The Staunton Shakespeare (Cambridge Library Collection - Literary Studies) (Volume 3)

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CAMBRIDGE LIBRARY COLLECTION Books of enduring scholarly value

Literary studies This series provides a high-quality selection of early printings of literary works, textual editions, anthologies and literary criticism which are of lasting scholarly interest. Ranging from Old English to Shakespeare to early twentieth-century work from around the world, these books offer a valuable resource for scholars in reception history, textual editing, and literary studies.

The Staunton Shakespeare First published in 1860, this is the third and final volume of Howard Staunton’s collection of Shakespeare’s plays, with black-and-white illustrations by the prolific artist John Gilbert. Staunton’s annotated edition, based on the folio and quarto editions collated with the texts of later editors from Rowe to Dyce, combines common sense with meticulous research, making it a definitive resource in its day. Each play is accompanied by an introduction giving details of its original production and publication and the sources of its plot, critical commentary, and footnotes explaining terms and expressions. This volume contains The Tempest, King Lear, Coriolanus, Winter’s Tale, Troilus and Cressida, Hamlet, Julius Caesar, Macbeth, Antony and Cleopatra, Titus Andronicus and Othello. The volume concludes with the Sonnets and Poems and a glossarial index.

Cambridge University Press has long been a pioneer in the reissuing of out-ofprint titles from its own backlist, producing digital reprints of books that are still sought after by scholars and students but could not be reprinted economically using traditional technology. The Cambridge Library Collection extends this activity to a wider range of books which are still of importance to researchers and professionals, either for the source material they contain, or as landmarks in the history of their academic discipline. Drawing from the world-renowned collections in the Cambridge University Library, and guided by the advice of experts in each subject area, Cambridge University Press is using state-of-the-art scanning machines in its own Printing House to capture the content of each book selected for inclusion. The files are processed to give a consistently clear, crisp image, and the books finished to the high quality standard for which the Press is recognised around the world. The latest printon-demand technology ensures that the books will remain available indefinitely, and that orders for single or multiple copies can quickly be supplied. The Cambridge Library Collection will bring back to life books of enduring scholarly value across a wide range of disciplines in the humanities and social sciences and in science and technology.

The Staunton Shakespeare Vol u me 3

Wi lli a m S h akes p eare Edi ted by Howard S tau nt on

CAMBRIDGE UNIVERSITY PRESS Cambridge New York Melbourne Madrid Cape Town Singapore São Paolo Delhi Published in the United States of America by Cambridge University Press, New York www.cambridge.org Information on this title: www.cambridge.org/9781108000048 © in this compilation Cambridge University Press 2009 This edition first published 1860 This digitally printed version 2009 ISBN 978-1-108-00004-8 This book reproduces the text of the original edition. The content and language reflect the beliefs, practices and terminology of their time, and have not been updated.

THE

PLAYS OF

SHAKESPEARE EDITED BY HOWARD STAUNTON. THE ILLUSTRATIONS BY JOHN GILBERT. ENGRAVED BY THE BROTHERS DALZIEL.

VOL. III.

LONDON: ROUTLEDGE, WARNE & ROUTLEDGE, FARRINGDON STREET. NEW YORK: 56, WALKER STREET.

1860.

PAGE

THE TEMPEST

J

KING LEAR

•

•

•

•

•

CORIOLANUS WINTER'S TALE TROILUS AND CRESSIDA HAMLET

325

JULIUS C^ISAR

409

MACBETH

466

B

ANTONY AND CLEOPATRA

526

TITUS ANDRONICUS

593

OTHELLO.

. •

• • • • • • •

« * •

• • » • • • • • « • • • • • • • • • •

GLOSSARIAL INDEX

789

>- S '""-N •'- • ^ S ^ \ S ^

» r 5iA.f 7/Aw J V U ' K A I . - ^

VOL. H I .

Act I. Sc. 2.

THE TEMPEST.

THE earliest copy of " The Tempest" known is that in the folio of 1623. To the precise date of its production we have no clue, but the following memorandum from the " Accounts of the Revels at Court," is almost positive testimony that it was written before 1611:— By the King's Players.

Hallomas nyght was presented att Whithall before ye Kinges Matie. a play called the Tempest.

And the speech of Gonzalo, Act II. Sc. 1,— " T the commonwealth I would by contraries/' &c.—

which is obviously taken from a passage in Florio's translation of Montaigne's Essayes, first printed in 1603, is equally decisive as to its having been written after that year. The story upon which " The Tenxpest" is founded, was most probably derived, according to Shakespeare's usual practice, from an existing play or from some popular chronicle or romance. Collins the poet, indeed, informed T. Warton, that he had met with a novel called Aurelio and Isabella, printed in Italian, Spanish, French, and English, in 1588, which he conceived to have formed the basis of " The Tempest." When he spoke of the circumstance, however, Collins was labouring under mental debility, and so far as the particular novel he mentioned was concerned his memory deceived him, for the fable of Aurelio and Isabella bears no resemblance to that of the play; yet it is remarkable that a friend of James Boswell declared that he had once perused an Italian novel which answered to Collins's description. In an article on the early English and German dramas published in the New Monthly Magazine for January, 1841, Mr. Thorns pointed out a dramatic piece by Jacob Ayrer, a notary of Niirnberg, contemporary with Shakespeare, entitled Die schone Sidea, (The Beautiful Sidea,) which bears some resemblance to " The Tempest," and which Tieck conjectured was a translation of some old English drama from which Shakespeare borrowed his idea. How far this is probable the reader must judge from the following outline of the German play: Ludolph having been vanquished by his rival, and with his daughter Sidea driven into a forest, rebukes her for complaining of their change of fortune, and then summons his spirit Runcifal to learn from him his future destiny and prospects of revenge. Runcifal, who is, like Ariel, somewhat " moody," announces to Ludolph that the son of his enemy will shortly become his prisoner. After a comic episode, most probably introduced by the German, we see Prince Leudegast, with his son Engelbrecht and the councillors, hunting in the same forest; when Engelbrecht and his companion Famulus, having separated from the associates, are suddenly encountered by Ludolph and his daughter. On his commanding them to yield themselves prisoners, they refuse ; but on attempting to draw their swords, Ludolph renders them powerless by the touch of his magical wand, and gives the prince over to Sidea to carry logs of wood for her, and to obey her commands in all respects. The resemblance between the German and English plays is continued in a later part of the former production, when Sidea, moved by pity for the labours of Engelbrecht in carrying logs, exclaims, she would " feel great joy, if he would prove faithful to me, and take me in wedlock; " an event which, in the end, is happily brought about, and leads to the reconciliation of their parents, the rival princes. The title of " The Tempest" is supposed by some commentators to have been determined by the shipwreck of Sir George Sommers and Sir Thomas Gates on the coast of the Bermudas in 1609; 3 B2

THE TEMPEST. of which an account was published by Silvester Jourdan, one of the crew, in the following year :-— A Discover!/ of the BiwmuJa* ; otherwise called the Me of Diveh; by Sir Thomas Gates, Sir (r'eorqe Sommers, and C«rta>/ne Xewport, with divers others. It is highly probable, too, that Jourdan's and other aecounts'of the Bermudas, by some of which they are said to be enchanted and inhabited by witches and devils, suggested the expression " still-vexed Bermoothes, and induced the poet to possess his hero with necromantic influence and supernatural agency. Mr. Hunter, in his " Disquisition on the Scene, Origin, Date, &e. of Shakspeare's Tempest," has laboured with great ingenuity to prove that the actual scene of the play was Lampedusa, " an island of the Mediterranean lying not far out of a ship's course passing from Tunis to Naples," and which is uninhabited, and supposed by sailors to be enchanted. The same idea was suggested, or occurred to Douce, who thus speaks of it:—"The Island of Lampedusa is near the coast of Tunis; and from its description, in Dapper, and the real tract of the Xing of Naples' voyage in Shakespeare's Tempest, will turn out to be the veritable island where he was shipwrecked, and to which Prospero had been banished, whenever the Italian novel on which the play founded shall be discovered." We fervently hope not; being contented to believe it rose, like a new Atlantis, at the summons of the poet, and when his magic work on it was done:— " From that day forth the Isle has beene By wandering sailors never seene : Some say 'tis buried deepe Beneath the sea, which breakes and rores Above its savage rockie shores, Nor ere is known to sleepe."

ALONSO,

King of Naples.

FERDINAND, his SEBASTIAN, PROSPERO,

Master of a Ship, Boatswain, and Mariners.

Son.

CALIBAN,

Brother to the King. MIRANDA,

the rightful Duke of Milan.

ARIEL,

his Brother^ the Usurping DuJce of Milan.

ANTONIO,

CERES,

ADRIAN,

IRIS,

Lords. FRANCISCO,

TRINCULO,

Daughter to Prospero.

an airy Spirit.

JUNO,

GoNZALO, an honest old Counsellor.

STEPHANO,

a savage and deformed Slave.

" Spirits.

Nymphs, a drunken Butler.

Reapers,

a Jester.

SCENE,—0* hoard a

Other Spirits attending on Prospero. SHIP

at

SEA

; afterwards on an

ISLAND,

ACT I. SCENE I.—On a Ship at Sea.

A tempestuous noise oj thunder and lightning heard.

Enter a Ship-master and a Boatswain severally* MASTER. Boatswain ! BOATS. Here, master:

what cheer?

Good, speak to the mariners: fall to't yarely,a or we run ourselves aground : bestir, bestir. \Exit. MASTER.

» Yartly,—] Briskly, nimbly, actively.

THE TEMPEST.

ACT I.]

Enter Mariner*. Heigh, my hearts ! cheerly, cheerly, ray hearts! yare, yare! Take in the topsail! Tend to the master's whistle ! [Exeunt Mariners.] Blow, till thau burst thy wind, if room enough ! BOATS.

Enter

ALONSO, FERDINAND, SEBASTIAN, ANTONIO, GONZALO, and others.

Good boatswain, have care. Where's the master? Play the men. BOATS. I pray now, keep below. ANT. Where is the master, boson ? BOATS. DO you not hear him ? You mar our labour: keep your cabins: you do assist the storm. GON. Nay, good, be patient. BOATS. When the sea is. Hence ! what care these roarers for the name of king ? To cabin: silence ! trouble us not. GON. Good, yet remember whom thou hast aboard. BOATS. None that I more love than myself. You are a counsellor ;—if you can command these elements to silence, and work the peace of the present, we will not hand a rope more; use your authority : if you cannot, give thanks you have lived so long, and make yourself ready in your cabin for the mischance of the hour, if it so hap.— Cheerly, good hearts !—Out of our way, I say. [Exit. Gux. I have meat comfort from this fellow ; methinks he hath no drowning mark upon him ; his complexion is perfect gallows. Stand fast, good Fate, to his hanging ! make the rope of his destiny our cable, for our own doth little advanta^e! If he be not born to be hanged, our case is miserable. {Exeunt. ALON.

[SCENE II.

SEB. A pox o' your throat, you bawling, blasphemous, incharitable dog! BOATS. Work you, then. ANT. Hang, cur, hang! you whoreson, insolent noise-maker, we are less afraid to be drowned than thou art. GON. I'll warrant him for drowning; though the ship were no stronger than a nutshell, and as leaky as an unstanched wench. BOATS. Lay her a-hold, a-hold ! set her two courses ! off to sea again ; lay her off! Re-enter Mariners, wet. MAR. All lost! to prayers, to prayers! all lost! [Exeunt. BOATS. What, must our mouths be cold ? GON. The king and prince at prayers ! let ?s assist them, For our case is as theirs. SEB. I'm out of patience. ANT. We are merely cheated of our lives by drunkards :— This wide-chapp'd rascal,—would thou mightst lie drowning, The washing of ten tides ! GON. He'll be hang'd yet, Though every drop of water swear against it, And gape at wid'st to glut him. [A confused noise within.]—Mercy on us !— We split, we split !—Farewell, my wife and children ! Farewell, brother ! We split, we split, we split!—(1) [Exit Boatswain. ANT. Let's all sink with the king. [Exit. SEB. Let's take leave of him. [Exit. GON. NOW would I give a thousand furlongs of sea for an acre of barren ground,—long heath, brown furze, anything. The wills above be done! but I would fain die a dry death. [Exit.

Re-enter Boatswain. Down with the topmast! yare ; lower, lower ! Bring her to try with main-course ! a [A cry within."] A plague upon this howling! they are louder than the weather or our office.— BOATS.

SCENE II.—The Island: before the Cell oj Prospero. Enter

Re-enter

SEBASTIAN, ANTONIO,

and

GONZALO.

Yet again ! what do you here ? shall we give o'er and drown ? have you a mind to sink ?

PROSPERO

and

MIRANDA.

If by your art, my dearest father, you have Put the wild waters in this roar, allay therfl.b The sky, it seems, would pour down stinking pitch, MIRA.

a

Bring her to try with main-course !] It has been proposed to read, "Bring her to; try with the main-course;" but see a passage from Hakluyfs Voyages, 15'JS. quoted by Malone : — "and when the barke had way, we cut the hawser and so gate the sea to our friend, and tryed out al that day with our maine c>rse.

b

If by your art, my dearest father, you have Put the wild waters in this roar, allay them.] These lines are not metrical, and sound but gratingly on the ear, It wonld be an improvement perhaps if we read them thus,— " if by your art, my dearest father, you Have put the wild waters in this roar, allay them. 1 '

But that the sea, mounting to the welkin's cheek/ Dashes the fire out. O, I have suffer'd With those that I saw suffer I a brave vessel, Who had, no doubt, some noble creatures* in her, Dash'd all to pieces. O, the cry did knock Against my very heart! Poor souls, they perish'd! Had I been any god of power, I would Have sunk the sea within the earth, or e'er (*) Old text, creature. a — mounting to the Welkin's4cheek,—] Although we have, in Richard II." Act III. Sc. 2,— ' the cloudy cheeks of heaven," and elsewhere, " welkin's face," and " heaven's face," it may well he questioned whether " cheek," in this place, is not a misprint. Mr. Collier's annotator substitutes heat, a change characterised by Mr. Dyce as "equally tasteless and absurd. ' A more appropriate and expressive word, one, too, sanctioned in some measure by its occurrence in Ariel's description of the same elemental conflict, is probably, crack, or cracks,— " the fire, and cracks Of sulphurous roaring, the most mighty Neptune Seem to besiege," &c. In Miranda's picture of the tempest, the sea is seen to storm and overwhelm the tremendous artillery of heaven; in that of Ariel, 11

It should the good ship so have swallow'd, and The fraughting souls within her. PRO. Be collected; No more amazement: tell your piteous heart There's no harm done. MIRA.

O, woe the day !

PRO. • No harm* I have clone nothing but in care of thee,— the sky's ordnance, " t h e fire and cracks," assault the "mighty Neptune." Crack, in the emphatic sense it formerly bore of crash, discharge, or explosion, is very common in our old writers thus, in Marlowe's "Tamburlaine the Great," Part I. Act IV Sc. 2,— " A s when a fiery exhalation, Wrapt in the bowels of a freezing cloud Fighting for passage, makes the welkin c'racke." Again, in some verses prefixed to Coryat's " Crudities,"— 11 A skewed engine mathematicall To draw up words that make the welkin cracked And in Taylor's Superbice Flagellum, 1630,— il Yet every Reall heav'nly Thundereracket This Caitife in such feare and terror strake," &c.

7

ACT i.]

TDK TEMPEST.

Of thee, mv dear one ! thee, rav daughter,—who All ignorant of what thou art, nought knowing Of whence I am ; nor that I am more better Than Prospero, master of a full-poor cell, And thy no greater father. MIRA. More to know Did never meddle with mv thoughts. Pno. * T is time I should inform thee further. Lend thv hand, And pluck my magic garment from me.—So ; \Lays down his robe. Lie there, my art.—Wipe thou thine e}Tes ; have comfort The direful spectacle of the wreck, which touched The very virtue of compassion in thee, I have with such provision in mine art So safely order'd, that there is no soul—a No, not so much perdition as an hair, Betid to any creature in the vessel Which thou hearcTst cry, which thou saw'st sink. Sit down ; For thou must now know further. b MIRA. YOU have often Begun to tell me what I am ; but stopp'd, And left me to a bootless inquisition, Concluding, Stay, not yet.— PRO. The hour's now come ; The very minute bids thee ope thine ear ; Obey, and be attentive. Canst thou remember A time before we came unto this cell ? I do not think thou canst, for then thou wast not Out three years old.0 MIRA. Certainly, sir, I can. PRO. By what? by any other house or person ? Of anything the image, tell me, that Hath kept with thy remembrance. MIRA.

'Tis far

off,

And rather like a dream than an assurance That ni}r remembrance warrants. Had I not Four or five women once that tended me ? PRO. Thou hadst, and more, Miranda. But how is it That this lives in thv mind ? What see'st thou else In the dark backward and abysm of time ? If thou remember'st aught ere thou cain'st here, How thou cam'st here thou mavst. MIRA. But that I do not. PRO. Twelve year since, Miranda, twelve year since, that there is no soul—] Rowe prints,— 11 — that there is no soul lost, " tl TheobaM. that there is no foyle;" and Johnson, " that there is no M " such *ot/. We believe, notwithstanding Steevens' remark that 4 interruptions are not uncommon to Shakspeare," 'that * soul " is a typographical error, and that the author wrote, as Capell reads,— " that there is no loss. No, not so much perdition as an hair Betid to any creature." kc. b You have often, &c] Query, •' You have oft,1' &c. a

[SCENE II.

Thy father was the duke of Milan, and A prince of power. MIRA. Sir, are not you my father ? PRO. Thy mother was a piece of virtue, and She said thou wast my daughter ; and thy father Was duke of Milan ; and his only heir A princess/1 no worse issued. MIRA. O, the heavens ! AVhat foul play had we, that we came from thence? Or blessed was't we did? PRO. Both, both, my girl: Bv foul play, as thou say'st, were we heav'd thence; But blessedty holp hither. MIRA. O, my heart bleeds To think o' the teene that I have turn'd you to, Which is from my remembrance ! Please you, further. PRO. My brother, and thy uncle, call'd Antonio,— I pray thee, mark me,—that a brother should Be so perfidious !—he whom, next thyself, Of all the world I lov'd, and to him put The manage of my state ; as, at that time, Through all the signiories it was the first,— And Prospero the prime duke;—being so reputed In dignity, and for the liberal arts Without a parallel: those being all my study, The government I cast upon my brother, And to my state grew stranger, being transported And rapt in secret studies. Thy false uncle— Dost thou attend me ? MIRA. Sir, most heedfully. PRO. Being once perfected how to grant suits, How to deny them, who to advance, and who To trashf for over-topping,—new created The creatures that were mine, I say, or changed 'em, Or else new form'd 'em ; having both the key Of officer and office, set all hearts i' the state To what tune pleas'd his ear ; that now he was The ivy which had hid my princely trunk, And suck'd my verdure out on't.—Thou attend'st not. MIRA. O good sir, I do. PRO. I pray thee, mark me. I thus neglecting worldly ends, all dedicated To closeness, and the bettering of my mind With that, which, but by being so retir'd, O'er-priz'd all popular rate, in my false brother Awak'd an evil nature ; and my trust, c Out three years old.] That is, past, or more than, three years old. d A princess,—] In the old text, " And Princesse." The correction is due to Pope. «? Teen—] Sorrow, vexation. * To trash for over-topping^—] To clog or impede, lest they should run too fast. The expression to trash is a hunting technical. In the present day sportsmen check the speed of very fleet hounds by tying a rope, called a doy-lrash, round their necks, and letting them trail it after them : formerly they effected the object by attaching to them a weight, sometimes called in jest a clogdoydo.

ACT I.]

THE TEMPEST.

Like a good parent, did beget of him A falsehood, in its contrary as great As my trust was ; which had indeed no limit, A confidence sans bound. l i e being thus lorded, Not only with what my revenue yielded, But what my power might else exact,—like one Who having unto truth, by telling of it, Made such a sinner of his memory, To credit his own lie, a —he did believe He was indeed the duke ; out o' the substitution, And executing the outward face of royalty, With all prerogative :—hence his ambition grow-

[SCENE I I .

Dost tliou hear ? MIRA. Your tale, sir, would cure deafness. PRO. TO have no screen between this part he play'd And him he play'd it for, he needs will be Absolute Milan. Me, poor man ! my library Was dukedom large enough; of temporal royalties He thinks me now incapable; confederates (So dry he was for sway) with the* king of Naples, To give him annual tribute, do him homage; Subject his coronet to his crown, and bend The dukedom, yet unbow'd,—alas, poor Milan !— To most ignoble stooping. MIRA. O the heavens ! PRO. Mark his condition, and the event; then tell me, If this might be a brother. MIRA. I should sin To think but nobly of my grandmother : Good wombs have borne bad sons. PRO. NOW the condition. This king of Naples, being an enemy To me inveterate, hearkens my brother's suit; Which was, that he, in lieub o' the premises Of homage, and I know not how much tribute, Should presently extirpate me and mine Out of the dukedom, and confer fair Milan, With all the honours, on my brother : whereon, A treacherous army levied, one midnight Fated to the purpose,0 did Antonio open The gates of Milan ; and, i' the dead of darkness, The ministers for the purpose hurried thence Me, and thy crying self. MIRA. Alack, for pity !

I, not rcmemVring how I cried out then, Will cry it o'er again : it is a hint That wrings my eyes to't. PRO. Hear a little further, And then I'll bring theo to the present business Which now's upon us; without the which, this story Were most impertinent. MIRA. Wherefore did they not Tliai hour destroy us? PRO, Well demanded, wench : My talc provokes that question. Dear, they durst not,— So dear the love my people bore me,—nor set A mark so bloody on the business ; but With colours fairer painted their foul ends. In few,d they hurried us aboard a bark, Bore us some leagues to sea; where they prepar'd A rotten carcass of a boat,* not rigg'cl, Nor tackle, sail, nor mast; the very rats Instinctively have quit i t : there they hoist us, To cry to the sea that roar'd to us ; to sigh To the winds, whose pity, sighing back again, Did us but loving wrong. MIRA. Alack, what trouble Was I then to you ? PRO. O, a cherubin Thou wast that did preserve me ! Thou didst smile, Infused with a fortitude from heaven, When I have deck'd e the sea with drops full salt; Under my burthen groan'd ; which rais'd in me An undergoing stomach, to bear up Against what should ensue. MIRA. HOW came we ashore ? PRO. By Providence divine. Some food we had, and some fresh water, that A noble Neapolitan, Gonzalo, Out of his charity,—who being then appointed Master of this design,—did give us ; with Rich garments, linens, stuffs, and necessaries, Which since have steaded much; so, of his gentleness, Knowing I lov'd my books, he furnish'd me, From mine own library, with volumes that I prize above my dukedom. MIRA. Would I might But ever see that man !

(*) Old text omits, the.

(*) Old text, Butt.

like one Who having unto truth, by telling of it, Made such a sinner of hi? memory, To credit his own lie,—] The folios have, "into truth," which Warburton amended; but this we suspect is not the only correction needed, the passage as it stands, though intelligible, t being very hazily expressed. Mr. Collier's annotator would read,— " like one Who having to untruth, by telling of it," &c.

and this emendation is entitled to more respect than it has received. b In lieu—] In lieu means here, in guerdon, or consideration; not as it usually signifies, instead, or in place. »• Fated to ih? purpose,—] Mr. Collier's annotator reads,— " Fated to the practice;" and as "purpose" is repeated two lines below, the substitution is an improvement.

a

d Tn few,—] To be brief; in a few words.

e Deck'd—] Decked, if not a corruption for dogged, an old provincialism, probably meant the same, that is, sprinkled.

9

;

[Aside to ARFEL, above.'] Now I arise :—a Sit still, and hear the last of our sea-sorrow. Here in this island we arriv'd ; and here Have I, thy schoolmaster, made thee more profit Than other princess' can, that have more time For vainer hours, and tutors not so careful. MIR A. Heavens thank you for't ! And now, I pray you, sir,— For still 'tis beating in my mind,—your reason For raising this sea-storm ? PRO. Know thus far forth. By accident most strange, bountiful Fortune— Now mv dear ladv—hath mine enemies Brouo-ht to this shore ; and bv mv prescience I find my zenith doth depend upon A most auspicious star, whose influence If now I court not, but omit, mv fortunes Will ever after droop.—Here cease more questions : Thou art inclined to sleep ; \ is a good dulness, And give it way;—I know thou canst not choose.— [MIRANDA sleeps. Come away, servant, come ! I am ready now : Approach, my Ariel; come !

10

-

'

Enter ARIEL.(2)

PRO.

a Now I ari^e:—] The purport of these words has never been satisfactorily explained, because they have been always understood as addressed to Miranda. If we suppose them directed net to her, but aside to Ariel, who has entered, invisible except to Prospero, after having " Perform'd to point the tempest," and whose arrival occasions Prospero to operate his sleepy charm

•

ARI. All hail, great master ! grave sir, hail! I come To answer thy best pleasure ; be't to fly, To swim, to dive into the fire, to ride On the curPd clouds,—to thy strong bidding, task Ariel, and all his quality. PRO. Hast thou, spirit, Perform'd to point the tempest that I bade thee ? ARI. TO every article. I hoarded the king's ship; now on the beak, Xow in the waist, the deck, in every cabin, I flam'd amazement: sometime I 'd divide And burn in many places ; on the topmast, The yards, and bowsprit,* would I flame distinctly,b Then meet, and join.(3) Jove's lightnings,f the precursors O' the dreadful thunder-claps, more momentary And sight-outrunning were not: the fire, and cracks Of sulphurous roaring, the most mighty Neptune vSeem to besiege, and make his bold waves tremble, Yea, his dread trident shake. (*) Old text,

Borc-spntt.

(t) Old text,

Lightening.

upon Miranda, they are perfectly intelligible. That they were so intended becomes almost certain from Prospero's language presently, when the charm has taken effect,— 14 Come away, servant, come ! I am ready now: Approach, my Ariel; come ! " b Distinctly,—] That is, separately.

PRO. My brave spirit! Who was so firm, so constant, that this coil Would not infect his reason ? Am. Not a soul But felt a fever of the mad, and play'd Some tricks of despei^ation. All, but mariners, Plung'd in the foaming brine, and quit the vessel, Then all a-fire with me: the king's son, Ferdinand, With hair up-staring,—then like reeds, not hair,— Was the first man that leap'd ; cried, Hell is empty, And all the devils are here. PRO. Why, that's my spirit! But was not this nigh shore ? ARI. Close by, my master. PRO. But are they, Ariel, safe ? ARI. Not a hair perish'd ; On their sustaining garments not a blemish, But fresher than before : and, as thou bad'st me, In troops I have dispers'd them 'bout the isle. The king's son have I landed by himself; Whom I left cooling of the air with sighs, A

And are upon the Mediterranean flote,—] Mr. Collier's annotator suggests, "And all upon," &c; but what is gained by the alteration we cannot discern. Flote is here used substantively for flood or wave, as in the following from Middleton and Rowley's

In an odd angle of the isle, and sitting, His arms in this sad knot. PRO. Of the king's ship, The mariners, say how thou hast dispos'd, And all the rest o' the fleet. ARI. Safely in harbour Is the king's ship ; in the deep nook, where once Thou call'dst me up at midnight to fetch dew From the still-vex'cl Bermoothes,(4) there she's hid: The mariners all under hatches stow'd; Whom, with a charm join'd to tfieir suffer'd labour, I have left asleep : and for the rest o' the fleet, Which I dispers'd, they all have met again, And are upon the Mediterranean flote.,a Bound sadly home for Naples, Supposing that they saw the king's ship wreck'd, And his great person perish. PRO. Ariel, thy charge Exactly is perform'd ; but there's more work. What is the time o' the day ? ARI. Past the mid season. play of " The Spanish Gipsie," Act I. Sc. 5,— " it did not More check my rash attempt, than draw to ebb The float of those desires."

