« ПретходнаНастави »
-(15) Weariness Can snore upon the flint, when resty sloth Finds the down pillow hard.
Enter Imogen. Imo. (16) Good masters, harm me not ; Before I enter'd here, I calld; and thought To have begg’d, or bought, what I have took ; good
troth, I have stoln nought, nor would not, though I had
found Gold strew'd i'th'floor. Here's
Guid. Money, youth!
Braggart. (17) To whom to thee? What art thou? Have
(15) Wcariness, &c.] See Hen. IV. 2d part, Act 1. Sc. 2.
(16) Good masters, &c.] See As you like it, Act 2. Sc. 8. where Orlando, like Imogen, distrest for food, humbly and pathetically addresses himself to the duke and his company. (17) To whom, &c.] -Turn away my face !
I never yet law enemy that lopk'd
An arm as big as thine ? a heart as big ?
-Being scarce made up,
-0, thou goddess, Thou divine nature ; how thyself thou blazon'st In these two princely boys: they are as gentle As zephyrs blowing below the violet, Not wagging his sweet head; and yet, as rough (Their royal blood enchaf’d), as the rud'st wind, That by the top doth take the mountain pine, And make him stoop to the vale. 'Tis wonderful, That an invisible instinct should frame them To royalty unlearn'd, honour untaught, Civility not seen from other; valour, That wildly grows in them, but yields a crop As if it had been sow’d. Enter Arviragus, with Imogen dead, bearing her
in his Arms. Bel. Look, here he comes, And brings the dire occasion in his arms,
So dreadfully, but that I thought myself
Philaster, Act z. (18) Cure, Oxford editor, vuig. cause. Mr. Theobald reads,
-For th' effect of judgment
Of what we blame him for!
Aru. The bird is dead
Guid. Oh, sweeteit, faireit lilly!
Bel. Oh, melancholy,
(19) Thy. Nuggish care,] Mr. Warburton tells us, plausible as this reading at first light may seem, all tkole who kuotiavy thing of good writing, will agree that our author malt have wruit,
To Thew what coast thy Nuggish carrack
Might eas'liest harbour in. Carrack, is a Now, heavy-built vessel of burden. To this conjee: ture, Mr. Theołald, and the Oxford editor, yield up Slakespear's word, and admit carrack in the text. I with, for my own fake, I could be satisfied with it, as by not being so, I mult necessarily incur he critic's cenfure of knowing nothing of good writing; howe ever, I must confess, the word immediately founds to me not like Shakespear's: and whatever propriety there may be in it,' according to Mr. Warburton, “ to design a melancholy perfon,' I can by no means think it our author's : a much more natural word, (was there need of alteration) perhaps many readers would have thought bark: yet that, nor any other seems necefsary to the sense and beauty of the passage. :: Oh, melancholy, (thou deep fea) who ever yet could sound thy bottom ? who ever yet could find the ooze, to shew what coast thy sluggish care (or charge) might eas'lieft harbour in?' Melancholy is represented unto us under the allegory of a deep sea, and the grief or affliction that occasions the falling into melancholy, is beautifully fupposed its Nuggish ca“, its burden or charge failing over that sea, and seeking some harbour to land, i. e. to get free from the wa. ters of melancholy: which the poet, hy a beautiful interrogation, acquaints us, cannot be done : when once forrow en.barks, and grief launches her heavy-icden vefsel in the ocean of melancholy, no botton is to be found, no harhour to be made, no deliverance to be obtained this fathomless and boundless sea.This ap
Might eas’liest harbour in? Thou blessed thing!
him? Arv. Stark, as you Thus smiling as some fly had tickled slumber;' Not as death's dart being laugh'd at: his right check Repofing on a cushion.
Arv, O'th' floor :
Guid. Why, he but fleeps:
Arv. With faireft flowers,
pears to me the true, and, I think, exquisitely fine sense of the passage : the reader will be the best judge, still remembering if pollible, we should elevate our ideas to those of our author, and not correct him to a level with our own apprehenfions when we cannot enter into his spirit: my attempt, at least upon this confideration, will be excused, and (if I am mistaken) my mistakes obtain a pardon.
(20) Winter-ground.] Mr. Warburton difpleased at this would read Winter-gown: the reading in the text makes good sense, and, is, I think, therefore to be preferred.
Bel. Great griefs I see med'cine the less. For Cloten Is quite forgot. He was a queen's son, boys, And though he came our enemy, remember He was paid for that: the mean, and mighty, rotting Together, have one dust, yet (21) reverence, The angel of the world, doth make distinction Of place 'twixt high and low. Our foe was princely, And though you took his life, as being our foe, Yet bury him as a prince.
Guid. Pray thee, fetch him hither. Therfites' body is as good as Ajax, When neither are alive.
Guid. Fear no more the heat o'th'sun,
Nor the furious winter's rages ;
As chimney-sweepers come to dust.
Thou art past the tyrant's stroke,
All follow this and come to dust.
Imogen awaking Yes, Sir, to Milford-Haven, which is the way? I thank you—by yond buih--pray, how far thither?-'Ods pitikins-can it be fix miles yet?
I've (21) · Roverence.] See the passage on Ceremony, in Henry V.