fome years ago : » . ■ " He thought it mean, ** Only to help the poor to beg again." Timon fays, foon after, in the fame dialogue, This gentleman of mine hath ferved me long, To build his fortune I will drain a little, For 'tis a bond in men. And again, in Scene V. (for I chufe to collet like fentiments under the fame head) he fays to Ventidius, who comes to thank him for his friend- ihip, and to repay the debt, You miftake my love ; I gave it freely, ever ; and there's none Can truly fay he gives, if he receives. But to return to our former Scene — When Timon afks the old Athenian whether his daughter likes the young man that courts her, he replies, She is young and apt— Our own precedent paffions do inflruct us, What levity's in youth. This is a fenfible and philofophic reflection, and mould be more attended to, than it generally is : for there are no perfons fit to educate, to guide, or inftrud young people, but thofe who have not for- gotten T I M O N. 147 gotten their own youth. Parents and grand-parents are apt, too often, to require their children and grand-children (hould benefit of their earned know- ledge and long experience, and lb go on from thence, improving ftill in fenfe and virtue. It "would be a happy thing, indeed, if we could put morals on the foot of fcience, which is thus pro- grefTive; but they mutt be very ignorant of human nature, who expect it. " Old folks," as an ingenious modern author cxprefTes it, " would have young ones as wife as '* themfelves ; without confidenng that they mud " befools, if they were fo *." Meaning, for he does not flay to explain himlelf, that they mull be perfons of dull, phlegmatic natures, witloutpaf- fions, without ferifibility, and conltquently inca- pable of improvement or virtue. Whenever I have happened to obferve what are called the virtues of age to be innate in \outh, I have naturally expecTie-d to meet with the vices of it there alfo ; and have but rarely found any one of fuch character uninfected with felfillinefs or avarice. When Timon receives a portrait from the Painter, he makes a fatirical refle&ion upon it, which, though too juft in itfelf, feems to be a good deal out of character in him, at that time; as being previous to the experience which foon after might have inftru&ed him to have made it. The painting is almoft the natural man; For fince diflionour trafficks with man's nature, He is but outfide ; pencil 2d figures are Even fuch as they give out. * The Friends, or Original Letters, Vol. II. Letter lkxix. H 2 Apemantus, i 4 3 T I M O N. SCENE III. Apemantus, on feeing and hearing much em- bracing and profeffing between Timon and Alcibi- ades, mutters thus to himfelf: That there fhould be fmall love amongft thefe fvveet knaves, and all this courtefy ! The ftiainofman is bred out into baboon and monkey. Sterne faid of French politenefs, that it might be compared to a Jmooth coin ; it bad loji all mark of character. To which I think we may add, that courtefy, like counters, by having attained a cur- rency in the world, have come at length to bear an equal rate, we might fay, a fuperior one, with pieces of intrinfic value ; fo that one who mould make a difference between them in the modern traffic of life, would be looked upon as a mere virtuofe, who preferred an Otbo to a Georgius. We muft take up with the world, at prefent, as ■we do with the ftage, to which it has fo often been compared. There is a fable in both ; and if the actors but perform their perfnnated characters well, we are not to quarrel with them for not exhibiting their natural ones, SCENE V. The noble Timon, being rendered uneafy at the too fervile deferences paid him by his clients, juftly fays, Nay, ceremony was but devifed, at firfl, To fet a glofs on faint deeds, hollow welcomes ; Recanting goodnefs, ibrry ere 'tis fiiewn ; : where there is true friendfhip, there needs none. There is a parallel thought in the Merchant of Venice, taken notice of before, in my lafr. remark eh that Plav. Further TIMOR 149 Further on in this Scene, there occurs a paffage which well deferves to be quoted, but needs no note. Timon, Lucius, and others. Lucius. Might we but hive the happinefs, my lord, that you would once ufe our hearts, whereby we rriight exprefs fome part of our zeals, we ihould think our- felves for ever perfecl *. Timon. O, no doubt, my good friends, but the gods themfelves have provided that I ihould have much help from you ; how had you bet-n my friends elfe ? Why have you that charitable title from thoufands, did I not chiefly belong to your hearts f ? 1 have told more of you to myfclf, than you c in with mpdefty fpeak in your own behalf. And thus far I confirm you. On, ye god?, think I, what need we have i\ny friends, if we ihould never have need of them ? They would moft re- femble fweet irdiruments ami/ up it) cafe, that keep their founds to themfelves. Why, I have oft v.irhed, myfelf poorer, that I might come nearer to you. We are born to do benefits. And what better of properer can we call our own, than the riches of our friends ? O, what a precious -comfort 'tis to have fo many, like brothers, commanding one another's fortunes ! O joy, e'en made away ere 't can be born. Mine eyes cannot hold water. SCENE VII. Apemantus. Oh, that men's ears ihould be To counfel deaf, but not to flattery ! It is, indeed, an unhappy reflection, to think how few examples there are in life, to controvert this maxim. If the firft were not the cafe, there would be no fuch tiling 2s the latter ; for men would then deferve the praife they get. * Th3t is, arrived at the perfe&ion of happinefs. f The fenfe of this paffage, in the original text, is made clearer by an alteration of Doctor Johnfon's. H 3 ACT i 5 o T I M O N. ACT II. 5CEP I. The following fpeech may ferve to hint a com- mon truth, that all gift s or prefents from inferiors, my be considered but as petitions to their fuperiors. Senator. If I want gold, fteal but a beggar's dog, And give it Timon ; why, the dog coins gold. If I would fell my horfe, and buy ten more Better than he, why, give my horfe to Timon ; Afk nothing, give it him, it foals me ftraight Ten able horfe. SCENE IV. The honed and anxious fteward of Timon makes a refle&ion here, which the experience of all times hath too fully vouched. Flanj. Heavens! have I faid, the bounty of this lord! How many prodigal bits have flaves and peafants This night englutted! Who, now, is not Tim-on's? What heart, head, fword, force, means, but is lord Timon's ? Great Timon's, noble, worthy, royal Timon's? Ah ! when the means are gone that buy this praife, The breath is gone whereof this praife is made ; Feaft-won, feaft-loft ; one cloud of winter fhowers, Thefe flies are couched °. SCENE V. When the reduced and unhappy Timcn finds himfelf involved in poverty and diftrefs, lie direcls his fteward to call upon the Body of the Senators, who had fhared his bounties, for its afliftance in this exigence; in anfwer to which the fteward ac- quaints him, that he had taken the liberty to do this, already, upon his own prior knowledge in the fitua- tion ot his affairs. The account he then proceeds * Couched, fmothered. to T I M O N. 151 to give of the reception his application had met with amongff. thefe Jhadows of friendfhip, is fuch, I am forry to fay, as thofe who have ever been under a neceftity of making the fame experiment, will readily acknowledge to be genuine. Faint expref- fions of good will, with a ftrong reproof for extra- vagances, which they themfelves had both en- couraged and partaken of, and finally clofed with an abfolute denial of relief. Flaw. They anfwer in a joint and corporate voice, That now they are at fall, want treafure, cannot Do what they would; are forry— You are honourable— But yet they could have wifhed— They know not — Something hath been amifs — A noble nature May catch a wrench — Would all were well— 'Tis pity — And fo intending * other ferious matters, After diftaiteful looks, and thefe hard fractions f, With certain half-caps, and cold-moving nods, They froze me into filence. To which Timon replies, with a competent knowledge of human nature ; for he feems to be infpired here, as before t : Thefe old fellows Have their ingratitude in them hereditary § ; Their blood is caked, is cold, it feldom flows ; 'Tis lack of friendly warmth they are not kind ; And nature, as it grows again tow'rd earth, Is fafhioned for the journey, dull and heavy. After having thrown out this ftritture againft Age and Avarice, he defires his ftewatd to apply to Ventidius, a young man lately come into the pof- * Intending for attending to. •f- Fraflions of freed), as you are honourable — tlcy cculd have wijbed — 'tis pity, &c. % See the lad paflage of Scene II. of the former Aft, with the remark upon it. § By hereditary he means naturally, or connate with old age. H 4 feflion 15* TIMOR feffion of a large fortune, whom he had juft re- deemed from the miferies of a gaol, and reflrains him only to borrow from him the exa£t fum he had before paid for his releafe, faying, Ne'er fpeak or think, That Timon's fortunes 'mong his friends can fink. To which the more experienced fteward replies to himfelf, Would I could not ! That thought is bounty's foe ; Being free itfelf, it thinks all others fo. The fame fentiment is well exprefled by Zanga, in the defcription he gives of his conqueror : " Is not Alonzo rather brave than cautious, " Honefr. than fubtle ; above fraud himfelf , " S/otv, therefore, to fufped it in another?'''' The Revenge. ACT III. SCENE I. "When Ventidius has declined to lend his afli (lance, (though this eircumftance is only hinted at, but not produced upon the fcene) Timon difpatches the ileward * to Lucullus, another young man of pro- mising hopes ; who anfwers in the fame drain with the evafive and farcaflical reply given before by the Senators, as related in the Fifth Scene of the pre- ceding acl ; pleading incapacity, and reprehending the too profufe liberality of Timon. After which he forces fome pieces into Flavius's hand, by way of bribing him to pretend to his mafler, that he had not met with him ; and then goes off. Upon which the honed and indignant fleward, flinging away the money, cries out, * In the text, this perfon's name is Flaminius, but I have here diltinguidied him from Flivius, to avoid a confufion of perfons under the fame character of fteward. May T I M O N. 153 May thefe add to the number which may fcald thee ! Let molten coin be thy damnation, Thou difeafe of a friend, and not himfelf ! Has friendfhip fuch a faint and milky heart, It turns * in lefs than two nights? O, ye gods ! I feel my matter's paflion. This (lave Unto this hour has my lord's meat in him : Why fhould it thrive, and turn to nutriment, When he is turned himfelf to poifon ? O ! may difeafes only work upon it, And when he's fick to death, let not that part Of nurture my lord paid for, be of power To expel licknefs, but prolong his hour ! The generous and feeling mind mud naturally fympathize with the warmth of refentment, heie expreffed, though its moral and charity may retrain it from concurring in the anathemas of it. I cannot quit this fcene, till I have remarked upon the character of Ventidius, as represented by two feeming contradictory circumftances, in the firfr. and fecond A£ts. In the former he fhews his honefly and gratitude to his benefactor, by offering to repay the money which had been given to redeem his liberty f : } and here he betrays the very reverfe of thefe principles. Is Shakefpear incontinent? No. 'Tis nature fllll. Ventidius had juft then fucceeded to an ample patri- mony. A hidden afflux of fortune, efpecudly to a perfon newly emerging from diftrefs, is apt to iwtli and enlarge the heart at firft ; but then in mean minds it is as apt to mrink and contra6: it as fud- denly again. * Turn; — aJllrfling to milk's growing Pmr. 