Can fnore

Labour.

-(15) Wearinefs

upon the flint, when refty floth

Finds the down pillow hard.

Harmless Innocence.

Enter Imogen.

Imo. (16) Good masters, harm me not; Before I enter'd here, I call'd; and thought.

To have begg'd, or bought, what I have took; good

troth,

I have ftol'n nought, nor would not, though I had

found

Gold ftrew'd i'th'floor.

Here's money for my meat,

I would have left it on the board fo foon

As I had made my meal, and parted

With prayers for the provider.

Guid. Money, youth!

Arv. All gold and filver rather turn to dirt! As 'tis no better reckon'd, but of those

Who worship dirty gods.

(17) To whom? to thee? What art thou? Have

not I

(15) Weariness, &c.] See Hen. IV. 2d part, Act 1. Sc. 2.

(16) Good mafters, &c.] See As you like it, Act 2. Sc. 8. where Orlando, like Imogen, diftreft for food, humbly and pathetically addreffes himself to the duke and his company.

(17) To whom, &c.]

-Turn away my face!
I never yet faw enemy that look'd

An arm as big as thine? a heart as big?
Thy words, I grant, are bigger: for I wear not
My dagger in my mouth.

SCENE IV. Fool Hardiness.

-Being scarce made up,

I mean to man; he had not apprehenfion
Of roaring terrors; for defect of judgment
Is oft the (18) cure of fear.

Inborn Royalty.

-O, 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 fweet head; and yet, as rough
(Their royal blood enchaf'd), as the rud'ft wind,
That by the top doth take the mountain pine,
And make him ftoop to the vale. 'Tis wonderful,
That an invifible inftinct fhould 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 fow'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
As great a bafilifk as he or spake
So horribly, but that I thought my tongue
Both thunder underneath as much as his.

Of

Philafter, A&t 1.

(18) Cure, Oxford editor, vuig. caufe. Mr. Theobald reads,

-For th' effect of judgment

Is oft the cause of fear.

Of what we blame him for!

Arv. The bird is dead

That we have made so much on. I had rather
Have skipt from fixteen years of age, to fixty;
To have turn'd my leaping time into a crutch,
Than have seen this.

Guid. Oh, fweetest, fairest lilly!

My brother wears thee not one half so well,
As when thou grew'it thyself.

Bel. Oh, melancholy,

Who ever yet could found thy bottom; find
The ooze to shew what coaft (19) thy fluggish care

Might

(19) Thy fluggish care,] Mr. Warburton tells us, plaufible as this reading at first fight may feem, all those who know any thing of good writing, will agree that our author must have wrote,

ever,

To fhew what coaft thy fluggish carrack
Might eas'lieft harbour in.

Carrack, is a flow, heavy-built veffel of burden. To this conjec ture, Mr. Theobald, and the Oxford editor, yield up Shakespear's word, and admit carrack in the text. I with, for my own fake, 1 could be fatisfied with it, as by not being fo, 1 muit neceffarily incur he critic's cenfure of knowing nothing of good writing; how I muft confefs, 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 feems neceffary to the fenfe and beauty of the paffage. 'Oh, melancholy, (thou deep fea) who ever yet could found thy bottom? who ever yer could find the ooze, to fhew what coaft thy fluggish care (or charge) might eas'liest harbour in ?' Melancholy is reprefented unto us under the allegory of a deep fea, and the grief or affliction that occafions the falling into melancholy, is beautifully fuppofed its fluggish carc, its burden or charge failing over that fea, and feeking fome harbour to land, i. e. to get free from the waters of melancholy: which the poet, by a beautiful interrogation, acquaints us, cannot be done: when once forrow en.barks, and grief launches her heavy-leden veffel in the ocean of melancholy, no bottom is to be found, no harbour to be made, no deliverance to be obtained from this fathomlefs and boundless fea.

K 3

-This ap

pears

Might eas'lieft harbour in? Thou bleffed thing!
Jove knows what man thou mightst have made: but ah!
Thou dy'dft, a moft rare boy, of melancholy!

How found you him?

Arv. Stark, as you fee:

Thus fmiling as fome fly had tickled flumber;
Not as death's dart being laugh'd at: his right cheek
Repofing on a cushion.

Guid. Where?

Arv. O'th' floor:

His arms thus leagu'd, I thought he flept, and put My clotted brogues from off my feet, whofe rudeness Answer'd my steps too loud.

Guid. Why, he but fleeps:

If he be gone he'll make his grave a bed;
With female fairies will his tomb be haunted,
And worms will not come near thee.

Arv. With faireft flowers,

Whilft fummer lafts, and I live here, Fidele,
I'll fweeten thy fad grave: thou shalt not lack
The flow'r that's like thy face, pale primrose; nor
The azur'd hare-bell, like thy veins; no, nor
The leaf of eglantine, whom not to flander,
Out-fweeten'd not thy breath; the raddock would
With charitable bill (oh, bill fore-fhaming
Thofe rich-left heirs, that let their fathers lie
Without a monument) bring thee all this,

Yea, and furr'd mofs befides, when flow'rs are none, To (20) winter-ground thy corse

*

:

* * *

*

* * * *

*

Bel

pears to me the true, and, I think, exquifitely fine fenfe of the paffage the reader will be the best judge, ftill remembering if poffible, we fhould 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 fpirit: 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 difpleafed at this would read Winter-gown: the reading in the text makes good fenfe, and, is, I think, therefore to be preferred.

Bel. Great griefs I fee med'cine the lefs. For Cloten
Is quite forgot. He was a queen's fon, boys,
And though he came our enemy, remember

He was paid for that: the mean, and mighty, rotting
Together, have one duft, yet (21) reverence,
The angel of the world, doth make distinction
Of place 'twixt high and low.
And though you took his life,
Yet bury him as a prince.

Our foe was princely,

as being our foe,

Guid. Pray thee, fetch him hither. Therfites' body is as good as Ajax, When neither are alive.

Funeral Dirge.

Guid. Fear no more the heat o'th' fun,
Nor the furious winter's rages;
Thou thy worldly task haft done,
Home art gone, and ta'en thy wages.'
Golden lads and girls all must

As chimney-fweepers come to duft.
Arv. Fear no more the frown o'th' great,
Thou art past the tyrant's stroke,

Care no more to cloath and eat ;
To thee the reed is as the oak:
The fceptre, learning, phyfic, must
All follow this and come to duft.
Guid. Fear no more the lightning flash.
Arv. Nor th' all-dreaded thunder-ftone.
Guid. Fear no flander, cenfure rash,
Arv. Thou hast finish'd joy and moan.

Imogen awaking.

Yes, Sir, to Milford-Haven, which is the way?I thank you-by yond bush-pray, how far thither?"Ods pitikins-can it be fix miles yet?--

(21) Reverence.] See the paffage on Ceremony, in Henry V.

I've