11

P R O . At least two glasses—the time, ?twixt six and now— ust by us botli be spent most preciously.a A m . Is there mure toil? Since thou dost iiive me pains, Let me lvnieinher thec what thou hast promised, "Which is not yet perfornfd me. PRO. HOW now ! moody ? What is't thou canst demand ? ART. My liberty. P R O . "Before the time be out ? no more ! ARI. 1 pr'ythee, Kemember, I have done thec worthy service ; Told thee no lies, made thee b no mMakin^s, servM Without or urud^e or grumblings: thou didst promise To bate me a full year. PRO. Post thou forget Prom what a torment I did free thee '/ ARI. ^o. PRO. Thou do>t ; and think\st it much to tread the ooze Of the salt deep, To run upon the >harp wind of the north, a

At lea-t two plasms—the time, 'twixt -ix and now— >lu*t liy u- both be spent most preciously.] BY the customary punctuation of this passage, Prospero is made to ask a t \l theo. Filth as thou art, with human care ; and lodg'd thee Jn mine own cell, till thou didst seek to violate The honour of mv child. CAL. ho !—would it had been done ! Thou didst prevent me ; I had peopled else This isle with Caliban-. PRO.1* Abhorred slave, "Which any print of goodness will not take, Beino; capable1* of all ill! I pitied thee, Took pain- to make thee speak, taught thee each hour ()ne thing or other: when thou didst not, savage,

Know thine own meaning, but wouldst gabble like A thing most brutish, I endow'd thy purposes With words that made them known. But thy vile race, 0 Though thou didst learn, had that in't which good natures Could not abide to be with ; therefore wast thou Deservedly confin'cl into this rock, Who hadst descrv'd more than a prison. CAL. YOU taught me language; and my profit on't Is, I know how to curse. The red plague rid d you, For learning me your language ! PR0Hag-seed, hence ! Fetch us in fuel; and be quick, thou 'rt best, To answer other business. Shrugg'st thou, malice? If thou neglect'st, or dost unwillingly What I command, I'll rack thee with old cramps, Fill all thy bones with aches/ make thee roar, That beasts shall tremble at thy din.

a PRO.] This speech, in the folios, has the prefix ".Vira," but it plainly belong to Prospero, to whom Theobald assigned it, and who ha> retained it ever since. b Which any print of goodness will not take, Being capable of all ill.']

the word was written aches; and pronounced as a dissyllable: when a mrbAt was written akes, and its pronunciation was monosyllabic. This distinction is invariably marked in the old text; thus, in " Romeo and Juliet," Act I I . Sc. 5, where it is a verb,— " Lord, how my head akes, what a head have I." c airs attend !—Vouchsafe mv prayer I '11 manacle thy neck and feet together : May know if you remain upon this inland ; Sea-water shalt thou drink ; thy food shall be And that you will some i^ood in-truction give The fresh-brook muscles, witner'd roots, and husks 1 Ilnw I may bear DH here: my prime le^uest, Wherein the acorn cradled. Follow. Which I do la>t pronounce, is,—O you wonder!— FER. If you be maid or no ? I will resist such entertainment, till MIRA. ^ O wonder, sir ; Mine enemy has more power. But t of them that >peak tliis speech, Make not too rash a trial of him, for WU'f b I k ' * gentle, and not fearful.] TM> may mean, l i e - mild and *iot terrible: b t ' from the c\.

X O , no, he's ^

SER. Sir. you may thank yourself for this great That would not bless our Europe with your daughter, But rather lose her to an African ; Where >he. at least, is banish'd from your eye, Wh hath cause to wet the grief on't. ALON. Pr'ythee, peace. SET.. YOU were kneel'd to, and importuned otherwise. By all of us ; and the fair soul herself Wei-lTd, between lothness and obedience, at Which end o' the beam she'd a bow. We have lost your son, I fear, for ever. Milan and Xaples have More widows in them of this business' making, Than we bring men to comfort them : The fault's your own. ALOX. SO is the dear'st o' the loss. Gox. My lord Sebastian, The truth you speak doth lack some gentleness, And time to speak it in ; you rub the sore, When vou should brinjj; the plaster. SKB. ^ e r y well. AXT. And most chiruro'eonly. (•iox. It is foul weather in us all, good sir, When you aw cloudy. ; SEB. FOul ?v^nth< /• / AXT. ATury foul. (iox. Had I plantation of thi* i>le, my lord,— A x r . H e ' d sow t with nettle-seed. Si;n. ()r ourn, hound of land, tilth, vineyard, none ; No u^e of metal, corn, or wine, or oil; Xo occupation ; all men idle, all; And women too,—hut innocent and pure ; XJ

O X

No .-uYeiviiiTity : —

SEB. Yet he would be king on't. AXT. The latter end of his commonwealth fort< the beu'inniiiu'.

Gox. All things in common nature produce,

should

» Which end o' the beam she'd bow.] So Malone. The old text ha*.— " Which end o' t V beame should b AW" For which Cap-11 >ub>til : d,— " Which end the beam should bow."

[SCENE I.

"Without sweat or endeavour: treason, felony, Sword, pike, knife, gun, or need of any engine, Would I not have ; but nature should bring forth, Of it own kind, all foizon,b all abundance, To feed my innocent people.(1) SEB. N O marrying 'mong his subjects ? ANT. Xone, man; all idle,—whores and knaves. Gox. I would with such perfection govern, sir, To excel the golden age. SEB. Save his majesty ! ANT. Long live Gonzalo ! GON. And, do you mark me, sir ?— ALON. Pr'ythee, no more: thou dost talk nothing to me. Gox. I do well believe your highness ; and did it to minister occasion to these gentlemen, who are of such sensible and nimble lungs that they always use to laugh at nothing. ANT. 'Twas you we laugh'd at. GON. Who, in this kind of merry fooling, am nothing to you: so you may continue, and laugh at nothing; still. AXT. What a blow was there given ! SEB. An it had not fallen flat-longr. GON. YOU are gentlemen of brave mettle; you would lift the moon out of her sphere, if she would continue in it five weeks without changing. Eliter

ARIEL,

invisible, solemn Music

'playing.

SEB. We would so, and then go a bat-fowling.(2) ANT. Nay, good my lord, be not angry. GON. NO, I warrant you; I will not adventure my discretion so weakly. Will you laugh me asleep, for I am very heavy? ANT. GO sleep, and hear us. [All sleep but ALON., S E B . , and ANT. ALON. What, all so soon asleep ! I wish mine eyes Would, with themselves, shut up my thoughts: I find They are inclined to do so. SEB. Please you, sir, Do not omit the heavy offer of i t : It seldom visits sorrow; when it doth, It is a comforter. ANT. We two, my lord, Will guard your person while you take your rest, And watch your safety. ALON. Thank you.—Wondrous heavy. [ALON. sleeps. Exit AUIEL. What a strange drowsiness possesses them! 'S

ann

°tat0r

chan

Ses

Which end," &c. b Foizon,—] Abundance, plenty.

of the previous as

rr\ THE

ACT I I . ]

TEMPEST.

ANT. It is the quality o' the climate. SEB.

Why I find not

Doth it not, then, our eyelids sink ? Myself dispos'd to sleep. ANT. Nor I ; my spirits are nimble. They fell together all, as by consent; They dropp'd, as by a thunder-stroke. What might, Worthy Sebastian—O, what might—no more :— And yet methinks I see it in thy face, What thou shouldst be : the occasion speaks thee; and My strong imagination sees a crown Dropping upon thy head. SEB. What, art thou waking? ANT. DO you not hear me speak ? SEB . I do ; and surely It is a sleepy language ; and thou speak'st Out of thy sleep: what is it thou didst say ? This is a strange repose, to be asleep With eyes wide open; standing, speaking, moving, And yet so fast asleep. ANT. Noble Sebastian, Thou lett'st thy fortune sleep,—die rather; wink'st Whiles thou art waking. SEB. Thou dost snore distinctly; There's meaning in thy snores. ANT. I am more serious than my custom : you Must be so too, if heed me; which to do Trebles thee o'er. SEB. Well, I am standing water. ANT. I'll teach you how to flow. SEB. DO SO: to ebb, Hereditary sloth instructs me. ANT. O, If you but knew how you the purpose cherish Whiles thus you mock it ! how, in stripping it, You more invest it! Ebbing men, indeed, Most often do so near the bottom run, By their own fear or sloth. SEB. Pr'ythee, say on : The setting of thine eye, and cheek, proclaim A matter from thee ; and a birth, indeed, Which throes thee much to yield. ANT. Thus, sir: Although this lord of weak remembrance/ this,— Who shall be of as little memory [suaded,— When he is earth'd,—hath here almost perFor he 's a spirit of persuasion, only Professes to persuade^—the king his son's alive,— a Of weak remembrance,—] Of feeble memory. b Professes to persuade,—] The entanglement in this speech may have arisen from the retention of ihe poet's first, as well as ot his reconsidered thought. By reading the passage without the words, " Professes to persuade," as Steevens justly remarks, " nothing is wanting to its sense or metre ; " " hath here almost persuaded,— For he's a spirit of persuasion only,— The king, his son's alive," &c.

[SCENE I.

9

T is as impossible that he's undrown'd, As he that sleeps here, swims. SEB. I have no hope That he's undrown'd. ANT. O, out of that no hope, What great hope have you! no hope, that way, is Another way so high a hope, that even Ambition cannot pierce a wink beyond, But doubts * discovery there. Will you grant with me, That Ferdinand is drown'd ? SEB. He 's gone. ANT. Then, tell me, Who 's the next heir of Naples ? SEB. Claribel. ANT. She that is queen of Tunis; she that dwells [Naples Ten leagues beyond man's life; she that from Can have no note, unless the sun were post,— The man i' the moon's too slow,—till new-born chins Be rough and razorable ; she, c from whom We all were sea-swallow'd, though some cast again; And, by that destiny/ to perform an act, Whereof what's past is prologue; what to come, In yours and my discharge. SEB. What stuff is this?—How say you? 'Tis true, my brother's daughter's queen of Tunis: So is she heir of Naples; 'twixt which regions There is some space. ANT. A space whose every cubit Seems to cry out, How shall that Claribel Measure us back to Naples ? Keep in Tunis, And let Sebastian wake !—Say, this were death That now hath seiz'd them; why, they were no worse [Naples Than now they are. There be that can rule As well as he that sleeps; lords that can prate As amply and unnecessarily As this Gonzalo; I myself could make A chough of as deep chat. O, that you bore The mind that I do ! what a sleep were this For your advancement! Do you understand me ? SEB. Methinks I do. ANT. And how does your content Tender your own good fortune ? SEB. I remember, You did supplant your brother Prospero. ANT. True: (*) Old text, doubt. c she, from whom—] That is, coming from whom. The old text has,— " she that from whom." Rowe made the correction. d And, by that destiny,—] We should possibly read,— " though some cast again,— And that by destiny,—to perform," &c.

21

[SCENE II.

THE TEMPEST.

ACT I I . ]

Ami look how well my garments sit upon me ; Much feater than before : mv brother's servants iv then mv fellows ; now thev are mv men. SEB. But, for your conscience,— ANT. AV, >ir ; where lies that? if it were a ki e. 1 wuuld put me to mv slipper : but I feel not This deitv in mv bosom ; twenty consciences, That Mand 'twixt me and Milan, candied be they, And melt, ere they molest! Here lies your brother,— No brtler than the earth he lies upon, If he were that which now he's like, that's dead,— Whom I, with this obedient steel, three inches of it, Can lav to bed for ever ; whiles vou, doinij; thus, To the perpetual wink for aye might put This ancient morsel, this sir Prudence, who Should not upbraid our course. For all the rest. They ?11 take suggestion a as a cat laps milk; The}* '11 tell the clock to any business that We say befits the hour. SEB. Thy case, dear friend, Shall he my precedent; as thou gott'st Milan, I 'II come by Naples. Draw thy sword; one stroke Shall free thee from the tribute which thou pay'st; And T the king shall love thee. ANT. Draw together; And when T rear my hand, do you the like, To fall it on Gonzalo. SKB. O, but one word. [They converse apart. Music.

[Waking.] What's the matter? SEB. Whiles we stood here securing your repose, Even now, we heard a hollow burst of bellowing Like bulls, or rather lions; did it not wake you? It struck mine ear most terribly. ALON. I heard nothing. ANT. O, 'twas a din to fright a monster's ear; To make an earthquake ! sure, it was the roar Of a whole herd of lions. ALON. Heard you this, Gonzalo ? GON. Upon mine honour, sir, I heard a humming, And that a strange one too, which did awake me: I shak'd you, sir, and cried ; as mine eyes open'd, I saw their weapons drawn:—there was a noise, That's verity.d 'T is best we stand upon our guard, Or that we quit this place: let 's draw our weapons. ALON. Lead off this ground; and let's make further search For my poor son. GON. Heavens keep him from these beasts ! For he is, sure, i' the island. ALON. Lead away. [Exeunt. Am. Prospero my lord shall know what I have done:— So, king, go safely on to seek thy son. [Exit. ALONT.

Re-entrr A R I E L , invisible.

Am. My master through his art foresees the danger That vou, his friend, are in; and sends me forth,— For else his project dies,—to keep them b living. [Simjs in GONZALO'S ear. While you lie re do snoring lie, Open-eyed Conspiracy His time doth take : If of Hf you keep a care, Shake off shnnb< ry and beware. Aw (ike ! awake ! ANT. Then let us both be sudden. GON. [W

Their pricks at my footfall; sometime am I All wounda with adders, who, with cloven tongues, Do hiss me into madness.—Lo, now ! lo !

Here comes a spirit of his ; and to torment me, For bringing wood in slowly : I '11 fall flat; Perchance, he will not mind me.

*>-

*-/.'-'; __~ Enter

TRINCULO.

Here 's neither bush nor shrub, to bear off any weather at all, and another storm brewing;

I hear it sing i'the wind: yond same black cloud, yond huge one, looks like a foul bombard- that

TBIN.

a All wound with—] All encircled by.

23

would shed his liquor. If it should thunder as it did before, I know not where to hide my head: yond same cloud cannot choose but fall by pailf u ] s .—What have we here? a man or a fish? dead or alive ? A fish : he smells like a fish : a very ancient and fish-like smell; a kind of, not of the newest, poor-John. A strange fish ! Were I in England now (as once I was), and had but this fish painted, not a holiday fool there but would give a piece of silver : there would this monster make a man; any strange beast there makes a man : when they will not give a doit to relieve a lame beggar, they will lay out ten to see a dead Indian.!3) Legged like a man ! and his fins like arms ! Warm, o' my troth! I do now let loose mv opinion, hold it no longer,—this is no fish, but an islander, that hath lately suffered by a thunderbolt. [Thunder.^ Alas, the storm is come again! my best way is to creep under his gaberdine; a there is no other shelter hereabout: misery acquaints a man with strange bedfellows. I will here shroud till the dregs of the storm be past. Enter STE.

STEPKANO,

singing ; a bottle in his hand.

/ *\all no more to sea, to sea, Here shall I die ashore ;—

•i Gaberdine;] A loose over-garment, worn by the lower classes. See note (6>. p. 43S, Vol. I.

24

This is a very scurvy tune to sing at a man's funeral: well, here 's my comfort. [Drinks. The master, the swabber, the boatswain, and I, The gunner, and his mate, Lovd Mall, Meg, and Marian, and Margery, But none of us car]d for Kate: For she had a tongue with a tang, Would cry to a sailor, Go hang: She lov'd not the savour of tar nor of pitch, Yet a tailor might scratch her where'er she did itch ; Then to sea, boys, and let her go hang ! This is a scurvy tune too: but here ?s my comfort. [Drinks. GAL. DO not torment me :—O ! STE. What's the matter? Have we devils here ? Do you put tricks upon 's with salvages and men of Inde, h a ? I have not 'scaped drowning, to be afeard now of your four legs ; for it hath been said, As proper a man as ever went on four legs cannot make him give ground : and it shall be said so again, while Stephano breathes at nostrils. CAL. The spirit torments me :—O ! STE. This is some monster of the isle with four legs, who hath got, as I take it, an ague. Where the devil should he Irani our language ? I will

give him some relief, if it be but for that. If I can recover him, and keep him tame, and get to Naples with him, he ?s a piesent for any emperor that ever trod on neat's-leather. CAL. DO not torment me, pr'ythee ! I'll bring my wood home faster. STE. H e ' s in his fit now; and does not talk after the wisest. He shall taste of my bottle : if he have never drunk wine afore, it will go near to remove his fit. If I can recover him, and keep him tame, I will not take too much for him : he shall pay for him that hath him, and that soundly. CAL. Thou dost me yet but little hurt; thou wilt anon, I know it by thy trembling: now Prosper works upon thee. STE. Come on your ways ; open your mouth ; here is that which will give language to you, cat; open 37our mouth; this will shake your shaking, I can tell }Tou, and that soundly : you cannot tell who ?s your friend : open your chaps again. THIN. I should know that voice : it should be— but he is drowned; and these are devils:—O ! defend me!— STE. Four legs and two voices; a most delicate monster! His forward voice now, is to speak well of his friend ; his backward voice is to utter foul speeches and to detract. If all the wine in my bottle will recover him, I will help his ague: a

Amen !] Perhaps a warning to the monster to stint, his draught, b I have no long spoon.] An allusion which we have had

Conic ;—Amen ! a I will pour some in thy other mouth. THIN. Stephano,— STE. Doth thy other mouth call me? Mercy ! mercy ! This is a devil, and no monster: I will leave him : I have no long spoon.b THIN. Stephano!—if thou beest Stephano, touch me, and speak to me; for I am Trinculo,—be not afeard,—thy good friend Trinculo. STE. If thou beest Trinculo, come forth: I'll pull thee by the lesser legs : if ar.y be Trinculo's legs, these are they.—Thou art very Trinculo, indeed : how earnest thou to be the siege of this moon-calf? can he vent Trinculos? TBIN. I took him to be killed with a thunderstroke :—but art thou not drowned, Stephano? I hope now, thou art not drowned. Is the storm overMown? I hid me under the dead moon-calf's gaberdine for fear of the storm. And art thou living, Stephano? O Stephano, two Neapolitans 'scaped ! STE. Pr'ythee, do not turn me about; my stomach is not constant. CAL. [Aside.~] These be fine things, an if they be not sprites. ? That s a brave god, and bears celestial liquor : I will kneel to him. STE. HOW didst thou 'scape ? How earnest thou before, in "The Comedy of Errors," Act IV. Sc. 3, to the ancient proverb, " H e who eats with the devil hath need of a long spoon."

25

hither ? swear by this bottle, how thou earnest hither. I escaped upon a butt of sack, which the sailors heaved overboard, by this bottle ! which I made of the bark of a tree, with mine own hands, since I was cast ashore. CAL. [^$if/r

28

NAN;',

ACT III.]

THE TEMPEST.

Had never like executor. I forget: But these sweet thoughts do even refresh my labour; * Most busy felt, when I do it.a Enter

MIRANDA,

and

PROSPERO

folloiving.

Alas, now ! pray you, Work not so hard ; I would the lightning had Burnt up those logs that you are enjoin'd to pile! Pray, set it down, and rest you : when this burns, 'T will weep for having wearied you. My father Is hard at study; pray, now, rest yourself; H e ' s safe for these three hours. FER. O most dear mistress, The sun will set before I shall discharge What I must strive to do. MIRA. If you '11 sit down I '11 bear your logs the while : pray give me that; I '11 carry it to the pile. PER. NO, precious creature: I had rather crack my sinews, break my back, Than you should such dishonour undergo, While I sit lazy by. MIRA. It would become me As well as it does you; and I should do it With much more ease ; for my good will is to it, And yours it is against. PRO. [_Aside.~\ Poor worm, thou art infected ! This visitation shows it. MIRA. YOU look wearily. FER. NO, noble mistress; 'tis fresh morning with me, When you are by at night. I do beseech you,— Chiefly that I might set it in my prayers,— What is your name ? MIRA. Miranda:—O my father, I have broke your 'hest to say so ! FER. Admir'd Miranda ! Indeed the top of admiration ; worth What's dearest to the world ! Full many a lady I have ey'd with best regard ; and many a time The harmony of their tongues hath into bondage Brought my too diligent ear: for several virtues Have I lik'd several women ; never any With so full soul, but some defect in her Did quarrel with the noblest grace she ow'd, And put it to the foil: but you, O you, MIRA.

(*) Old text, labours, a

I forget: But these sweet thoughts do even refresh my labour ; Most busy felt, when I do it.] This is the great crux of the play. No passage in Shakespeare has occasioned more speculation, and on none has speculation proved less happy. The first folio reads, "Most busie lest, when I doe i t ; " the second, "Most busie least when I doe i t ; " Pope prints, "Least busy when I do i t ; " Theobald, "Most busyless

[iSOENE I.

So perfect and so peerless, arc created Of every creature's best ! MIRA. I do not know One of my sex ; no woman's face remember, Save, from my glass, mine own ; nor have I seen More that I may call men, than you, good friend, And my dear father : how features are abroad, I am skill-less of; but, by my modesty, —The jewel in my dower,—I would not wish Any companion in the world but you ; Nor can imagination form a shape, Besides yourself, to like of. But I prattle Something too wildly, and my father's precepts I therein do forget. FER. I am, in my condition, A prince, Miranda ; I do think, a king,— I would not so !—and would no more endure This wooden slavery, than to suffer [speak :— The flesh-fly blow my mouth.—Hear my soul The very instant that I saw you, did My heart fly to your service; there resides, To make me slave to i t ; and for your sake Am I this patient log-man. MIRA. DO you love me ? PER. O heaven ! O earth! bear witness to this sound, And crown what I profess with kind event, If I speak true ! if hollowly, invert What best is boded me, to mischief! I, Beyond all limit of what else i' the world, Do love, prize, honour you. MIRA. I am a fool, To weep at what I am glad of. PRO. [Aside. ] Fair encounter Of two most rare affections ! Heavens rain grace On that which breeds between 'em ! FER. Wherefore weep you ? MIRA. At mine unworthiness, that dare not offer What I desire to give; and much less take What I shall die to want. But this is trifling; And all the more it seeks to hide itself, The bigger bulk it shows. Hence, bashful cunning ! And prompt me, plain and holy innocence ! I am your wife, if you will marry me; If not, I '11 die your maid : to be your fellowb You may deny me; but I '11 be your servant, Whether you will or no. FER. My mistress, dearest! And I thus humble ever. when I do it; " Mr. Holt White suggests, " Most busiest when I do it;" and Mr. Collier's annotator, " Most husy,—blest when I do it." Whatever may have been the word for which " lest" was misprinted, " Most busy" and that word bore reference, unquestionably, not to Ferdinand's task, but to the sweet thoughts by which it was relieved. We have substituted felt as a likely word to have been mis-set " lest; " but are in doubt whether still, in its old sense of ever, always, is not preferable,— " Most busy still, when I do it." b Fellow—] That is, companion, pheer.

29

ACT I I I . ]

THE TEMPEST.

Mv husband, then ? F E R . A\\ with a heart as willing; As bondage eVr of freedom : here 's mv hand. M I R A . And mine, with my heart in ' t : and now, farewell. Till half an hour hence. FER. A thousand thousand ! [Exeunt FERDINAND and MIRANDA sen rally. P R O . SO glad of this as they I cannot be, Who are surprised with all; but my rejoicing At nothing can be more. I '11 to mv book ; For yet, ere supper-time, must I perform [Exit. Much business appertaining. MIRA.

[SCENE II.

CAL. LO, how he mocks me ! wilt thou let him, my lord ? TRIN. Lord, quoth he !—that a monster should be such a natural ! CAL. LO, lo, again ! bite him to death, I pr'ythee. STE. Trinculo, keep a good tongue in your head ; if you prove a mutineer, the next tree— the poor monster's my subject, and he shall not suffer indignity. CAL. I thank my noble lord. Wilt thou be pleased to hearken once again to the suit I made to thee ? STE. Marry will I : kneel and repeat it; I will stand, and so shall Trinculo.

SCENE II.—Another Part of the Island. Enter A R I E L , invisible. Enter

CALIBAN with a TRINCULO

bottle; STEPHANO and following.

STE. Tell not m e ; —when the butt is out we will drink water ; not a drop before : therefore bear up, and board 'em,—Servant-monster, drink to me. T R I N . Servant-monster? the folly of this island ! They say there 's but five upon this isle : we are three of them ; if the other two be brained like us, the state totters. STE. Diink, servant-monster, when I bid thee ; thy eves nre Jihnost set in thy head. T R I N . Where should thev be set else? he were a brave monster indeed, if thev were set in his tail. STE. My man-monster hath drowned his tongue in sack : for my part, the sea cannot drown me ; I swam, ere I could recover the shore, five-andthirty leagues, otF and on. By this light thou shalt be my lieutenant, monster, or my standard. ? T R I N . Your lieutenant, if you list ; he s no standard. STE. W e ' l l not run, monsieur Monster. T R I N . Nor go neither : but you'll lie, like dogs ; and vet say nothing neither. STK. Moon-calf, speak once in thy life, if thou bee>t a s»ood moon-calf. CAL. HOW does thy honour? Let me lick thy shoe. I '11 not serve him, he is not valiant. T R I N . Thou liest. most ignorant monster ; I am in case to justle a constable. Why, thou deboshed fi.sh, thou. was there ever a man a coward that hath drunk so much sack as T to-dav« ? Wilt thou tell a monstrous lie, being but half a fish, and half a monster ? * a pied ninny's thi*!) An allusion to the pied, or party coloured dress which Trinculo, as a jester, wore.

30

CAL. A S I told thee before, I am subject to a t y r a n t ; — a sorcerer, that by his cunning hath cheated me of the island. A m . Thou liest. CAL. Thou liest, thou jesting monkey, thou; I would my valiant master would destroy thee: I do not lie. STE. Trinculo, if you trouble him any more in ?s tale, by this hand, I will supplant some of your teeth. T R I N . Why, I said nothing. S T E . Mum then, and no more.—[To CALIBAN.] Proceed. CAL. I say, by sorcery he got this isle; From me he got it. If thy greatness will Revenge it on him—for, I know, thou dar'st; But this thing dare not,— STE. T h a t ' s most certain. CAL. —Thou shalt be lord of it, and I '11 serve thee. STE. HOW now shall this be compassed ? Canst thou bring me to the party ? CAL. Yea, yea, my lord ; I '11 yield him thee asleep, Where thou mayst knock a nail into his head. A R I . Thou liest ; thou canst not. CAL. What a pied a ninny's this !—Thou scurvy patch!— b I do beseech thy greatness, give him blows, And take his bottle from him : when t h a t ' s gone, He shall drink nought but brine ; for I '11 not show him Where the quick freshes are. STE. Trinculo, run into no further danger: interrupt the monster one word further, and, by this notes

* 127 '

VoL L

>

and

\

IM^

hand, I '11 turn nvy mercy out of doors, and make a stock-fish of thee. T M N . Why, what did I ? I did nothing; I '11 go further off. STE. Didst thou not say he lied ? ARI. Thou liest. STE. Do I so ? take thou that. [Strikes TRINCULO. As you like this, give me the lie another time. TMN. I did not give the lie :—out o' your wits,

and hearing too? A pox hall think,or Phoebus' steeds are foundered, Or Xight kept chain'd below. PRO. Fairly spoke: Sit. then, and talk with her; she is thine own.— What, Ariel! my industrious servant, Ariel! Enter

ARIEL.