'f- . c cene V. of the Play; but only hinted at here, in orie^. ■cxcurfiouofroin See introducing Tinqonte tint r. , - ito.the cf^u 154 T I M O N. SCENE II. Enter Lucius, and three Strangers. That difingenuous nature in mankind, which prompts to cenfure thofe vices in other?, which themielves are capable of, is well expofed here. When the fir ft ftranger has mentioned the for- lorn ftale of Timon's fortunes, and related the ftory of Lucullus's unkindnefs towards him, Lucius ex- claims with furprize, What a ftrange cafe was that ! Now, before the gods, I am afhamed on't. Denied that honourable man ! There was very little honour fhewn in that. For my own part, I mud needs confefs I have received fome finall kindneiTes from him, as money, plate, jewels, and fuch like trifles, nothing comparing to his; yet had he not miftook him, and fent to me -f, 1 fhould ne'er have denied his occafions fo many talents. But immediately after, in the fame fcene, upon application made to himfelf by Servilius, to the fame purpofe, he thus defends his purfe : What a wicked % beaft was I, (/peaking to the mef- fenger) to disfurniih myielf againfl fo good a time, when I might have fhewn myielf honourable ? How unluckily it happened, that I fhould purchafe the day before for a little dirl §, and undo a great deal of honour ! Servilius, now, before the gods, I am not able to do The more beaft I fay 1 was fending to ufe lord Timon myfelf, thefe gentlemen can witnefs ; but I would not, for the wealth of Athens, 1 had done it now. Commend me bountifully to his good lordfhip, and I hope his honour will conceive the faireft of me, becaufe I have no power to be kind. And tell him this from me, I count it one of my greatelt. afflictions, that I cannot pleafure fuch an honourable gentleman. Good Servilius, -f- The fenfe is corre&ed here by DcStor Johnfon's alteration of the text in a note. J IV cieJ for unlucky. k Dirt, inftead of part. Theobald. will TIMOR «55 will you befriend me lb far as to ufe my own words to him ? Then turning to the firfl: (tranger, he fays, what is too generally experienced through life, True, as you faid, Timon is fhrunk, indeed ; And he that's once denied will hardly fpeed. Upon Lucius and Servilius's going out, the fol- lowing dialogue is held between the remaining perfons ; in which fome Jcandalum magnatums are thrown out againfl: the dignity of human nature. Firfl Stranger. Do you obferve this, Hoftilius ? Second Stranger. Ay, too well. Firfl Stranger. Why this is the world's foul ; And juft of the fame piece is ev'ry flatterer's fpirit, Who can call him his friend, That dips in the fame diih ? for, in my. knowing, Timon has been this lord's father, And kept his credit with his purfe, Supported his eftate ; nay, Timon's money Has paid hi^ men their wages. He ne'er drinks But Timon's filver treads upon his lip — And yet, oh, fee the monflrouinefs of man, When he looks out in an ungrateful fhape! He does deny him in refpecl: of his *, What charitable men afford to beggars. 1 Third Stranger. Religion groans at it. Fir ft Stranger. For mine own part, I never tafted Timon in my life, Nor any of his bounties came o'er me, To mark me for his friend ; yet, I proteft, For his right noble mind, illuftrious virtue, And honourable carriage, Had his neceffity made ufe of me, I would have put my wealth into partition f, And the belt half lhould have attorned J to him s * In refi>eSi of his, of Lucius's fortune. f Partition, fubftituted for dor.aticn. Maimer. j j4iottt.il, intend of returned. Warbm ;-..«. 156 TIMOR So much I love his heart — But I perceive Men now mult learn with pity to difpenfe, For policy * fits above confcience. This latter ioeech favours too much of the former one of Lucius ; and, as trie Queen fays in Ham et, the gentleman dot b pro) efs too much; but we fhall charitably accept it as fincere, fince the fpeaker's virtue has not been put to the proof. SCENE III. Sempronius, another of Timon's friends, is here affailed, who evades the requeft by pleading lur- prize that he fhould be the firft perlon applied to on fuch an exigence, before Lucius, Lucullus, and Ventidius, who had each of them fo much higher obligations to his ferv ces than himfelf. But being beaten out of that argument, by being informed of their all having been before touched, and found bafe metal, as the meffenger tells him, he then makes uie of a device not uncommon in fuch cafes, to pretend ti quarrel, or affe£f. a jealoufy with a perfon, in order to have one's refentment pafs as an excufe for refilling the favour required. Semfironlus. How ! denied him ? Ventidius, Lucullus, Lucius, all denied him ? And does he fend to me ? Three .' Hum- It ihews but little love or judgment in him. Muft I be his laft refuge? His friends, like phyficians, Thrice f give him over— Muft I take th' cure upon me? H' has much difgraced me in't — I'm angry at him — He misjht have known my place. I fee no fenfe for't, But his occafions might have wooed me firft ; For, in my conference, I was the firft man That e'er received gift from him ; And does he think (0 backwardly of me, That I'll requite it laft ? No— <* Policy, for fdjxjhvefs. -jj- Tbrtce, infte*fl of thrive. Johnfosi. T I M O N. 157 So it may prove an argument of laughter To th' reft, and 1 'mon^it lords be thought a fool. I'd rather than the worth o. thrice the fum He had fent to me tirtt, but for my wnd's fake; Pd fuch a courage li then to do him good— But now, return — And with their faiot reply this anfwer join; Who 'bates mine honour, mall not know my coin. When Semproptus retires, the fervant who had brought the meflage to him makes fome reflections, which, with many other intranets of the lame kind, in thcle writings, fhew that Shakefpeare was as pro- digal o l his wit and ientimenr, as Timon was of his favour and fortune, for he often fquanders them both upon clowns and lacqueys. Servant. Excellent ! your lordfliip's a goodly villain. The Devil knew what he did when he made man poli- tic*. He creffed f himfelf by't ; and I cannot think but that, in the end, the villarries of man will fet him clear J. How fairly this lord ftrives to appear foul ! takes virtuous copies to be wicked §. Like thole that, under hot ardent zeal, would fet whole realms on href. Of fuch a nature is his politic ** love — < This was my lord's belt hope ; now all are fled, Save the gods only ||||. SCENE IV. Another fentimental footman fent by one of Timon's creditors to prefs him for his debt, fpeaks ; || Courage, for heart, or good tuiJl. * Politic, again lor f elf Jb. Sec note laft but tv/o. T Cnjjed, for blcfjeJ himfelf, in the Romifh fenfe of the word. % Set him clear — Leave him no longer chargeable with the crime of tempting them. § By pretending a pique of honour, and a generous refentment, it 1 it having been firft applied to. f~, Alluding 10 religious wars, ** Politic, encore in the fame fenfe. ji| I have iranfpofed thele wo/ds for the fake of the meafure. 3d the text they (land thus, Stave onfy tl-> geds. , the 158 T I M G N. the following couplet, the laft line of which deferves to be made an adage of : I know my lord hath fpent of Timon's wealth, And noiv ingratitude makes it tvorfe than Jlealth. SCENE VI. Alcibiades, pleading before the Senate, for the life of a friend who had killed his antagonift in a fair rencounter, thus addrefies himfelf to the court : Health, honour, and compajfion to the Senate ! I am an humble fuitor to your virtues; For pity is the virtue of the laiv j And none but tyrants ufe it cruelly, Our author is always mofl remarkably ftrong in his exprefTion, and rich in his argument, upon the fubje£f. of this divine attribute of Mercy. Witnefs Portia's fpeech in the Merchant of Venice, Ifabella's in Meafure for Meafure, and feveral other paffages of the fame kind throughout his writings. To make pity the virtue of the law, is a fine idea, and a beautiful exprefficn. The argument for and againfr. the practice of Duelling, is here very philofophically urged on one fide, and as artfully evaded on the other. Senator. You undergo * too flrift a paradox, Striving to make an ugly deed look fair ; Your words have took Inch pains, as if they laboured To bring man-flaughter into form, and let quarrelling Upon the head of valour, which, indeed, Is valour misbegot ; and came into the world When feels and factions were but newly born. He's truly valiant, that can wifely fuffer The worft that man can breathe, and make his wrongs His outfides ; wear them, like his raiment, carelefsly ; And ne'er prefer his injuries to his heart, To bring it into danger. * Undergo, for uudertaht If T I M O N. 159 If wrongs be evils, and inforce us kill, What folly 'tis to hazard life for ill ? Akib. My lord Senator. You cannot make grofs fins look clear ; It is not valour to revenge, but bear. Akib. My lords, then, under favour, pardon me, If I fpeak like a captain. Why do fond men expofe themfelves to battle, And not endure all threatenings, 11 ep upon't, And let the foes quietly cut their throats, Without repugnancy ? But if there be Such valour in the bearing, what make we Abroad? Why then, fure, women are more valiant, That ftay at home ; If bearing carry it, then is the afs More captain than the lion ; and the felon, Loaded wi f h irons, wifer than the judge^ If wifdom be in fuffering*. I fhall fubmit this difficult punctilio of honour f to the decifion of my male Readers ; for, as a woman, I cannot be fuppofed to be a competent judge of it. However, I (hall venture to proceed fo far as to obferve, that as this piece of ancient chivalry is faid to have been originally inftituted for our defence, I mult contefs, I think it mould have relied there. Alcibhdes then concludes the above fpeech, by petitioning again for mercy : Oh, my lords, As you are great, be pitifully good ; Who < annot condemn rafhnefs, in cold blood? To kill, I grant, is fin's extremeft guit, But, in defence, by mercy 'tis moft julf. To be in anger is impiety ; But who is man that is not angry ? Weigh but the crime with this. * The texl has been much improved in this latter part, by Dottor Johnfon. ■j" Duelling. SCENE 160 T I M O N. SCENE VII. When Timon meets his late delinquent friends at the mock banquet he had prepared and preffed them to, he makes a jufl: farcafm, as well as a juftly provoked cne, upon the infincerity of their profef- fions. Senator. The fwallow follows not fummer more willingly than we your lordfhip. Timon, afide. Nor more willingly leaves winter — Such fummer-birds are men. He again carries on the fame {train, in the firft part of the grace he pronounces before the covers are taken off. Timon, The gods require our thanks — You great benefactors, fprinkle our fociety with thankfulnefs. For your own gifts make yourfelves praifed ; but relerve ftill to give, left your deities be delpifed. Lend to each man enough, that one need not lend to another ; for were your godheads to borrow of men, men would for fake the gods. When the difhes are expofed, filled only with warm water, he thus expreffes his refentment, in jufl defcription and apt epithets, for fuch guefts. May you a better feaft never behold, You knot of mouth friends ; fmoke, and luke-warm water Is your perfection *. This is Timon's laft ; Who ftuck and fpangled you with flatteries f, Waihes it off, and fprinkles in your faces Your reeking villainy. Live loathed, and long, . Molt fmiling, fmooth, detefted parafites, Courteous dellvoyers, affable wolves, meek bears, You fools of fortune, trencher-friends, time-flies t, Cap and knee flaves, vapours, and minute -jacks §. * That is, your perfect relemblance, -f- Flatteries, tor (entities, or favours. X Suit ver infects. § Machines of motion, which re i lent winding ap ; or rail T I M O N. 161 ACT IV. SCENE II. In this Scene, another of Timon's fervants, or