The Greeks are ftrong, and fkilful to their strength, Fierce to their fkill, and to their fierceness valiant. But I am weaker than a woman's tear, Tamer than fleep, fonder than ignorance; Lefs valiant than the virgin in the night, And skillefs as unpractis'd infancy. * * * * * * * * * * O Pandarus! I tell thee, Pandarus * When I do tell thee, there my hopes lie drown'd, They lie indrench'd. I tell thee, I am mad Her eyes, her hair, her cheek, her gait, her voice; This is the ode: -Ει θ' εαυτόν Αφηκεν εις Τελεμιον. -O that (2) her hand! In Μέσα δε жърэ Έδυνε και μ' ελυσε. Ματην δ' εχω βοειην Τι γωρ βαλωμεθ' έξω, ΜΑΧΗΣ ΕΣΩ Μ' ΕΧΟΥΣΗΣ ; Deinde feipfum projecit in modum teli: mediufque cordis mei penetravit & me folvit. Fruftra itaque habeo fcutum: quid enim muniamur extra, bello intus me exercente. Mr. Ution, fpeak ing of the feveral translations of the laft line but one, adds "Now I will fet Shakespear's tranflation against them all: Why Should I war without. Τι γαρ βαλωμεθ ̓ εξω-For this is the meaning of the phrafe, quid hoftem petam, vel quid hoftem ferire aggred'ar extra; cum hoftis intus eft? &c. See remarks on three plays of Ben Jonfon, p. 28. (2) Her hand, &c.] In the Midsummer Night's Dream, fpeaking of a white hand, he fays;、 That pure congealed white high Taurus' fnow, A. 3. S. 6. I don't know what to make of the words and fpirit of fenfe, nor do any of the critics fatisfy me: the Oxford editor reads, 04 To In whofe comparison, all whites are ink, Writing their own reproach: to whose soft seizure Hard as the palm of ploughman. This thou tell'ft me; SCENE V. Success not equal to our Hopes. Fails in the promis'd largenefs: checks and difafters. On Degree. Take but degree away; untune that string, And the rude fon would ftrike his father dead : Would Neither of which appear to me as from the hand of Shakespear: whether by the fpirit of fenfe, he means the fenfe of touching, I cannot tell; that feems the moft probable, "to the feizure of her hand the down of the cygnet is harth, and its spirit of fenfe [the foft and delicate fenfe, its touch gives us] hard as the ploughman's palm." (3) Refides.] The thought here is beautiful and fublime: Right and Wrong are fuppofed as enemies, who are perpetually at Would lose their names, and for would justice too, Then every thing includes itself in power; And appetite (an univerfal wolf, So doubly feconded with will and power) Conduct in War fuperior to Action. The still and mental parts, That do contrive how many hands shall strike, They call this bed-work mapp'ry, closet war: Do you Adverfity the Trial of Man, Why then, you princes, with cheeks abash'd behold our works? And think them fhame, which are indeed, nought else The at war, between whom Juftice hath her place of refidence, and fits as an umpire; for 'tis the endless jar of right and wrong, that only gives occafion for the interpofition of juftice. Mr. War burton hath, in this place, been too fevere on poor Theobald, the eritic (as he calls him), for dropping a flight remark, which, were it not defenfible, should rather be excus'd than cenfur'd; and introduced an alteration of his own, which an ill-natured remarker might poffibly find pleasure in retorting upon him. But as the only business of a commentator is to do juftice to his author, it feems to me highly improper to ftuff one's obfervations with the gall of private animofities. The fineness of which metal is not found In fortune's love; for then, the bold and coward, The hard and foft, feem all affin'd, and kin; Achilles defcribed by Ulyffes. The great Achilles, whom opinion crowns Breaks fcurril jefts; And with ridiculous and aukward action (Which, flanderer, he imitation calls) He pageants us. Sometimes, great Agamemnon, Thy toplefs deputation he puts on; And like a ftrutting player, (whofe conceit Now play me Neftor-hum, and stroke thy beard, That's done as near as the extremeft ends Of Of parallels; as like as Vulcan and his wife; "Tis Neftor right! now play with me, Patroclus, And then, forfooth, the faint defects of age SCENE VI. Refpect. I afk, that I might waken reverence, And bid the cheek be ready with a blush Modeft as morning, when the coldly eyes The youthful Phabus. The wound of peace is furety, Surety fecure; but modeft doubt is call'd" SCENE IV. Pleafure and Revenge. Pleasure and revenge Have ears more deaf than adders, to the voice Of any true decifion. SCENE |