Am. What would my potent master? here I am. PRO. Thou and tliv meaner fellows vour last service Did worthily perform ; and I must use you In such another trick. Go, brine: the rabble,a (>'cr whom I give thee power, here, to this place : Jncite them to quick motion ; for I must ]>estmv upon the eyes of this young couple Some vanity of mine art; it is my promise, And they expect it from me. ARI. Presently ? PRO. Ay, with a twink. A R I . Before you can say, Come, and Go, And breathe twice, and cry, So, so ; Each one, tripping on his toe, AVill be here with mop and mow. Do you love me, master ? no ? PRO. Dearly, my delicate Ariel. Do not approach Till thou dost hear me call. ARI. Well I conceive. \_Exit. PRO. Look thou be true ; do not /we dalliance Too much the rein : the strongest oaths are straw To the fire i' the blood: be more abstemious, Or else good night your vow ! FEB. I warrant you, sir ; The white-cold virgin snow upon my heart Abates the ardour of my liver. PRO. Well.— Xow come, my Ariel! bring a corollary,13 Rather than want a spirit: appear, and pertly !— [_Soft music. Xo tongue ; all eyes ; be silent! A Masque.

Enter

IRIS.

Ceres, most bounteous lady, thy rich leas Of wheat, rye, barley, vetches, oats, and pease ; Thy turfy mountains, where live nibbling sheep, And flat meads thatch\l with stover, them to keep; Thy banks with pioned and twilled brims,0 IRIS.

ft The rabble,—] The inferior spirits. l) A corollary,—] An overplus. 1 Thy banks with pioned and twilled brims,—] According to Henl±y, " piowd and twilled brims meant brims 1 dug and begrimed. ' Handier and Steevens contend that the poet had In view the margin of a stream adorned with flowers; while Mr. Collier's annotator would read, " pioned and tilled," that i s cultivated "brims." We much prefer the interpretation of I!n-imer and steevens to either of the others; but have not thought it deiirab'e to alt.r the old text.

Which spongy April at thy best betrims, To make cold nymphs chaste crowns ; and thy broom groves,d Whose shadow the dismissed bachelor loves, Being lass-lorn ; thy pole-clipp'd vineyard ; And thy sea-marge, steril, and rocky-hard, Where thou thyself dost air;—the queen o' the sky, Whose watery arch and messenger am I, Bids thee leave these ; and with her sovereign Grace,

Here on this grass-plot, in this very place, To come and sport:—her peacocks fly amain ; Approach, rich Ceres, her to entertain. Enter

CERES.

CER. Hail, many-colour'd messenger, that ne'er Dost disobey the wife of Jupiter; Who, with thy saffron wings, upon my flowers Diffusest honey-drops, refreshing showers ; And with each end of thy blue bow dost crown My bosky acres and my unshrubb'd down, Rich scarf to my proud earth ;—why hath thy queen Summoned me hither, to this short-grass'd green ? I R I S . A contract of true love to celebrate; And some donation freely to estate On the bless'd lovers. CER. Tell me, heavenly bow, If Venus or her son, as thou dost know Do now attend the queen ? Since they did plot The means that dusky Dis my daughter got, Her and her blind boy's scandal'd company I have forsworn. IRIS. Of her society Be not afraid ; I met her deity Cutting the clouds towards Paphos, and her son Dove-drawn with her. Here thought they to have done Some wanton charm upon this man and maid, Whose vows are, that no bed-rite shall be paid Till Hymen's torch be lighted: but in vain, Mars's hot minion is return'd again ; Her waspish-headed son has broke his arrows, Swears he will shoot no more, but play with sparrows, And be a boy right out. CER. Highest queen of state, Great Juno comes ! I know her by her gait. A—br^m Ir?™s,»—1 H a n m e r changes this to " brown groves," as does Mr. Colliers annotator; and a more unhappy alteration can hardly be conceived since it at once destroys the point of the allusion: yellow, the colour of the broom beine- snnnosed esnecially congenial to the lass-lorn and dUmi^l\Z\^\m Thus Burton, in his -Anatomy of Melancholy'' Part I I Sec 2 « So long as we are wooers, and may kiss and col I a t o u r uleasure nothing is so sweet; we are in heaven -IQ J . v i Zb \ l H ? a 8 U r e but ien we are once tied, and have lost our Ub!rtv Z ^ ' ^ give . 11De is an hell: me my yellow hos,> again." ny,

THE TEMPEST.

ACT IV.]

Ent r JUN,

How does my bounteous sister? Go with me To bless this twain, that they may prosperous be, And honour'd in their issue. SONG.

JUN. Honour, riches, ))uirriage-blessi7ig, Long continuance, and increasing, Hourly joys be still upon you ! Juno sings her blessings on you. CEB,.*

Earth's increase, foison plenty, Barns and garners never empty ; Vines, with clustering bunches groiving ; Plants, with goodly burden bowing ; Spring^ come to you, at the farthest, In the very end of harvest ! Scarcity and want shall shun you ; Ceres'* blessing so is on you.

FEE,. This is a most majestic vision, and Harmonious charmingly: c may I be bold To think these spirits ? PRO. Spirits, which by mine art I have from their confines call'd to enact My present fancies. FEB. Let me live here ever; So rare a wonder, and a father wise/ Makes this place Paradise. [JUNO and CERES whisper, and send I R I S on employment. PRO. Sweet now, silence ! Juno and Ceres whisper seriously ; There's something else to do : hush, and be mute, Or else our spell is marred. IRIS. YOU nymphs, call'd Naiads, of the wandering* brooks, With your sedg'd crowns, and ever-harmless looks, Leave your crisp channels, and on this green land Answer your summons : Juno does command : Come, temperate nymphs, and help to celebrate A contract of true love; be not too late. (*) Old text, windring. a

CER. Earth's increase, &c] The prefix " Cer.v to this part of the song is omitted by mistake in the old copies, and was first inserted by Theobald. b Spring come to you, at the farthest, In the very end of harvest!] Mr. Collier's annotator would alter this, strangely enough, to, "Rain come to you," &c. See the " Faiery Queen," B. III. C. 6, St. 42,— " There is continuall spring, and harvest there Continuall, both meeting at one time." See also Amos, c. ix. v. 13 :—" Behold, the days come, saith the Lord, that the plowman shall overtake the reaper, and the treader of grapes him that soweth seed." c Harmonious charmingly :] Charmingly here imports magically, not delightfully. d So rare a wonder, and a father wise, Makes this place Paradise.]

[SCENE I.

Enter certain Nymphs. You sun-burn'd sicklemen of August, weary, Come hither from the furrow, and be merry ; Make holiday : your rye-straw hats put on, And these fresh nymphs encounter every one In country footing. Enter certain Reapers, properly habited; they join with the Nymphs in a graceful dance ; towards the end whereof PROSPERO starts suddenly, and speaks; after which, to a strange, hollow, and confused noise, they heavily vanish. PRO. [Aside.1 I had forgot that foul conspiracy Of the beast Caliban and his confederates, Against my life ; the minute of their plot Is almost come.—[To the Spirits.] Well done;— avoid !—no more ! F E R . This is strange : your father's in some passion That works him strongly. MIRA. Never till this day, Saw I him touch'd with anger so distemper'd. PRO. YOU do look, my son, in a mov'd sort, As if you were dismay'd: be cheerfuL *u\ Our revels now are ended. These our actors, As I foretold you, were all spirits, and Are melted into air, into thin air : And, like the baseless fabric of this vision, The doud-capp'd towers, the gorgeous palaces, The solemn temples, the great globe itself, Yea, all which it inherit, shall dissolve, And, like this insubstantial pageant faded, Leave not a rack behind.(!) We are such stuff As dreams are made on, and our little life Is rounded with a sleep.—Sir, I am vex'd ; Bear with my weakness; my old brain is troubled: Be not disturb'd with my infirmity : If you be pleas'd, retire into my cell, And there repose ; a turn or two I '11 walk, To still my beating mind. In the ancient copies this reads,— " So rare a wondred Father, and a wise Makes this place Paradise; " and it is usually altered to,— " So rare a wonder'd father and a wife, Make this place Paradise." It is pretty evident that Ferdinand expresses a compliment to father and daughter; and equally so that the lines were intended to rhyme; with the very slight change we have ventured, the passage fulfils both conditions. It is noteworthy that the same rhyme occurs in the opening stanza of our author's " Passionate Pilgrim,"— " what fool is not so wise, To break an oath, to win a paradise ? " a stanza quoted in " Love's Labour's Lost," Act IV. Sc. 3.

37

We wish your peace. \Exeunt. PRO. Come with a thought!—I thank thee.— a Ariel, come ! F E R . , MIRA.

Enter

ARIEL.

ARI. Thy thoughts I cleave to. What's thy pleasure ? PRO. Spirit, We must prepare to meet with Caliban. ARI. Ay, my commander; when I presented Ceres, I thought to have told thee of it ; but I fear'd Lest I might anger thee. PRO. Say again, where didst thou leave these varlets ? ARI. I told you, sir, they were red-hot with drinking ; So full of valour that they smote the air For breathing in their faces ; beat the ground For kissing of their feet; yet always bending Towards their project. Then I beat my tabor, At which, like unback'd colts, they prick ?d their ears, Advanced their eyelids, lifted up their noses As they smelt music ; so I charm'd their ears, That, calf-like, they my lowing follow'd through » / thank thee.] Steev^ns. rightly, we believe, considered these words to be in r-ply to the mutual wish of Ferdinand and Mirania, but wrongly, perhaps, altered them to, " I thank you." Thee, however ungra:n;natical, appears to have been sometimes

38

Tooth'd briers, sharp furzes, pricking goss, and thorns, Which entered their frail shins : at last I left them I' the filthy mantled pool beyond your cell, There dancing up to the chins, that the foul lake O'erstunk their feet. PRO. This was well done, my bird. Thy shape invisible retain thou still: The trumpery in my house, go, bring it hither, For stale to catch these thieves. ARI. I go, I go. [Exit. PRO. A devil, a born devil, on whose nature Nurture can never stick; on whom my pains, Humanely taken, all, all lost, quite lost; And as, with age, his body uglier grows, So his mind cankers. I will plague them all, Even to roaring.— Re-enter

ARIEL,

loaden with glistering apparel, &c. Come, hang them on* this line.C2)

PROSPERO and A R I E L remain invisible. CALIBAN, STEPHANO, and TRINCULO, all

Enter wet.

CAL. Pray you, tread softly, that the blind mole may not Hear a foot fall: we now are near his cell. (*) Old text, on them. used in a plural sense: thus, in -Hamlet," Act II. Sc. 2; the prince, addressing the pla 3 ers, says,—" I am glad to see thee'well?'

STE. Monster, your fairy, which you say is a harmless fairy, has done little better than played the Jack with us. TRIN. Monster, I do smell all horse-piss; at which my nose is in great indignation. STE. SO is mine.—Do you hear, monster ? If I should take a displeasure against you, look you,— TRIN. Thou wert but a lost monster. CAL. Good my lord, give me thy favour still. Be patient, for the prize I '11 bring thee to Shall hoodwink this mischance : therefore speak softly ;— All's hush'd as midnight yet. TRIN. Ay, but to lose our bottles in the pool,— STE. There is not only disgrace and dishonour in that, monster, but an infinite loss.

That's more to me than my wetting ; yet this is your harmless fairy, monster. STE. I will fetch off my bottle, though I be o'er ears for my labour. CAL. Pr'ythee, my king, be quiet. See'st thou here, This is the mouth o' the cell: no noise, and enter. Do that good mischief, which may make this island Thine own for ever, and I, thy Caliban, For aye thy foot-licker. STE. Give me thy hand. I do begin to have bloody thoughts. TRIN. O, king Stephano ! O, peer! O, worthy Stephano ! look what a wardrobe here is for thee ! CAL. Let it alone, thou fool; it is but trash. TRIN.

39

THE TEMPEST.

IV.]

[SCENE I.

0 , ho, monster ! we know what belongs to a frippery : a —O, king Stephano ! STE. Pat off that gown, Trinculo : by this hand, I '11 have that gown. TRIX. Thy grace shall have it. CAL. The dropsy drown this fool! what do you mean, To dote thus on such luggage ? Let's alone,b And do the murder first: if he awake, From toe to crown he'll fill our skins with pinches ; Make us strange stuff. STE. Be you quiet, monster.—Mistress line, is not this my jerkin ? Now is the jerkin under the line : now, jerkin, you are like to lose your hair,c and prove a bald jerkin. TRIN. DO, do : we steal by line and level, an't like your grace. STE. I thank thee for that jest: here 's a garment for ' t : wit shall not go unrewarded while I am king of this country. Steal by line and level is an excellent pass of pate ; there 's another garment for 't. TRIN. Monster, come, put some lime upon your fingers, and away with the rest. CAL. I will have none on 't; we shall lose our time. And all be turn'd to barnacles,(3) or to apes With foreheads villainous low.

STE. Monster, lay-to your fingers ; help to bear this away where my hogshead of wine is, or I '11 turn you out of my kingdom: go to, carry this. TRIN. And this. STE. Ay, and this.

a A frippery :—] A frippery was the name of a shop for the sale of second-hand apparel; the proprietor of which was called a fpp fripprr. The chief mart of the frippers, Strype tells us, was

alone was not sometimes used in the same sense, is undoubtedly the right word : but see note (b), p. 81, Vol. I. c —now, jerkin, you are like to lose your hair,—] A quibble on the loss of hair sometimes suffered by those who visit hot climates, and the hair clothes-line on which the "glistering apparel" is suspended.

TRIX.

A noise of Hunters heard. Enter divers Spirits, in shape of hounds, and hunt them about; PROSPERO and ARIEL setting them on.

PRO. Hey, Mountain, hey ! ARI. Silver ! there it goes, Silver ! PRO. Fury, Fury ! there, Tyrant, there ! hark, hark! [CALIBAN, STEPHANO, and

driven out. Go, charge my goblins that they grind their joints With dry convulsions; shorten up their sinews With aged cramps; and more pinch-spotted make them, Than pard or cat o' mountain. ART. Hark, they roar! PRO. Let them be hunted soundly. At this hour Lie at my mercy all mine enemies : Shortly shall all my labours end, and thou Shalt have the air at freedom : for a little, Follow, and do me service. [Exeunt.

Birchin Lane and ('urnhill

b Let's alone,—] Theobald reads, "Let's along;" which, if

-

r—

TRINCULO are

-V.>v

ACT V. SCENE I,—Before the Cell of Prospero. Enter

PROSPERO

in his magic robes, and

ARIEL.

PRO. NOW does my project gather to a head : My charms crack not; my spirits obey ; and Time Goes upright with his carriage. How's the day ? ARI. On the sixth hour; at which time, my lord, You said our work should cease. PRO. I did say so, When first I rais'd the tempest. Say, my spirit, How fares the king and's followers ? ARI. Confin'd together, In the same fashion as you gave in charge, Just as you left them ; all prisoners, sir, In the line-grovea which weather-fends your cell; They cannot budge till your release. The king, His brother, and yours, abide all three distracted; And the remainder mourning over them, a Line-grove-—] Mr. Hunter, in his " Disquisition on Shakespeare's Tempest," has clearly proved that the linden, or lime, was formerly called the " line-tree."

Brim-full of sorrow and dismay ; but chiefly Him that you term'd, sir, The good old lord, Gonzalo ; His tears run down his beard, like winter's drops From eaves of reeds: your charm so strongly works 'em, That if you now beheld them, your affections Would become tender. PRO. Dost thou think so, spirit? ARI. Mine would, sir, were I human. PRO. And mine shall. Hast thou, which art but air, a touch, a feeling Of their afflictions ? and shall not myself, One of their kind, that relish all as sharply, Passion13 as they, be kindlier mov'd than thou art ? Though with their high wrongs I am struck to the quick, Yet, with my nobler reason 'gainst my fury b Passion as they,—] We should probably read, " Passion'd as they."

41

THE TEMPEST.

ACT V.J

Do I take part. The rarer action is In virtue than in vengeance : they being penitent, The sole drift of rny purpose doth extend Not a frown further. Go, release them, Ariel; My charms I '11 break, their senses I '11 restore, And they shall be themselves. {Exit. Am. I '11 fetch them, sir. PRO. Ye elves of hills, brooks, standing lakes, and groves ; And ye that on the sands with printless foot Do chase the ebbing Neptune, and do fly him When he comes back ; you demi-puppets that By moonshine do the green-sour ringlets make, Whereof the ewe not bites; and you, whose pastime Is to make midnight-mushrooms, that rejoice To hear the solemn curfew; by whose aid— Weak masters though ye be—I have bedimm'd The noontide sun, call'd forth the mutinous winds, And 'twixt the green sea and the azur'd vault Set roaring war : to the dread rattling thunder Have I given fire, and rifted Jove's stout oak With his own bolt: the strong-bas'd promontory Have I made shake; and by the spurs pluck'd up The pine and cedar: graves, at my command, Have wak'd their sleepers ; op'd, and let them forth By my so potent art.(l) But this rough magic I here abjure ; and, when I have required Some heavenly music,—which even now I do,— To work mine end upon their senses that This airy charm is for, I '11 break my staff, Bury it certain fathoms in the earth, And, deeper than did ever plummet sound, I'll drown my book. \ Solemn mime. Re-enter A R I E L : after him, ALONSO, ivith a frantic r/estur), p. 371, Vol. I.

45

ACT V . ]

THE TE.MPEsT.

PRO. Sir, I invite vour highness and your train To my poor cell, where you >hall take your rest For this one night; which (part of it) I '11 waste With such discourse as, I not doubt, shall make it Go quick away,—the story of my life, And the particular accidents gone by, Since I came to this isle : and in the morn 111 bring you to your ship, and so to Xaples, Where I have hope to see the nuptial Of these our dear-belov'd solemnized ; And thence retire me to my Milan, where Every third thought shall be my grave. ALOX. I long To hear the story of your life, which must Take the ear strangely. PRO. I '11 deliver all ; And promise you calm seas, auspicious gales, And sail so expeditious, that shall catch Your royal fleet far off.—[Aside to A R I E L . ] My Ariel,—chick,— That is thy charge ; then to the elements ! Be free, and fare thou well !—Please you, draw near. [Exeunt.

I.

EPILOGCK. Spoken by

PROSPERO.

Xow my charms are all overthrown, And what strength I have \s mine own,— Which is most faint: now, 't is true, I must be here confin'd by you, Or sent to Naples. Let me not, Since I have my dukedom got, And pardon'd the deceiver, dwell In this bare island by your spell; But release me from my bands, With the help of your good hands. Gentle breath of yours my sails Must fill, or else my project fails, Which was to please : now I want Spirits to enforce, art to enchant; And my ending is despair, Unless I be reliev'd by prayer, Which pierces so, that it assaults Mercy itself, and frees all faults. As you from crimes would pardon'd be, Let your indulgence set me free. [Exit.

•:;• ;.£$&#

••£-/

ILLUSTRATIVE COMMENTS. ACT I.

(1) S C E N E ! . — We split, we split/] The following observations on the maritime technicalities in this seen >, are extracted from an article by Lord Mulgrave, which will be found at length in Boswell's Variorum edition of Shakespeare, 1821:— " The first scene of The Tempest is a very striking instance of the great accuracy of Shakspeare's knowledge in a professional science, the most difficult to attain without the help of experience. He must have acquired it by conversation with some of the most skilful seamen of that time. No books had then been published on the subject. " The succession of events is strictly observed in the natural progress of the distress described ; the expedients adopted are the most proper that could have been devised for a chance of safety: and it is neither to the want of skill of the seamen, or the bad qualities of the ship, but solely to the power of Prospero, that the shipwreck is to be attributed. " The words of command are not only strictly proper, but are only such as point the object to be attained, and no superfluous ones of detail. Shakspeare's ship was too well manned to make it necessary to tell the seamen how they were to do it, as well as what they were to do. " He has shown a knowledge of the new improvements, as well as the doubtful points of seamanship ; one of the latter he has introduced, under the only circumstance in which it was indisputable. " The events certainly follow too near one another for the strict time of representation: but perhaps, if the whole length of the play was divided by the time allowed by the critics, the portion allotted to this scene might not be too little for the whole. But he has taken care to mark intervals between the different operations by exits.

3d Position. 3d Position. The gale encreasing, the topDown with the topmast ! * Yare ; lower, lowei! Bring her mast is struck, to take the to try with the main-course ! weight from aloft, make the ship drive less to leeward, and bear the mainsail under -which the ship is laid-to. 4th Position. 4th Position. The ship, having driven near Lay her a-hold, a-hold! set her two courses ! off to sea the shore, the mainsail is hawled up; the ship wore, and the again lay her off! two courses set on the other tack, to endeavour to clear the land that way. 5th Position. We split! we split!

bth Positlo?i.

The ship, not able to weather a point, is driven on shore."

1st Position. 1st Position. Fall to t yarely, or we run Land discovered under the lee; the wind blowing too fresh ourselves aground. to hawl upon a wind with the topsail set.—Yare is an old seaterm for briskly, in use at that time. This first command is therefore a notice to be ready to execute any orders quickly.

(2) SCENE II.—ARIEL.] According to the system of witchcraft or magic, which formed an article of popular creed in Shakespeare's day, the elementary spirits were divided into six classes by some demonologists, and into four,—those of the Air, of the Water, of the Fire, and of the Earth,—by others. In the list of characters appended to "The Tempest" in the first folio, Ariel is called " a n ayrie spirit." The particular functions of this order of beings, Burton tells us, are to cause "many tempests, thunder, and lightnings, tear oaks, fire steeples, houses, strike men and beasts, make it rain stones, &c, cause whirlwinds on a sudden, and tempestuous storms" But at the behest of the all-powerful magician Prospero, or by his own influence and potency, the airy spirit in a twink becomes not only a spirit of fire—one of those, according to the same authority, which " commonly work by blazing stars, fire drakes, or ignes fatui; * * * counterfeit suns and moons, stars oftentimes, and sit upon ship-masts"— but a naiad, or spirit of the water also : in fact, assumes any shape, and is visible or unseen at will. For full particulars, de operation* Demonum, the reader may consult, besides the ancient writers on the subject,

Id Position. 2d Position. Yare, yare ! Take in the top- 1 The topsail is taken in.— sail! Blow, till thou burst thy Blow till thou burst thy wind, if room enough.' The danger wind, if room enough ! in a good sea-boat, is only from being too near the land: this is introduced here to account for the next order.

* The striking the top masts was a new invention in Shakspeare's time, which he here very properly introduces. Sir Henry Manwaring says, " I t is not yet agreed amongst all seamen whether it is better for a ship to hull with her topmast up or down." In the Postscript to the Seaman's Dictionary, he afterwards gives his own opinion: " If you have sea-room, it is never good to strike the topmast." Shakspeare has placed his ship in the situation in which it was indisputably right to strike the topmast, when he had not sea-room.

J

47

ILLUSTRATIVE COMMENTS. who are legion, Batman vppon Bartholome his booke Jh proprietatibus rerum, 158*2 ; Scot's " Discoverie of Witchcraft," &c, 1584; " T h e Demonologie " of James I . ; 4 'The Anatomie of Sorcerie" by Mason, 1012 ; and Burton's "Anatomy of Melancholy/' 1617. (3) SCENE

II.—

on the topmast, The yards, and boicsprit, would I flame distinctly, Then meet, and join.\ This, as Douce remarks, is a description of the well-known meteor, called by the several names of Saint Helen, Sai?it Elm, Saint Herm, Saint Clare, Saint Peter, and Saint xYicholas. "Whenever it appeared as a single flame, it was supposed by the ancients to be Helena, the sister of Castor and Pollux ; and in this state to bring ill-luck from the calamities which this lady is known to have caused in the Trojan war. When it came double, it was called Castor and Pollux, and accounted a good omen." Hakluyt's collection of the "Voyages, Navigations, Traffiques, and Discoveries of the English Nation," furnishes an interesting account of this meteor, as seen during the " Voyage of Robert Tomson Marchant, into Nova Hispania, in the yeere 1555 :"— " I do remember that in the great and boysterous storme of this foule weather, in the night, there came upon the toppe of our maine yarde and maine maste, a certaine little light, much like unto the light of a little candle, which the Spaniards called the Cuerpo santo, and saide it was S. Elmo, whom they take to be the advocate of sailers. * * * This light continued aboord our ship about three houres, flying from maste to maste, and from top to top: and sometime it would be in two or three places at once. I informed myself of learned men afterward what that light should be, and they said, that it was but a congelation of the winde and vapours of the sea congealed with the extremitie of the weather, which, flyinge in the winde, many times doeth chance to hit on the masts and shrowds of the ships that are at sea in foule weather. And in trueth I do take it to be so : for that I have seene the like in other ships at sea, and in sundry ships at once."—HAKLUYT, III. 450, ed. 1600. (4) SCENE II.—The still-vex'd Bermoothes.] Shakespeare's first knowledge of the storm-vex'd coast of the Bermudas, was probably acquired from Sir Walter Raleigh's " Discoverie of the Large, Rich, and Beautiful Empire of Guiana," 1596, wherein, after speaking of the Channel of Bahama, the author adds,—"The rest of the Indies for calms, and diseases, are very troublesome ; and the Bermudas a hellish sea, for thunder, lightning, and storms." (See Chalmers' Apology, p. 578.) Or he might have derived his information from Hakluyt's Voyages, 1600, in which there is a description of Bermuda, by Henry May, who was shipwrecked there in 1593. . (5) SCENE II.—CALIBAN.] It has been surmised that the idea of this marvellous creation was derived from the subjoined passage in Eden's " History of Travayle in the West and East Indies," 4to., London, 1577—a book from which it is exceedingly probable that Shakespeare borrowed the names of some of the principal characters of this piece, as Alonso, Ferdinand, Sebastian, Gonzalo, Antonio, &c. " Departyng from hence, they sayled to the 49 degree and a halfe under the pole antartike ; where being wyntered, they were inforced to remayne there for the space of two monethes : all which tyme they sawe no man, excepte that one day by chaunce they espyed a man of the stature of a giant, who came to the haven daunsing and siiigyng, and shortly after seemed to cast dust over his head. The captayne sent one of his men to the shore, with the shyppe boate, who made the lyke signe of peace. The which thyng the giant seeyng, was out of feare, and came with the captajTie's servaunt, to his presence, into a little ilande. When he sawe the captayne with certayne

48

of his company about hym, he was greatly amased, and made signes, holdyng tip his hande to heaven, signifying thereby, that our men came from thence. This giant was so byg, that the head of one of our men of a meane stature came but to his waste. He was of good corporature, and well made in all partes of his bodie, with a large visage painted with divers colours, but, for the most parte, jelow. Uppon his cheekes were paynted two hartes, and red circles about his eyes. The heare of his head was coloured whyte, and his apparell was the skynne of a beast sowde togeather. This beast, as seemed unto us, had a large head, and great eares lyke unto a mule, with the body of a camell and tayle of a horse. The feete of the giant were foulded in the sayde skynne, after the maner of shooes. * * * The captayne caused him to eate and drynke, and gave him many thinges, and among other a great lookyng glasse, in the which, as soone as he sawe his owne lykenesse, was sodaynly afrayde, and started backe with such violence, that hee overthrewe two that stoode nearest about him. When the captayne had thus gyven him certayne haukes belles, and other great belles, with also a lookyng glasse, a combe, and a payre of beades of glasse, he sent him to lande with foure of his owne men well armed." (6) SCENE

II.—

As wicked dew as e'er my mother brush'd With raven s feather from unwholesome fen, Drop on you both ! a south-west blow on ye, And blister you all o'er/] Wicked, in the sense of baneful, hurtful, is often met with in old medical works applied to sores and wounds. " A wykked felone," i.e. a bad sore, is mentioned in a tract on hawking, MS. Harl. 2340. An analogous use of the word, fierce, savage^ is mentioned in A Glossary of Provincial Words used in Herefordshire, 1839, p. 119, as still current.—HALLIWEJLL. The following passage in Batman ttppon Bartholome his booke Be proprietatibus rerum, 1582, folio, will not only throw considerable light on these lines, but furnish at the same time grounds for a conjecture that Shakespeare was indebted to it, with a slight alteration, for the name of Caliban's mother, Sycorax the witch. " T h e raven is called corvus of CORAX . . . . it is said that ravens birdes be fed with deaw of heaven all the time that they have no black feathers by benefite of age," lib. xii. c. 10. The same author will also account for the choice which is made, in the monster's speech, of the south-west wind. "This southern wind is hot and moyst. . . . Southern wi nds corrupt and destroy; they heat and maketh men fall into sicknesse," lib. xi. c. 3.—DOUCE. (7) SCENE II.—It would control my dam's god, Setebos,] The same work, Eden's History of Travayle, contains a curious notice, showing that Setebos was a mythological personage in the creed of the Patagonians i— "The captayne retayned two of these [giants] which were youngest and beste made. He tooke them by a deceite in this maner,—that givyng them knyves, sheares, looking glasses, bells, beades of crystall and suche other trifles, he so filled theyr handes, that they could holde no more ; then caused two payre of shackels of iron to be put on theyr legges, makyng signes that he would also give them those chaynes, which they lyked very wel, bycause they were made of bright and shining metall. * * * When they felte the shackels faste about theyr legges, they began to doubt; but the captayne dyd put them in comfort, and bad them stand still. In fine, when they sawe how they were deceived, they roared lyke bulles, and cryed uppon theyr great devill, Setebos, to helpe them.