rather one of Shakefpeare\*, delivers himfelf mod affectionately and affefitingly, upon the unhappy condition of his mafter. As we do turn our backs From our companion, thrown into his grave, So his familiars from his buried fortunes Slink all away ; leave their falfe vows with him, Like empty purfes pick'd ; and his poor felf, A dedicated beggar to the air, With his difeafe of all-fhunned poverty, Walks, like contempt, alone. SCENE III. There are fo many unfavourable pictures of the world already given by Shakefpeare, that though each of them may be very proper, in its refpe£tive place, to adorn the fable, and maintain the charac- ters in the feveral Dramas ; yet fome of them, it may be thought, might be fpared in a work of this general kind, which requires not fuch minute atten- tions : but as my fcope here is not only to inflruft the ignorant, to warn the unwary, and inculcate the moral of our author, both from his precepts and examples, but to do him honour alfo as a writer, 1 think it would be a fort of injuftice in me to fuffcr any paffage in him to remain unnoted, which, befides conducing to fuch preat ends, may ferve to fhew the fecundity of his powers and genius, which has enabled him to treat the fame fubje£r. in fo many different ways, with ftill new thoughts, and varied expreffion. The following fpeech is a beautiful inflance of this obfervation. * See my note following Sempronius's fpeech, in Scene III. of the foregoing Adt. Timon, ,6z T I M O N. Timon. Twinned brothers of one womb, Whofe procreation, refidence, and birth Scarce is dividant, touch with feveral fortunes, The greater fcorns the lefler Not even nature, To whom all fores lay fiege, can bear great fortune, But by contempt of nature *. Raife me this beggar, and denude f that lord, The fenator fhall bear contempt hereditary J, The beggar native § honour. It is the pafture lards the wether's fides, The want that makes him lean ||. Who dares, who dare In purity of manhood Hand upright, And fay, This man's a flatterer ? If one be, So are they all ; for every greeze ^[ of fortune Is fmoothed by that below. The learned pate Ducks to the golden fool. All is oblique ; There's nothing level in our curfed natures, But direct villainy. In the Sixth Scene following, he exclaims againft the world again : But myfelf, Who had the world as my confectionary, The mouths, the tongues, the eyes, the hearts of men At duty, more than I could frame employments j That numberlefs upon me ftuck, as leaves Do on the oak ; have, with one winter's bruin, Fallen from their boughs, and left me open, bare, For every florin that blows. * This fentence is obfcure. It means, that men, tho' confcious of the imperfection of human nature, when puffed up by fortune will defpile others for their common imperfections, as if they were themfelves exempt from them. ■f- Denude, (trip, or deprive him of his poffeffions. j He ufes the word hereditary here, with the fame latitude he has done before. See note 4th on Scene V. of Second A£r. In this place it means, that contempt is the ufual portion or patrimony of poverty. § Native, is ufed in the fame fenfe with hereditary, as above explained. || The text has been cleared of its difficulty, and much improved in its fenfe, in this pafTage, by ]j)o£tor Warburton. ve wine and wajfail $ to Macbeth ; leaving him in his natural (late, to be actuated by the temptation of ambition alone. * * * Macbeth, after he had committed the murder, fpeaking or the Grooms, who lay in the ante- chamber he had juft pafied through, fays, * Alluding to a Poem of our Author's, on the (lory of Tarquin and Lucrece, where he defcribes his flealing to her chamber in the dead ot night. And in Cymbeline he makes Jachimo fay, " Our Tarquin thus " I id fottly prefs the rufhes, ere he wakened " The chadity he wounded." [A& II. Scene II. "J" The Commentators have difagreed about the original line, in this place. I do not think an\ of thtm have fuffiuently fquared the fenfe to the expreflion. The liberty I have ventured to take with it, has at leaft rendered the paflage intelligible. \ Tr.e 'inrrtr he means, is the dread Jilencc that would be in- terrupted by the exclamation of the ftones, which his terror makes him here fuppofe pofiible. § Waflait, An antient beverage of ale, apples, and honey mixed. On- i82 MACBETH. One cried, God blefs us ! and Amen ! the other ; As they had feen me with thefe hang-man's hands, Lift'ning their fear— I could not fay Amen, When they did fay God blefs us • But wherefore could I not pronounce Amen P I had moit need of bleffing, yet Amen Stuck in my throat. This is natural — One of the mod horrid cir- cumftances of guilt, is that total fuppreffion a wicked perfon is apt to labour under, for a time, of the ability to pray. 1 fhould think that, from this very extraordinary circumftance, Divines might de- duce a good argument to ftrengthen the ChrifHan fyftem of theology. If, as the advocates for Natu- ral Religion, fay, our vices proceed from the vio- lence of our paffions merely, contrition, upon their fcheme, might immediately fucceed the gratifica- tion of our purpofe ; but, as we are taught that temptation arifes from the inftigation of an evil fpirit, the fiend has ftiil a further intereft in the poftponing of our repentance. Suicide muft cer- tainly be a ftrong inftance of this latter doctrine ; as it prompts ug, even contrary to the intent of nature, and the general fcope, both of our affec- tions, impreffions, and feelings, to the deftruttion of our own exigence. Macb. Met nought I heard a voice cry, /Jeep no more ! Macbeth dotb murder Jlsep — The innocent fleep— Sleep that knits up the ravelled fleeve * of care, The birth f of each day's life, fore labour's bath, Balm of hurt minds, great Nature's fecond courfe, Chief nourifher in life's feaft. In the firft part of my remark on the fecond Scene above, I have obferved upon the impreffions that a difturbed mind is apt to (lamp on our dreams * A loofe fkein of filk. Doctor Seward, \ Inflead of death. Warburton, and MACBETH. 183 and fight. This paffage adds our fenfe of hearing, alfo, to the teftimony of our confcience. Toward the latter end of this Scene, there is another hint given to the fame admonitory purpofe. Mach. Whence is that knocking I [Starting. How is't with me, when every noife appals me ? What hands are here ? Hah ! they pluck out mine eyes— I continued the quotation of the lafr. fpeech above but one, to the end of it, in order to treat my Reader with the beautiful defcription of deep, there given by our Author. And again, at the latter end of the Fifth Scene of the Third A& 3 Lady Macbeth fays to her hufband, You lack the feafon of all Nature, deep— The exprelTion here is not only poetical, but phi- lofophical alio ; for the vegetable world requires deep, or red, as well as the animal one. SCENE IV. Mach. The labour we delight in, phyficks pain. This expreffion is very juft, in general, but more particularly fo in the prefent cafe fuppofed, refpe&ing the offices of friendfhip and good will. H » pleafant, how eafy is duty, when infpirited by affection ! ACT III. SCENE II. The awe with which a bad man, though ever fo valiant, is naturally impreiTed by the fuperiority which virtue gives another brave man, is well de- pitted here : Mach. To be thus, is nothing ; But to be fafely thus — Our fears in Banquo Stick deep ; and in his royalty of nature Reigns ,84 MACBETH. Reigns that which would be feared. 'Tis much he dares ; And to that daundefs temper of his mind, He hath a wifdom that doth guide his valour To aft in fafety. There is none but he Whole being I do fear ; and, under him, My genius is rebuked. The text adds the allufion, here, at Antony's was by Cafar, which Dr. Johnfon very judicioufly rejects as fpurious. I agree with him— 1 do not think it is in Shakefpeare's fryle— The paflage is too warm and immediate, to admit of fo cold and remote an image. Befides, this is a foliloquy, and the fpeaker needed not to have explained his mean- ing to himfclf, fuppofing the expreflion of rebuked, had a reference to that idea. The general caufes which render men defperate, arifing from neceffiiies or vices, are here fet forth. Firji Murderer. I am one, Whom the vile blows and buffets of the world Have fo incenfed, that I am recklefs * what I do to fpite it. Second Murderer. And I another, So weary of difaftrous tuggs with Fortune f, That I would fet my life on any chance, To mend it, or be rid on't. SCENE III. The wretched condition of a mind not only la- bouring under the fenfe of guilt, but dreading the immediate chaftifement of it, is more ftrongly * Hcedlefs or carelef?. f This line is altered for the better, by Warbuiton. painted MACBETH. 185 painted in this Scene, than any where elfe in Shakefpeare. LaJ.y Macbeth fola. Nought's had, all's fpent, Where our defires are got without content. 'Tis fafer to be that which we deftroy, Than by deftruclion dwell in doubtful joy. Enter Macbeth. How now, my lord, why do you keep alone ? Of forrieft fancies your companions making ; Ufing thofe thoughts, which fhould, indeed, have died With them they think on ? Things without all remedy, Should be without regard — What's done, is done. Macb. We have fcotched * the fnake, not killed it— She'll clofe and be herfelf ; whiltl our poor malice Remains in danger of her former tooth. But let both worlds disjoint, and all things fuffer, Ere we will eat our meal in fear, and fleep In the affliction of thefe terrible dreams, That ihake us nightly — Better be with the dead, Whom we, to gain our place, have fent to peace, Than on the torture of the mind to lie In relllefs extafy f. Duncan is in his grave ; After life's fitful fever he fleeps well ; Treafon has done his worft ; nor fteel, nor poifon, Malice domeftic, foreign levy, nothing Can touch him further J ! O, full of fcorpions is my mind, dear wife ! SCENE V. The true fpirit of hofpitality is well defcribed, in the following expoftulation from Lady Macbeth to her hufband, upon his negle£t of the guefls : * To fcitcb, is to cut acrofs, to flafh or wound. -f- Extafy, Any ftrong perturbation or diftraction of the mind may be fo called, though tiie word is feldom ufed by any other wiiter, but as an exprtffion of pleafure or joy. % bee my fecond remark on Scene II. Ad I. of the former Play. My 1 86 MACBETH. My royal lord, You do not give the cheer ; the feaft is fold, That is not often vouched j while 'tis making 'Tis given with welcome — To feed, were beft at home* From thence, the fauce to meat is ceremony ; Meeting were bare without it. In the fame Scene, Macbeth, fpeaking in foli- loquy, upon the appearance of Banquo's ghoft, exprcffes a common notion, which, however, can- rot be too ftrongly inculcated in the mind of man ; as whatever tends to the fervice of religion or virtue, ceafes to be weaknefs or fu perdition, though perhaps ftri£r. philofophy may not aflift to Support it. It will hai blood — They fay, blood will have blood— Stones have been known to move, and trees to fpeak *; Augurs, that understand relations, have By magpies, and by choughs f, and rooks, brought forth The fecret'ft man of blood. SCENE VI. Hecate delivers a truth here, which would better have become a more moral fpeaker. But Shake- fpeare can " Gather honey from the weed, " And make a moral of the Devil himfelf." Hen. V. After having mentioned the magic arts by which fhe is drawing on Macbeth to his destruction, (he adds, He fhall fpurn fate, fcorn death, and bear His hopes 'bove wifdom, grace, and fear ; And you all know, fecurity Is mortal's chief eft enemy. * * * * See lafl line but two of the laft fpeech in Scene II. of the former AGt. f Cheugks, fea-gulls. A L 1 MACBETH. 