J^orSd '

*

any

°f

thei

? d?G' there

with , i , w f . e ? d ' a n d S 5 e n 2 e t o h a v e t h e i r bodies paynted Teene biV er th°e U r S ? res lr* ue awmnoon g o t h e r t n e r © is one ATWI roi^rLJL, rpumaketh great mirth J *1 > and rejo} sing. This great devyll they call Setebos."-P.

ILLUSTRATIVE COMMENTS.

ACT II. (1) SCENE I.—

but nature should briny forth Of it oivn hind, all foizon, all abundance, To feed my innocent people.} Among the most treasured rarities in the library of the British Museum, is Shakespeare's own copy of Florio's Montaigne, 1603, with his autograph, " Willm. Shakspere," on the fly-leaf. This work, intituled, " The Essayes, or Morall, Politike and Millitarie Discourses, of Lo : Michaell de Montaigne, Knight," was evidently a favourite of the poet, and furnished him with the materials for Gonzalo's Utopian commonwealth. The passage he has adopted occurs in the thirtieth chapter of the First Book, and is headed, " Of the Caniballes : "— " Those nations seeme therefore so barbarous unto mee, because they have received very little fashion from humane wit, and are yet neere their originall naturalitie. The lawes of nature do yet commaund them, which are but little bastardized by ours. And that with such puritie, as I am sometimes grieved the knowlegeof it came no sooner to light, at what time ther were men, that better than wee could have judged of it. I am sorie, Licurgus and Plato had it not: for me seemeth that what in those nations we see by experience, doth not onlie exceede all the pictures wherewith licentious Poesie hath prowdly imbellished the golden age, and al hir quaint inventions to faine a happy condition of man, but also the conception and desire of Philosophie. They could not imagine a genuitie so pure and simple, as we see it by experience; nor ever beleeve our societie might be maintained with so little arte and humane combination. It is a nation, would I answere Plato, that hath no kinde of traffike, no knowledge of Letters, no intelligence of numbers, no name of magistrate, nor of politike superioritie ; no use of service, of riches, or of poverty ; no contracts, no successions, no dividences, no occupation but idle) no respect of kinred, but common, no apparell but naturally no manuring of lands, no use of wine, come, or mettle. The very ivords that import lying,falshood, treason, dissimulation, covetousnes, envie, detraction, and pardon, were never heard of amongst them" (2) SCENE I.— We would so, and then go a bat-fowling.] The instructions for Batfowling in Markham's " Hunger's Prevention," &c. 1600, afford an accurate description of the way in which this sport was pursued in former times :— " For the manner of Batfowling it may be vsed either with Nettes, or without Nettes: If you vse it without Nettes (which indeede is the most common of the two) you shall then proceede in this manner. First, there shall be one to cary the cresset of fire (as was showed for the Lowbell) then a certain number as two, three, or foure (according to the greatnesse of your company), and these shall haue poales bound with dry round wispes of hay, straw, or such like stuffe, or else bound with pieces of Linkes, or Hurdes dipt in Pitch, Eosen, Grease, or any such like matter that will blaze. Then another company shall be armed with long poales, very rough and bushy at the vpper

endes, of which the Willow, Byrche, or long Hazell are best, but indeed acording as the Country will afford, so you must be content to take. "Thus being prepared and comming into the Bushy or rough ground where the haunts of Birds are, you shall then first kindle some of your fiers as halfe, or a third part, according as your prouision is, and then with your other bushy and rough poales you shall beat the Bushes, Trees and haunts of the Birds, to enforce them to rise, which done you shall see the Birds which are raysed, to flye and play about the lights and flames of the fier, for it is their nature through their amazednesse, and affright at the strangenes of the lightt and the extreame darknesse round about it, not to depart from it, but as it were almost to scorch their wings in the same : so that those which haue the rough bushye poales may (at their pleasures) beat them down with the same, and so take the". Thus you may spend as much of the night as is darke, for longer is not conuenient ; and doubtlesse you shall finde much pastime, and take great store of birds, and in this you shall obserue all the obseruations formerly treated of in the Lowbell; especially, that of silence, vntill your lights be kindled, but then you may vse your pleasure, for the noyse and the light when they are heard and seene a farre of, they make the birds sit the faster and surer. " The byrdes which are commonly taken by this labour or exercise are, for the most part, the Rookes, Ring-doues, Blackebirdes, Throstles, Feldyfares, Linnets, Buifinches,and all other Byrdes whatsoeuer that pearch or sit vpon small boughes or bushes." (3) SCENE II.—They will lay out ten to see a dead Indian.] Some verses written by Henry Peacham, about the year 1609, give a curious list of most of the popular exhibitions then to be seen in the metropolis, together with a few notices of some of the sights of the country :— " Why doe the rude vulgar so hastily post in a madnesse, To gaze at trifles and toyes not worthy the viewing ? And thinke them happy, when may be shew'd for a penny, The Fleet-streete mandrakes, that heavenly motion of Eltham, Westminster monuments, and Guild-hall huge Corinseus, That home of Windsor (of an unicorne very likely), The cave of Merlin, the skirts of old Tom a Lincolne, King Johns sword at Linne, with the cup the Fiaternity drinke in; The Tombe of Beauchampe, and sword of Sir Guy a Warwicke ; The great long Dutchman, and roaring Marget a Barwicke, The Mummied Princes, and Caesars wine yet i' Dover, Saint James his Ginney Hens, the Cassawarway moreover; The Beaver i'the Parke (strange beast as er'e any man saw) Downe-shearing willowes with teeth as sharpe as a hand-saw. The Lance of John a Gaunt and Brandons still i'the Tower: The fall of Ninive, with Norwich built in an hower ! King Henries slip-shoes, the sword of valiant Edward ; The Coventry boares-shield, andfire-workes seenbuttobedward. Drakes ship at Detford, King Richards bedsted i' Leyster, The White Hall whale-bones, the silver Bason i* Chester: The live-caught dog-fish, the Wolfe, and Harry the Lyon, Hunkes of the Beare-garden, to be feared, if he be nigh on." H A L L I W E L L , I.

327.

ACT III. (1) SCENE II.—The picture of Nobody.] "No-body " was a ludicrous figure often found on street signs, and of which a representation is prefixed to the comedy of "No-body and Some-body," 1600. The following verses form the beVOL.in.

49

ginning of a popular old ballad, called "The Well-spoken Nobody," the unique copy of which, in the Miller collection at Britwell-house, supplied Mr. Halliwell with a curious engraving, showing a floor all bestrewed with domestic K

ILLUSTRATIVE COMMENTS. utensils and implements broken to pieces, and a fantastic figure in the midst bearing a scroll with the words,— 4< fioboUp is mu name ttjat tepjetf) cdetj? to&rjes Name," " Many speke of Rohen Hoode that never shott in his howe, So many have layed faultes to me, which I did never knowe; But now heholde here I am, Whom all the worlde doeth diffame Long hath they also skorned me, And locked ray mouthe for speking free. As many a Godly man they have so served, Which unto them Gods truth hath shewed; Of such they have burned and hanged some, That unto their ydolatrye wold not come : The ladye Truthe they have locked in cage, Sayeng that of her Nobody had knowledge, For as much nowe as they name Nobodye, I think verilye they speke of me: Wherfore to answere I nowe beginne,— The locke of my mouthe is opened with ginne, Wrought by no man, but by Gods grace, Unto whom be prayse in every place."

(2) SCENE II.—I would I could see this taborerf] " Several 1 of the incidents in this scene/ Steevens remarks, "viz— Ariel's mimickry of Trinculo, the tune played on the tabor, and Caliban's description of the twangling instruments, kc, might have been borrowed from Marco Paolo, the old Venetian voyager; who, in lib. I. ch. 44, describing the desert of Lop, in Asia, says:—* Audiuntur ibi voces dsemonum, &c. voces fingentes eorum quos comitari se putant. Audiuntur interdum in aere concentus musicorum instrumentorum.'" This work was translated into English by John Frampton in 1579, under the title of " T h e Most Noble and famous Travels of Marcus Paulus, one of the Nobilitie of the State of Venice," &c, and the above passage is rendered:—" You shall heare in the ayre the sound of tabers and other instruments, to put the travellers in feare, &c, by evill spirites that make these soundes, and also do call diverse of the travellers by their names/* &c— ch. 36, p. 32.

ACT IV. (1) SCENE

I.—

And, like this insubstantial pageant faded, Leave not a rack behind.] It is impossible to doubt that Shakespeare in this sublime passage remembered the lines in Lord Sterline's " Tragedie of Darius/' 1604 :— 11

Let greatnesse of her giascie scepters vaunt, Not sceptors, no, but reeds, soone brus'd, soone broken ; And let this worldlie pompe our wits inchant, All fades, and scarcelie leaves behinde a token. Those golden pallaces, those gorgeous halies, With fourniture superfluouslie faire: Those statelie courts, those sky-encountring walles, Evanish all like vapours in the aire.'

—was doubtless effected by the agency of filmy curtains which, being drawn one over another to resemble the flying mists, gave to the scene an appearance of gradual dissolution ; when the objects were totally hidden, the drapery was withdrawn in the same manner, veil by veil, till at length even that too ha indeed, supposed first places." tnat the barnacles actually grew on trees, and thence dropThe evanishing of the actors, then, in Prospero's pageant ping into the sea, became geese ; and an interesting cut of —who these birds so growing, from a MS. of the fourteenth cen" Melted into air, into thin air," tury, is given by Mr. Halliwell, who observes that "the

50

ILLUSTRATIVE COMMENTS. barnacle mentioned by Caliban was no doubt the treegoose ; and the true absurdity of our old writers, as Douce has observed, consisted in their believing that this bird was really produced from the shell of the fish." Innumerable allusions to this vulgar error occur in our old writers, but we will adduce only the testimony of Sir John

Maundeville, who declares that in his country " weren trees that beren a fruyt, that become briddes fleeynge ; and tho that fellen into the water, lyven ; and thei that fallen on the erthe, dyen anon : and thei ben right gode to mannes mete."

ACT V. (1) SCENE I.—By my so potent art.] This speech is founded upon the invocation of Medea in Ovid's Metamorphoses, for which it is evident, from several expressions, that Shakespeare consulted Golding's translation :— " Ye Ayres and Windes, ye Elves of HUles, of Brookes, of Woods alone, Of standing Lakes, and of the Night, approch ye everychone. Through helps of whom (the crooked bankes much wondring at the thing) I have compelled streames to run cleane backward to their spring. By charmes I make the calm seas rough, and make the rough seas playne, And co\er all the Skie with clouds, and chase them thence again. By charmes I raise and lay the windes, and burst the Viper's jaw, And from the bowels of the earth both stones and trees do draw. Whole woods and Forests I remoove, I make the Mountaines shake, And even the earth it selfe to grone and fearefully to quake. / call up dead men from their graves, and thee, O lightsome Moone, I darken oft, though beaten brass abate thy peril! soone:

Our Sorcerie dimmes the Morning faire, and darks the Sun at Noone, The flaming breath of flerie Bnlles ye quenched for my sake, And caused their unwieldy neckes the bended yoke to take. Among the earth-bred brothers you a mortal warre did set, And brought asleepe the Dragon fell, whose eyes were never shet. GOLDING'S Ovid, lib. 7, 1567.

(2) SCENE I Under the blossom that hangs on the bough.] The beautiful fancy in the second line of Ariel's song,— " In a cowslip's bell I lie,1'

was once supposed to have been borrowed from a stanza in Dray ton's delicious "Nimphidia:"— " At midnight the appointed hour; And for the queen a fitting bower, Quoth lie, is that/a/r cowslip-flower On Hip-cut hill that bloweth."

It is now, however, generally believed that "Nimphidia," which was not printed before 1627, was written subsequently to " The Tempest;" Malone thinks in 1612.

CEITICAL OPINIONS ON THE TEMPEST. " IT is observed of ' The Tempest/ that its plan is regular. This the author of < The Eevisal3 thinks, what I think too, an accidental effect of the story, not intended or regarded by our author. But whatever might be Shakespeare's intention in forming or adopting the plot, he has made it instrumental to the production of many characters, diversified with boundless invention, and preserved with profound skill in nature, extensive knowledge of opinions, and accurate observation of life. In a single drama are here exhibited princes, courtiers, and sailors, all speaking in their real characters. There is the agency of airy spirits, and of an earthly goblin; the operations of magick; the tumults of a storm, the adventures of a desart island, the native effusion of untaught affection, the punishment of guilt, and the final happiness of the pair for whom our passions and reason are equally interested."—JOHNSON.

" ' The Tempest,' according to all appearance, was written in Shakspeare's later days : hence most critics, on the supposition that the poet must have continued to improve with increasing maturity of mind, have honoured this piece with a marked preference over the ' Midsummer Night's Dream/ I cannot, however, altogether concur with them: the internal merit of these two works are, in my opinion, pretty nearly balanced, and a predilection for the one or the other can only be governed by personal taste. In profound and original characterisation, the superiority of ' The Tempest' is obvious : as a whole we must always admire the masterly skill which he has here displayed in the economy of his means, and the dexterity with which he has disguised his preparations,—the scaffoldings for the wonderful aerial structure. B z 51

CRITICAL OPINIONS. " ' The Tempest' has little action or progressive movement; the union of Ferdinand and Miranda is settled at their first interview, and Prospero merely throws apparent obstacles in their way ; the shipwrecked band go leisurely about the island ; the attempts of Sebastian and Antonio on the life of the King of Naples, and the plot of Caliban and the drunken sailors against Prospero, are nothing but a feint, for we foresee that they will be completely frustrated by the magical skill of the latter; nothing remains therefore but the punishment of the guilty by dreadful sights which harrow up their consciences, and then the discovery and final reconciliation. Yet this want of movement is so admirably concealed by the most varied display of the fascinations of poetry, and the exhilaration of mirth, the details of the execution are so very attractive, that it requires no small degree of attention to perceive that the denouement is, in some degree, anticipated in the exposition. The history of the loves of Ferdinand and Miranda, developed in a few short scenes, is enchantingly beautiful: an affecting union of chivalrous magnanimity on the one part, and on the other of the virgin openness of a heart which, brought up far from the world on an uninhabited island, has never learned to disguise its innocent movements. The wisdom of the princely hermit Prospero has a magical and mysterious air ; the disagreeable impression left by the black falsehood of the two usurpers is softened by the honest gossiping of the old and faithful Gonzalo; Trinculo and Stephano, two good-for-nothing drunkards, find a worthy associate in Caliban ; and Ariel hovers sweetly over the whole as the personified genius of the wonderful fable. " Caliban has become a by-word as the strange creation of a poetical imagination. A mixture of gnoms and savage, half demon, half brute, in his behaviour we perceive at once the traces of his native disposition, and the influence of Prospero's education. The latter could only unfold his understanding, without, in the slightest degree, taming his rooted malignity : it is as if the use of reason and human speech were communicated to an awkward ape. In inclination Caliban is malicious, cowardly, false, and base ; and yet he is essentially different from the vulgar knaves of a civilized world, as portrayed occasionally by Shakspeare. He is rude, but not vulgar; he never falls into the prosaic and low familiarity of his drunken associates, for he is, in his way, a poetical being ; he always speaks in verse. He has picked up everything dissonant and thorny in language to compose out of it a vocabulary of his own; and of the whole variety of nature, the hateful, repulsive, and pettily deformed, have alone been impressed on his imagination. The magical world of spirits, which the staff of Prospero has assembled on the island, casts merely a faint reflection into his mind, as a ray of light which falls into a dark cave, incapable of communicating to it either heat or illumination, serves merely to set in motion the poisonous vapours. The delineation of this monster is throughout inconceivably consistent and profound, and, notwithstanding its hatefulness, by no means hurtful to our feelings, as the honour of human nature is left untouched. " In the zephyr-like Ariel, the image of air is not to be mistaken, his name even bears an allusion to i t ; as, on the other hand, Caliban signifies the heavy element of earth. Yet they are neither of them simple, allegorical personifications, but beings individually determined. In general we find in the 1 Midsummer Night's Dream,' in < The Tempest; in the magical part of < Macbeth/ and wherever Shakspeare avails himself of the popular belief in the invisible presence of spirits, and the possibility of coming in contact with them, a profound view of the inward life of nature and her mysterious springs, which, it is true, can never be altogether unknown to the genuine poet, as poetry is altogether incompatible with mechanical physics, but which few have possessed in an equal degree with Dante and himself."—SCHLEGEL.

52

- 4-c ~^r-... «>-^ "T__^Zr^VJxT V l " /
&«'*, here, signifies,

-•

V'

—'

conception : I have perceived a most faint neglect ot late; which I have rather blamed as mine own jealous curiosity than as a very pretence and purpose of unkindness : I will look further into 't.— But where ?s my fool? I have not seen him this two days. KNIGHT. Since my young lady's going into France, sir, the fool hath much pined away. LEAR. NO more of that; I have noted it well. 67

—Go you, and tell my daughter I would speak with her.—[Exit an Attendant.] Go you, call hither my fool.—[Exit an Attendant.] Re-enter

OSWALD.

O, you sir, you, come you hither, sir: who am I, sir? Osw. My lady's father. F 2

KING LEAK

ACT I.I

My lady's fatlier! my lord's knave: you whoreson dog ! you slave ! you cur ! Osw. I am none of these, my lord; I beseech your pardon. LEAR. DO you bandy looks with me, you [Striking him. rascal ? Osw. I'll not be struck,* my lord. KENT. Nor tripp'd neither, you base foot-ball player. [Tripping up his heels. LEAR. I thank thee, fellow; thou servest me, and I '11 love thee. KENT. Come, sir, arise, away! I '11 teach you differences; away, away ! If you will measure your lubber's length again, tarry: but away! go to; have you wisdom? so. [Pushes OSWALD out. LEAR. NOW, my friendly knave, I thank thee : there's earnest of thy service. [Giving KENT money. LEAR.

Enter Fool. Let me hire him too;—here's my coxcomb. [Giving KENT his cap. LEAR. HOW now, my pretty knave ! how dost thou ? FOOL. Sirrah, you were best take my coxcomb. a KENT. Why, fool ? FOOL. Why, for taking one's part that's out of favour. Nay, an thou canst not smile as the wind sits, thou'It catch cold shortly: there, take my coxcomb. Why, this fellow has banished two on's daughters, and did the third a blessing against his will; if thou follow him, thou must needs wear my coxcomb.—How now, nuncle ! Would I had two coxcombs and two daughters! FOOL.

LEAR. Why, my boy ? FOOL. If I gave them

all my living, I'd keep my coxcombs myself. There's mine; beg another of thy daughters. LEAR. Take heed, sirrah,—the whip. FOOL. Truth's a dog must to kennel; he must be whipped out, when the lady brach may stand by the fire and stink. LEAR. A pestilent gall to me ! FOOL. Sirrah, I '11 teach thee a speech. LEAR. DO. FOOL. Mark

it, nuncle :—

Have more than thou showest, Speak less than thou knowest, Lend less than thou owest, Hide more than thou goest, (•) First folio, slrucken. a Why, fool?] This interrogatory, in the form of, " Why, my boy?" is given in the foVio to Lear; but, as Mr. Dyce observes, it is plain that the Fool addresses the King for the first time, when he says, "How now, nuncle ! " b — than th>u trowest,—] That is, than tbou believest. c This is nothing, fool.] In the folio, this speech is assigned to Kent. d No, lad, teach me.] This line and the portion of the dialogue

68

[SCENE IV.

Learn more than thou trowest,b Set less than thou throwest; Leave thy drink and thy whore, And keep in-a-door, And thou shalt have more Than two tens to a score. c LEAR. This is nothing, fool. FOOL. Then His like the breath of an unfee'd lawyer,—you gave me nothing for 't. Can you make no use of nothing, nuncle ? LEAR. Why, no, boy; nothing can be made out of nothing. FOOL. Pr'ythee, tell him, so much the rent of his land comes t o ; he will nQt believe a fool. [To KENT.

A bitter fool! Dost thou know the difference, my boy, between a bitter fool and a sweet one ? d LEAR. NO, lad, teach me. FOOL. That lord, that counselled thee To give away thy land, Come place him here by me,— Or* do thou for hiifi stand; The sweet and bitter fool Will presently appear; The one in motley here, The other found out there. LEAR. Dost thou call me fool, boy ? FOOL. All thy other titles thou hast given away ; that thou wast born with. KENT. This is not altogether fool, my lord. FOOL. NO, 'faith, lords and great men will not let me; if I had a monopoly out,(3) they would have part on't: and ladies f too, they will not let me have all fool to myself; they '11 be snatching.— Nuncle, give me an egg, and I '11 give thee two crowns. LEAR. What two crowns shall they be ? FOOL. Why, after I have cut the egg i' the middle, and eat up the meat, the two crowns of the egg. When thou clovest thy crown J i' the middle, and gavest away both parts, thou borest thine ass on thy back o'er the dirt: thou hadst little wit in thy bald crown, when thou gavest thy golden one away. If I speak like myself in this, let him be whipped that first finds it so. [Singing. e Fools had ne!er less grace in a year ; For wise men are grown foppish, And know not how their wits to wear, Their manners are so apish. LEAR. FOOL.

(*) Old copies omit, Or. (f) Old copies, loades, lodes. (J) First folio, Crownes. t h w o r d s in the F ^ T n A ^ ? ! be snatching," are omitted in the folio. °ol's speech, "they'll

e Fools had ne'er less grace in a year;] The quartos have,— ' ' n e ' e r less wit in a year;" P ad ng; a i n Mother w fin d i t H n l l / i l ^ ^ " e we find, 1 think gentlemen had never less wit in aBombie," year:* 1594,

ACT I.]

KING LEAR.

When .were you wont to be so full of songs, sirrah? FOOL. I have used it, nunele, ever since thou madest thy daughters thy mothers : for when thou gavest them the rod, and putt'st down thine own breeches, [Singing. Then they for sudden joy did weep. And I for sorrow sung? That such a king should play bo-peep, A nd go the fools * among. Pr'ythee, nuncle, keep a school-master that can teach thy fool to lie ; I would fain learn to lie. LEAR. An you lie, sirrah, we'll have vou whipped. FOOL. I marvel what kin thou and thy daughters are : they '11 have me whipped for speaking true, thou'It have me whipped for lying; and sometimes I am whipped for holding my peace. I had rather be any kind o' thing than a fool; and yet I would not be thee, nuncle ; thou hast pared thy wit o' both sides, and left nothing i' the middle. Here comes one o' the parings. LEAR.

Enter

GONERIL,

now, daughter! what makes that ^ frontlet on?(4) Methinks f you are too much of late i' the frown. FOOL. Thou wast a pretty fellow when thou hadst no need to care for her frowning; now thou art an O without a figure. I am better than thou art now; I am a fool, thou art nothing.—Yes, forsooth [To GON.], I will hold my^tongue, so your face bids me, though you say nothing. Mum, mum, He that keeps nor crust nor crumb, Weary of all, shall want some.— That's a sheal'd peascod. [Pointing to LEAR. GON. Not only, sir, this your all-licens'd fool, But other of your insolent retinue Do hourly carp and quarrel j breaking forth In rank and not-to-be-endured riots. Sir, I had thought, by making this well known unto you, To have found a safe redress; but now grow fearful, LEAR. HOW

(*) First folio, Foole.

(+) First folio omits, Methinks.

Then they for sudden joy did weep, And I for sorrow sung" &c] So in Hey wood's " Rape of Lucrece,"— " When Tarquin first in court "began, And was approved King, Some men for sudden joy gan weep, And I for sorrow sing." b That it's had it head bit off by it young.] Meaning, That it has had its head bit off, &c] See note (3), Vol. I. p. 330. c — darkling.] This word, which, like the Scotch darklins, implied in the dark, occurs again in " A Midsummer Night's Dream," a

[SCENE IV.

By what yourself too late have spoke and done, That you protect this course, and put it on By your allowance; which if you should, the fault Would not 'scape censure, nor the redresses sleep, Which, in the tender of a wholesome weal, Might in their working do you that offence,— Which else were shame—that then necessity Will call discreet proceeding. FOOL. For you trow,* nuncle, The hedge-sparrow fed the cuckoo so long, That it's had it head bit off by it young.b So, out went the candle, and we were left darkling.0 LEAH. Are you our daughter ? GON. I would you would make use of that f good wisdom Whereof I know you are fraught; and put away These dispositions, which of late transport you From what you rightly are. FOOL. May not an ass know when the cart draws the horse ?— Whoop, Jug I I love thee. LEAB. Does any here know me ?—This is not Lear : [his eyes ? Does Lear walk thus ? speak thus ? Where are Either his notion weakens, his discernings Are lethargied.—Ha ! Waking ?—'tis not so.— Who is it that can tell me who I am ?— FOOL. Lear's shadow ? LEAK. I would learn that, for, By the marks of sovereignty, knowledge, and reason/ I should be false persuaded I had daughters.— FOOL. Which they will make an obedient father.6 LEAR. Your name, fair gentlewoman ? GON. This admiration, sir, is much o' the favour Of other your new pranks. I do beseech you To understand my purposes aright: [wise. As you are old and reverend, youj should be Here do you keep a hundred knights and squires; Men so disordered, so debosh'd, and bold, That this our court, infected with their manners, Shows like a riotous inn : epicurism and lust Make it more like a tavern or a brothel, Than a grac'd palace. The shame itself doth speak For instant remedy : be, then, desir'd By her, that else will take the thing she begs, (*) First folio, know. (t) First folio, your. (J) First folio omits, you. Act II. Sc. 3; and is found in the ancient comedy of " Roister Doister," Act III. Sc. 1,—" He will go darklyng to his grave." d — for, by the marks of sovereignty, knowledge, and reason, I should be false persuaded," &c] This is certainly obscure. Warburton reads, "—of sovereignty of knowledge/' & c ; but possibly the meaning may be restored by simply omitting the comma after sovereignty, " — by the marks of sovereignty knowledge and reason," i.e. of supreme or sovereign knowledge, &c. e — an obedient father.] This and the three preceding lines are only found in the quartos.

69

KING LEAR.

ACT I.J

A little to disquantity your train; And the remainder, that shall still depend, To he such men as may hesort your age, Which know themselves and you. LEAB. Darkness and devils !— Saddle my horses ! call my train together !— Degenerate bastard ! I '11 not trouble thee; Yet have I left a daughter. GON. You strike my people; and your disorder'd rabble Make servants of their betters. Enter

ALBANY.

Woe, that too late repents,—[To ALB.J O, sir, are you come ? * Is it your will ? Speak, sir. — Prepare my horses.— Ingratitude ! thbu marble-hearted fiend, More hideous, when thou show'st thee in a child, Than the sea-monster ! ALB. Pray> sir, be patient. LEAB. Detested kite ! thou liest: [ To GONEBIL. My train are men of choice and rarest parts, That all particulars of duty know, And in the most exact regard support The worships of their name.—O, most small fault, How ugly didst thou in Cordelia show ! Which, like an engine,a wrench'd my frame of nature From the fix'd place; drew from my heart all love, Ajid added to the gall. O Lear, Lear, Lear ! Beat at this gate, that let thy folly in, [Striking his head. And thy dear judgment out!—Go, go, my people. ALB. My lord, I am guiltless, as I am ignorant Of what hath movM you. LEAB. It may be so, my lord.— Hear, Nature, hear; dear goddess, hear ! Suspend thy purpose, if thou didst intend To make this creature fruitful! Into her womb convey sterility! Dry up in her the organs of increase ; And from her derogate body never spring A babe to honour her ! If she must teem, Create her child of spleen ; that it may live, And be a thwart disnatur'd torment to her ! Let it stamp wrinkles in her brow of youth ; With cadent tears fret channels in her cheeks ; LEAB.

(•) First folio omits, O sir, are you come? m, an engine,—] By an engine is meant the instrument of torture called the rack. b — untented woundings—] " Untented wounds," Steevens says, "may possibly signify here, such as will not admit of having a tent put into them." The expression, there can be no doubt, means unsearchable wounds—wounds too deep to be probed. c — loose,—] That is, discharge.

70

[SCENE IV.

Turn all her mother's pains and benefits To laughter and contempt; that she may feel How sharper than a serpent's tooth it is To have a thankless child !—Away, away ! [Exit. ALB. NOW, gods that we adore, whereof conies this? GON. Never afflict yourself to know the cause; * But let his disposition have that scope Thatf dotage gives it. Re-enter

LEAR.

What, fifty of my followers at a clap! Within a fortnight! ALB. What's the matter, sir ? LEAB. I '11 tell thee;—Life and death! [To GON.] I am asham'd That thou hast power to shake my manhood thus: That these hot tears, which break from me perforce, Should make thee worth them.—Blasts and fogs upon thee! The untented woundings* of a father's curse Pierce every sense about thee !—Old fond eyes, Beweep this cause again, I '11 pluck ye out, And cast you, with the waters that you loose,0 To temper clay.—Ha ! is it come to this ? Let it be so ; yet have I left a daughter/ Who, I am sure, is kind and comfortable; When she shall hear this of thee, with her nails She '11 flay thy wolfish visage. Thou shalt find That I '11 resume the shape which thou dost think I have cast off for ever; thou shalt, I warrant thee.J [Exeunt LEAR, KENT, and Attendants. GON. DO you mark that, my lord ? § ALB. I cannot be so partial, Goneril, To the great love I bear you,— GON. Pray you, content. — What, Oswald, ho!— You, sir, more knave than fool, after your master. [To the Fool. FOOL. Nuncle Lear, nuncle Lear, tarry, and || take the fool with thee. A fox, when one has caught her, And such a daughter, Should sure to the slaughter, If my cap would buy a halter : So the fool follows after. [Exit LEAH.

( ) First folio, to know more of it. (f) First folio, As. ir8t f o l i o ' (J) *. omits, thou shalt, I warrant thee. / n (||) First folio omits, and. (§) First folio omits, my lord. d

H a ! i s i1; c o m e t 0 - ^b e s o ^is ? rp, . . Jft 5 yet have I left a daughter,—] This passage is formed from the two old texts ; the quartos read, Yea is it come to this ? yet have I left a daughter:" the folio,"Ha? Let it be so, I have another daughter." T ex L t

KING LEAR.

ACT I.]

GON. This man hath had good counsel :*—a hundred knights! 'T is politic and safe to let him keep At point a hundred knights : yes, that on every dream, Each buz, each fancy, each complaint, dislike, He may enguard his dotage with their powers, And hold our lives in mercy.—Oswald, I say !— ALB. Well, you may fear too far. GON. Safer than trust too far : Let me still take away the harms I fear, Not fear still to be taken: I know his heart. What he hath utter'd I have writ my sister; If she sustain him and his hundred knights, When I have show'd the unfitness,— Re-enter OSWALD. How now, Oswald ? What, have you writ that letter to my sister ? Osw. Ay, madam. GON. Take you some company, and away to horse; Inform her full of my particular fear; And thereto add such reasons of your own As may compact it more. Get you gone ; And hasten your return.—\_Exit Osw.] No, no, my lord, This milky gentleness and course of yours Though I condemn not, yet, under pardon, You are much more attask'd* for want of wisdom, Than prais'd for harmful mildness. ALB. HOW far your eyes may pierce, I cannot tell; Striving to better, oft we mar what's well. GON. Nay, then— ALB. Well, well; the event. [Exeunt.

SCENE V.—Court before the Same. Enter

LEAH, KENT,

[SCENE v.

LEAR. Ay, boy. FOOL. Then, I

pr'ythee, be merry; thy wit shall not go slip-shod. LEAH. Ha, ha, ha ! FOOL. Shalt see thy

other daughter will use thee kindly :b for though she's as like this as a crab's like an apple, yet I can tell what I can tell. LEAR. What canst tell, boy ? FOOL. She will taste as like this, as a crab does to a crab. Thou canst tell why one's nose stands i' the middle on's face ? LEAR. JTO. FOOL. Why,

to keep one's eyes of either side his nose ; that what a man cannot smell out, he may spy into. LEAR. I did her wrong.— FOOL. Canst tell how an oyster makes his shell? LEAR. NO. FOOL. Nor

I neither; but I can tell why a snail has a house. LEAR. Why ? FOOL. Why, to

put his head in; not to give it away to his daughters, and leave his horns without a case. LEAR. I will forget my nature.—So kind a father !—Be my horses ready ? FOOL. Thy asses are gone about 'em. The reason why the seven stars are no more than seven, is a pretty reason. LEAR. Because they are not eight ? FOOL. Yes, indeed: thou wouldst make a good fool. LEAR. TO take 't again perforce!—Monster ingratitude ! FOOL. If thou wert my fool, nuncle, I'd have thee beaten for being old before thy time. LEAR. HOW'S that ? FOOL. Thou shouldst not have been old, before* thou hadst been wise. LEAR. O, let me not be mad, not mad, sweet heaven! Keep me in temper ; I would not be mad !—

and Fool. Enter Gentleman.

you before to Gloster with these letters; acquaint my daughter no further with any thing you know, than comes from her demand out of the letter. If your diligence be not speedy, I shall be there afore you. KENT. I will not sleep, my lord, till I have delivered your letter. [Exit. FOOL. If a man's brains were in's heels, were't not in danger of kibes ?

How now ! Are the horses ready ? GENT. Eeady, my lord. LEAR. Come, boy. FOOL. She that's a maid now, and laughs at my departure, Shall not be a maid long, unless things be cut shorter. [Exeunt.

(*) First folio, atlas k.

(*) First folio, till.

This man hath had good counsel:—] This and what follows down to the entrance of Oswald, are not in the quartos.

b — thy other daughter will use thee kindly :] Kindly is here used , as Malone pointed out, with the double meaning of affectionately, and after her nature, or kind.

LEAR. GO

71

f:

ACT II. SCENE I.—A Court within the Castle of the Earl of Gloucester. Eider EDMVXD and CITBAX, meti'mg.

Enter EDGAR.

EDM. Save tlioe. Curan. CUR. And YOU,* sir. ] have ln-on with voui1 father, and given liim notice that the duke of Cornwall and Retail his duchess will he here with him tin's night. KDM. How comes that ? Cvn. Xav, I know not. You have heard of the news abroad,—I mean the whispered ones, for they are vet but ear-kissing arguments? EDM. Not I ; pray vou, what are thev? C m . Have vou heard of no likely wars toward, 'twixt the dukes of Cornwall and Albany? EDM. Xot a word. C m . You mav do, then, in time. Fare vou [Exit. well, sir. EDM. The duke be here to-night ? The better ! best ! Thi- weaves itself perforce into my business. Mv father hath set iruard to take mv brother: And I have one thin LT. of a queasy question, Which I mibt act:—briefness and fortune, work !— Brother, a word ;—descend:—brother. I say !

My father watches :—O, sir, fty this place ; Intelligence is given where you are hid ; You have now the good advantage of the night:— Have 3^011 not spoken 'gainst the duke of Cornwall ? He \s coming hither; now, i' the night, i' the haste, And Regan with him ; have you nothing said Upon his party 'gainst the duke of Albany? Advise yourself. EDG. I am sure on't, not a word. EDM. I hear my father coming,—pardon me; In cunning I must draw my sword upon you:— Draw : seem to defend yourself: now quit you well.— Yield:—come before my father-—Light, ho, here !— Fly, brother.—Torches! torches!—So, farewell.— [Exit EDGAR. Some blood drawn on me would beget opinion [Wounds his arm. Of my more fierce endeavour: I have seen drunkards Do more than this in sport.—Father! father! Stop, stop ! Xo help V

(•) First folio, your. i -

ACT IT.J

Enter

KING LEAK GLOUCESTER,

and Servants with torches.

GLO. NOW, Edmund, where's the villain? EDM. Here stood he in the dark, his sharp sword out, Mumbling of wicked charms, c6njuring the moon To stand auspicious mistress,— GLO. But where is he? EDM. Look, sir, I bleed. GLO. Where is the villain, Edmund ? EDM. Fled this way, sir. When by no means he could— GLO. Pursue him, ho !—Go after.—[_Exeunt some Servants.] By no means, what ? EDM. Persuade me to the murder of your lordship ; But that I told him, the revenging gods 'Gainst parricides did all their thunders* bend ; Spoke, with how manifold and strong a bond The child was bound to the father;—sir, in fine, Seeing how loathly opposite I stood To his unnatural purpose, in fell motion With his prepared sword, he charges home My unprovided body, lanc'd f mine arm : But % whena he saw my best alarum'd spirits, Bold in the quarrel's right, rous'd to the encounter, Or whether gasted b by the noise I made, Full suddenly he fled. GLO. Let him fly far : Not in this land shall he remain uncaught; And found—despatch ! c —The noble duke my master, My worthy arch and patron, comes to-night : By his authority I will proclaim it, That he which finds him shall deserve our thanks, Bringing the murderous coward to the stake; He that conceals him, death. EDM. When I dissuaded him from his intent, And found him pight d to do it, with curste speech I threaten'd to discover him: he replied, Thou unpossessing bastard ! dost thou think, If I would stand against thee, would the reposal Of any trust, virtue, or worth, in thee [deny, Make thy words faith! d ? No : what I should § {As this I would; ay,\\ though thou didst produce My very character*) I'd turn it all To thy suggestion, plot, and damned practice: And thou must make a dullard of the world, If they not thought the profits of my death (*) First folio, the thunder. (t) First folio, latch'd. (J) First folio, And. (§) First folio, should I. (I!) First folio omits, ay. a But when, &c] " W h e n " is very probahly a misprint for

wher, or whether. b —gasted—] Gasted, or ghasted, means affrighted, dismayed.

c And found—despatch!—] Warburton reads, "And found, dispatched;" as also does Mr. Collier's annotator; but the old text is right. Thus, in " Blurt, Master Constable," Act V. Sc. 1,— " There to find Fontinelle: found, to kill him.*' d — pight to do it,—] Pight is fixed, settled.

[SCENE T.

Were very prcr/nant and potential S2mrs* To make thee seek it. GLO. Strongf and fastened villain ! Would he deny his letter?—I never got him.—* [Trumpets without. Hark, the duke's trumpets ! I know not why % he comes.— All ports I '11 bar; the villain shall not 'scape ; The duke must grant me that: besides, his picture I will send far and near, that all the kingdom May have due note of him ; and of my land, Loyal and natural boy, I'll work the means To make thee capable. Enter

CORNWALL, REGAN,

and Attendants.

now, my noble friend ! since I came hither, [news.§ (Which I can call but now) I have heard strange REG. Iftt be true, all vengeance comes too short, Which can pursue the offender. How dost, my lord ? [crack'd ! GLO. O, madam, my old heart is crack'd,—it's REG. What, did my father's godson seek your life? He whom my father nam'd ? your Edgar ? GLO. O, lady, lady, shame would have it hid ! REG. Was he not companion with the riotous knights That tend || upon my father ? [bad.— GLO. I know not, madam: 'tis too bad, too EDM. Yes, madam, he was of that consort. REG. N O marvel then, though he were ill affected ; 'Tis they have put him on the old man's death, To have the waste and spoilh of his revenues. I have this present evening from my sister Been well inform'd of them; and with such cautions, That if they come to sojourn at my house, I'll not be there. CORN. Nor I, assure thee, Regan.— Edmund, I hear that you have shown your father A child-like office. EDM. 'Twas my duty, sir. GLO. He did bewray his practice ; and receiv'd This hurt you see, striving to apprehend him. CORN. I S he pursu'd ? GLO. Ay, my good lord. CORN. If he be taken, he shall never more CORN. HOW

(*) First folio, spirits. (t) First folio, 0 strange. (X) First folio, wher. (§) First folio, strangenesse. (||) First folio, tended. e — curst speech—] Harsh, bitter speech.

1" — character—] That is, hand-writ ing. g I never got him.—] The folio reads,— " Would he deny his Letter, said he?1* h — the waste and spoil—] So the first quarto; the second reads, « _ these—and waste;" all the other ancient copies, " — th* eocpence and wast."

73

KING LEAR.

ACT II.]

Be fear'd of doing harm : make your own purpose, How in my strength you please.—For you, Edmund, Whose virtue and obedience doth this instant So much commend itself, you shall be ours ; Xatures of such deep trust we shall much need; You we first seize on. EDM. I shall serve you, sir, truly, However else. GLO. For him I thank your grace. CORN. YOU know not why we came to visit you,— [night. KEG. Thus out of season ; threading dark-eyed Occasions, noble Gloster, of some poise,* AVherein we must have use of your advice :— Our father he hath writ, so hath our sister, Of differences, which I best thought it fit To answer fromH our home; the several messengers From hence attend despatch. Our good old friend, Lay comforts to your bosom; and bestow Your needful counsel to our business,f Which craves the instant use. GLO. I serve you, madam : Your graces are right welcome. [Exeunt.

[SCENE ir.

trunk-inheriting slave; one that wouldst be a bawd, in way of good service, and art nothing but the composition of a knave, beggar, coward, pandar, and the son and heir of a mongrel bitch: one whom I will beat into clamourous* whining, if thou deniest the leasts syllable of thy addition. Osw. Why, what a monstrous fellow art thou, thus to rail on one that is neither known of thee nor knows thee ! KENT. What a brazen-faced varlet art thou, to deny thou knowest me ! Is it two days ago,f since I tripped up thy heels, and beat thee, before the king ? Draw, you rogue : for, though it be night, yetc the moon shines, I '11 make a sop oJ the moonshine of you: draw, % you whoreson cullionly barber-monger, draw. [Drawing his sword. Osw. Away! I have nothing to do with thee. KENT. Draw, you rascal! you come with letters against the king; and take Vanity the puppet's part, against the royalty of her father: draw, you rogue, or I '11 so carbonado your shanks !—draw, you rascal! come }'our ways. Osw. Help, ho ! murder! help ! KENT. Strike, you slave ! stand, rogue, stand ! you neat d slave, strike ! [Beating him. Osw. Help, ho ! murder ! murder !

SCENE II.—Before Gloucester's Castle. Enter

KENT

and

OSWALD,

Osw. Good dawning to thee, friend; art of this house ? KENT.

Ay.

Osw. Where may we set our horses ? KENT. I'the mire. Osw. Pr'ythee, if thou lov'st me, tell me. KENT. I love thee not. Osw. Why, then, I care not for thee. KENT. If I had thee in Lipsbury pinfold, I would make thee care for me. Osw. Why dost thou use me thus ? I know thee not. KENT. Fellow, I know thee. Osw. What dost thou know me for ? KENT. A knave; a rascal; an eater of broken meats; a base, proud, shallow, beggarly, threesuited, hundred-pound,b filthy, worsted-stocking knave; a lily-livered, action-taking whoreson, glass-gazing, superserviceable, finical rogue; one (*) First folio, prize.

EDMUND.

EDM. HOW now ? what's the matter? Part. KENT. With you, goodman boy, an § you please; come, I'll flesh you; come on, young master. Enter

CORNWALL, REGAN, GLOUCESTER,

and

Servants. GLO. Weapons ! arms ! what's the matter here ? CORN. Keep peace, upon your lives ! He dies, that strikes again ! what is the matter ? REG. The messengers from our sister and the king! CORN. What is your difference ? speak. Osw. I am scarce in breath, my lord. KENT. NO marvel, you have so bestirred your valour. You cowardly rascal, nature disclaims in thee ; a tailor made thee. CORN. Thou art a strange fellow: a tailor make a man ? KENT. Ay,|| a tailor, sir: a stone-cutter, or a

(t) First folio, businesses.

a — from our home;] Away from home. b —hundred-pound,—-] This epithet is found in Middleton's play of " The Phoenix," Act IV. Sc. 3,— 11 am I used like a hundred-pound gentleman." And in Sir Walter Raleigh's speech against Foreign Retailers (Oldys's "Life of Raleigh," p. 68), he says,—"Nay at Milan, where there are three hundred-pound Englishmen, they cannot so much as have a barber among them." c —yet the moon shines,—] That is, now the moon shines, &c. d __ you neat slave,—] The sting in this epithet, "neat," has been quite misunderstood by the commentators, who suppose it

74

Enter

severally.

ft! E-rS! ?!- 0)

clamours

-

(t) First folio omits, ago.

(J) First folio omits, draw. (§) First folio, if. (II) First folio omits, Ay. allusion

'see

" Come, captain, x ,_ We must be neat; not neat, but cleanly, captain: Ana yet the steer, 1the heifer, and the calf, Are all call'd neat. '

w

Mrs

Epigram

on the husband

" Neate can he talke, and feede, and neatly tread, Neate are his feete, but most neate U his head:*

of

ACT II.]

KING LEAR.

painter, could not have made him so ill, though they had been but two hours at the trade.* CORN. Speak yet, how grew your quarrel ? Osw. This ancient ruffian, sir, whose life I have spar'd, At suit of his grey beard,— KENT. Thou whoreson zed ! thou unnecessary letter!—My lord, if you will give me leave, I will tread this unbolted villain into mortar, and daub the wall of a jakes with him.—Spare my grey beard, you wagtail? a CORN. Peace, sirrah! You beastly knave, know you no reverence ? KENT. Yes, sir, but anger hath a privilege. CORN. Why art thou angry ? KENT. That such a slave as this should wear a sword, [these, Who wears no honesty. Such smiling rogues as Like rats, oft bite the holy cords a-twain Which are too intrinse t' unloose : smooth every passion That in the natures of their lords rebels; Bring f oil to fire, snow to the colder moods ; Renege, $ affirm, and turn their halcyon beaks With every gale§ and vary of their masters, Knowing nought, like dogs, but following,— A plague upon your epileptic visage ! Smile you my speeches, as I were a fool ? Goose, if I had you upon Sarum plain, I'd drive ye cackling home to Camelot.(l) CORN. What, art thou mad, old fellow ? GLO. HOW fell you out ? say that. KENT. NO contraries hold more antipathy, Than I and such a knave. ? CORN. Why dost thou call him knave ? What s his offence ? 11 KENT. His countenance likes me not. CORN. NO more, perchance, does mine, nor his, nor hers. KENT. Sir, 'tis my occupation to be plain ; I have seen better faces in my time, Than stands on any shoulder that I see Before me at this instant. CORN. This is some fellow, Who, having been prais'd for bluntness, doth affect A saucy roughness, and constrains the garb Quite from his b nature: he cannot flatter, he— An honest mind and plain,—he must speak truth ! An they will take it, so ; if not, he's plain, [ness These kind of knaves I knoW, which in this plainHarbour more craft and more corrupter ends, (*) First folio, two yeares oth' trade. (t) First folio, Being. (I) First folio, Revenge. (§) First folio, gall. (||) First folio, What is his fault ? a

Spare my grey beard, you wagtail?] An acute stroke of" nature: Kent in his rage forgets it was his life, not his beard, which the fellow pretended to have spared. b Quite from his nature:] His is here used for the impersonal its.

[SCENE II.

Than twenty silly ducking 6bservants, That stretch their duties nicely. KENT. Sir, in good sooth,* in sincere verity, Under the allowance of your grand f aspect, Whose influence, like the wreath of radiant fire On flickering J Phoebus' front,— CORN. What mean'st by this ? KENT. TO go out of my dialect, which you discommend so much. I know, sir, I am no flatterer: he that beguiled you in a plain accent, was a plain knave ; which, for my part, I will not be, though I should win your displeasure to entreat me to ?t. CORN. What was the offence you gave him ? Osw. I never gave him any : It pleas'd the king his master very late, To strike at me, upon his misconstruction; When he, conjunct,§ and flattering his displeasure, Tripp'd me behind; being down, insulted, raiPd, And put upon him such a deal of man, That worthied him, got praises of the king For him attempting who was self-subdu'd ; And, in the fleshment of this dread || exploit, Drew on me here again. KENT. None of these rogues and cowards, But Ajax is their fool. CORN. Fetch forth the stocks, ho ! You stubborn ancient knave, you reverend braggart, We'll teach you— KENT. Sir, I am too old to learn: Call not your stocks for me : I serve the king ; On whose employment I was sent to you : You shall do small respect, || show too bold malice Against the grace and person of my master, Stocking his messenger. CORN. Fetch forth the stocks !— As I have life and honour, there shall he sit till noon ! [night too. REG. Till noon ! till night, my lord; and all KENT. Why, madam, if I were your father's dog, You should not use me so. REG. Sir, being his knave, I will. CORN. This is a fellow of the self-same colour Our sister speaks of.—Come, bring away the stocks. [Stocks brought in. GLO. Let me beseech your grace not to do so: His fault is much,c and the good king his master Will check him for't: your purpos'd low correction Is such, as basest ftnd contemned'st** wretches, For pilferings and most common trespasses (*) First folio, faith. (\) First folio, great. It) First folio, flicking. (§) First folio, compact. (||) First folio, dead. (IF) First folio, respects. (**) Old text, temnesty corrected by Capell. c His fault is much,—] This speech is* abridged in the folio, which reads,— " Let me beseech your Grace, not to do so, The King his master needs must take it ill."

75

i-;

Are punish'd with : the king must take it ill, That he's so slightly valifd in his messenger, Should have him thus restrained. CORN. I l l answer that. KEG. My sister may receive it much more worse, To have her gentleman abus'd, assaulted, For following her affairs.—Put in his le^s.— a [ K E N T is put in the stocks. Come, mv o-ood* lord : awav. [Exeunt all but GLOUCESTEB and KENT. GLO. I am sorry for thee, friend ; 'tis the duke's pleasure, Whose disposition, all the world well knows, AVill not be rubVd nor stopp'd: I '11 entreat for thee. K E N T . Pray do not, sir : I have watch'd and travelled hard ; Some time I shall sleep out, the rest I'll whistle. (•) First folio omits, good. ft For following her affairs,—Putin his legs.—] Alinenot found in the folio. b Thou out of heaven's benediction rom'st To the warm sun!] 14 This common saw" we meet with in Heywood's "Dialogues on Proverbs"— " In your running from him to me, ye runne Out of Gucfs blessing into the warme sunne." It is found also in Howell's collection of English Proverbs in his Dictionary, 1660, and there explained,—" He goes out of God's bli-^sinjz to the warm sun, viz. from good to worse." The application, we must suppose, is to Lear'* quitting one daughter only to meet more inhospitable treatment from another.

A good man's fortune may grow out at heels: Cave you good morrow ! GLO. [Aside.] The duke's to blame in this; 'twill be ill taken. [Exit. K E N T . Good king, that must aj)prove the common saw, Thou out of heaven's benediction com'st To the warm sun !b Approach, thou beacon to this under globe, That by thy comfortable beams I may Peruse this letter !—Nothing almost sees miracles, But misery ;—I know 'tis from Cordelia ; Who hath most fortunately been inform'd Of my obscured course, and she'll find time From this enormous state-seeking, to give Losses their remedies.0 — All weary and o'erwatch'd, c

I know 'tis from Cordelia ; Who hath most fortunately been inform'd Of my obscured course, and she'll find time From this enormous state-seeking, to give Losses their remedies.] Some editors have gone so far as to degrade this passage altogether from the text: Steevens and others conjecture it to be made up from fragments of Cordelia's letter. We agree with Malone that it forms no part of that letter, but are opposed to his notion That "two half lines have been lost between the words state and 11 seeking. The slight change of " she'll" for shall— the ordinary reading being, "— and shall find time," &c—appears to remove much of the difficulty; that occasioned by the corrupt words, •' enormous state-seeking," will some day probably find an equally facile remedy.