187 ACT IV. SCENE II. Macbeth, upon hearing that Macduff had efcaped from his defign ag3inft his life, byfl)ing into England, makes a reflection, which though wickedly applied, in the prefent cafe, may, not- withstanding, if it is allowable to extract medicine from poifon, or gather honey from the weed, be confidered as a good general rule of action, in all enterprifes of moment. Time, thou anticipat'ft * my dread exploits. The flighty purpofe never is o'ertook, Unlefs the deed go with it. From this moment, The very firftlings of my heart fhall be The firftlings of my hand. And even now, To crown my thoughts with a£ts, be't thought and done ; The caftle of Macduff I will furprife, Seize upon Fife, give to the edge o' th' fword His wife, his babes, and all unfortunate fouls, That trace him in his line — No boafting like a fool ; This deed I'll do, before this purpofe cool. It was a faying of Charles the Vth, " That we " fhould deliberate under Saturn, but execute under " Mercury." SCENE III. In the following dialogue the Reader will meet with many juff., natural, and prudent reflections, too obvious to need any comment ; though, per- haps, thofe urged by Lady Macduff are carried a little too far, in the prefent exigence. Lady Macduff and Roffe. Lady Macduff, f peaking of her huflyands flight. What had he done, to make him fly the land ? Roffe. You muft have patience, madam. * Anticipate for prevent. Lady i88 MACBETH. Lady Macduff He had none, His flight was madnefs ; when our actions do not, Our tears do make us traitors *. Rojje. You know not, Whether it was his wifdom, or his fear. Lady Macduff. Wifdom ? To leave his wife, to leave his babes, His manfion and his titles, in a place From whence himfelf does fly ? — He loves us not ; He wants the natural touch ; for the poor wren, The molt diminutive of birds, will fight, Her young ones in her neft, againft the owl •}■— All is the fear, and nothing is the love ; As little is the wifdom, where the flight So runs againft all reafon. Roffe. My deareft coufin, I pray you fchool yourfelf ; but for your hufband, He's noble, wife, judicious, and beft knows The fitso' th' feafon. I dare not fpeak much further. . . ? I take my leave of you ; Shall not be long but I'll be here again — Things at the ivorji ivill ceafe, or elfe climb upward, To tvhat they ivere before. But when Lady Macduff is warned herfelf to fly, fhe begins, at firft, to reafon upon the propo- fition, as fhe had before done on her hufband's flight, by pleading the fecurity of her innocence ; but it becoming now ber own cafe, fhe quickly falls into a more prudent and rational manner of argu- ment upon ihe fubject — This is Nature. W hi the. % mould I fly ; I've done no harm. But I remember now, * Our laws put the fame conduction upon it — Flight is taken to imply a tacit comeflion of guilt ; and whenever this is the cafe it is always made one of the articles of the indictment, that the perfon charged with a ri£r, had fled for the fame. •f" See a parallel paflage, before quoted in thefe remarks " Unreafonable § creatures feed their young, &c. Henry VI. Part III. Aft II. Scene III. \ Whithtr for wherefore. § Unreaftnable for irraticnal. I'm MACBETH. 189 I'm in this earthly world, where to do harm Is often laudable ; to do good, fometime Accounted dangerous folly. Why then, alas! Do I put up that womanly defence, To fay I'd done no harm ? SCENE IV. The different natures of men, fhewn in the fame circumftances and fituations, are well difcriminated here. Malcolm and Macduff. Male. Let us feek out fome defolate fhade, and there Weep our fad bofoms empty. Macduff- Let us rather Hold faft the mortal fword, and like good men, Beftride our down-fall'n birth-dame*. Each new morn New widows howl, new orphans cry; newforrows Strike Heaven on the face f, that it refounds As if it felt with Scotland, and yelled out Like fyllables of dolor. Malcolm betrays the fame timidity of fpirit ftill further, in the continuation of this d'alogue, in re- futing 10 trull his penon with Macduff; though he fupports his apprehenfiohs, however, upon very reafonable grounds of diffidence. What I believe, I'll wail ; What know, believe ; nr,d what I can redrefs, As 1 iliall find the time to friend, I w.ll — What you have fpoke, it may be fo, perchance ; This tyrant, whole fole name blifters our tongues, Was once thought honeft : you have loved him well ; He hath not touched you yet. I'm young, but fomething You may deferve of him, through me, and wifdom J * Stand over and defend our country from its enemies. Doctor Johnfon has fupplied the hint of btt tl.-Jame y inftead of birth-doom^ which had no meaning. ■J" Aflfault echo. J And you might think it •wifdom, Shakefpeare often fets grammar at defiance. His text feldom needs improvement, though it fometimes requires explanation. To 190 MACBETH. To offer up a weak, poor, innocent lamb, T'appeafe an angry God. Macduff. I am not treacherous. Malcolm. But Macbeth is. A good and virtuous nature may recoil, In an imperial charge \. I crave your pardon. That which you are, my thoughts cannot tranfpofe§ } Angels are bright ftill, though the brighter! fell- Though all things foul fhould bear the brows of grace, Yet grace muft look (till fo ||. Macduff. I've loft my hopes. Malcolm. Perchance even there, where I did find my doubts. Why in that rawnefs fl left you wife and children, Thole precious motives, thofe ftrong knots of love, Without I es'.ve- taking ? I pray you, Let not my jealoufies be your dilhonours, But mine own fafeties. You may be rightly juft, Whatever I fhall think. Further on, he makes an admirable enumeration of thofe qualities which a good prince ought to be principally polTciTed of. Malcolm. The king-becoming graces, As juftice, verity, temperance, ftablenefs. Bounty, p^rfev'rance, mercy, loHinefs, Devotion, patience, courage, fortitude. This, indeed, is to be a king ! whofe firfl: fub- je£t;s mould be his own appetites and paflions. SCENE VI. Here follows a true, but melancholy defcription of a people fuflering under a ftate of anarchy and T The influence of kings may be too ftrong for virtue. § Tranfpije — Alter the nature of. || If you be honeft, rfery fufpicions touch you not. Appearances may deceive; for virtue can wear no garb but what hypocrify can affume. fl Rawnefs-— Unadvifedly, and unprovidedly. civil MACBETH. 191 civil war. The reader has met with many paflages of the fame kind, quoted in this work, before. Macduff, Malcolm, and Roffe, juft arrived in England. Malcolm to Roffe. Stands Scotland where it did ? Roffe. Alas, poor country ! Almoft afraid to know itfelf. It cannot Be called our mother, but our grave, where nothing, But who knows nothing, is once feen to fmile ; Where fighs, and groans, and fhrieks that rend the air, Are made, not mark'd ; where violent forrow feems ■ A modern extacy *; the dead man's knell Is there fcarce afk'd for whom ; and good mens lives Expire before the flower in their caps, Dying, or ere they ficken. Macduff. Oh, relation Too nice, and yet too true ! Malcolm. What's the neweft grief? Roffe. That of an hour's age doth hifs the fpeaker %i Each minute teems a new one. In the fame dialogue, when Roffe has given Mac- duff an account of the murder of his wife and children, at which he feems to (land petrified with forrow, Malcolm juftly warns him of the dan- gerous confequences of reftraining the natural fhews and expreflions of grief. Malolm. Merciful Heaven ! What, Man ! Ne'er pull your hat upon your brows- Give forrow words ; the grief that does not fpeak, Whifpers the o'er-fraught heart, and bids it break. . . Difpute it like a man. To which Macduff as juflly replies, without any difgrace to philofophy or religion : * Alluding to the grimace of the Fanatics. Warburton. % For telling an itdjltry. I ihall i 9 a MACBETH. I fliall do fo ; But I muji feel it as a man. I cannot but remember fuch things were, That were moft precious to me. But he then proceeds to a reflection, which, though natural and common for the unhappy to make, in fuch circumftances, offends againft both the principles above-mentioned, philofophy and religion, as being at once impious and unjuft: Did Heaven look on, And would not take their part ? Lear, on feeing Cordelia dead, makes an expof- tulation of the fame fort : " Why fhould a dog, a horfe, a rat have life, " And thou no breath at all * ?" But all this arifes from a too prefumptuous and over-weening notion of our own confequence in the creation. The pride of man prompts each to con- fider himfelf as the principal object, of Providence ; and we would all of us wreft the ftated order of Na- ture, to ferve our own purpofes. But the true phi- lofophy of the matter is, as Pope very juflly ex- preffes it, in different parts of his Effay on Man, " The Univerfal Caufe " Acts not by partial, but by general laws. . . . " And fees with equal eye, as Lord of all, " An hero p^rifh, or a fparrow fall ; " Atoms or fyftems into ruin hurl'd, " And now a bubble burft, and now a world." la the laft Scene of the Play. ACT MACBETH. 193 ACTV. SCENE I. The effects of a guilty and difturbed mind are extremely well reprefented here, in the perfon of Lady Macbeth, by the words and actions with which fhe betrays her crime, while fhe is walking in her deep. '« A great perturbation in Nature,'* as her Doctor fays, " to receive at once the benefit " of fleep, and do the effects of watching." The Do£tor, upon difcovering the caufe of her malady, very juftly declares her to be no fit patient for his art, and turns her over, accordingly, to Heaven and her confefibrs for a cure, laying, Unnatural deeds Do breed unnatural troubles ; infected minds To their deaf piliows will difcharge their fecrets. More needs Hie the Divine than the Pbyjician. God, God forgive us all. And again, in the Third Scene, the fame fubje£r. is continued. Macbeth. How does your patient, Doctor? Doflor Not fo fick, my lord, As (lie is troubled with thick-coming fancies, That keep her from her reft. Macbeth. Cure her of that — Canft thou not minifter to a mind difeafed, Pluck from the memory a rooted forrow, Raze out the written troubles of the brain, And with fome fweet oblivious antidote Cleanfe the full * bofom of that perilous fluff, Which weighs ipon the heart? Dodor. Therein the patient Muff minifter unto hi: ifelf. Macbeth. Throw phytic to the dogs, I'll none of it. * The ward is /?»$V, in the Text, which I have ta!:en the liberty of changing to full, to avoid the tautblogy which occurs at the end of the line. Vol. II. K SCENE 19+ MACBETH. SCENE II. The fituation and defcription of a wicked ufur- per, involved in a domeflic war to defend himfelf, is finely painted here. Cathnefs and Angus, /peaking of Macbeth. Cath. Some fay he's mad ; others, that leffer hate him, Do call it valiant fury ; but, for certain, He cannot buckle his diftempered caufe Within the belt of rule. Angus. Now does he feel His fecret murder flicking on his hands; Now minutely revolts upbraid his faith-breach ; Thofe he commands move only in command, Nothing in love ; norno does he feel his title Hang loofe about him, like a giant's robe Upon a dtvarfifl) thief. Cath* Who then fhall blame His peftered fenfes to recoil and ftart, When all that is within him does condemn Itfelf for being there ? SCENE III. But in this Scene, the tyrant gives a jufr. and fhock^ng defcription o. fuch a character himfelf, fpeaking in and of his own perfon : Macbeth. I have lived long enough~-My way f of life Is fall'n into the fear J, the yellow leaf; And that which lfiould accompany old age, As honour, love, obedience, troops of friends, I mull not look to have ; but, in their Head, * This fpeecb is fuoken by Monteih in the original, but I thought it needlefs to encumber the Drama with an additional iter, for fo few lines. f Way, for Jtage % Scat; is dry : by which he alludes to the autumn of his life, as is plain from the next expteffion of tbtyellnu leaf. Curfes, MACBETH. 