KING LEAR.

ACT II.]

Take vantage, heavy eyes, not to behold This shameful lodging. Fortune, good night; smile once more ; turn thy wheel! [Sleeps.

SCENE III.—A Wood. Enter

EDGAR.

ED a. I heard myself proclaimed ; And, by the happy hollow of a tree, Escap'd the hunt. No port is free ; no place, That guard, and most unusual vigilance, Does not attend my taking. Whiles I may scape, I will preserve myself: and am bethought To take the basest and most poorest shape, That ever penury, in contempt of man, Brought near to beast: my face I '11 grime with filth; Blanket my loins; elf all my hair* in knots *a And with presented nakedness out-face The winds and persecutions of the sky. The country gives me proof and precedent Of Bedlam beggars,(2) who, with roaring voices, Strike in their numb'd and mortified bare arms Pins, wooden pricks, nails, sprigs of rosemary; And with this horrible object, from low farms, Poor pelting b villages, sheep-cotes, and mills, Sometime with lunatic bans, sometime with prayers, Enforce their charity.—Poor Turlygood /(&) poor Torn!0 That's something yet;—Edgar I nothing am. [Exit.

SCENE IV.—Before Gloucester's Castle. in the Stocks. Enter

LEAR,

KENT

Gentleman, and Fool*

'Tis strange that they should so depart from home, And not send back my messenger, f GENT. AS I learn'd, The night before there was no purpose in them Of this remove. LEAH.

(*) First folio,

(f) First folio, Messengers.

a

— elf all my hair in knots ;] " Hair thus knotted was vulgarly supposed to be the work of elves and fairies in the night. So in ' Romeo and Juliet/ Act I. Sc. 4,— * plats the manes of horses in the night; And bakes the elf-locks in foul sluttish hairs, Which, once untangled, much misfortune bodes.'" —STEEVENS.

b — pelting villages,—] That is, paltry, pedling villages, c Poor Turlygood! poor Tom!] So Dekker, in his " Bell-man of London," says of an "Abraham-man,"—" He calls himselfe by

[SCENE IV.

\WaJcing.] Hail to thee, noble master ! Ha! Mak'st thou this shame thy pastime? N O , my lord. d Ha, ha! he wears cruel garters! Horses are tied by the heads, dogs and bears by the neck, monkeys by the loins, and men by the legs: when a man is* over-lusty at legs, then he wears wooden nether-stocks.e LEAR. What's he, that hath so much thy place mistook, To set thee here ? KENT. It is both he and she,— Your son and daughter. KENT. LEAR. KENT. FOOL.

LEAR. KENT. LEAR. KENT. LEAR. KENT. LEAR. KENT. LEAR.

NO ! Yes. NO, I say ! I say, yea. NO, no ; they

would not/ Yes, they have. By Jupiter, I swear, no ! By Juno, I swear, ay. They durst not do't; They could not, would not do't; 'tis worse than murder, To do upon respect such violent outrage : Resolve me, with all modest haste, which way Thou mightst deserve, or they impose, this usage, Coming from us. KENT. My lord, when at their home I did commend your highness' letters to them, Ere I was risen from the place that show'd My duty kneeling, came there a reeking post, Stew'd in his haste, half breathless, panting f forth From Goneril, his mistress, salutations; Deliver'd letters, spite of intermission, Which presently they read : on whose J contents, They summon'd up their meiny , g straight took horse; Commanded me to follow, and attend The leisure of their answer; gave me cold looks : And meeting here the other messenger, Whose welcome I perceiv'd had poison'd mine, (Being the very fellow which of late Displayed so saucily against your highness) Having more man than wit about me, drew; He rais'd the house with loud and coward cries: (*) First folio omits, is. (f) First folio, painting. (X) First folio, those. the name of poore Tom, and comming neere any body cries out, Poore Tom is a-cold." d — cruel garters!] The same quibble on cruel and crewel, i.e. worsted of which stockings, garters, &c, were made, is found in many of our old plays. e — nether-stocks.] Stockings were formerly called netherstocks, and breeches over-stocks or upper-stocks. f No, no; they would not.] This and the next speech are not in the folio. g They summon'd up their meiny,—] Meiny here signifies train or retinue.

77

ACT II.]

KING LEAR.

Your son and daughter found this trespass worth The shame which here it suffers. a FOOL. Winter's not gone yet, if the wild geese fly that way.

S^ENE IV

Rc-tnter

LEAR,

with

GLOUCESTER.

Deny to speak with me? They are sick? they are weary ? They have travelled all the night ? Mere Fathers that wear rags, fetches; Do make their children blind; The images of revolt and flying off. But fathers that bear bags, Fetch me a better answer. Shall see their children kind. GLO. My dear lord, Fortune, that arrant whore, You know the fiery quality of the duke; Ne'er turns the key to the poor.— How unremoveable and fix'd he is b But, for all this, thou shalt have as many dolours In his own course. for thy daughters, as thou canst tell in a year. LEAR. Vengeance! plague! death! confusion!— LEAR. O, how this mother swells up toward my Fiery ? what quality ? Why, Gloster, Gloster, heart! I 'd speak with the duke of Cornwall and his wife. Hysterical passio^)—down, thou climbing sorrow, GLO. Well, my good lord, I have informed Thy element's below !—AVhere is this daughter ? them so.d K E N T . With the ear}, sir, here within. LEAR. Informed them ! Dost thou understand LEAR. Follow me not; stay here. [Exit. me, man ? G E N T . Made you no more offence but what you GLO. Ay, my good lord. speak of ? L E A R . The king would speak with Cornwall; K E N T . None. the dear father How chance the king comes with so small a train ?f Would with his daughter speak, commands her FOOL. An thou hadst been set i' the stocks for service: f that question, thou hadst well deserved it. Are they inform'd of this?—My breath and K E N T . Why, fool ? blood!— FOOL. We'll set thee to school to an ant, to Fiery 1 the fiery duke ?—Tell the hot duke, that— teach thee there's no labouring i' the winter. All No, but not yet:—may be, he is not well: that follow their noses are led by their eyes but Infirmity doth still neglect all office, blind men; and there's not a nose among twenty Whereto our health is bound; we arc not ourbut can smell him that's stinking. Let go thy selves, hold when a great wheel runs down a hill, lest it When nature, being oppressed, commands the break thy neck with following it: % but the great mind one that goes up the hill,§ let him draw thee after. To suffer with the body : I '11 forbear ; When a wise man gives thee better counsel, And am fall'n out with my more headier will, give me mine again : I would have none but To take the indispos'd and sickly fit knaves follow it, since a fool gives it. For the sound man.—Death on my state! wherefore [Looking on KENT. That sir which serves and seeks for gain, Should he sit here ? This act persuades me, And follows but for form, That this remotion ef the duke and her Will pack when it begins to rain, Is practice6 only. Give me my servant forth : And leave thee in the storm. Go, tell the duke and's wife I'd speak with But I will tarry ; the fool will stay, them, And let the wise man fly: Now, presently: bid them come forth and hear The knave turns fool that runs away; me, The fool no knave, perdy/ Or at their chamber door I '11 beat the drum K E X T . Where learned you this, fool ? Till it cry sleep to death/ FOOL. Not r the stocks, fool. GLO. I would have all well betwixt you. [Exit. (•) Old copies. Historica. (I) First folio omits, it.

(+) First folio, number. (§) First folio, upward.

» Winter's not gone yet, &c] This speech is not found in the quartos. b — dolours—] See note p«), p. 18. c The knave turns fool that runs away; The fool no knave, perdy.] Johnson thought the sense would be mended if we read,— 41 The fool turns knave that runs away; The knave no fool, perdy."

78

LEAR.

( + ) First folio, commands, tends, service. d Well, my good lord, &c] This speech and Lear's rejoinder are found only in the folio. * Is practice only.] Practice, it need hardly he repeated, meant artifice, conspiracy, &c. f Till it cry sleep to death.] Till the clamour of the drum destroys or is the death of sleep. The line is usually given, however, " Till it cry, Sleep to death!" that is, till it cry out, awake no more, and this very J possibly was the poet s idea,

i i

O me, my heart, my rising heart!—but, down! a FOOL. Cry to it, nuncle, as the cockney did to the eels when she put 'em i' the paste alive; she LEAK.

a

— the cockney—] " Cockney," of old, bore more than one signification; as employed by Chaucer, in "The Reve's Tale," verse 4205,— 11 And when this jape is told another day, I sal be hald a daf, a cokenay,"— it plainly means an effeminate spoony. In Dekker's " Newes from Hell," &c. 1602,—"'Tis not their fault, but our mothers', our cockering mothers, who for their labour made us to be called

knapp'd 'em o'the coxcombs with a stick, and cried, Down, wantons, down : 'twas her brother, that, in pure kindness to his horse, buttered his hay. cockneys" it has the same import. According to Percy, whose authority is the following couplet from the ancient ballad called 11 The Turnament of Tottenham,"— " At that feast were they served in rich array; Every five and five had a colcenay,"— it meant a cook or scullion; and that, perhaps, is the sense of the word in the present place.

79

KING LEAR.

ACT II.]

Enter

CORNWALL,

REGAN,

GLOUCESTER,

and

Servants. hoth. Hail to vour o-race ! [ K E N T is set at HUrty. R E G . I am r the hard rein which both of them have borne Against the old kind kini;'; or something deeper, AVhereof, perchance, these are but furnishings ;— c But, true it is, from France there comes a power Into this scattered kinmloni; who already, AYi-e in our ne,

svKunhr.

first.

VTT

1 SERA*. N a y then, come on, and f.ike the chance of an o;er. [Drcfics. Tltey fight. CORNWALL is wounded. E E G . Give me tliysword. Apeasant stand up thus! [Snatches a sword, comes behind, and stabs him. 1 SEKV. O. I am slain !—My lord, you have one eye left To see some mischief on him :—O ! [JDWW. CORN. Lest it see more, prevent it.—Out, vile . jelly! ^ hero is thy lustre now ? [son Edmund ? GLO. All dark and comfortless.—Where's niv Edmund, enkindle all the sparks of nature, To quit this horrid act, REG. Out, treacherous villain ! Thou call'st on him that hates thee : it was he That made the overture of thy treasons to us ; AY ho is too good to pity thee. GLO. O my follies ! Then Edgar was abus'd.— Kind gods, forgive me that, and prosper him ! E E G . GO, thrust him out at gates, and let him smell [look you? His way to Dover.—How is 't, my lord ? How CORN. I have received a hurt:—follow me, lady.— Turn out that eyeless villain ;—throw this slave Upon the dunghill.—Regan, I bleed apace: Untimely comes this hurt: give me your arm. [Exit CORNWALL, led hy REGAN ;—Servants unbind (ILOTTI-STER. and had him out.H 12 SERV. I'll never euro what wickedness I do, If this man come to good. If she live Ion" 3 SFRV. Ami, in the end, meet the old course of death, Women will all turn monsters. [Bedlam :i SKRV. Let's follow the old earl, and get the To lead him where he would: his roguish madness Allows itself to any thing. 3 SERV. GO thou; I'll fetch some flax, and whites of eggs To apply to's bleeding face. Now, heaven help him ! * — a n d hari

him

[FJ.remit severed!y. oi/f.]

I n t l t c Tol'o t h e s c e n e c o m - ' u d e s l i e r r .

r

y

i

~t \

ACT IV SCENE I.—The Heath. Enter

EDGAR.

EDG. Yet better thus, and known to be contemn'd, Than still contemn'd and fiatter'd. To be worst, The lowest and most dejected thing of fortune, Stands still in esperance, lives not in fear: The lamentable change is from the best; The worst returns to laughter. Welcome then,a Thou unsubstantial air that I embrace ! The wretch that thou hast blown unto the worst, Owes nothing to thy blasts.—But who comes here ? a

Welcome then,—] These words and the three lines which follow are omitted in the quartos.

Enter

GLOUCESTER,

led by an old man.

My father, poorly led ?—World, world, O world ! But that thy strange mutations make us hate thee, Life would not yield to age. OLD MAN. O my good lord, I have been your tenant, and your father's tenant, these fourscore years. GLO. Away, get thee away; good friend, be gone : Thy comforts can do me no good at all, Thee they may hurt. OLD MAN. YOU cannot see your way. GLO. I have no way, and therefore want no eyes ; I stumbled when I saw. Full oft r tis seen, 95

KING LEAR.

ACT IV.]

[SCENE II.

Our means secure us ;!l and our mere defects Prove our commodities.—O, dear son Edgar, The food of thv abused father's wrath ! Might I but live to see thee in my touch, I'd say I had eves again ! OLD MAN. HOW now ! "Who's there? EDG. [Asidr.~\ 0 gods! Who is't cau say I am at the worst ? I am worse than e'er I was;— ? OLD MAX. Tis poor mad Tom. EDG. [Aside.]—And worse I may be yet: the worst is not, So long as we can say, Tliis is the worst. OLD MAX. Fellow, where goest ? GLO. I S it a beggar-man ? OLD MAX. Madman and beggar too. GLO. He has some reason, else he could not beg. I' the last night's storm I such a fellow saw ; Which made me think a man a worm: mv son Came then into my mind ; and yet my mind Was then scarce friends with him : I have heard more since. As flies to wanton boys, are we to the gods,— They kill us for their sport. EDG. [Aside.] Yiovf should this be?— Bad is the trade that must play Fool to sorrow, Ang'ring itself and others.—Bless thee, master ! GLO. IS that the naked fellow ? OLD MAN. AV, my lord. GLO. Then, pr'ythee, get thee gone :b if, for my sake, Thou wilt overtake us hence a mile or twain, I'the way to Dover, do it for ancient love ; And bring some covering for this naked soul, W h o * I'll entreat to lead me. OLD MAX. Alack, sir, he is mad. GLO. 'Tis the times' plague, when madmen lead the blind. Do as I bid thee, or rather do thy pleasure ; Above the rest, be gone. OLD MAN. I'll bring him the best 'parel that I have, Come on *t what will. [Exit. (TLO. Sirrah, naked fellow,— EDG. Poor Tom's a-cold.—I cannot daub it further. [Aside. GLO. Come hither, fellow,—

EDG. [Aside.] And yet I must.—Bless thy sweet eyes, they bleed. GLO. Know'st thou the way to Dover? EDG. Both stile and gate, horse-way and footpath. Poor Tom hath been scared out of his good wits : bless thee, good man's son, from the foul fiend !—five fiends have been in poor Tom at once ; c of lust, as Obidicut; Hobbididance, prince of dumbness ; Mahu, of stealing ; Modo, of murder; and* Flibbertigibbet, of mopping and mowing,—who since possesses chamber-maids and waiting-women. So, bless thee, master! GLO. Here, take this purse, thou whom the heavens' plagues Have humbled to all strokes : that I am wretched, Makes thee the happier:—heavens, deal so still! Let the superfluous, and lust-dieted man, That slaves your ordinance, that will not see Because he doth not feel, feel your power quickly; So distribution should undo excess, [Dover? And each man have enough.—Dost thou know EDG. Ay, master. [head GLO. There is a cliff, whose high and bending Looks fearfully in the confined deep : Bring me but to the very brim of it, And I '11 repair the misery thou dost bear, With something rich about me: from that place I shall no leading need. EDG. Give me thy arm ; Poor Tom shall lead thee. [Exeunt

(*) First folio, Which.

(*) First folio omits, and.

Our means secure us ; and our mere defects Prove our commodities.—] This was an old stumbling-block to the critics Some have a'tered it to. — " Our mean secures us," &c, that is, our middle state kerps u* in safety: others would read, —"Our meanness secures u s : " Johnson f r< posed,—"Our means seduce u s ; " or "Our maims secure us . " and Mr. Collier's annotator reads,—" Our wants secure us." All this controversy arose apparently from misapprehension of the sense in which the word "secure" is to be understood. To secure now means only to trotect, to keep safely; but in old language it very commonly signified also, to render us

96

SCENE Enter

IL—Before the Duke of Albany's Palace.

GONERIL

and

EDMUND

;

OSWALD meeting

them. GON. Welcome, my lord; I marvel our mild husband Not met us on the way.—Now, where's your master ? Osw. Madam, within ; but never man so chang'd. I told him of the army that was landed; He smil'd at it: I told him, you were coming ; His answer was, The worse : of Gloster's treachery, And of the loyal service of his son,

careless, over-confident, unguarded, and this appears to he its meaning here. Thus, in Sir T. More's " Life of Edward V." :— "Oh the uncertain confidence and shortsighted knowledge of m n ! W h e n this lord was m u u st afraid, be was most secure; and when he was secure, danger was over his head." Again, in Judges yiu. 11:—" And Gideon went up by the way of them that dwelt in tents on the east of Nobah and Jogbehah, and smote the host, 1 for the host was secure.* b Then, pr'ythee, get thee gone:] So the quartos: thefolio reads, •• Get thee away," &c. • C*J" •?y.e fiend8» & c - ] The remainder of the speech is not given r in the folio.

ACT IV.]

KING LEAR.

When I informed him, then he call'd me sot, And told me I had turnM the wrong side out:— What most he should dislike, seems pleasant to him ; What like, offensive. GON. [TO EDMUND.] Then shall you go no further. It is the cowish terror of his spirit, That dares not undertake : he '11 not feel wrongs, Which tie him to an answer. Our wishes on the way May prove effects. Back, Edmund, to my brother; Hasten his musters and conduct his powers: I must change arms* at home, and give the distaff Into my husband's hands. This trusty servant Shall pass between us : ere long you are like to hear, If you dare venture in your own behalf, A mistress's command. Wear this; spare speech; [Giving a favour. Decline your head : this kiss, if it durst speak, Would stretch thy spirits up into the air;— Conceive, and fare thee well. EDM. Yours in the ranks of death. GON. My most dear Gloster! [Exit EDMUND. 0 , the difference of man and man! To thee a woman's services are due; My fool usurps my body.a Osw. Madam, here comes my lord. [Exit. Enter

ALBANY.

GON. I have been worth the whistle. ALB. O, Goneril! You are not worth the dust which the rude wind Blows in your face ! I fear your disposition: b That nature, which contemns its origin, Cannot be border'd certain in itself; She that herself will sliver and disbranch From her material sap, perforce must wither, And come to deadly use. GON. NO more ! the text is foolish. ALB. Wisdom and goodness to the vile seem vile; [done ? Filths savour but themselves. What have you Tigers, not daughters ! what have you perform'd? A father, and a gracious aged man,— Whose reverence even the head-lugg'd bear would lick,— a My fool usurps my body.] The reading of the folio. The first quarto has, " A fool usurps my bed; " the second, " My foot usurps my head;" while a third gives, "My foot usurps my body."

b I fear your disposition :] This line and all that follows, down to Goneril's speech, beginning, " Milk-liver'd man!'" the folio omits.

ni.

Most barbarous, most degenerate !—have you madded. Could my good brother suffer you to do it? A man, a prince, by him so benefited ! If that the heavens do not their visible spirits Send quickly down to tame these* vile offences, 'Twill come, humanity must perforce prey on 'tself, Like monsters of the deep. GON. Milk-liver'd man ! That bear'st a cheek for blows, a head for wrongs ; Who hast not in thy brows an eye discerning Thine honour from thy suffering;c that not know'st, Pools do those villains pity who are punish'd Ere they have done their mischief. Where 's thy drum ? France spreads his banners in our noiseless land; With plumed helm thy state begins to threat; d Whiles thou, a moral fool, sitt'st still, and criest, Alack ! ivhy does he so ? ALB. See thyself, devil ! Proper deformity seems not in the fiend So horrid as in woman. GON. O vain fool! e ALB. Thou changed and self-cover'd thing, for shame, Be-monster not thy feature ! Were 't my fitness To let these hands obey my blood, They are apt enough to dislocate and tear Thy flesh and bones:—howe'er thou art a fiend, A woman's shape doth shield thee. GON. Marry, your manhood now !— Enter a Messenger. ALB . What news ? MESS. O, my good lord, the duke of Cornwall's dead, Slain by his servant, going to put out The other eye of Gloster. ALB. Gloster's eyes ! MESS. A servant that he bred, thrill'd with remorse, Oppos'd against the act, bending his sword To his great master; who, thereat enrag'd,f Flew on him, and amongst them fell'd him dead; But not without that harmful stroke, which since Hath pluck'd him after. ALB. This shows you are above, You justicers, J that these our nether crimes (*) Old copies, this, the. ( + ) First folio, threat-enrag'd. {%) First folio, Iitstices.

(*) First folio, names.

VOL.

[SCENE I I .

97

c Thine honour from thy suffering;] In the folio, Goneril's speech ends here. d — thy state begins to threat.] The first quarto has,-—" thy state begins thereat;" the second, " thy slaier begins threats" e O vain fool!] In the folio, the Messenger enters here, and begins immediately,—" O, my good lord," &c. H

KING LEAR,

ACT IV.]

S > speedily can venge !—But, 0 poor Glister ! Lost he hi^ other eye? MESS. Both, both, my lord.— This letter, madam, craves a speedy answer ; T is from vour sister. GON. [Aside.] One way I like this well ; But bein^ widow, and mv Gloster with her, May all the building in my fancy pluck Upon my hateful life : another way, The news is not so tart.—I'll read, and answer. [Exit. ALB. Where was his son, when they did take his eves ? MFSS. Come with my lady hither. ALB. He is not here. MESS. N O , my good lord, I met him back ALB. Knows he the wickedness ? MESS. Ay, my good lord; 'twas he inform'd against him ; And quit the house on purpose that their punishment Might have the freer course. ALB. [Aside.] Gloster, I live To thank thce for the love thou show-dst the king, And to revenge thine eyes.—Come hither, friend; Tell me what more thou know\st. [Exeunt.

SCENE III*—The

French Camp mar Dover.

[SCENE HI.

Not to a rage : patience and sorrow strove* Who should express her goodliest. You have seen Sunshine and rain at once : her smiles and tears Were like a better day : b those happy smilets, That play'd on her ripe lip, seem'd not to know What guests were in her eyes; which parted thence, As pearls from diamonds dropp'd.—In brief, Sorrow would be a rarity most belovVL If all could so become it. KENT. Made she no verbal question ? GENT. Faith, once or twice she heav'd the name of father Pantingly forth, as if it press'd her heart; Cried, Sisters ! sisters !—ISliame of ladies ! sisters! Kent ! father ! sisters ! What, $ the storm 1 i the night ? Let pity not be believed !—There she shook The holy water from her heavenly eyes, And clamour nioisten'd : then away she started To deal with grief alone. KENT. It is the stars, The stars above us, govern our conditions ; Else one self mate and mate could not beget Such different issues.—You spoke not with her since ? GENT.

GENT. N O . K E N T . Was this before GENT. KENT. Well, sir, the

the king returned? NO, since. poor distressed Lear's

i' the town; Enter KENT, and a Gentleman. Who sometime, in his better tune, remembers What we are come about, and by no means KENT. Why the king of France is so suddenly Will yield to see his daughter. gone back know you the reason? GENT. Why, good sir ? GENT. Something he left imperfect in the state, KENT. A sovereign shame so elbows him : his which since his coming fortli is thought of; which own unkindness, imports to the kingdom > much fear and danger, That stripp'd her from his benediction, turnM her that his personal return was most required and To foreign casualties, gave her dear rights necessary. To his dog-hearted daughters,—these things sting KENT. Who hath he left behind him general ? is mind so venomously, that burning shame GENT. The mareschal of France, Monsieur le Detains him from Cordelia. Far. GENT. Alack, poor gentleman ! K E N T . Did your letters pierce the queen to any KENT. Of Albany's and Cornwall's powers you demonstration of grief? heard not ? GENT. Ay, sir ; * she took them, read them in GENT. 'Tis so, they are a-foot. [Lear, my presence ; K E N T . Well, sir, I'll bring you to our master And now and then an ample tear trilFd down And leave you to attend him: some dear cause Her delicate cheek : it seem'd, she was a queen A\ ill in concealment wrap me up awhile ; t fulio, Did challenge.

(t) First folio, jarring.

a To >tand against the deep dread-bnlted thunder? In the most terrible and nimble stroke Of quick, cress lightning ? to watch (poor perdu !)

106

• -'•»

" I'

•

In short and musty straw ? Alack, alack ! T i s wonder that thy life and wits at once Had not concluded all.—He wakes ; speak to him. P H Y S . Madam, do you ; 'tis fittest. CORD. HOW does my royal lord? How fares your majesty ? LEAR. YOU do me wrong to take me out o' the grave : — Thou art a soul in bliss ; but I am bound Upon a wheel of fire, that mine own tears Do scald like molten lead. CORD. Sir, do you know me? LEAR. YOU are a spirit, I know ; when * did you die ? CORD. Still, still, far wide ! P H Y S . He's scarce awake; let him alone awhile LEAR. Where have I been ? Where am I ?— Fair daylight ? (*) First folio, where. With this thin helm ?] These lilies are omitted in the folio.

KING LEAR.

ACT IV.]

I ' m mightily abus'd.—I should e'en die with pity, To see another thus.—I know not what to say.— I will not swear these are my hands :—let's see, I feel this pin prick. Would I were assur'd Of my condition ! CORD. O, look upon me, sir, And hold your hands * in benediction o'er me:— No, sir,f you must not kneel. LEAR. Pr&y> do not mock me : I am a very foolish fond old man, Fourscore and upward, not an hour more nor less; And, to deal plainly, I fear I am not in my perfect mind. Methinks I should know you, and know this man; Yet I am doubtful; for I am mainly ignorant What place this is ; and all the skill I have Remembers not these garments ; nor I know not Where I did lodge last night.—Do not laugh at me, For, as I am a man, I think this lady To be my child Cordelia. CORD. LEAR.

And

so I am, I

am.

Be your tears wet ? yes, faith. I pray, weep not: If you have poison for me, I will drink it. I know you do not love me; for your sisters Have, as I do remember, done me wrong: You have some cause, they have not. CORD. N O cause, no cause. (+) First folio omits, No, sir.

(*) First folio, hand. a

il

— and yet it is danger To make him even o'er the time he has lost.]

[SCENE VII.

LEAR. Am I in France ? KENT. In your own kingdom, sir. LEAR. DO not abuse me. [™ge, P H Y S . Be comforted, good madam ; the great

You see, is kill'd in him : and yet it is danger To make him even o'er the time he has lost.a Desire him to go in ; trouble him no more, Till farther settling. COR. Will't please your highness walk ? LEAR. YOU must bear with me : Pray you now, forget and forgive : I am old, and foolish. [_Exemit LEAR, CORDELIA, Physician, and Attendants. b GENT. Holds it true, sir, that the duke of Cornwall was so slain ? K E N T . Most certain, sir. GENT. Who is conductor of his people ? K E N T . A S 'tis said, the bastard son of Gloster. GENT. They say, Edgar, his banish'd son, is with the earl of Kent in Germany. K E N T . Report is changeable. 'T is time to look about; the powers of the kingdom approach apace. GENT. The arbitrement is like to be bloody. Fare you well, sir. \_Exit. K E N T . My point and period will be throughly wrought, Or well or ill, as this day's battle's fought. \_Exit. Omitted in the folio. Exeunt LEAR, & C ]

b

In the folio, the scene terminates here.