195 Curfes, not loud, but deep ; mouth-homage §, breath, Which the poor heart would fain deny, and dare not. SCENE V. The effect, of habitual guilt, in blunting all the fine feelings of the human heart, is well noted here. Macbeth, on bearing a cry within. I have almoft forgot the tafte of fears ; The time has been, my fenfes would have cool'd To hear a night-fhriek, and my fell* of hair Would at a dimiai treatife roufe and ftir, As life were in't. I have fupped full with horrors; Direnefs, familiar to my flaught'rous thoughts, Cannot once ftart me. He then falls into a reflection on the nature of human life, which prefents us with but a melan- choly profpe6t of our prefent frate of exigence. To-morrow, and to-morrow, and to-morrow, N Creeps in this petty pace from day to day, To the laft fyllable of recorded time ; And all our yefterdays have lighted fools The way to dufty death. Out, out, brief candle ! Life's but a walking ffiadow, a poor player, That Units and frets his hour upon the ftage, And then is heard no more ! It is a tale Told by an idiot, full of found and fury, Signifying nothing! § I have fubftituted homage for honour, as the latter word is ma^e ufe ol juft before. * Fell is the fcalf or /kin of the head, through which the hair grows. K 2 POST- 156 M A C B E T H. POSTSCRIPT. As I cannot bear the thought of fuffering the laft gloomy paffage cited in the foregoing remarks, to dwell upon my Reader's mind, which, by tempt- ing him to repine at the ways of Providence, might give him caufe to lament his having ever been lent into fuch a uizrld of zvoe, I fhall endeavour to ar- gue, as far 2s I am able, againft fuch reprefen- tations of lite as our Author frequently gives us of our condition in it, and in which he is too gene- rally feconded by many of the more profefTed writers on Morality. Thefe philofophers are apt to fpeak too fe- verely, upon the fum of human life ; but only ieern to condemn it from diftinct parts, and par- ticular inftances, which vice, folly, paffions, ca- sualty, or intemperance, too often furnifh for ob- fervation. But I fhall here venture to treat this cf. more impartially, by confidering it upon the whole, and according to the general flate or con- dition in which the great Author of Nature has moll benevolently iupplied it to us. We are created with five perfect fenfes, and the world is llored with variety of objects to af- ford pleafures to them all ; and thefe we are naturally framed to retain the pofieffion of, even to the full term of life prefcribed by the Pfalmift, of ibreefccre years arid ten ; till that period of lime, when we may ourfelves become weary of a longer continuance here, not from the difguji of our difappointment, but merely from the jatiety of our enjoyments. And though our ftrength may then, or even before, become weaknefs, it may rot, however, be encumbered either with decre- pitude or pain : and even to the laft we may be iliii capable of ufing as much exercife, as age requires ; MACBETH. 197 requires ; or if any accidental ail fhould render more neceffary, an horfe may reftore the full be- nefit, at lead, though perhaps not the ufe, of our limbs. Let us add to thefe, the pleafur^ of hope, ima- gination, reflection, reading, feience, conversation, love, friendfhip, " Relations dear, and all the charities " Of father, fon, and brother." Even our mod moderate fatisfa&ions and enjoy- ments, though their impreffions may not be fo fenfibiy felt, during their continuance, yet if their moment be calculated, by multiplying the degree into the duration, we (hall find the amount to exceed the quantity of more poignant but fliorter fenfations. Let us alfo take into our account the viciffitude and variety of feafons, with the alteration of day and night ; " Sweet is the breath of morn, her riling fweet, " With charm of earlieft birds ; pleafant the fun, " When hrfl on this delightful land he ipreads " His orient beams, on herb, tree, fruit, and flower, " Glitt'ring with dew ; fragrant the fertile earth " After foft fhow'rs ; and fweet the coming on " Of grateful evening mild j then filent night " With this her folemn bird, and this fair moon, " And thefe the gems of Heaven, her ltarry train." Thus are defcribed the delights of Eden, by a Poet fo enamoured of the beauties of Nature, that he has certainly exerted his utmoit powers to enhance her charms ; and yet even Milton's ima- gination was not able to tranfcend the reality of thofe objects and enjoyments, which our common fields and gardens afford us every day. K 3 This 198 MACBETH. This is the common life of man ; this the con- dition of the yeoman, the hufbandman, the la- bourer, the artift, the mechanic, the fervant— the many of mankind. And where ficknefs, pain, lofs of any fenfe or limb, happens to be the lot of individuals, this is not accotding to the courfe of Nature, but rather a violence 2gainft it. And thefe accidents affli<5f. not the many, but the few ; ror is Providence any more anfwerable for the na- tural, than for the moral, ills of life : one is but incidental to the general conftitution and neceffi- ty of things, and the other to the appetites and free-will of man. But floth, luxury, ambition, vicious paffions, envy, hatred, and malice, may render feme dif- eafed in body, and others difcontented in mind. This is not, however, the condition of their na- ture, but the corruption of it ; and thefe are flill not the many, but the few ; not the body of the people, but the excrefcences which arife out of it, and muft be nourifhed at its cofr. — namely, the great, the opulent, and the proud. -" The happinefs of life Depends on our difcietion- " Look into thofe they call unfortunate, " And clofcr view'd, you'll find they are unii-ife ; " Some flaw in their own conduit lies beneath ; " And 'tis the trick of fools to fave their credit, " Which brought another language into ufe." The Revenge. If what I have here faid, upon this compara- tive view of human nature, were not true, Pro- vidence muft have fhewn a manifeft partiality to the inferior creation, which is certainly placed in a happier ftate than man, according to fome —to many writers. But Plato fpeaks upon this fub- je6t MACBETH. 199 je£t with a much belter philofophy than any of thefe moral fophifters, when he fays, that " Cod is good, for he bellows all that is good upon all creatures, according to their Jeveral capacities. Each is as happy as it can be ; or, as its nature permits; and if any thinks the feveral creatures could have been happi- er, it is, becaufe be does not underjland their natures.' 1 '' Who fees not Providence all good and tvife, Alike in ailer, to Jbtft, ox fiujfie, L 5 That 226 JULIUS C M S A R. That welcome wrongs. Unto bad caufes fwear Such creatures as men doubt ; but do not ftain The even virtue of our enterprise, Nor th' infuppreiiive mettle of our fpirits, To think that or our caufe, or our performance, Did need an oath ; when every drop of blood, That ev'ry Roman bears, and nobly bears, Is guilty of a feveral baftardy, If he doth break the fmalleft particle Of any promife that hath pift from him. Cicero is then propofed to be added to their league, and for the following good and prudent reafon : MetellusCimber. O let us have him, for his/ilver hairs Will purchafe us a good opinion, And buy men'° voices to commend our deeds- It jhall be faid his judgment ruled our hands; Our youth and wildnefs fhall no whit appear, But all be buried m his gravity. But he is objected to, on account of a frrt of character, which is not uncommon in life, and is juftly defcriptive alio of the perfon to whom it is applied; who, though certainly a very great man, was, notwithstanding, a vain and felt-opinionated one likewife. Brutus. O name him not ; let us not break with him* ; For he will never follow any thing 1 hat other men begin. Afterwards, when CafTius urges the expediency of involving Antony in the fame doom with Crcfar, Brutus very nobly refufes to concur, upon the fol- lowing reafons : Our courfe will feem too bloody, Caius CafTius, To cut the head off", and then hack the limbs, Like wrath in death, and envy f afterwards ; For Antony is but a limb of Csefar, And in the fpirit of man there is no blood. * Impart the Jure: to him. "f Envy, for malice. Oh, J U L I U S C JE S A R. 227 Oh, that we then could come by Caefar's fpirit, And not difmember Csefar ! But, alus ! Csefar muft bleed for it— And, gentle friends, Let's kill him boldly, but not wrathfully ; Let's carve him as a difh fit for the gods, Not hew him as a carcafe fit for hounds ; And let our hearts, as fubtle matters do, Stir up their ftrvants to an act of rage, And after feem to chide them *. This fhall make Our purpofe neceffary, and not envious; Which fo appearing to the common eyes, We fliall be deemed ptirgers, not murderers. It were much to be wifhed, for the fake both of decency and humanity, that fuch a feniiment as this, was the fpirit of laws relative to all capital pumfhments. — Breaking on the wheel, empaling, and other foreign penalties of death, are horrible even to thought \ and what muft they be to the view \ Even our own code, though reckoned milder than our neighbours, is hardly lefs barbarous; in the. inffances of quartering, burning, and preffing to death, if executed according to the full rigour or the fentence. But the hangman, it feeais, has more humanity than the legiflature, as he is laid alvv ; , to render the criminal fenfelefs, before he proi to the feverity of the lratute. He firft kills the fpirit, the demon of the law, and then only execu e ; the dead letter of it. There is a fentiment upon this fubje&i in a late writing, which I think may very properly be quoted here. " I would have all laws mild, but executed " wiih the utmofv. ftriclnefs ; fo that juftice and " humanity may go hand in hand together. 1 auv " not for fsvere executions ; for when the penalty * This paflage is very obfeure, and (he Commentators, accpfrfJ ;!u-ir u. r u::l fupinenefs, have left it unnoti :ed. The me 1 may he this — Let us impute the a/it to out pafilous in on 1 tears, and then appear to . i] their iyo- ccedings. " fc.v 22$ JULIUS C JE S A R. " exceeds the offence, it is not the criminal, but " human nature that fuffers. Death alone is fuffi- « cient to remove the offender*." But methinks this argument might be urged ft ill further in favour of clemency — Suppofe we fhould reaion thus : " All laws are a mutual com- «« pact of fociety entered into with itfelf. The " Many can confide to the Few thofe rights only, « which they refpecYively poffefs in themfelves. " To confer a power of death, then, (hould feem « to imply a right of fuicide." I declare myfelf unable to detect; any manner of fophiftry, in fuch a fyllogifm. SCENE IV. Ca'jar. Cowr.rds die many times before their deaths ; The valiant never tafte of death, but once— Of all the wonders that I yet have heard, It feems to me mo ft ftrange that men mould fear ; Seeing that death, a necefiary end, Will come, ivhen it ivill come. The philofophy of death is well enough argued here, according to the old Stoical doctrine of fate, or predeftination. This fhould feem to be a good notion for a mere foldier ; but yet we do not find, in the late carnage \, that it rendered the Turks braver, who believe in it, than it did the Ruffians, who do not. ACT III. SCENE I. Csefar fpeaks a fentence here, which (hews him to have been worthy of a better fate. When Artemidorus, upon feeing the number of papers prefented to him on his march to the capi- tol, cries out, * Series of Letters between Henry and Frances. •J* The war between the Csaiina and the Pone. O, Gefar, JULIUS C £ S A R. 229 O, Csefar, read mine firft ; for mine's a fnit, That touches Csfar nearer — Read it, great Csefar — < he replies, in the true fpirit of a prince, What touches us ourielf, fhall be la ft ferved. And