/ •

t! /

ACT SCENE I.—Tlit ('amp of iht British Forces, -near Dover. Ente r until drum and odours, EDMUND, Officers, Soldiers, and other*.

| TO change the course : he's full of alteration, I And self-reproving :—bring his constant pleasure. [To an Officer, who nt : most likely 'tis for you : Trs. and cerht'in Senators.

( 'oushler

[>\ENE III.

S(JFXE III.—Rome. An Anarf-wevt fins'* House.

in Mar-

' VOLI'MMA and YIIUIILTA : th: wars!] In the last line of this much-controverted passage, Warburton proposed,— ' v Let hymns be made an overture for the wars," Tyrwbitt would read.— 44 Let this [that is, silk] be made a coverture for th? wars , "

140

[SCENT: x.

Refused most princely gifts, am bound to beg Of my lord general. COM. Take it: 'tis yours. What is V? COR. I sometime lay here in Corioli At a poor man's house ; he us'd me kindly : He cried t o m e ; I saw him prisoner; But then Aufidius was within my view, And wrath o'erwhelm'd my pity : I request you To give my poor host freedom. COM. O, well begg'd! Were he the butcher of my son, he should Be free as is the wind.—Deliver him, Titus. LART. Marcius, his name ? COR. By Jupiter ! forgot:— I am weary ; yea, my memory is tir'd.— Have we no wine here ? COM. GO we to our tent: The blood upon your visage dries; 'tis time It should be look'd to : come. [Exeunt.

SCENE X.—The Camp of the Volsces. A flourish. Cornets. Enter TULLUS AUFIDIUS bloody, with two or three Soldiers. AUF. The town is ta'en ! 1 SOL. 'Twill be delivered back on good condition. AUF. Condition !— I would I were a Roman ; for I cannot, Being a Volsce, be that I am.—Condition ! What good condition can a treaty find I' the part that is at mercy ?—Five times, Marcius, I have fought with thee; so often hast thou beat me ; And wouldst do so, I think, should we encounter As often as we eat.—By the elements, If e'er again I meet him beard to beard, He's mine, or I am his ! Mine emulation Hath not that honour in't it had; for where I thought to crush him in an equal force, (Truesword to sword) I'll potchat him someway, Or wrath or craft may get him. 1 SOL. He's the devil. and Mr. Collier's annotator,— " Let it be made a coverture for the wars." If an alteration be absolutely needed, that of " a coverture " for "an overture," understanding " h i m " to be used for the neuter it, is the least objectionable; but we are strongly disposed to think that " overture," if not a misprint for ooation, is employed here in the same sense, and that the meaning is,—When steel grows soft as the parasite's silk, let him be made, i. e. let then be made for him, a triumph, as for a successful warrior. b — his proper harm)—] His peculiar or personal harm. c The best, with whom we may articulate,— ] The chitf personages of Corioli, with whom we may enter into articles.

ACT I.]

CORIOLANUS.

A U F . Bolder, though not so subtle. My valour's poison'd, With only suffering stain by him ; for him Shall fly out of itself. Nor sleep nor sanctuary, Being naked, sick. Nor fane nor Capitol, The prayers of priests nor times of sacrifice, Embarquements a all of fury, shall lift up Their rotten privilege and custom 'gainst Mv hate to Marcius ! Where I find him, were it At home, upon my brother's guard, b even there a Embarquements—] That is, embargoes, or impediments. b At home, upon my brother's guard,—] At my own house, under the protection of my brother.

[SCENE x,

Against the hospitable canon, would I Wash my fierce hand in's heart !—Go you to the city ; Learn how 'tis held ; and what thev are that must Be hostages for Rome. 1 SOL" Will not you go? A U F . l a m attended at the cypress grove: I prav you, ('Tis south the city mills) bring me word thither How the world goes, that to the pace of it I may spur on my journey. 1 SOL. I shall, sir.

ACT II. SCENE T.—Rome.

Knftr MENKMVS, SICIXIUS, and BRUTUS. MKN. The aiio-urer tells me we shall have news to-night. B R U . Good or bad ? M E N . Nut according: to the prayer of the people, for they love not Marcius. Sic. Nature teaches beasts to know their friends. M E N . Pray YOU, who does the wolf love ? S K \ The lamb. M E N . AY, to devour him ; as the hungry pieLeians would the noble Marcius. B R U . H e ^ a lamb indeed, that bars like a bear. M E N . H e ' s a bear, indeed, that lives like a lamb. You two are old men : tell me one thing that I -ball ask you. B O T H T R I . Well, sir. M E N . In what enormity is Marcius poor in, that vou two have not in abundance? B R U . H e ' s poor in no one fault, but stored with all. Sir. Especially in pride. J-J2

A pubflr

BRU. MEN. how vou us o' the

Place,

And topping all others in boasting. This is strange now: do you two know are censured here in the citv, I mean of right-hand file? do you? B O T H . Why, how are we censured ? M E X . Because you talk of pride now,—will you not be angry ? B O T H . "Well, well, sir, well ? M E N . "Why, 'tis no great matter; for a very little thief of occasion will rob you of a great deal of patience : give your dispositions the reins, and be an LIT v at your pleasures ; at the least, if you take it as a pleasure to you in being so. lu blame Marcius for being proud ? BRU. We do it not alone, sir. M E N . I know you can do very little alone, for your helps are many, or else your actions would grow wondrous single: your abilities are too infant-like for doing much alone. You talk of pride: O, that you could turn your eyes toward the napes of vour necks, and make but an interior survey of your good selves ! O, that you could . BRU. What then, sir?

ACT I I . ]

CORIOLANUS.

MEN. Why, then you should discover a brace of unmeriting, proud, violent, testy magistrates, (alias fools) as any in Rome. Sic. Menenius, you are known well enough too. MEN. I am known to be a humorous patrician, and one that loves a cup of hot wine with not a drop of allaying Tiber h v t ; said to be something imperfect in favouring the first complaint; hasty and tinder-like upon too trivial motion; a one that converses more with the buttock of the night than with the forehead of the morning. What I think I utter, and spend my malice in my breath. Meeting two such weal's-men as you are, (I cannot call you Lycurguses) if the drink you give me touch my palate adversely, I make a crooked face at it. I cannot* say your worships have delivered the matter well, when I find the ass in compound with the major part of your syllables : and though I must be content to bear with those that say you are reverend grave men, yet they lie deadly that tell you have good faces. If you see this in the map of my microcosm, follows it that I am known well enough too ? What harm can your bisson t conspectuities glean out of this character, if I be known well enough too ? BRTJ. Come, sir, come, we know you well enough. MEN. YOU know neither me, yourselves, nor any thing. You are ambitious for poor knaves' caps and legs : you wear out a good wholesome forenoon in hearing a cause between an orangewife and a fosset-seller; and then rejourn the controversy of three-pence to a second day of audience. When you are hearing a matter between party and party, if you chance to be pinched with the colic, you make faces like mummers; set up the bloody flag against all patience ; and, in roaring for a chamberpot, dismiss the controversy bleeding, the more entangled by your hearing : all the peace you make in their cause is, calling both the parties knaves. You are a pair of strange ones. BRIT. Come, come, you are well understood to be a perfecter giber for the table, than a necessary bencher in the Capitol. MEN. Our very priests must become mockers, if they shall encounter such ridiculous subjects as you are. When you speak best unto the purpose,

[SCENE I.

it is not worth the wagging of your beards; and your beards deserve not so honourable a grave as to stuff a botcher's cushion, or to be entombed in an ass's pack-saddle. Yet you must be saying, Marcius is proud ; who, in a cheap estimation, is worth all your predecessors since Deucalion; though, peradventure, some of the best of 'em were hereditary hangmen. God-den to your worships ; more of your conversation would infect my brain, being the herdsmen of the beastly plebeians ; I will be bold to take my leave of you.— [BRUTUS and SICINIUS retire. Enter

VOLUMNIA, VIRGILIA,

and

VALERIA,

attended. How now, my as fair as noble ladies,—and the moon, were she earthly, no nobler,—whither do you follow your eyes so fast? VOL. Honourable Menenius. my boy Marcius approaches ;—for the love of Juno, let's go. MEN. H a ! Marcius coming home ? VOL. Ay, worthy Menenius; and with most prosperous approbation. MEN. Take my cap, Jupiter, and I thank thee !—Hoo ! Marcius coming home ! A/

' > ISTay, 'tis true.

V IR. I

VOL. Look, here's a letter from him: the state hath another, his wife another ; and I think there's one at home for you. MEN. I will make my very house reel to-night :—a letter for me ? VIR. Yes, certain, there's a letter for you; I saw it. MEN. A letter for me ! it gives me an estate of seven years' health ; in which time I will make a lip at the physician: the most sovereign prescription in Galen is but empiricutic,b and, to this preservative, of no better report than a horsedrench.—Is he not wounded ? he was wont to come home wounded. V I R . O, no, no, no ! VOL. O, he is wounded,—I thank the gods for't. MEN. SO do I too, if it be not too much:— brings 'a victory in his pocket?—the wounds become him.

what militates against this supposition, and the wonderfully acute emendation of Mr.-Collier's annotator,—"the thirst complaint," also is the doubt whether "complaint" obtained the sense of a I am known to be a humorous patrician, and one that loves a malady ox ailment until many years after these plays were written. cup of hot wine with not a drop of allaying Tiber in't; said to be If it did not bear this meaning in Shakespeare's day, the only exsomething imperfect in favouring the first complaint; hasty and planation of "something imperfect, in favouring the first com plaint," appears to be that he was too apt to be led away by first tivder-like upon too trivial motion ;] The pose in this passage is impressions ; to act rather upon impulse than from reflection. the expression, "the first complaint." What is " t h e first comb —empericutic,—] In the old text, " Emperickqutique," which plaint"? At one time we conceived the sprightly, warm-hearted Pope altered to " emperic," and for which Mr. Collier's annotator old senator, among his other failings, " cried out of women," and substitutes, "empiricphysic." referred to what Ben Jonson as obscurely terms "the primitive work of darkness" ("The Devil is an Ass," Act II. Sc. 2); but (*) Old text, cariy corrected by Theobald, (t) Old text, beesome, corrected by Theobald.

143

CORIoLANUS.

ACT II.]

VOL. Oir> brows. Menenius, he comes the third time home with the oaken garland. M E \ . lias bo disciplined Autidius soundly ? VOL. Titus Lartius writes,—they fought together, but Aufidius out off. MEN. And 'twas time for him too. I'll warrant him that: an he had stayed hv him, I would not have been so 'lidiused for all the chests in Corioli, and the u*e grafted to your relish. Yet welcome, warriors: We call a nettle but a nettle ; and The faults of fools, but folly. COM. Ever right. COR. Menenius, ever, ever. H E R . Give way there, and go on ! COR. Your hand, and yours: [To

V I R G . and

VOLUM.

Ere in our own house I do shade my head, The o;ood patricians must be visited ; From whom I have receiv'd not only greetings, But with them change^ of honours. VOL. I have liv'd To see inherited my very wishes, And the buildings of my fancy : Only there's one tiling wanting, which I doubt not. L our Rome will east upon thee. (*) Old text, Marlins Cains Curiolanus. additional honours, may b > ri-Lt, though we incline toTheobald^ substitution, •' char ye of honours."

COB. Know, good mother, I had rather be their servant in my way, Than sway with them in theirs. COM. On, to the Capitol! [Flourish. Cornets. Exeunt in state, as before. The Tribunes remain. a

Into a rapture lets her baby cry, While she chats him :]

By "rapture" is meant fit. So, in " The Hospital for London's Follies," 1602, as quoted by Steevens :—" Your darling will weep itself into a rapture, if you take not good heed." The word " chats," in the next line, is changed to " cheers " by Mr. Collier's annotator, and to " c l a p s " by Mr. Singer: if any alteration is desirable, VOL. i n . 145

BRU. All tongues speak of him, and the bleared sights Are spectacled to see him : your prattling nurse Into a rapture lets her baby cry, While she chats him: a the kitchen malkinb pins Her richest lockram0 'bout her reechy neck, u

shouts " would perhaps be more suitable than either " cheers * or " claps." Thus, in Act I. Sc. 9, Coriolanus remonstrates,— " You shout me forth In acclamations hyperbolical." b — Malkin —] See note (d), p. 213, Vol. II. — lockram ] Lockram appears to have been a sort of cheap, coarse linen. L

CORIOLANUS.

ACT II.]

Clambering the walls to eye him: stalls, bulks, windows, Are smother d up, leads filFd, and ridges hors'd With variable complexions ; all agreeing In earnestness to see him : seld-shown flamens* Do press among the popular throngs, and puff To win a vulgar station : our veilYl dames Commit the war of white and damask, in Their nicely-gawded cheeks, to the wanton spoil Of Phoebus' burning kisses : such a pother, As if that whatsoever god who leads him, Were slily crept into his human powers, And gave him graceful posture. Sic. On the sudden, I warrant him consul. BRU. Then our office may, During his power, go sleep. Sic. He cannot temperately transport his honours From where he should begin and end; but will Lose those he hath won. BRU. In that there's comfort. Sic. Doubt not r The commoners, for w hom we stand, but they, Upon their ancient malice, will forget, With the least cause, these his new honours; Which that he'll give them, make I as little question As he is proud to do 't. BRU. I heard him swear, Were he to stand for consul, never would he Appear i' the market-place, nor on him put The napless* vesture of humility; Nor, showing (as the manner is) his wounds To the people, beg their stinking breaths. Sic. 'T is right. BRU. It was his word : O, he would miss it, rather Than carry it but by the suit of the gentry to him, And the desire of the nobles. Sic. I wish no better, Than have him hold that purpose, and to put it In execution. BRU. 'T is most like, he will. Sic. It shall be to him, then, as our good wills,b A sure destruction. BRU. SO it must fall out To him or our authorities. For an end, We must suggest the people in what hatred He still hath held them; that to's power he would Have made them mules, silenc'd their pleaders, And dispropertied their freedoms : holding them, In human action and capacity, (•) Old text, Naples. a b

seld-shown flamens—] Priests seldom visible. as our good wills,—] That is, as our profit require!.

146

[SCENE II.

Of no more soul nor fitness for the world, Than camels in their war; who have their provand Only for bearing burdens, and sore blows For sinking under them. Sic. This, as you say, suggested At some time when his soaring insolence Shall reach0 the people, (which time shall not want, If he be put upon't; and that's as easy, As to set dogs on sheep) will be his fire To kindle their dry stubble; and their blaze Shall darken him for ever. Enter a Messenger. BRU.

What's the matter ? MESS. YOU are sent for to the Capitol. 'Tis thought that Marcius shall be consul: I have seen the dumb men throng to see him, And the blind to hear him speak: matrons flung gloves, Ladies and maids their scarfs and handkerchief, Upon him as he pass'd: the nobles bended, As to Jove's statue ; and the commons made A shower and thunder, with their caps and shouts: I never saw the like. BRU. Let's to the Capitol; And carry with us ears and eyes for the time, But hearts for the event. Sic. Have with you. [Exeunt.

SCENE II.—The same.

The Capitol.

Enter two Officers, to lay cushions. 1 OFF. Come, come, they are almost here. How many stand for consulships ? 2 OFF. Three, they say: but 't is thought of every one, Coriolanus will carry it. 1 O F F . That 's a brave fellow; but he's vengeance proud, and loves not the common people. 2 OFF. Faith, there have been many great men that have flattered the people, who ne'er loved them ; and there be many that they have loved, they know not wherefore: so that, if they love they know not why, they hate upon no better a ground: therefore, for Coriolanus neither to care whether they love or hate him, manifests the true knowledge he has in their disposition; c Shall reach the people,—] In the old text, " teach the People.' The con-ection is Theobald's. Mr. Knight suggested, " Shall touch the people," which is equally probable and good.

and, out of his noble carelessness, lets them plainly see't. 1 OFF. If he did not care whether he had their love or no, he waved indifferently 'twixt doing them neither good nor harm; but he seeks their hate with greater devotion than they can render it him; and leaves nothing undone that may fully discover him their opposite. Now, to seem to affect the malice and displeasure of the people, is as bad as that which he dislikes,—to flatter them for their love. 2 OFF. He hath deserved worthily of his country; and his ascent is not by such easy degrees as those who, having been supple and courteous to the people, bonneted/ without any further deed to heave b them at all into their estimation and report: but he hath so planted his honours in their eyes, and his actions in their hearts, that for their tongues to be silent, and not confess so much, were a kind of ingrateful injury; to report otherwise, were a malice, that, giving itself the lie, would pluck reproof and rebuke from every ear that heard it. 1 OFF. NO more of him; he 's a worthy man : make way, they are coming. a

— bonneted,—] This is accepted as meaning, took off the cap, as in "Othello," Act I. Sc. 1, we have,—" Oft capp'd to him ; " but it may signify,—invested with the badge of consular dignity.

147

A Sennet. Unter, with Lictors before them, COMINIUS the Consul, MENENIUS, CORIOLANUS, mani/ other Senators, SICINIUS and BRUTUS. The Senators take their places; the Tribunes take theirs, also by themselves. MEN. Having determined of the Volsces, And to send for Titus Lartius, it remains, As the main point of this our after-meeting, To gratify his noble service that hath Thus stood for his country: therefore, please you, Most reverend and grave elders, to desire The present consul, and last general In our well-found successes, to report A little of that worthy work perform'd By Caius Marcius Coriolanus ;* whom We meet f here, both to thank, and to remember With honours like himself. 1 SEN. Speak, good Cominius : Leave nothing out for length, and make us think Eather our state's defective for requital, Than we to stretch it out.—Masters o' the people, We do request your kindest ears ; and, after, Your loving motion toward the common body, To yield what passes here. (*) Old text, Martins Caius, &c.

(f) Old text, met.

b — to heave them—] Pope's emendation; the old text reading, to have them,"

OORIOLAXrs.

A< T I I . J

Sic.

We are con vented a pleaMnp: treaty ; and have hearts Inclinable to honour and advance The theme of our assembly. BRU. Which the rather We shall be ble>s\l to do, if he remember A kinder value of the people than He hath hereto priz'd them at. MEN. That's off, that's off ;a I would vnu rather had been silent. Please you To hear Cominius speak ? BRU. Most willingly : But yet my caution was more pertinent, Than the rebuke you give it. MEN. He loves your people; But tie him not to be their bedfellow.— Worthy Cominius, speak.—[COIUOL AX us risr$} and offers to go array. X a v , keep your place. 1 SEX. Sit, Coriolanus ; never shame to hear W h a t you have nobly done. COR. Your honours' pardon ; I had rather have my wounds to heal again, T h a n hear say how I got them. BRU. Sir, I hope Mv words dis-bcncird you not. (1u. X o , sir : yet oft, W h e n blows have made me stay, I tied from words. [people, Y o u sootlfd not, therefore hurt n o t : but your I love them as they weiirh. MKN. P r a y now, sit down. C O R . I had rather have one scratch my head T the sun W h e n the alarum were struck, than idly sit T o hear ray nothings monster'd.

IE At. MEX. Masters of the people, Your multiplying spawn how can he flatter, (That's thousand to one good one) when you now see,

He had rather venture all his limbs for honour Than one on \s * ears to hear it ?—Proceed, Cominius. [lanus COM. I shall lack voice: the deeds of CorioShould not be utter'd feeblv.—It is held, That valour is the chiefe>t virtue, And most dignities the haver: if it be. The man I speak of cannot in the world Be singly counterpoirAl. At sixteen years, AMien Tarquin made a head for Rome, he fought Bevond the mark of others : our then dictator, Whom with all praise I point at, saw him fiMit, (*) Old text, on ones. a That'solT, tViiNofi*;] T h a t ' s ou' of the way, not called fur. 1' /A. 1 r> h'• i alswor.'s of die rjat and } A lurch .ii cards ^igni> an t'jsy victor)'. IV. lurvh ali sv,ord> of the garlai.d meant

14s

SCEXI: IT.

When with his Amazonian chinf he drove The bristled lips before him : he bestrid An o'er-press'd Roman, and i' the consul's view Slew three opposers : Tarquin's self he met, And struck him on his knee: in that day's feats When he might act the woman in the scene. He prov'd best man i1 the field, and for his meed Was brow-bound with the oak. His pupil-age Man-enter'd thus, he waxed like a sea; And, in the brunt of seventeen battles since, He lurched all swords of the garland.b For this last, Before and in Corioli, let me say, I cannot speak him home : he stopped the fliers ; And by his rare example made the coward Turn terror into sport: as weeds before A vessel under sail, so men obey'd, And fell below his stem : his sword, Death's stamp, Where it did mark, it took; from face to foot He was a thing of blood, whose every motion Was tiinM with dying cries: alone he enter'd The mortal gate of the city, which he painted With shunless destiny ; aidless came off, And with a sudden re-enforcement struck Corioli like a planet: now all's his ; When by and by the din of war 'gan pierce His ready sense ; then straight his doubled spirit Ke-quickcn'd what in flesh was fatigate, And to the battle came he ; where he did Run reeking o'er the lives of men, as if 'T were a perpetual spoil: and, till we calFd Both field and city ours, he never stood To ease his breast with panting. MKX. Worthy man! 1 SEN. He cannot but with measure fit the honours Which we devise him. COM. Our spoils he kick'd at; And look'd upon things precious, as they were The common muck of the world : he covets less Than misery itself would give ; rewards His deeds with doing them; and is content To spend the time to end it. MEN. He's right noble: Let him be call'd for. 1 SEN. Call Coriolanus. OFF. He doth appear. lie-enter

CORIOLANUS.

MEN. The senate, Coriolarms, are well pleasM To make thee consul. (1) Old text, Shinne. then, as Malone expresses it,—" to gain from all other warrior the wreath of victory, with ease, and incontestable superiority.'

ACT II.] COR.

CORIOLANUS.

I do owe them still

My life and services. MEN. It then remains, That you do speak to the people. COR. I do beseech you, Let me o'er-leap that custom; for I cannot Put on the gown, stand naked, and entreat them, For my wounds' sake, to give their sufferage : Please you, that I may pass this doing. Sic. Sir, the people Must have their voices ; neither will they bate One jot «rf ceremony. MEN. Put them not to't:— Pray you, go fit you to the custom ; And take to you, as your predecessors have, Your honour with your form. COR. It is a part That I shall blush in acting, and might well Be taken from the people. BRTJ. Mark you that ? COR. TO brag unto them,—thus I did, and [hide, thus;— Show them the unaching scars which I should As if I had receiv'd them for the hire Of their breath only !— MEN. DO not stand upon't.— We recommend to you, tribunes of the people, Our purpose to them;—and to our noble consul Wish we all joy and honour. SEN. TO Coriolanus come all joy and honour ! [Flourish. Exeunt all except SICXNIUS and BRUTUS. BRU. YOU see how he intends to use the people. Sic. May they perceive's intent! He will require them, As if he did contemn what he requested Should be in them to give. BRU. Come, we'll inform them Of our proceedings here: on the market-place, I know, they do attend us. [Exeunt. SCENE III.—The Same.

The Forum.

nr.

we must also tell him our noble acceptance of them. Ingratitude is monstrous ; and for the multitude to be ingrateful, were to make a monster of the multitude; of the which we being members, should bring ourselves to be monstrous members. 1 CIT. And to make us no better thought of, a little help will serve; for once we stood up about the corn, he himself stuck not to call us—the manyheaded multitude. 3 CIT. We have been called so of many; not that our heads are some brown, some black, some auburn,* some bald, but that our wits are so diversely coloured: and truly I think, if all our wits were to issue out of one skull, they would fly east, west, north, south; and their consent of one direct way should be at once to all the points o'the compass. 2 CIT. Think you so ? which way do you judge my wit would fly? 3 CIT. Nay, your wit will not so soon out as another man's will,—'tis strongly wedged up in a block-head: but if it were at liberty, 'twould, sure, southward. 2 CIT. Why that way ? 3 CIT. TO lose itself in a fog; where being three parts melted away with rotten dews, the fourth would return for conscience sake, to help to get thee a wife. 2 CIT. YOU are never without your tricks :—you may, you may.b 3 CIT. Are you all resolved to give your voices ? But that's no matter, the greater part carries it. I say, if he would incline to the people, there was never a worthier man.—Here he comes, and in the gown of humility : mark his behaviour. We are not to stay all together, but to come by him where he stands, by ones, by twos, and by threes. He's to make his requests by particulars; wherein every one of us has a single honour, in giving him our own voices with our own tongues : therefore follow me, and I'll direct you how you shall go by him. ALL. Content, content. [Exeunt.

Enter several Citizens. 1 CIT. Once,a if he do require our voices, we ought not to deny him. 2 CIT. We may, sir, if we will. 3 CIT. We have power in ourselves to do it, but it is a power that we have no power to do; for if he show us his wounds, and tell us his deeds, we are to put our tongues into those wounds, and speak for them; so, if he tell us his noble deeds, a Once,—] See note (a), p. 12S, Vol. I. b You may, you may.] This colloquialism, which, like another, sometimes heard at this day, in answer to idle badinage, " Go it, go it," appears to mean,—you have full liberty to divert yourself, occurs again in " Troilus and Cressida," Act III. Sc. 2 :—

Enter

CORIOLANUS

and

MENENIUS.

MEN. O, sir, you are not right: have you not known The worthiest men have done't ? COB. What must I say ?— / pray, sir,—Plague upon't! I cannot bring My tongue to such a pace : Look, sir; my wounds ;— (*) Old text, Abram. " H E L . By my troth, sAv«et lord, thou hast a fine forehead. PAN. Ay, you maij> tjou may."

149

I t/ut th< lit in niy country s service, when Soul*- i'trtain of your brethren ruar\l, and ran From the nn'tte of our own drums. MEN. O me. the go ! You must not >peak of that: you must desire them To think upon you. COR. Think upon me? hang'em ! I would thev would forget me, like the virtues Which our divines luse by 'em. Mi;x. You'll mar all : I '1] leave you. Pray you, speak to 'em, I pray you, In wholesome manner. Con. Bid them wash their faces, And keep their teeth clean ?— [Exit MEXENIUS.

So. here comes a brace.— You know the cause, sir, of my standing here. 1 CIT. We do, sir; tell us what hath brought you to't. COR. Mine own desert. 2 CIT. Your own desert ? COR. Ay, not* mine own desire. 1 CIT. HOW ! not your own desire ? COR. X O , sir: 'twas never my desire yet, to trouble the poor with begging. 1 CIT. 1 ou must think, if we give you anything, we hope to gain by you.

a — iwo Citizen*.] The old direction says, " Enter three of the Citizens," but wrongly.

(*) Old text, but.

150

Enter two Citizens.a

ACT ILj

CORIOLANUS.