afte< wards, when Metellus Cimber pleads for the repeal of his brother's banifhment, he art- fwers him with the proper fteadinefs of a perfon intrufted with the executive province of a le- giflature, I muft prevent thee, Cimber — Thefe cou^hings and thefe lowly curtefies Might ftir * the blood of ordinary men, And turn pre-ordinance and hi- ft decree Into the law f of children. Be not fond J To think that C'sefar bears fuch rebel blood, That will be thawed from the true quality, With that which melteth fools; 1 mean fweet words, Low crooked curtefies, and bafe fpaniel-fawning— Thy brother by decree is baniihed ; If thou doft bend, and pray, and fawn, for him, I fpurn thee, like a cur, out of my way — Know Csefar doth not wrong ; nor without caufe Will he be fatisfied. I cannot help thinking, that the Poet has not given either Caefar fair play for his life, or Brutus for his character, in bringing on the afJaffination fo immediately after the one has uttered, and the other heard, the two foregoing fpteches. The laft fentence above was not neceffary to be quoted, for the purpofe of the fpeech, merely, as far as it had been fpecified in the note which pre- cedes it ; but I conk-fs that I was anxious to pro- duce it, in order to take an opportunity of vindi- * Stir, inftead of fire. Warburton. -f- Law, inftead of lane. Of children, whofe minds are eafily Wrought on. Johnfon. % Be cot fo weakly perfuaded. eating 2 3 o JULIUS C M S A R. eating our Author from an abfurdity of expreffion, which has been fo difingenuoufly imputed to him by his rival, Ben Johnfcn, who charges him with having wrote that paffage thus : " Csefar never did Her Women. Iras, J ( 24i ) ANTONY and CLEOPATRA. ACT I. SCENE III. A HE ufefulnefs of liflening to advice, and the expediency of bearing to be ad.nonifned of our faults, are well recommended in this place. Antony to the meffenger from Rome, who feems to conceal ill tidings : Speak to me home, mince not the general tongue ; Name Cleopatra as flit's called in Rome ; Rail thou in Fulvia's * phrafe, 3nd taunt my faults, With fuch full licence as both truth and malice Have power to utter — Oh then woe bring forth What ! am I poor of late ? 'Tis certain, greatneis once fallen out with fortune, Mult fall out with men too ; what the declined is, He fhall as foon read in the eyes of others, As feel in his own fall ; for men, like butterflies, Shew not their mealy wings but to the fummer j And not a man, for being fimply man, Hath any honour, but honour by thofe honours That are without him ; as place, riches, favour j Prizes of accident, as oft as merit ! "Which when they fall, as being flipp'ry ftanders, The love that leaned on them as flipp'ry too, Doth one pluck down another, and together Die in the fall. In the latter end of the fame Scene, the investi- gating faculties neceffary for a Miniiter, with the arcana imperii, or fnyfteries of government, are ftrongly and poetically defenbed. Ulyflss. The providence that's in a watchful (late, Knows almoit every grain of Pluto's gold f : Finds bottom in th' incomprehenfive deep ; Keeps place with thought ; and almotf, like the gods, Does thoughts unveil in their dumb cradles. There is a myilery, with which relation % Durft never meddle, in the foul of Mate ; Which hath an operation more divine, Than breath or pen can give exprelfure to. -f- Acquainted with all the refources of trade, commerce, or finances. \ Recital, explanation, or comment. ROMEO AND J U L I T. N 4 Dramatis Perfonas. M E N, Romeo. Benvolio. Friar Lawrence. WOMEN. None. (»73) ROMEO and J U L I E T. W ERE it my province to have fele&ed the poetical beauties of our Author, there are few of his Plays that would have furnifhed me more amply than this. The language abounds with tendernefs and delicacy, and feems to breathe the foul of youthful fondnefs ; but neither the fable nor the dialogue can afford much afhflance toward my pre- fent purpofe ; as the firft is founded on a vicious prejudice unknown to the liberal minds of Britoi;?, that of entailing family feuds and refentments down from generation to generation ; and the fecond, as far, at leaf!, as the lovers are concerned, though poetical and refined, is dictated more by paffioa than by lentiment. But as my young Readers might not forgive my pafling over this'Play unnoticed, I fhall juft ok- ferve, that the cataflxophe of the unhappy lovers feems intended as a kind of moral, as well as poe- tical juftice, for their having ventured upon an un- weighed engagement together, without the concur- rence and confent of their parents. See my re- flection on the firff. Scene, Act I. Midfummer Night's Dream, where this duty and obedience is both enforced and reflrained. A C T I. SCENE II. The fird: pafTage worthy of remark that occurs* is the following definition or defcription of that N 5 paffionj 274 ROMEO AND JULIET. paiTion, which, with refpe£t to the generality of mankind, frames the happinefs or mifery of their lives. Romeo and Benvolio. Benvolio. Alas, that love, fo gentle in his view, Should be i'o tyrannous and rough in proof ! Romeo. Why then, O brawling love! O loving hate! Oh, any thing of nothing firft create ! heavy lightnefs ! ferious vanity ! Milhapen Chaos of well-feeming forms ! Feather of lead, bright fmoke, cold fire, fick health ! Still waking fleep, that is not what it is ! .... Love is a fmoke, railed with the fume of fighs, Being purged, a fire fparkling in lover's eyes j Being vext, a fea nouriih'd with lover's tears — What is it elfe ? A madnefs moft difcreet, A choking gall, and a preferving fweet. ACT II. SCENE III. The allegory here, drawn from a comparifon of the qualities of herbs with the nature of man, is juft, ingenious, and poetical. Enter Friar Lawrence, with a bafket, in order to cull fimples for medicinal ufes. ° The grey-eyed morn fmiles on the frowning night, Check'ring the eaitern clouds with ftreaks of light ; And darkneis fleckered, like a drunkard reels, From forth day's path, and Titan's burning wheels. Now ere the fun advance his burning eye, The day to cheer, and night's dank dew to dry, 1 muft fill up this ofier-cage of ours With baneful weeds, and precious-juiced flowers. The earth, that's Nature's mother, is her tomb ; What is her burying-grave, that is her womb ; And from her womb children of divers kind, We fucking on her natural bofom find ; Many for many virtues excellent, None but for fume, and yet all different. O, mickle ROMEO AND JULIET. 275 O, mickle is the powerful grace that lies In plants, herbs, ftones, and their true qualities ! Nor nought fo vile, that on the earth doth live, But to the earth fome fpecial good doth give j Nor aught fo good, but, ftrained from that fair ufe> Revolts from true birth, ftumbling on abufe. Virtue itfelf turns vice, being mifapplied, And vice fometimes by action's dignified. Within the infant rind of this fmall flower, Poifon hath refidence, and medicine power ; For this being fmelt, with that fenfe cheers each part j Being tafted, flays all fenfes with the heart. Tnxio fuch oppofed foes encamp them J} ill, In man, as tvell as herbs, grace and rude ivill ; And where the worfer is predominant, Full-foon the canker death eats up that plant. In the fame Scene, v/hen Romeo comes to ac- quaint the Friar that his former flame for the fair Rofaline is extin£t *, and a new one, for Juliet, like another phoenix, had arifen out of its aihesj the honed priefl thus exclaims : Holy St. Francis, what a change is here ! Is Rofaline, whom thou didft love fo dear, So foon forfaken ? Young men's love then lies, Not truly in their hearts, but in their eyes. Holy St. Francis ! What a deal of brine Hath wafhed thy fallow cheeks for Rofaline f How much falt-water thrown away in waite To feafon love, that of it doth not tafte ! The fun not yet thy fighs from Heaven clears, Thy old groans ring yet in my antient ears j Lo, here upon thy cheek the ftain doth fit Of an old tear, that is not waflied off" yet— If e'er thou waft thyfelf, and thefe woes thine, Thou and thefe woes were all for Rofaline. And art thou changed ? Pronounce this fentence, then, Women may fall, ivben there's no Jirength in men. * This hint of Romeo's infidelity is left cut, io the modern re- presentation of this Play. With 2j6 ROMEO AND JULIET. With this very juft reflexion I mall here con- clude my notes upon this Play ; the remainder of it affording but little matter for further obfervation, being moftly action, narration, and confufion. But if my Readers mould require fome apology to be made for the quick conception of paffion in the character of Juliet, I muff, refer them to my Pre- face to Scene IV. A£t I. of The Taming of the Shrew. HAMLET. Dramatis Perfonse. MEN. Hamlet. King. Polonius. Laertes. Horatio. rosincrantz. Reynoldo. W O M E N, Queen. Ophelia. Players. I 279 I HAMLET. A C T I. S C E N E II. J.F reafoning could controul our grief, the King and Queen offer fufficient arguments to Hamlet in this Scene, to moderate his. Good Hamlet, caft thy nighted colour off, And let thine eyes look like a friend on Denmark. Do not, for ever, with thy veiled lids, Seek for thy noble father in the duft ; Thou know'ft 'tis common ; all that live mull die, Pajjing through nature to eternity. The King then takes up the fubjec"t, and enlarges on it. 'Tis fweet and commendable in your nature, Hamlet, To give thefe mourning duties to your father j But you muft know your father loft a father, That father his, and the furvivor bound In filial obligation for fome term, To do obfequious* forrow. But to perfevere In obltinate condolement f, is a courfe Of impious ftubbornnefs, unmanly grief; It Ihews a will moft incorrect to heaven, A heart unfortified, a mind impatient, An underftanding fimple and unfchool'd ; For what we know muft be, and is as common As any the moft vulgar thing to fenfe, Why ihould we, in our peevifh oppofition, Take it to heart ? Fie ! 'tis a fault to heaven, A fault againft the dead, a fault to nature, To reafon moft abfurd ; whofe common theme * The word here is framed from obfequiss, or funeral rites. Johnfon. -f- Coniklement % for forrcWy beciufe it requires tondoltment. Warburton. h 2 8o HAMLET. Is death of fathers ; and who ftill have cryed, From the firft corfe 'till he that died to-day, This muft be fo. SCENE V. In this Scene, Laertes gives mod excellent ad- vice and matronly caution to his fitter, upon the fub- jec~t of Hamlet's addeffes to her. For Hamlet, and the trifling of his favour, Hold it a falhion, and a toy in blood ; A violet in the youth of primy nature, Forward, not permanent ; tho' fvveet, not Iafting ; The perfume and fuppliance of a minute- No more. . . . Think it no more. For Nature, crefcent, does not grow alone In thews * and bulk ; but as this temple waxes, The inward fervice of the mind and foul Grows wide withal. Perhaps he loves you now > And now no foil nor cautel f doth befmirch. The virtue of his will ; but you muft fear. . . '. Then weigh what lofs your honour may fuftain, It" with too credent ear you lift his fongs ; Or lofe your heart, or your chafte treafure open To his unmaftered importunity. Fear it, Ophelia ; fear it, my dear fifter ; And keep tvitbin the rear of your affection, Out of the pot and danger of deftre. 'The charieji maid is prodigal enough. If fhe unmafk her beauty to the moon ; Virtue it f elf ' [capes not calumnious ftrohes ; The canker galls the infants of the fpring, Too oft before their buttons \be difclofed ; \ And in the morn and liquid deiv of youth, Contagious bla/lments are mofl eminent-— Be ivory, then, bejl fafety lies in fear ; Youth to itf elf rebels, though none elfe near. * Tl\"u>s and kulk, fynonimous. ■f Cau.'el. Thii word, from the Latin cautela, fignifies limply caution, but by the abufe of language is brought here to mean deceit, % Buttons, the buds, or get mens of a plant. SCENE HAMLET. a 8i SCENE VI. Polonius, on his fon's going to travel, gives him admirable rules and inftru&ions for his conduct in life. My Welling with you ; And thefe few precepts in thy memory See thou character. Give thy thoughts no tongue, Nor any unproportioned thought his act. Be thou familiar, but by no means vulgar ; The friends thou haft, and their adoption tryed, Grapple them to thy foul with clafps of fteel, But do not dull thy palm with entertainment Of each new-hatch'd, unfledg'd comrade. Beware Of entrance to a quarrel, but, being in, Bear't that th' oppofer may beware of thee. Give every man thine ear, but few thy voice ; Take each man's cenfure, but referve thy judgment. Coftly thy habit as thy purfe can buy, But not exprefTed in fancy ; rich, not gaudy : For the«,apparel oft proclaims the man. . . . T Neither a borrower, nor a lender be; For borrowing dulls the edge of hufbandry, And loan oft lofes both itfeif and friends *. "This above all — To thine own f elf be true ; And it muft follow, as the light the day f , Thou canfi not then be falje to any man. In the continuation of this Scene, Pohnius re- news the fame topic with his daughter, that her brother had begun with her in the former, which is urged with higher authority, and enforced by additional arguments. I fhall give the dialogue as it (lands. Pol. What is't, Ophelia, he hath faid to you ? [Laertes Oph. So pleafe you, fomething touching the lord Hamlet. * I have ventured to tranfpofe thefe'two lines, to avoid confu- fion in the argument. •f* The text fays the night the day— —War!"'-ton has made the alteration, much to the advantage of the palTa^e. Pol. 2lz HAMLET. Pol. Marry, well bethought! 'Tis told me he hath very oft, of late, Given private time to you ; and you yourfelf Have of your auuience been mod free and bounteous. If it be fo, as fo 'tis put on me, And that in way of caution, I muff, tell you, You do not underftand yourfelf fo clearly, As it behoves my daughcer, and your honour. What is between you, give me up the truth. Oph. He hath, my lord, of late, made many tenders Of his affecti-m to me. Pol. Affection ! Pugh ! you fpeak like a green girl, Unfif'ted in fuch perilous ciicumftance. Du you believe his lenders, as you call them ? Oph. I do not know, nay lord, what I ihould think. Pol Marry, I'll teach you. Think yourfelf a baby, That you have ta'en his tenders for true pay, Which are not fterling. Tender yourfelf more dearly ; Or (not to cr ;ck -he wind of the poor phrafe, Wrongjn - it thus) you'll tender me a fool. Oph. My lord, he hath importuned me with love, In honourable fafhion. Pol. Ay, fafhion you call't — Go to, go to. Oph. And hath giv'n countenance to his fpeech, my lord, With almoft all the holy vows of Heaven. Pol. Ay, fpringes to catch woodcocks I do know, When the blood burns, how prodigal the foul Lends the tongue vows. Thefe blazes, oh my daughter, Giving more light than heat, extincl; in beth, Ev'n in the promife as it is a making, You muft not take for fire. From this time, Be fomewhat fcantier of thy maiden prefence, Set your intreatments at an higher rate, Than a command to parley. For lord Hamlet, Believe fo much in him, that he is young ; And with a larger tether * he may walk, Than may be given you. In few, Ophelia, Do not believe his vows ; for they are brokers, Not of that die which their inveflments fhew, * With a freer fcope, But HAMLET. 283 But mere implorers of unholy fuits, Breathing like fanchfied and pious bawds J, The better 10 beguile. This is for all— I would not, in plain terms, from this time forth, Have you fo (lander any moment's leifure, As to give words or talk with the lord Hamlet. Look to't, I charge you. SCENE VII. I (hall here quote what Hamlet fays againft the vice of drinking, as it may fuit the latitude of England, as well as that of Denmark. Horatio. Is it a cultom ? Hamlet. Ay, marry, is't : But, to my mind, though I am native here, And to the manner born, it is a cuftom More honoured in the breach, than the obfervatlCel This heavy-headed revel, eaft and weft, Makes us traduced, and taxed of other nations; They depe us drunkards, r.r.d with fwiniih phrafe Soil our addition ; and, indeed, it takes From our achievements, though performed at height, The pith and marrow of our atribute *. From hence the fpeaker takes occafion to extend his reflection in a general obfervation, which mod people's experience may enable them to fupport, that fome accidental peculiarity of mind, of man- ners, nay, even of features, have often hurt the characters, and marred the fortunes of particular perfons of intrinfic worth and merit. So, oft it chances in particular men, That for fome vicious mole of nature in them, As, in their birth, wherein they are not guilty, Since nature cannot chufe his origin, -J- Bawds, inftead of hands. Theobald. This alteration gives an obvious fenfe to the pafTage, and faves the expence of a com- ment, with which a text fhould never be encumbered, unlefs it may no otherwife be rendered intelligible. * As our natural bravery is often imputed to our fat-valiantry. By 284 H A M L E T. By the o'er-growth of fome complexion f , Oft breaking down the pales and forts of reafon ; Or by fome habit, that too much o'er-leavens The form of plaufive manners ; that thefe men Carrying, I fay, the ftamp of one defect, Being nature's livery, or fortune's fear, Their virtues elfe, be they as pure as grace, As infinite as man may undergo, Shall in the general cenfure take corruption, From that particular fault. The dram of bafe Doth all the noble fubjlance of worth out t To his own /caudal X. SCENE VIII. There is fomething extremely remarkable and pleafjng, in the following part of the Ghoft'i fpeech to Hamlet, here. But howfoever thou purfu'ft this aft, Taint not thy mind, nor let thy foul contrive Againft thy mother aught ; leave her to Heaven, And to thofe thorns that in her bofom lodge To prick and fting her. He repeats the fame fond caution to him again* in Ad III. Scene X. But, look ! Amazement on thy mother fits; O flep between her and her fighting foul ; Conceit in weakeft bodies ftrongeft works- Speak to her, Hamlet. No Eaftern fentiment, infpired by the fir ft beams of the Sun, and refined by the fublimeft morality of Confucius, ever rofe to fo high a pitch, as the tendernefs expreffed in thefe two paffages toward his wife — even after her crimes. Have either the •f Conftitutional predominance. % I (hall leave the Reader to interpret this laft paffage to him- felf ; for though Theobald has amended the text, fo as to hint the meaning, the fenle of it is full left imperfect in. the exprefiion. Greek HAMLET. 285 Greek or Latin matters of the Epic afforded us fo beautiful an inftance of forgivenefs, and of love fubfiftmg even beyond the grave? They have both of them presented us with fcenes after death ; but compare the behaviour of Dido, upon meeting jEneas in the Elyfian fields, with this, as being the moft parallel paffage I can recollect. He had not been any thing near io culpable towards her, as this queen had been to her hufband ; and yet the utmoft temper that the heathen Poet could bring his Ghoft to, upon that occafion, was, merely to be filent, an not upbraid, in fpeech ; though he makes her fufficiently mark her refent- ment, by her looks and behaviour. ACT II. SCENE I. Here Pohnius gives fome intlructions to a p'er- fon he is fending over to carry money to his fon at Paris ; in which, though he requires him to fift narrowly into the manner of life, company, and converfation of Laertes, yet he does it with fo becoming a tendernels and paternal refpecl to the character of the young man, as is extremely interefting and engaging. Polonius and Reynoldo. Pol. You mall do marvellous wifely, good Reynoldo, Before you vifit him, to make inquiry Of his behaviour. Reyn. My lord, I did intend it. Pol. Marry, wellfaid — v-ry well faid — Look you, Sir, Inquire me firft, what Danfitrs* are in Paris— And how, and who — what means— and where they keep: What company ; at what expence ; and finding, By this encoirpaflment and drift of queftion, That theydo know my fon, come you more near; Then your particular demands will touch it — Take you, as 'twere, fome diftant knowledge of him; * Ddnes. As 5.S6 H A M L E T. As thus : I know his father, and his friends, And, in part, him — Do you maik this, Reynoldo ? Reyn. Ay, very well, my lord. Pol. And, in part, him- -But you may fay, not well jL But if 't be he I mean, he's very wild ; Addi&ed fo and fo — And there put on him What forgeries you pleafe-— Marry, none fo rank* As may dijljonour him**~Take heed of that— But, Sir, fuch winton, wild and ufual flips, As are companions noted, and moft known To youth and liberty SCENE II. Pol. It feems it is as proper to our age, To caft beyond ourfelves, in our opinions, As it is common for the younger fort, To lack difcretion. Ul'on this reflection, Doctor Jobnfoti fays, " This is net the remark of a weak man" It is not, indeed ; but why fhould Pohn'us be deemed fc ? He certainly fpeaks very good fenfe through- out, though with the natural and refpeclable mix- ture of the old man in it ; which, methinks, as Addifon fays of Comoro's -f (tile, is an improve- ment to it. As to the manner in which he de- fcribes Hamlet's madnefs, in Scene IV. following, I take it to be only defigned by Shukejpeare in ridi- cule of the old pedantic mode of definitions, ©r quaint diftinfhons, in logic and philofophy ; the categories, predicaments, and predicables of the Schools, ufed in ihofe times. There are many inftances of the lame oblique ftri&ures, upon other fubje£ts, in our Author; I have therefore, ever thought this character miftaken, and, con- fequently, mifreprefented upon the ftage, by its being generally given to a comic a£tor. ■f" He wrote a treatife on health and hug life, at fourfcore, commended in the Spectator, No. 195. ACT HAMLET. 287 ACT III. SCENE II. The famous foliloquy of Hamlet, here, To be, er not to be, is fo generally remembered, and has been fo cften remarked upon, that 1 might puf- fibly be thought guilty oi a r.egledl, in parting it by without a comment. But the lubjecf. is a hazardous one, and therefore had better not be meddled with It might, perhaps, bear a difcuilion in philofophy, but religion forbids any manner of debate upon it. „ SCENE III. Shakefpeare not only affords documents to real life, but fupplies them even to the mimic one ; as may be ken in this Scene, where he makes Hamlet give inftrufitions to Actors how they fhould perform their parts. But as there is r.o moral to be extracted irom the palTage, I (hall not quote it heie. But all thefe rules, however excellent in them- felves, may be confidered rather as rtriclures on bad performers, than precepts for their retorma- tion. A6tors, like Poets, mull be born, not made ; and a receipt to jorm an Aclor, may be confidered in the fame light with the one to frame an Epic Poem. It is not fo much for want of notion, as of Nature, that fo many of the Dramatis Perfona are found to be deficient in the expreflion of fentirnent, and reprefentation of character. Talents are as neceffary to Attors, as Genius is to Authors ; if I may be allowed fuch a dif- tin&ion of terms — but neither are to be acquired in the fchools. All Mr. Gai rick's art, without his nature, would produce no effect, as may be feen in the many who have laborioitfly, but vainly attempted to copy him. I have known perions capable of writing a part, who were incapable of performing 238 HAMLET. performing it. Our Author himfelf was an inftance of this inconfiilency ; who, though he formed the rule, could not fupply the example. SCENE VI. In the Strollers' play here introduced, where the Lady is faid to proteji too mucb> the fpeech which the Duke her hufband makes upon that occafion, fhews a perfect