COR. Well then, I pray, your price o' the consulship ? 1 CIT. The price is, to ask it kindly. COB. Kindly ! Sir, I pray, let me ha't: I have wounds to show you, which shall be yours in private.—Your good voice, sir; what say you? 2 CIT. YOU shall ha't, worthy sir. COR. A match, sir ? a —There's in all two worthy voices begged:—I have your alms ; adieu. 1 CIT. But this is something odd. 2 CIT. An 'twere to give again,—but 'tis no matter. \JExeunt the two Citizens. Re-enter two other Citizens. COR. Pray you now, if it may stand with the tune of your voices that I may be consul, I have here the customary gown. 1 CIT. YOU have deserved nobly of your country, and you have not deserved nobly. COR. Your enigma ? 1 CIT. YOU have been a scourge to her enemies, you have been a rod to her friends ; you have not, indeed, loved the common people. COR. YOU should account me the more virtuous, that I have not been common in my love. I will, sir, flatter my sworn brother, the people, to earn a dearer estimation of them ; 'tis a condition they account gentle: and since the wisdom of their choice is rather to have my hat than my heart, I will practise the insinuating nod, and be off to them most counterfeitly ; that is, sir, I will counterfeit the bewitchment of some popular man, and give it bountiful to the desirers. Therefore, beseech you, I may be consul. 2 CIT. We hope to find you our friend; and therefore give you our voices heartily. 1 CIT. You have received many wounds for your country. COR. I will not seal your knowledge with showing them. I will make much of your voices, and so trouble you no farther. BOTH CIT. The gods give you joy, sir, heartily ! [Exeunt. COR. Most sweet voices !— Better it is to die, better to starve, Than crave the hire* which first we do deserve. Why in this woolvish gown b should I stand here, To beg of Hob and Dick, that do t appear, Their needless vouches ? Custom calls me to't:— What custom wills, in all things should we do't, (*) Old text, higher.

(t) Old text, does.

a A match, sir?] The meaning, we take to be this: Coriolanus having won the voice of one citizen, turns to the other with the inquiry, Willyou match it? and then proceeds,—"There's in all two worthy voices begged: " &c. b — woolvish gown—] This is the lection of the second folio ;

[SCENE I I I

The dust on antique time would lie unswept, And mountainous error be too highly heap'd For truth to over-peer.—Kather than fool it so, Let the high office and the honour go To one that would do thus.—I am half through; The one part suffered, the other will I do.— Here come more voices,— Enter three other Citizens. Your voices ! for your voices I have fought; Watch'd for your voices ; for your voices bear Of wounds two dozen odd; battles thrice six I have seen, and heard of; for your voices have Done many things, some less, some more: Your voices ! Indeed, I would be consul. 1 CIT. He has done nobly, and cannot go without any honest man's voice. 2 CIT. Therefore let him be consul: the gods give him joy, and make him good friend to the people ! ALL. Amen, amen. God save thee, noble consul! [Exeunt Citizens. COR. Worthy voices!

Re-enter

MENENIUS,

with

BRUTUS

and

SICINIUS.

MEN. YOU have stood your limitation; And the tribunes endue you with the people's voice : Remains that, in the official marks invested, You anon do meet the senate. COR. IS this done ? Sic. The custom of request you have discharg'd: The people do admit you ; and are summon'd To meet anon, upon your approbation. COR. Where ? at the senate-house ? Sic. There, Coriolanus. COR. May I change these garments ? Sic. YOU may, sir. COR. That I'll straight do ; and, knowing myself again, Repair to the senate-house. MEN. I'll keep you company.—Will you along? BRU. We stay here for the people. Sic. Fare you wrell. \_Exeunt CORIOL. and MENEN. He has it now ; and by his looks, methinks, 'Tis warm at 's heart. the first has, " woolvish tongue" which has been emendated into il "woolvish togue;"

foolish toge" and " woolless togue;" the last

a suggestion of Mr. Collier's indefatigable annotator; but the passage appears still open to controversy. Possibly, after all that has been written about it, the term " woolvish" may have been intended to'apply to the mob, and not to the vestment, and the genuine reading be, " wolfish throng."

151

•

13RU. With a proud heart he wore his humble weeds. Will you dismiss the people ? He-enter Citizens. Sic. HOW now, my masters ? have you chose this man ? 1 CIT. He has our voices, sir. BRU. We pray the gods, he may deserve your loves. 2 CIT. Amen, sir:—to my poor unworthy notice, He mock'd us when he begg'd our voices. 3 CIT. Certainly, He flouted us down-right. 1 CIT. NO, 'tis his kind of speech,—he did not mock us. 2 CIT. Not oue amongst us, save yourself, but savs H^ us'd us scornful] v : he should have show'd us His marks uf merit, wounds received for 's country. 152

«

.,

Sic. Why, so he did, I am sure. CITIZENS.

NO, no ; no man saw

'era.

3 CIT. He said he had wounds, which he could show in private; And with his hat, thus waving it in scorn, / would be consul, says he : aged custom, But by your voices, ivill not so permit me ; Your voices therefore : when we granted that, Here wras,—I thank you for your voices,—tJiank you — Your most sweet voices :—now you have left your voices, I have no further tvith you :—was not this mockery ? Sic. Why, either were }'ou ignorant to see't, Or, seeing it, of such childish friendliness To yield your voices ? BRU. Could you not have told him, As you were lesson'd,—when he had no power, But was a petty servant to the state, He was your enemy ; ever spake against Your liberties, and the charters that you bear I' the body of the weal: and now, arriving

ACT I I . ]

CURIOLANUS.

A place of potency, and sway o' the state, If he should still malignantly remain Fast foe to the plebeii, your voices might Be curses to yourselves ? You should have said, That as his worthy deeds did claim no less Than what he stood for, so his gracious nature Would think upon you for your voices, And translate his malice towards you into love, Standing your friendly lord. Sic. Thus to have said, As you were fore-advis'd, had touch'd his spirit And tried his inclination ; from him pluck'd Either his gracious promise, which you might, As cause had call'd you up, have held him to; Or else it would have gall'd his surly nature, Which easily endures not article Tying him to aught; so, putting him to rage, You should have ta'en the advantage of his choler, And pass'd him unelected. BRU. Did you perceive, He did solicit you in free contempt, When he did need your loves; and do you think That his contempt shall not be bruising to you, When he hath power to crush ? Why, had your bodies No heart among you ? or had you tongues to cry Against the rectorship of judgment? Sic. Have you, ere now, denied the asker ? And now again, of him that did not ask, but mock, Bestow your su'd-for tongues ? [yet. 3 CIT. He's not confirm'd; we may deny him 2 CIT. And will deny him : I'll have five hundred voices of that sound. 1 CIT. I twice five hundred, and their friends to piece 'em. BRU. Get you hence instantly; and tell those friends,— They have chose a consul, that will from them take Their liberties; make them of no more voice Than dogs, that are as often beat for barking, As therefore kept to do so. Sic. Let them assemble; And, on a safer judgment, all revoke Your ignorant election : enforce his pride, And his old hate unto you: besides, forget not With what contempt he wore the humble weed ; How in his suit he scorn'd you : but your loves, Thinking upon his services, took from you The apprehension of his present portance, Which most gibingly, ungravely, he did fashion After the inveterate hate he bears you.

[SCENE III.

BRU. Lay a fault on us, your tribunes ; That we laboured (no impediment between) But that you must cast your election on him. Sic. Say, you chose him more after our commandment, Than as guided by your own true affections; and that, Your minds, pre-occupied with what you rather must do, Than what you should, made you against the grain To voice him consul: lay the fault on us. BRU. Ay, spare us not. Say we read lectures to you How youngly he began to serve his country, How long continued; and what stock he springs of — The noble house o' the Marcians; from whence came That Ancus Marcius, Numa's daughter's son, Who, after great Hostilius, here was king; Of the same house Publius and Quintus were, That our best water brought by conduits hither ; [And Censorinus, darling of the people,] (1) And nobly nam'd so, twice being censor, Was his great ancestor. Sic. One thus descended, That hath beside well in his person wrought To be set high in place, we did commend To your remembrances : but you have found, Scaling his present bearing with his past, That he's your fixed enemy, and revoke Your sudden approbation. BRU. Say, you ne'er had done't, (Harp on that still) but by our putting on: a And presently, when you have drawn your number, Repair to the Capitol. CITIZENS. We will so: almost all repent in their election. [Exeunt Citizens. BRU. Let them go on ; This mutiny were better put in hazard, Than stay, past doubt, for greater: If, as his nature is, he fall in rage With their refusal, both observe and answer The vantage of his anger. Sic. TO the Capitol: Come; we'll be there before the stream o' the people; And this shall seem, as partly 'tis, their own, Which we have goaded onward. [Exeunt. a — our putting on :] Our incitalion, or provoking.

•? •- s

-*

•

ACT III. S< 'EXE I.—The same. CornJs.

Enter

CORIOLANUS. MENEXIUS, COMIXIUS, TITUS LARTIUS, Senators, and Patricians.

COR. Tullu- Aufidius, then, had made new head ? [which causM LART. He had, niv lord ; and that it was Our swifter composition. COR. SO. then, the Yol.-ces stand but as at fir>t; Heady, when time shall prompt them, to make road Upon V a-ain. COM. They are worn, lord consul, so, That we -hall hardlv in our agres -\" Mr. Collier's annotator has "impotence," hut f>> vail means to lower, and Orioianus would hardly call upon his In iher patricians to loner their impotence. The genuine word

(*) Old text, native, corrected by Mason. have cushions," &c. instruct us to read,— "commons' fools"/ '• How shall this bisson multitude, & c ] Notwithstanding w has been said, and much more that might be said, in support of the old reading, "bosom multiplied," as meaning, many-stomached, we accept this emendation of Mr. Collier's annotator, as an almost certain restoration of the poet's text.

was far more probably Mpwor/V, or signories, i.e. senatorial magistracy, sway, &c. if noii,\ awake ]Our dangerous lenity.]*

and so Steevens and Malone, who explain " j u m p " as risk or hazard. Pope's emendation is " v a m p , " and he is followed, among others, by Mr. Dyce and Mr. Knight. Mr, Singer reads "imp." "We have not presumed to change the ancient text, but havu little doubt that " To jump " is a misprint, and the true lection,— "Topurge a body with a dangerous physic," &c. Thus in " Macbeth," Act V. Sc. 2. :— " Meet we the medicine of the sickly weal; And with him pour we, in our country's purge, Each drop of u s . " Again, in the same play, Act V. Sc. 3 : — " my land, find her disease And purge it to a sound and pristine health." So also, in Ben J orison's "Catiline," Act III. Sc. 1. : — " who \sith fire must purge sick Rome," X:r.

dignity,

Mr. Collier^ annotator would change this to, revoke Your dangerous bounty ;' an emendation, however clever, of very questionable propriety; for •' k-nit} " in this place does nut, perhaps, mean mildness, hut Irntiiude. inactivity, supinenrss. So, in Plutarch's life of Coriolam i s ; — " F I T he [Marciu^] alledged, that the creditors losing their money they had lost, was not the worst thing ; but that the tmitii [i.e. tlie inaction of the j.cnple when summoned to resist the inemy] was favoured, wa^ a beginning of disobedience," \ c •J — «.* rominon fouls;] Dots not the next line,—"Let Hum i 4

f T o j u m p a body witJt a dangerous

physic—]

S o t h e old text,

ACT III.]

CORIOLANUS.

H'as said enough. g Sic. H'as spoken like a traitor, and shall answer As traitors do. COR. Thou wretch, despite overwhelm thee !— What should the people do with these bald tribunes ? On whom depending, their obedience fails To the greater bench: in a rebellion, When what's not meet, but what must be, was law, Then were they chosen; in a better hour, Let what is meet be said it must be meet, And throw their power i' the dust. BRU. Manifest treason! Sic. This a consul? no. BRU. The sediles, ho !—Let him be apprehended. Sic. GO, call the people ;—[Exit BRUTUS.] in whose name, myself Attach thee, as a traitorous innovator, A foe to the public weal: obey, I charge thee, And follow to thine answer. COR. Hence, old goat! SEN. AND PAT. We'll surety him. COM. Ag'd sir, hands off. COR. Hence, rotten thing ! or I shall shake thy bones Out of thy garments. Sic. Help, ye citizens ! BRU.

Re-enter

BRUTUS,

ivith the ^Ediles, and a rabble of Citizens.

MEN. On both sides more respect. Sic. Here's he, that would take from you all your power. BRU. Seize him, JEdiles ! CITIZENS. Down with him ! down with him ! Weapons, weapons, weapons ! 2 SEN. [They all bustle about CORIOLANUS. Tribunes, patricians, citizens !—what ho !— Sicinius, Brutus, Coriolanus, citizens! CITIZENS. Peace, peace, peace! stay, hold, peace! MEN. What is about to be ?—I am out of breath; Confusion's near;—I cannot speak.—You, tribunes To the people,—Coriolanus, patience :— Speak, good Sicinius. Sic. Hear me, people ;—peace ! CITIZENS. Let's hear our tribune :—peace ! Speak, speak, speak ! Sic. YOU are at point to lose your liberties : a

That is the way to lay the city flat;] It is usual, though in opposition to the old copies, to assign this speech to Coriolanus, on account of what Sicinius says immediately after it,— " This deserves death."

[SCENE r.

Marcius would have all from you ; Marcius, Whom late you have nam'd for consul. MKN. Fie, fie, fie ! This is the way to kindle, not to quench. 1 SEN. TO unbuild the city, and to lay all flat. Sic. What is the city, but the people ? CITIZENS. True, The people are the city. BRU. By the consent of all, we were established The people's magistrates. CITIZENS. YOU SO remain. MEN. And so are like to do. COM. That is the way to lay the city flat; a To brinp; the roof to the foundation, And bury all, which yet distinctly ranges, In heaps and piles of ruin. Sic. This deserves death. BRU. Or let us stand to our authority, Or let us lose it.—We do here pronounce, Upon the part o' the people, in whose power We were elected theirs, Marcius is worthy Of present death. Sic. Therefore, lay hold of him ; Bear him to the rock Tarpeian, and from thence Into destruction cast him ! BRU. jiEdiles, seize him ! CITIZENS. Yield, Marcius, yield ! MEN. Hear me one word. Beseech you, tribunes, hear me but a word. J E D I . Peace, peace ! [friend, MEN. Be that you seem, truly your country's And temperately proceed to what you would Thus violently redress. BRU. Sir, those cold ways, That seem like prudent helps, are very poisonous Where the disease is violent.—Lay hands upon him, And bear him to the rock! COR. NO ; I'll die here. [Drawing his sword. There's some among you have beheld me fighting ; Come, try upon yourselves what you have seen me. MEN. Down with that sword !—Tribunes, withdraw awhile. BRU. Lay hands upon him ! MEN. Help Marcius, help, You that be noble ! help him, young and old! CITIZENS. Down with him, down with him ! [In this mutiny, the Tribunes, the iEdiles, and the People, are beat out. MEN. GO, get you to your house; be gone, away !— All will be nought else. Get you gone. 2 SEN. But the speech is not at all characteristic of Coriolanus ; and tho observation of the Tribune refers to what he had previously spoken,— " Marcius would have all from you," &c.

157

CORIOLANUS.

Ai'T I I I . ]

Stand fast;

COR.*

We have as manv friends as enemies. MEX. Shall it be put to that? 1 SEN. The gods forbid ! I pr'vthee, noble friend, home to thy house; Leave us to cure this cause. MEN. For 'tis a sore upon us, You cannot tent yourself: begone, 'beseech you. [are, COM. Come, sir, along with us.a COR. I would they were barbarians, (as they Though in Kome litter'd) not Romans, (as they are not, Though calv'd i' the porch o' the Capitol)— .MEN. Be gone; Put not your worthy rage into your tongue; One time will owe another. COR. On fair ground, I could beat forty of them. MEN. I could myself take up a brace o' the best of them ; yea, the two tribunes. COM. But now 'tis odds beyond arithmetic; And manhood is call'd foolery, when it stands Against a falling fabric.—Will you hence, Before the tag return ? whose rage doth rend Like interrupted waters, and o'erbear What they are us'd to bear. MEN. Pray you, be gone : I '11 try whether my old wit be in request With those that have but little: this must be patch'd With cloth of any colour. COM. Nay, come away. [Exeunt CORIOLANUS, COMINIUS, and others. 1 PAT. This man has marr'd his fortune. MEN. His nature is too noble for the world: He would not flatter Neptune for his trident, Or Jove for's power to thunder. His heart's his mouth : What his breast forges, that his tongue must vent; And, being angry, does forget that ever He heard the name of death. [A noise without. Here's goodly work ! 2 PAT. I would they were a-bed ! MEN. I would they were in Tiber !—What, the vengeance, Could he not speak 'em fair ? Re-enter

BRUTUS

and

SICINIUS,

with the rabble.

Where is this viper, That would depopulate the city, And be every man himself? Sic.

* Old text, Com. a TOM. Come, sir, along with us.] In the distribution of this and the two following speeches, we follow the arrangement proposed by Tyrwhitt. The old copies present them thus,— " CORIO. Come, Sir, along with us. M E N E . / would they were Barbarians, as they are, Though in Rome litter'd: not Romans, as they are nott % J Though calved i' th Porch o' th Capitoll : Be gone, put not your worthy Rage into your Tonguet One time will r,we another."

158

[SCENE I.

MEN. YOU worthy tribunes,— Sic. He shall be thrown down the Tarpeian rock. With rigorous hands he hath resisted law, And therefore law shall scorn him further trial Than the severity of the public power, Which he so sets at nought. He shall well know, 1 CIT. The noble tribunes are the people's mouths, And we their hands. CITIZENS. He shall, sure on't. [Several speak together. MEN. Sir, sir,— Sic. Peace ! [but hunt MEN. DO not cry, Havoc* where you should With modest warrant. Sic. Sir, how comes't that you have holp To make this rescue ? MEN. Hear me speak : — As I do know the consul's worthiness, So can I name his faults:— Sic. Consul !—what consul ? MEN. The consul Coriolanus. BRIT. He consul! CITIZENS. NO, no, no, no, no !

MEN. If, by the tribunes' leave, and yours, good people, I may be heard, I'd crave a word or two; The which shall turn you to no further harm, Than so much loss of time. Sic. Speak briefly, then ; For we are peremptory to despatch This viperous traitor: to eject him hence, Were but onec danger; and to keep him here Our certain death; therefore, it is decreed, He dies to-night. MEN. NOW the good gods forbid That our renowned Kome, whose gratitude Towards her deserved children is enroll'd In Jove's own book, like an unnatural dam Should now eat up her own ! Sic. He's a disease that must be cut away. MEN. O, he's a limb that has but a disease; Mortal, to cut it off; to cure it, easy. What has he done to Rome that's worthy death? Killing our enemies, the blood he hath lost, (Which, I dare vouch, is more than that he hath, By many an ounce) he dropp'd it for his country; And what is left, to lose it by his country, Were to us all, that do't and suffer it, A brand to the end o'the world. b — cry, Havoc,—] To " cry, Havoc,1' appears to have been a signal for indiscriminate slaughter; the expression occurs again in " King John," Act II. Sc. 2 :— " Cry, Havoc, Kings!" and in " Julius Caesar," Act III. Sc. 1 :— " Cry, Havoc! and let slip the dogs of war." c Were but one danger;] Theobald altered this to, " —but Theobald. and Mr. rollin-'s annotator reads, " h i s month '.f." £ c. But we aie by no means convinced that any change is required.

Con. First, hear me speak. I3OTH Tin. Well, say.—Peace, ho ! COR. Shall I be charged no further than this present ? Must all determine here ? Sic. I do demand, If you submit you to the people's voices, Allow their officers, and are content To suffer lawful censure for such faults As shall be prov'd upon you ? COR. I am content. MEN. LO, citizens, he says he is content. The warlike service he has done, consider ; think Upon the wounds his body bears, whicli show Like graves i' the holy churchyard. COR. Scratches with briers, Scars to move laughter only. 163

MEN. Consider further, That when he speaks not like a citizen, You find him like a soldier : do not take His rougher accents * for malicious sounds, But, as I say, such as become a soldier, Rather than envy you. COM. Well, well, no more. COR. What is the matter, That being pass'd for consul with full voice, I am so dishonour'd, that the very hour You take it off again ? Sic. Answer to us. COR. Say, then : 'tis true, I ought so. [take Sic. We charge you, that you have contriv'd to (*) Old text, actions^ corrected by Theobald.

M2

CORIOLAXUS.

ACT III.]

[SCENE in.

From Rome all season d office, and to wind Yourself into a power tyrannical; For which you are a traitor to the people. COR. H O W ! traitor? MEN. Nay, temperately: your promise. COR. The fires i the lowest hell fold in the people ! Call me their traitor !—Thou injurious tribune ! Within thine eves sat twenty thousand deaths. In thy hands clutch'd as many millions, in Thy lying tongue both numbers. I would say, Thou liest, unto thee, with a voice as free As I do pray the gods ! Sic. Mark you this, people ? CITIZENS. TO the rock ! to the rock with him ! Sic. Peace! AYe need not put new matter to his charge: What you have seen him do, and heard him speak, Beating your officers, cursing yourselves, Opposing laws with strokes, and here defying Those whose great power must try him; even this, So criminal, and in such capital kind, Deserves the extremest death. B R U . But since he hath serv'd well for Rome,— COR. What do you prate of service ? BRU. I talk of that, that know it. COR. YOU ? MEN. I S this the promise that you made your mother ? COM. Know, I pray you,— COR. I'll know no further: Let them pronounce the steep Tarpeian death, Vagabond exile, flaying, pent to linger But with a grain a day,—I would not buy Their mercy at the price of one fair word ; Nor check my courage for what they can give, To have't with saying, Good morrow. Sic. For that he has (As much as in him lies) from time to time Envied a against the people, seeking means To pluck away their power; has now at last Given hostile strokes, and that not in the presence Of dreaded justice, but on the ministers That do distribute it; in the name o' the people, And in the power of us the tribunes, we, Even from this instant, banish him our city; In peril of precipitation From off the rock Tarpeian, never more To enter our Rome gates. I ' the people's name, I say it shall be so.

It shall be so ! it shall be so! let him away ! He's banish'd, and it shall be so! COM. Hear me, my masters, and my common friends,— Sic. H e ' s sentenced; no more hearing. COM. Let me speak: I have been consul, and can show for* Rome, Her enemies' marks upon me. I do love My country's good with a respect more tender, More holy, and profound, than mine own life, My dear wife's estimate, her womb's increase, And treasure of my loins: then if I would Speak that— Sic. We know your drift: speak what ? BRU. There's no more to be said, but he is banislrd, As enemy to the people and his country: It shall be so. CITIZENS. It shall be so ! it shall be so ! COR. YOU common cry b of curs! whose breath I hate As reek o' the rotten fens, whose loves I prize As the dead carcasses of unburied men That do corrupt my air,—I banish you; And here remain with your uncertainty! Let every feeble rumour shake your hearts ! Your enemies, with nodding of their plumes, Fan you into despair ! Have the power still To banish your defenders ; till at length Your ignorance, (which finds not till it feels) Making but c reservation of yourselves, (Still your own foes) deliver you, As most abated captives, to some nation That won you without blows ! Despising, For you, the city, thus I turn my back : There is a world elsewhere. [Exeunt CORIOLANUS, COMINIUS, MENENIUS, Senators, and Patricians. ^ED. The people's enemy is gone, is gone ! CITIZENS. Our enemy is banish'd ! he is gone! Hoo ! hoo! [Shouting, and throwing up their caj)S. Sic. GO, see him out at gates, and follow him, As he hath follow'd you, with all despite ; Give him deserv'd vexation. Let a guard Attend us through the city. CITIZENS. Come, come, let us see him out at gates ; come :— The gods preserve our noble tribunes !—come.

a Envied against the people,—] That is, Steevens explains, " behaved with signs of hatred to the people," but ** envied " here is perhaps only a misprint of Inveighed; so in North's Plutarch, (Life of Solon):—" But Solon going up into the pulpit for orations, stoutly invei.ed against it." b — cry of curs !\ Cry here means pack. c Making but reservation of yourselves,—] This, since Capell's

(*) Old text, from, corrected by Theobald.

164

CITIZENS.

[Exeunt.

edition, has been invariably printed, " Making not reservation," &c. to the complete destruction of the sense, which manifestly is, —Banish all your defenders as you do me, till, at last, your ignorance, having reserved only your impotent selves, always your own foes, deliver you the humbled captives to some nation, &c. &c.

ACT IV. SCENE I.—Eome. Before a Gate of the City.

Enter

COBIOLANUS, VOLUMNIA, VIRGILIA, M E NENITJS, COMINIUS, and several young Patri-

cians. COR. Come, leave your tears ; a brief farewell: —the Beast With many heads butts me away.—Nay, mother, Where is your ancient courage ? you were us'd

To say extremitya was the trier of spirits ;— That common chances common men could bear;— That, when the sea was calm, all boats alike Show'd mastership in floating ;—Fortune's blows, When most struck home, being gentle wounded, craves a To say extremity was—] So the second folio; the first has,— " Extreamities was," &c.

165

CORIOLANUS.

ACT IV.]

A noble cunning ; :l —you were us'd to load me With precept*, that would make invincible The heart that conn'd them. VIR. O heavens ! 0 heavens ! COR. Xay, I pr'ythee, woman,— VOL. XOW the red pestilence strike all trades in Rome, And occupations perish ! COR. What, what, what! I shall be lov'd when I am lack'd. Xav, mother, Resume that spirit, when you were wont to say, If you had been the wife of Hercules, Six of his labours you'd have done, and sav'd Your husband so much sweat.—Cominius, Droop not; adieu.—Farewell, my wife !—my mother ! I '11 do well vet.—Thou old and true Menenius, Thy tears are salter than a younger man's, And venomous to thine eyes.—My sometime general, I have seen thee stern, and thou hast oft beheld Heart-hard'ning spectacles ; tell these sad women, 'Tis fondb to wail inevitable strokes, As 'tis to laugh at 'em.—My mother, you wot well My hazards still have been your solace : and Believe't not lightly, (though I go alone, Like to a lonely dragon, that his fen Makes fear'd and talk'd of more than seen) your son Will or exceed the common, or be caught With cautelous baits and practice.0 VOL. My first son, Whither wilt thou go ? Take good Cominius With thee a while: determine on some course, More than a wild exposture to each chance That starts i the way before thee. COR. O, the gods ! COM. I'll follow thee a month, devise with thee Where thou shalt rest, that thou may'st hear of us, And we of thee: so, if the time thrust forth A cause for thy repeal, we shall not send O'er the vast world to seek a single man, And lose advantage which doth ever cool I' the absence of the needer. COR. Fare ye well: Thou hast years upon thee ; and thou art too full Of the wars' surfeits, to go rove with one That's yet unbruis'd : bring me but out at gate.— Come, my sweet wife, my dearest mother, and My friends of noble touch; when I am forth, t/

a

1G6

Bid me farewell, and smile. I pray you, come. While I remain above the ground, you shall Hear from me still; and never of me auo-ht But what is like me formerly. MEN. That's worthily As any ear can hear.—Come, let's not weep— If I could shake off but one seven years From these old arms and legs, by the good gods, I'd with thee every foot! COR. Give me thy hand :— Come. [Exeunt

SCEXE

II.—The

same.

A Street near the

Gate.

*

Fortune's blows, When most struck home, being gentle wounded, craves A noble cunning;—] Every endeavour to elicit sense from this perplexing sentence has failed : Pope's "being gently warded, craves," &c.; Hanmer's 44 being greatly warded, crave," &c. ; and Mr. Collier's "being gentle-7??iwd