knowledge in the mind and manners of human nature. I do believe you think what now you fpeak ; But what we do determine oft we break ; Purpofe is but the Have of memory, Of violent birth, but poor validity ; Which now, like fruits unripe, fticks on the tree, But fall unfhaken when they mellow be. Moft neceflary 'tis, that we forget To pay ourfelves what to ourfelves is debt*; What to ourfelves in paflion we propofe, The paihon ending doth the purpoie lofe ; The violence of either grief or joy, Their own enadtures with themfelves deftroy. Where joy moft revels, grief doth moll lament, Grief joys, joy grieves, on flender accident. The world is not for aye, nor is it ftrange, That e'en our loves fhould with our fortunes change ; For 'tis a queftion left us yet to prove, Whether love leads fortune, or elfe fortune love. The great man down, you mark his f iv'rite Mies ; The poor advanced, makes friends of enemies. And hitherto doth love on fortune tend, For tvho not needs, Jball never lack a friend ; And es that tve are thus, or thus. Our bodies are our gardens, to the which our wills aie gardeners. So that if we will plant nettles, or fow lettuce ; fet hyffop, and weed up thyme ; fupply it with one gender of herbs, or diftracl it with many ; either have it fterile with idlenefs, or manured with in- duftry ; why the power and corrigible authority of this lies in our will. If the ballancc of our lives had not one fcale of reafon, to poife another of fenfuality, the blood and bafenels of our natures would conduit us to molt prepotterous conclufions, The 300 OTHELLO. The plea that Rodorigo offers above, for re- maining ftill under the dominion of a lawlefs paflion, is framed upon a fatal error, too prevalent in the world, that virtue is a peculiar gift from Heaven, granted fpcciali gratia, as it were, to particular and chofen perfons. Hence indolent minds are apt to conclude it a vain talk to reftrain their paffions, or refill their temptations, without the fupernatural aid of fuch an innate endowment. Iago, in his reply, reafons very juftly againft this dangerous and difcouraging doctrine of partial grace ; in fupport of which argument I fliall here add a paflage from a modern writer, who, fpeakingon this fubje6t, fays, " The difficulties we apprehend, more than thofe " we find, in the ftrife with all our paffions, is the " only thing that prevents philofophy or virtue from *« being commonly attainable in general life. What « makes the difference between a chafle woman, " and a frail one ? The one had Jlruggled, and the " other not. Between a brave man and a coward ? " The one had Jlruggled, and the other not. An " honed man and a knave ? One hadjlruggled, the »« ether not *." ACT II. SCENE XIV. There is a good deal of after-wit reflection here, which, however, may ierve as a forewarning, perhaps, to fome of my Readers. Iago feeing Caflio defponding on being cafhiered by Othello, aiks if he be hurt ? To which he replies, Cajjio. Pa ft all furgery. — Reputation, reputation, re- putation ! Ob, I have loft the immortal part of me, and tvkat remains is beftial. Oh, thou invifible fpirit of wine ! if thou haft no name to be known by, let us call thee Devil, I will afk him for my poll again, and lie fiull tell me I am a drunkard ! Had I as many mouths * The Pofthumous Works of a late Celebrated Genius deceafed. as OTHELLO. 301 as Hydra, fuch an anfwer would ftop them all. To be now a fenfible man, by and by a fool, and prefently a beaft ! Every inordinate cup is unblefTed, and tke ingre- dient is a devil. A C T III. S C E N E V. The following paffage will fpeak for itfelf : Iago. Good name, in man or woman, dear my lord,. Is the immediate jewel of their fouls. Whoftealsmy purfe, fteals traih, 'tisfomething, nothing; 'Twas mine, 'tis his, and has been Have to thoufands : But he that filches from me my good name, Robs me of that which not enriches him, And makes me poor, indeed. In the fame Scene, Othello, while his alarmed mind is ftruggling between confidence and convic- tion, delivers himfelf on the iubje<5t with a liberal and manly fpirit. Think'ft thou I'd make a life of jealoufy ? To follow (till the changes of the moon, With frefli fufpicions ? No — To be once in doubt, Is once to be refolved. Exchange me for a goat, When I mall turn the bufinefs of my foul To fuch exfuffblate * and blown furmifes f, Matching thy inference. 'Tis not to make me jealous, To fay my wife is fair, feeds well, loves company, Is free of fpeech, fings, plays, and dances well - T Where virtue is, thele are mo ft virtuous. Nor from mine own weak merits will I draw The fmalleft fear or doubt of her revolt. For Jhe had eyes, and chofe me. No, Iago, I'll fee, before I doubt ; when I doubt prove ; And on the proof there is no more but this, Atvay, at once, tvitb h As fits the bridal. She had faid to himfelf before, Be't as your fancies teach you— IVhate'eryou be, I am obedient. And afterwards, in confefiing herfelf before Iago and iEmilia, Here I kneel— If e'er my will did trefpafs 'gainft his love, Or in difcourfe, or thought, or a£tual deed,. Or that mine eyes, mine ears, or any fenfe Delighted them on any other form ; Or that I do not yet, and ever did, And ever will, though he do fhake me off To beggarly divorcement, love him dearly $ Comfort forfwear me I Unkindnefs may do muck, And OTHELLO. 303 And his unkindnefs may defeat my life, But never taint my love. And further on, where /Emilia fays to her, of Othello, I wifh you had never feen him ! She replies, So would not I. My love doth fo approve him, That ev'n his flubbornnefs, his checks and froivns r Have grace and favour in. them. As the married ftate is both the deareft and mofr. focial connection of life, I think this a proper paf- fage to conclude my obfervations with, on a work in which is comprehended the compleateft fyftem of the oeconomical and moral duties of human nature, that perhaps was ever framed by the wifdom, phi- lofophy, or experience of uninfpired man, ( 304 ) A GENERAL POSTSCRIPT. X HERE are many favourite paflfages In Shake- fpeare, which mofl of my Readers have got by heart, and miffing here, may poflibly objeft to my having neglected to quote or obferve upon them, in their proper places. But my intention, in this Work, was not to propound the beauties of the Poet, but to expound the document of the Moralift, throughout his writings. So far from being infenfible to the other excel- lencies of this Author, I have ever thought him by much the greatefr. poet of our nation, for fub- limity of idea, and beauty of expreifion. Perhaps I may even think myfelf guilty of fome injuftice, in limiting his fame within the narrow confines of thefe kingdoms ; for, upon a comparifon with the much venerated names of Antiquity, I am of opi- nion, that we need not furrender the Britifh Palm 9 either to the Grecian Bay, or the Roman Laurel, with regard to the principal parts of poetry ; as thought, fentiment, or defcription — And though the dead languages are confeffed to be fuperior to ours, yet even here, in the very article of diftion, our Author fhall meafure his pen with any of the antienty?)7f/, in their mofl: admired compound and decompound epithets, defcriptive phrafes, or figu- rative expreflions. The multitudinous fea, ear- piercing fife, big war, giddy majl, Jky-afpiring 9 heaven-kiting bill, time-honoured name, cloud-capt towers, beavenly-harnajfed team, rajlo gunpowder, polified GENERAL POSTSCRIPT. 30S polijhed perturbation, gracious filence, golden care, trumpet-tongued, thought -executing fires \ with a number of other words, both epic and comic, are inftances of it. But with regard to the moral ex- cellencies of our Englifh Confucius, either for beauty or number, he undoubtedly challenges the wreath from the whole collective Hoft of Greek or Roman Writers, whether ethic, epic, dramatic, didactic, or hifloric. Mrs. Montagu fays, very juftly, that " We are " apt to confider Shakefpeare only as a poet ; but " he is certainly one of the greateft moral philo- *« fophers that ever lived." And this is true ; becaufe, in his univerfal fcheme of doctrine, he comprehends manners, proprieties, and decorums ; and whatever relates to thefe, to perfonal cha- racter, or national defcription, falls equally within the great line of morals. Horace prefers Homer to all the philofophers, Qui, quid fit pulchrum,quid turpe, quid utile, quid non, Plenius et melius Chryfippo et Crantore dicit. And furely Shakefpeare pkniiis et meliiis excels him again, as much as the living fcene exceeds the dead letter, as action is preferable to didaction, or repre- fentation to declamation. Example is better than precept. A dramatic moral affords us the benefit of both, at once. Plato wifhed that Virtue could affume a vifible form. Dramatic exhibition gives one, both to Virtue and to Vice. The abftract idea is there materialized. The contraft of character, too, affords an additional flrength ro '.lie moral ; as we are led to love virtue, on a double account, by being made to abhor vice, at the fame time. The dramatic mor?lifl poffeffes a manifeft advantage over the doctrinal one. Mere defcriptions of virtue or vice do not ffrike us, fo flrongly, as the vifible reprefentations of them. Richard 5 o(S GENERAL POSTSCRIPT. Richard the Third's dream, Lady Macbeth's foli- loquy in her deep, the Dagger Scene in the fame Play, Cardinal Beaufort's laft moments, with many other paffages in our Author-, of the fame admoni- tory kind, avail us more than whole volumes of Tuliy's Offices, or Seneca's Morals. In this fcenic province of inftru&ion, our repre- fentations are much better calculated to anfwer the end propofed, than thofe of the Antients were, on account of the different hours of exhibition. Theirs were performed in the morning ; which circum- ftance fuffered the falutary effect to be worn out of the mind, by the bufinefs or avocations of the day. Ours are at night ; the impreffions accompany us to our couch, fupply matter for our lateft reflec- tions, and may iometimes furnifh the fubjectof our very dreams. But Shakefpeare feems to have extended his views ftill further ; by frequently interfperfing allufions to the Scriptures, throughout his writings. 1 would not have the old Myfleries reftored to the Stage, nor mould Dramatic Dialogue exceed into Sermons ; but I think that fuch occafional hints or paffages, as this Author has fupplied, when thrown in fparingly, and introduced with difcretion, may fometimes ferve to add a ftrength and dignity to the flyle and fubje£f. of fuch compofitions ; befides the advantage of producing, perhaps, effects of an higher nature, by calling our attention to more ferious reflections, in the very niidfl; of our plea- fures and difllparions, without finking our fpirits, or damping our enjoyments ; awakening us to the contemplation of a rehg on fo pure, fo equally free from the feverities of difcipltne, and the luperfti- tions of devotion ; of a fyftem of theology, framed even as Man himfe'f would chufe ; in fine, of a faith and doctrine, which has but frronger bound the focial ties, given an higher fandion to moral obligations, GENERAL POSTSCRIPT. 3 oy obligations, and proved our duty to be our interefl: alfo. Having now arrived at the laft page of my taflc, I muft confefe the apprehenfions I am fenfible of, on prefenting to the Public a Work of (o much difficulty and danger : though with regard to the firfl; of thefe articles, I acknowledge this to have been one in the clafs of thofe, of which Ferdinand in the Tempefl fays, There be fome fports are painful, but their labour Delight in them fets off. But in refpe& to the latter, I mud here throw my« felf not only upon the candor, but the indulgence of my Readers ; hoping that the many failures in the execution may be pardoned, on the fingle merit of the defign. THE END; i